Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Out of all possibilities of what could happen, the former was not on Strange’s prevention list. The distant thunder of the multiverse echoed around wreckage, a cacophony of existence that vibrated through the air. From worlds beyond their own, Strange can feel their calling and determination, all screaming for one individual, ‘Peter Parker.’ They were drawn together by their similar goal, flowing to this very spot in his universe. It was creating ripples in his reality that dampened the mood of victory below.

Peter, who had his arms around the other Peters in thanks. His friends, Ned, and MJ, were not too far away, watching. All covered in grim from the long night they had. They just sent back the criminals of the other Peters worlds, and now it was time to send off all but one Parker, for now. 

They should be celebrating, but Strange could not stop what was coming. He could sense the forces of the multiverse pressing against the fragile barrier that separated them. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he prepared for the inevitable struggle ahead.

‘Think,’ Dr Strange furrowed his eyebrows, determined to find a way to solve this. So many pathways of solutions opened as he used the time stone. Envisioned all the possibilities and solutions and even went further to see what events would be caused by such meddling. He needed a way to save his universe, to save Peter, a boy from whom he had taken so much. Barely turning twenty, he already had the world on his shoulders.

— He should have been 24 if not for the blip. 

Only some possibilities looked promising, but they always ended the same way: a catastrophe. He, maybe, could use multiple solutions. A different dimension and an erasure spell?

He knew that sending him to another dimension would merely postpone the inevitable; the external forces would continue their relentless pursuit. An erasure spell, a solution that would obscure Peter's existence in this universe, constantly wiping the memories of him from everyone's thoughts. Yet those who seek the forgotten will remember and lead to the same end. 

This may be a more effective strategy. Doing both would ensure that Peter's presence here wouldn't start to be questioned, that people wouldn’t start to remember, or that they would forget because he was not around in a new universe with no soul named Peter Parker. It would protect him and everyone, as nothing like this would happen again. The universe wouldn't collapse if Peter Parker were gone.

Strange looked down at the trio below. He could see the exhaustion in their movements, but their smiles were enough to cause his heart to ache for what was to come. 

“Parker,” Peter looked up to see Strange at the top of the wreckage, seemingly making a portal. He watched as Strange beckon him over with his fingers.

Looking at his friends, Peter gave a small salute, “Looks like the wizard needs me.” He pointed his web shooter up, “Be back in a blip!”

“—Too soon!” Ned roared with laughter as Peter launched himself into the air at Strange. 

Peter landed as softly as possible with his injured leg and limped closer to Dr. Strange. The swirling Portal shimmered to life and lit the morning air with a lush glow. He could feel the tension in the air; it melted away his relaxed mood to a stance preparing for what Strange had in store. 

“I’m sorry, Peter.” Strange looked the younger hero in the eye, “This was the only way.”

Peter, confused in Strange's words, took a step back, “What?”

Strange interrupted, “I looked at all the possibilities to stop the universe from crashing. This was the only solution that didn't end in destruction.” 

Peter took another step back; he knew that whatever Strange was about to say was going to shake the remaining strength he had left.

Strange's voice was laced with empathy. “You must leave this dimension to protect your friends. Staying here puts them in constant danger.” He looked back at the portal he had created. “I’m sending you to a universe where no Peter Parker exists in yet.”

Peter Parker's heart raced as he looked around, the reality of the situation sinking in. “But Ned and MJ.” his voice faltered, thick with emotion and fear.

Doctor Strange placed a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "They will be safe," he said, his tone soothing as he explained that the memories of Peter would be erased from their minds. “Saying goodbye is the hardest part, but it’s for their good,” he continued, recognizing the deep pain in Peter’s eyes. With Peter gone, he reminded him that the external threats would no longer circle his loved ones. Relocating him was a necessary sacrifice to ensure their safety and his own.

In a race of thoughts, Peter questioned, “Can I bring a bag with me?” His voice lacked the strength he desired to project.

With a wave of his hand, the sorcerer dropped a bag at the foot of the portal. “Though it wasn’t for this purpose,” the sorcerer began, “Tony had something prepared for you.”

This only leads to one conclusion: Tony always knew he was going to die in the final battle. Given the frayed and dusty condition of the bag, he likely prepared it the moment he returned to Earth, hoping that Strange hadn’t lied to him. He must have lost hope at first, only to regain it years later.

“Why now?”

“It didn't have a purpose until now.” Strange suddenly huffed in pain. “I can’t hold this portal much longer, kid.” He looked below. Peter followed his gaze and looked at his best friends. “Go. Say goodbye.”

Stepping to the ledge, Peter shook where he stood. “Goodbye, Doctor Strange,” Peter said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before he stepped away, Strange turned to him, and said gently, “It's Stephen, kid.”

With a bittersweet smile, Peter replied, “Goodbye, Stephen.”

Taking a deep breath, Peter turned toward his friends, tears brimming in his eyes as he landed. "Ned, MJ," he started, his voice trembling with emotion. “I have to go.”

Confusion washed over Ned’s face. “Go where? What’s happening?”

“It’s complicated,” Peter replied, glancing back at Strange for support. The sorcerer nodded with understanding. “But please trust me, this is for the best. I love you both.”

MJ stepped closer, worry etched across her features. “Peter, please don’t do this.” Judging by the portal and the looks the two were sharing, MJ knew something was amiss. “We can figure something out together.”

“No, we can’t,” Peter said firmly yet with a profound sadness. “If I stay, everyone I care about will be at risk. You have to understand I need to do this, for you.” His words carried the weight of his determination, a resolve to protect his loved ones at any cost.

Tears sparkled in MJ’s eyes as she took Peter’s hand. “I can’t lose you. It’s not fair.”

“You won’t lose me,” he replied softly, squeezing her hand with all the love he felt for them. His love for his friends was a powerful force, a bond that transcended even the barriers of memory loss. He turned to Ned, meeting his friend’s gaze with deep sincerity. “I’ll always be with you, just in another universe.”

The portal pulsed gently, as if apologizing for how everything had turned out. Peter took one last look at his friends, his heart heavy. “I’ll find you again, I promise.”

He paused, letting the bitter tears flow freely. “If not in this life,” he said, his voice choked, “then in the next.” The pain of his sacrifice was a heavy burden, a weight that settled in his heart. Before he could hesitate any longer, he turned towards the swirling abyss, stepping into the unknown. As the portal closed behind him, he felt the weight of his sacrifice settle in his heart, the image of Ned and MJ fading from view but forever etched in his soul.

As Peter Parker stepped through the portal to a new dimension, his body faced relentless destruction and repair. When he crossed over, the fabric of his being was torn apart only to be reassembled in an instant, leaving him a strange blend of agony and exhilaration. It felt as though the universe itself was caught in a state of confusion, unable to determine the trajectory of his existence. The uncertainty wrapped around him like a thick fog, leaving him disoriented and restless. Peters’ vision pulsated, blurring and expanding with such intensity that it threatened to overwhelm him, each flicker making his stomach churn. The most distressing part was the acute awareness that he was screaming—a primal, desperate sound, aching to escape, but no noise echoed back at him. 

The ache radiating from his wrists and the sharp pangs in his teeth were not merely the aftermath of a particularly vigorous night of web-slinging or the strain of his dual existence as a student and superhero. These pains were the physical manifestations of a deeper transformation, one triggered by his new fate in a different dimension.

Having crossed the boundaries of reality, Peter discovered that the act of dimensional traveling had unwittingly set into motion an evolution within him. Each universe encountered had its nuances, different laws of physics, variances in genetic makeup, and new challenges to face. Elements of each dimension he passed lingered in his body, contorting and reshaping his very physiology. The discomfort he felt in his wrists was not merely a sign of injury but a signal of adaptation; his muscles and tendons were reconfiguring themselves to better accommodate the diverse array of forces he encountered. The pain in Peter's teeth showed how his body was adapting to strange new energies. It served as a reminder of how his physical form interacted with the constant changes of the multiverse.

It was not long before his face kissed the cement, and his body shivered from the cold rain that had showered him. Steadily, he sat up and leaned against the wall next to him. The area reminded him of Hell's Kitchen. He couldn't shake the anticipation coursing through his veins. He braced himself, knowing that the next moments would be crucial.

Seeing the bag, Strange left him; he tried to get up and quickly grab it, using his sudden rush of adrenaline. But his legs buckled, and he landed with a thump on the paved floor. His body was still recovering from the journey, but the wariness of what lay ahead kept him alert and focused. Each throb on his wrists and each jolt in his jaw was a reminder of the journey he had undertaken; an evolution marked by the intermingling of worlds far beyond his own. Leaving him in pain yet undeniably more resilient, navigating the intricate path of life in-between dimensions. 

Pushing himself through his struggle, Peter crawled the rest of the way to the bag. He opened it under the shelter of a dumpster lid and peered into the bag. He was met with some papers and a few random items, but what stood out the most was a case that had his logo on it. When his fingers brushed against the metallic material, the case came to life and slowly wrapped itself around Peter.

‘Nanites?’ The suit wrapped around him and instantly started to heat up his body. Yet the idea of having a suit from Tony wasn’t the first thing on his mind, “—Karen?” he called out, his voice strained. He needed to know if the AI he always relied on was here.

“Hello, Peter.”

A wave of relief washed over Peter as he finally managed to rise to his feet, the cold, damp ground releasing its grip on him with the help of the suit. The realization that he wasn’t truly alone brought a flicker of hope to his chest. Survival was all-consuming in his mind, and the thought of Karen's presence made the daunting task ahead feel a little less insurmountable. 

“I’m glad to hear from you, Kare.” Peter laughed sadly. Even with the emotional toll of everything that had happened in the last few hours, he was happy to have one thing from home with him: a familiar voice.

“I’m not able to connect to the Servers. Is there something I need to be aware of?” Her mechanical voice kept Peter sane as he started to stumble through the alley with the bag on his back.

“We’re in a new universe,” he admitted quickly, putting his hands on the wall. He slowly started to ascend, not wanting to walk the streets with his suit on in the unknown.

His priority was to find some clothes. Then, he needed information; he had to gather as many details as possible about his surroundings. As he scanned the landscape, he noted that the atmosphere was dark and oppressive, thick with clouds that loomed overhead, yet it still resembled the Earth he knew, albeit twisted and melancholic. The familiar shadows surrounded him, a reminder that although he was in an unfamiliar place, a part of his home lingered just beneath the surface.

“Affirmative. Please find the nearest internet source so I can connect to a server.” The task already forming in his head as she continued, “that way I can research the universe we’ve found ourselves in.” 

Peter chuckled, “It's like you can read my mind.” 

“I am programmed to be the best assistant to you.”

Taking advantage of the night for stealth, Peter carefully climbed to the roof of the neighboring building in search of useful items. During his exploration, he encountered a family’s laundry, which provided an unexpected opportunity. As he leaped to the next roof, he creatively webbed some of the clothes to secure them. Although he landed on the other roof with some discomfort, He quickly threw on the clearly too-big jeans and sweater, hiding his suit underneath. 

It didn't take long for him to notice the differences between his home and his current location. Everything seemed to be a few years behind. His uh tingles were on high alert, making him feel nervous. "You got this, Parker," he muttered to himself as he stepped onto the street. "Get it together." 

It didn't take him long to find an open place, leaning against the building. Peter pressed to open Karen's screen, navigating through Tony's wrist phone, which he also found in the bag. He found the small restaurant's internet connection; it was easy to hack the password with the advanced tech he had.

“Alright, Karen. Do your thing.” He ran a hand through his hair while waiting for the AI to reconnect to this universe's Tony Stark's servers. Even if this universe didn't have a Peter Parker in it, the others could be here. That was enough to ease his mind for now. Though she was taking longer than usual, Peter looked back at his wrist. " Everything okay, Karen?”

“After researching the database, the names Tony Stark and Stark Industries were not found. Continuing to search for alternatives.”

Peter Parker’s heart raced as the realization washed over him: in this new universe, Tony Stark didn’t exist. The vibrant memories of their shared laughter, deep conversations, and guidance that had shaped his development felt like shadows in a dark void. Panic surged within him, tightening his chest as he grappled with the implications of his mentor's absence. Without Tony, the Avengers—his family of heroes—were just a distant myth, a team of legends that never came together.

“The Avengers are also not found.”

They’re not here either? The weight of loneliness pressed on him as he thought of the battles they fought, the bonds they forged, and now, the gaping hole left by an absent father figure. He was adrift in an unfamiliar world, haunted by the absence of those who had once been his greatest allies, and the suffocating sense of isolation threatened to swallow him whole.

He had clung to an earnest hope and whispered countless prayers, yearning for this place to still resonate with the same faces he once cherished so deeply. He started to grip his chest as he panicked, “Karen, is there a Ned here?”

“Negative, Peter.”

“Is there an MJ?” he whispered as tears filled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

Peter lowered himself to the floor, and he hugged his knees tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to find a moment of calm, but a surge of panic suddenly gripped him. He realized too late he was hoping to find alternate versions of his friends and family here. Now that hope was disintegrating the last nerves he had left. His heart raced in his chest, and he could feel the tightness in his throat as anxiety washed over him like a storm. The world around him faded away, leaving only the confusion of his racing thoughts and the clenching fear that had taken hold.

“Peter, your levels are rising dangerously high. I’ll activate the necessary procedures.”

A thick fog of uncertainty enveloped him, leaving him bewildered and lost in the whirlwind of recent events. His mind raced, trying to grasp the enormity of his losses, the pieces of his former life scattering like leaves in the wind. The weight of despair settled heavily on his chest, echoing the haunting realization that there was no path back to the familiar warmth of home. There is no way back to the comfort and security he once took for granted. Only an endless expanse of uncertainty stretched before him. No Way Home.

“What the fuck am I going to do?”

“Your best, Peter.”

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Gotham City loomed like a dark sentinel, its sprawling landscape molded by shadows and secrets. Skyscrapers pierced the night sky, their jagged silhouettes a testament to the city's frenetic energy, reaching toward the stars as if trying to escape the smog that clung to the air. The gothic architecture, with its ornate gargoyles and towering spires, whispered tales of a bygone era, evoking both beauty and foreboding. Streets teemed with life yet pulsed with danger, where every alleyway threatened to conceal the next villain waiting to strike.

As rain fell steadily, the asphalt glistened like a black mirror, reflecting neon lights that flickered above. Advertisements for clubs, bars, and various enterprises hiding more than they revealed. In the depths of those dimly lit streets, the ever-present sounds of sirens sliced through the night, echoing the city's turbulent heart. Shadows danced under the faint glow of streetlamps, casting an ominous pall over the faces of those who wandered too close to the dark side of Gotham.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that made every stranger a suspect and every flicker of movement a potential threat. Outsiders often struggled to grasp Gotham's essence: a city where hope battled despair, and the line between heroism and villainy was often indistinguishable. 

Peter spent hours on the side of that little restaurant, listening to all the information Karen could gather in this new place. A place with laws and physics unlike anything he had ever known. Realizing that the heroes who fought for justice here were different from the ones he had once stood beside was disorienting. It was a stark reminder of how far he had traveled from the familiar, leaving him to grapple with feelings of longing and uncertainty in this strange new world. 

When the rain subsided, Peter made his way to the only public library in Gotham. There, the two of them got to work on breaching through the computers and making a life for Peter, a background and birth certificate were easy. Even though Peter had just turned 20, he made sure that his ID said he was 21. It felt strange to see the printed age on the ID. In his own universe, because of the blip, he was considered 23, and his ID had a star on it to indicate that. However, that detail cannot be found on this ID. It was just one more thing about this universe that he would have to get used to. 

Also had to get used to how easy it was to get a fake printed. Almost every corner of Gotham could do it. No questions either.

Peter B. Parker was born in Queens, New York, on August 10, 1976. At 21, he was in the year 1997, which meant this universe was 28 years behind his own. He would have to get accustomed to the differences in time.

Now, with an identity, he pushed himself to find a more secure shelter. He made his way around an area Karen found listed as abandoned. If you tell him, this is a good starting point for shelter. The remnants of abandoned buildings loomed around him like silent sentinels, and among them, he discovered an apartment that offered a temporary refuge. 

Though the moment he let himself collapse and get a chance to go over everything that happened to him, it was like a dam broke. For weeks, he inhabited that small, shadowy space, lying on a tattered mattress that sagged in the middle, its fabric threadbare and stained with time. The air was thick with the musty scent of neglect, mingled with the faint aroma of mildew. Peter spent countless hours methodically cleaning and organizing the chaotic remnants of the previous occupants, hoping to create a sanctuary amid the chaos that surrounded him. Each motion felt like a ritual as he wiped away layers of dust and grime, desperately trying to reclaim a sense of order in his life.

It was also just him resisting the inevitable. He would have to step into this new world to experience it and earn a living. Yet he couldn't get himself out the front door, as if a weight were holding him back. 

Day after day, he watched as the sunlight filtered weakly through the cracked windows, casting irregular patterns on the floor. To him, time felt like a relentless tide, pulling him deeper into despair. He lay there, consumed by a profound sense of isolation, battling feelings of hopelessness as he reflected on the life he had once envisioned. 

Now and then, he would look around at the peeling wallpaper and scattered debris, reminders of the dreams he had painstakingly built, all of which now felt as fleeting as the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. The motivation to rise and move forward slipped through his fingers like sand. Each moment seemed to stretch into eternity as he questioned whether he possessed the strength to rise from this bleak existence or if he was destined to remain trapped in this haunting cycle of stagnation, lost among the fragments of his former self.

He meandered through the dense fog of his thoughts, feeling utterly unattached, as if adrift on a ship lost at sea. Memories of Ned and MJ surged in his mind, creating a dynamic montage of laughter and heroics from their unforgettable adventure with the Avengers. Each moment unfolded like a vibrant film reel, alive with the audacious thrills of their escapades and the bonds they had forged along the way. Those memories pulsed with energy, beckoning him to recall the excitement and warmth that filled their shared experiences.

Yet, amidst the gleeful echoes of the past, the weight of his disorientation deepened. He grasped at those joyful fragments, each one slipping through his fingers like grains of sand, desperately seeking solace in their remnants. The image of Mr. S-Tony loomed in his mind, an ever-present specter that seemed to follow him, haunting the recesses of his thoughts. 

He found himself in this new place, a space that felt foreign and unsettling. The overwhelming urge to return home consumed him; he longed for the familiarity and safety of his own universe. But he couldn’t go back—not after everything he had done. He grappled with the seriousness of his mistakes, haunted by the memory of how close he had come to unraveling his own reality. Spiderman had nearly brought his world crashing down, and the last thing he wanted was to repeat that destructive cycle in this new reality. He needed to find a way to navigate this strange territory without causing further chaos.

He couldn’t be Spiderman here; he wouldn't. There were enough heroes around to protect this world, and he didn't need to be one. Yet the truth in his thoughts was that he was scared to be Spiderman again, to ruin another world. He didn’t want another life on his hands. The blood was already consuming him whole.

Getting up felt like an insurmountable challenge. He longed to remain sprawled on the cold, hard floor, just as he had been for days. The hunger gnawed at him like a relentless predator while an unsettling thirst clawed at his throat. He could barely recall the last time he forced himself to drink; anything he could scavenge from the dim alleyways was a temporary relief. His body, once defined and strong, was slowly losing its shape, succumbing to a lifeless, zombified state. For weeks, he had spiraled into despair, drowning in the depths of his own sorrow, until a flicker of determination finally ignited within him, breaking him free from the chains of his self-imposed exile.

That is what led to this. Peter slowly set the nanites on the floor, letting them adjust and seemingly prepare for something. He stared at the tiny particles, his mind foggy and distant. Weariness clung to him like a second skin, and in the dim light of the rundown apartment, he resembled a specter—pale and ethereal, with shadows cast deeply under his eyes. Cracked walls and peeling paint surrounded him, adding to the atmosphere of desolation and mirroring the exhaustion that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

“When you’re ready, Peter.” Karen’s voice echoed from the nanites in front of him.

After a moment, Peter nodded. He was reluctant to do this, but if he did, Karen would get off his back. Taking a deep breath, he started to speak.

“All right let's do this. I’m only saying this cause Karen thought it was a good idea to keep voice messages, like a journal. Apparently, Tony did them when I- Not the time—anyway. My name is Peter Parker. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for 6 years, I guess 11 if you count the blip, I used to be the one and only Spider-Man.”

He could feel the sweat starting to form in his palms the more he spoke. 

“It’s been a few days in his new universe, and I’ve learned a lot. There are a bunch of heroes in this universe. They even have a group like the Justice League, which has a lot more manpower than the Avengers. Also there’s a lot more aliens here, which is cool. Hopefully, no one tries to lay eggs in me. There are many differences between this universe and mine, but I guess that's what happens when you have to go somewhere Peter Parker doesn’t exist.” 

Looking away from the nanites in the shape of a cube on the floor, Peter’s voice almost died out after that last sentence. He took it all in. This was the most he had spoken in a while. It was nerve-racking. 

“I thought I was saving a bunch of people. I mean, I did, but it doesn’t outweigh all I couldn’t. I was just a kid when Tony Stark, Ironman, took me under his wing. He saw the good I could do. Oh, how I proved him wrong.” Peter hung his head down, trying really hard to keep talking.

“I messed up again and again. Every time someone saw something in me, they lived to regret it or died before they could see it. I’m tired. Tired of Spiderman. This new world I’m in has enough people to protect it; they don’t need someone who got kicked out of their universe playing heroes here.”

Peter slowly picked up the nanites, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but the mantel was too much.” He stared for a second before letting Karen end the video.

As the nanites slowly returned to being bands around his wrists, Karen said, “Peter, I’m proud of you.” Peter ignored the AI, staring at a new lump on his wrist. 

“Peter.”

 He didn’t realize just how draining it was to talk about himself. He wanted to throw up. Messing with the lump on his wrist, he was reminded of Peter 2, who had an identical one. This new universe was changing him, and it didn't feel good, either. 

“My device is experiencing a critical deficit in its electrical reserves. To save data, I’ll be going inactive. Stay safe, Peter.”

Had it really been that long? Peter sat up slowly, his fingers gently brushing over the band that secured Karen. Her reserves could last up to weeks, had he cooped himself in this place for that long? He felt a sense of urgency; she needed electricity to recharge, and he couldn't shake the weight of that responsibility. She really waited until after he recorded that stupid journal to tell him. As he glanced around the unfamiliar space, a wave of concern washed over him. He realized it might be time for him to make a difficult decision and finally start taking his place in this new world. 

He couldn’t lose the last thing he had of home.

Taking to the streets, Peter searched and navigated through Gotham to the best of his ability. He keeps his head down, and he can feel it when others look at him. He knows which people were carrying and who weren’t. It was weird that he just knew; it was another new development, he guessed. 

Maybe while he’s out he can scope areas for a job. He knew finding a job wasn't easy. Most places were strict about who they hired, wary of everyone. It didn’t help that he was wearing the same clothes he had stolen weeks before. Maybe cooping himself in the building wasn’t the smartest idea. The more he walked, the more he could feel his body screaming at him; not eating well was taking its toll on him. His powers mean that he needs to eat more than other people; his fast metabolism is kicking his ass right now. 

Even with his shut-in, Peter was glad he was smart enough to do as much research as he could in this new place. Gotham was the home of Batman and his sidekicks, including some villains as well. There are a lot of villains, actually. There were more heroes in this universe than in his old one.

 Old one? It felt unnerving to think his home was not. Peter didn’t know if he was making any sense to himself anymore. 

Peter's next stop is Gotham City Public Library. He remembered sneaking in on his first day in this world, and there, he could recharge Karen.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Bruce didn’t know what to make of the energy surge that had appeared weeks ago. Although another surge hadn’t occurred since, it was still putting him on edge. He was used to investigating with less information, yet this anomaly surged and then vanished out of nowhere. Just the stench of it was making him jittery at what was to come. He understood that this was Red Hood’s territory new player in Gotham’s crime scene that he needed to investigate. So far, Red Hood had been establishing a reputation among other villains in the area, but he hadn’t yet involved civilians in his schemes. However, the moment that changed, Bruce found himself glancing at the cases of suits in the Batcave. He would have to put a stop to this new power in Gotham. His eyes first settled on the Batman suit and then on a particular Robin costume. His commitment to cleaning up Crime Alley stared back at him—tattered and stained with blood and grime.

It's been a few years since Jason's grave was discovered to be empty. It haunted him to know someone had taken him. Changed him. He still couldn't find anything on it. If Hush had never come to town back then, he probably wouldn't have ever known.

He looked back at the location where the energy surge had originated and leaned back in his chair. He made preparations in case anything else occurred with the same frequency and energy, ensuring that the Batcomputer would alert him. If only the surge did not mess with the electronics in the area Bruce could have had a clear picture of what it was.

Shifting his research focus on something else. He typed up a file he has been updating for years, as if it were a routine task. His eyes glossed over the information before he stood up and walked away, leaving the computer to stare at his back, haunted by the words that followed the Batman everywhere he went.

Is Joker finally gone from Gotham?

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The Joker is Back!

Updated File: Jason Wayne Todd, Alive(?)_

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

First, Peter did not know how he ended up here, just that now he was here. He did not realize just how different Gotham was at night and got himself lost. He had originally walked up to the building to ask the security for directions, but they had asked if he was there for an interview.

He was not passing this up. He could take some more time getting Karen back up, especially if he could surprise the AI by having a job. That is how he got himself in The Iceberg Lounge.

The dimly lit atmosphere of the Lounge buzzed with quiet conversations and the soft clinking of glasses. Shadows danced along the walls as Peter Parker sat at a sleek, icy-blue table, nervously tapping his fingers on the polished surface. He glanced around, taking in the extravagant decor that seemed to echo the glimmering ice sculptures lining the bar. The air carried a hint of something sweet, mingling with the crisp scent of mint.

Peter couldn’t quite understand it, but he felt like his hearing had become sharper. The noise around him seemed unbearably loud, even though he had been to wilder parties before and managed fine. He had Tony to thank for that. Is this another change he was experiencing? He couldn't wait to update Karen on this. Hopefully, there is some information about others who have gone through similar changes that can help him adapt better.

When the security guard asked him if he was there for an interview, they pointed him inside, had him sit down, and said, "Lark will meet with you when she can." Lark? Peter realized he should have paid more attention to Gotham's people when Karen gave him a rundown. His palms started to sweat. Hopefully, he wasn't getting himself into anything bad. Again. 

He listened to other people around him, trying to catch snippets of their conversations. A name that got thrown around a lot was the Penguin. Apparently, he was the owner, and people did not want to cross him. That's when he found out Lark was one of three women Penguin had as his right-hand woman (?). Of course, he found himself in the presence of one of Gotham's known villains.

Soon, Lark finally came over. She sat down and leaned back in her seat, studying Peter intently with her discerning eyes. She exuded confidence, and her sharp black outfit accentuated her poised demeanor. "So," She waited for him to give him his name.

“Peter.”

“Peter,” she began, her tone both inviting and challenging, "what can you tell me about yourself?"

Peter swallowed hard, trying to shake off his nerves. "Well, I just moved to Gotham recently," he replied, flashing a nervous smile. "I’m looking for a job, and I enjoy working with people." Wow, he was totally acing this. Smooth, Peter, just smooth.

Lark raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Enjoy working with people, huh? How do you handle a busy night at the bar? It can get quite chaotic around here."

“I've had my share of— interesting nights. Back in New York, I worked at a coffee shop, and those rush hours were always a test of speed and skill." He chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood. "I guess you could say I’m used to juggling multiple tasks at once." He really was just taking MJ’s credit with the whole coffee shop thing, thank goodness he listened to her rants about the ins and outs of that place.

The corners of Lark's lips curled into a smirk. "Interesting. So, what’s your experience with drinks? Can you whip up a mean cocktail, or?"

Peter's eyes widened slightly, and he was not prepared for this, I mean he has mixed drinks for him and Tony before... “Oh, I can mix drinks and also make a mean milkshake if that’s something on the menu here. I’ve tried my hand at a few cocktail recipes, but I’m not thoroughly trained. My friends say I have a knack for mixing flavors. I suppose it’s like chemistry, right? You combine the right elements and hope for the best.” The Avengers count as friends, right?

Lark nodded, seemingly impressed. “I like a guy who can appreciate the art of mixing drinks. We need someone who can engage with our clientele while keeping the drinks flowing. And” she leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “you’re not half bad to look at either.”

Peter felt a flush creep up his cheeks but managed to maintain his composure. “I’d love to help out here. The atmosphere is amazing,” he said, fiddling with his collar as if it were hot, in a place full of ice. “And I think I could fit right in.”

Lark’s expression brightened as she slid a small card across the table toward him. “Welcome to The Iceberg Lounge, Peter. You start tomorrow night,” she said, her tone indicating both approval and excitement. “Just remember, it’s not just about the drinks. it’s about knowing how to handle anyone who walks through those doors.”

“Just like that?” Peter called back. That felt easy—too easy—and she didn't even ask about paperwork or anything.

Lark chuckled as she waved him off, “Don’t get a lot of people trying to work for the Penguin these days.” As she disappeared, she left one last confirmation, “Enjoy your new employed life.”

That just confirmed it, The Penguin was definitely one of the villains Karen listed. He rested his head on the table, wondering what mess he had gotten himself into now. The pit in his stomach was starting to gnaw at him, and his senses were twitching. Not a good sign, Peter. That is not a good sign. There goes Karen being excited for him, she's going to lecture him when she hears about this.

+†+🪦+†+

Red Hood perched on the ledge of a rooftop, his intense gaze fixed on the glimmering façade of The Iceberg Lounge, the Penguin's infamous stronghold. He meticulously scrutinized the venue, acutely aware that his scheme to eliminate the Penguin and usurp his empire was drawing near.

After his first return to Gotham, he learned from his mistakes. He was enraged, speaking the words Talia had told him. May his plan with Hush have been the biggest in Gotham's history of villains teaming up, beautifully orchestrated. He never got to reveal that it was him, that he was alive, and that he wanted justice for his death. Yet the way Bruce fought him, how angry he became, thinking Clayface was ruining the image of his fallen soldier, caused him to change plans and take a step back.

Talia had definitely manipulated him again, had fucked his head before his mind was repaired. His memories of the past were still foggy for him, but from the key details Talia gave him, the look on Bruce's face didn’t add up. What he does know now is that Batman relied on a ruined system for far too long. Criminals walked every day from a system he hasn’t even tried to fix.

This time, he was going to do what Bruce couldn’t do: protect the little guys. He was going to clean up Crime Alley with a gun in his hand. He’ll use the contacts he made as Hush to take control. Maybe with his staking claim, one of these nut jobs would release the Joker again.

He was going to make a show of himself doing it. The dead Jason Todd coming back alive to kill Joker. Oh, he could taste the chaos that Bruce would have to clean up afterward. He was going to make the man watch as he did everything Joker did to him back. Show him everything that happened. But before that, Hood needed more ground. His standing was small, even with him taking all of Black Mask's lead drug dealers. He needed to make his name bigger, so the fallout was glorious. 

 Suddenly, his attention was captured by the tousled dark brown hair of a man walking out of the building, who was engaging in a rather awkward farewell with the bouncers stationed outside. A self-satisfied smirk dawned on Red Hood’s face, this unconventional method of gathering intelligence was proving to be quite effective. Get the scrawny worker to give him intel from the inside and bingo.

After completing his survey and familiarizing himself with most of the lounge's layout, Red Hood followed the man closely. He made sure to stay out of sight, but he couldn't help but notice that the man kept glancing around, even looking directly at the spot where Red Hood was hiding multiple times. This was becoming increasingly interesting.

When they reached the worst part of Crime Alley, Hood easily marked the location of the building the shorter man entered. He had expected someone coming out of Penguin's lair to live in a different area. He should consider a different approach. Red Hood tapped his gun thoughtfully against his thigh.

“Meta, huh?” He tilted his head, taking in the man's appearance and mannerisms. “Definitely something with that sense of his.” He grinned underneath his mask. “This could be fun.” 

Before he could make his move, the sight of the Bat symbol in the sky stopped him. He staggered slightly, images pouring through his mind and past. His head burned in pain as he was reminded of all the symbol held. Quickly he pulled out a small handheld radio and tuned in on the police frequency.

“This is Officer Forbes, no eyes on the Bat, Fire still spreading to the east route, lost sightings on the assailant.”

“Acknowledge. Code 2, Reroute all cruisers to civilian evacuation then. We don’t have time to chase a dead end. This is a 904 in progress. Be advised hostiles could still be in the area, This is a 10-3 until further notice.”

“Ackno— “

“Code 8, 10-20 in Cathedral Square. On foot, multiple assailants. Bats on…” Static

Every last self-control he had was out the window. Letting out a growl, his mission changed, and he left the area, not noticing a set of Hazel eyes that watched as he went.

Chapter Text

Like most nights, Peter had trouble sleeping; this time, there was no Karen to ease him. It also doesn’t help he fucked up twice yesterday. Getting hired to bartend for the Penguin, staying out too late to even get to the library, and leading someone back to his hideout. Peter couldn't shake the image of the figure he had seen on the roof—a red helmet, a leather jacket, and a partially obscured red symbol on his chest. He kept closing his eyes, trying to identify who the person was.

Were they one of the heroes Karen had told him about, a villain? But nothing matched his memory. Perhaps it was someone new, and that thought frightened Peter. 

He really hoped it wasn’t another villain; if it were, Karen would grow a body to strangle him. Goodness, if he had just gone and tried to find some other place to charge Karen, he wouldn’t have shown the stalker his place. He should have trusted his senses. Even if he couldn’t trust himself, the spider gene in him hadn’t done him wrong. He had dismissed the feeling as paranoia, a result of being indoors for too long. Now, he cursed himself as he rested his head on his arms. He should have been more cautious and trusted his instincts.

He had rushed inside the moment he saw the other spying on him. Managed to knock a lamp over while scrambling. It’s only been a few hours since then; the sun hasn’t even peeked through the buildings yet. He should really try to sleep, or better yet finally clean up his mess. Peter glanced at the broken glass, and his hazel eyes stared back at him.

When was the last time he looked at himself? He picked up the glass and moved it around to see his face. His ears were pointer, and even his hair turned a darker color. He tilted his chin slightly and opened his mouth, revealing small fangs. Could he even trust his body anymore? He felt himself changing, adapting to this place. The transformation scared him. Looking away, he couldn't keep staring at his reflection; he had become skinnier, even malnourished.

How long has it been? A month since he was thrown into this new universe. He wanted to throw up at the sight of himself. He has changed so much, and yet it still felt like everything went down yesterday. He could still remember how Ned and MJ looked at him as he stepped through the portal and how Stran-Stephen said goodbye. It was still a fresh wound that burned like an open fire. His body felt like an infection ready to rip him apart.

At least he kept his eye color—the color he shared with his father. He let that ease his mind, not even realizing a moment ago that he was choking himself. That through his memories and disgust of his body going against him, he didn't realize his mind was also battling him, holding him tightly, taking away his breath, causing his vision to blur. It wasn’t until he snapped out of it that he realized the pain, the sting, the twitching of his fingers and huffs of his breath.

Karen would have been yelling at him right now if she could. Initiating some type of program, Tony made just in case, maybe this one would be: Anti Self-Murder protocol. 

He shifted his thoughts away from the topic, disgusted with himself and his actions regarding what he had just done. He should be stronger than this. He looked at the nanites wrapped around his wrists like thick bracers. Ideas poured into his mind; maybe he could have them form into hearing aids for himself? His hearing was slowly becoming more overwhelming. It hadn’t been a problem before, but now that it was heightened, it was driving him slowly to insanity. It could be adjusted to his dull senses, and a good bonus is that when Karen is back online, she could speak to him secretly through them. That way he doesn't have to leave her anywhere. 

Getting back up, he looked at the few items he had on him initially before he got transported to this new place: his wallet, which contained items that wouldn’t work here, like his cards and old ID, since the years didn't match up. Which also clearly told people he was from the future. A note, which Peter crumbled up and threw to the side after staring at it long enough. Bad memories.

Remember October 17, 2023. There was no point in the date now since he is in a new place.

A date that changed the world forever once more. Everyone who got blipped came back; he came back. But they lost so much; they lost Natasha, a fellow arthropod who taught him some more moves that would work in his fighting style. And—

His eyes watered profusely as he struggled to clean up the glass and trash. 

Mr. Stark… Peter went to the next item and looked at the little cash he had in his pocket. Maybe this place had the same currency? Peter hoped. He then proceeded to combine his cash from his pocket with the stack that was in the bag Stephen gave him. He still needed to go through that fully, but it wasn’t the time. Emotionally, that is. 

Since he couldn’t sleep, He might as well try it out if the currency were the same. Maybe even finally find the goddamn Library again since it was early in the morning now…

Finding a clothing store turned out to be more difficult than he anticipated, especially since he had to walk farther than he had in Gotham. He was glad he had changed the nanites in his suit to include noise-canceling hearing aids. At least he knew sign language; that way, if anyone asked, he could easily explain his situation. 

As Peter searched for more fitted clothes, he glanced down at his long-sleeved shirt and jeans. They would work for his new job, which felt strange to admit. He then looked at his unruly hair; it had grown long during the weeks he had been here, and he thought he should probably get it cut when he returned home. Fortunately, the cash he had worked in this universe as well. Thank goodness, this world, although different, had that in common with its own.

Peter continued walking and decided to use some of the remaining cash to buy food, just a small snack and cans. Although he was hungry and could have eaten a lot more, he restrained himself, knowing he might need the money later.

Finally, he found the Gotham City Public Library, which he had used sometime before. He walked in, this time instead of sneaking to the computers like he did when he first got here, he went to the front. The scent of aged paper and polished wood instantly wrapped around him like a familiar warm blanket. Dressed in a simple black long-sleeved shirt and well-worn pants, he contrasted sharply with the bustling crowds. 

He approached the front desk with a slight smile. The librarian, Barbara Gordon- he remembered her from the last time. When Karen gave him information about the police force, Commissioner Gordon was mentioned, along with his daughter, who worked in the very library they were in. Fairly sure Karen had said to be cautious with her. Oh well. He had heard her talking with someone back then, but now she was reorganizing a stack of books. Her striking red hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and her glasses perched on her nose gave her an air of intelligence and calm.

“Excuse me,” Peter said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I’m Parker. I was hoping to get some help with the computers?”

Barbara looked up, her green eyes lighting up as she met his gaze. “Of course! I’m Barbara. Is this your first time here?”

Peter shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Well, I was here before, but the last time, I think I was more focused on getting away from… let's say some unrelated business.” He chuckled lightly, scratching the back of his head.

Barbara raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Unrelated business, huh? Sounds mysterious. But don’t worry, it’s all free access to the public!” She gestured to the rows of computers; each filled with people focused on their screens.

“For real? That’s great!” Peter responded, his mind racing with ideas of how useful this could be for his “research.” He glanced around, taking in the comforting atmosphere of bookshelves stacked high and the soft murmur of other patrons lost in their worlds.

As they continued their conversation, Barbara leaned against the desk, her demeanor relaxed yet engaged. “What are you looking to research, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Just some school projects,” he replied, his tone as casual as he could make it. “Nothing too exciting. You know, just the usual stuff.” He felt a twinge of unease, knowing that he was avoiding the truth. Were his palms getting sweaty?

“I see. Well, if you need any specific resources or assistance, just let me know,” she offered warmly. “I might even be able to help you find some… more interesting material.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and Peter couldn't help but chuckle.

“Sounds like a plan,” Peter said, feeling a bit more at ease. As the conversation flowed, he found himself genuinely enjoying her company, laughing at her jokes about the quirky patrons who often visited.

“By the way,” she ventured, her tone slightly more serious, “Can I get your number? Just in case you need any help with those projects or anything else. We could even chat about book recommendations.”

Peter hesitated. “Uh, I don’t actually have a phone right now…”

Barbara’s expression softened; her smile unwavering. “No worries! Here.” She pulled out a slip of paper, neatly writing down her number. “When you do get one, just keep this for me. I promise I don’t bite.”

Peter took the paper, their fingers brushing briefly. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’ll make sure to reach out.” He felt a hint of excitement at the prospect of staying in touch with her. 

As he turned to walk towards the computers, Barbara called after him, a teasing lilt in her voice. “And Peter, I hope your unrelated business doesn’t keep you from visiting again!”

He turned back, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll do my best. See you around, Barbara!” 

With that, he walked past some books as he went to settle into a computer chair. A section labeled engineering caught his attention. He stopped for a moment, letting his fingers glaze across the shelf. ‘Afterwards,’ he thought, continuing his mission to charge Karen. A new sense of anticipation buzzed within him. Maybe they had different equations or solutions to probabilities. It was something he definitely wanted to look into.

As he sat in one of the chairs, he let his hair cover his ears, and he had the nanites turn into a USB and put it into the computer. " Alrighty, Karen,” he said softly. “Let’s get you charged up.” he couldn’t wait to hear the AI’s voice again. Looking at the screen, he decided to pass the time by researching all he could about Gotham. 

Cracking his knuckles, he leaned forward with a grin, “Time to work, Parker.”

+†+🪦+†+

Red Hood staggered against the building, and he could feel his hot breath beating against his helmet. Holding his arm as blood continued to gush out, “Dammit.” His eyes seemed to focus finally, and the dizziness and fog disappeared slowly, letting him finally have a clear line of thought. 

Taking a deep breath, he looked up, trying to remember what had happened during his anger. The memories slowly returned. After what he liked to call the haze, when he got really angry and dizziness fogged his head, he lost control and charged into a shootout without thinking. No plan, no escape route, nothing.

He was trained better then that. He knew better then that. Why is it every time something reminds him of that goddamn clown or Bat he always feels like his body is backed into a corner. Like he’s going feral as memories dug into his skull, vibrating at a painful tune. It was so hard to think straight when those episodes happened.

 He could still smell the smoke and blood in the air from his violent encounter. He even had a run-in with the new Robin. Fuck his head hurts.

 Another child soldier, he thought Batman was done with the traffic light children running around him after his mistake with him.

He knew Talia had mentioned it in passing, even showed photos but it never really registered fully in him. He was still caught up with Batman letting that lunatic run around Gotham still.

Now there’s another Robin for joker to play with “God—” He turned toward the wall and punched it with his good hand. “Fucking dammit!” he seethed. That wasn’t how he wanted to make his first appearance on Batman's radar.

He knew Bruce well enough to know about the ‘Red Hood,’ but he hadn’t interacted with them yet. He had a precise plan in place for the best outcome. A show that’ll leave the Bat on the edge of his seat and maybe even stumble. Now he has to rework again, fix the holes he had just shot into it with this stunt he pulled. 

He really needed to check up on Robin since Hood blew up the place in which they were fighting. If he hadn’t been shot, He wondered if the teen would have survived his anger. He wanted to say it wasn’t his fault since the little punk attacked him first, but he knew better deep down. That was a child, and he let them swing and responded in kind- to someone who could be walking in his footsteps, an early grave.

Taking a second to cool down, Red Hood looked down at his arm and grunted. That's going to take a second to heal. Using his uninjured hand, he felt around, trying to find the exit wound. None. It was just his luck. He really needed to get his shit together. Who knew working alone was a lot harder than orchestrating Gotham's Villains was? Maybe his mind was tainted—

“—Oh.”

Instantly reacting to the noise, Red Hood drew his gun and pointed it at the figure in the alley. As he recognized the familiar dark brown curls, he cursed under his breath. His target for getting intel from the Lounge was right in front of him. At least this gives him a chance to see the guy clearly. He had a babyish face, teen? The guy looks short and skinny enough to be one, but he just came out of The Iceberg Lounge. He was either killing this guy here or coming out with the informant he needed.

He watched them slowly raise their hands in an awkward gesture of surrender. “That doesn’t look good, especially since the bullet is clearly still lodged in there.” Hood tilted his head, hearing soft static from the man. 

Did he have comms? Ah, hearing aids, he's about to beat up a deaf man, just his luck. Jason lowered the gun slightly while in thought, a plan trying to form in his head.

“Uh...” the other tried to speak.

“Not now.” Jason tapped the gun on his helmet, “I’m thinking.”

“Sir?”

Jason snorted, “Sir? I’m not that old.” He was going to continue his rant but stopped himself. “No, shut it. I’m trying to decide if I need to shoot you or not.”

The young adult stiffened and gave an awkward laugh, “I vote not to be shot,” he said, glancing back out at the street before stepping further into the alley. “How ‘bout I help instead?”

This could be a good chance to judge the others' character. He could bring him to one of his false hideouts. Out of the way, easy to get rid of a body. But does he want to deal with a cleanup like that? Weighing his options and noticing that they didn’t seem like a threat for now, Hood spun his gun back into its holster and returned to holding the wound. “Thanks,” he said, preparing to turn to leave. “But no thanks, kid.”

“Not a kid!” the man retorted. “I can take the bullet out right here if that makes you more comfortable.” Hood could feel the them glancing around the area. “Though it nasty as fu- but that all on you, man.”

Red Hood turned slightly to side-eye them. He pondered what to do; he could let them work on his hand or hurt them back if they tried anything or fucked it up. He could even use this chance to get information out of this “not a kid.” Even better, he could gain some trust and use them to provide him with intel inside the Lounge.

Ah, fuck it, “Fine.” He turned back around, “Helmet stays on.” then he started walking away, “and no way in hell are you fixing me up in this shit fucking alley.” 

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Holy crap, this is just Parker’s luck, isn’t it? Of course, on his way back, he runs into his stalker. Great, just great.

“Peter, be careful. This individual is armed with multiple weapons and has an injury on their right arm—a bullet wound. Based on their attire, this is the person known as Red Hood, an up-and-coming crime lord.”

Peter nodded before raising his hands. “Uh...” He tried to speak only for Hood to shush him instantly. Rude.

“Not now.” The Crime lord tapped the gun on his helmet, “I’m thinking.” Peter couldn’t tell if the other was fully paying attention to him. But the way his senses are screaming at him; he will not risk it. 

“Sir?” He tried again after a second.

A weird noise filtered through the other's helmet, “Sir? I’m not that old.” Peter felt embarrassed but let the man continue, only for the gun to get pointed at him again. “No, shut it. I’m trying to decide if I need to shoot you or not.”

Peter felt himself freeze and gave an awkward laugh, “I vote not to be shot,” that was not on his bucket list, and he needed to be ready for his first shift at the Lounge. Glancing back out at the street, Peter debated whether to book it or not. Yet his fingers twitched with resistance. Damn him for wanting to help others. He took another step further into the alley. “How about I help instead?”

He was surprised at how easily he managed to convince the crime lord to let him assist. Wasn’t this supposed to be an untrusting place? From what he had read up on Gotham, it was a dog-eat-dog world. Wouldn’t be the first time the media was wrong, though. Following Red Hood wherever they were headed was simple enough. Luckily, he didn’t feel his spider-sense tingling anymore.

With his newfound heightened hearing, Peter could hear the pain in Red Hood's breath as he led him effortlessly on rooftops. Peter would have thought the wound wasn’t as bad if it weren’t for that tale. 

On Gotham's gritty skyline, the sunrise was a cavalcade of shadows, with only the faint glimmers of the morning rays cutting through the oppressive darkness. On one such rooftop, Red Hood stood imposingly, his crimson helmet glinting ominously, its eyes glowing like the embers of a dying fire. Beside him, Peter shifted uncomfortably, feeling both out of place and oddly exhilarated.

“Alright, Curls,” Red Hood said, his voice laced with mischief, the kind that only arises when danger feels like an old friend. Suddenly, he placed a watch? Bracelet? On Peter’s hand, catching him completely off guard. “What the—?”

Red Hood snapped, irritation radiating off him like heat from a fire. “You want to help or not?”

Peter glanced around nervously. “So, I’m supposed to follow a guy in a helmet across the Gotham rooftops with—,” He dangled the band in front of his face, trying to analyze what it was.” With a tiny bomb on me? Sounds legit.”

“A bomb?” Peter could hear the buzz of laughter through Hood's helmet. “You think this,” he gestured to the band, “is a bomb? Trust me, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t need a tiny itty bomb to do it.” Hood took a second to compose himself, “You wouldn’t even get the chance to complain.”

“Sorry, Peter. I can’t analyze the band in this form, and it's too risky to send any nanites out.”

“And yet here we are,” Peter shot back, crossing his arms. He muffled a frustrated groan. He really had hoped Karen would be able to figure it out. “I mean, I don’t know… A, okay. What is it? Seriously?” Peter huffed.

Hood was still applying pressure to his wound as he stood watch over Peter. “Think of it as an access key,” he said, proceeding to walk closer to the edge of the roof. “Not having it on you might get you blown up, electrocuted, or trapped. At least there's no water traps. Your boss, Penguin, has all the licensing for that.”

Peter felt his mouth drop at the list of traps around Hood’s hideout, but that was quickly replaced with a different emotion when Hood outed his job with the penguin. Dammit.

“What does Red Hood mean by employee of the Penguin, Peter.”

Gonna ignore that, sorry Karen, “Wait- How?” time to give this guy a piece of his own medicine, “You know what, Mr. Stalker. With the getup and creeping around, I can’t even tell if you just shot yourself—”

“I’m not,” Red Hood interrupted, his voice nearly a growl. “Why would I want to do that? You’re the one who insisted on playing doctor, right? Or did you forget?”

“Of course, I didn’t forget. But this all feels complicated.” Peter replied, his tone was a mix of sass and genuine concern. “You have a way of complicating simple things.”

Red Hood emitted a short, humorless laugh. “Welcome to Gotham, buddy. Complications are our specialty.”

At that moment, Karen Peters piped in again—her voice tinged with urgency, letting Peter ignore her once, it seems. “Peter, are you sure about this? He could be leading you into one of those traps.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Karen,” Peter muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if to rattle his doubts.

Red Hood, misinterpreting the gesture, chuckled darkly. “What’s the matter? Afraid?”

“I’m not afraid,” Peter replied defiantly, though uncertainty crept in from the corners of his mind. “Just. Unprepared is all.” Peter put the bracelet on, “Rethinking my choices on helping a crime lord who looks like he just walked out of a comic book.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Curls,” Red Hood said, stopping to check their surroundings. 

Was that even considered flattering? Peter has no idea. “Sure, whatever you say, Big guy. But next time, can we tone down the edge lord bit?”

“There won't be a next time,” Red Hood replied, his voice dropping a warning.

“Uh-huh, sure, mister stalker,” Peter muttered as they continued onward.

“And a big mouth,” Red Hood shot back, his annoyance mixing with an unexpected hint of amusement. “But I’d suggest you keep it under control if you want to make it through the day.”

“Fair enough,” Peter said, accepting the challenge. With a reluctant grin, he added, “But just so you know, if you’re going to be my patient, I’ll need you to ease up on the judgment.”

“Not a chance,” Red Hood retorted as they finally reached the edge of the rooftop. “Now stop talking before I really get mad.”

Without warning, Red Hood turned around and fell off the side of the building, starting to make his way to one of his hideouts. “Still following, curls?” 

Peter began to regret his decision. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Darn it for caring about injured people—stupid stalker, “Yeah, I’m following!” he shouted, trying to keep up without using his powers.

After trailing behind the crime lord, Peter swears he recognizes some of those moves. Thinking back to his research, he felt like he was watching a blend of Batman and Robin jumping around. Maybe he knew them? Is that why Batman hasn’t stopped his operation yet? Though from the pattern of appearances online, it doesn't seem he keeps in touch with Crime Alley, so maybe not?

Peter couldn’t help but cringe seeing some of the things Hood was pulling, oh, his poor arm. 

When they finally made it to the Peter felt the band vibrate as if it was sending a signal to something. As he steps behind Hood, he felt his spider senses spike as an axe swung down but stopped inches away from his face and pulled itself back up, “What the fu-”

“Traps.” Hood shrugged and stepped into the apartment fully.

Peter pointed upward at the concealed trap that had nearly caught him off guard. “That’s dramatic! What, did you draw inspiration from George Lucas or something? 

Red Hood tilted his head. “You read?”

Peter shrugged. “I watched the movies?” 

With a dismissive shake of his head, Red Hood replied, “You've completely lost my interest.” He then walked into the hideout. “Hello, safe house. Hello, Couch.” He then plopped himself onto the old, frayed couch. With a huff, kicking his feet up, “Let me know when you're ready. There should be some shit in that cabinet right there.” He tilted his head back, seemingly using it to point at the one.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna have to take off your shirt, you know.” He walked towards the cabinet and opened the area the Hood gestured to, finding medical equipment inside.

“That excited to see me shirtless, curls?” Peter could feel the smirk on his face.

Peter looked disapproving as he pulled out antiseptic and bandages. This was the first time someone had called him curls like an insult. “I’m not excited to see anything. I'm just trying to make sure you don’t bleed out on your floor.”

“Could have fooled me.” 

Peter took a moment to himself as Red Hood sat on the couch. Was this the right decision? He looked around the place, which was mostly empty and seemed like just a quick place to crash. Turning back to Red Hood, who remained motionless on the couch, Peter could hear his steady breathing from where he stood. Is he having the same thoughts?

—Was it a good idea to bring the person he had followed to one of his safe houses to patch him up?

This was the best way to assess the man and see what he wanted. However, considering Red Hood is a crime lord, Peter needs to be extra cautious about the man's intentions. Damn, his first day out of the house, and he was already being stalked. Gotham continued to surprise him with how twisted it was.

Peter stared at the equipment in his hand and let out a small breath. 

Time to get to work.

“Ready?” Peter announced as he walked around to the front of the couch.

Red Hood stretched before making room for Peter to sit beside him. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he huffed.

“You going to move your sleeve so I can work on it?” Peter asked.

Standing up, Red Hood turned away from Peter and removed his helmet. Peter stared at the back of his head, noticing the armor wrapped around his neck and over his ears. He then caught sight of Red Hood's back, where scars crisscrossed his skin, each one seemingly from different battles. Nothing could have prepared Peter for when Red Hood turned back around to face his helmet back on, of course. Peter’s eyes widened, not just because of the man's impressive physique but also due to the prominent autopsy scars visible on his body.

"That's quite a bit of staring you've got going on, curls." Hood remarked with a hint of amusement as he settled back into his chair, deliberately positioning himself so that his injury was facing Peter. He flexed his muscles in a playful show of strength, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

Peter, however, seemed lost in his thoughts, his brow furrowed as he fixated on the deep, jagged scars that crisscrossed Hood’s skin. “Why do you have autopsy scars?” he finally blurted out, a mix of curiosity and disbelief in his voice.

Hood leaned back; the easy grin still plastered on his face. "Well," he said, dragging out the moment, "because I died."

Peter's eyes widened in shock. “You died?” he repeated incredulously as if trying to grasp the reality of what he had just heard.

Only people he knew that died and came back was during the blip, did this universe get effect too?

—You died too, Peter. You died too, Peter. You died too, Peter. You died too, Peter. You died too, Peter. You died too, Peter. You died too, Peter.

“Yeah,” Hood replied nonchalantly, “but I got better.” Peter knew from Hood's body language that he winked. His lighthearted tone contrasted sharply with the weight of his words, creating an eerie yet oddly comforting atmosphere in the room.

“Should I ask?”

“No.” He then paused before continuing, “You going to patch me up or not?”

Shaking his head, Peter began to work. Since he was using nanites to remove the bullet from Red Hood's wound, he was without Karen's guidance this time. It was back to the basics for him. He disinfected what he could before starting the extraction, making sure the nanites were mostly concealed. Don't need any questions about them.

As he began to remove the bullet, Red Hood struck up a conversation again, trying to suppress the pain. "Do you always patch up dangerous people on the street?" he asked.

"Do you always accept help from strangers?" Peter replied.

"Touche," Red Hood grumbled. "Doctor?" he asked.

Peter removed the bullet, and Hood winced, “I’m just good with my hands.” After setting the bullet aside, Peter began stitching up the wound. Feeling more confident, he jokingly remarked in the friendliest tone he could manage, “So, you always stalk people home?”

He really needed to know what this guy motive was.

“Just the ones leaving the Penguin's Lair.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into until I was already being interviewed.”

“Are you an idiot?” Red Hood stared at Peter for a moment, “Actually, Don’t answer that.” Before Peter could retaliate to Hoods name calling the other threw his good hand behind the couch and leaned back a little further.

 “So, you’re new in town or something?” Peter could sense the subtle judgment in Red Hood's tone. “It’s hard for people to mistake a known villain’s hideout around here.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I just arrived in town, actually, and needed a job.”

“Being Penguin’s goon pays well?”

“More like a bartender, and we’ll see.” Peter felt a wave of embarrassment for a second. “I kind of forgot to ask how much I’ll be getting paid.” The nanites slowly returned to their previous form, resting in Peter's ears.

“You mean to tell me you took a job without knowing your pay or who your employer is?” Red Hood shifted to face Peter more.

Peter took the bandages and started wrapping them around the other arm. “If it helps, I’ve been going through it.”

“Aren't we all?” When Peter finished wrapping Hood's arm. The crime lord stands up, “Now for business.”

Peter felt his spider-sense go off as Red Hood pulled out a gun and pointed it at Peter.

Hood tilted his head, “You’re way too trusting and also impulsive.” He made some distance between the two of them, “That's gonna get you killed.”

“It wouldn't be the first time,” Peter shrugged.

Yeah he should of probably listened more back then. Good times. Not really, those were some fucked up times. A lot of people died actually. Really not fun, Zero out of Five stars for real. Can he leave a yelp review for a universe? If so, one star.

Red shifted his feet. “Not the time to unpack that,” he said, flipping his gun around and resting it on his shoulder. “Now that you’ve made this easier for me, thanks for the help, by the way.” Peter rolled his eyes. “New bartender of the Penguin. You're working for me now.” Red Hood smirked beneath his helmet.

“I need eyes inside the lounge, and unfortunately for you, you’ve caught my attention.” He pointed his gun at Peter again. “What do you say? Give me the intel I want, and I won't kill you.”

“That seems quite fair,” Peter replied, trying to sound casual while still pushing his limits.

“And” Hood continued, “I can offer you some decent cash and protection while you assist me.”

Peter was somewhat surprised by these additional incentives. There was definitely something unique about this crime lord. Perhaps there was more to him than he was letting on. A vigilante? It wouldn't be the first time he had seen heroes’ resort to using guns.

“Peter, I’m against you working for this crime lord, but Penguin is a known problem on the streets of Gotham,” Karen said, giving her input about the situation.

He hated his hero complex. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Fine.” Peter stood up slowly. “I’ll do it, but how will I contact you? I don’t have a phone.”

Red Hood tucked his gun into its holster. Still shirtless, he walked over to a box in the corner and rummaged through it before tossing a random device into Peter’s hands.

“A burner,” Hood replied before Peter could ask. “I’ll message you after your first shift.”

Peter stared at the bulky, oddly shaped phone in his hand. It was nothing like the sleek devices he was used to. He then looked back at Hood, who appeared to be waiting for something.

“Thank you?”

Yeah, it’s official—I’m screwed.

Chapter Text

Jason had a lot on his mind, Peter was a part of it but mostly his plan took up most of the space. He watched the shorter man walked back into his building. Following him home helped him double check if this place was really his residence. He was able to do a little surveying and research and knew this area was abandoned after a deadly attack. No water or electricity. He really knew how to pick them.

He should really have Thompkins double-checked the stitching; Curls did. Even if it felt fine, he was not about to trust a random stranger with his wounds. He may have made a show of it, trying to win the other over but that was all it was, winning them over so he could have a guy on the inside.

He was good at pretending, grew up acting and died still playing a role. It came naturally like a shield he had against anyone. Now he still had a city to take over.

Standing at the edge of the rooftop gazing down at the sprawling metropolis of Gotham below. The city, cloaked in shadows and illuminated by flickering streetlights, was a chaotic tapestry of despair and decay. As he observed the crumbling buildings and graffiti-laden walls, a surge of rage welled up within him. It was a visceral anger, raw and demanding, ignited by the knowledge of the suffering that permeated the streets.

Every day, innocent children navigated the treacherous alleys of their neighborhoods, their laughter drowned out by the echoes of violence and fear. The weight of their plight pressed heavily on his conscience; it gnawed at him with an urgency that could not be ignored. He felt an overwhelming need to hunt down those who perpetuated this cycle of misery—those who thrived on chaos while the most vulnerable bore the brunt of it.

To him, they were not just victims; they were the future of the city, and they deserved better. The thought of kids growing up in such a bleak environment filled him with determination. He couldn't stand by any longer. It was time to take action and confront the darkness that threatened to swallow Gotham whole.

He didn't deserve it either.

He grew up on these streets, bleed, cry, Yet he didn’t get the satisfaction to die on them, in his home. And yet he’s back and he’s going to make Joker regret not ending him here.

He had been back in Gotham for what felt like an eternity, the dense, oppressive air of the city constantly wrapping around him like a shroud. His fingers instinctively brushed against the scar veering along his neck—a permanent reminder of past traumas and choices that haunted him. A great deal had unfolded since his return, and now that the truth was out in the open, he held onto the hope that a simple name change, and a flashy new outfit could obscure his identity from the relentless gaze of the Bat. He wasn’t prepared for the inevitable confrontation just yet; he needed more time to find his footing, to reinforce his belief that Batman's rigid moral code was no longer a path he wished to follow.

He needed a drink.

He remembered vividly the moment when Talia had unleashed him into the dark heart of Gotham. The Haze, that clouded his mind had been more potent then; it enveloped him, dulled his senses, and made him a puppet to her strings. Talia possessed an uncanny ability to manipulate him, pressing the right buttons with surgical precision to bend him to her will, wanting him to take out his replacement, Robin.

“You were in a catatonic state when I found you, Jason. I saved you from the streets, molded you and gave you the ultimate gift of bathing the Lazarus pits. You owe me.”

He couldn’t blame her as she did what she could to protect Damien, her love child, with Batman. Should the little brat be around 5? 6 now? The rigorous training for two years Talia put him through before dumping him into Gotham really messed with his time management.

During those tumultuous days, he focused all his pent-up rage on the Joker, the vile harbinger of chaos, pouring every ounce of fury into that single purpose. Using his training it was easy to manipulate and use the villains of Gotham, laying out traps and bait that made them all into his hands. He had Talia to thank for that. He toyed with Batham through them. Making the Dark knight almost loses his edge before he figured it out slowly. Not fully, he didn’t even recognize his own son Infront of him. It was easier to pretend he was something else than not his perfect soldier.

The agonizing weight of it all was profoundly real, deep-seated in his memory, leaving echoes that reverberated through his very being. Reflecting on that day, Jason feels the anger within him boiling over. “Not now!” he seethes. This isn’t the time for another one of his episode. Hells, it always hurts.

As he walked to his main hideout, he was filled with thoughts of his mission involving The Iceberg Lounge. He liked to believe he was a good judge of character… mostly. He had high hopes that Peter would get him the information he wanted. Even if he had to put a gun to the others' heads to get it, the Penguin was a menace that needed to be taken down.

Jason studied his arm, deep in thought, as he replayed the recent events in his mind. The care Peter had taken in patching him up was impressive, almost surprising. He would never admit it out loud, but the procedure had been surprisingly painless for someone used to the sharp jabs of needles and the gritty tug of flesh being stitched. This time, the sensation was different—almost gentle. He couldn't quite recall whether Peter had used tweezers during the operation; his focus had been elsewhere, fixated on coaxing vital information from a reluctant source without pushing too hard.

He was still going to get Thompkins to look over it.

As he examined the neat bandaging, Jason couldn't shake the feeling that Peter was an enigma wrapped in mystery. He was definitely not from Gotham, a fact that stirred a vague sense of unease within Jason. What did it mean for him? Was it a blessing or a curse? Especially since Peter possesses some uncanny sixth sense, a meta-ability that sets him apart from the ordinary denizens of Gotham. Jason wondered what else this stranger might be capable of and what secrets he might harbor.

He already knew if Peter ever made it on the Bats radar he would most likely never get off it. He’s going to have to make sure this new informant of his stays out of trouble.

Getting inside his main hideout, Jason took off his helmet. “Hello, bed.” He instantly let himself fall onto the bed.

Flipping onto his bed, he takes a moment to stare at the ceiling, the familiar cracks and stains telling stories of late-night battles and restless thoughts. He recalls the precise moment when Peter seemed to tense, the way his muscles coiled like a spring as if he had an instinct that Jason intended to pull a gun on him. It’s a strange comfort to know that Peter possesses a keen sense of danger, an intuitive awareness that sets them apart in their dangerous world. He feels less guilty using Peter, who patched him up, the Red Hood, a crime lord, willingly.

Yeah, he needed a nap. Tonight seems like it's going to be eventful.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

How many hours had it been? Peter had lost count as he was too busy distracting himself with an idea that occupied his mind. Had Red Hood been nice enough to take him home? Yes. Even if it was in how own stalkerish way. I mean if you’re going to follow someone home wouldn’t be easier to just say it? They could have talked and stuff? I guess that’s Red Hood for you. Thought even if Peters own rambling did he stay home for long after that getting ‘walked’ home? No.

“Peter, you need to sleep,” Karen said.

Peter rolled his eyes at her. “I’m fine.” He continued down the alley, his footsteps echoing softly against the cracked pavement.

“We still need to communicate about this, working for Penguin, I have been informed about other then you.” Karen was not letting that information go.

Peter scratched his arm in nerves, “It sort of happened, my bad.”

Karen questioned instantly, “Your bad?”

“Parker Luck.” It was definitely Parker Luck that led to that happening, it is sort of the cause of lots of things. At least that is what Ned use to say all the time.

There was a pause, “I wish I was programed with defenses against this.”

Peter laughed, “I wish you did too.” He agreed before continuing his search.

 Along the way down the alleys, he paused at various dumpsters, meticulously searching through the discarded remnants of others' lives. With careful hands, he extracted components from old electronics—circuit boards, tangled wires, and forgotten gadgets—each piece potentially useful for his makeshift inventions. At one point, he even ventured into the musty interior of an abandoned apartment unit. There, he bravely tackled an outdated air conditioning unit, prying it apart and pulling out valuable parts, determined to salvage anything that might serve a purpose in his ongoing projects. The thrill of discovery fueled his efforts as he transformed the detritus of the city into possibilities, claiming this decrepit space as his own.

He didn’t know how long he had been at it, but the small apartment he claimed for himself now had random things all over the floor. He made sure not to step on any. Peter took out the burner. Deciding it was time to upgrade his old burner phone (even though he had only had it for about 4 hours, maybe). With its outdated technology and clunky design, it had become a hindrance rather than a tool. He meticulously reconfigured the device to accommodate Karen.

First, he delved into the phone’s operating system, unlocking its potential through a series of complex modifications. He streamlined the bulky interface, replacing it with a sleek design that was more intuitive. Peter didn’t stop there; he implemented advanced protocols to ensure Karen operated securely, safeguarding both his privacy and the sensitive data she would manage.

He even added personalized touches, like the ability to hack certain things. To even connected to other devices that would have the same modifications in it, for the future. The result was a seamless blend of form and function, transforming the once-awkward burner phone into a reliable device for day-to-day use and one that felt as familiar as electronics from his home world. Oh, how much he missed the advances of his old universe.

After combining the phone and watch, he was happy to see that he had successfully made them able to slowly change form between the two, like the nanites of his suit. All the work with Mr. Stark and the blueprints he had Karen download a long time ago came in handy. It’s been a long time since he used his hands like this.

Fuck he missed it. He should have taken one of those books. His thoughts went to the library and the engineering section.

Closing his eyes, he remembered the rich scent of oil hung in the air, mingling with the rhythmic drumming of rock music pulsing from a nearby speaker. In the midst of this lively atmosphere, Tony was deeply engrossed in his project, surrounded by an array of tools and materials spread out like a painter's palette. As his friends worked alongside him, their playful banter filled the space, creating a warm camaraderie that made the task at hand feel lighter. Between fits of laughter, Tony shared his expertise, offering advice that eased the tension and inspired creativity, allowing each of them to lose themselves in their work. The combination of focused effort and lighthearted conversation turned the workshop into a hub of collaboration and innovation.

Peter felt his chest tighten slightly, and even the good memories filled him with sadness. He stared at his work and design with longing.

“Mr. Stark would have appreciated your work.” Karen pulled him out of his thoughts. Reassuring him. “Being able to communicate with you through your suit and phone will prove useful.”

Peter cleaned up the space a little bit before standing, “Thanks Karen.”

“Of course, Peter.”

Peter stood by the window, gazing out at the stark emptiness of his new apartment. The silence of the room felt overwhelming without the comforting clutter of personal belongings to soften the starkness. He figured he had just a few hours to gather his thoughts and make some changes before his first shift at work. The space felt cavernous and a bit intimidating; he knew he needed to find some furniture to breathe life into it.

As he surveyed the sparse landscape of his surroundings, he noted the meager collection of items that he had accumulated so far. There was a makeshift kitchen constructed from a battered old table and a couple of mismatched pots, a solitary chair that looked as if it had seen better days, and an ancient mattress that lay directly on the floor, the springs creaking with every slight movement. He felt a pang of discomfort at how desolate the place was, the walls devoid of color and personality.

Determined to change this, Peter set off on a mini-expedition throughout the building and nearby structures. His sneakers scuffed the old wooden floors as he navigated the maze of hallways. Luck was on his side; he stumbled upon a sturdy table in one unit and a stack of dusty old blankets in another. Though they were tattered and faded, he could envision how they might add some warmth to the space after they were tossed in the wash.

The apartment appeared to possess a unique feature—an inviting yet somewhat rustic laundry mat located in a cozy basement area. This hidden gem hints at the potential once Peter gets the electricity and water flowing. With these essential utilities in place, he could truly transform the space into something functional and comfortable, making the most of the basement's charm for relaxation or perhaps even additional storage. The possibilities for this area are endless, providing an exciting opportunity for Peter to shape it into a part of his home that reflects his style and needs.

As he rummaged through a few other discarded items, he found several bowls collecting dust in a forgotten corner, a set of cardboard boxes that could serve as makeshift storage, and—much to his delight—a slightly used marker. It was nearly dry, but it would serve his purpose well enough.

Back in his apartment, Peter began organizing the electronics and various items he'd salvaged during his exploration. He carefully placed them into the labeled cardboard boxes, each category clearly marked to help him find things easily in the future. Clothes from his first day were draped over a chair, and he felt a sense of pride as he recalled re-stitching the pants, transforming them from ill-fitting to somewhat tailored. Each small detail was a step towards making this space his own, one piece at a time.

Peter grinned at the work he made. It felt good finally doing shit around here instead of keeping himself in a corner the whole time.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

As Peter stepped through the frosted glass door of The Iceberg Lounge, a chill enveloped him, not just from the crisp air but from the atmosphere that buzzed with mischief and desperation. The dim lightning illuminated the bar, casting a soft glow over the patrons who leaned close., sharing whispers and laughter as they mingled with the clinking of their drinks.

“Welcome to the Iceberg Lounge, Cutie.” Peter startled turned to see Lark walking over to him. She then gestured for him to follow her. The way she was dressed in a sharp suit really did show how close she was with the Penguin. Now with all the research Peter has done on the place he knew now not to get on her bad side.

Surveying everything as they walked past making sure to remember certain things he deemed important. He couldn’t help but admire how Lark navigated through the crowd with confidence as she led him to a calming section of the bar.

At the helm of the bar stood Jay. Peter recognized her from the circling images of police reports he was able to get his hands on and look through. She had short, spiky hair dyed a vibrant turquoise. She exuded a combination of toughness and charm, making her the perfect anchor for the chaos that often unfolded around her. “This is Peter,” Lark announced as they reached the polished granite surface of the bar, her tone matter-of-fact. “He’s new.”

“Fresh meat, huh?” Jay replied, eyeing Peter with an appraising gaze. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Jay smiled before walking away, “This is where I leave you too. Best of luck Peter.”

 Lark waved to Jay before turning back to Peter. She leaned over the bar to get closer. “First things first, know the menu. People here have their favorites, and if you can’t recommend a drink, you’ll lose their trust.”

Peter nodded, trying to take in the array of colorful bottles lined up on shelves behind her. “What’s the most popular drink?” he asked, he really hopes asking questions will put him in Larks good graces.

She seems really passionate about her work in the Bar.

“Depends on the crowd,” Jay replied, grabbing a shaker and expertly mixing a vibrant blue concoction. “For the regulars, it’s the Iceberg Martini — very classic. But for the adventurous types, the Frozen Penguin is a must-try. It’s a mix of rum and blue curaçao, topped with whipped cream.” She set down the shaker with a flourish and held up the glass, the icy drink glimmering under the bar lights.

“Here, you try it,” she said, sliding the drink towards Peter. “You’ve got to know what you’re serving; it’s part of the charm.”

Tentatively, Peter took a sip. The flavor was sweet but with a sharp edge, reminding him of summer nights by the beach. Jay nodded approvingly. “Not too shabby, right? Now, let’s move on to the basics. How to pour a drink without making a mess, and how to handle some of our more… interesting patrons.” 

Peter wasn’t gonna tell Jay he already knew this. Even with how she looked like she could punt his ass, the way she explained things seemed like she enjoyed it way too much He couldn't take that from her. 

As Peter practiced pouring shots and mixing drinks, Jay offered detailed instructions. Her demeanor shifted between playful encouragement and stern professionalism, keeping Peter on his toes. “You’ve got to read the crowd,” she advised, glancing at a table where a couple of rowdy patrons were laughing loudly. “Know when to engage and when to stay hands-off.”

After a while, Peter felt the rhythm of the bar begin to settle around him. The art of mixing drinks, paired with the quick exchanges of banter with customers, felt invigorating. “So, what’s it like working for Penguin?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Jay paused for a moment, crossing her arms against her chest. “It’s not for the faint of heart. Penguin runs a tight ship, but he takes care of his own. You watch your back, and he’ll watch yours.” There was an intensity in her gaze, a lifelong respect for the man who ruled this part of Gotham's underbelly.

“Got it. Just respect the business and know when to draw the line,” Peter replied, he wished he could feel that deep sense of belonging Jay experienced with this place.

By the time Peter finished his shift under Jay’s sharp tutelage, he felt a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

He recalled the chilling accounts he had read about the Penguin's notorious activities. It was unsettling to witness individuals, otherwise respectable and influential, expressing admiration for a man with such a dark reputation. This contradiction sparked an internal struggle within him, nudging him to question the choices he was making in this chaotic milieu.

As he meticulously cleaned a glass, the cool surface gliding through his fingers, he set it aside, lost in thought. He couldn't shake the feeling that sometimes, the most dangerous individuals cloak their true intentions behind a façade of charm and charisma. With a heavy heart, Peter pondered whether this might indeed be one of those perilous situations where appearances were not only deceiving but potentially lethal.

His thoughts wandered to Red Hood. Was helping the up-and-rising crime lord obtain information from the Iceberg lounge a good idea? 

Before Peter could question his actions further, he heard a commotion. His gaze drifted over the dimly lit atmosphere filled with cozy booths and intimate tables. The soft jazz playing in the background barely masked the low murmur of conversation, yet something was amiss tonight. His eyes landed on the bar area, where The Penguin—Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot—held a commanding presence. His sharp suit contrasted against the shadows of the lounge.

In the center of the room, a man stood, visibly anxious, shifting from foot to foot. He glanced nervously around, clearly feeling the weight of many eyes on him. Peter could see the moment The Penguin’s attention zeroed in on the unsettled patron.

“Questions, questions,” The Penguin drawled, his voice smooth yet laced with an edge of authority. “You know, sometimes it’s best to let the mysteries remain just that—mysteries.” 

The man swallowed hard, attempting to stand his ground despite the undeniable intimidation in Oswald’s gaze. “I only wanted to know who’s running the new shipments. There’s talk—”

“Talk?” The Penguin interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, you see, my friend, gossip has a way of getting people into trouble. And you wouldn’t want to find yourself in a spot of trouble, would you?” Peter watched as some bodyguards surrounded the man The Penguin was talking to. 

Peter felt a chill run down his spine, though there was no overt sign of physical confrontation yet. The man shifted again, eyes darting around, perhaps for some form of escape that wasn't coming. “I just thought—everyone’s saying—”

“And everyone should mind their own business,” The Penguin replied sharply, a smirk creeping across his face. “Unless they wish to make a scene.” 

The tension in the room thickened as The Penguin leaned closer, lowering his voice but elevating its implications. “You see, curiosity can lead to unfortunate conclusions. I recommend you keep your questions to yourself in the future.”

The man nodded vigorously, the color draining from his face. “I-I understand. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” The Penguin said, taking a step back, his posture relaxing but his gaze unyielding. “Now, how about we make this easy? How about you enjoy the rest of your night… elsewhere?” the grin of the Penguin could only be seen as sinister. 

With that, he gestured to the lounge’s back entrance, a subtle yet unmistakable invitation to leave. However, the man wasn’t able to leave that easily. The bodyguards from before picked him up and hauled him out. 

Peter exhaled slowly, watching as Oswald straightened his tie and turned back to the bar, a satisfied grin on his face. There was a strange sense of power in the room, and Peter couldn't help but feel more caution towards the man whose reputation loomed larger than life in Gotham.

“Everything in order, Mr. Cobblepot?” a bartender asked, polishing a glass with practiced precision.

“Just a little lesson in discretion,” The Penguin replied, his voice cheerful again as if nothing had just transpired. “Now, let’s get back to business, shall we?” 

Peter took one last look around the lounge, noting how quickly the scene returned to normal, the conversations resuming as if nothing had happened. He leaned back against the wall, contemplating the delicate balance of power and the secrets that thrived in the dim light of The Iceberg Lounge. But his thoughts were stopped as his ears picked up cries of pain from the back entrance.

He heard the slicing of something and a thud. Peter's blood ran cold as he knew exactly what happened. That man was just killed, and all he did was watch him get taken to his death sentence. 

Fuck.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Peter vomited on the side of a building. After his shift, he went to check the back entrance. Noticing a trail of blood, he followed it to the dumpster. Curiosity got the better of him, and when he opened it, he was confronted by several lifeless bodies. They were all dead, most likely the victims of the Penguin.

He should be used to the sight by now. With all the people he had lost over the years. With the war he fought in. And yet he felt his body shake uncontrollably, the sound of them killing the guy rang in his head over and over again. He could of done something, anything. He was suppose to be a hero! Yet another innocent person died in front of him and he couldn’t do anything.

The smell overwhelmed Peter, with a shudder he turned away to leave quickly. He ran for a moment, but soon his stomach couldn't take it any longer, and he doubled over, throwing up where he stood.

—He should be used to dead bodies now. He should be used to dead bodies now. He should be used to dead bodies now.

“You look terrible,” Hood remarked dryly.

 Peter, wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand looked up. The gravelly tone of Red Hood’s voice cut through the silence of the alley, instantly igniting a spark of recognition within him.

With a weary sigh, Peter pushed himself against the cold concrete wall behind him for support, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of the other man. Dressed in his signature tactical gear, the iconic red helmet glinted ominously under the dim lights.

“Thanks. My self-esteem really appreciates that feedback,” he shot back, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Hood let out a low, mirthless chuckle that echoed slightly in the confined space. Folding his arms tightly across his chest, he exuded a mix of authority and concern. “You didn’t answer my call,” he stated flatly, and the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

“Sorry, I got caught up in finding a bunch of bodies,” Peter replied, an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice.

That sight, that awful sight of those people stacked on top of each other. Made he resolve to help Red Hood absolute. He wanted to take Penguin down.

Peter removed his upgraded phone from his pocket, a sleek device modified to suit his needs better. Glancing at the screen, he noted several messages from an unknown number, prompting him to save it as Hood's contact number quickly.

In one swift motion, Hood snatched the phone from Peter’s grip, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the device. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, incredulity and irritation mixing in his tone.

“You know, the burner you gave me?” Peter replied coolly, leaning back with a casual shrug and a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

He really needed to find something to wash the aftertaste of puking from his mouth.

Hood shook his head vehemently, disbelief clear on his face. “Fuck it is?! This is definitely not the phone I handed you,” he insisted, his brow furrowing deeper as he turned the gadget in his hands, a mix of confusion and astonishment washing over him.

Peter couldn’t help but smirk, a flicker of pride lighting up his expression. “Let’s just say I made some upgrades,” he said, leaning in slightly, satisfaction radiating from his otherwise disheveled appearance.

“Some?” Hood echoed, incredulous, his voice rising as he continued to analyze the phone. “Dis ain't just some, upgrades.” Hoods heavy accent slipped for a second before he composed himself.

With confidence, Peter slid the phone back into his pocket. “I told you before,” he said, meeting Hood’s gaze directly, “I’m really good with my hands. Remember?” The words hung in the air, mingling with the tension and unspoken history that lingered between them.

Hood shook his head, taking a step back as he glanced at the path they had come from. “Got any intel?” he asked, shifting the subject.

Peter nodded, rubbing his face. “Yeah, but I’m questioning my existence, and I still taste vomit in my mouth. Can we grab a drink first?” He pushed off the wall. “Then I’ll say what I got. It’s a lot.”

“A lot on the first night? This better be good.” Hood raised an eyebrow but couldn’t suppress a slight grin as he began to walk, his long strides urging Peter to keep pace. “I know a place,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

Peter swallowed hard, a wave of unease settling in his stomach. “You’re not going to lead me to a bunch of traps again, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness as he recalled the Axe.

Hood chuckled, a deep, infectious sound echoing through the dimly lit space. “Don’t tempt me,” he replied playfully, though the way he carried himself suggested he was only half-joking, “I love my security.”

“Security?” Peter just stared at him for a moment before following, “You’re giving Evil guy from a kids movie.”

“I’ve been trying to manifest that energy, thanks.”

That wasn’t a compliment, why is he taking everything as a compliment. Peter is ready to just straight up calling the other man names to see if he’ll double down on that as well.

“How fast can we get that water?”

“Water?” Red Hood chuckled, “Who said anything about water.”

Peter felt himself turn into a starving fish as he realized that this crime lord is probably going to give him liquor instead. He’s so fucked; he knows from the handful of times that liquor affected him faster but quicker than others. He wished the liquid courage would wash over him as it did for so many, sizzling away his anxiety and the lingering taste of regret. Just another thing that bite changed about him.

Maybe he should carry around a warning sign about his tolerance and habits with alcohol? I mean he works at a club now.

Chapter Text

Peter gurgled some water before spitting into the sink. His throat and mouth seemed to scream thank you as he finally didn’t taste anymore puke. Making it to a different safehouse felt strange, especially considering that Hood had always insisted on never taking Peter to one again. He also said there wasn’t any water.

“What happened to no water.” Peter leaned over the sink still.

Hood was fixing something on his bracer as he spoke, “There is no water, not since someone poisoned the main line.” Peter panicked hearing that and started to try to make himself puke.

“Kidding.” The crime lord laughed at Peter who glared at him.

Peter, stepping away from the sink, “You’re the reason why God created the middle finger.” He huffed before walking towards the table Red Hood was getting himself comfortable at.

Leaning back into his seat, “I’m so glad. Really. Something because of little ole me.” Hood was smirking underneath that stupid red helmet. Peter could feel it in his bones.

Rolling his eyes, Peter huffed “Little? You’re like 300 pounds.”

“And you’re a twink so, who’s winning?” With a quick jab at Peter, Hood then proceeded to pull out a bottle of whiskey. From where? Who knows, Peter doesn’t.

As Hood opened the bottle, the familiar scent of alcohol tugged at a memory. Pulling Peter back to a time he would rather not revisit. He struggled to recall when he had last indulged in a drink, and after a moment of reflection, the only occasion that surfaced was that somber gathering with the Avengers held in the wake of Tony's funeral. The room had been filled with a strong sense of loss, each member mourning in their way. This memory was tinged with sadness, sharpened by the realization that their ranks had thinned dramatically since that day. Natasha's absence weighed particularly heavy on his heart. It dawned on him how much loss he had endured, each fallen friend a reminder of the toll that had been exacted on his life and the lives of those around him.

“Peter, I’ll be downloading the blueprints you requested. Please inform me when you’re done talking to the Crime Lord.” Karen was getting really good at knowing when he is in his head. She also really does not like Red Hood with that tone she used through the earpiece.

That was also something to look forward to when getting back to his place. Looking through some of the blueprints the AI had stored.

Hood held a glass out to him, “Whiskey?” he asked while putting it in Peter's hands.

Peter took it, the thoughts swirling like a tempest in his mind.  He began to question whether he still had what it took to handle his alcohol. In the past, drinking had been a relatively harmless pastime for him—although he was never quite in the same league as heavyweights like Thor or Steve, he had always managed to hold his own in a round of drinks, bantering and laughing alongside his friends. Now, however, after all the changes his body had undergone from his time spent traveling through dimensions, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had lost that ability. Would he still be able to keep up? The uncertainty gnawed at him, mingling with the familiar melancholy birthed from memories of loss and longing for the camaraderie he once took for granted.

Peter took a whiff, letting it clear up his sinuses before he shot it back, “Needed that.”

“Don’t we all.” Hood agreed with a smirk, a shared understanding passing between them.

Just then, Peter's gaze fell upon Hood, and he realized that the imposing figure was missing his signature helmet. Instead, he was sporting a sleek, small mask that framed his eyes, highlighting their striking intensity. The mask added an air of mystery to his appearance, making him all the more captivating. Peter couldn't help but notice that there was something surprisingly attractive about him, a combination of charm and an enigmatic allure that drew Peter in.

 Yeah, shutting that down. He can’t be thinking of a known crime lord like this.

“What happened to no more safe houses.” Peter held his glass out for another drink.

Hood rolled his eyes, “This isn’t a safe house.”

“Uh huh. Sure buddy, a small place that also had traps on the way in. isn’t a safe house.”

Hood flicked his wrist, “It isn’t a safe house.” Hood repeated letting his accent slip, “Yuh with me? Look. Okay? Does it look safe?”

Peter looked around, the floorboards are uneven, walls peeling, no ac, and the lights barely work, “You’re taking ‘Safe House’ too literal, so that I’m wrong.”

Hood put a hand to his chest, “Me?” He shook his head, “Never.”

With a pointed finger “Stop trying to gaslight me.” Peter accused with a smile on his face.

“What’s Gaslighting?”

They both stared at each other before Peter laughed softly and finished his second drink, “So, information time?”

“Please,” Hood gave a dramatic bow, “Do tell.”

Peter sat up, “Alright, First of all, this is all the information from one 12-hour shift so it’s not a lot.” He warned before continuing deciding to add dramatics to his introductions about the place, “ The Iceberg Lounge is a world of its own. You can’t just walk in; it’s a fortress wrapped in glamour.” Peter's description of the Lounge was captivating, drawing Hood in with its allure.

“Get on with it.” Hood leaned in, his eyes narrowing with interest even if his tone sounded annoyed, “Entrances, exits.”

“First off, there’s a second entrance that is discreetly tucked away in a dark alley. Most people wouldn’t even know it was there unless they were shown.” However, Peter can only assume Hood knew that already since he had stalked him home.

“And the security?” Hood pressed, jotting down notes swiftly, his curiosity piqued.

“Pretty tight,” Peter replied, folding his arms confidently. “First off, the bouncers at the entrance aren’t just your run-of-the-mill muscle. These guys are trained to read a crowd; they have an uncanny ability to spot trouble brewing from a distance—whether it’s a heated argument or someone acting suspiciously.” Peter paused before adding, “You also have the Penguin’s right-hand women, Jay, Lark, and Raven.”

He then continued onto the layout, “ Once you step inside, you’ll notice the extensive surveillance. Cameras are strategically placed at every corner and entry point, but they’re not merely for deterrence. A dedicated team of tech-savvy professionals monitors the footage in real-time, ensuring that any unusual activity is caught and addressed immediately.” Now that he’s thinking about it, how fucking rich is the Penguin.

Hood tilted his head, “How the fuck did you get this all in one shift?”

“I have good ears?” Peter then rubbed his hands together, “I’m not done, by the way.”

Peter leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. What? He likes being dramatic sometimes. “And let’s not overlook the hidden exits. Penguin has always a been meticulous about security planning. Jay wouldn’t stop talking about how annoyed she is about it. There are discreet escape routes that are known only to a select few, ensuring that if things ever go sideways, he has a quick getaway—everything is accounted for, and nothing gets past them.”

Hood wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Peter was giving him better intel then any of the men he has stationed in crime alley has ever given him. How the fuck did he get someone who can— He paused.

Shifting his feet, he was starting to get really suspicious about Peter.

A meta.

Works for the Penguin.

New in town.

Has detective skills that could rival most people he knows.

He’s going to have to keep a bigger eye on Peter. For now, he’s going to push to see just how much information he can get from him.

Hood nodded, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. “What about the clientele?”

Peter exhaled, trying to shake the weight of the memories. “It’s a mix. You’ve got Gotham’s elite—businessmen, politicians—mingling with some of the city’s most notorious figures. It’s like a social chess game, and everyone’s got something to gain or lose. The Penguin himself runs the place with an iron grip.” Flashes of the man Penguin killed came to him.

“Any dealings?” Hood asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Definitely. I’ve seen exchanges of Drugs, weapons, and information just in one night—it all goes down there. And at the heart of it, there are always whispers about bigger games being played and alliances shifting. You’d want to tread carefully.”

Hood leaned back, absorbing the information. “What about the layout? Any weak spots?”

“Yeah, there are a couple,” Peter replied. “The main area is mostly open, there’s a vent system from the roof you could use.” Peter eyes widen as he remembered something, “Oh, also there’s the back rooms—those are where the real deals happen. They’re more secluded, lined with soundproofing. If you can gain access to the back, you can find out almost anything. Just be careful; security doubles back there.”

Hood’s gaze sharpened. “And how would one gain access to those back rooms?”

“Disguises work well blending in with the servers or VIPs. Suppose you can charm someone even better. They’re not exactly checking IDs, but they are in the middle of a discussion about their latest weapons shipment. Of course, if things go south... well, it’s better to have a quick way out.”

“That’s good to know.” Hood’s smirk returned, a hint of admiration glimmering in his eyes. “I’m assuming you charmed some people tonight, Curls?”

Peter deadpanned, “Drunk people can be annoying. Just asking them what drink they’ll like, charms them.” He took a sip of his whiskey this time, “Also the tips are great.”

“Is that why you asked for drinks? Trying to charm me.” Hood teased confidently like it was natural.

Peter rolled his eyes. He definitely said he needed a drink, as in water, but decided to go along with it. “Maybe, or it could be the nerves of being in the same room as you.”

“Like me that much? I'm touched,” Hood put a hand on his heart.

“Like you? Mister, stalking me to my place three times?” Peter grinned, “Nah.” He drawn out his word before looked at his now-filled glass again and took another swig.

God, it was doing wonders to his nerves. His body was starting to feel less tense, “You know, minus all the dealings and shit. The girls Jay, Raven, and Lark.” Peter hadn’t met Raven yet, but if he went off by the other two, it should be fine, “They’re good people. They think they owe the Penguin their lives.” Peter looked down, “Almost like it was drilled into them.” 

Peter didn’t know why he was saying it, talking about them. He liked Lark and Jay a lot, but was it worth mentioning?

Hood scrunched up his face in thought, “I’ll see what I can do.” He said after a while, “If they shoot me, no promises.”

Peter didn’t know he was holding his breath until he gave a thankful smile to Hood.

“I’m starting to think you have some weird hero complex.” Hood leaned back with a smirk.

Peter paused, “Uh, in this town. I think more people need it.”

Hood chuckles. It sounds soft. Was it soft or— Shit, The room was spinning? No, Peter felt like he was seeing shapes in the air, things he could create or change. Peter didn't even drink that much, but he felt dizzy looking at all the information that was blurring his vision. “Fuck me,” It came out with no thought as Peter went to stand, not used to the feeling he was having, “I think I drank too much.” He felt twitchy. Like a compulsion to create something, spin something.

Red Hood raised to his feet, “I thought you could hold your liquor.” He questioned while taking the whiskey from the table.

Peter slumped into his seat closing his eyes, “Same, looks like jumping thro-“ Peter stopped himself just letting out a groan and leaning his head on the table. His thoughts jumbled together, “I should leave.” He muttered trying to stand only to feel his legs shake slightly.

“Yeah, no.” Hood pointed to the couch, “Chill off before heading out.”

“I don’t need too.” Peter tilted his head as he looked at the other man, what the fuck did they feed this guy?

Hood pressed something on his wrist and Peter heard the front door lock, “It’s Gotham at 3 am, Sober up.” He then walked over to the sink and grabbed a cup, “Nap, or just stare at the wall, something.” He aspirated before handing Peter the cup of water when he sat on the couch.

“But I—”, Peter was going to begin but got interrupted.           

 “I got work here I need to finish up, by the time I’m done you should be fine.” He then muttered ‘hopefully’ underneath his breath.

+†+🪦+†+

Hood observed the other man, analyzing his body language. He didn’t appear to be drunk; in fact, Peter seemed a bit jumpy. Maybe the drink was affecting him differently. Jason had seen some unusual shifts that pointed him in that direction. Also adds up if he was indeed a meta.

Peter groaned, “I’m already bored.” He leaned back letting his head hang.

Hood shook his head before walking over to his room, “Entertain yourself. I don’t care.” Before he went into the room he glanced back, “Just bother me. Got it,”

“Got it boss.” Peter shifted to face him, “So, I can do anything.” He then looked around the small space, “In here.”

“Sure. Have fun.” Annoyed, Hood finally walked into his room. he had other matters to attend to. He started to walk into the other room, preparing to focus on his tasks.

Only to turn back as he heard the sound of scrapping, “What the fuck are you doing.” he observed how easily Peter was moving the fridge, even while sliding it. Did he have super strength? The list of Peter's odd abilities was growing, and it was giving Jason a headache, “that’s my fridge.” He stared as Peter, who stood like a deer in headlights, held it.

“Did you know your fridge is broken?” Peter rambled, leaving little room for Jason to respond. “Well, it still works, but your food is expiring faster because the motors aren’t functioning. I can hear it running, and that doesn’t sound good.” Hood noticed Peter pacing around the fridge like it was a new project. Great, now he could add “heathen hearing” to Peter's list of unusual traits.

Putting a hand over his face he groan, “So you picked up my fridge, cause its broken?”

Peter smiled, “Yep.” Looking all innocent Peter finally asked, “ Can I fix it?” staring at him with his big hazel eyes. “I promise I’ll be fast.”

Noticing Peter's leg bouncing nervously as he waited for a response. Great, they weren’t going to let this go. “I swear, if it’s worse afterward, your dead meat.” Hood growled. Taking this punk as his intel guy was now really showing the cons. Fuck, but the pros were too good to pass up.

“Aye, aye.” Peter Saluted before going back to the fridge.

Hood was going to regret this wasn’t he?

As he stared at Peter's brown curls, which hung just above his shoulders, Jason noticed a look of concentration on his face. Peter seemed to analyze everything with his hazel eyes, touching each part delicately. Jason knew Peter had to have strong restraint to handle things that way. He forced himself to look away, biting the inside of his lip, and walked into the other room.

Jason really hadn’t been acting like himself lately. Letting someone into his main base? He was losing it. And yet, why did he feel a sense of relief having someone around? It felt so nice to have someone close who wasn’t scared of him or didn’t see him as a monster like they did.

God, he was fucking lonely. Seeing as he's using someone he found on the street practically, to help with it.

He was starting to hate Peter. He should really hate the guy, and he would keep saying this until it became true.

Jason stood in front of the large wall that dominated the mostly empty room, its surface a chaotic blend of photographs, maps, and clippings that chronicled the tangled web of Gotham's criminal underbelly. Each villain had their section carefully organized with notes on their known whereabouts and unique abilities, like pieces of a sinister puzzle waiting to be solved.

He grasped a black ink pen, the tip hovering over the blank space next to the hastily scribbled notes. With each stroke, he meticulously inscribed the information that Peter had provided—a crucial intelligence update that might offer an edge in dealing with Penguin. As he finished, he leaned back, allowing his eyes to sweep across the board, absorbing every detail he had compiled about the Penguin, otherwise known as Oswald Cobblepot.

Jason’s mind whirred with the implications of the data—Cobblepot’s penchant for deception and his extensive network of criminal contacts. The man was more than just a villain; he was a master strategist, and Jason felt the weight of the task before him.

With this last bit of data, Jason was sure he could finally take down The Penguin. The man made a mistake when he involved kids, and Jason was going to make Cobblepot regret it.

Jason's eyes then trailed to a different part of the board: Batman. He can feel many emotions stir inside of him. Before he looked at it any longer, Jason bit down on his lip and turned away. Letting the pain settle over taking  his jumble of thoughts. Usually, he didn’t care too much when he thought of the Bat. Yeah he got angry and usually acted rash when it happens. Yet, it seemed to be one of those days where he just got sick in his stomach thinking of the man, his mentor, his father. The Lazarus Pit really did fuck some shit up, but he’ll fix it. It's a part of him now. Yet, his eyes landed on the door that led back to where Peter was.

Should he check on him? Jason looked at the time, he’s been here for an hour. He also wants to check to see his fridge is okay.

Opening the door, Jason was not expecting to see the scene in front of him. Peter with grease on his cheek. With a fully taken-apart fridge. And all the food… well, there actually wasn’t a lot in the fridge, but still.

“Peter,” He started, his voice raised slightly, “What the fuck!” He gestured to his fridge, which was all over the floor.

Peter looked up at him and gave a sheepish grin. “I’ll fix it.” Jason had already heard that too many times today. “I just noticed a lot of wear and tear. I need to fix and repolish some of those components, and then I can put it back together.” He grinned happily. “I already fixed the problem with the motor.”

Okay, Jason now can see what Peter meant about being good with his hands. He shook his head, letting his hand brush back his hair; he somehow found a fucking genius, apparently. If they hadn’t given such good, detailed information, Jason would have kicked him out. Yes, that was the only reason.

“You’re a mess.” Jason grabbed a cloth and wetted it before walking over to Peter and wiping the grease off his face, “I’m heading out. You’re not leaving until you finish what you started.”

Jason turned and left, grabbing his helmet as he went. Not noticing that Peter never responded to him.

Should he really leave Peter by himself ? Honestly at the moment, he could care less.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

“Peter, your heart rate is elevating.”

“Karen. Not now.”

After a meticulous effort that took longer than he had anticipated, Peter finally completed reassembling the fridge. He carefully aligned the pieces, ensuring every component fit securely in place, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over him as he stepped back to admire his work. The remnants of the alcohol he had consumed earlier began to wear off, leaving him with a dull throbbing in his head.

He couldn't truly concentrate on the throbbing pain in his head, though it pulsed insistently in the background. Instead, his thoughts drifted back to that moment when Hood knelt before him, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness. The way Hood carefully dabbed at Peter's face, wiping away the dirt and grease, was mesmerizing. It felt as if time had slowed down—every gentle stroke of his cloth seemed to convey a depth of compassion that captivated Peter completely. He found himself captivated not just by Hood's actions but by the warmth in his eyes and the quiet strength he exuded, leaving a profound impression on Peter.

God, he was fucking lonely.

He missed his friends so much. There cuddle sessions, staying up late, laughing or even arguing. He missed hearing their voices. “Ned, MJ.” He muttered softly, “I miss you so much.” Apparently a lot if he was getting a Crime Lord to fill in their emptiness.

Feeling exhausted from the physical exertion and the lingering effects of his indulgence, he made his way to the living room. He sank into the plush cushions of the couch, the world around him softly fading as exhaustion overwhelmed him. In moments, he succumbed to the pull of sleep, drifting off into a deep slumber.

He needed it.

Peter didn’t know how long he had slept before he heard the door open again. He could smell the blood on Hood, yet he knew it wasn’t their blood. After a few moments of silence, he stayed lying down, not having the energy to get up. Hood moved around before putting a blanket on Peter. It was warm and nice. Peter didn’t remember how long it had been since he felt this safe.

It was nice.

As the early morning light filtered through the curtains, Peter slowly stirred from his sleep, the remnants of a restless night still clinging to him. He glanced around the unfamiliar room, a mixture of unease and urgency bubbling within him. He had only intended to give Hood his intel and leave. How did he end up fixing his fridge and sleeping on his couch? Now, he felt like a trespasser in someone else's life.

With a cautious determination, he carefully slid out from under the covers, trying not to disturb the delicate stillness of the space. His heart raced at the thought of slipping away. Just as he was about to make his furtive exit back to the safety of his apartment, a voice broke through the quiet, laced with a teasing tone.

“Going somewhere?”

Startled, Peter turned to find Hood casually leaning against the door frame of the hallway, arms crossed and a sly smile playing on his lips. The way Hood loomed there, a shadow in the half-light, made the air around Peter feel charged with tension. It seemed he wouldn't be able to slip away so easily after all.

Peter shifted in his spot, “I may or may not be.” He then turned away, “I think I’ve intruded long enough.”

Hood seemed to grab something and throw it at Peter. A jacket? Though it felt heavier than it needed to be, “Take that, wear the hood on your way out.”

Peter nodded, smiling. “Thanks.” He put on the black jacket and zipped it up.

“I should be saying that too.” Hood admitted, “Since you apparently fixed my fridge,” Walking out of the hallway, Red Hood gave an awkward “Thanks.” as well.

They both stared at each other until Hood finally broke the silence once more. “If you have any other intel to give, message me or show up here. The alarms will let me know.“

With a nod, Peter replied, “Will do.” He then gave a playful smile, “What if I just keep messaging you about random things like…” He tried to think quickly, “ Other stuff I fix?” He beamed.

Hood looked down like he was gonna regret his next words, “Sure, but I don't promise anything bout replying.”

Peter saluted, “Aye aye, captain, mission get Hood to respond, a good.”

“What did I get myself into.”

“You stalked me first, and now my revenge for annoying you has commenced.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

Tim Drake stood in the shadows, the weight of the Robin mantle heavy on his shoulders. He couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't truly living up to the legacy of the hero that had come before him. He often found himself recalling the laughter of the last Robin, the way he effortlessly connected with people and inspired hope in those around him. Those fond memories replayed in his mind like a favorite song, but they also served as a constant reminder of what he felt he was missing.

“Robin was magic,” those words echoed in Tim's heart, spoken to him by the previous Robin during a moment of camaraderie years ago. He had embraced those words, allowing them to guide him through moments of doubt and uncertainty. They had fueled his desire to step into the role and uphold the values that Robin represented. Yet, as he donned the iconic costume, a stark reality settled in, the thrill and wonder of being Robin was overshadowed by a sense of obligation and expectation.

Instead of feeling like a hero, Tim felt like an impostor, merely filling a space left by a true champion. The vibrant energy he had once associated with the mantle felt distant, like a cherished memory fading into obscurity. He couldn't shake the nagging thought that he was merely a placeholder, waiting for the return of the rightful heir to the legacy of Robin. Each patrol felt like a rehearsed performance rather than a heartfelt endeavor. With each mission, he grappled with the ever-present uncertainty of whether he was truly worthy of the title.

Once someone comes, one that Batman truly recognizes and is not blackmailed into like he did. Tim will step down. Go back to his empty home and leave the bats alone. It’s not like Bruce really needed him; Batman needed him, but Bruce? Tim’s eyes landed on the man at the batcomputer.

Bruce didn’t need him.

“Robin.” Tim looked as the man turned around to look at him. “Red Hood made another appearance tonight. We’re going to check it out.”

Tim watched as Batman reattached his utility belt to himself before walking over to the bat mobile, “Ready.”

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Peter tweaked with an object in his hands as he spoked, “How many days since we’ve been here, Kare?”

“Approximately Two months.” The Ai responded immediately, her voice seemingly coming from a speaker in the room Peter was crafting in.

“Wow.” Peter paused, it felt surreal that its been that long already. Two months since he was banished from his universe practically. Forced to leave his friends. Forced to leave his home and the corpses of his family.

“Two months? A lot has happened since my last entry.” Peter turned and actually started to talk to the nanite cube next to him, “I know what you’re thinking, ‘But Peter didn’t you hate doing the last time?’ Yes, and? I’m Peter fucking Parker I do as I please. Thanks.” Peter grinned before continuing to work on the device in his hands, “First things first, three weeks ago I was hired at the iceberg lounge, which ended up being The Penguin’s —a super villains— playhouse, and not even 24 hours later, I got hired by Red Hood who is a Crime Lord looking to take down the villain.”

“Parker Luck at it again.” Peter picked up the cube to walk over the other side of the room, “Life has been, somewhat, calm. Working at the Lounge and for Hood has been getting me decent pay, and I was able to put together enough to start building my Reactor.” Peter showed off a work in progress that looked very similar to Tony’s when he first upgraded the Arc Reactor, “It was Karen's idea. She was the one who showed that she had a lot of blueprints saved.”

“You’re the one who chose the Arc Reactor to be the first creations of Mr. Starks to remake in this world.”  

Peter rolled his eyes, “See even an Ai can be humble.” Putting the cube down he sat in front of it, “I chose the Arc Reactor first as I needed a more sustainable energy source, while also staying off the grid mostly.”

“And to help the nearby residents you have enjoyed communicating with.” Karen added before Peter could brush past that one part.

“That too, sadly here, in Gotham, there’s a lot of hungry money businessmen, and this place they call Crime Alley is getting the short end of the stick. Most places here don’t even have electricity, or the companies won’t even source it here because of the ‘density of crimes’. Which is ironic since 50% of the upper side is literally snobby rich supervillains,” Peter glared above like he was looking at one of those men.

“Which is why I decided to help. I mean I have all this knowledge from my universe, why not use it? Theres so many people that could benefit from Tonys Reactor that it was the perfect thing to build. And also, it’s the most significant one too.” Lost in thought for a moment Peter softly brushed the item he was holding with his thumb.

These days his thoughts were scrambled by his past and the prospect of his future. Somedays he can go without thinking of his friends and family, focused on working or even brothering Red hood and building up the reactor.

Other days he was lost, staring at nothing and absorbed by the idea of starting over. Leaving behind those he cares about, who were there for him and made him who he is.

He doesn’t know who he is without them. Its terrifying.

Shaking his head he continued, “Last month has been hectic, but a good kind of hectic. I’m even eating more.” Peter flexes to show off the weight he’s gaining back, “And I’m training again.  I know that I said I couldn’t be Spiderman anymore, but something in me keeps saying, ‘Just in case.’ The last time I ignored my gut, I got stalked. So, I’m going to make sure to keep up with it. I have a responsibility, too.”

“Anyways, this is Peter Parker signing off.”

Peter wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the dampness on his skin as he paused to catch his breath. The rhythmic pounding of his heart echoed in his ears, a stark reminder of how out of shape he had become after weeks of inactivity. Tonight, he was out on the run, pushing himself to reclaim the fitness he had neglected for far too long. 

He glanced upward, his gaze drawn to the vastness of the night sky. Unfortunately, the city lights obscured the stars he used to cherish, but the moon shone brightly, casting a silvery glow that illuminated his path. It was a breathtaking sight, one that brought a fleeting sense of nostalgia for simpler times spent beneath the stars.

The last few days had been a blur of hard work. He had focused on various projects, rebuilt his routine, and carried on endless conversations with Red Hood. He was committed to keeping the connection alive, messaging incessantly. He did say he was going to annoy him. It astonished him that Red Hood hadn’t yet chosen to block him amidst the barrage of texts. Despite their differing personalities, Peter felt a bond forming rooted. Maybe Hood felt the same?

It also didn't help that he kept running into the other. Hey, he really needed more parts to fix his place and make it livable. It was easier to hall a bunch of stuff at night. Meeting other people in the Alley was also nice, especially the kids. Peter could almost never say no to a kid. Especially one who had cute little eyes and begged him to play with her. 10/10 would recommend doing Ava’s tea parties. Even if she puts a tiara on your head. However, he now has to deal with Hood, calling him princess. He had a tea party one time, and now the nickname’s stuck. 

He remembered the first text he ever sent the man. Peter had just returned to his apartment when he finally noticed the weight in one of the pockets. Cash, a bundle of cash, was in the pocket. When Red Hood said he’d be paying him, Peter didn’t think it would be this much! 

Princess: WTF IS THIS?

[Picture of a wad of cash]                     

Lord of Crimes: Your payment. Duh.                            

Princess: TAKE IT BACK!

Hood didn’t take the money back, so let's just say Peter indeed splurged and bought some new items for his apartment, including clothes. He got a backpack and even some new shoes.

Peter wasn’t trying to get back onto the crime fighting scene. Yet something kept pestering him in the back of his head, as if telling him to prepare. He didn’t want to ruin this world like his own, and yet old habits die hard. “With great power, comes great Responsibility.”

That one sentence had changed his life many times. It was etched on his heart, a hard scar to heal from, one he didn’t want to seal. He was a liability to this world, but if the duty called. He would respond. It was in his blood to rise, to protect. Even thinking about it made his muscles tense in readiness.

Peter scoffed at himself. Ruined one universe and here he is ready to ruin another because he just didn’t know how to stop.

Feeling his phone vibrate Peter saw a text from someone he could call a friend, Barbara Gordon. He finally messaged her a little while after he ended up fixing Hoods fridge. In all honestly she sadly reminded him of a mix of Ned and MJ. Smart, funny, and a goddamn nerd like himself. They’ve only been texting, which is becoming more and more not enough for Barbara as she keeps trying to take him places around Gotham. It's slowly getting harder for him to say no.

Red Tyrant: please for the love of god peter.

Red Tyrant: Just come with me to this new coffee Shop!!! My Treat!

Awkward Nerd: Babs you don’t have to pay for me ☹ I just been bussssyyy

Awkward Nerd: got a lot going on…

Awkward Nerd: a lot of lots going on

Red Tyrant: you’re literally on your way to working yourself to the bone

Red Tyrant: You NEED to relax!

Red Tyrant: AND we haven’t seen each other face to face since I gave you my number. I want to see the nerdy goblin I befriended in the last two weeks.

Red Tyrant: For all I know you’re not the Peter I gave my number too and I’ve been sending memes to a random lunatic who killed Peter, took my number and is getting a kick at pretending to be Peter.

Awkward Nerd: wouldn’t you not want to see me then since I may be a lunatic pretending to be Peter

Red tyrant: ☹

Awkward Nerd: You’re not gonna stop until you get me out of the house.

Red Genius: How did you know :D

Awkward Nerd: [look of defeat image]

Awkward Nerd: Fine. 

Red Genius: Finally!! Meet here [location attached] @ 3 late lunch.

Awkward Nerd: You got it [salute]

Looks like she finally got what she wanted.

He had ample time to fill before meeting with Babs. Considering the hours ahead, he decided to devote himself to refining his makeshift Arc Reactor. In addition to that, he had completed several smaller tasks around his new home, each one bringing a sense of accomplishment. He had managed to repair the old washer and the dryer that had been stuck in the basement for far too long, which he hoped were now functioning properly.

Still need to test them out.

Reflecting on his efforts, he recalled the excitement he felt after receiving his first paycheck from The Iceberg Lounge and the money from Red Hood, he was eager to improve his living conditions. He attempted to get the lights and water running in his building. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm was met with disappointment when the city officials turned down his requests.

Thus started his grind to make an Arc reactor for himself and the neighborhood.

He had met with others around, all just trying to make ends meet. With some of his money he bought lots of hand warmers to give out. Even talked to a lot of them about his plan. He got brushed off most of the time but there were still some who were excited for him to make it.

Especially miss Becka J. She was housing many children on the street, which apparently Hood has been giving her an allowance to feed them all. She’s luckily enough to be about to hotwire energy from a store with their knowledge and gives them payments to keep all the kids warm.

Peter spends some of his free time helping her with the kids. It was also because of them he runs into Hood outside of their ‘work’.  You’d never expect to see a Crime Lord be good with kids. Hood even got points with Karen after they witness him and the kids.

Becka J’s place is also where the tea party shenanigans happened.

Even though his new nickname is Princess, Hood had extended a hand and assistance on helping him to restore energy into the neighborhood. Looking at all the scraps and machinery given to him by Hood's gang. He can’t help but appreciate it. I mean its weird to know a whole gang knows where he lives now. Thanks to Red Hood. But apparently he’s on the ‘don’t touch’ list. That will definitely help him out later.

It's also funny that all it takes is for Peter to talk the others ear off about his plan and showing the blueprints for Red Hood to be on board.

… Yeah, it was like a two-hour yap sess because he was mad about the need to make it for everyone. Like it should be a right already! Yet, the other went above and beyond to help out.

That’s not all Hood helped out with though. Finding out Peters building didn’t even have water the man was very persistent about helping him with that. He managed to restore running water in his dilapidated building—a small but significant win in the grand scheme of things, and Peter was determined not to ask how the other did in it in a few hours.

Now, Peter was focused on the next crucial steps: getting the power operational, carefully studying the blueprints he had obtained, and honing his expertise to collaborate with Tony on the arc reactor they were designing together. Then lastly, to get this shit running!

Now after talking about all the pros for Red Hood knowing where he lives, there is one con. The man loves to appear out of no where and startle the shit out of Peter.  Although in that regard Hood was generous—if not overly cautious—often leaving behind a stash of equipment: weapons, gadgets, and devices that Peter could deconstruct and repurpose. But then again, Peter really needs to make a security system when he gets the power running. He should visit the guy one of these days. Repayment for Hood showing up so much. He could even try hacking into the other's security system and get in without alerting him. That would be quite a surprise for Red Hood. 

Some of the equipment he got from Hood came from the notorious villain Freeze, were particularly advantageous. The advanced technology embedded within those weapons provided him with the vital components he needed to enhance his work.

Peter had decided to use one of the vacant rooms in the apartment building, far from the chaos of his daily life, for his experiments. Creating the arc reactor was a monumental task, and he didn't want to risk an incident in his own cluttered space. Memories of his past attempts flooded back to him, a mixture of failures and triumphs that shaped his journey. 

He recalled vividly the very first time he attempted to connect all the intricate components of the reactor. His hands shook with anticipation, but as he flipped the switch, everything went horribly wrong. The room was suddenly filled with a blinding flash of light and a loud bang as the device erupted, sending a wave of heat his way. "Fuck!" he cursed as pain shot through him. Fortunately, his recent commitment to a healthier diet has significantly improved his resilience. Remarkably, he bounced back from the injuries in just a day, but the incident left a visible scar on the floor—a gaping hole that served as a constant reminder of his reckless ambition.

Karen played an indispensable role in his process. She seamlessly integrated into the workflow, offering insights and providing essential data that Peter needed to make informed decisions. Whether it was retrieving the latest research on energy outputs or modeling potential configurations, Karen was always prepared to assist. Together, they formed a dynamic duo, blending human intuition with artificial intelligence to push the boundaries of innovation. As Peter continued his work, the excitement of the challenge fueled his passion, inspiring him to refine his vision for the arc reactor even further.

Once he finished, he felt a sense of accomplishment. He stepped back, excitement coursing through him as he surveyed his hard work. “Karen, check the integrity,” he said. It was the moment of truth.

“One moment, Peter.”

Peter held his breath as Karen continued. “Analysing work.”

“Comparing files.”

“Checking structure”

“Checking conditions.”

“Patching through data.”

“Integrity check complete.”

“Status,” Peter said softly as he stared at this work. The machines weren’t as big as Starks when he first made the finished arc Reactor with a new element. With the new data from other creations and knowledge of how to make it, Peter was able to use fewer materials than Tony needed. Yet, he hopes it's enough. Surely, it's enough. 

“Congratulations, Peter.”

Peter fist-bumped the air and screamed in excitement, “Finally!” The thrill ran through him like a drug, “Now, let's power this baby up!”

“Power, what up?”

Peter screeched before turning around to look at Red Hood with wide eyes. “You need a bell!” he exclaimed, pointing. “A big bell, at that!”

Hood laughed as he walked toward Peter. When he took off his helmet, Peter huffed staring at the others mask. Before Hood spoke again, he leaned forward, amusement clear on his face despite his domino mask. “Are you going to answer my question, or just keep staring?” Peter's face turned red. “I don’t mind, princess,” Hood continued.

Changing the topic, Peter turned away, allowing the heat in his cheeks to fade. “Remember that Arc Reactor I mentioned before—” 

“The one with almost unlimited energy, or something like that?”

“Yes! I finally got everything together to get it up and running.” Peter raised his arms and gestured to the machine behind him. “The start of a new beginning! Behold.” He smiled brightly as he showcased his creation to Hood.

Hood examined Peter's intricate work with a mix of curiosity and awe. The two machines converged at a central point, creating a space where their mechanisms intertwined. At the heart of this intersection rested a tiny spider that glimmered like glass under the light, its crystalline body refracting colors in a mesmerizing display. The assembly it was contained within was compact yet ingenious, designed to capture and harness an unseen power. Hood leaned closer, noting the delicate wires and pulsing lights that surrounded the spider, hinting at the potential energy it held. The entire setup emanated a sense of purpose as if it were a gateway to untold possibilities.

“You sure this won't blow up?”

“Maybe,” Peter said with a devilish grin.

Hood shook his head, “Peter.” He warned.

“Want to see.” Peter couldn’t contain his excitement.

 Hood nodded as Peter grabbed his goggles, which had been merged with sunglasses. “Alright lets move to over here and— Can your helmet protect you from bright lights?”

Hood put his helmet back on, “Yep.”

“Perfect.” Peter then adjusted before went over to the machine and took a deep breath. “Please work. " he said before turning it on. 

As the two stood entranced, they observed the chaotic symphony of machinery springing to life around them. Each device whirred and hummed, resonating with energy as they channeled vibrant currents through a kaleidoscope of prisms that converged at the center of the room. Brilliant beams of light shot forth, dancing in a mesmerizing display, yet one powerful stream pulsed relentlessly toward the Spider positioned at the core of the construct. Instead of piercing through its intricate web-like structure, the radiant beam was instead drawn in, absorbed as if the Spider were a voracious entity feasting on the energy.

Gradually, the glow intensified, transcending into a blinding luminosity that cast sharp shadows across the scene. Alarmed by the burgeoning brilliance, Hood instinctively stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of Peter. The worry etched into his features deepened, the lines on his forehead creasing as he wrestled with a growing sense of dread about what might happen next. The atmosphere crackled with tension, and an unspoken fear hung in the air, amplifying the urgency of their situation. Soon, the light went away, and Karen powered down the systems.

“It's complete.”

Peter looked up at Hood, his heart racing as he became acutely aware that this was the closest they had ever been to one another. The warm glow from the arc reactor illuminated Hood’s helmet.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat as he stared, “Uh, Thanks.” He then felt the comforting yet unexpected pressure of Hood’s hand gripping around him. Guarding him.

Time seemed to slow down, stretching the brief seconds into what felt like an eternity. Just as Peter began to feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, Hood suddenly pulled away, “Surprised it didn’t blow up.” He admitted returning the distance between them returning.

Hood wasn’t going to admit his mind was elsewhere during that moment.

“You’re free… run for it…” He couldn’t keep his body up any longer. The pain from his broken bones, and the phantom pulses of that crowbar hitting his body pulsed through him, “…go…” the last strength he had leaving his body.

“Come on,” Sheila, his mother, tried pulling him up, “Let me help you.” She started to slowly carry him to the exit, “We’ll both get out of here, together.” He could feel her breath on his skin as she tried her best to get them to the exit, “We’re almost there.”

He saw the bomb, saw the time left. They weren’t gonna make it. There wasn’t enough time left. He pushed Sheila in front of him. Hoping that she’ll at least survive. 

 Hood noticed Peter was staring at him and cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s finished,” his voice tinged with embarrassment as he mumbled and averted his gaze.

“Oh—yes, right,” Peter replied, his mind racing as he turned away almost mechanically, the rhythm of his thoughts stumbling over each other. He fought to regain his composure, his cheeks warm as he focused on the task at hand. “Let’s take a look at it,” he said, his voice steadying as he tried to push thoughts of their closeness from his mind.

The two approached the reactor. Peter's spider design, placed in the middle of an upside-down triangle, glistened in the light. “What exactly is this?” 

Peter debated on what to say, “A new element.” He figured he’d just tell the truth, “One that can change the world.”

“For the better?”

“That’s the goal.”

Peter approached the console with a focused expression, his brow slightly furrowed as he prepared to examine the device before him. With careful precision, he began to navigate through the interface, his fingers gliding over the buttons and screens. As he checked the various readings, he felt a surge of anticipation. 

Instead of relying on the flickering candles he had left scattered around the room, a brilliant light filled the space as the arc reactor he had ingeniously designed came to life.

The once dimly lit building transformed into a vibrant environment, pulsating with a newfound energy. The soft hum of the reactor echoed in the room, illuminating the walls and casting dynamic shadows that danced with the light. It was a testament to his hard work and ingenuity, a moment of triumph that filled him with a sense of accomplishment.

Peter cheered before hugging Hood in excitement, “I can actually cook shit now!” Peter let go before grabbing some papers off the floor, “I can actually charge my phone without having to go to the library every time!”

Hood clapped his hands together, “Congrats on no longer being homeless.”

“That was kind of mean.”

“Sure, it was.”

“Bully.”

“Pussy.”

“Zombie”

“...”

“You take that back right now, Parker.”

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

The cozy coffee shop was bustling with life, with the sound of clinking cups and muted chatter creating a warm background buzz. The inviting aroma of freshly ground coffee enveloped Peter as he settled at a small table by the window. Sunlight streaming in cast playful patterns on the wooden surface. He glanced at his watch, feeling a ripple of anticipation for his friendship date with Barbara.

Moments later, the door swung open, and Barbara walked in, shaking her umbrella off as droplets scattered across the floor. Her auburn hair glimmered from the light above, and her smile widened as she spotted Peter.

“Peter,” Barbara lit up seeing him, “Sorry I’m late! Traffic was a nightmare.” she walked over to where he sat at.

“Babs!” Peter stood up as she made her way over, “Don’t apologize for that!” He pulled out a chair for her, “Its feels so weird seeing you in person. “ He admitted.

Barbara rolled her eyes before pulling him into a hug, “Not at all.” She let go, “Didn’t think just because I’ve only met you once you weren’t gonna get a hug from me?” Peter gave a sheepish grin, “I finally get to see my T and R buddy!”

T and R aka Trial and Retribution. It was a true crime show Peter grew up watching with his aunt May in his universe about some British detectives solving crimes each case taking up two episodes. It was a hit in the late 90’s, yet here in this universe it’s only been one season of it. Peter had to really hold his tongue about the show as he has the knowledge of all 44 episodes from 1997 to 2009. Theres only been the first season with only two episodes that Barbara even knows, though it was great to meet someone who like it as much as he did, it was hard not to talk more of it.

 “Kind of expected from the many texts of, ‘I’m going to squish you when I see you.’ “ he emphasized with his fingers.

Barbara smiled before sitting down, “I did say that a lot huh, Anyways how has the project you’re working on going! You haven’t given me any updates in the last few days and I’m dying to know.” She paused with a smirk, “More explosions?”

Peter took his seat as well and chuckled, “It only happened once, and I’ve just been focused with Becka J and the kids. Especially Red has been coming around to help.”

“I still want to meet this red guy.”

“Yeah no.” Peter shut her down quickly but played it off like he was teasing.

“Come on Pete, I gotta know where he’s getting all that shit to give you.” Barbara groaned with curiosity.

“You’re noisy.”

Barbara waved him off, “It’s my best trait.” She leaned forward, “Now, did you do it? Make that energy source?”

Without saying a word, he nodded with a big grin and Barbara cheered, “Yes! Omg that’s gonna be great for the alley! You’re like the cheese to Gotham’s macaroni.”

Peter laughed, “Babs that was so cringe!”

Barbara also laughed at her own statement, “Sorry, been hanging out too much with Dick.”

“Dick?” Peter eyes went wide.

“Friend of mine I grew up with.”

Peter gave an apologetic response, “That poor guy, his parents set him up for failure with that name.”

Giggling Barbara added “He chose it himself.”

“I actually don’t have a response to that information.” Peter leaned back, stunned, “Why would you willingly call yourself Dick?”

“He grew up in the circus and was Romanian, didn’t know the connotation.”

Peter shook his head, “Did no one warn the guy?”

“When you meet him you’ll understand.”

“I’m actually scared to meet this guy now.” Peter admitted in a joking matter before pointing towards the register at the front, “Should we get some coffee then continue talking about your friends weird habits?”

Barbara stood up with Peter in tow, “Coffee sounds great, I’m exited to try this place out!” Babs then gave Peter a sly look, “Coffees on me, to celebrate your world changing achievement.” She changed her tone of voice to sound like a reporter, “Peter Parker we must know, what was the importance of this generator to you and why give the source out free to Crime alley?”

“Hah ha,” He bumped his shoulder into Babs as she laughed, “Well if you have to know Miss Gordon It was my great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great,” Babs stifled a laugh as they waited in line, “Great, great, great grandfathers last request before he died.” He fake sniffled, “He always said Peter, you go make a very abstract and explosive device that can power a whole city for three years only use scraps and trash that people don’t need anymore.”

“That was very descriptive for you great grandfather.” Barbara teased as they moved in line.

“He was a man of few words.”

“uh huh.”

The two order their drinks before settling back down. The conversation flowed easy and damn did it make Peter think of his best friends from home.

Ned with his blunder about equipment and star wars, always smiling and making Peter feel welcomed.

MJ with her sass and heart, always teasing the two with literature. While always having their backs.

Barbara sat in front of him making Peter feel like they’ve been doing this for ages.

They haven’t. He did this with Ned for years, with MJ. They were always in his corner. Always there when he was sick, or even sad. He could always count on them. His eyes stared at his hands, fear creeped into his heart. Was he replacing them? No, we couldn’t he wouldn’t he was doing that, leaving them behind. He made promise to come back one day. To see them. He promise—

Barbara flicked Peters head suddenly, “Yuh with me still Pete?” Her eyes looked like they were seeing right through him.

Peter nodded, “Yeah.” He gave her a small smile.

With a small shuffle in her seat Barbara gave a proposition, “you know we’ve both have had a handful to deal with. Let’s plan a road trip!” she smiled, “To relax and bond.”

Feeling the tension in his shoulders slowly fade Peter nodded, “I could be down, any ideas?”

“Well there has to be water, like a lake or something for sure. I will die on this hill.” Ba

“Maybe the beach then? I haven't really traveled anywhere outside of New York or Gotham. But I would love to go,” Peter suggested, leaning in as visions of sandy shores filled his mind.

“Oh, I know a coastal town with amazing fish tacos. It’s perfect. We should also catch some sunsets. The view is just stunning,” Barbara said, her enthusiasm infectious.

“That sounds awesome.” Peter couldn’t help but think about someone else when he pictured their adventure.

Barbara chuckled, “Maybe you can invite your red fella, and we can make this a group trip. Let you finally meet Timmy.”

“You’re gonna let me meet THE Timmy. The super genius that you love boasting about.” Peter was excited at this; he really wanted to talk to Timmy after hearing all about him from Babs.

“Only if you get Red to come.” She played her cards and gave a triumphant smile.

“You play dirty.” Peter huffed but he wasn’t mad just acting.

“Just a winner by nature.” Barbara praised herself, “Deal?” She held her hand out with a smirk.

Peter rolled his eyes and shook her hand, “Deal, but I make no promises. Its up to him if he comes or not.”

“Fair.

+†+🪦+†+    

The night had cloaked Crime Alley in shadows, but the sound of laughter pierced through, drawing Red Hood closer. Under the flickering streetlight, a group of children played their joy, which was in stark contrast to the rough surroundings. With a gentle sigh, he approached, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath his mask.

“Hey there, troublemakers!” he called out, his voice light and teasing, not like they can tell much with the voice changer in his helmet. The kids turned, their faces lighting up with excitement at the sight of their favorite vigilante.

“Red Hood! Are you here to catch bad guys?” asked a girl with vibrant pigtails, her eyes filled with wonder.

“Of course,” he answered, crouching down to meet their gaze. “But tonight, I’m more interested in you all. How are you doing?”

“We’re fine! We’re tough!” boasted a lanky boy holding a worn-out baseball bat. 

Red Hood chuckled, shaking his head. “Tough is good, but tough doesn’t mean you’re invincible. It’s smart to stay safe. Stick together; be stronger in numbers, alright?”

One of the smaller boys, a bit shy but brave, asked, “What if someone tries to hurt us?”

“Then you all stand strong together. You have each other’s backs, and you make sure to shout for help if you need it,” Red Hood encouraged, feeling a surge of warmth at the thought of their camaraderie. “I’ll always try to be there to protect you, that’s why you have that alarm.” He ruffled the boy's hair, “You don’t always have to fight. Sometimes, it’s about using your heads and knowing when to get out of a situation.”

The girl with pigtails grinned widely. “Like you do?”

“Exactly.” he affirmed. “But don’t be too much like me. You have each other. Have your own strengths, and together, you can do great things. Just promise me you’ll look out for one another.”

The kids nodded eagerly, their faces full of determination. They seemed to draw energy from his presence, and he felt a swell of protectiveness towards them. He may not believe some of the things he tells the kids, but the hope in their eyes and smiles is all he is after. He didn’t care if he sounded like a hypocrite. He wanted to protect them. 

As they resumed their game of tag, Red Hood watched with a mix of pride and nostalgia. Their laughter warmed his heart, and he silently vowed to keep them safe. As he took a step back into the shadows, thoughts of a certain someone—with brown, dark curls and bright hazel eyes—snuck into his mind. He didn't quite realize how deeply he was thinking about Peter. He was really making a difference for the families here. For now, though, his focus remained on these children, hoping to see them grow and thrive despite the challenges around them.

He eventually turned away, feeling the weight of the shadows pressing around him. Countless other sections of Crime Alley demanded his attention. Each one is shrouded in its mysteries and dangers. As he glanced back, he steeled himself for the task ahead, knowing he had to survey the dimly lit streets and hidden corners that lay just beyond.

Princess: Hey, you would not guess what I just heard.

Hood grinned, instantly changing his route to meet up with Peter, who was most definitely on his way home after his shift at the Lounge. 

Chapter Text

Peter was right. Hood couldn’t believe what he heard, “Are you sure.” He repeated.

Peter nodded and said, “Yes, it’s confirmed. They mentioned that it will happen tomorrow night. Penguin is going to close the venue to the general public, allowing only VIPs inside, and most of his men will handle the shipment.” He raised his fist and counted off on his fingers as he listed the key points. “There will be fewer people present, including clients. Jay, Raven, and Lark are the overseers of the shipment. Penguin will be running the place himself until they all return, which gives us a one-hour window.”

Hood nodded thoughtfully, his mind racing with what he might need for the task ahead. After a moment of contemplation, he paused and turned to Peter, his voice hinting at uncertainty. “Us?”

Peter’s eyes sparkled with determination as he replied, “I want to help. You know I can make a difference.”

“No,” Hood interjected firmly, crossing his arms over his chest in a protective stance. “You won’t be joining me on this.”

Peter's expression morphed into a pout, his brows furrowing with disappointment. “Why not? I’m not just sitting on the sidelines.”

With a mixture of annoyance and protectiveness, Hood met Peter’s gaze. “I don’t drag people into my dirty work, especially not you.” He glanced at the door that the Arc Reactor was in, “You got too many people that need you.” Unlike me went unsaid but was heard almost clearly

He noticed Peter tilting his head, a familiar gesture that often preceded one of his unexpected revelations. The hairs on the back of Jason's neck stood up as he heard the static-like buzz that signaled Peter was about to say something noteworthy. “What if,” Peter suggested, his voice laced with enthusiasm, “I was a meta? Would that change your mind about letting me join?”

Rolling his eyes, Hood shot back, “I already know you’re a meta.” His tone was resolute, leaving no room for argument. “And that changes nothing.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open in shock, his surprise evident. “What do you mean you already know?”

With his fingers raised, Hood prepared to list his observations like a seasoned strategist. “First, you have enhanced hearing—nothing gets past you. Second, there’s that sixth sense of yours that always seems to know when something's off. And let’s not forget, you most likely possess super strength.” 

“How do you know all that?” Peter asked, still processing the information.

Hood smirked, a glint of playful arrogance in his eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s got some skills up his sleeve,” he said, edging closer to the truth of their partnership. “But it’s still a firm no.”

Feeling his frustration mount, Peter folded his arms in defiance, his expression turning serious. “But I know the ins and outs of the place. I’ve studied every corner. I could help you navigate.”

“Yeah, and you’ve already recounted every detail to me,” Jason shot back, recalling their countless discussions. 

“What if you get shot?” Peter pressed, genuinely concerned. 

Hood shrugged, his demeanor unaffected. “It happens a lot; I can handle it,” he stated, his voice unwavering. The scars and bruises he bore from past encounters were testaments to his resilience.

“What if you need backup?” Peter insisted, the worry etching deeper lines on his youthful face.

“I haven’t needed it before; I wouldn’t need it now,” Jason replied a hint of finality in his voice. 

“Why won’t you let me help?” Peter’s voice edged on desperation, a plea for understanding brimming within it.

With a deep breath, Jason felt his patience thin. “Because you’re a civilian, under my protection, and untrained,” he emphasized, frustration creeping through his tone. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

The silence that followed hung heavy in the air, filled with unspoken tension as both grappled with the reality of their situation.

“Would things change if I wasn’t just a civilian?” Peter's voice was vulnerable.

Jason just was not able to come up with anything against that. What did Peter even mean by that? Jason didn't realize he took too long to say anything when Peter spoke again.

He put his hands up in surrender as he stared at him, “There was a reason why I came to Gotham.”

Jason shifted slightly preparing himself for the worse, “Go on.”

“It wasn’t my choice to come to Gotham. I was left here.” Peter held one of his arms as he proceeded to not meet Hoods eyes, “I made a mistake that costed me everything.” His voice lowered, “I used to be a trained Hero.” Peter finally admitted after a long pause.

As Hood was going to respond, Peter took a step away and he got to observe with amazement as Peter’s hearing aids began to swell and stretch outward, almost like they were alive. The tiny devices seemed to mold seamlessly to his skin, following the contours of his face. The band that encircled his head began to elongate and shift, its material twisting and turning until it transformed into the sleek, emblematic design of a suit. It enveloped him gradually, piece by piece, yet left his face fully exposed to the world. Hood couldn’t stop the race of his heart as he took in the sight. He’s never seen a transformation like this before kind of remined him of magical girls.

“I don’t remember any suit like that.” Hood wanted to believe Peter, he honestly did but the training from his youth seemed to kick in, “With how severe you're making this mistake out to be, wouldn’t you just be a liability.”

Peter finally met his glaze, “Someone made it so people who remember me.” Touching the symbol on his chest Peter continued, “I used to go by Spiderman.”

“A little on the nose, isn’t it.” Hood tilted his head slightly.

Peter ignore that, “My mistake had nothing to do with my abilities,” Hood could tell there was more Peter  wanted to say but was keeping it to himself, “I can still help, there’s too much ground for one guy to cover.”

Hood folded his arms, “Good thing I’m not just any guy. The answer is still no.” Before Peter can get a word in Hood continued, “Appreciate trusting me with this shit, but again, I work alone. I don’t need you on my six if I don’t know what you’re capable of. If anything, you’ll determent me as I’ll be focused on what’s going on with you.”

Peter took a step forward, “I can just be a look out then! Just incase they get back early.”

“No.” hood firmly said.

“why are you being so.” Peter stopped himself and groaned, “Please just let,”

“—No matter what it still stands: I don’t work well with others in the field,” Jason concluded.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, “But I can help you.”

Hood shook his head, “Peter I just can’t.” He realized the other was just as stubborn they were going to run circles around each other until they came into an agreement about something.

“This stays between us.” He almost hissed, it was taking a lot out of him to talk about this, “I’m a red flag when it comes with working with others.” He began simply before diving into the complexity, “Sure the first few minutes would be fine, but after that… the longer the fight continues I lose sight in a way, can’t differentiate between sides, which is why none of my men work with me on missions either. I can’t really handle my self-control when I get like that either. I’m not taking any chances with you being there.  It is something I’ve accepted long ago that I have to deal with.” Hood stared at Peter to see if the other understood his reasoning.

Peter sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on his chest, “Oh…” He mumbled before determination sparked in his eyes as he reached out to grab Jason's hands, gripping them firmly. “I will find a way to help you fix this,” he declared, his voice steady and filled with an unwavering confidence, “That sounds like I sucks to deal with.” Jason couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration; Peter’s conviction was a beacon of hope in the chaos swirling around them.

But despite that hope, Jason felt a storm brewing inside him, a tumultuous sea of emotions he could barely contain. He abruptly pulled his hands away as if the contact had seared him. “I don’t need fixing,” he retorted, an edge of anger creeping into his voice. Each word dripped with frustration as he fought against the rising tide of his feelings.

 As his emotions strengthen a mixture of pain and rage boiling just beneath the surface. "You’re not coming with me, and that’s final,” he asserted, his voice firm as his heart raced. the intensity of his inner turmoil mirrored by the urgency he felt in his body. The primal urge for release coursed through him, the thought of violence flickering like a flame in the back of his mind.

“Wait, Hood.”

“Sorry,” was all he managed to say before he turned on his heel and stormed out of Peter’s apartment. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Peter alone in the dim silence, the resolve in his heart still flickering but challenged by the echo of Jason's words.

It wasn’t Peter fault really, Hood just couldn’t, no he wouldn’t let someone else fall in that rabbit hole for him. Especially someone the Alley is relying on. No matter the reasonings for the other being here, he’s doing something others wouldn’t.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

One thing Peter excelled at was ignoring clear instructions, a peculiar talent that had led him into both remarkable and perilous situations throughout his life. Oddly enough, Peter wouldn’t have chosen to change a thing; he thrived on the unpredictability of his choices.

Though slipping into the fitted suit felt profoundly wrong, it was as if he were donning a façade, pretending to be someone he no longer recognized. The night air was crisp against his skin as he stood alone on the rooftop. The city sprawled beneath him like a living entity, its lights flickering like scattered stars fallen to Earth. He longed to rip the suit off and hurl it into the abyss, but reality surged back into focus—he had nothing else that could provide the same level of protection.

Stark made it for him. To protect him. So, he’ll wear it right now to protect someone else.

He knew he was going directly against Hood for doing this. He just didn’t know how to tell the other that something in his gut was telling him something was wrong. Yes he gave the information to Hood himself, but it felt too easy. Like it was supposed to be said out loud to attract attention. The more he thought about it and the more they argue it became for prominent with how the hair on his skin was raising.

Anxiety surged through him like an electric current, thrumming against his chest, mingling with the distant sounds of the bustling city—a cacophony that often marked the chaos of his life. The thought of his notoriously bad Parker luck twisted in his gut, fueling visions of all the potential calamities that could burst forth at any moment. Yet, amid the turmoil, he pushed those thoughts aside; Hood needed him now more than ever. Even if the other won’t admit it, anything could go wrong. 

Perched high on the rooftop near The Lounge, Peter was clad in his Spiderman suit, the sleek metal shimmering under the pale glow of the moonlight. The suit conformed to his athletic frame, its vibrant colors giving him a striking appearance that meld seamlessly with the building's architecture around him. The cool night air brushed against his skin, filling him with an exhilarating sense of anticipation. 

He sat in stillness, his senses heightened as he focused intently on the commotion emanating from inside The Lounge. Voices and laughter drifted through the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses—a reminder of the normalcy and chaos just out of reach. Peter felt the thrill of the chase coursing through him, knowing that he was waiting for Hood, a figure he expected to make an entrance at any moment. Time seemed to stretch as he held his breath, ready to spring into action when the moment finally presented itself.

He was a worrywart. He knew Red Hood could take care of himself, but that didn’t stop him from sitting a building or two away to ensure he was alright the whole time. 

Peter sat on the edge of the roof. His gaze fixated on the intricate holes that the Nanites had meticulously formed around his wrists. The faint glimmer of the tiny, advanced machines reflected a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Moments after Hood had left his apartment, Peter felt a sense of urgency. Deep down, he realized that he would still don the mask and venture out as Spider-Man the following night despite the uncertainties brewing within him. 

He pondered whether this world was truly ready for Spiderman or if he was even prepared to embrace the responsibilities that came with it. Memories of other Spider-Men flashed through his mind, particularly Peter 2, whose experiences loomed large in his thoughts. Gathering his resolve, he decided to test the new spinnerets that were integrated into his wrists. 

At first, the sensation was overwhelming; a sharp pain coursed through him as he strained to engage the new muscles and organs designed specifically for this purpose. It felt like experimenting with uncharted territory within his own body, each movement requiring a delicate balance of strength and finesse. As he focused, he could sense the web fluid gathering in his palms, winding its way through the intricate pathways of the new system until it eagerly burst forth, ready to be unleashed.

Yet, an unsettling thought crossed his mind—he was still unfamiliar with the limits of this new setup. It was a thrilling yet daunting prospect, and that uncertainty compelled him to keep his trusty web shooters close at hand, a reliable backup in case he miscalculated his newfound abilities. With a deep breath, he steeled himself for what lay ahead, ready to face the challenges of the night.

It seemed Peter was ready to do anything for his new friend.

That's when familiar sounds finally reached him—a harsh scuffing of boots against the pavement and the unmistakable rattle of guns shifting, their metal frames clinking as they were adjusted. It wasn’t just the noises that set him on edge; he could almost feel the intensity of the other’s breath, a hot whisper against his ear, full of rage as if they were standing right behind him. 

Peter's imagination filled the details with chilling clarity, even though the reality was different. Red Hood was on the ground floor, steadily making his way up toward The Lounge, his presence looming larger with each passing moment. Peter realized that Hood must have come here on foot—there was no hum of a motorbike, which was usually the herald of the vigilante's arrival. The silence of the engine, which often roared like a beast, now felt like a harbinger of something much more sinister. Hood wasn’t taking any chances; it seemed that in itself was putting Peter on edge. 

Peter stood frozen in place, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as he watched Hood enter the building. He swallowed hard as the heavy door swung shut behind him. Time seemed to stretch for far too long as he waited, every second dragging on, the tension building like an overextended spring ready to snap. Then, the sharp crack of gunshots shattered the eerie silence, echoing through the air like thunder. 

Sometimes he forgot Hood was a crime lord and this was definitely a turf war happening. But that didn’t stop him from worrying about the one-man army.

Panic erupted inside the building, and Peter’s breath caught in his throat as he witnessed a chaotic scene unfold before his eyes. The sounds of shouts and terrified screams pierced through the clamorous backdrop of gunfire. He saw his coworkers and clients burst out of the entrance, their faces etched with sheer terror, eyes wide and frantic as they sprinted for safety. 

The words of those who had managed to escape filled the air, a cacophony of fear and urgency speaking of a gunfight occurring just beyond the doors. The ominous atmosphere was charged with dread, and his mind raced with the realization that everything was spinning out of control. Each shot fired seemed to resonate deep within him, amplifying the sense of helplessness that began to envelop him like a thick fog—a bloody one. More people spoke about how Red Hood let them all leave before he started it. Then, the thing that caused Peter to rise in action was the voice of someone he knew well.  

Jay had run up to check on people before her eyes laid on the entrance of the lounge. They finished early. It was way too soon, and Peter knew the others wouldn’t be that far behind her. 

Hood scrunched up his face in thought, “I’ll see what I can do.” He said after a while, “If they shoot me, no promises.” 

Peter stood up; the silver moonlight streaming behind him cast a long, eerie shadow across the ground. His mask was securely fitted to his face, clinging snugly. With a surge of adrenaline, he swung into action, his movements fluid and practiced.

Jay was quick on her feet and dashed for the door, but Peter was faster. He shot a strand of webbing with precision, ensnaring the doorknob and snapping it closed sharply. The soft thud of the door clicking shut echoed throughout the street. 

With a practiced flip, he landed silently just in front of the door, blocking her path. He took a moment to gather himself, ensuring that his voice remained low and distorted by the mask, an unsettling blend of authority and urgency. “Turn back,” he urged, trying to reason with her, his tone betraying a mix of concern and desperation.

She growled at him, “Get out of my way, wannabe.” She seethed. Her only thought was protecting Penguin. 

Getting into a fighting stance, Peter could see the bodies of others making their way over, “Nah, I think I’m going to stay right here.” 

“Not asking twice,” Jay threw a punch, only for Peter to grab it.

“Na uh, uh.” Peter shook his finger with his open hand, “It doesn’t work like that.” Jay threw another punch with her other hand, only for Peter to hold both, “Why would you think It’ll work the second time? I literally caught your hand easily, and I’m like, what? A foot shorter than you?” Peter questions in his usual quips, “Don’t you think that's a little-” He was cut off by a bullet almost hitting his head.

His eyes met with Lark, who had a sniper drawn on him, “Raven.” Lark didn’t even have to say anything else before Raven came out from the side and sent a kick towards Peter's head. 

This was a great first meeting with Raven.

Peter pushed Jay back before dropping down and blocking Raven’s attack with his leg, “That was close.” He then twisted his body in a way his leg repelled and pushed Raven away towards Jay. Jumping out of the way of another bullet, Peter stood back up, letting the three gather together, “You know, if you wanted to take down a Spider, you should have brought better repellent.” 

Larked reloaded her gun. When Raven spoke up, “Get out of our way,” that's when Jay took a step forward, “Or else.” She finished for Raven, her voice harsher than the others. 

“Or else what?” Peter shot a web at Lark's hand, stopping her from finishing her task and then webbing Raven's feet. “Really, I want to know,” he teased. “I promise.”

It was at that moment that their dance began—an intense interplay of violence and grace. The three girls—Jay, Raven, and Larked—coordinated flawlessly, each girl's unique fighting style complementing the others as they unleashed a whirlwind of attacks. Their movements were fluid yet frenzied, resembling a chaotic ballet that displayed both skill and determination.

Peter, as Spiderman at this moment, stood firm, ready to defend against the trio's onslaught. With quick reflexes, he blocked and deflected the girls' strikes, his intentions clear: to keep them occupied without causing any harm. Each time he dodged or parried, he was keenly aware of the need to neutralize the situation without violence.

He did not want to hurt them.

As the tension escalated, the air crackled with energy. Just when it appeared the girls might find a breakthrough, Peter spotted an opportunity—an instant when their attention wavered amidst the chaos. With the precision of a practiced hero, he launched a web that ensnared them, expertly tying their arms together while keeping their safety in mind. The dynamic shifted, leaving the girls momentarily caught in the aftermath of their fierce yet noble struggle.

He took a deep breath. Although he was definitely out of shape, experience was all he needed. 

“That was fun.” He gleamed at the trio, “Sorry we couldn’t dance longer. Got things to do and places you can't go.” He saluted, “Don’t worry, I’ll come back to let you out. Pinky promise.”

Peter cautiously stepped through the heavy doors and into the dimly lit space beyond, his senses heightened as he scanned for any signs of danger. The air was thick with tension, and the faint sound of distant chaos echoed around him. Inside, he was immediately struck by the sight of several individuals strewn across the floor, their bodies limp and injured. A surge of relief washed over him as he noted that, for the moment, none appeared to be lifeless; they were merely unconscious, their chests rising and falling softly.

With a sense of urgency, Peter moved from one person to the next, assessing their injuries. He quickly retrieved supplies from the makeshift utility belt he had made the night before. Applying pressure to wounds and administering makeshift bandages when necessary. As he worked, he deftly used his webbing to secure the more vulnerable individuals to the ground—this way, if any of them regained consciousness, they wouldn’t accidentally spring to their feet and create more chaos. Each flick of his wrist sent silky strands spiraling to immobilize those who might pose a threat, ensuring a safer environment for himself and anyone else who might enter. He knew he had to act fast; every moment mattered in this precarious situation.

Peter didn’t know how long it took him, but he could still hear Hood. He knew the sounds he made and the vibrations of his voice. It reassured Peter in a way that Hood was safe, in a way.

He remembered Hood's words, which echoed in his head: “Sure the first few minutes would be fine, but after that… the longer the fight continues I lose sight in a way, can’t differentiate between sides, which is why none of my men work with me on missions either. I can’t really handle my self-control when I get like that either. I’m not taking any chances with you being there.”

 Peter had already decided what he was going to do. He was going to stop Red Hood from killing. Gonna show him how he can fight it. Then maybe Peter can find a way to help him. I mean, he helped the other Peter Parker villains. May it have gone south, but the things he created did work. They did. 

Going to where the sound was coming from, the deeper Peter went, the more bodies he passed; it was like watching a change in someone and going from restraining to maiming to death as if the control was slowly lost. 

“Do you know how sick-” Hood spat with venom as he, helmet-less, looked down at the Penguin, “I am of this merry-go-round?” Peter stepped into the room; his eyes landed on the two. Bodies lying around them as if they were the center of the stage, “The catch and release.”

“Little late in the game for recriminations, kid.” The penguin was glaring at Hood with a bloody nose.

That is when Peter realized Hood was showing his face. He had no mask or helmet, and the Penguin knew who he was. 

“It’s not a game, Yutz.” Jason seethed, “Every life you destroy ruins five others.”

“So, I’m prolific,” Penguin shrugged, “I should apologize for that?”

Hood put his helmet back on, “I didn’t come here to listen to you say you’re sorry.” Hood grabbed his gun, “To hear you beg for your life.” He took a step back. “I’m not going to arrest you just so some corrupt judge lets you walk out of jail an hour later.” Peter could hear the reloading of Hood's gun, “I’m here to END this,” Peter made his way over slowly, not wanting to alert Hood, “Tonight!”

Peter watched as Hood cocked his gun at the Penguin, “To end YOU.”  

Peter watched in distress. Should he stop him? Did Peter have the right to? The way they spoke sounded as if this had been happening for years. Round and round, not stopping. More and more people are dying along the way. His mind went back to Osborn, who pleaded with him to stop the Green Goblin—the only way to end it all and set him free.

Was this even Peter’s place to decide?

“Put your gun away. You don't have the stones to pull the trigger. You can play at being one of the bad guys all you want, but at the end of the day, you're just a kid playing dress up.” 

“Hood?” Peter stepped forward, finally letting himself be known.

Penguin noticed Peter first. “Relax. He's harmless—just another Bat Brat.” Hood paid no mind as he continued.

“I'll let you in on a secret, Cobblepot.” Hood pushed the gun to rest on the other's head, “I’m my Father's son.”

Penguin gasped, and fear finally settled in his features. Yet a crooked smile never left his face. “Good on you, kid.” 

Peter watched as Hood killed Oswald Cobblepot. The other's body goes flat back into the ground. Peter walked forward, his fingers twitching, looking at another person he could have saved. But he reminded himself. This wasn’t his world, his choice. The villains here were worse than his. Innocents died at their hands every day. Just like the person Peter watched get dragged out and killed on his first day working here. 

He kept picturing the dumpster full of bodies while he stared at Penguins lifeless form. Back then he was a mess, shaking from the sight. Yet right now, dressed as spiderman. He was even flinching at the sight.

Was this what Cap was telling him all those years ago, “I kill when it's my duty to do so. I don't enjoy it. If I could end every fight without a single drop of blood, I would. But sometimes, that can't be done.”

Hood didn’t move from where he was standing. Peter continued to make his way closer. “Hood?” he asked again, letting his mask retract.

“I thought I told you not to come.” His voice was harsh.

Peter paused before continuing to make his way over, “I don’t listen very well.” He admitted, “Besides, they finished the shipment early. Stopped them before you had more trouble on the way.” Peter refused to look at the dead bodies around him. He couldn't stare at them. If he did, all his confidence would drop. 

Finally, behind Hood, Peter could feel the heat radiating off the other's body. Slowly, he moved himself around Hood so he could face him. “Hood?” he repeated once more. He could hear the stuttering breaths from the other as if all the adrenaline had worn off. 

“You shouldn't have come.” 

Staring at Hood's helmet, Peter couldn’t help but reach for it. He put his hand on the side, wiping off the blood. “But I did.”

Hood grabbed Peter’s hand and slowly brought it away from his helmet. Taking a step away, “I didn’t want you here.” He began, “I told you to stay away.”

“If I hadn’t, you would still be in an even more outnumbered shootout.” Peter stepped forward, “I was worried.”

“No.” Hood seethed. He turned away from Peter. “Leave.”

“What-”

“LEAVE!” Hood snapped. 

Peter felt his body shake as he heard Hood's angry voice. “Go!” Hood repeated. Then he turned back around and gripped Peter’s shoulder, saying, “I don’t want you here.” He pushed him away.

Stumbling back slightly, he felt tears prick his eyes, “Fuck this.” His mask went back up, and he walked past Hood.

Peter left. As he walked, he tried to stay as upright as possible, not letting himself fall to his emotions. Before he fully left, He brought Jay, Raven, and Lark inside. They were still tied up, but he didn’t want to leave them in the cold. After that, he webbed away, leaving Red Hood to clean up the mess. 

Chapter Text

Hood wouldn’t cry, no. He had a job to do, a new place to run.

And yet…

He stood where Peter had left him, the chill of the night air seeping into his bones, leaving him feeling sore and worn, as if he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His hands, once gloved for protection, now lay bare before him. He flexed his fingers, feeling the tense muscles coiling like tightly wound springs, aching and heavy with unspoken burdens. Staring down at his palms, he couldn’t shake the sensation that they were tainted—tainted with the sins of his past, even if there were no visible marks to betray that truth and tainted with how he treated Peter moments ago.

“Fuck,” he choked out, the word escaping his lips in a strained whisper, the sound a bitter release of the turmoil roiling inside him. 

He killed the Penguin, and the first stage of his plan was complete. He should have felt happy and liberated, yet he found himself wanting to cry. Why did the death at his own hands hurt? He had saved families—children—by getting rid of this man. Yet here he was, on the verge of breaking down after achieving his initial goal.

Why were his emotions truly fucked.

He truly had messed everything up. In a moment of desperation, he had pushed Peter away, insisting that he keep his distance. At that moment, he couldn’t bear the thought of Peter witnessing the state he was in—the raw vulnerability he worked so hard to hide. To Peter, Hood was a friend, someone who had shown him kindness amidst the chaos. But now, standing here in the abyss of his own making, he realized how little Peter understood. 

Peter had only known Jason, not by name but the part of him that had laughed, cried, and shared secrets over long nights. He might not even know the truth behind the mask he wore. The man Peter had come to trust was a mere shadow of who he truly was. Now, faced with the harsh reality of his alter ego, Red Hood, he struggled against the way others defined him—a notorious crime lord, a villain whose name sent shivers down spines across the city. 

As he let the moment wash over him, the conflict within roared even louder. He hated how he treated Peter in his emotional turmoil. 

Now Peter knew him fully.

He didn’t know how to handle that fact.

So, he cried.

It was easy to let it out while wearing his helmet. He won't cry for long, he swore. He still had a job to finish and a place to run.

Jason thought Peter was too good. He saw all the people webbed up, and many were bandaged so they didn’t bleed out. He was way too good for him.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Time felt like a fickle mistress, slipping through Peter's fingers with an erratic charm. What might have been a matter of a few hours had stretched into a sprawling expanse of days, each blending into the next in a hazy swirl of uncertainty.

The thought of returning to The Lounge loomed in his mind, a specter both tempting and terrifying. The promise of easy money was ever-present, but the echoes of Hood’s words resonated with him like a warning bell—‘LEAVE.’ 

Peter knew he had already tested the waters once too often, pushing the boundaries of his comfort with risky decisions. So, instead of yielding to temptation, he resolved to take a step back, a conscious retreat into the familiarity of his apartment building. He redirected his focus to the unfinished projects he had been neglecting, starting with the rusty pipes that creaked and groaned beneath the building's surface and the outdated security system that had long since fallen into disrepair.

Each task was a small mountain to climb. He spent hours crawling through damp corridors, wrench in hand, the smell of old metal and stagnant water filling his nostrils. The cameras, remnants of a once-state-of-the-art security setup, were scattered throughout the building, some facing the wrong way, others completely non-functional. He embarked on a meticulous journey, reconnecting wires and fixing lenses, his hands becoming calloused and dirty from the work. After painstaking effort, he carefully repositioned each camera, finding better angles to capture the comings and goings of his new home.

With every adjustment, he felt a growing sense of accomplishment, yet the weight of his previous choices lingered in the back of his mind like an ominous shadow. Each successful repair was a momentary distraction, but the call of The Lounge was hard to ignore.

Fixing things can only distract him for so long, especially when he can see that Hood reads his messages but refuses to reply.

Princess: I’m sorry for not listening.

Princess: I’ll be here when you're ready.

 

Read.

 

Peter needed another job. He couldn't keep waiting around. He did forge an ID some time ago, so he can start looking at more secure jobs—one where he's not working for a random high-level villain.

Even so, Lark persistently contacted him about the situation at the place. She detailed the sweeping changes Hood had implemented, particularly how he had granted the three girls a surprising amount of freedom, albeit with the ominous caveat that any misstep would result in severe consequences—possibly even death. Lark also confided that Jay had been missing him deeply, although she noted that Jay would never admit it to Peter directly, keeping her feelings guarded.

As he reflected on this, he felt a pang of longing. Outside of Hood and Barbara, those girls had been some of his earliest friends and colleagues in this chaotic world. Their playful banter, filled with inside jokes and shared experiences, brought back a wave of almost painful nostalgia. It reminded him not only of the friendship they shared but also of everything that had been lost, making him ache for the simpler times they once enjoyed together.

Peter slowly accepted this place as his home, yet why did it feel like he was starting over again?

He started research on places in Gotham. In an area that truly needed upgrades, he could offer up his skills. 

“Do you know how sick-” 

“I am of this merry-go-round?”

 “The catch and release.”

Peter’s mind started analyzing those words, and he then began typing, trying to find what his mind concluded. His search finally landed on two places: Arkham Asylum, a psychiatric hospital, and Blackgate Prison, supposedly one of the hardest prisons to escape from. However, the records for both places say something else. These were the places where Batman's enemies went, only to be released again.

He could fix them. His eyes looked at all the articles, all the past mishaps and workings of the place. He could make them better, make them easier to hold, and actually help the villains of Gotham. Peter had already settled on his new project. 

He wasn’t ready to be Spiderman again. Spiderman lost his home.

But Peter Parker? Tony Stark’s prodigy who helped build things that changed his old world for the better. That is who Gotham needed. 

“If you're nothing without this suit, then you shouldn't have it, okay?” 

Peter reflected on the conversation he had with Tony all those years ago. At the time, he felt a flicker of understanding, believing he grasped the essence of Tony's words. However, in this moment of realization, the depths of that conversation became clear to him.

 He realized that the suit he wore, the powerful Spider-Man persona, wasn’t the key to making a real impact in the world. It was Peter Parker who held the true potential for change. As he processed this newfound clarity, he understood that it was not the superhero alter ego that Tony had faith in, but rather the person beneath the mask—Peter Parker—who could truly shape the future and make a difference in people's lives.

Smiling to himself, Peter looked at the arc Reactor he made, “I won’t let you down again, Mr. Stark… Karen, start a new file in the database, we’ll workshop they name.”

“Of course, Peter.”

“Let’s get to work.”

With that resolution in mind, Peter dedicated countless hours to analyzing publicly available data and research in order to design a more efficient and robust operating system for Arkham Asylum. His efforts went beyond just software; he meticulously crafted detailed blueprints aimed at enhancing the holding rooms, ensuring that the containment facilities were not only secure but also better suited to the unique needs of the inhabitants.

Additionally, he mapped out comprehensive upgrades for various security structures within the asylum, integrating advanced technology and innovative safety measures to improve overall protection for both staff and patients. Each modification was thoughtfully considered, with a focus on creating a safer and more rehabilitative environment.

This was just the start. His eyes reread the same paper over and over again about the corruption in Arkham. He had his plan mapped up, and he could give the place all the upgrades he could at the ready. He couldn’t get it to work if they denied him. 

His eyes drifted to look at a pair of sunglasses Barbara had left during one of her visits. Memories surged through him, and he looked back at the statement about the Director of Arkham Asylum, Alyce Sinner. 

He had the blueprints to make it. And she was apparently a nutcase that had a fixation on the seven deadly sins; he could use that.

. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Bruce studied the article spread out before him, reading it for the twelfth time. How did he miss this? Was it because he was drawn deep into the complexities surrounding the Red Hood? The recent accident involving Robin after his encounter with this figure weighed heavily on Bruce's mind. Information about Red Hood was scarce, and the silence surrounding him was deafening. With the Penguin's defeat, Red Hood's gang had rapidly expanded, asserting dominance over the dark underbelly of Gotham and making investigations increasingly perilous.

As Bruce poured over the details, a new line of inquiry unfolded in his thoughts, sparked by one of Richard's recent comments. “Look at this guy,” Dick had exclaimed, his eyes alight with fascination as he pointed to a name in the report. “With all the corruption in Arkham, I’m genuinely surprised they let him work at all.”

Arkham changed for the better? More about the man Peter Parker and his goal for change in Gotham.

Tim leaned in closer, his gaze intense as he examined the documents. “Hmm,” he mused thoughtfully. It was a simple response, but it spoke volumes, allowing Dick to continue his train of thought without interruption.

“Do you think I could convince him to work on the Blüdhaven prison system?” Dick asked, his voice tinged with hope and possibility. He was clearly excited about the prospect of reforming the infamous facility.

Yet, as Bruce listened, a growing sense of unease loomed in the back of his mind. Something was unsettling about this Peter Parker individual. Though Bruce was well-versed in the backgrounds of many who rose to prominence in Gotham—and he had a solid understanding of those involved in its criminal operations—Parker remained an enigma. Despite his potential, Bruce discovered that Peter’s history was surprisingly absent from any records he could access. This unsettling gap in information left him on edge.

How can a man so smart achieve this without even an ounce of school in his records?

With Red Hood establishing himself as a powerful force in Crime Alley and now this mysterious genius emerging seemingly out of nowhere to enhance and fortify Arkham Asylum, Bruce couldn’t shake the feeling that the city was teetering on the brink of something far more dangerous than he could anticipate.

After carefully contemplating various strategies and possibilities, he finally settled on a name for his plan: “Alfred.” With a determined nod, he stood up and reached for his jacket hanging on the back of his chair.

“Yes, Master Bruce,” Alfred replied, stepping forward to assist him. He deftly helped him slide the jacket onto his shoulders, adjusting it with the practiced ease of someone who had done this many times before.

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he paced to the doorway, the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. “Let the Enterprise know that I’d like to extend an invitation for a meeting with Peter Parker,” he instructed, his voice steady yet purposeful.

Alfred nodded solemnly, understanding the significance of the request. “Is there anything else I should mention to them?” he inquired, ready to take notes on the next steps.

Bruce paused for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities and the implications of what he was about to say. After a brief moment of deliberation, he replied, “Yes... I think it’s important to add that I want to hire him.” He turned to meet Alfred’s gaze, his decision firm.

“Very well, I’ll let them know before you arrive.” Alfred gave a courteous nod. 

“Thank you, Alfred.” 

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Peter chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he listened to Barbara passionately rant about the latest chaos at her job. It had become increasingly common for him to find solace in her company; their time together was a welcome distraction from his relentless inventing. Ever since Karen had initiated the “Tony Protocol,” a series of measures designed by Pepper to ensure Tony took much-needed breaks, Peter found himself with unexpected downtime. He seized this opportunity to spend more time with Barbara, enjoying her vibrant energy and sharp wit.

In the beginning, Peter had underestimated Barbara, he couldn’t overlook the striking similarities he saw between her and his best friends, Ned and MJ. Their shared sense of humor, their fierceness in standing their ground, and even their laughter all reminded him of the two. It made him realize that perhaps it was this resemblance that had initially held him back from forming a deeper bond with her. Rather than feeling overshadowed by the memories of his friends, he began to appreciate Barbara for her unique qualities, and the walls he had built around himself slowly started to crumble.

“Is that why the computers were down the last time I came in?” Peter asked, interjecting between Barbara's rants.

“Yes!” she wheezed. “I can’t believe how people can be so dumb!” She leaned back in her chair. “Now I have to bother the city to make repairs,” she huffed.

Peter tilted his head in question. “Why not ask me? I’m literally your cool, awesome tech guy.”

“One, that’s your new name on my phone,” Barbara chuckled, “and two, you’ve been busy with Arkham. I didn’t want to pull you away from the great work you’ve been doing.”

Shaking his head, Peter pushed his coffee aside so he could look at Barbara better. “That’s not fair. I can help! The library is important. Many of the Alley kids go there as well. I can get the power working again. Maybe even upgrade those dusty computers you have. And don’t get me started on your client system—we can update that and fix your security setup, too.”

Barbara poked his forehead. “Peter, you're rambling again.”

Swatting her hand away, he pouted. “And? I’m creating a plan, which is good for you because there’s no way I’m not helping you now.” He leaned back with a grin. “Looks like you’re stuck with me after I finish these blueprints and plans for Arkham’s upgraded doors.”

“The ones with DNA recognition to stop people from—”

“Just dressing up and getting in. Yep! No more random people in Arkham,” Peter cheered.

“That’s definitely going to help with the escape rate in that place.”

Peter nodded in agreement. “Hopefully, but I will say there’s a warden at Arkham who’s been giving me the ick.”

“The ick?” Barbara questioned.

“Yeah, like a bad feeling,” Peter summarized quickly. “Even though I got the green light to work from the Director of Arkham, Dr. Sinner, and by ‘Mr. Arkham’ himself, the warden, Mr. Sharp, has been giving me trouble left and right.” He groaned in frustration. “I just have this feeling about him. I don’t want to say anything without proof, but I bet he’s the one causing issues at Arkham.”

Barbara shook her head. “Wow, you feel that strongly about him.”

“Yeah,” Peter huffed. “And he’s a dick.”

They shared a warm laugh that resonated in the air, a moment of connection that lingered between them before they fell into a comfortable silence. The cafe they found themselves in was surprisingly quiet, with only a handful of patrons scattered around, their conversations muted and relaxed. The soft hum of the espresso machine and the rhythmic grinding of coffee beans created a soothing backdrop, blending with the rich, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee that filled the space.

It was relaxing.

Barbara leaned back in her chair, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she glanced at Peter. “So, Peter,” she began lightly, “Has there been any word from your crush?”

Peter immediately shot her a glare, a hint of annoyance flashing across his face. “He’s not my crush,” he retorted firmly, crossing his arms defensively.

Her laughter rang out softly, and Barbara rolled her eyes in exaggerated frustration. “Oh, come on! Let’s be real here. I know you’re just pretending not to care. Remember what you said? ‘I was really worried about him, so I went against what he asked me.’ Sounds like someone has a soft spot!” 

Peter’s mood shifted dramatically as he glanced down at his hands resting on the table, his previous light-hearted demeanor fading into disappointment. “No,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “He hasn’t messaged me.”

Barbara sighed heavily, folding her arms in a show of frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s been what? Almost a month now?” she exclaimed, disbelief etched across her features.

“Two weeks and four days,” Peter interrupted, his need for precision evident as he provided the actual duration, his fingers tapping nervously against the table.

“And he’s still giving you the silent treatment,” Barbara exclaimed, her frustration evident as she rolled up her sleeves, her determination shining through. “Just let me at him, Parker. I’ll make him see reason. He can’t just ignore you like that!”

Peter shook his head, a mix of exasperation and concern crossing his face. “That’s exactly why I’ll never tell you his name,” he replied firmly, though deep down, he knew the truth—he wasn’t even sure what Hood’s real name was. The mystery surrounding Hood only added to the tension, and Peter felt a strange sense of protectiveness over the man who had chosen to retreat into silence.

After comforting Peter with a pat on the shoulder, Barbara stood up and said, “Alright, it's getting late. I've got to go watch that little brother of mine.”

“Tim. right?”

She nodded. “That’s the one. His dad is still being a bit of a jerk to him right now, so I’ve been staying with him these last few nights.”

Peter stood up as well and hugged the redhead. “Make sure to let that little genius know I said hi.”

She laughed. “You haven’t even met him, and you want to say hi?”

“Us big brains have to stick together,” he replied.

Barbara playfully pushed him. “Har har har. Alright, I’ll tell him that the famous Peter Parker—who’s going to change Gotham for the better—says hi.”

“Not like that!” Peter whined, cringing at the title of the article published about him.

She walked out of the cafe, “Bye, awesome tech guy.”

Peter waved back, “Bye, Tyrant.”

He lingered at the table for a few moments, sipping the remnants of his coffee as he gazed out the window. The rhythmic clinking of cups and murmurs of conversation provided a comforting backdrop, but today, his mind was unusually still. Normally, it would be buzzing with a whirlwind of thoughts and innovative ideas for his next project, a constant cycle of creativity and ambition. But today felt different. 

With a sigh, he finally pushed back his chair and stood up, stretching his limbs as he felt the weight of the silence settling around him. As he stepped out of the cafe, the brisk air hit his face, refreshing yet grounding. 

His thoughts were consumed by an elusive crime lord who had recently fallen silent. The weight of that silence pressed down on him, disrupting his usual tranquility. He could vividly recall their last interaction—a tense meeting filled with unspoken words and heavy glances. Red Hood's absence loomed large in his mind, like an unanswered question hanging in the air.

It felt strange not spending as much time with him as they used to. The absence of their playful banter left a noticeable void in Peter's days. He found himself missing even the teasing nickname "Princess" that Hood had bestowed upon him with a mischievous grin. A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he recalled the day they had first met the group of alley kids and how it led to that memorable moment.

It was a bright afternoon, the sun casting a warm glow over the weathered pavement when one of the younger children—a little girl with big, hopeful eyes and a wild mane of curls—approached him. She had a spark of excitement in her voice as she declared her intention to host a makeshift tea party right there in the alley. Peter couldn’t resist the innocence and enthusiasm in her gaze, and with a chuckle, he succumbed to her charm.

As they set up the imaginary tea party, complete with an assortment of twigs and empty cans, the little girl’s laughter filled the air. In a playful moment, she adorned him with a small tiara she had crafted for her teddy bear, placing it atop his head and giggling uncontrollably. That endearing image—his face adorned with a whimsical crown, surrounded by the joyous chaos of children's laughter—earned him the affectionate, albeit slightly mocking, nickname from Hood.

Peter smiled fondly at the memory, cherishing the lighthearted moments that connected him to the alley kids and the bonds they had formed. Those carefree afternoons felt like a distant dream now; a reminder of the joy found in simple play and the camaraderie he once took for granted.

He missed it a lot.

Walking into his building, Peter took off his coat and shoes before walking up to the apartment room he claimed as his living space. Stretching, he went straight to the kitchen, thinking about grabbing a snack. That was until a cough caught his attention. He whirled around to see an awkward Red Hood standing there with his helmet off. 

“Hey, Peter,” Hood spoke while rubbing the back of his neck.

Peter moved away from the kitchen. Stepping into the open room Hood was at. Not going to be close to afraid to scare the other off, “Hello, Hood.” He gave a sad smile. 

“Before you say anything else.” Hood looked down, his face hardening a little, “I have-” He seemed to stumble on his words, “I fucked up.” He admitted, “I took my shit out on you. And I’m sorry.” He forced himself to get to the point, “I know I hadn’t been there. I just.” Hood pushed his hair back, “Why is this hard?” He then finally looked at Peter, “I know you probably don’t want to see me, but I’m sorry.”

Peter walked towards Hood, who clearly wasn’t paying attention to him. “I should go. I—this was stupid.” Peter could hear the panic in the other voice, so instead of speaking, he grabbed the other hand and pulled him into a hug.

“You big doofus.” Peter kept hugging the other, “I’m sorry too, I should of listened.” He mumbled.

Hood slowly hugged back, “You just wanted to help.” He then pulled away, “I was harsh.”

Shaking his head Peter didn’t agree, “No you were protecting me, in your own way. Like me to you.” Looking down he softly laughed, “Are we idiots?”

“Maybe a little.” Hood agreed easily.

Peter gestured towards his couch, “Want to stay awhile?” He offered quietly, “We got a lot to catch up on.”

Hood nodded and made his way to the couch, “I saw what you’ve been doing with Arkham.” Admitting he’s been keeping tabs on Peter, “How did you get Sinner to let you? She compromised by Black Mask.”

“Took a page out of someone else’s book.” Peter’s thoughts go to a certain illusionist who started the true downfall of his own time in his own universe. Mysterio.

“I’m assuming it’s not a bag full of heads, right?”

“What?” Peter stared at Hood. Both having a small staring contest, “Why would that be your first thought?” Shrugging Hood looked away, “You know what I don’t even want to know.”

They both sat on the couch, some tension still between them, but it slowly started to ease away. The silence was almost peaceful in the way there was comfort in it. It should have been harder, almost three weeks with seeing the other, minus the packages of items that still managed to show up. Yet they seemed to just fall back into step, like it just a small reset.

Peter understood why it was needed. A lot had happened that night. Honestly if he was in Hoods shoes, he might have done the same. Yet he couldn’t be too certain why Hood stayed away; he only had a small idea.

“Theres something I wanted to tell you.” Peter admitted shifting to looked at Hood, “Honestly this probably makes me look dumb as hell telling this to you, but you were my first friend here, and I just… need to share it. Especially since I already showed you my suit.”

“Peter.” Karen filter through his hearing aids, “I trust your judgement, but I’ll have the security system on standby.”

“Theres a reason Spiderman isn’t know here.”

Hood interrupted, “You don’t have to tell me this, Peter”

“I want to.” He said honestly, “I’m from a different universe, dimension even.”

Finally, he was telling someone. Talking about all he lost and not just keeping it to himself and baring a weight alone, “I was sent away from my universe cause the mistake I made almost made my world collapse.” Hood watched him intensely, “To save everyone, a spell was casted to make the universe forget me, and I was forced to move here, a place where Peter Parker didn’t exist. So, no one who remembered me won’t get reminded while watching me walk down the street.”

Hood knew this was a heavy burden to carry, he lost some memories and even gave some up. He saw the pain it caused others when he couldn’t remember his time with them or forgot things about them. Having to deal with the whole world forgetting you had to be the loneliness thing Hood has ever heard.

Theres only a few magicians he could think of that could pull something like off. Most of them Hood would rather bite a bullet than talk too.

As Hood absorbed this extraordinary claim, everything about Peter, the man he had encountered, began to click into place. The advanced technology that seemed to defy the limits of what he knew and the way he carried himself with an unusual blend of humility and certainly all painted a picture of someone who was anything but ordinary. And then there was that unmistakable hero complex, evident in the way Peter spoke about justice and responsibility, a passion to make the world a better place despite the obstacles he faced. Hood realized that this wasn't just a chance meeting; it was the unveiling of a deeper truth he had yet to comprehend.

“Huh,” Hood stared at Peter, “A different dimension? Really”

“Yes.” Peter eyes him, “You’re taking this easier than I thought you were.”

“Huh?”

“Peter, I think you overwhelmed Red Hood. Like I said you would.”

“What the fuck was that?” Karen's voice snapped Hood out of his thoughts.

Peter messed with his hands, “My AI that my mentor made with me… In my universe.” Peter sat down next to Jason, “Karen, say hi.”

“Hello, Red Hood. I would like to mention I do not condone your hobbies. But you have been much assistance to Peter these past few months.”

Hood kind of side-eyes Peter not sure how to react to the Ai, “I’ll take that as a compliment. So, what made you choose this shithole?”

Peter gains a sad expression, “The portal spat me out here” He changed the mood slightly, “Also my old place was a shithole too, but it was way better than this place. Toxic waterline? That's crazy.”

“Tell me about it.”

Chapter Text

“This is what now? You know what? I’m not even going to count. Something, something journal number anyway. How long have I been in this universe? Four months and 16 days.”

“As always, a lot of exciting things happened since I started Project Mishap—fixing Gotham one hellhole at a time. It was challenging to get the clearance to begin rehabilitating Arkham. I feel bad about the lengths I went to in order to convince Director Sinner to let me take on this project, but I don’t regret it. Discovering and learning about the things she did to patients, as well as her shacking up with Black Mask, deserved.”

“Hopefully, I’ll never have to use those again. I kind of feel bad pulling a Beck. Karen has made sure that the security of the drones is advanced, so there is no need to worry about them falling into someone else's hands. Karen also thinks that I’m pushing my problems away by focusing on fixing everything around me. It was bold of her to assume I wasn’t doing that on purpose… I am, and I don’t want to hear about it after this message.”

“I’m mostly finished with Arkham, but I’ve decided to also pack my schedule by fixing up the library for Babs. I can’t wait to get these places done and force my way into Blackgate next. I have so many ideas for them. Anyway, I have to get back to work. Parker, out.”

Peter felt a newfound lightness in his heart as he immersed himself in the process of repairing and fixing things around him. Each task, whether it was a broken window or a malfunctioning engine, seemed to bring a therapeutic release, a sense of purpose that had eluded him for so long. He marveled at how much he had changed since he first set foot in Gotham nearly four months ago. Back then, he had been a fragile shadow of himself, a man withdrawn from the world, cloistered away in a corner of the city, too tormented by the memories of his past to engage with the universe he now had to call home.

Those initial weeks had been spent in isolation, a cocoon of grief and despair, while the vibrant city life whirled around him. Still, he remained an observer, fearful of reaching out and connecting with anyone or anything. He was haunted by images of the people he would never see again, moments of joy and laughter that felt so distant. Yet, as time passed, something within him began to shift.

Now, reflecting on that painful journey, he recognized that while the sadness lingered like a soft shadow at the edges of his consciousness, it no longer held dominion over him. He could feel the cracks in his heart beginning to heal, allowing the light of hope to seep through. He still longed for his original universe, for the faces and places that were forever etched in his memory, but he had finally come to terms with the reality that this place, Gotham, with all its chaos and beauty, was his home now and it needed him.

With a determined spirit, Peter resolved to embrace his new life fully. He would pour his energy into helping this universe flourish, just as he had done before in another time and place. Each act of kindness and every repair he made felt like a small step toward not only healing himself but also contributing positively to the world around him. This was more than just survival now; it was about thriving and making a difference, and for the first time in a long while, Peter felt a sense of belonging.

Peter felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude as he reflected on the impactful role Barbara and his trio of friends—Jay, Lark, and Raven—had played in his life. The laughter-filled girls' nights they shared were a balm during his most challenging times, offering a sense of Friendship and understanding he had longed for.  Each of them brought a unique perspective that contributed to his personal growth, and even though they might never fully grasp the extent of their influence, he felt a profound sense of indebtedness to them.

Barbara, in particular, held a special place in his heart. She was not just the first friend(outside of Hood) he had ever made but also a beacon of intelligence and bravery. At the library, where their friendship blossomed, she inspired him to step out of his comfort zone. Her relentless encouragement nudged him from the shadows into the light, empowering him to embrace who he truly was. He was also so close to just dropping everything and telling everything to her. Yet something held him back, something etched in his very soul, which he hated. He shouldn’t feel like that, especially towards Babs. He did though introduce Babs to Karen while and holy did Barbara intensely wanted to boot Kare to her system.

His mind then drifted to Red Hood, an unlikely friend he had encountered amidst the chaos of Gotham. The twist of fate that brought them together sparked an incredible bond steeped in a shared mission and mutual respect. They had embarked on rigorous training sessions, pushing each other to their limits during late-night runs. Peter couldn't help but smirk at the memories of their races—no matter how hard the Red Hood tried, he always managed to clinch victory by a hair. It was totally because his Webs were way better than the others grapple gun and he stands by that.

Yet, these interactions were more than just athletic rivalries—they were interwoven with a current of unspoken tension. Peter found himself captivated by the Red Hood, a connection that felt both thrilling and electrifying. There were moments when their bodies were close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from him, a sensation he cherished deeply. It was in those fleeting touches that Peter felt truly alive, as if their chemistry transcended the camaraderie of training and ventured into something far more meaningful. He longed to explore that connection, recognizing it as a pivotal part of his journey of self-discovery and acceptance.

It scared him how much he grew fond of the crime lord. If he was even that? Peter came to understand the whole Crime lord business was a scam, a from to help maintain peace in crime alley while his true purpose was to take down other operations. He has heard the calls, the missions. The disgust Hood held for some of the people he went after. He also had a motto one written in blood, “No touching Kids.” The red bandanas he has seen on the street of people who are protected and showing support in Red Hood was something he only had seen when Captain America went against the government and multiple citizens went to the street to protest for Cap.

Red Hood was a sentinel of Gotham, one that would soak himself in blood to protect its citizens. Something Peter realized early on.

It took him a long time to see that most Heros don’t have the same logic as Hood. In this Universe killing was a last resort option and even then Batman never took the approach which is commendable but stupid. His universe Heros knew when it was time to take that step, A lot of his mentors had killed more times than he can count on his fingers.

Peter himself has come close, but he never could get himself to cross that line, but he had his own reasons. All but one villain he had to fight never took actions that lead to that decision to be made. They all had a chance at redemption cause even with their flaws they still had some form of humanity in them.

The Villains in Gotham on the other hand. Peter shuddered at the thought, A lot of them had no signs or remorse. They did for the thrill, the pain.

Shaking his head, Peter began to immerse himself in the dusty corners of the Gotham library. Surrounded by the hum of antiquated machines, he felt a sense of purpose wash over him. The old computers, with their clunky designs and worn-out components, beckoned him for a revival. Day by day, he devoted hours to tinkering with their intricacies, unraveling the mysteries of their mechanics. His first triumph came swiftly—reviving the flickering lights that had long ceased to shine, illuminating the library’s dimly lit aisles once more.

It was sad to see the lack of funding in this place, just because it was a little too close to Crime Alley.

With each successful enhancement, he felt his confidence grow. He meticulously upgraded each blocky desktop, replacing outdated parts and installing modern software, transforming them into sleek, efficient machines he was used to in his old universe.

He reinforced security measures, ensuring that the invaluable information housed within these walls remained safeguarded against the passage of time. Each flicker of the screens signaled progress, a promise that the wisdom of the past would endure. It was a labor of love, in a way. Platonic love really as he was truly doing all of this for Barbara, who wanted to save the Library and still give unlimited resources of knowledge to the people in Gotham.

“Peter!” Speak of the devil, Barbara called out. “We need to close up shop for the day! I don’t want Karen yelling at you again.” She teased as she began to pack up.

“But I’m so close!” he whined playfully, but then he started cleaning up his mess and made his way to the front.

Barbara was typing away at the front desk when he arrived. “It’ll still be there tomorrow. Besides, I can’t go home until you leave,” she said with a smile. “I have dinner plans with my dad tonight. I can’t be late.”

Peter went behind the counter to hug her. “Alright, I’m only accepting this answer because it’s your dad.”

“Why not just because of me?”

“Because you’re not the famous Commissioner Gordon, who is one of the last great cops known to man.” Peter dramatically put his arm over his face and leaned down.

Barbara pushed him away playfully. “I see how it is,” she huffed.

Grinning, Peter began to walk out, laughing at Barbara’s pouting face. “See you tomorrow, my best friend who I love and adore.”

“Tomorrow, my friend who will replace me with my dad.”

“Glad I didn’t have to say it!” Barbara flipped him off.

“Bye, Pete.”

“Bye, Babs!”

+†+🪦+†+

Two weeks later, Hood reconnected with Peter. Hanging out with each other again and getting closer than ever. All that time brought Hood to where he was now, in the rain, lost in thought.

His revenge plan was nothing short of a masterful tapestry woven with intricate threads of calculation and foresight. A low, mirthless chuckle escaped his lips as he envisioned the grand entrance he would orchestrate in Gotham—a city that had not only turned its back on him but had also reveled in his torment. It was all about respect; he was determined to redirect their gaze away from the omnipresent shadow of the Dark Knight, the very figure who had once stood as his ally, his Mentor, his Father. Hood was resolute in unveiling a startling new paradigm for governance—a vision of order and control that would starkly contrast with the rampant chaos that had long plagued the streets of Gotham.

He needed them to see him for who he truly was, not merely as a faded echo of the Dark Knight’s legacy. The mere thought of this reframing sent a thrill coursing through him, igniting a fire within as he envisioned reclaiming his identity—his very right to exist within this city. Jason Todd was no longer a ghost, a hushed name fading into whispers in the crumbling alleyways and forgotten corners of Gotham. He would compel the city to recognize him not just as a man but as an undeniable force of nature, breathing life into his ambitions with each calculated step, ready to reshape the city in his defiant image. This revolutionary revelation would strike deep at Bruce, the man who had forsaken him in favor of succumbing to the madness that embodied the Joker.

Memories twisted within him like a tempest, a dark storm manifesting as he recalled that pivotal moment that had forever altered his fate. He could still feel the biting coldness of betrayal wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud, a stark reminder of the breathless struggle against the cruel hands of destiny. It was as if the darkness itself had engulfed him while Bruce stood paralyzed, paralyzed by the very choices he had made. Hood had extended a chance, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of confusion, and what had Bruce done in response? He had clung stubbornly to the chaos, embracing the Joker—the living embodiment of everything Hood had come to loathe, the very antithesis of the order he now sought to impose.

Oh, Batman had made his choice, indeed—a choice that bore heavily upon Jason’s spirit, settling in his gut like a stone that threatened to crush him beneath its weight. He could almost hear Batman’s voice echoing in his mind, dripping with justifications for each misstep as the chaos unfurled around them, leaving devastation in its wake. It all crystallized into sharp relief, the stark lines vividly drawn between the life he had once known and the radiant manifestation of what was yet to come.

Soon enough, Jason would confront Batman once again, adorned in the fierce guise of Red Hood—a symbol of vengeance and strength. Their fates were irrevocably intertwined, spiraling toward a defining moment that would unequivocally reveal who Jason had become. He was done lingering in the shadows—no more second chances, no more obscurity. His name would resonate through the streets of Gotham like a thunderous echo, heralding the rise of a new order, and he would finally compel Bruce to comprehend the true and devastating cost of his choices. The time for reckoning was drawing near, and the fallout would shake Gotham to its very core.

Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that his confidence was slipping away. Why was he suddenly second-guessing what he had always believed to be a brilliant scheme?

The weight of his inner turmoil pressed down on him like an oppressive fog. He could almost feel the rage surging within his very bones, a visceral reminder of the battles he had fought and lost before. The pounding cadence of that accursed bomb ticking away in his mind reverberated with echoes from his past—each tick a reminder of missed opportunities and unresolved conflicts.

He meticulously laid out all the pieces of his grand plan, calculated risks, and devised cunning maneuvers to establish the empire he envisioned. Gotham was a city in decay, a landscape of shadows and corruption that required a radical transformation. He knew that the change he sought would begin in darkness—an unsettling yet necessary catalyst. But from that darkness, he believed he could breathe new life into the city, rekindling hope and ambition among its youth.

The streets, choked with the refuse of villainy and decay, needed to be purged. It was time to eradicate these so-called villains once and for all. No longer would there be futile attempts at rehabilitation or confinement; he envisioned a future where Gotham would no longer be a breeding ground for chaos but a realm of potential waiting to be fully realized. The vision was clear: a revitalized Gotham that harnessed the energy and aspirations of its inhabitants by putting a bullet through the ones who try to oppress it.

But that was before, now he was seeing the change.

The change that Peter fucking Parker was doing.

How he was innovating a change, going directly to the problems that kept letting his circus ride keep spinning. While he might not delve as deeply into the underlying issues as Jason often did, he was nevertheless making significant strides—more than anyone else in this godforsaken institution. Arkham was finally becoming a place of healing, a stark contrast to its former reputation. Once viewed as a looming shadow, a fortress where malevolence festered and thrived, it now began to transform into a sanctuary for those in need. A sense of hope and purpose was gradually replacing the air that once felt heavy with despair.

Though there were some people that needed to be handled who were running the place. He was holding off for now as Patients were beginning to feel more at ease seeking help within its walls, something that seemed like an impossible dream not long ago. Professionals worked tirelessly to create an atmosphere that welcomed recovery rather than fear. They were committed to understanding the complexities of the human mind rather than merely treating the symptoms of madness. The goal was clear: to reintegrate individuals back into society, not as outcasts marked by their struggles, but as valued members of the community who had the potential to heal and contribute positively. Arkham, once a breeding ground for darkness, was evolving into a beacon of light and support, allowing people to confront their demons and emerge stronger.

He did not know what Peter exactly did to Sinner, but he hasn’t heard a peep from her or Black mask in the last month because of it.

Hood hated it. He hated the change and what it was doing. It proves that both he and Batman are wrong. Batman was wrong in the way not because he though killing was unnecessary, but because he didn’t go through fully to make sure they got locked up. His decision of locking them up in places he knew were corrupted and now full proof over and over again letting them continue this cycle with him.

Red Hood was wrong to believe that a bullet can change everything. Peter's way of healing Gotham was working in a way where there doesn't have to be any bloodshed, and there is no rebirth for this place. Jason couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him. The shifts in Gotham were undeniable, and they were forcing him to confront uncomfortable truths about himself and Batman.

Batman had always believed that taking a life was unnecessary, a line that shouldn't be crossed. And now, as he observed the outcome of their actions, Jason realized Batman’s philosophy had a merit he had overlooked.

By opting for a path that allowed others to escape their circumstances, Bruce had created an opportunity for change, one that didn’t necessitate the darkness that had consumed them both for so long. However, it became increasingly clear to Jason that their choices had trapped them in a cycle, perpetuating the very issues they fought against.

On the other hand, Jason had clung to the idea that decisive action—forceful and immediate—was the way to bring about change. He believed that drastic measures could uproot the chaos that gripped Gotham. However, Peter, with his fresh perspective, showed a different approach. Peter’s method of healing the city leaned heavily on understanding and compassion, fostering connections that stood in stark contrast to the violence that often seemed like the only solution.

As Hood watched, he saw how Peter was slowly transforming Gotham into a place where redemption was possible without having to start anew through hardship. This notion of creating change through understanding rather than conflict was unsettling yet oddly comforting. For the first time, Hood felt the weight of his earlier thoughts lift slightly. Perhaps there was a better way—a way that didn’t require a confrontation and the scars that came with it. He couldn’t deny that Peter’s approach was yielding results, and it left Hood contemplating the path he would choose going forward.

He had a simple plan, and Peter came out of nowhere and shook it down.

Whenever Hood saw Peter, he found himself lost in thought. Peter's light and infectious laughter filled the air and wrapped Jason around like a warm embrace. It was as if each chuckle tugged at something deep within him, igniting a longing he scarcely understood. Jason often marveled at how Peter seemed to delay time with his joy; for a moment, the chaos of their world faded, and all that mattered was Peter's genuine smile.

It was in the smallest details that Jason felt his yearning deepen. Peter concentrated so fiercely on every task, his brow furrowing in concentration, which made Jason's heart flutter. There was a beauty in his focus, a determination that ignited something in Jason—a desire to support him, to be a part of Peter's world. Yet, Jason found himself standing on the periphery, caught between admiration and something he couldn’t quite name.

He often chuckled to himself, thinking about how Peter, despite being shorter, would rise on his tiptoes just to meet his gaze. There was a certain vulnerability in the gesture that awakened an instinct to protect him, to cherish every moment they shared. Those moments felt electric, each accidental brush of their shoulders sending shivers down Jason's spine. Was it normal to feel this way about a friend? The warmth in Peter's eyes seemed to reach out, wrapping around Jason as if inviting him into a safe haven amid the storm of their lives.

Yet, beneath all that devotion, there lingered a fear. Jason’s past was heavy, filled with shadows that he thought would repel anyone who dared to learn his truth. But Peter did—openly, without judgment. He saw Hood for what he was and approached him unarmed, only equipped with kindness. It was maddening how Peter made him feel understood, breaking down the walls he had spent years fortifying.

When they were together, Jason experienced fleeting moments of comfort. His thoughts drifted to the idea of holding Peter close, feeling his heartbeat sync with his own. He could hardly comprehend the depth of his feelings, but a gnawing sensation stirred in his chest, urging him to reach out and bridge the distance between them.

Jason reveled in their quiet conversations, hanging onto every word from Peter’s lips. He wished for endless nights, just him and Peter, unraveling each other’s thoughts, his heart racing with the hope that maybe, just maybe, Peter felt something more, too. He didn’t have to think of it as love—not yet—but the tremors of desire were undeniable, a whisper in the back of his mind that became harder to silence with each passing day.

In moments of solitude, when he could pull back and reflect, Jason would catch himself imagining what it would be like to give in, to let those feelings envelop him completely. But he hesitated, not wanting to risk what they had—the precious bond that had formed amidst the chaos. Still, deep inside, he yearned for Peter, a longing that defied the boundaries he had set for himself—a longing that, if he were truly honest, felt a lot like love.

But Jason had to do a few things before he admitted what his body yearned for, and this was the start.

Without his mask or helmet, Jason kept his hood up to hide his face. He stood outside in the rain with an umbrella, waiting by the library where Peter was working. According to the schedule Karen had given him, Peter should be finishing for the day soon. Anxiously, he grasped the umbrella as the words he wanted to say gnawed at the back of his throat while he waited patiently.

Soon, he saw Peter walk out, waving goodbye to someone before looking out. He couldn’t help but let himself stare. The way Peter's freshly cut hair was curling around his ears. How his hazel eyes shine like a forest. How he looked at him with a smile.

“Hood! What are you doing here?” Peter called before running over to get underneath the umbrella with him, “Missed me or something?” He teased.

“Jason.” He let out breathlessly as if he was holding onto that name for so long.

Peter looked at him with wide eyes, “What?”

Pulling the umbrella down more to cover them, angled so no camera could see what was about to happen. Jason let his Hood fall, Letting Peter look at his face for the first time unmasked. Scars and all, “Call me Jason.” He couldn’t help but smile at Peter's surprise, “Jason Todd.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jason Todd.” Peter finally said playfully, holding out his hand for a shake.

“Please.” Jason played along, “The pleasure is mine.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

Tim stared out into the relentless rain, watching as droplets splashed against the pavement, creating tiny rivers that carried the hurried footsteps of passersby. Each person seemed to weave their narrative—hunched shoulders under the weight of umbrellas, hurried strides towards the warmth of home, lost in their worlds while Tim remained a silent observer. He analyzed their movements, searching for any hint of drama or excitement that might momentarily pull him out of his brooding thoughts.

It wasn’t uncommon for him, the new Robin, to find himself alone, even after the countless battles fought alongside Batman. A familiar ache settled in his chest as he reflected on the subtle yet unmistakable wall between them, an invisible barrier that seemed to insulate Bruce from getting too close. Tim understood, deep down, that he could never replicate the bond that the previous Robins—Dick Grayson and Jason Todd—had shared with the Dark Knight. That knowledge weighed heavily on him, a constant reminder of his place in the shadow of giants.

“Never meet your hero, kids,” Tim thought bitterly, a mantra that had begun to sour in his mind. The truth was, he felt a profound sense of disappointment, not just in Bruce, but in himself. It was his fault, he mused, gnawing on the self-reproach that clung to him like rain-soaked clothes. He should have recognized the signs, the spiraling struggles within Bruce, and been there to help him. Yet all he could do was stand by, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty.

Tim's mind drifted back to that fateful moment when he believed he was acting selflessly by reaching out to Richard Grayson, known to the world as Nightwing. He had been so certain that Bruce needed Richard more than ever—that the older Robin could pull Batman back from the brink. What he hadn’t grasped then was the depths of Bruce's pain, the secrets that festered within him. Jason's death was a wound that Bruce had never shared with Richard, a truth that had sown discord between them.

That moment, that well-intentioned intervention, had created a rift—one that, while it had been mended over time, still left cracks and scars. No matter how hard they worked together now, Tim felt the remnants of that distance lingering, a reminder of all he had unknowingly disrupted. Repairing that bond was not just a matter of time but of understanding—and the understanding, he realized, was still a distant goal.

He took up the mantle Robin after Nightwing said no. Through his sheer resilience and knowledge of the other's identity, he was able to convince Bruce to take him in as Robin. It came with a cost that Tim didn’t understand then. But now he knew.

Time knew he didn’t deserve the title.

He didn’t deserve the magic that Robin brought.

He didn’t have it.

He wasn’t like them.

He can see the smiling faces and the determination from the past Robins. He was nothing like them, but he’ll force himself to be. He’ll be the robin that Gotham needs. He’ll be the protector, the shield. He’ll be the eyes and the light. He’ll be what he is needed to be.

“Robin.” Batman's deep voice crackled through the comms, cutting through the chaos of Tim’s racing thoughts like a knife. “Joker has Gordon. I’m en route to the location now.”

Tim’s heart sank at the mention of Gordon's name. “Where’s Batgirl?” The question slipped out before he could rein in his worry for Barbara.

“MIA,” Batman replied succinctly. Each letter felt like a punch to Tim's gut.

Tim’s mind raced. “Spoiler?” Hearing her name made a chill run down his spine, the fear creeping in.

Batman sent over the coordinates, the sharp ping of data transferring filling the momentary silence. “Spoiler is on a different assignment.”

Tim felt a wave of relief wash over him, but it was quickly overshadowed by the suspicion that began to creep into the back of his mind. As he activated his grappling hook and soared into the night sky, the city below became a blur. “What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded, instinctively sensing that there was more at play.

Silence hung heavily in the air, a silence that spoke volumes. The absence of an immediate response from Batman felt ominous, wrapping around Tim like a suffocating fog. He began to connect the dots, memories flashing through his mind. Spoiler was dispatched to a different task while the Joker had Gordon—Batgirl's disappearance. Tim's stomach churned as the pieces fell into place—Joker must have Barbara. And Spoiler was too much of a flight risk with her mentor taken to help.

“How bad?” Tim pressed, a knot forming tighter in his chest. The urgency of the situation was overwhelming; he needed to know the risks.

“Robin,” Batman cautioned, his tone turning grave.

Tim’s brow furrowed with determination. “How bad!” he repeated, unwilling to back down.

“Shots were heard, and Gordon sent a distress signal shortly after.” Batman's voice held a weight that left no room for doubt; the situation was dire, and every second mattered.

Nothing could have prepared Tim for the scene before him. Batman was in hot pursuit of the Joker, creating chaos in every corner. In the midst of it all, Gordon stood with a frantic expression, cradling his daughter as she slumped against him, a look of pain clouding her eyes.

Tim's mind raced, thoughts colliding as he struggled to grasp the urgency of the moment. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. “Did the police get called?” he asked, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on him. He was ready to spring into action and call for help.

Gordon nodded, his presence a blend of urgency and desperation as he applied pressure to Barbara's wound. “An ambulance should be on the way,” he reassured, though the tension in his voice hinted at the uncertainty hanging in the air. Tim's heart sank further, knowing that they had to act quickly to ensure Barbara's safety.

Tim approached Barbara with a calm but determined demeanor, carefully adjusting her position to make her more comfortable. He gently pressed down on the wound, applying steady pressure to help stem the bleeding. This approach aimed to divert Gordon's attention away from the severity of her injury, allowing him to focus instead on reassuring his niece and providing the emotional support she needed at that moment.

He couldn’t help himself from analyzing where the wound was , what the bullet could have hit. He could feel himself start to tremble, but he had to be strong. He needed to be Robin right now. He needed to be stronger. Yet he knew the outcome that was coming. The permanent damage that would change Barbaras life forever. He was happy the mask was hiding his tears.

“Batman,” Tim began, “I’ve arrived on the scene. I’m making sure Barbara makes it on the ambulance before heading to you.” There was no response, but Tim knew that meant he was good. Batman would have changed his task if he didn’t need him there.

She’ll be fine. She has to be fine.

Chapter Text

Peter held Barbara's hand as if it were a fragile piece of glass, afraid that even the slightest movement might shatter it. He sat by her bedside, his heart heavy with worry, hardly daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the serenity of the moment. The low, steady beep of the heart monitor punctuated the silence, a constant reminder that he was still in the hospital, still holding onto hope. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the faint smell of flowers from a vase in the corner, but all his senses were focused on her. He studied her peaceful face, the way the strands of hair brushed against her pale cheek, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. Time seemed to stretch endlessly in this room, where hope and fear waged a silent battle within him.

Fuck.

He glanced down at their intertwined fingers, feeling the warmth of her hand against his, yet an overwhelming sense of dread settled in his chest. He curled into himself, his body tense and vulnerable, trying to shield himself from the harsh reality before him. Witnessing her in this state—so fragile, so unaware of what lay ahead—was utterly suffocating. The weight of knowing her future, a future that seemed bleak and fraught with pain, hung heavily on his heart.

After receiving the call from Commissioner Gordon that early morning, the news had struck him like a punch to the gut. The sound of the commissioner’s voice, laced with concern and urgency, echoed in his mind as he recalled the harrowing details of the night before. It had been a night filled with chaos and danger, and now it felt impossible to muster the will to continue his work, to step away from this moment and return to a semblance of normalcy when everything around him was crumbling.

“Joker, he-”

It felt like something in him was breaking slowly, every detailed he heard about it. Another villain. Another name, but still the same broken man.

 “I've watched you from deep behind Norman's cowardly eyes, struggling to have everything you want while the world tries to make you choose.” 

The same words, the same games. There are no clear goals, only chaos.

“Gods don't have to choose. We take.” 

He felt in the way he seemed to zero in on the whys. How his mind kept retracing to his past, how he kept replacing the abuser with another name, another face. Someone who hurt him the same way, took someone he cared about so deeply. He was merging these two different people who never crossed paths, like they were the same killer.

 “She was there... because of you. I may have struck the blow, but you... You are the one that killed her.” 

His laughter. They're laughing, echoing in his mind. Reminding him of another, but it was someone different. They weren't the same, but they felt the same.

 “Your weakness, Peter, is morality! It's choking you! Can you feel it?” 

Green. Green. It was all green. Their face. Their clothes. Their lies. Their woes. Green. Green. Why was everything—

“You must be Peter.” Peter sat up at the new voice. His eyes locked with the figure.

He gradually released Barb's hand, turning his attention to the figure standing before him. The person had disheveled, short dark hair that seemed to have been tousled by the wind, giving them an almost rugged appearance. Their deep brown eyes—intense and expressive—were a mix of determination and lingering sadness, framed by faint shadows that suggested sleepless nights. Though undoubtedly youthful, there was a profound wisdom in their gaze, a spark of intelligence that hinted at experiences far beyond their years. It was as if those eyes had witnessed both hardship and resilience, making Peter pause in thoughtful reflection about the struggles that had shaped this individual.

“And you must be Tim.” Peter held out his hand for a shake, “Barbs, little brother, right?”

Tim seemed surprised by the conclusion, almost as if he hadn’t expected that title: “Yes.” He shook Peter's hand before sitting down on the other side of Barbara, where an empty chair was. "Little brother?” he asked, confused.

Peter smiled before adjusting himself. “That's what Barbara always called you.” He kept his hands in his lap. "Surprised?”

“Unexpected.” He admitted, “Had she woken up at all?”

Peter shook his head in sadness, “Not yet.” Peter looked at Barbara's sleeping face, “Doctors said it should be any time now. The medicine has already worn off.” Tim nodded at Peter’s words.

A heavy silence enveloped the room, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors filling the air with an almost oppressive presence. Each beep seemed to mark the passage of time, amplifying the sense of tension and unease. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He glanced around the room, taking in the stark white walls and the sterile smell that lingered in the air. It was overwhelming—a cacophony of emotions and unspoken thoughts swirling within him.

Finally, he stood up, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape against the floor, the sound breaking through the stillness. “I should get going,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with an urgency that hinted at his need to escape the intensity of the moment. As he took a step toward the door, he felt the weight of lingering gazes on him, but he didn't look back.

“Wait.” Tim’s voice cut him off from his departure, “Why—” He seemed unsure if he wanted to ask, but he continued, “Why did you refuse Wayne’s offer?”

Wayne? Peter silently questioned himself, the weight of the inquiry pressing down as he began to grasp what Tim was probing about fully. The meeting—the interview. He could vividly recall the tense atmosphere of that conference room, bathed in sterile fluorescent light. A table stretched out before him, surrounded by sharply dressed executives, their slick suits giving off an air of authority and expectation. At the head of the table sat Mr. Wayne, the iconic figure of the company, his piercing gaze fixed on Peter as if scrutinizing his very essence. All of them were looking at him, their faces a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, waiting for him to accept their enticing offer.

The ambiance of the room lingered in Peter’s mind, the distinct smell of polished wood mingling with the faint scent of expensive cologne. It was then that he felt anger bubbling up within him, a visceral response to the realization that they wanted to harness his unique skills and ambitions, all while flaunting their wealth and resources as if they could buy his integrity. The sheer audacity of it all made his blood boil. And in that moment of clarity, he stood up resolutely, locking eyes with each suited figure around the table. With a steady voice, he declared, “I don’t need your support or money to make a change.” His words hung heavily in the air.

Later that evening, he found himself in the company of Hood, Jason. He was still getting used to saying the other's name. The two of them celebrated Peter's decision, their laughter and banter echoing through the lively bar they frequented. They clinked glasses, toasting the bold choice Peter had made to turn down the multi-billion-dollar company. It was a moment of triumph, their bond strengthened by their shared understanding and respect for each other's principles—even in the face of temptation.

Peter looked back at Tim, “Why would I say yes?” He asked first before he continued.

Tim tilted his head, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “You know, they have the funds and resources to help push your movement,” he said, the word 'movement' hanging in the air.

“Movement,” Peter echoed, catching himself before a sneer could escape his lips. He reminded himself that it wasn’t this teenager's fault; Tim was just trying to understand. But even so, he could feel the weight of tension in the room, especially sitting beside his best friend’s hospital bed. “I said no because they infuriate me,” he continued, frustration lacing his voice.

Before Tim could delve deeper into his reasoning, Peter pressed on, his emotions bubbling beneath the surface. “They have the money. They have the resources themselves to help Gotham.” He could feel a familiar anger building inside him, each word igniting more fury.

“They could have been the catalyst for change—long before now,” he stated, his fists clenching as his nails dug into his palms, the pain a distraction from the broader issues gnawing at him. “Sure, they’re funding a school and some shelters, which is good for them, but come on—what corporation doesn’t jump at the chance for a tax break while patting themselves on the back?” His voice rose slightly, laced with indignation. “They’ve sat back, watching this city crumble, and now they want to step in just because a no-name tech-savvy kid starts making a difference with scrap and tools?”

Peter’s mind spiraled back to Tony Stark. He remembered how Stark Enterprises’ origins began in weapon manufacturing; with profits driven by the chaos they helped create. Yet, over time, Tony had shifted that narrative, devoting resources to schools, charities, and innovations that could genuinely improve lives. The transformation of Stark Industries into an entity that sought to make a positive impact on the world felt monumental to Peter.

In stark contrast, the very sight of Wayne Enterprises filled him with disdain. Their flashy philanthropy felt insincere when piled against what he believed to be a true example of corporate responsibility in Tony Stark. Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that the image of a good corporation was forever intertwined with Stark’s reputation, and it left him grappling with an unshakeable sense of inadequacy. It was hard to accept that anyone could ever come close to what Tony had accomplished—that dynamic, larger-than-life figure who continually set the bar impossibly high.

“That's why I said no.” Peter smiled to lighten the mood a bit. “Besides, I want to help, not be forced to.”

Tim considered Peter's words before nodding, “You make a good argument.” He then looked at Barbara and said, “I can see why Babs liked you.”

Grabbing one of the sticky notes Peter had in his pocket. He quickly scribbled out the reminder and then put his number, “Here. Can you let me know when she wakes up?”

Taking the note, Tim nodded, “Sure, for a coffee.”

“Deal.” Peter grinned.

As Peter stepped out of the hospital, he was immediately greeted by the crispness of the fresh air, a stark contrast to the sterile, clinical atmosphere he had experienced inside for what felt like an eternity. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply, savoring the revitalizing sensation of the cool breeze against his skin. It felt refreshing after hours of being confined in the small, dimly lit room beside Barbara, where the scent of antiseptic had permeated the air.

Yet, as he stood there, a wave of guilt washed over him. How could he possibly feel rejuvenated when Barbara lay in a medically induced coma, fighting for her life? The warmth of the sun kissed his face, but instead of bringing comfort, it deepened the ache in his heart. He felt a strange conflict within himself; while the world outside continued its vibrant dance, he felt as if he were betraying his friend by enjoying this moment. The bustling life around him felt like a cruel reminder of the normalcy that Barbara was missing. He allowed himself to relax for just a moment, but the weight of the day—of her struggle—hovered over him, casting a shadow on his fleeting relief.

He was ready to get home, to get underneath his blanket.

As he made his way from Gotham Hospital to Crime Alley, each step felt heavy under the weight of his thoughts. The streets were bathed in the dim glow of streetlights, shadows creeping alongside him like silent companions. It was a long journey, but the solitude allowed his mind to wander freely, consumed with one pressing idea: how could he help Barbara?

With every stride, memories swirled in his head, tangling with his worries. He recalled the day his path entwined with the Avengers, the chaotic scene at that airport etched in his memory. It seemed so long ago, yet the vivid image of Rhodey struggling to regain control after losing feeling in his legs was fresh. He remembered how Tony Stark, ever the genius inventor, had crafted a remarkable machine designed to aid his friend. The brilliance of that device—a blend of technology and compassion—sparked a glimmer of hope in Peter's mind.

He closed his eyes momentarily, focusing on the image of the device as he walked, feeling the rhythm of his footsteps connect him to the ground beneath him. What had it looked like? What mechanics had Tony infused into it to make it functional yet accessible? Each thought layered on the last, building a blueprint in his mind for a possible solution, a way to bring strength back to Barbara, to help her regain control of her life. The distant hum of the city faded, leaving only the quiet determination to create something that could change everything for her.

The hairs on Peter’s arms start to rise.

Jerking his head up in surprise, Peter looked just in time as a hand reached for him, narrowly missing its target as he swiftly dodged to the side. However, before he can fully escape, he feels a firm grip tighten around his shoulders from behind. The person yanks him forcefully into the shadowy confines of the alley, the sounds of the bustling street fading into an eerie silence as the dim light from the streetlamps barely reaches them. Panic surges through him as he struggles against the hold, trying to regain control of the situation. He stares at a gun in his face.

“Shit.” Peter felt a hand roughly tilt his head to get a better look at his face, “It's that Parker dude.” One of the men rasped.

“Doesn’t matter,” the gun cocks, “Search him.”

“What? Not gonna take me out to eat before feeling me up?” Peter leaned up against the wall, “Where are your manners?”

The man holding the gun sneered, “Don’t play with me.” He then pressed the gun to Peter's head, “Where is your cash.”

Peter pouted before glaring and pushing against the gun himself. “Beats me. The last guys took it already.” Peter lied instantly, pleased to see the defeat on the guy's face.

“You must have something else,” The guy motioned for his buddy to keep searching Peter for items, “The man who's gonna change Gotham. Give it.”

Peter stood there, letting the conversation unfold around him. Each word seemed to linger in the air, slow and heavy, as if time had slowed down just for this moment. He felt a growing sense of frustration and restlessness—he knew he had the strength and agility to escape this situation easily. With a quick assessment of the room, he calculated his possible moves, envisioning how he could slip past them without drawing attention. His fingers began to twitch with anticipation, a physical manifestation of the urge to break free and take control of the situation. It would be easy to do. So easy to just kick their ass. Lay them out and make them regret… Peter bit his lip, letting go of the anger he felt. No, he couldn’t let his emotions control him.

“Watch your hands. I’m sensitive,” Peter protested, his voice barely above a whisper as he flinched away from the stranger who was removing his jacket with unwarranted roughness. The harsh grip felt intrusive, and he added, “Rude,” hoping to assert some dignity despite the situation.

The burly man who had initiated the pat-down tossed Peter's jacket to another thug, a menacing figure clenching a gun in his hand. The first thug rummaged through the pockets, muttering, “Nothing. He’s got nothing on him.”

“What about those hearing aids he has?” the second thug sneered, his fingers curling threateningly around Peter's chin, pulling his face close to inspect him. “They’ve got to be worth something.”

Peter grimaced as the man’s aggression sent a wave of discomfort through him. “Stealing someone's hearing aids? That’s a new low,” he gasped, barely maintaining his composure as a fist collided hard with his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs.

In the midst of the chaos, a familiar voice crackled in Peter's ear, emanating from the hidden device planted there. “Closest contact has been notified. Be careful, Peter,” Karen whispered urgently, her tone low and careful, making sure the muggers couldn’t overhear her.

“Do you know when to shut up?” one of the thugs barked, irritation flaring in his voice as he glanced around nervously. The tension in the air was palpable.

“Not really. It's truly a problem,” Peter admitted.

He caught a glimpse of the first thug’s expression as he tilted his head, contemplating their next move. “You think we can make something by giving him to the—”

“No. Are you kidding me?” the second thug seethed back, his voice tinged with panic. “They only take metas.” The weight of those words sank into Peter, underscoring the gravity of his situation and the dangerous path ahead. “I’m not getting caught up in that shit.”

Only take metas? Human trafficking for meta individuals here in Gotham? Peter shouldn't be surprised.

“You boys have a problem?” Peter turned to his right and watched as Raven walked out. Her long dark hair was flicked to the side as she strolled over, “That’s one of my people you're getting awfully close with?” She then stopped a few feet away, “Should I remind you why Penguin and Hood liked keeping me around?”

“Let's go.” The mugger in Peter’s jacket pulled the other way. Peter looked at the mugger, who was staring at him. Their red eyes pierced through his.

“Fine.” He mumbled before pushing away. Peter walked slowly toward Raven as they left, “Until we meet again.” He spoke low for only Peter to catch.

When it was only them in the alley, Peter turned and gave a big grin to Raven, “Damn, am I happy to see you!” He threw his arm over her shoulder, “Karen, contact you?” He asked.

Raven smiled back, leaning into Peter. “Yep. I was grabbing some stuff for the house nearby.” They both started walking. “Why did you let them walk over you like that? You could have taken care of them.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Walking ahead, Peter turned on one leg to face the girl before answering, “Didn’t want to.” He turned back to face forward, “Besides, now I’m hanging out with you.” Peter didn’t want to admit it was because he was scared. Scared, he wouldn’t hold back.

As they strolled side by side down the familiar path to Crime Alley, the atmosphere was filled with tension and camaraderie. Raven took a moment to share the latest developments at the Lounge, detailing the new events and the challenges they faced in keeping the place running smoothly. Her voice was animated as she recounted the interactions with frequent visitors, and Peter could sense her passion for the community they had built there.

In response, Peter leaned in, eager to share his own experiences. He spoke about the ongoing projects at the library, explaining how he was cataloging old texts and discovering forgotten stories that had been tucked away for years. The excitement in his tone reflected his dedication to preserving the history within those walls. Their conversation flowed easily, each sharing glimpses of their lives, creating a bond that felt stronger with each step they took.

“You need to come by. Everyone misses you.” Raven paused as she looked up the steps of her house. “Wasn’t I supposed to be walking you home?”

Shaking his head, Peter shook his head, “No’p’e.” Raven glared at him playfully, “Like I’ll let a lady walk home by herself. I can take care of myself.”

“So, the muggers today?” Raven teased.

“I was in a silly goofy mood. What can I say.” Peter beamed with his answer about the situation.

“Sure, Pete. If that's what you want to think, " she said as” she started walking. “Think about visiting the Lounge.”

“I will.” He waved her off.

Raven opened her door and waved goodbye, “Get home safe. I don’t need Karen calling me again.”

“I would dare not to disturb your majesty again.” Peter smiled, “See you, Raven.”

“See you, Pete.”

Peter stood in the serene twilight, listening as Raven gently closed her door with a soft click behind her. He turned and began his walk back to his abode; the familiar path now bathed in the deepening hues of the sunset. The vibrant oranges and purples stretched across the sky, casting elongated shadows before him that danced on the sidewalk.

With each step, Peter felt a subtle shift within; the relaxed demeanor he had moments ago now gave way to a more rugged tension in his muscles. His mind was restless, haunted by the words of the mugger he’d encountered earlier. The notion of people trafficking metas gnawed at him, a chilling idea that settled like lead in his stomach. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a fleeting concern; it felt like a weighty project on his conscience, something he was determined to address.

Tonight’s tasks loomed over him—he still needed to finish the Library, and he had yet to begin working on the device for Barbara. This vital invention would help her regain the ability to walk. The thought of her hopeful smile spurred him on, intertwining with his resolve to tackle the darker issues that the city faced. Clenching his fists, he quickened his pace. The shadows ahead were more than just a reflection of light—they were a reminder of the shadows that needed illuminating in the world around him.

Peter opened the door to his building, closed it, and locked it. He then continued walking into his building. He found himself steering away from his lab, even though he wanted to go straight to it. He then continued walking to the main room, where Jason was waiting for him.

“Getting mugged, huh?” Jason raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He said tiredly, letting himself flop on the couch. Seeing as Jason was in the middle, he just laid across him.

Jason coughed when Peter landed on him, then readjusted to get more comfortable. Peter could feel Jason’s eyes on him. Jason was definitely checking for injuries, “Long day?”

Peter kept his head down on the cushion. His words muffled as he responded.

“Yeah, no. Sit up.” He pushed Peter off him, “We’re not doing that.”

Peter flopped with a groan and glared at Jason. He signed before looking away, “I went to see Barbara.” He said quietly.

“Everything good with her?” Jason leaned back, “You too fighting again.”

It then dawned on Peter that Jason didn’t know. He fully sat up and got serious, “Jay, she got hurt last night.” He began, “She’s in the hospital and—” Just talking about it was making Peter's emotions rise, and his throat tightened, “She got shot through her spine. She won’t be able to walk when she wakes up.” He looked down, “I was at the hospital all day watching over her.”

“Who,” Jason said with a rage that shook Peter from his sadness. “Who did it.”

Peter turned and looked at Jason's eyes, those bright green seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. Peter felt his body tremble as he looked at the green. Green. Green. His eyes were green. Like Goblin’s face. Like their clothes. Like their lies. Green. Green. His eyes were green.

It was nothing towards Jason because how Peter reacted wasn’t his fault. But with all the emotions of today Peter trembled in fear, in pain. He could hear that god forsaken voice in his head, taunting him.

“ ‘No more darker half?’ Did you really think that I'd let that happen, that I'd let you take away my power just because you're blind to what true power can bring you?” The Green Goblin, in full control, watched Peter with the eyes of a predator. Analyzing, taunting.

Peter took a step back trying to stay composed, but fear was grappling on him, “You don't know me.”

The Goblin smirked, “Don't I? I saw how she trapped you, fighting her holy moral mission.” He stepped towards him, “We don't need you to save us, we don't need to be fixed!” He growled, stalking up to Peter ready to pounce, “These are not curses, they're gifts.” 

“Peter.” Jason's eyes, green but not filled with the contempt, the hatred like the ones he envision. He sat in front of Peter, looking at him. His hands were on Peter's thighs, trying to anchor him.

Taking deep breaths Peter closed his eyes, trying the shake away the voice of the Goblin.

 “Peter, you're struggling to have everything you want while the world tries to make you choose.”

Exhausted, he let out a shaky breath, his body sinking into the reassuring warmth of Jason's shoulder. The weight of his emotions felt almost tangible, a storm of anxiety swirling within him. He could feel his body trembling, the effort to keep himself composed throughout the day now slipping away. He had fought valiantly against the barrage of memories and overwhelming thoughts that threatened to take hold, but now, in this quiet moment of vulnerability, he felt the dam begin to crack. It was baffling to him; just when he thought he was making progress when the shadows seemed to be lifting, he found himself slipping once more into a familiar abyss. Why did it feel like every step forward was accompanied by a painful step back?

“Sorry, " he rasped. “I—they remind me of him.” Peter's hands grabbed Jason. “They’re not the same but the MO, the chaos,” Peter wiped his face with his hands, “Its like they’re the same person.”

“Talk about it.” Jason pushed gently.

“The goblin.”

And so, Peter talked. He explained how, in his naivety, he attempted to reach out to the villains, believing that perhaps there was a way to redeem them. But his efforts were in vain, and the consequences were devastating. The goblin, driven by malice and chaos, took away the one person Peter cherished most—his beloved aunt. At that moment, Peter's world was shattered; his home was not only physically destroyed but also stripped of the warmth and love that had once filled it.

Peter struggled with the weight of his choices, feeling responsible for the destruction that followed. He pondered deeply on the events that led him to this point, realizing that the very actions intended to bring about change had instead sealed his fate. He was left isolated, a relic of a forgotten past, tormented by the thought that no one remembered him—not as Peter Parker, nor as the hero they once knew as Spider-Man.

He wondered, with a tinge of despair, if the citizens who once cheered for him still retained even a flicker of that memory. Did they still know Spider-Man, the hero who fought relentlessly to protect them? Or was he merely a whisper in the wind, lost to time, as if he had never existed at all?

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Jason began, his voice sounding confident, “Beloved son of May Parker-”

“Jason?” Peter questioned, but Jason continued.

“Tony Stark’s Prodigy. Born and raised in Queens, New York. Hero and Survivor.” Jason stared at Peter intensely, “Spiderman. Peter, I see you.” Jason stood up and held his hand out to Peter.

Grabbing his hand, Jason pulled Peter to his feet. “I hear you. I remember you. Parker, you’re not alone now.” Tears filled Peter's eyes, but he smiled. Someone was confronting his fears for him.

“Where is Jason, and what has to be done to him?” Peter teased through his light tears.

Jason used his thumb to wipe some of Peter's tears, “That's fair.” Jason mused, “I’m usually not good at this mushy shit, but you needed it.”

“I appreciate it.” Peter leaned into Jason's hand, “Thank you.” His hazel eyes ablaze.

Retracting his hand, Jason turned to the side and said, “Don’t mention it.” He paused, “Like, actually, I have a reputation to hold up.”

Peter used his sleeve to wipe the rest his face. He then seemed to remember something, “They still have my jacket.” He dramatically whined.

Jason only laughed at Peter's distraught face as he talked about the muggers taking his jacket

+†+🪦+†+

As Jason stared out into the black expanse of the night sky, the weight of his anger swelled within him, threatening to eclipse his reason. Every shadow seemed to whisper reminders of the pain inflicted on Barbara, and he felt a burning ache for vengeance. He was acutely aware of who was responsible for her suffering, a dark figure that haunted his thoughts. Yet, somehow, when he was with Peter, he managed to keep his own rage at bay, finding moments of clarity amidst the turmoil that surrounded him.

After parting ways with Peter at his building, Jason took to the streets with a sense of purpose that bordered on obsession. The thrill of the hunt coursed through his veins, propelling him onward as he sought out the truth behind Barbara's trauma. It wasn't long before the dark revelations came to light. The stories of the Joker's torment filled him with a simmering fury, but they weren’t the only horrors he uncovered. Behind the chaos left in the wake of that psychopath, Jason learned about Tim—another victim caught in the Joker's twisted game, his pain a haunting echo of Barbara’s ordeal. Each new piece of information stoked the flames of his resolve, transforming his grief into a dangerous cocktail of determination and rage.

This scum hurt three people three. He killed one, scarred another, and permanently damaged the last. Yet Batman still hadn’t done shit. Jason scrapped his plan altogether. Tonight, he was gonna confront Batman head-on. He couldn’t think about the months of planning he had done. The only thing on his mind was giving Bruce a piece of his mind.

He may have talked to Batman a few times as Red Hood but tonight will be different. He’s going to put all the cards on the table.

Jason stood in the shadows, his heart racing as he confronted Batman, the man who had once been his mentor and father figure. Their shared history weighed heavily on them, and tension was strong in the air. Masked and stoic, Batman regarded the figure before him, unaware of the identity lurking beneath the guise of the Red Hood.

Red Hood shot at Batman, causing the other to dodge and get into a stance. “Why do you keep letting him do this?” Jason’s voice cut through the silence, low yet fervent. He shoots at Batman again.

“Joker’s hurt people again—Tim, Barbara... look what he did to her!” His fists clenched tightly at his sides, anger simmering just below the surface as he thought of the suffering his friends had endured because of Batman’s choices.

Batman rolled out of the way of another bullet, and his expression hardened, but a flicker of concern crossed his features. He was starting to put the pieces together. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice remained steady. “I’ve lost so much. I’ve made mistakes.”

He dodged another bullet at him. Jason wasn't even trying to hit Batman anymore. He was just mindlessly shooting.

As Jason pressed further, the dialogue darkened each accusation, a thorn in Batman’s side. “You’re so obsessed with your code that you forget about those who need protecting! People we love are lying in hospitals because you refuse to do what needs to be done!”

Then, the moment of truth arrived. Batman, feeling a shift, started to scan area, sensing the weight of the words being exchanged. “You talk like you know…” he began, his tone shifting with a newfound intensity.

“I do,” Jason replied, his voice carrying a tremor as he stepped forward, moving into the light. “You think you’re the only one who’s made sacrifices?” He halted, ripping his helmet off and throwing it to the side. Revealing his identity. “It’s been a long time, Bruce.”

For a heartbeat, Batman stood frozen, the shock of recognition washing over him. “Jason…” His voice broke, emotions crashing forward like a tidal wave. “I thought—I thought you were lost to me.”

“I was,” Jason admitted, pain lacing through his confession. “But I’m back, and I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done. This—all of this—can’t go on. Why can’t you pick us.” He roared, “Why didn’t you pick me.”

“Ignoring what he's done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he's filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he's crippled.” Jason stayed where he was but kept his gun drawn, “You know, I thought... I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever let him hurt.” He started to tear up as all the emotions were slamming into his skull all at once. “If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world,” Jason didn’t realize he was shouting at this point, “I would've done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshiping garbage and then send him off to hell!”

Batman’s breath hitched slightly. He concluded Hood was Jason during this fight. But he wasn’t prepared for the vulnerability. “You don't understand. I don't think you've ever understood.”

Jason scoffed, “What? That your moral code just won't allow for that? It's too hard to cross that line?”

“No! God Almighty, no. It'd be too damned easy. All I've ever wanted to do is kill him.” Bruce took off his cowl and let it drop to his side, “After you… after everything that happened, I lost myself too. I wanted to end Joker—permanently.” The weight of his sorrow seemed to make the weight of his words hit more, yet Jason felt an odd twist of empathy mixed with frustration. “Superman stopped me.” Bruce walked towards Jason slowly, “He was right, if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place... I'll never come back.”

“Why?” Jasons voice cracked, “I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent.” He struggled to understand, “I'm talking about ‘him’, just him. And doing it because...” He finally dropped his hand to his side, no longer pointing the gun at Bruce, “because he took me away from you.”

In that moment, on that rooftop Jason could only think about what Joker had done.

Striking Jason with a crowbar Joker asked, “What hurts more? A?,” He hits him again, “Or B?,” Another, “Forehand?” Blood spilled, Jason gasping between each hit, “Or backhand?” He then grabs Jason’s face with a sinister smile, bringing him closer, “A little louder, lamb chop. I think you may have a collapsed lung. That always impedes the oratory.”

Jason spits at Jokers face. Giving an exhausted smirk, “Now, that was rude.” Joker hit him again, “The first boy blunder had some manners. I suppose I'm going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps.” He paused as if he was debating on doing just that, “Nah, I'm just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar.” 

Jason could feel his body giving out, but his anger still burned for Tim and Barbara, “Why not stop this cycle for them!”

The night was filled with an emotional silence as Batman continued, his eyes flickering through memories. “It almost did,” Bruce admitted, “When Tim got hurt, Dick spiraled into grief and did what he thought was necessary… And I couldn’t bear to lose him too. So, I… I brought him back, and it shattered him.”

Jason’s heart tightened as he recalled the pain inflicted by the Joker. “You should have let him have his peace in hell.”

Batman’s voice remained firm, though it carried a hint of defeat. “I’ve faced Joker countless times—I’ve pushed myself to the brink. I’ve been hurt—physically and mentally—because I wouldn’t let him win. But I wonder if that struggle is even sufficient anymore.”

“It’s not. You need to change,” he seethed. “You need to do something to stop it once and for all, finally. It's been years. Of the same things.” Jason hissed when Bruce tried to get close, warning that man not to. “How many more good soldiers do you need until it's enough?”

At that moment, a profound shift occurred. They stood not just as adversaries or victims of fate but as two haunted souls connected by shared losses, grief, and the flickering hope for redemption. Batman’s eyes held a mix of sorrow and resolve, and for the first time, the possibility of healing hung between them, fragile yet undeniable.

Bruce took a soft step forward, “I’ll change.” He agreed, “for you.” He said gently that it made Jason recoil. This was not the man he remembers. The man the League reminded him of.

“Not for me.” Jason picking up his helmet, he put it back on turning away. “For them.”

He stepped away from Bruce, leaving him alone on the desolate rooftop, a solitary figure silhouetted against the dimming skyline. The city stretched out beneath them, bustling and alive, but for Bruce, time seemed to stand still. He needed space to grapple with the weight of their confrontation, to truly reflect on the harsh truths that had just been laid bare.

The plan for revenge that had driven Jason for so long, was now irrevocably altered. The moment he had confronted Bruce face-to-face, everything shifted. The fire of resentment that had fueled him for years flickered uncertainly, replaced by an unexpected sense of clarity. He had meant to damage, to inflict pain, yet here he was, grappling with the idea that perhaps it was he who had found solace in this exchange.

Strangely, this new reality felt liberating. Watching Bruce wrestle with his agony brought a sense of satisfaction he never anticipated. There was power in forcing Bruce to listen and truly absorb the weight of his words. It wasn't just about vengeance anymore; it was about understanding, about bridging the chasm that had formed between them.

He recognized that the path to genuine change would be long and arduous. Yet, amidst the turmoil, he felt the first stirrings of hope.

He wasn’t there for Jason, but he hoped that Bruce would finally be there for them.

Chapter Text

As the faint sound of tools clinking together filled the cozy confines of Peter's lab, Jason held a leg brace in his hands, your classic look of concentration etched on his face. "Alright, Mr. Parker," he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Looks like this thing has more parts than a car engine. You sure you can handle this without a manual?"

It had been two long, emotionally charged days since Peter’s devastating meltdown. At that time, Barbara had finally stirred from her unconscious state, her eyes fluttering open to reveal a world she had briefly left behind. When Peter saw her awake, a wave of relief washed over him. He rushed to her side, enveloping her in a warm hug, their bodies communicating what words couldn’t. As they talked, the conversation stretched into a profound and bittersweet exchange. They shared their fears, hopes, and the depth of their emotions, with tears streaming down their faces, encapsulating the gravity of what they had endured.

Now, amidst the remnants of that difficult experience, Peter found himself in the workshop, seated at a cluttered table alongside Jason, who had kindly offered to assist him in crafting a bracer. Although Peter was more than capable of completing the project on his own, he accepted Jason’s offer, appreciating the help and warmth that his friend provided.

Working together allowed Peter to escape from the chaos of his thoughts momentarily, grounding him in the present. The sound of tools clinking and the smell of wood shavings filled the air, creating a sense of normalcy that felt comforting. As they chatted and collaborated on the bracer, Peter felt the tension within him begin to ease, thanks to Jason’s steady presence.

Peter glanced up from his station, where he was busy wiring a circuit board. “If I had a manual, I wouldn’t need you here, would I? Just think of it as assembling a really complicated puzzle—but with a lot more chances to electrocute myself.”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “I’d pay good money to see you trying to plug that in without shocking yourself. Just keep those spidey reflexes at the ready, alright?”

“Ha! Like I’d ever let something as mundane as electricity take me down.” Peter’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he carefully attached a small component to the brace. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Barbara would have my head if I messed this up. She’s tough enough without needing to wield faulty technology.”

“Hey, I get it. If anyone deserves the best gear, it’s her.” Jason’s gaze softened as he looked at the brace. “You really think this will help her?”

“Absolutely,” Peter replied, adopting a more serious tone. “These bracers are going to provide her with the mobility and support she needs. They also were technically already made, just the first time making them in this universe.”

“That makes me respect you a whole lot more,” Jason said, nodding in agreement. “You also sure are taking a lot of firsts in this universe.”

Peter brushed off the compliment with a wave of his hand, trying to hide his flustered expression. “It’s nothing, really. It's just a simple project. Not my fault you guys don’t have your own tech-savvy kid to do it.”

Jason chuckled, “Maybe that’s why we stole you.”

“And I’m glad you did.” Peter didn’t realize what he said at first, but before he could really think about it, Jason kicked his chair lightly.

“Keep talking like that, and I might start to think you actually like having me around,” Jason teased, turning his attention back to the brace.

“Who wouldn’t,” Peter shot back, his smile betraying a hint of sincerity. “You make the dull stuff more bearable, at least. But don’t take that as an invitation to get cocky.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, not shying away from the compliment. “Cocky, me? Never. I’m just here to help you not blow anything up—although I could use some explosions for my YouTube channel.” His YouTube channel. A bit that both of them have been using to tease each other. (Also because I read a fic about him having one, and I just loved it)

“Right, because my lab is just a perfect backdrop for that kind of thing,” Peter replied dryly but couldn’t help but chuckle. “Just imagine the clickbait: ‘Watch the Parker Genius Blow Up His Lab!’ You’d be famous in no time.”

“You know, that actually doesn't sound like a bad idea…” Jason mused, a playful glint in his eye. “But I’d rather be known for building cool stuff with the infamous Peter Parker rather than him just blowing shit up.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just trying to butter me up,” Peter teased, his playful smirk growing wider.

As the afternoon sun dipped lower outside, filtering through the lab’s windows, the two shared a comfortable silence, the banter ebbing into a rhythm of collaboration. Each passing moment felt charged with something unspoken but electric, a dynamic that neither of them dared to acknowledge—yet. They exchanged occasional glances, the air between them buzzing with an undeniable connection, strengthened by their shared purpose and the laughter echoing in the small space around them.

As they stood back to admire their work, Peter felt a sense of accomplishment swell within him. The brace, a testament to their teamwork, looked solid and functional. But before they could bask in the glory of their creation for too long, Jason clapped his hands together, breaking the moment.

“Alright, genius, it’s time for you to eat something,” he declared, “Cause I, for one, am starving.” Jason started striding toward the kitchen. Peter couldn’t help but chuckle.

Peter knew all too well that his culinary skills were legendary… for all the wrong reasons. Which left him relying on whatever Jason had planned.

“Do I even want to know what you’re making?” Peter asked, following Jason into the kitchen, where an array of boxes sat stacked high on the counter. It was a sad display of Peter’s nutritional habits—box upon box of macaroni and cheese and cans of soup. I guess his question was answered as he really didn’t have a lot in his kitchen.

With a grin, Jason pulled out a box of mac and cheese and turned to Peter. “This, my friend, is the pinnacle of fine dining!” The playful glint in his eyes made Peter laugh. Jason had a way of teasing people.

“Boxed mac and cheese? That pinnacle dining? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Peter groaned, though the truth was that the prospect of a hot, cheesy meal was appealing—especially since it meant he wouldn’t have to face another bowl of cereal for dinner.

“A classic. Besides, if you had an actual shit in your kitchen, I could have made something else.” Jason wasted no time, filling a pot with water and placing it on the stove, his movements confident and assured. “You know, Alfred taught me how to cook. He has this way of making even the simplest things feel special.”

“Alfred?” Peter raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He perched on a nearby barstool, watching Jason busied himself at the counter. “I didn’t know you had a family.”

“Oh, yeah. Alfred is like my second dad, really.” Jason’s tone softened as he spoke, memories shimmering in his eyes. “He’s always been there, making sure I didn’t starve or burn the place down. He’s a master chef, though. Before he taught me, I could barely make toast without some drama.” Jason paused, “Honestly I’m so use to people fucking snooping, I though you would of ran a background check on me after I told you my name?”

“I’m too lazy for that shit,” Peter smiled. “So, you learned from a master Chef. From what you said about that toast, I’m surprised you weren’t banned from the kitchen.”

A chuckle escaped Jason’s lips, “I had potential, unlike my older brother and adoptive dad.” Jason seemed to be in his element when he cooked. He was relaxed while talking about a topic that he turned away from mostly, “He flat-out banned Dick and Bruce. They’re both terrible cooks. I think once Bruce tried making pancakes, and it ended up being this rock-hard disaster. Alfred practically kicked them out of the kitchen after that.”

Peter laughed, enjoying the lightness of the conversation. “Burning pancakes? Got to be a blow to the poor man's ego.”

Jason leaned against the counter, stirring the pot and watching the noodles boil. “You have no idea. But Alfred took over, and we’ve had some good times cooking together. He always makes it fun.” Jason grew quiet for a moment, lost in thought, and Peter dared not interrupt.

Finally, Jason continued, seemingly unaware of the pause in his speech. “Being an adopted Wayne is a pain sometimes, though.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat at the slip. “Wait, Bruce and Wayne- you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”

It felt like a punch to the gut, an unexpected revelation that shifted everything in Peter's mind. "I just celebrated not working for him with you!" he thought, feeling awkwardness crawl across his skin, “I literally talked shit about your dad to your face!”

“Adopted, and yeah, that was a fun night.” Jason clarified with a shrug, waving it off like it was no big deal, “He deserves it.”

Peter took a breath, so he didn’t look like a fish out of water anymore before speaking, “Is it that bad being Bruce Wayne’s adoptive son?”

Jason smiled, though his face grew somber. “There are expectations, you know? Being part of that world is complicated.”

“I didn’t know,” Peter said, feeling the weight of his ignorance. “I mean, I thought you were just… Jason.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Jason cracked a small laugh. “That was cringe.” He admitted, “I thought you were just Jason.” Jason mimicked Peter.

Peter chuckled, “Don’t be an ass about it,” He pretended to be offended, “I wear my cringe like a badge.”

“You should probably get that checked out then.”

Peter threw the closest thing to him at Jason, which ended up being a paper plate, “Rude!” Then a sudden realization struck Peter, “Wait, if Bruce Wayne is your dad…” the math clicking in his head, already putting who is who together, “Holy Web stream, Bruce Wayne is Batman.” Peter stood up and paced, “The trout population will be affected.”

Jason sputtered, “The what? Why would that affect the trout?”

Peter without blinking, “I plead the fifth.”

With out a beat Jason wheezed, “From all the scenarios I made up for you reacting to finding out this shit. I couldn’t have pictured this.” He pulled himself together to continue making them food.

Peter smiled glad he was able to make Jason relax a little, “You know. I’m sorry. I had no idea you were dealing with all that.” he mentally kicked himself for not being aware of Jason’s background.

“Don’t be,” Jason shook his head, dismissing Peter’s concern with a wave of his hand. “I’m used to it, and Alfred makes up for a lot.” There was a hint of warmth and pride in his voice when he spoke of Alfred, which made Peter feel more at ease with the conversation, “It helps, though, that people still think I’m dead. No more stupid galas.”

Peter glanced at his phone and realized something. Trying to make sure Jason wasn’t paying attention at that moment, he watched as something pulsed on his screen. It seemed to be working. He looked up with a smile and watched Jason focus on the food in front of him.

“You got to let me meet Alfred one of these days.” Peter changed the topic.

Jason seemed to think about it, “Maybe. Though that depends if Bruce is willing to let his dead son, who is now a Crime Lord, stroll on in.”

“Do they know you’re alive?” Peter winced when the question fell out before he processed what he asked.

“Yeah, they know.” Jason didn't look back up to Peter as he talked, “I blew things up when I got back. Stayed low for a while and picked up Red Hood during the time.”

Peter grabbed some plates and set them out. “You know, I learned that talking about it really heals people.” Peter then grabbed some forks. “If you talk and come to an agreement with your Dad, I think things will work out.”

“Maybe.” Jason remained silent for a while as he finished the food. When he was done, he removed the pot from the stove and filled their plates, saying, “The extra is yours, seeing as you can eat more than an elephant.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment since you so kindly cooked.” Peter smiled while Jason chuckled, “How’s your headaches by the way? Haven’t heard you mention them today?”

“I don’t know what about your place does it Pete,” Jason shrugged, “It honestly feels like my brain goes in hibernation mode while here. Like numbing.” He glared at Peter, “Whatcha do to the air?”

Peter smirked, “I put weed in the ventilation system.”

“you’re joking…”

“…You’re joking, right?”

Despite their different backgrounds, here they were, two friends in the kitchen, navigating their hardships while sharing a moment of laughter and solace. It didn’t heal everything, but it was a start—one bite at a time.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Peter stood in the sterile, softly lit hospital room, his heart racing violently as he observed Barbara. It took two weeks but he finally finished it and now it was time to see if Barbara can actually use it.

Barbara, now clad in the intricate brace he had designed and built with his own hands, was preparing herself to test it. The sight of her—standing there, vulnerable yet resilient—evoked a whirlwind of emotions within him: an overwhelming joy at seeing her try to take her first steps again, a profound relief that his invention might truly work, and a thread of anxiety that clung to him like a shadow. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he held his breath, the anticipation of the monumental moment thickening the air around them. Each heartbeat echoed in his ears as those gathered in the room shared the tension; their collective energy could be cut like a chord.

He glanced around, taking in the familiar faces. Tim, his new friend, and Barbara's little brother, was there too, the eagerness radiating from him since day one; he had been adamant that he wanted to witness Peter’s invention in action. Gordon, Barbara’s uncle, stood nearby, his face a mask of anxious hope. And then, there was Bruce—Bruce Wayne himself, the billionaire Peter talked shit about, aka Jason’s dad—who, as whispered among the staff, was quietly covering Barbara’s hospital expenses. The weight of this revelation hung unspoken in the air; who knew Barbara would have connections to them? Was Gotham smaller than he thought it was?

As the moment of truth approached, Peter could feel the atmosphere in the room shifting, a collective inhale hanging suspended in time. Finally, Barbara steadied herself, shifting her weight consciously as she prepared for that first pivotal step in the brace. She gripped the railing with fierce determination, her knuckles white. It was a testament to her spirit that she stubbornly declined any offers of assistance, her resolve clear as day. Peter could see the fire of determination in her eyes, igniting something within him as he felt inspired by her courage. His nervousness surfaced in the form of a habit—he quietly picked at his nails, a fidget that did little to quell the pounding in his chest. Each small movement she made felt monumental to him, a silent plea for her to succeed propelling his thoughts.

With her face etched in a deep focus, Barbara took that first tentative step. The movement was shaky, like a newborn colt testing its legs for the first time, but she pressed onward, willing herself to grasp the mechanics of the brace that encased her legs. Every second stretched into eternity as Peter watched intently, every ounce of his being fervently wishing for success—he couldn't bear the thought of anything being amiss in his creation. As she approached subsequent steps, a subtle shift occurred. The initial uncertainty gradually transformed into a burgeoning confidence. With each stride, she seemed to grow more attuned to the brace’s rhythmic assist, ultimately releasing her grip on the railing entirely.

Finally, after navigating a few tentative yet brave steps, Barbara paused, her breath escaping in a whisper of disbelief, “It works.” The words hung in the air, resonating with a powerful blend of emotions, wrapping the moment in an ethereal quality. A rush of elation surged through Peter, igniting the spark of triumph as he rushed over to her. Tears of happiness cascaded down her cheeks, and he felt a swell of pride and grace in that instant. Overcome with emotion, she enveloped him in a tight embrace, her arms squeezing around him like a life preserver in a stormy sea. “Thank you so much,” she murmured, her voice trembling with raw gratitude.

At that moment, all the anxiety and doubts that had plagued Peter melted away like snow under a warm sun. Nothing else mattered now but the joyous realization that Barbara could walk again. He hugged her back tightly, anchoring her in their shared moment as the chaotic world outside faded from view, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the promise of hope and healing.

“Anything for you, Babs,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. He released her to inspect the brace one last time, his fingers tracing the contours of the device. “If you ever need it fixed, just let me know. I made sure to save all the blueprints and notes on it.”

Barbara laughed through her tears, letting her head hang as she smiled brightly at Peter, “Of course, you’re stuck with me now, my tech-savvy bestie.”

As they embraced once more, Peter reluctantly pulled away, allowing the others to share this precious moment with her. A swirl of emotions threatened to overwhelm him, and he nearly let out a cry of sorrow and joy as he observed Barbara's joyful interactions with Gordon and Tim. It was a sight that tugged at his heartstrings, seeing her face light up with happiness. After months of grappling with the devastating news about her lost feelings in her legs, witnessing her laughter and animated conversations felt like a balm to his worries. The stark contrast between her recent struggles and her current joy made his heart swell with a profound sense of relief and gratitude. This was the spirited Barbara he knew, and seeing her embrace life once more filled him with an overwhelming sense of hope.

Peter turned to leave, he knew Babs would text him later, but he was getting too emotional next to the billionaire he kind of said fuck you too. Before Peter could make much progress down the long, dimly lit hallway, he heard Bruce's unmistakable voice call out to him, reverberating against the walls.

“Parker!”

Peter halted in his tracks and turned to face him, curiosity etched on his face. Bruce approached his expression a mix of urgency and determination.

“I know you said no before,” he began, his tone earnest as he closed the distance between them. “But what if this time, I could persuade you to lend your talents once more? I’m considering commissioning more devices similar to the incredible one you created for Miss Gordon.”

Bruce's eyes sparkled with excitement as if he believed this request could open new doors for both of them. Peter felt a flicker of intrigue, but he also sensed the weight of the decision hanging in the air.

He gazed down at his feet, a weight pressing on his chest as memories of Bruce's actions toward Jason swirled in his mind, darkening his thoughts and clouding his judgment. But amidst the chaos, a radiant image broke through—the sight of Barbara’s face lighting up with joy and hope when she first tried on the brace he had crafted for her. The way her eyes sparkled and the delight that spread across her features filled him with warmth, a smile unconsciously forming on his lips as he relived that moment.

This sparked an idea that ignited a new sense of purpose within him. Could he continue to innovate and design more devices that could aid others in overcoming their challenges? An arm bracer was the first concept to emerge, followed closely by a flurry of additional ideas for tools and devices that could empower individuals with disabilities, allowing them a greater sense of independence. His mind raced with the possibilities—each invention a step toward enhancing the quality of life for those in need.

“Give me your number,” Peter said, extending his phone toward Bruce. The screen was glowing in the late afternoon sunlight.

Bruce arched an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism mingling with curiosity as he took the device from Peter’s hand. His fingers began to dance over the screen, and Peter couldn’t help but notice the meticulous way Bruce scrutinized the phone's interface while entering his number. Bruce’s brow furrowed slightly, betraying his thoughts as he glanced up to meet Peter’s gaze.

 “Is this a yes?” he inquired, his tone laced with an air of cautious optimism.

“A maybe,” Peter replied, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he accepted the phone back.

He turned on his heel, intending to walk away, but paused halfway through the motion, casting one last glance over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know by the end of the week what my answer is,” he called out, the teasing tone in his voice contrasting with the seriousness of the commitment he was contemplating.

With a casual wave, he started to step away, but not before adding, “If I do say yes, I’ll have a draft of commands and restrictions prepared for you first.”

Bruce nodded, his expression shifting to one of understanding and respect. “Of course,” he replied, his voice steady as he absorbed the weight of Peter’s words. The air between them crackled with unspoken possibilities as Peter turned the corner, leaving Bruce with a thoughtful smile lingering on his lips.

“Those stubborn Waynes are so frustrating,” Peter muttered under his breath, leaving the hospital with a lot on his mind.

+†+🪦+†+

Peter found himself nestled comfortably against Jason, their bodies slightly angled as they sank into the worn fabric of the couch. The dim light from the television flickered across the small living room of Jason's modest apartment, casting shadows that danced on the walls. The scent of popcorn lingered in the air, a testament to their movie night.

To be fair, Peter hadn’t left Jason much choice in their seating arrangement. He had sprawled out with his long legs, taking up most of the available space on the couch, leaving Jason with little more than a fraction of the cushion. In an unspoken agreement, Peter leaned his weight against Jason, using him as a makeshift support. The warmth of Jason’s side felt comforting, a stark contrast to the chill of the early evening air creeping in from the window.

Earlier that day, Peter had spent time at the library, where he had been diligently working on upgrading the outdated technology. After visiting Barbara at the hospital, he eagerly tackled the last few computer upgrades that the library desperately needed. The atmosphere in the library had served as a comfort for his frayed nerves, providing a sense of purpose that helped clear the clutter in his mind.

As he hunched over the equipment, he felt an odd sense of kinship with Tony Stark—understanding why Tony poured himself into his work in the lab. It was tempting to immerse oneself completely in a project. This distraction took the edge off his emotions and allowed him to focus solely on practical tasks rather than the swirling feelings that often threatened to overwhelm him. Here, amidst the whir of computer fans and the soft glow of screens, he found a refreshing clarity that steadied his spirit.

After leaving, Jason messaged him to ask how it went with the bracer they made for Barbara. He made a quick call and went to Jason's apartment to chat, and that’s how they ended up here, watching a movie in the dimly lit living room.

The movie was “Aliens”. Apparently, the series was also in this world, and Jason hadn’t seen a single one. That instantly started a marathon of all the alien movies they have.

An arm steadily slid around Peter’s shoulders, and he felt a jolt of electricity course through him. Though he recognized the familiar warmth as belonging to Jason, his heart raced as if a thrilling secret were about to be revealed. The film flickering on the screen faded into the background, a mere whisper against the growing tension in the air.

With a shaky breath, Peter gradually shifted his body to lean into Jason’s side, feeling the solid presence beside him. He relished the sensation of Jason’s arm casually draping over him, a mix of comfort and thrill enveloping him like a soft embrace. The world around them blurred, leaving just the two of them in this intimate moment, each heartbeat a reminder of the unspoken connection they shared.

He really hoped Jason couldn’t hear his Heartbeat. That would be embarrassing.

Chapter Text

He felt utterly immobilized, every instinct warning him against the slightest twitch of his body. The film they had been watching had faded into the background, drowned out by the quiet thrum of his racing heart as he focused on the delicate figure beside him. There, nestled against his side, was Peter, fast asleep, a serene expression painted across his face.

Jason’s eyes traced the soft strands of Peter's hair that gently fell over his forehead, framing his features in a way that made him look even more vulnerable and peaceful. It was a striking contrast to Jason’s towering frame, and for the first time, he truly registered the considerable size difference between them. Peter seemed so small and curled up against him, almost fragile, as if Jason could easily shield him from the world. The realization stirred a protective instinct deep within him, one that made him want to stay completely still and let the moment linger just a bit longer.

He knew he had to go out tonight as Red Hood, even though all he wanted was to hold his friend in his arms. But could he still call Peter a friend? The feelings Jason had were more than just friendly; friends didn’t engage in that kind of tango.

After a while, Jason gently wrapped his arms around Peter, pulling him close until their bodies were fully intertwined. He savored the warmth and comfort of the embrace, allowing himself a moment of stillness. As he closed his eyes, he focused on the rhythmic sound of Peter's breath—a soft, soothing melody that brought him an overwhelming sense of peace. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in this intimate cocoon, where every worry melted into the background. It was a feeling he wanted to get used to.

Continuing with the intention he had set in his mind, Jason gently rose to his feet, cradling Peter in his arms with careful tenderness. He instinctively guided Peter’s head to rest against his warm chest, ensuring that the other would remain undisturbed in his slumber, enveloped in comfort. Jason's gaze softened as he looked down at Peter, the peacefulness of his expression bringing a sense of calm. With a gentle hand, he brushed back Peter's tousled hair, revealing more of his serene features. The soft strands slid through his fingers, and Jason found himself captivated by the tranquility of the moment, cherishing the closeness.

He was dumb and weird. Jason gently adjusted his grip, cradling Peter carefully as he began to make his way toward his room. The soft carpet beneath his feet muffled the sound of his steps as he navigated the familiar path. Upon entering the room, he lowered Peter with great care, ensuring his movements were deliberate and smooth. With a practiced ease, he guided Peter onto the bed, using his knee to slightly press down on the mattress, minimizing any creaking noise that might disturb the stillness of the evening. Once settled, he paused for a moment, checking that Peter was comfortable before stepping back to ensure everything was in place.

Before he does any more dumb things, Jason goes to leave, only to feel Peter's hand brush against him. “Jay, " Peter mumbles, clearly still asleep.

Jason paused, debating his next actions. “I’m right here, Spidey. " Slowly, he interlocked his hand with Peters, letting himself sink to the floor, back against the bed.

He waited a long time before finally leaving again. This time, he made sure to say goodbye. Jason kissed the back of Peter’s hand softly, saying, “Sleep well, princess.” His voice was gentle. He let go and left the room.

After meticulously donning all of his gear, Jason took a moment to prepare mentally for the day ahead. He was well-acquainted with his usual route, a pathway familiar enough to navigate even with his eyes closed, and he felt a sense of responsibility to keep everyone in line as they set off.

As he reached for his helmet, ready to secure it snugly in place, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye—a flash of color on the couch that caught his attention. It was Peter's phone, resting slightly askew among the cushions. With a sigh of exasperation, Jason approached it to pick it up, intending to place it on the counter where Peter would easily spot it when he finally woke.

However, just as Jason's fingers grasped the device, the screen flickered to life, illuminating the dim room around him. His curiosity piqued, and he paused, his gaze fixed on the glowing display. The screen showcased a program that was evidently in use, and as he drew closer, he could hear the faint, almost muted sounds emanating from the phone—whispers and echoes that hinted at something deeper.

His eyes darted to the program title, quickly scanning the words, but a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. The scene before him felt oddly invasive as if he had stumbled upon a private moment that he was never meant to encounter. But the name made his unease turn sour: Jason’s cure test 63.

“Hello, Red Hood.” Karens disrupted the view of the program, “I see you got your hands on Peter's Phone. Should I be alerting anyone?” Her voice hardened in a way that called Jason out for snooping.

Jason had never heard so much emotion from an AI before. Karen was the first sassy bot he had ever met, but he was not in the mood to entertain her. Ignoring her words, Jason put the phone back down, not even bothering to move it. He roughly put his helmet on and left. His mind was racing with different emotions. Only one was clear to him, as he had felt it most of his life: anger.

+†+🪦+†+

Peter stirred awake, a wave of warmth enveloping him as he nestled deeper into the plush blankets. The familiar scent of laundry detergent, mixed with a hint of something musky, lingered in the air, providing a comforting backdrop to his groggy mind. But as he opened his eyes, a sudden surge of awareness hit him like a cold splash of water—this was definitely not his bed, nor were these his blankets.

Sitting up slowly, he fought through the remnants of sleep clouding his thoughts, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. They had been watching a movie together, he and Jason, laughing and joking as they snacked mindlessly on popcorn. Then there was that moment when Jason had casually draped his arm around Peter’s shoulders, an innocent gesture that had sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach—oh no.

Peter's heart raced in embarrassment as his mind flashed back to the night. He quickly buried his face into the soft mattress, the familiar fabric doing little to hide the heat flooding his cheeks. Had he really fallen asleep on Jason? As the pieces of the night fell into place, another realization struck him: Jason must have carried him into the bedroom. The thought sent a thrill of anxiety through him.

Despite trying to grasp at the fading memories, all he could recall was a gentle touch against his cheek, coupled with the warmth of their intertwined fingers—intimate and innocent, yet utterly mortifying. He groaned, sinking further into the mattress, wishing he could erase the undeniable evidence of his sleepy antics. Did he really make Jason hold his hand as he fell asleep?

With a huff, Peter forced himself out of bed, the morning light filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow across the room. He squinted at the clock on his nightstand; it was still early, the sun barely risen, and the world outside was just beginning to stir. A sense of unease settled over him as he recalled the previous night—if Jason had gone on patrol, he should have returned by now.

Peter padded across the wooden floor, the coolness of the boards sending a chill up his spine. As he entered the living room, a familiar sense of emptiness washed over him. The space was still and silent, devoid of the warmth and energy that Jason usually brought home after a long night. It wasn’t the first time Jason had patrolled while Peter was asleep, but something about this absence felt unsettling as if a storm was brewing just out of sight.

He walked over to the worn couch, its fabric soft beneath his fingertips, trying to shake off the creeping worry that clung to him like a heavy fog. He had to keep his mind from wandering to darker memories, reminding himself that Jason was capable and experienced. Just as he settled into his thoughts, his gaze fell to the floor, where something caught the light—a flash of blue. It was his phone, lying there, forgotten amongst the mess.

Bending down to pick it up, Peter felt his heart race and a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirled within him. He glanced at the screen, hoping for a message or some sign that Jason was alright. Instead, all he found was silence and, with it, a gnawing concern that something might be wrong.

“Peter.” Karen’s voice crackled through the phone, filled with an undertone of urgency. “We have a problem from last night.”

Peter shifted his weight as he sank into the worn cushions of the couch, feeling a knot form in his stomach. “Did the program malfunction? Did it generate an error message?” he asked, bracing himself for the worst.

“No, it’s not that,” Karen replied, her tone dropping slightly as if she were weighing her words carefully. After a brief pause, she continued, “It’s worse. Red Hood saw your phone while the program was running.”

A flood of realization rushed over Peter, his heart racing as the implications swirled in his mind. The absence of Jason in his life, stark and revealing, suddenly made sense. It sank in with a heavyweight—he had messed up. “Fuck,” he muttered, frustration and anxiety bubbling to the surface as he grasped the gravity of the situation.

Princess: I think we should talk

Jason “edge lord” Todd: You think

Princess: I’m sorry :(

Princess: It's not bad. I swear

Princess: I just wanted to help

Jason “edge lord” Todd: I’m not one of your trinkets that need fixing

Princess: I know that

Princess: I promise

Peter sat in front of his screen, a weight settling heavily in his chest as he read through the messages. He had never intended for Jason to discover the truth in such a jarring manner. For weeks, he had been delving into various solutions, hoping to alleviate the burden of Jason’s frequent headaches and mood swings that enveloped Jason—a haze that he had come to understand was a byproduct of deeper issues.

When Jason first confided in him, Peter listened intently, processing every detail of his friend's experience. This sparked a flurry of research and brainstorming on Peter's part. He initially considered creating a serum, but a moment of clarity made him reconsider; the intricacies of Jason's condition demanded something far more nuanced than a simple chemical solution. Thus began a long period of trial and error, during which he meticulously experimented with various therapies while using minimal resources to avoid overstepping his capabilities.

In his quest for answers, Peter found himself reminiscing about the lighthearted banter they had shared in the past—certain jokes that Jason had made suddenly took on new significance. They were clues, a breadcrumb trail leading Peter to the realization of how profoundly Jason's life had altered. It dawned on him that Jason had likely sustained considerable head trauma at the time of his death. The process that had brought him back to the realm of the living hadn’t repaired the damage, leaving behind a complex web of complications still waiting to be addressed.

Driven by this conviction, Peter launched into an intensive study of brain injuries, woven into the stories he recalled of his friend’s resilience and humor. He became engrossed in understanding how the brain functions, the areas commonly affected by trauma, and how rehabilitation could be approached in innovative ways. This led him to design a unique program that emitted specific sound frequencies aimed at stimulating the brain. The idea was that these sounds could help Jason's brain engage with forgotten or unused portions, coaxing it into a state of awareness and healing.

To Peter’s astonishment, he soon began to observe subtle changes in Jason's demeanor. Day by day, there were moments of clarity, glimmers of recognition that seemed to emerge from the depths of his pain that had once consumed him. The frequencies were working; they were gently nudging Jason's cognitive functions back into gear, allowing him to rediscover pathways that had long been dormant.

As Peter delved deeper into his program, he began to piece together the reasons behind Jason's memory loss, the waves of frustration, and the simmering anger that often overwhelmed him. The persistent haze, once thought to be a permanent fixture, was, in fact, a manifestation of the interference from whatever had attempted to resurrect Jason. This misguided attempt at healing had left behind an opaque shadow, one that continued to hamper his emotional and mental state.

With each session of the program, Peter felt a surge of hope mixed with trepidation. He knew his approach was unconventional, yet the promise it held for Jason—a chance at healing, at reclaiming himself—was worth every sleepless night he had dedicated to the cause. As he watched Jason's gradual transformation, Peter silently vowed to continue his work, determined to help his friend break free from the chains of the past and emerge into the light once more.

He should have talked to Jason about it sooner.

Jason “edge lord” Todd: I’ll contact you later

Princess: Okay 😊

He cringed at the smile he put in the message, but he couldn’t unsend it. Peter should make a program to let him do that or at least let him edit his messages. It would save him a lot.

Now, to wait. The decision loomed over Peter as he considered whether to remain in Jason’s apartment or return to the familiar comfort of his own space. The silence was broken when his phone dinged once more, a notification lighting up the screen and providing him with the clarity he needed. With a resigned sigh, he stood up and began gathering his belongings, ensuring everything was in order.

He carefully placed his laptop into its case, double-checking that he hadn’t forgotten any of his chargers or personal items. A wave of guilt washed over him as he glanced at the unkempt sheets and pillows littered across the bed. He couldn’t leave it like that; it didn’t feel right. So, he smoothed out the covers and arranged the pillows neatly, trying to leave the place as he found it.

Once he was satisfied with the tidiness, Peter made his way to the door. He turned the handle, but before stepping out, he took a moment to ensure everything was locked up. With a firm click, he secured Jason's apartment, feeling of responsibility. Then, he stepped into the hallway, the familiar scent of old wood and faint traces of Jason's cologne lingering in the air.

As he descended the stairs and stepped out into the crisp evening air, Peter let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. A sense of resolve washed over him as he started the familiar trek back to his apartment, thoughts swirling in his mind about the choices he had made and those yet to come.

But he kept going over the list that drew him to the conclusion that Jason had brain damage, and never with through the physical therapy of using those parts of his brain again.

Frequent headaches… Fatigue... Dizziness and balance problems… Sensory disturbances… Weakness or numbness in the limbs… Panic attacks Or seizures… Memory problems... Disorientation... Mood swings...

. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Bruce leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed as he observed Tim hunched over a pile of books in the study. The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminated the pages filled with notes and highlighted passages, casting a warm light over Tim's focused expression. Bruce felt a pang of discomfort watching him; it seemed wrong to intrude on this moment of concentration. Yet, an unshakeable urge drove him to stay, an invisible tether urging him to remain present.

“Not for me.” He watched as Jason walked away.  “For them.” Jason jumped off the roof, leaving Bruce to stare at where he had left.

Bruce walked into the room, shifting his feet. Finally, he spoke, “Tim.” He waited for the other person to respond.

Tim almost fell over at Bruce's sudden voice and had to get himself together before looking back and saying, “Heya, Bruce.” He tapped his leg and said, " What's up?”

Walking over, Bruce moved to the chair next to him, “Can I sit?”

“Am I in trouble?” Tim began. Bruce can already see the other going over everything, “I swear it wasn’t me.”

“No, you’re not in trouble,” Bruce said, his voice steady but tinged with concern as he leaned back in his chair. He looked at Tim with a mixture of empathy and seriousness. “I just wanted to talk.” Despite all his accolades as a master detective, a charismatic playboy, and the enigmatic Batman, Bruce found himself grappling with the right words to express his thoughts.

Tim shifted in his seat, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “Talk,” he repeated, his tone lightening a bit as he attempted to dispel the tension. “Sure, I can talk. I’m all ears, ready for a good chat.” He crossed his arms, trying to play it cool, but there was an underlying current of apprehension in his posture.

Bruce took a deep breath, preparing to broach the subject he had been mulling over. “Do you enjoy being Robin?” he asked, his gaze unwavering as he studied Tim’s reaction.

Tim’s eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard by the directness of the question. “What—?” he stammered, momentarily at a loss for words.

Bruce cut him off gently but firmly, “And don’t say yes just because you were so eager to take on the mantle. We both know the reasons behind your decision. I want to hear the truth. Do you truly enjoy being Robin?”

As the question hung in the air, Tim's expression shifted, revealing a mixture of introspection and uncertainty. Bruce was clearly looking for something deeper than surface-level affirmation.

“Why are you asking this?” Tim was definitely trying to find Bruce's angle.

“I had a lot of time to think,” Bruce began. “I’ve come to realize I have not been treating you fairly.” Bruce leaned forward with his hands together. “You were a kid who came because you saw an adult in distress. You shouldn’t force yourself to be something you don’t want to be.” Bruce paused and put a hand on Tim's shoulder. “I’m sorry I had put that burden on you.”

Tim stood there for a moment, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he had suddenly encountered a glitch in the matrix of his thoughts. The words hung heavy in the air: “I like saving people and fighting by your side.” It was an admission filled with sincerity but also laced with uncertainty.

Bruce studied him intently, sensing the conflict swirling within Tim. “But as Robin?” he pressed gently, wanting to understand the depth of Tim's feelings.

Tim’s gaze fell to the ground, his thoughts drifting like leaves in the wind. “Robin is Batman's sidekick,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who else would I want to be?” The weight of expectation hung heavily on his shoulders, and he felt the significance of the role like an armor he could not remove.

Bruce, ever the grounding presence, kept his hand firmly on Tim’s shoulder, offering support. “Listen,” he began, his tone both gentle and firm, “you can be whoever you want to be. Dick created Nightwing to carve out his own identity, to stand apart and define himself. You can still embrace being Robin if that’s what you choose, but you should never feel obligated to wear that cape just because of me.”

As he spoke, Bruce finally let his hand slip from Tim’s shoulder, creating a space for Tim to breathe and reflect. “Just remember,” he concluded, his eyes steady and sincere, “be who you want to be, chum.” Bruce's emphasis on self-discovery over legacy left Tim to ponder the true meaning of his own identity.

“I’ll think about it more,” Tim said softly, his gaze drifting to the floor as he pondered the weight of Bruce’s words.

Bruce stood up, his imposing figure towering over Tim, and then he reached out, lightly ruffling Tim’s hair with a gentle smile. “Take your time. I expect to see you at dinner,” he said, his tone both encouraging and warm.

Tim watched as Bruce turned and walked toward the door, the familiar creak of its hinges breaking the silence. Just as Bruce reached the threshold, he paused and turned back, a contemplative expression crossing his face.

“And son,” he added, his voice taking on a more serious timbre.

“Yeah?” Tim replied, curiosity piqued as he met Bruce’s gaze.

“You ever thought about me adopting you officially?” Bruce asked, the words hanging in the air, filled with unspoken emotions and the promise of a deeper bond.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Peter stepped out of the shower, water cascading down his body as he relished the warm embrace that surrounded him. The steam filled the bathroom, creating a soothing atmosphere that helped to melt away the tension in his muscles. He had spent the majority of the day engaged in an intense workout session, pushing himself harder than he had in weeks. The workout had left his body feeling pleasantly fatigued, but he knew he needed to dedicate some time to stretching afterward.

As he towel-dried his hair, Peter considered the importance of maintaining his agility, especially for the upcoming outdoor activities he had planned. He couldn't afford to lose his flexibility, which was crucial for Spiderman. He resolved to take a few extra minutes for a thorough stretching routine to ensure he was limber and ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

As Peter stepped into the main room(after getting fully dressed), an overwhelming sense of disbelief washed over him at the unexpected sight before him. There, standing confidently, was Jason, fully geared up. The stark outlines of his combat vest hugged his frame tightly, amplifying the serious presence he exuded. The dim lighting of the room cast long shadows that danced ominously along the walls, contributing to the tension in the air, and Peter felt a tight knot form in his stomach, a mix of nerves and anticipation.

“Hey,” he managed to utter, his voice cracking awkwardly mid-sentence. A wave of embarrassment swept over him as he recognized the hint of vulnerability woven into his tone, a stark contrast to the usual bravado he tried to maintain.

“Hey,” Jason responded, his voice deep and low, almost gravelly as if the weight of fatigue hung heavily on his shoulders.

“You’re early,” Peter remarked, quickly swiping the towel across his damp hair, trying to dry off as best as he could before tossing it carelessly back into the adjacent room, the fabric landing with a soft thud.

Jason stood silently, his keen gaze fixed on Peter, “I messaged you.”

It was then that Karen interjected, her voice tinged with a blend of exasperation and understanding. “He did contact you, Peter. I tried to mention it before you went into the shower,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm.

Peter scratched his arm in an unconscious gesture of discomfort, feeling a mix of embarrassment and contrition wash over him. “My bad,” he admitted, the words slipping from his lips as he glanced between Karen and Jason. He struggled to ease the tension but felt the weight of the moment hang palpably in the air.

They stood together in a heavy silence, the kind that wrapped around them like a thick fog. Each was acutely aware of the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air, a chasm of unsaid thoughts stretching between them. Both were nervous and charged as they struggled to summon the courage to breach the emotional divide.

After what felt like an eternity, Peter finally mustered the strength to break the stillness. His voice was low and filled with regret as he spoke, “I should have talked to you about it sooner,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground as he continued. The sincerity of his words hung in the air, a poignant plea for understanding, as he wrestled with the gravity of his confession, “Ever since you told me about your symptoms you called the ‘Haze’. I came up with many solutions and finally found one that seemed to be working.”

“You shouldn’t have done it at all,” Jason said, his voice laden with disappointment and concern. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air between them. “I told you I don’t need a cure.”

Peter sighed, the weariness evident in his posture. “It’s not a cure, Jason. I know the name can be misleading, but it’s more like a form of therapy.” He started weakly, but as the words flowed, a sense of urgency began to infuse his speech, and he found himself rambling. “After spending time together, listening to your stories, and learning more about you, I’ve come to a couple of conclusions. First, it appears you somehow came back to life, but the details of that event remain clouded in fog. Second, you were subjected to a pit—a place that healed you in some way.”

Jason met Peter's gaze, his expression a mix of skepticism and curiosity as he absorbed Peter's analysis. “You’ve never really opened up about your death, but with the jokes you drop here and there, it became evident to me that you suffered significant head trauma. This led me to start connecting the dots.”

Peter continued, his eyes brightening as he told each discovery. “You exhibit such intense emotional responses, yet you struggle with memory, often acting without fully realizing it. It’s clear you endured a severe brain injury, and when you were healed, it seemed like all those connections you once had were severed or simply forgotten. It’s as if you’re wandering through life with a piece of you still locked away.”

With that thought, Peter leaned forward, his excitement palpable. “Doing some research, I found that certain sounds and even music can stimulate the dormant areas of the brain—those parts that haven’t been accessed since your injury. This stimulation can help reestablish functional connectivity, enhance your cognitive ability, improve memory retention, regulate your mood, and even refine your communication skills. I believe that’s the key to helping you regain what you’ve lost.”

He paused for a moment, considering the implications. “And about those green eyes of yours—those seem to be a unique mark, a very visible reminder of the pit’s intervention. They symbolize what you’ve been through and perhaps what you’re still capable of, should we find a way to unlock the potential that still resides within you.”

“You’re telling me all my problems are from a bad brain injury?” Jason said in disbelief.

“If the shiny helmet fits.” Peter smiled before wiping it off his face, remembering this was a serious conversation, “It’s at least my theory. The program I was running was playing muted sounds that dogs can clearly hear, and myself, but are noises that were stimulating your brain.” Peter looked Jason up and down, “From how you’ve been having less headaches and mood swings. My best guess is that its been helping.”

“A brain injury,” Jason repeated, his voice barely a whisper as if saying the words out loud could somehow make them more real.

Peter hesitated, his instinct telling him to give Jason space, but he couldn’t just stand there. He approached slowly, mindful of the turmoil etched across Jason's face.

Once in front of him, Peter looked up, searching his friend's eyes for some sign of clarity amid the confusion. “You okay?” he asked gently, his fingers brushing lightly against Jason's arm in a comforting gesture.

“No,” Jason muttered, his voice thick with emotion as he let his head drop onto Peter's shoulder, seeking solace in the familiar warmth. “You really know how to confuse a guy.” The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with the complexities of their conversation.

Peter allowed a soft hum of acknowledgment to escape his lips, understanding that Jason was grappling with a whirlwind of feelings. “I feel angry that you pushed the subject,” Jason continued, his voice strained. “Relief that I wasn’t losing my mind, guilt for being angry at you—and…” He paused, lifting his head slowly to meet Peter’s gaze, an unspoken vulnerability in his eyes. “I was expecting this conversation to go differently.”

Peter tilted his head slightly, curiosity piqued. “How different?” he asked, eager to understand the depths of Jason’s thoughts.

“Like yelling and throwing stuff,” Jason replied, a hint of bitterness underlying his confession. “Maybe some good old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat to let off some steam.”

“Why would you think that?” Peter asked, his eyes widening in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like us at all!”

Jason shrugged, a shadow of uncertainty passing over his features. “Told you my family is complicated,” he said, his tone barely masking the hurt that lay just beneath the surface. The weight of his upbringing had apparently tainted his expectations for conflict, shaping him into someone who anticipated chaos in moments of confrontation.

“I’m sorry you found out this way.” Peter redirected the conversation, saying, “I had a whole presentation I was going to give.”

“Then I accidentally looked at your phone and spoiled it all.”

“All the hard work on the PowerPoint,” Peter whined.

Peter suddenly was pulled from his pouting as Jason just softly hugged him.

“Jason?” Peter asked softly, surprised by the unexpected affection.

“Hmmm,” Jason murmured, his voice calm but tinged with a hint of vulnerability. He held Peter a little tighter, clearly seeking comfort in the embrace more than anything else.

Feeling Jason's need for closeness, Peter let out a small chuckle, the tension in his chest easing slightly. Despite his frustration, he wrapped his arms around Jason in return, realizing that sometimes a simple hug could mean so much more than words could express, offering a moment of solace for both of them.

Chapter Text

With his hands still wrapped gently around Peter's waist, Jason leaned back slightly, creating just enough space to look into Peter's eyes. It felt as if they stood frozen in time, caught in a moment that stretched on for hours, surrounded by the soft hum of the world fading away. Despite Peter’s natural inclination for physical affection from the very start of their relationship, Jason had never fully grasped how much he craved that closeness until now.

As he reflected on their moments together, a realization struck him: perhaps he relished physical touch even more than Peter did. The sensation of touch-starvation, which had lingered at the back of his mind for so long, began to make sense.

Jason’s eyes sparked with determination, brightening his expression as he pulled away just enough to speak with sincerity. “Let me take you out,” he proposed, his voice steady yet hopeful, “As a, ‘I’m sorry I’m dramatic.’ “

Those words hung in the air, echoing in Peter’s mind, leaving a warm flutter of excitement in their wake. Jason’s invitation held the promise of something more: an opportunity to deepen their connection and explore the possibilities that lay ahead.

With a teasing smile, Peter replied, “Oh? And where will we go, Mr. Red Hood?”

 He enjoyed the banter, lingering close to Peter, still wrapped in the comfort of the embrace. He didn't want this moment—the closeness, the shared warmth—to end just yet. “Have you ever explored upper Gotham at night?” Jason asked his tone a mix of curiosity and excitement.

Peter shook his head, “Only during daylight hours, and that was strictly work-related.” His heart raced at the thought of stepping into the vibrant, somewhat dangerous world Jason offered.

Jason’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he said, “We’ll start there.” He took a step back, creating a small distance between them, though the chemistry lingered. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile, his heart filled with anticipation. “Alright, tomorrow then,” he agreed, the promise of the night igniting a thrill within him.

And that is what got Peter to this moment in time.

“Here we go again. I guess I got a date with Jason.” Peter spoke as he stood in front of his closet, recording another journal entry. “I mean, if you told me the crime lord, I met three months ago, asked me out. I’d call you insane. Now, here I am stressing about what to wear! Okay, maybe I shouldn’t just keep talking about Jason.”

“First, the brace I made for Barbara is working amazingly. I might need to tweak it so she can do more athletic activities with it. The Library is running smoothly. I just got to finish a few more computers, and I’m done. Arkham has been running fine with the security upgrades and room modifications. I would want to change the people running the place, but Dr. Sinner is very unstable, and I think I’ll have to wait to get rid of the rotten people in there.”

“For Jason, it seems the sound simulation is indeed triggering his brain. The results are positive, making it clear his behavior is from untreated brain damage, Though that doesn’t explain the green eyes. Maybe more research on the pit he talked about needs to be done. I should talk to him about getting an MRI and CT scan done to see if there needs to be any repairs on his brain—also, an option to progress treatment further.”

“Lastly, the meta trafficking. There hasn't been much I could find, though the names Dollmaker and Strange keep being brought up. These people might be some of the people running the operation. Until I have further information or more developments on these projects, I will wait to make another journal entry.”

When Peter finished his newest entry, the silence was broken by the sound of the television filling the small room with lively chatter. He pulled on a faded t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, his usual attire for the day. The simplicity of his wardrobe, just a handful of clothes that served him well enough for day-to-day life, usually brought him comfort. But today was different; the impending event made him acutely aware of his limited options. Each piece of clothing seemed inadequate for the occasion ahead, leaving him in a state of uncertainty. In a moment of indecision, he considered reaching out to a friend for help. He should call in some reinforcements.

As he continued to dress, the TV buzzed with important updates, but one story caught his attention and made him pause momentarily. The news anchor reported the remarkable development that Bruce Wayne, the billionaire philanthropist and Prince of Gotham, had officially adopted Tim Drake.

The reporter spoke solemnly about Tim’s tragic background—his late mother, taken from him far too soon, and his father, who had been left paralyzed after a violent incident. Bruce, who had started as Tim's legal guardian, merely acting as his ward, was now ready to make a deeper commitment. He was officially welcoming Tim into his family as his son, a decision that would undoubtedly change the course of Tim's life. Peter could feel a mix of emotions stirred within him as he considered the new chapter that lay ahead for the young boy, now intertwined with the figure of Bruce Wayne.

Batman and Robin, finally becoming family once again it seems.

Since meeting Tim, he had exchanged numerous messages and engaged in meaningful conversations with him. Each interaction had been enjoyable, and he appreciated the insights they shared. However, a nagging discomfort lingered in the back of his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling that learning so much about Tim's life without his explicit consent felt invasive. He had come to recognize the truth—reporters were known for their relentless pursuit of stories, often at the expense of personal boundaries.

As he reflected on his thoughts, he realized his perception of Bruce had also begun to shift. Initially, he had been quick to judge, viewing Bruce through a lens of criticism and skepticism. Yet, as he pondered the complexities of Gotham and the challenges Bruce faced, a more nuanced understanding emerged. Maybe Bruce was simply doing everything he could to navigate the murky waters of their city, even if it seemed insufficient in the grand scheme of things. The realization struck him; perhaps he had been too harsh in his assessments.

Okay, maybe he was also a little biased after learning Bruce Wayne was Batman. It felt odd knowing that the two are one in the same. Batman and all serious figure is also Brucie Wayne, a guy who stripped and danced at the Iceberg lounge.

With his phone in hand, he stared at the screen, contemplating the job offer that lay before him. Should he accept it? The decision weighed heavily on his mind, intertwining with his evolving views on Bruce and the dynamics of his relationship with Tim.

Changing his route, Peter nervously dialed a different number, his fingers trembling slightly as he pressed the call button for a friend he knew would understand his dilemma. Once connected, he switched the call to speaker mode and tossed the phone onto his bed, its screen illuminating the mess of clothes scattered around him.

 He glanced at his sad wardrobe—an assortment of worn-out t-shirts, frayed jeans, and old hoodies that had long lost their charm—feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach as he awaited the familiar voice on the other end.

“Fancy seeing you call me my tech-savvy genius!” Barbara’s cheerful tone rippled through the cluttered room, giving him a small spark of comfort amidst his chaos.

Peter let out a frustrated whine, collapsing onto the pile of clothes on his bed, “Barbara, I have an emergency.” He buried his face in his hands for a moment, overwhelmed by the weight of the situation. “I have nothing to wear for my, uh, maybe date.”

“You have a date!” Barbara’s voice rose in excitement, instantly brightening Peter’s mood despite his worries. He could almost picture her beaming across the phone, her enthusiasm infectious.

“Peter has a date?” another voice asked, curious and surprised.

 Confused, Peter lifted his head slightly, trying to process the unexpected interruption.

“Oh, sorry! I forgot to mention I’m with someone right now,” Barbara explained a hint of mischief in her voice. “And yes, she knows all about your relationship status with this mystery man I still haven’t met.”

Peter instinctively hid his face with his hands, even though he knew the speaker couldn’t see him. “Babs, I told you it wasn’t like that,” he mumbled, feeling warmth rise to his cheeks.

“Then what’s this about? Clothes for a maybe date?” Barbara pressed, her tone playful and teasing.

There was a pause as Peter contemplated his next words. He could hear the girls laughing softly, clearly enjoying the predicament he found himself in. “You got me,” he huffed, finally admitting defeat. “I just… I don’t have anything appropriate to wear, you know? I need something casual but not too casual, nice but not super nice. All I have are clothes I work in.” He sighed in exasperation, his shoulders slumping.

The unfamiliar girl on the line let out a gleeful squeal, “Shopping trip!”

Barbara, in her ever-enthusiastic tone, added, “We’ll swing by to pick you up and find you a stylish outfit for your man.”

Peter sighed, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the way Barbara was referring to Jason. “Babs,” he whined, trying to inject some seriousness into the conversation, “I really need to be back by four at the latest.”

“Not a problem at all!” she replied, her excitement infectious. “We’ll have you back in plenty of time. See you soon!”

As Peter heard the call disconnect, he exhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair. The mysterious girl with Barbara remained a puzzling thought, but honestly, he didn’t have much concern about it. After all, he considered anyone Barbara brought along a friend by association. With a mix of apprehension and hope, he contemplated the day ahead, secretly wishing this shopping trip would turn out to be as enjoyable as they promised.

In the cramped back seat of the car sat Barbara, her expression a mix of apprehension and excitement. At the same time, the teenager Stephanie gripped the steering wheel with a combination of enthusiasm and anxiety. The question lingered in the air: why was a teenager behind the wheel?

The answer lay in Barbara’s current predicament—she couldn't drive herself until Peter invented a special device that would enable her to do so safely. As for Peter, he was notoriously known for his dreadful driving skills. At the same time, he possessed an uncanny ability to utilize his spider-sense to navigate danger, which hardly compensated for his overall lack of driving competence. He wouldn't want to subject anyone to the stress of his less-than-stellar maneuvers on the road. Thus, here they were, with the teenager at the helm, forging ahead into the unknown.

“To the mall!” Stephanie cheered as she drove them.

Barbara joined in the cheers with genuine enthusiasm, her voice rising above the crowd as they celebrated together. As Peter observed the scene, he couldn't help but notice the tenderness in Barbara's interactions with the girl beside her. It was clear to him that Barbara held a deep affection for her, one that transcended mere friendship. Perhaps this girl was like a little sister to her, even if they weren't related by blood. Peter thought about the unique bond that Barbara shared with Tim, feeling a sense of warmth in their connections. It seemed that, much like her relationship with Tim, Barbara had found someone special in this girl—a relationship built on trust, care, and an unspoken understanding.

He was glad he met someone like Barbara.

“So,” Barbara began, a playful glint in her eyes, “how exactly did this date come about?”

Peter felt a warm flush spread across his cheeks as he recalled the moment that had changed everything for him.

Peter recounted the tale to Barbara, carefully omitting a few key details. He left out the moment when they shared a warm embrace, a connection that had lingered in the air, conveying unspoken feelings between them. He also chose to withhold the events leading up to that hug, as well as the particular revelation that Jason was actually Red Hood. Peter didn't want Babs to know about that twist; it felt too complicated and dangerous to share. By glossing over those intimate moments and hidden truths, he focused on the broader narrative, hoping to maintain a sense of normalcy between them.

Then, they finally made it to the place.

The mall bustled with energy, a stark contrast to Peter's earlier uncertainty. With Barbara and Stephanie by his side, he felt a surge of determination. They navigated through other shoppers, the sound of laughter and chatter ringing in the air as they approached a store filled with bright displays and trendy clothes.

As soon as they walked inside, Barbara and Stephanie wasted no time. “Okay, Peter! We’re on a mission,” Barbara declared, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “We need to find you the perfect outfit.”

“Make that a fantastic outfit,” Stephanie chimed in, her enthusiasm unmatched. “Something that screams Peter and makes this ‘maybe date’ realize how lucky he is.”

Peter chuckled nervously, slightly overwhelmed by their zeal. “I don’t want to scream anything. I just need something… nice?” His voice trailed off as he felt the pressure mounting.

“Nice doesn’t cut it,” Barbara asserted, already rummaging through the racks. “We need a look that will knock his socks off. Now, how about this?” She emerged with a deep navy button-up shirt, the fabric soft and inviting.

“Not bad,” Peter replied, his fingers brushing over the material. “But it feels a bit too formal.”

“Okay, let’s try this!” Stephanie handed him a white t shirt with a comic book character on it, “And this!”  Stephanie then picked out another button up, but this one short sleeved with designs on it. On closer inspection he realized it had minimalistic star wars references. “This could add a bit of fun to your outfit.”

Peter raised an eyebrow but took the shirts from her, heading to the fitting room. He tenaciously tried it on, and while it was comfy, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too laid-back for what was at stake. He stepped out to show the girls.

“Hmm,” Barbara said thoughtfully, tilting her head. “It’s cute, but it needs a little extra. Try the other one.”

Peter felt like a barbie doll as he kept changing into different outfits. Putting on the button up Stephanie gave him. He was met with pleased eyes from the two women.

 “Let’s keep that one and the Navy shirt  and look for a layering piece.”

As they continued rummaging through the store, they settled on a pair of slim-fit black pants that comfortably hugged Peter’s frame without being too constricting. When he tried them on, the girls nodded approvingly. They gave him a more polished look without losing his casual vibe.

“Now for the cherry on top!” Barbara exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she spotted a stylish charcoal gray jacket. “This! It’s perfect. This will look great with the shirt.”

“Really?” Peter peered at the jacket, unsure at first. But as he slipped it on, the fit surprised him; the tailored silhouette gave him a confident edge. He looked in the mirror, taking in the full outfit. The navy shirt peeked out beneath the jacket, wonderfully contrasting with the black pants.

“Oh wow,” Stephanie said, clapping her hands together. “That looks amazing! It’s like you but elevated.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile at his reflection. The jacket was not too flashy but definitely added a sense of sophistication that complemented his personality. “I feel… good,” he admitted, trying to conceal his surprise.

“Let’s see what it looks like with some accessories!” Barbara darted off to the accessories section, returning with a couple of options—a sleek watch and a woven bracelet that had earthy tones. “These could add that final touch without being over the top.”

He placed them on his wrists, and as he looked in the mirror one more time, he felt ready. Peter couldn’t believe it; this version of himself was distinctly him, yet he looked polished enough for the evening ahead. “Okay, I’ll admit it…” he started, laughter bubbling up. “You guys know what you’re doing.”

“Of course we do! Now, let’s hit the check-out before you change your mind,” Barbara said, beaming with satisfaction.

As they made their way to the register, Peter felt a renewed sense of excitement. He was stepping out into uncharted territory, but with the right outfit—and the support of his friends—he felt ready to face whatever the night held. This little outing had morphed from a moment of self-doubt into a fun adventure, all in the name of style and friendship.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Peter slowly turned the handle of his front door, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety swirling within him. When he pulled the door open, he was greeted by the sight of Jason standing on his porch, a welcoming smile stretching across his face. Peter couldn’t help but notice that Jason had put extra effort into his appearance for their outing—his hair was carefully styled, and he wore a crisp shirt that accentuated his figure. The subtle hint of cologne wafted through the air, adding to the overall impression that Jason was ready for something special.

As Peter admired him, his heart raced with uncertainty; this wasn't just any casual hangout. The thought that this could be an actual date intensified his nerves, leaving him both excited and apprehensive about what the night might hold. He took a deep breath, trying to settle the flutter in his stomach, while a part of him wondered how far this evening might change their friendship.

"Didn’t know you owned anything besides those cheesy science pun shirts," Jason teased, a broad grin spreading across his face as Peter, caught off guard, shook his head in disbelief.

“Hey, I love those shirts,” Peter retorted, puffing out his chest defensively. As he stepped out of his apartment, he reached back to lock the door with a decisive click, his posture straightening slightly. “I know how to dress accordingly,” he insisted, attempting to sound confident though his cheeks were subtly flushed.

“It was Barbara, wasn’t it?” Jason said without missing a beat, chuckling as he watched Peter’s expression shift, his features going from smug to flustered in an instant like a fish out of water struggling to make sense of its surroundings

“Shut up,” Peter stammered, trying to muster up a retort, but it came out more like a plea than a comeback.

Amused, Jason extended his hand toward Peter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ready to roll, Parker?”

“Of course,” Peter replied, finally cracking a smile despite his earlier embarrassment. He clasped Jason's arm in a friendly gesture, and together, they ambled over to Jason's bike. The anticipation of their adventure hung in the air like the morning sun illuminating their way.

Jason reached for one of the helmets hanging on his bike, the vibrant red shining in the sunlight. He held it out towards Peter, who hesitated for a moment before accepting it. As he examined the helmet, he noticed a small spider design on the side. “Did you—”

But Peter didn’t have time to finish his question. With a swift motion, Jason pulled his helmet over his head and secured it in place, cutting off the conversation. “I’m going to assume you know how to sit on one of these,” he said, his voice muffled by the helmet.

Peter nodded, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. “Had a mentor try to teach me once,” he replied, fondly recalling the memories of that sunny afternoon when he first attempted to ride.

“Good. Well, get on then, Spidey,” Jason teased, a grin appearing beneath his helmet. Peter shook his head in amusement but couldn’t suppress a smile. He slid the helmet over his head, adjusting the straps for comfort.

Carefully, Peter mounted the sleek motorcycle, his heart racing as he placed his hands on Jason’s sturdy shoulders for balance. Once he felt steady, he shifted his grip, wrapping his arms gently around Jason's waist, fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of his shirt. The warmth radiating from Jason’s body was comforting, anchoring Peter as a rush of excitement and nerves coursed through him. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the exhilarating ride that lay ahead.

As he settled behind Jason, Peter nestled his head against the broad expanse of his back, feeling the powerful thrum of the engine beneath him. He could sense Jason’s anticipation, too, as he felt the slight shift in posture before Jason revved the engine with a thrilling roar that reverberated through Peter’s entire being.

The world around them transformed into a blur of colors and lights, the urban landscape racing past them in a dizzying display. But amidst the chaos, all Peter could really focus on was the contagious enthusiasm in Jason's voice, which cut through the rush of wind as he deftly maneuvered through the bustling traffic. Jason’s playful teasing and lighthearted jabs at Peter made him chuckle, creating a sense of camaraderie that made them both feel invincible.

Each twist and turn brought a fresh wave of adrenaline, and occasionally, Peter closed his eyes, surrendering to the thrill of the ride. Even if he felt a twinge of apprehension as Jason seemed to dance dangerously close to the edge of the road's limits, he didn’t mind; the exhilaration was intoxicating, and the fact that he was sharing this adventure with Jason made it all the more special.

Jason brought the motorbike to a smooth stop, the engine purring softly before it fell silent. Peter, still clinging to Jason's waist, hesitated for a moment before letting go. As he dismounted, he stood there, momentarily spellbound by the view before him. The city lights of Gotham sparkled like diamonds against the night sky, transforming the usually gritty streets into something almost magical.

“Wow,” Peter breathed, taking a few steps forward to admire the sight. “It looks like a completely different city at night.”

“If you think this is impressive, you should see it from higher up,” Jason teased, stepping up beside him, a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. “But I guess it’s hard to appreciate all the beauty when you’re busy swooning over my incredible motorcycle skills.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s definitely it,” Peter shot back, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a smile. “You’re such a show-off.”

“Oh, come on! Admit it—this bike is a major upgrade from your usual mode of transportation,” Jason said, nudging him playfully. “Now, are you ready for the real adventure?”

Before Peter could respond, Jason pulled him into a nearby alley, “Jason, when you said you wanted to take me out. You didn’t mean something else by that?” Peter laughed nervously as Jason guided him.

“You’ll see.” Jason smiled

“That didn’t answer the question.”

Before Peter could continue, Jason effortlessly lifted him. “Hold on tight!” he joked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“Hey! I think I can walk!” Peter exclaimed, trying to sound indignant, but his laughter betrayed him. He also didn’t want to show how flustered he was getting.

With a swift movement, Jason grappled them both onto a fire escape and hoisted them up with surprising ease. Peter felt the rush of adrenaline as they climbed higher, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. This was different than him climbing up as Spiderman.

As they reached the top, Jason gestured grandly. “Welcome to the rooftop! Just your everyday escape from the chaos below.”

Peter stepped onto the flat surface, taking a moment to absorb the view around him. The city lay sprawled out beneath them, illuminated streetlights twinkling like stars. At that moment, it felt like they were the only two people in Gotham, separated from the hustle and bustle below.

“See? Not so bad, right?” Jason leaned against the low wall, grinning at Peter’s awestruck expression. “Way better than being on the ground.”

“Okay, okay, you win,” Peter admitted, still slightly dazed by the breathtaking sight. “This is amazing.”

“Just wait until you see a sunset. It’s even better!” Jason said, a hint of pride in his voice. “But for now, we can just enjoy the city at night, in all its glory. Plus, it’s a great place to plan and get away from the crowds.”

“Speaking of,” Peter said, suddenly serious as he turned to look at Jason, “Thank you for bringing me here. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, I  wanted to say thank you.” Jason turned away so Peter couldn’t see his face. “You also need to get out more. There’s more out in Gotham than just what’s right in front of you,” Jason replied casually, his tone sincere.

“What if I like what's in front of me?” Peter’s eye never looked away from Jason. He was sure Jason could tell.

Jason let out a shaky breath, his mind swirling with unvoiced thoughts. The air around them was thick with an unspoken tension, each second stretching into eternity as they stood in silence. Finally, after what felt like an age, Jason turned his gaze back to Peter.

A warm, albeit nervous, smile crept onto his face, serving as a quiet invitation. He gestured toward a charming setup to the side—a cozy picnic arranged on the rooftop, complete with a blanket spread out invitingly and a basket filled with an assortment of treats.

Peter's curiosity piqued, and he turned to take in the delightful scene. The soft glow of fairy lights twinkled above, casting a gentle ambiance that contrasted with the city’s imposing skyline.

“Ready to eat?” Jason asked, his voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. He broke the lingering silence as he stepped toward the picnic, eager to share this moment with Peter.

“Did you really make all this?” Peter asked, his eyes widening as he took in the impressive spread of food that filled the table. Plates piled high with colorful dishes, and the delightful aromas wafting through the air made his mouth water.

“Maybe,” Jason replied, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. He glanced away, trying to deflect the compliment. “Just stop talking about it.”

Peter chuckled, finding it endearing to see Jason flustered by his efforts. It was a charming sight, especially considering the ambiance Jason had created—soft lighting from candles flickering on the table and gentle music playing in the background. This wasn't just a casual outing; it was clearly a thoughtfully planned date, and Peter couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness at the effort Jason had put into making the evening special. At that moment, he realized he wouldn't want it to be any other way.

Peter's smile widened as he took a seat on the blanket, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. “It's perfect. I can’t believe you went through all this trouble for me.”

Jason shrugged, trying to hide his growing pride behind a casual demeanor. “Well, I wanted to do something special.” He then walked over to sit down, “Especially since your dumbass knows nothing about fine dining.”

Peter scoffed playfully “I’ll die on this hill, Mac and cheese is not fine dining.”

“Been there done that, mac and cheese is a masterpiece.” Jason leaned back on to his hands,  “You’re just mad you suck at making it.” Jason mocked Peter, “W’ittle baby in the kitchen.”

Peter pushed his shoulder slightly, “Give me credit, not my fault my brainwaves can’t sync up with cooking.”

“Bluetooth connected.”

 Suddenly both end up laughing together. Peter louder then Jason by far.  “I love this,” Peter said, picking up one of the breads  “And this looks amazing! What’s this one?” He took a bite, his eyes lighting up in delight.

“Ah, that’s the Lemon blueberry yogurt bread” Jason explained, leaning slightly forward as he watched Peter’s reaction. “I figured it’d be light and refreshing.”

“It’s fantastic! You definitely have a talent for this,” Peter teased, his laughter filling the space as Jason’s blush deepened. “But honestly, Jason, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

Jason sat beside him, his heart racing a little faster. “I’m glad you feel that way. It’s been a while since I’ve done something like this.”

“Why’s that?” Peter asked, genuinely curious. He set down the sandwich and turned to face Jason, his expression softening.

“I got caught up with life… you know how it is,” Jason admitted, his gaze drifting for a moment. “But I wanted to remind myself how important it is to take a break and enjoy the moment.”

Peter nodded in understanding, appreciating Jason's vulnerability. “Well, I think you’ve reminded yourself pretty well tonight. This is exactly what I needed too—just a peaceful moment away from everything.”

Jason smiled, the tension easing as they shared a comfortable silence, the flickering candlelight shimmering between them. “So, is this going to be our new tradition? Rooftop picnics whenever life gets too overwhelming?”

“I’d love that,” Peter replied, warmth spreading through him at the thought. “I have a feeling we’ll make some great memories up here.”

“Definitely,” Jason said, his heart feeling lighter. “Here’s to more picnics and adventures, then.”

They clinked their glasses together, the sound punctuating the promise of a new chapter filled with moments just like this one. As they both settled in, the echoes of the city floating up from below, Peter couldn't help but feel that this moment, up on this rooftop with Jason, was just the kind of escape he needed—a chance to breathe and just be.

As they engaged in lively conversation and shared bites of their food, Peter felt an increasing urge to stretch his limbs. The long hours of sitting were beginning to take a toll on him, causing a slight restlessness to bubble beneath the surface. He shifted in his seat, trying to find comfort, but it was no use. With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up and rose from the floor, the cool breeze of the rooftop brushing against his skin.

Jason, observant and intent, noticed Peter's subtle discomfort. His eyes followed Peter as he walked over to the edge of the roof, the city sprawling out beneath them in a mosaic of lights and buildings. Peter paused for a moment at the ledge, taking a deep breath as he looked out at the horizon. Feeling the weight of the day lift slightly, he embraced the expansive view.

Peter turned back to Jason, letting the back of his shoes touch the edge, “You know how I was calling you a show-off?”

Jason slowly stood up himself, “Yeah, because my skills are just that amazing.”

Chuckling, Peter winked at Jason, “My turn!” He then let himself fall backward off the roof.

Jason had never experienced such a surge of panic coursing through him in his entire life as he did in that fleeting moment when Peter suddenly fell backward. Time seemed to freeze, and a crucial detail — something that might have explained Peter's reckless action — evaporated from Jason's mind as he rushed to the edge of the building in a desperate attempt to grasp the unfolding situation.

As he peered over the ledge, his heart raced, pounding in his chest like a wild drum. Just when he thought all hope was lost, Peter launched himself into the air with an exuberant energy that contrasted sharply with Jason’s frantic fear. He soared upward, twisting and turning through the air like a dancer in a grand ballet, an infectious laugh bursting from his lips.

Jason watched, transfixed, as Peter expertly used his webs to navigate through the cityscape, flipping and spinning with a grace that left Jason astounded. Each movement was fluid and effortless, a testament to Peter’s exceptional agility and control. The way he arced through the air, performing tricks that showcased his remarkable talents, painted a picture of pure joy and freedom. At that moment, Jason realized that Peter was not just an adventurous friend; he was a breathtaking spectacle of human ability, radiating a beauty that took Jason's breath away.

Peter finally launched himself backward onto the roof, landing with an exhilarated thud just inches away from Jason. The impact nearly sent him stumbling back, but Jason was quick to react, catching him by the waist with a steady grip.

“Awesome, right?” Peter exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement, trying his best to ignore the way Jason’s hands felt around his midsection.

“Captivating would be more like it,” Jason replied, his gaze intense as it remained locked onto Peter. He took in the exhilaration radiating from him.

A warm blush crept up Peter’s cheeks, and he instinctively pushed Jason back just a bit, creating some space between them so he could attempt to mask the shy smile spreading across his face. “I was just trying to be cool,” he defended, a playful lilt in his voice.

“You definitely succeeded,” Jason said with a chuckle, his eyes still reflecting admiration and a hint of mischief.

Feeling emboldened by Jason's words, Peter looked back up, a small, proud smile curving his lips. “You want to join me?” he asked, gesturing eagerly toward the ledge of the roof where the moon glistens the night.

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to pull off those cool tricks with me around,” Jason laughed, a hint of disbelief in his tone, but there was also intrigue.

Peter, emboldened by the thrill of the moment, tugged gently at Jason's arm, encouraging him closer to the edge. “It’s just swinging,” he insisted, a glint of determination in his eyes. “Besides, watching is one thing, but feeling it is something else entirely. You have to let me show you,” he added, his tone turning sincere as he sought Jason's consent to take him into the experience.

“Fine, if you drop me, though, I’ll kill you,” Jason said playfully.

Peter tightly clasped Jason's hand as they stood at the precipice, the world sprawling beneath them. With a burst of excitement, he laughed and leaped off, surrendering to gravity for a thrilling moment. As they plummeted towards the ground, Jason felt a rush of adrenaline, the sheer exhilaration of the fall knocking the breath from his lungs. Just a heartbeat away from the earth, Peter wrapped his arms around Jason, his grip firm and reassuring, before unleashing his webs with expert precision.

In an instant, they were catapulted back into the sky, swinging through the air like birds. The wind whipped around them, swirling in a chaotic dance, while Jason marveled at the breathtaking view from above—the sprawling city, its lights twinkling like stars. He couldn't help but feel that Peter was right; there was an undeniable thrill that came with this experience, one that surpassed anything he’d ever imagined.

With Peter holding him securely, Jason felt the chill of the evening air and the warmth radiating from Peter’s presence, creating a comforting contrast that wrapped around him like a cozy blanket. The sensation was intoxicating—freedom mixed with the carefree joy of flight, intensified by the closeness of the one he trusted most. As they soared, Jason's heart soared, too, grateful for the adventure and the connection they shared in these breathtaking moments.

Peter settled onto the rough, cold pavement of the alley, just a few steps away from where Jason had left his bike leaning against the grimy wall. The atmosphere was thick with the exhilaration of their recent adventure, and the remnants of their heart-pounding experiences still echoed in their ears. Both of them stood quietly, the sounds of the city fading into the background as their hearts raced, not from fear or conflict but from the shared excitement that coursed through them like electric currents.

As Jason caught his breath, he felt an exhilarating rush of adrenaline, a sensation so rare that it seemed to transform the alley's ordinary surroundings into something magical. Looking at Peter, he realized that this bond they had forged was deeper than he had ever anticipated. Neither of them had expected to find such a powerful connection atop that roof, overlooking the world far below them. The heights offered a perspective not just of the skyline but also of their own feelings.

The moments stretched, each second marked by the rapid beats of their hearts as they exchanged glances filled with anticipation. It was in this charged silence that Peter, unable to contain the intensity any longer, took charge. He slowly made his way to Jasons collar, pulling him down towards him gently.

Even with how slow the interaction was, the two some how found a way to bump heads, “Oh for web’s sake.” Peter chuckled.

“You got a hard head, Parker.” Jason was amused, the tension still clearly there.

Peter let his head fall into Jason’s chest, “Only I would—, “

Jason shook his head, and lifted Peters face up, “Stop rambling, “ He stared into Peter’s eyes, expressing his intention.

Taking the hint, with a swift movement, he pushed forward and gently, yet firmly, let their lips meet in a tender kiss that spoke volumes. The world around them melted away, and in that moment, they lost themselves in the thrill of something new and exhilarating, solidifying the promise of their shared journey ahead.

Pulling away Peter smiled, he was about to say something until he suddenly flicked his head to the side to stare out of the alley.

Following his glaze Jason couldn’t see anything, “You still there Spidey?”

“sorry, I just thought.” Peter tilted his head, “It felt like we were being watched.”

Chapter Text

They fucked up.

Jason lay sprawled on the couch, blissfully unaware of the storm of emotions about to hit him. The peaceful rhythm of his breathing filled the room while outside, and the night deepened. Earlier, after their intense kiss, Peter had felt a rush of exhilaration that sent him soaring into a euphoric state. He couldn’t help but kick his feet in delight, savoring the realization that Jason would still have to drive him home—an opportunity for more moments together.

As they arrived at Peter's place, the weight of the evening settled around them. Peter's heart raced at the thought of spending more time with Jason, so when he casually invited him inside, there was electricity in the air. It was late, and the anticipation was like a sting you could touch; Peter could see the eagerness reflected in Jason’s eyes as he readily accepted the invitation.

This wasn’t the first time Jason had spent the night. In fact, Peter had grown accustomed to Jason practically having his own space in his apartment. It was more of a stumble upon—a room that was far from conventional, filled with an array of weapons and various gear that hinted at Jason’s concealed lifestyle. Peter often contemplated how Jason likely viewed his home as another hideout of his. He thought it was adorably charming, even if Jason would never admit it.

As they stepped inside, the familiarity of the space wrapped around them. The dim lighting settled softly, casting shadows on the walls adorned with posters that reflected Peter’s interests. He shot Jason a playful glance, his suspicions confirmed; they were both keen to stretch the evening just a bit longer to explore the unspoken bond that was slowly weaving itself between them.

 “Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Jason suggested, his voice soft but firm, as if he had made a decision he was content with. Then, taking the initiative, he reached out with a tender touch, lifting Peter's chin with his fingers. It felt like magic, the way Jason’s hand cradled him, and Peter found himself leaning in, a silent invitation hanging in the air between them.

At that moment, Jason leaned closer, pressing his lips softly against Peter's—a kiss that was a world apart from the first, more feverish and impulsive kiss they had shared. This one was slow and unhurried, each second stretching out like an eternity. It felt electric in its gentleness, a quietly passionate exploration rather than the demand of desire. Peter could only close his eyes and savor it, feeling the warmth and depth of Jason's affection wash over him.

“Tomorrow, we can get into the details,” Jason whispered as they pulled apart slightly, their foreheads resting together. “I just want to enjoy it for now.” There was a sense of ease in his words, a comfortable acceptance of the moment that made Peter’s heart swell.

In that tranquil atmosphere, Peter recognized a hint of something deeper beneath Jason’s relaxed tone—a sliver of apprehension about the labels that often came with relationships. But for now, he chose to embrace Jason's joy, allowing himself to bask in the warmth of their connection. In that fleeting moment, the fear of titles and expectations faded, leaving only the undeniable bond they were beginning to build together.

They had actually continued their marathon of the Alien movies, the tension in the room mingling with the flickering light from the screen. This time, Peter didn’t fall asleep. He couldn’t afford to miss a single moment, especially now that he was nestled up against Jason. The warmth of their bodies pressed together enveloped him in a cocoon of safety and affection, igniting feelings that surged within him like an intoxicating elixir. Each heartbeat felt amplified as he allowed himself to savor not just the comfort but the thrill of their closeness. The entire experience was euphoric; it felt as if they were the only two people in the universe. Peter had a feeling he would cherish this night for the rest of his life.

However, the blissful afterglow of their shared moment faded all too quickly with the harsh light of morning. Peter's heart dropped as he instinctively reached for his phone, the screen flaring to life with notifications screaming for his attention. His pulse quickened, and he let out a panicked squeal when he saw the headlines splashed across various news outlets. The images were unmistakably of him and Jason, their expressions caught in a moment of latent vulnerability in the alley. Fortunately, the angle of the camera mostly obscured his face in those grainy stills; he breathed a sigh of relief that his identity remained somewhat protected.

But then, the sinking realization hit him like a cold wave—Jason's face was front and center, bright as day for all to see.

“Jason Wayne? Back from the Dead!” read one particularly sensational headline, and Peter’s stomach dropped. How on earth did they connect the dots, linking Jason to, well, Jason? It was baffling. The last time the media had laid eyes on him, he was merely a kid, fourteen, running from the responsibilities and expectations of his unique life. He couldn’t recall exactly how old Jason had claimed to be when he died, but it felt like a distant memory, a jigsaw piece to a tragedy he had never fully understood.

As the news articles continued to flood his screen, Peter felt an urgency rising within him. He had to figure this out before it spiraled out of control. The implications were staggering, and he could no longer simply bask in the serene comfort of the previous night.

Someone had watched them, his instinct tried to tell him but he had ignored it. Why did he ignore it?

As Peter studied the image more closely, a wave of unease washed over him. He realized that the person behind the camera had been positioned quite a distance away, capturing them in a candid moment that now felt all too exposed. The photographer, hopefully lacked any malicious intent, remained oblivious to the turmoil their snapshot had stirred within him. It was frustrating to think that a cherished memory, one that he had held dear, was now publicly displayed for anyone to scrutinize.

Equally troubling was the fact that Jason, his friend. Boyfriend? Who had miraculously returned from the dead, had been thrust into the spotlight much too soon. Before he had the chance to process his emotions or share his story on his terms, the world was now aware of his resurrection. Peter felt a pang of protectiveness for Jason, wishing he could shield him from the pressures and expectations that accompanied such unexpected attention.

Peter winced as he saw multiple texts from Barbara, who knew he was in the picture because of his outfit. That was going to be a long discussion.

After contemplating his options for what felt like an eternity, Peter finally made up his mind. With a determined expression etched on his face, he walked over to where Jason lay peacefully asleep. The soft rise and fall of Jason's chest was a testament to his deep slumber, and the gentle glow of the morning light streamed through the window, casting a warm halo around him. Peter hesitated for a brief moment, considering the best way to rouse him without startling him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task ahead, and leaned down slightly, ready to wake Jason from his dreams. Going for a soothing attic, Peter let his fingers brush through Jason's hair.

“Jay,” Peter said softly, his voice cutting through the haze of sleep. “I need you to wake up.”

Jason stirred, his eyelids fluttering open momentarily to find Peter’s face just inches away. A slow smile crept across his lips as he lazily maneuvered himself, pulling Peter down so that he was sprawled comfortably on top of him. A low huff escaped Jason as he nestled his head deeper into the pillow, his eyes fluttering shut once more.

Feeling a rush of heat rise to his cheeks, Peter decided to poke Jason playfully in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber. “I have some news I need to share, you know!” he declared, trying to sound more energetic than he felt.

“Good?” Jason mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, the words barely coherent as he tried to ascertain whether the news was good or bad.

Peter braced himself, taking a deep breath. “Bad,” he admitted, wincing slightly as he spoke. Jason responded with a disgruntled huff, snuggling closer to Peter as if to shield himself from the reality of the news.

“No.” The word came out as a muffled protest, buried in the crook of Peter's shoulder.

“No?” Peter echoed, his brow furrowing in confusion. He made no effort to shift off Jason, content to stay where he was despite the weight of the news.

“Five more minutes,” Jason murmured stubbornly, his voice barely rising above a whisper as he clung to the warm comfort of the moment, unwilling to let go of sleep just yet.

“Jason,” Peter signed, his expression serious as he gently placed his hand against Jason's cheek. The comforting touch was intended to rouse him from the drowsiness that clung to him, but it also conveyed a sense of urgency. “It’s important, and you need to be aware of it now.”

Peter observed Jason closely, noting the way his eyes flicked between the warmth of Peter's palm and the earnestness in his gaze. The moments felt heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Finally, Jason leaned into Peter's hand, seeking the reassurance it offered. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Peter's face as he mumbled begrudgingly, “Fine. What is it?” There was a hint of reluctance in his voice, but beneath that lay a flicker of curiosity, compelling him to focus on whatever Peter was about to share.

“You might want to sit up for this,” Peter suggested, his tone laced with a mixture of concern and urgency.

“I’m fine like this,” Jason replied, his voice still thick with sleep and resistance. He remained cocooned in the soft blankets, his head nestled into Peter's hand as if it offered a barrier against the world.

Peter shook his head, a hint of exasperation creeping into his expression. He withdrew his hand and turned his phone towards Jason, the screen illuminating his face in the dim morning light. “It’s better to show you,” he insisted, urging him to take a look.

Jason squinted at the screen, the initial haze of sleep lifting as he began to read the contents. With each word he absorbed, Peter observed the gradual transformation on Jason’s face—his eyes widened and his brow furrowed, signs of realization dawning on him as the information sank in.

“You’re right; I should’ve sat up,” Jason admitted, his voice tinged with frustration despite his reluctance to change his position. He remained sprawled across the couch, not quite ready to confront the reality before him. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, a wave of irritation washing over him. He lifted his arm and draped it over his face as if attempting to shield himself from the harsh light of the revelation and the weight of what it meant. “That ruins shit,” he added, the frustration evident in his tone as he grappled with the implications.

He finally sat up as Peter shifted off him, a look of palpable concern etched across his face. “Does anyone know it was you I was kissing?” he asked, his voice tight with urgency.

Peter leaned back against the worn fabric of the couch, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Karen is running the interface right now to check for anything,” he replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “So far, it looks like I’m all clear.” He paused, weighing his next words carefully. “But honestly, I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.”

The reality of their situation was starting to sink in, and Peter's expression darkened with worry. “They could just be holding onto the pictures for later, or worse... they might have something on us already. There could be footage of us webbing around,” he continued, anxiety lacing his tone. Panic began to rise within him as he grasped the implications of what he was saying. If others discovered he was a meta, all the effort he had put into keeping his identity hidden would be for nothing. The thought sent a chill down his spine, and he could feel the weight of potential exposure pressing heavily on his chest.

They sat in silence, the weight of the news settling heavily around them like an oppressive blanket that dulled the vibrant atmosphere of the moment. Just when everything had finally started to fall into place, the universe had decided to intervene once again. Peter felt the old familiar sting of disappointment; it was as if fate had orchestrated a cruel dance of misfortune known all too well as his “Parker luck.” One small victory seemed to lead to two setbacks, and that incessant cycle was beginning to wear thin on his spirit.

“It looks like I’ll have to call daddy dearest,” Jason said, his voice dripping with exasperation and a biting sarcasm that reflected his annoyance. He pushed himself up from the couch, frustration evident in every line of his body as he prepared to make yet another difficult call. The moment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension, contrasting sharply with the excitement they had felt moments before.

Jason hurriedly gathered a few of his belongings, the urgency of his plans weighing on his mind as he approached the door. He had every intention of leaving swiftly, eager to resolve the turmoil surrounding him. Yet, just as he reached for the doorknob, an impulse made him pause. There was one crucial thing he needed to do before he could walk away completely.

Turning back, he found Peter sprawled comfortably on the couch, his relaxed posture hinting at vulnerability. Jason moved closer, leaning over him, his heart racing with a blend of emotions. Slowly, he bridged the space between them, capturing Peter's lips in a tender kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

“I’ll call you,” Jason promised quietly, pulling back slightly to meet Peter's gaze, a mix of sincerity and urgency in his eyes. “Or maybe I’ll just show up. We still have a lot of shit to talk about.” The gravity of his words hung in the air, reaffirming the connection they shared even amidst the chaos of the moment.

Peter's face broke into a warm smile as he looked at Jason. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. With a cheerful laugh, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jason in a brief but heartfelt hug. “It’s always good to have someone to lean on,” he added, stepping back to meet Jason’s gaze. Trying to tell him he was there for him, “I promise I’ll reach out if I figure anything out.”

“Thanks, Princess.” Jason kissed the top of Peter's head before pulling away. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to cherish this new adventure that he had started with Peter, but duty always seemed to call him back from the grave. Ironic really.

. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Bruce sat in his study, the soft glow of the TV to his right slightly illuminating his face when a breaking news alert grabbed his attention. He leaned forward, his heart racing as the familiar voice of the news anchor filled the room. What appeared on the screen next shocked him to his core: a grainy photo of Jason, his lips pressed against another man's in a moment of intimacy. The fleeting happiness captured in that snapshot was starkly juxtaposed against the whirlwind of commotion erupting from the media.

“Surely, this can’t be happening,” Bruce thought, disbelief washing over him. Jason had always been careful and guarded about his personal life, especially since his resurrection. He had navigated through shadows as Red Hood, yet somehow, this part of him had slipped through the cracks into the unforgiving scrutiny of the public eye. They now knew that Jason Todd was back from the grave. The media might not know about the new life Jason was leading. But to them, it didn’t matter; they were bringing Jason back into the public's eye. He was plastered across every news outlet, an unwitting casualty of the relentless gossip machine.

The ramifications of that single moment—innocent yet scandalous—would undoubtedly erupt like a storm. Bruce felt a mix of anger and protectiveness surge within him. He may have his differences from Jason, but he is still solving unresolved feelings about the past. He could see the change in him, though. The difference from when he first learned Jason was alive to their moment on the roof when he was Red Hood. Bruce understood all too well that being a Wayne meant sacrificing privacy, but seeing Jason caught in the crossfire of this scrutiny shook him to his core. He resolved that he would do everything in his power to support Jason through this chaos, to remind him that they were still family despite the noise around them.

This was finally Jason's opportunity to reconcile with the other person in his life. Bruce couldn't help but think that this wasn't exactly the scenario Jason would have chosen for such a moment. Nevertheless, he was determined to ensure that nothing would hinder Jason's progress in recent months.

As Bruce's gaze drifted back to the photograph on the wall, a surge of curiosity washed over him. Who was this man Jason had been spending time with? Was he the catalyst for the positive changes Bruce had noticed in Jason's demeanor? It seemed like a possibility worth exploring, especially since Bruce hadn’t seen Jason genuinely smile in what felt like ages. The thought of meeting this individual sparked a flicker of hope in Bruce's heart; perhaps he could express his gratitude and give thanks for bringing some joy back into Jason's life.

"Alfred," Bruce called out, his voice steady as he turned his attention toward the door, sensing the familiar presence just beyond it.

"Yes, Master Bruce?" Alfred replied, stepping into the dimly lit room with a slight bow of his head, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

Bruce rose from his chair, the fabric of his jacket rustling as he grabbed it from the backrest. His brow furrowed in determination. "We need to reach Jason or at least leave a line of communication open for him. Time is of the essence, and we can’t afford to lose control of the narrative."

Alfred nodded, understanding the gravity of the moment. He was already well aware of the shocking news that Jason was alive, a secret that weighed heavily on both of them. "I’ll see what I can do," he assured, his voice calm and composed despite the urgency. "I'll make sure he receives your message." With that, he turned on his heel, ready to enact the plan that might just change everything.

Bruce Wayne never imagined he’d see Jason Todd appear at the manor, especially not in such an unexpected fashion. He watched from the grand entrance as Jason rode his motorcycle through the gates, swerving around a cluster of relentless reporters clamoring for attention outside. The sight of the young man, clad in casual attire, brought a mix of relief and concern. Bruce knew how unpredictable the media could be, and getting Jason inside without attracting a mob was no small feat.

Just as they approached the gate, a shout cut through the air, slicing into Bruce's thoughts. “Bruce Wayne! Why haven’t you made it public about Jason being alive?” The question lingered in the chaotic atmosphere, amplified by the barrage of camera flashes that erupted around them, illuminating the twilight with bursts of bright light.

Bruce clenched his jaw, his protective instincts flaring. He felt his public persona faltering at the sheer audacity of the press. When he laid eyes on Jason, who looked slightly bemused yet cautious, Bruce’s irritation grew. Reporters surrounded them like vultures waiting for a scrap. If only he could unleash on them as he would with Gotham's rogues, but he had to maintain composure.

"Everything will be clarified soon. I promise there will be a press conference shortly,” Bruce replied, forcing the corners of his mouth upward into a practiced smile, though the tension in his voice betrayed his frustration. He guided Jason through the encroaching crowd, all too familiar with their relentless probing and insatiable thirst for scandal.

Once the heavy gates finally swung shut, cutting off the noise and flash of cameras, Bruce let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The weight of the moment settled around them, creating a cocoon of semi-seclusion amidst the otherwise frantic world outside.

“Didn’t expect them to be here so quickly,” Jason mused, pulling off his helmet and shaking loose strands of dark hair that tumbled across his forehead. The absence of his iconic red hood was a relief, though Bruce could spot the lingering trace of a previous life in the defiant glint of his eyes.

“Welcome back, Jason,” Bruce said quietly, allowing himself a moment to absorb the reality of the reunion fully. There was still much to discuss, and they both knew the path ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for now, they were safe within the familiar walls of Wayne Manor.

“Not like I have a choice.” Jason huffed, clearly annoyed.

Bruce was unsure how to navigate this challenging situation. In the past, his approach would have been straightforward: He would have had Jason clean up, concocted a plausible story to explain the incident, and delegated the task of handling it to someone else. However, things were different now. Bruce felt a deep desire to be a better father to his children—a realization that struck him as both strange and enlightening, highlighting just how emotionally distant he had been.

He recognized that many aspects of his life needed repair, and the weight of that realization pressed heavily on him. It was time to take a significant step forward in his personal growth. Although expressing his emotions had never come easily to him, Bruce believed he could find a way to communicate effectively and connect with his kids in a genuine and meaningful way. Although it was a daunting thought, he felt a flicker of hope that change was possible.

“How do you want to solve this?” Bruce asked, his voice steady but laced with concern. He was keenly aware of the fragile atmosphere surrounding them and wanted to avoid pushing Jason away at this critical moment.

Jason blinked in surprise, his brow furrowing as he processed the question. “You’re actually asking me?” he replied, bewilderment evident in his tone. It was not often that someone sought his opinion on matters that weighed heavily on his life.

Bruce nodded earnestly, his gaze briefly darting away as he wrestled with his own emotions. “I’m not going to force a story on you,” he said, striving to convey sincerity. The words felt heavy on his tongue as if the enormity of their situation demanded more than just casual conversation. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “Your input on a matter concerning your life is crucial.”

He hesitated, searching for the right words, feeling an odd mix of vulnerability and responsibility. Why was it so difficult to navigate this delicate subject? He could only hope that giving Jason the space to voice his thoughts would foster a sense of trust between them.

“You’re being weird.” Jason accused, shaking his head, “But fuck it, this works.” Jason started to walk away, “Let's talk over some of Alfred's cooking.”

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Peter felt a weight of concern as he tried to shield Jason from any additional anxiety. After Karen had concluded her meticulous analysis, she discovered relevant footage from a nearby security camera that had captured someone lurking in their vicinity the previous night. As Peter examined the footage, he felt a sense of urgency coursing through him. The footage provided crucial insights: he could discern the intruder's clothing, their movements, and the duration they spent in the area. The angles from which they were filming suggested a determined observer, likely intent on documenting everything around their presence.

Peter’s heart raced as he contemplated the implications. It was highly probable that the individual had indeed captured images of him swinging through the streets, his silhouette darting through the cityscape. Yet his mind fixated more on one troubling aspect: Had the camera been sophisticated enough to discern his face? He held onto a flicker of hope that the device was outdated, perhaps unable to produce a clear shot amidst the rapid blur of his movements.

Still, the situation gnawed at him. They had only just revealed Jason’s identity to the public, carefully keeping Peter's name and image under wraps. This secrecy was crucial, especially in light of the potential threats that loomed. Peter's thoughts spiraled into a maze of possibilities: Could this be a precursor to blackmail? Maybe someone was attempting to coax him into crafting some invention or device. Or was there something more sinister at play?

He couldn't shake the memory of the mugger from just days ago, a troubling reminder that danger could come from anywhere. Each scenario he conjured felt more dire than the last, making him hyper-aware of the fragile line they were walking. The stakes were rising, and the uncertainty settled heavily on his shoulders.

The two muggers were in front of him. The one without the gun looked frightened. “No. Are you kidding me?” the second thug seethed back, his voice tinged with panic. “They only take metas.”

Though he desperately hoped this scenario wouldn’t be the one that unfolded, the nagging suspicion that it might be impossible to shake. Every alternative he considered seemed to disintegrate under scrutiny, leaving behind a troubling void where clarity should have been. Especially since it appeared that they might be involved in selling metas—beings with extraordinary capabilities, in this treacherous game, his intelligence could merely serve as an unexpected bonus, a bargaining chip in a much larger, dangerous scheme that he could hardly comprehend. The very thought set alarm bells ringing in his mind, warning him to stay vigilant and prepared for whatever might come next.

“Karen, I need you to save all the data on that guy immediately. I would like you to include this information in the data we collect about Meta trafficking. This could be our lead.” Peter’s mind raced, organizing a mental checklist of everything he needed to accomplish in order to stay ahead of the game.

“Do you want me to create a backup as well?” Karen replied, her tone steady and focused, indicating that she was already attuned to Peter’s urgency.

Feeling a chill of apprehension trickle down his spine, Peter wiped his palms on his pants, anxiety creeping in. “Yes, and make sure to program it with a failsafe.”

“Are you referring to the absent failsafe?” she asked, her tone of clarification.

Peter nodded, fully aware of what that entailed. It was exactly the kind of contingency he needed. “Yes, ensure it’s set to log all activity and data transfers to Jason and Barbara.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she inquired, “Are you sure you want a civilian accessing this data?”

Peter’s expression hardened as he contemplated the implications of his decision. “If what I’m considering comes to pass, then yes, it’s crucial they have access.” The stakes were higher than ever, and he knew the risks involved.

Peter pulled out his computer. “Now, let's get this together. When did the camera last see him on the main?”

Peter dedicated several hours to researching the individual who had taken the photo. Each piece of information he unearthed fueled his anxiety, making his stomach churn with apprehension. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at him; he hoped desperately that his intuition was misleading him. If it turned out to be accurate, he knew he’d need to discuss everything with Jason to ensure they were on the same page. Time was of the essence, as he hoped the other party involved would finalize their plans quickly, allowing them to address this growing concern before it spiraled out of control.

“If you got this video, that means the worst has happened. Files of my last few video entries have been linked to you, as well as information Karen and I have gathered on the meta trafficking happening in Gotham.”

Chapter Text

Jason and Bruce engaged in an extended conversation that lasted over an hour, a duration that surprised Jason. It was the longest conversation he had ever shared with Bruce, a man he typically found difficult to connect with. As the minutes passed, he felt as though he had drifted into an alternate reality where Bruce was transformed into someone else entirely. Their discussion flowed effortlessly, covering a wide range of topics, from light-hearted anecdotes to deeper reflections on life.

The conversations took place after they completed the more important step. Jason is still alive in the public eye, and he was honestly prepared for Bruce to give him a cover story and be done with it. It caught him off guard that Bruce was willing to hear what Jason wanted. Bruce even asked for Jason’s input.

The warmth in Bruce’s tone and the genuine interest in his words put Jason at ease, creating an atmosphere that felt both unfamiliar and comforting. It was as if this new version of Bruce—thoughtful and engaging—had been hidden beneath the surface all along, waiting for the right moment or context to emerge. The experience left Jason wondering if he had truly made a connection or if he was simply in a new universe.

In relation to the current situation, Jason has accepted the invitation to make a public appearance at the upcoming press conference. However, he is quite firm in his stance against delivering any speeches. His preference leans towards casual interactions; he’s willing to mingle with attendees, but he has made it clear that he cannot commit to staying for an extended period.  Bruce easily agreed with this. Tim made an appearance during their talk.

“Hey, cuckoo bird,” Jason said with a mischievous grin, his eyes glinting as he stared at the teenager who had once ignited a fire of anger within him.

Tim's expression shifted from confusion to surprise as he took in the sight of Jason on the manor grounds. He glanced first at Bruce, who had a calculating look on his face, then at Alfred, who was observing the scene with a hint of amusement, before finally turning back to Jason. “I seem to be missing some crucial information here,” he remarked, his brow furrowing in curiosity.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, gesturing for Tim to take the seat beside him. “Indeed,” he replied with a knowing smile. “Perhaps your insight could help us navigate the situation at hand.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his tone. “I’m assuming Todd fucked something up again?”

Jason didn't miss a beat, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “When did you start cussing, Boy wonder?” he shot back, a nonchalant dismissal of Tim's jab.

Tim rolled his eyes, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Since you tried to blow me up?”

At that, Jason chuckled, a self-satisfied grin emerging. “Ah, that would do it.” The tension in the air shifted slightly as they all acknowledged the high stakes and chaotic history that surrounded them, even in this moment of levity.

Bruce cleared his throat, the weight of the situation heavy in the air. “The public has discovered that Jason is alive,” he announced, his brow furrowing as he glanced at Tim. He wanted to ensure the younger man was fully aware of the gravity of their conversation.

Tim leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Ah, so it’s a cover story you’re after. Is that why you believe my input would be valuable?” The flickering glow of the computer screen illuminated his face as he began to sift through the information already at hand, brainstorming possible narratives.

Bruce nodded, a hint of relief crossing his features. “You’re sharp, Tim. Your skills could be crucial right now.” Meanwhile, Jason was contentedly munching on one of Alfred's freshly baked cookies, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. “Oh, how I’ve missed your cooking, Alfred,” he said, savoring the sweet flavor as he glanced around the room, the memories flooding back.

Bruce and Tim looked at each other and then at Jason, who was stuffing his face. “What?”

Tim shook his head before sitting down and taking control of the computer Bruce had in front of him, “We could say he was traveling? Not the first time Gotham heard someone was dead, then they came back from East Asia?”

“Rebeling teen years?” Bruce was obviously noticing the reference Tim was using for this concept.

“Oh, I can play that up easily.” Jason agreed, a wide grin spreading across his features. He couldn't help but laugh as he thought of an old story that echoed a wild stunt Bruce had pulled in his past. The memory was a goldmine of humor for him, and he relished sharing the exaggerated tales of Bruce's youthful antics.

They continued crafting the story for the media. Jason couldn't remember the last time he felt this relaxed in the manor or even the last time he was there. It was confusing how his feelings toward Bruce and Tim had changed in the past two months. If you had asked him about those two before that, he would have likely given a lengthy tirade about the injustice done to him.

It was unsettling to be in the manor once again, especially so close to the two people with whom he had unresolved issues. Those issues had forced him into a "him or me" situation with one of them, while the other had him really just causing a lot of trouble, too. Sure, the explosion wasn’t his fault, but Jason would take the blame anyway since the kid didn’t actually die. At least he could remember what he was doing.

Jason's unease began to creep in, coiling like a tight band around his chest. Ever since his conversation with Bruce, a gnawing discomfort had settled in the pit of his stomach, but now it had escalated to something far more intense—a sense that something was amiss, as if shadows were lurking just beyond the edges of his awareness. The anxiety coursed through him like a wave, and he felt his heartbeat quicken in response.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off the chair, feeling the weight of the moment. “Now that’s covered,” he declared, interrupting the flow of the ongoing conversation. “I’ve got things to take care of.”

Tim shot him a sideways glance, his expression dripping with sarcasm. “Drugs to garnish?” he retorted, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Jason’s mouth as he met Tim’s gaze. “I like to give my shit some flair,” he replied, his tone laced with defiance. The truth was, he fucking hated drugs. But he knew he wasn’t going to shake off the allegations of drug use anytime soon, might as well have fun.

“Send your partner my regards, Master Jason,” Alfred remarked warmly. His hands deftly cleared away the remnants of the meal that had sat in front of Jason, the clatter of dishes echoing softly in the room's stillness.

“Nothing gets past you,” Jason replied with a slight smirk. His voice was tinged with appreciation as he reached for his helmet, which was resting on the table. Its polished surface gleamed under the soft light.

Bruce rose from his seat as well, his intense gaze following Jason steadfastly as he made his way toward the heavy wooden door. “Visit more, chum,” he said, his tone laced with an unexpected weight that settled uncomfortably in the air between them.

It felt oddly as if Bruce truly cared. “So you can lecture me about my alley?” Jason retorted, shaking his head dismissively. But as he glanced back, he noticed Bruce’s expression falter, a flicker of disappointment crossing his usually resolute face.

“Well,” Jason started, turning away slightly, the exit looming ahead. “I’ll think about it,” he finally said, his voice trailing off with an air of uncertainty.

Tim leaned forward, curiosity etched on his face. “So, how should we get in touch?” he asked, his voice a mix of eagerness and uncertainty.

Jason's lips curled into a playful smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Oh, I have my methods,” he replied cryptically. “Just keep your eyes peeled. See you at the conference.”

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Location Unknown: Approximately ??? hours

Peter could barely breathe through the muzzle on him. They really were not making any slipups for him to act on. His head was still ringing from the concussion he definitely had. Blindfolded, tied up, and muzzled so he couldn’t bite anyone again. He could still feel the blood in between his canines.

He didn’t expect them to act so quickly. He sensed something was wrong, especially since all the data he had gathered pointed to a location in Crime Alley. He had assumed that the stalking was recent, but now he realized he was mistaken. They had definitely been trailing him for a while, and whatever they were using was interfering with his powers. Maybe that was why his spider-sense wasn’t working.

He didn’t realize that his spider powers could be exploited in such a way. He remembers the heavy scent of swamp and gasoline when they attacked. It was an odd smell to cover themselves in, but not when they knew they were facing someone with spider powers. It’s a scent that attracts spiders. Peter recalled a story about how spiders would hide in a man's car vent when gasoline was filtering through, lured in by the odor. They effectively used his spider side against him; his sixth sense didn’t alert him to their presence until they were actively attacking. By then, it was too late, giving them the advantage over him.

He had grown far too comfortable, allowing his defenses to lower and his senses to dull. It was a dangerous state to be in, one that Tony had warned him about long ago during one of their late-night conversations. Tony had always been cautious, stressing the importance of staying alert and understanding that there was always, without fail, a bigger fish lurking in the depths, ready to pounce when least expected. Yet, he let those words slip from his mind, convincing himself that he had ample time to prepare and that nothing could catch him off guard.

In that moment of overconfidence, he forgot the lessons of the past, like the time when the world was torn apart, and people vanished without a trace, victims of the blip that had ravaged lives and left chaos in its wake. There was no such thing as guaranteed time. He should have remembered. It was a harsh reality he had previously lived through, a reminder that life was unpredictable and precarious. Yet, with each passing day, he became more convinced of his safety, dismissing the urgency to stay alert. He was lured into a false sense of security, believing he could afford to relax, not realizing how quickly everything could change.

They had come for him when he went out. He was certain he would be fine going to check up on Arkham. He had finished his work there a while ago, but there was always room for improvement. He also wanted to double-check that they didn’t find his fail-safe, a code he had put in to ensure no one could slip a patient out without notice.

It was a dumb reason now that he was sitting in the back of a truck chained like an animal.

They came in a pack. The first one pulled him into the alley, where he was looking for help. He remembered the small girl looking at him, and then they surrounded him. A certain voice, one he remembered from a while ago, lured him in.

“Let's go.” The mugger in Peter’s jacket pulled the other way. Peter looked at the mugger, who was staring at him. Their red eyes pierced through his.

“Fine.” He mumbled before pushing away. Peter walked slowly toward Raven as they left, “until we meet again.” He spoke low for only Peter to catch.

“It’s nice to meet you again, Meta,” the mugger sneered as Peter’s attention wavered just before a punch was thrown at him. “Or should I still call you Parker? It doesn’t matter where they’ll take you; names won’t be needed.”

At first, Peter thought there were only five of them, but he quickly realized there were more, and he understood that this was not a fight he could win. He felt the rush of air as one of the men threw a punch, narrowly missing him. Meta-fighting against other Metas in order to traffic them? What a crazy world we live in.

Peter made a desperate attempt to swing away, but his foes were fully prepared for his escape. Suddenly, a bolt of electricity crackled through the air, striking his web and electrifying it like a live wire. The shock surged directly toward him, hitting him with a powerful force that sent him crashing to the ground, landing hard on his back. Dazed, he instinctively reached for his nanite suit, swiftly yanking it from his ears. In the process, he scattered small, metallic particles across the gravel and debris strewn around him. He hoped fervently that his attackers hadn’t noticed the awkward movement of his hands, praying that it wouldn’t compromise his position or give away his next move.

He had been outsmarted, and his clever tactics were laid bare for everyone to see. They recognized each of his maneuvers, every signature move he believed would give him the upper hand. With meticulous planning, they positioned themselves to counter his every strategy, leaving him feeling overmatched and ill-equipped. Their preparedness was overwhelming, a stark reminder that he had underestimated their vigilance and insight. Peter realized too late that they had used Jason as a distraction, and he had fallen for it.

He had lost track of time while trapped in the cramped darkness of the truck, its metal walls echoing with the muffled sounds of his companions. The air was thick with an unsettling mix of dread and despair; he could hear the soft, heart-wrenching sobs of some passengers while others lay in a deep, unsettling slumber—victims of a potent toxin that coursed through the air. The faint whiffs seemed designed to lull them into unconsciousness. Still, a small handful, himself included, were fighting against its effects, their bodies instinctively resisting the chemical seduction that held their companions in thrall.

Though he managed to keep his eyes open, every ounce of strength felt elusive, slipping through his fingers like sand. The reality of his predicament loomed large, gnawing at him like a hungry beast. The knowledge that he was unable to break free from this nightmare due to the toxins consumed his thoughts, a constant reminder of his vulnerability in the face of an insidious threat. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, and with every ragged breath, the weight of his confinement pressed down even harder.

He should have been more attentive during Jason's lessons on how to free himself from restraints. At the time, he thought those skills were unnecessary; after all, he wasn’t swinging through the streets as Spiderman. Yet, in a city like Gotham, he should have realized that such ignorance could be perilous. The dark alleys and looming shadows of the city offered little sympathy for those unprepared for a fight or an escape. He had been living there for half a year now; why was he still pushing his luck? Or better yet, the little luck he had left. He had definitely used most of it by pulling off god-like feats like Jason.

Gosh, he hoped Karen initiated the Absent failsafe they created. The nanites would be pinged to them, showing his last known location and giving them all the research Peter had done. He hoped the nanites could record his interaction with his kidnappers.

+†+🪦+†+

Gasping for air, Jason pushed himself harder as he sprinted toward the location indicated by the ping on his phone. Each heavy footfall echoed in his ears, and he could feel the adrenaline racing through his veins. The adrenaline sharpened his focus as he desperately scanned the dimly lit surroundings. The cool air swept around him, but his mind was racing, filled with worry and urgency. He looked for any sign—anything that might hint at the situation that had unfolded.

When Karen contacted him on his way back, it caught him off guard. He had just been planning to gather a couple of his belongings and then head back to Peter’s when her frantic message came through. “Jason,” she said, her tone urgent, “Peter has been compromised.” She sent him the coordinates with a sense of immediacy that made his heart race even faster.

The implications of her words hung heavily in the air. Jason's thoughts spiraled: What had happened? Was Peter safe? Had he been caught off guard? Each question surged through his mind as he closed the distance, his hope tinged with dread. He feared he might have failed his friend, that he had been caught in his preparations while Peter was in peril.

When he finally reached the designated spot, an unsettling silence enveloped him, solidifying his fears. He scanned the area once more, his heart sinking as he realized he was too late. No one was in sight, no sign of struggle, just the haunting stillness of the night that felt all too eerie. He had hoped that he could still make a difference, but now it seemed the opportunity had slipped through his fingers.

Why was he always too late?

Jason scanned the dimly lit alley; his senses heightened as he tried to pinpoint the source of the ping. The air was thick with the scent of damp concrete and distant city sounds, but his focus was solely on the task at hand. His eyes darted from one shadowy corner to another until. Finally, he noticed a glimmer of metallic sheen against the backdrop of graffiti-covered walls. As he approached, the shapes began to resolve, revealing Peter's nanites—still eerily configured in the form of hearing aids. They lay scattered on the ground, catching the faint light from a flickering streetlamp, their intricate design a testament to advanced technology, now abandoned in the midst of the urban decay.

Jason slowly picked them up, and as they rested in his hands, the nanites moved instantly, wrapping around his wrist, “Good. You found the suit.” Karen's voice was heard from whatever the fuck was on Jason's wrist, “Another contact of Peters has made their way to Peters building. They’ll be able to assist with finding Peter.”

“Another Contact?” Jason's brow knitted together in deep thought, a hint of anxiety creeping into his expression as he tried to sift through his memories. Suddenly, a spark of recognition hit him, and his eyes went wide with surprise. “Fuck, it’s Barbara.”

“Correct answer, Hood,” Karen chimed in, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. A digital grin seemed to form as she added, “Want a gold star for that? I’ve heard rewards really do wonders for good behavior.”

Jason's frustration bubbled to the surface, and he shot back, “This is not the time, Karen. We have serious issues to tackle.”

“Of course,” she responded, her tone shifting as she detected the urgency in his voice.

Jason hurried to Peter's place. Because of his past, Peter had kept him hidden from Babs, but now that his secrets were out, he learned that Babs was also Peter's emergency contact. This was about to be one intense reunion.

Chapter Text

Jason knew exactly where this situation was headed and who would be waiting for him in Peter’s building. A wave of emotion washed over him, and he struggled to calm the nervous knot in his throat. Gripping the phone tightly in his hands, he felt as though he were shrinking into himself, hesitating to open the door. He was aware that Barbara was on the other side. She was the only person he was certain Peter would trust with the truth about his identity. Damn, his actions were really coming back to haunt him now.

"Red Hood,” Karen's voice cuts through the phone line. “We need to act quickly. Peter is depending on us.”

Peter, with his soft brown curls and hazel eyes, looked at him with an emotion he had longed to experience from others in the past. Peter Parker, who had assisted him as Red Hood, was actively working to clean the streets of Crime Alley. He had helped Jason confront his inner demons and transform into a better man than he once was. Peter Benjamin Parker—a brilliant genius—had taken Jason's foundation built on revenge and redirected it towards a more positive purpose.

His Spider had been taken from him before they could fully express their feelings for each other.

As Jason reflected on this, his fear of the past slowly diminished. He realized that Peter needed him more than ever. He would tear apart cities to bring him back, confront his ghosts, and discover who had taken him away. Taking a step forward, he opened the lock door with the administration Peter had given him. Walking in, he could hear Barbaras pacing steps in the main room. She rambles about what to do. He held onto the nanobots he found in the alley as his stability depended on it. Walking slowly, Jason took his time to make his way to the other.

His memories as Robin flickered through his mind, particularly his moments with Barbara. She would ruffle his hair and call him "squirt," and her red curls would bounce as she led him through Gotham while they trained together in the cave. She was there for him when no one else was; she was like an older sister to him in every way except blood.

Jason stopped in the doorway, preparing for what could happen during this reunion. He watched silently as Barbara moved around the room, effortlessly wearing the bracers that Peter had made for him.

Finally stepping into the room, he spoke up. “Hey, Babs.” He looked down at the floor in shame, not wanting to meet her gaze.

He could hear the deep intake of air Barbara took as she stopped her pacing, “Jay.” her voice was soft and almost sounded like broken glass.

“It's been a while.” Jason stayed where he was, not wanting to overwhelm the other.

“You should be dead,” she said, her tone devoid of hostility. He knew she had seen the news and was aware that he was alive.

Jason shrugged. “I got better.” Before he could look at her again to gauge her reaction, he felt her body slam against him in a tight hug.

He could feel her shallow breaths in his ear as she clung to him like he might disappear. “I missed you so much.”

With his arms still at his sides, Jason struggled to find the words; it felt like his throat was swollen shut. He clenched his teeth and slowly wrapped his arms around her. It didn’t feel real to be here, talking to Babs and sitting next to her. He felt small and weak—like he was back in his Robin suit, hiding from his problems by leaning on her. Barbara had been the one who fueled his love for books, helping him find ways to study. She would stand up to Bruce for him and take him out to enjoy life like a child—not like some street kid, charity case, or soldier; she treated him simply as Jason.

Finally able to speak, Jason gave in to Barbara's embrace. “I miss you too,” he mumbled, taking in all the things he had missed.

They stood in silence, hesitant to disrupt the atmosphere. They knew they had a job to do. Both knew they were wasting time, but they needed this moment of comfort before putting aside their unresolved issues. Most importantly, they needed to work together to find Peter.

Peter needed them now more than ever.

“Absent protocol has been initiated,” Karen interrupted their reunion, refocusing them on the reason they were gathered. “Files have been sent to you.” They pulled away from each other and turned toward the source of Karen's voice. This time, none of the devices on them were being used; only a projector emitted light pulses as she spoke. “You are Absent.”

Jason glanced at Barbara to confirm that he wasn’t the only one witnessing this. Babs exchanged a look with him, and then they both turned back to the image.

“When the photos of Jason were released, Peter noticed crucial information and details.” Jason held his breath, waiting for the AI to continue. ‘We did some research and discovered that the only possible reason for this is that they weren't targeting Jason at all.’ Jason felt Barbara squeeze his hand, understanding the implication: ‘They were after Peter.’

“And they got him.”

‘If you received this video, it means the worst has happened.’

"Peter could only trust you with this," Karen said, her form flickering as she spoke to them.

"The files from my last few video entries have been linked to you, along with the information that Karen and I have gathered about the meta-trafficking occurring in Gotham."

“Peter had named this operation "Absent" in case anything happened to him.” He knew what he needed to do next: "So please, help me get Peter back."

"I made a tracker, along with other measures, in case I went missing. But if they're as smart as I think they are, it may not help," Peter said, leaning back in his chair, looking tired. "It's just a precaution, and I’m going to keep it anyway. The best I can do is provide you both with all the information I can find."

Jason stared at the projected video of Peter as he spoke, analyzing every detail. There had to be something hidden in his message. Peter used to be a hero who, much like Jason, who had a paranoid mentor. Jason understood how people like them operated, and he knew that with enough scrutiny, hidden meanings could be uncovered. There had to be a code, an unspoken layer of information in Peter's words—some sort of precaution in case someone sinister discovered the message.

“My mugger from weeks back said something that caught my attention. With everything happening, I knew it was important. The reason I linked it to meta-trafficking is because of him,” Peter explained. “That being said, there's a chance they know everything about me. About Karen. I’ve hidden the important details somewhere. I know you both will be able to figure it out.” Peter smiled, “Don’t worry too much about me, I’m strong. We got people to save; I’ll see you in a minute.”

Jason observed Peter’s eye movements, facial expressions, and manner of speaking. He listened intently to his tone and the empathy in his voice. There had to be something more.

“Jason," Barbara said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We've been at this for hours. We need to eat, take a shower, and get some sleep.” She looked at him with concern, even though they both appeared equally exhausted.

“How.” Jason didn't look at her to  continue to look at the videos Peter left for them, “Can I? Peter is still out there and we haven't found shit.” Jason knew his tone was harsh, but he didn't care at the moment. Maybe it was the hunger speaking or the restlessness. He just needed Peter.

“Jason,” Barbara said, letting her hand drop. Please.” She looked tired and worn out. They had been working for hours, trying to collect and analyze everything in Peter's encrypted information. While Jason rewatched the videos, Barbara sorted through notes and documents with Karen’s help, who organized them. “We can’t help him if we’re sleep-deprived and starving. Our bodies are fighting against us.”

Jason finally turned to look at Barbara. He could feel the fatigue of sitting there for so long, and it was starting to get to him—affecting his temper. Deep down, he knew she was right, but he was exhausted and overwhelmed. He remembered the moments he had spent with Barbara when he was younger when she had had similar conversations with him. He hated those memories, hated that they could never go back to that time. He felt he didn’t deserve it now.

Peter needs him now. He could atone by helping someone who is good. Someone who is saving people without getting blood on his hands. Blood was on his own, underneath his nails. Seeping through his scars. Blood drenched his arms up to his elbows. He was bathing in it, sitting in the rain of it. A bright red storm that comfort him through the whispers of the past, the horrors that carved Gotham into what it was, into what he is.

He was suffocating in his coffin. His fingers bleeding nails peeled back. He scratched at his chest and throat until a pounding in his soul pushed him to climb. To dig. He heaved, and with a manic look, he dug. He need air, needed out of this casket. He pulled and broke the wood in front of him, using the hole and ignoring the dirt pouring in. He felt his fingers start to bleed, and his nails chip as he clawed at the dirt.

He didn’t stop; he couldn’t. He kept pushing himself through the pain in his hands and chest. He didn't notice when the dirt slowly turned to mud, how he was suffocating himself in his craze. He kept going until he pulled himself out of the ground and let the rain hit him.

The blood rain welcomed him back into Lady Gotham's embrace. He was her Undead Knight of Justice — a creature of blood.

“Jason.” He snapped up to look at Barbara again. His hands were no longer bloody, “Sleep,” she said.

Karen’s voice filtered through, “Initiating rock-a-bye protocol. All work is locked until you get a healthy amount of sleep and consume foods from all food groups in the right proportions to meet your body's nutritional needs.”

Jason heard Barbara sigh as Karen entered the room. “Thanks, Kare,” he heard Barbara say, a nickname slipping out as he felt her pull him toward the bed. “Come on, Squirt. Get to bed,” she urged.

He allowed her to lift him to his feet and guide him to the bedroom. Deep down, he knew he could easily resist—he could stop the shorter woman from leading him away. He didn't, though, because she was right; he was exhausted.

He didn't notice when they entered Peter's room, nor did he question it. Slowly, Jason sat on Peter's bed, letting his shoulders relax as much as possible. He also didn't realize when Barbara left him alone; that wasn’t on his mind. Instead, Peter's familiar scent captivated his attention. He sank into the bed, gripping Peter's pillow and bringing it to his chest. For a while, he lay there, awake but distracted by the comfort he found in Peter's room. He missed his Spider.

After getting a much-needed rest and filling their stomachs, Jason and Barbara returned to the task of finding the message hidden in the haystack that Peter had left for them.

Time felt like a bomb, ticking ominously in Jason's ear. The anxiety it triggered was almost feverish. He had been in a similar situation before, but back then, he was the one in danger. This time, the stakes felt so much higher because it wasn't him in the line of fire. They had collected all the information they could, yet it still felt insufficient. Something was missing, and the uncertainty was gnawing at Jason's fingertips.

“We need to call it,” Barbara said, glancing at her phone before looking back at Jason. “We’re wasting time. Let’s get more people involved; maybe someone else can provide a fresh perspective.” She leaned back in her seat.

Jason sat up slowly, his mind racing as he considered Barbara’s suggestion. A different perspective—Peter had withheld some information, anticipating that someone else might try to dig deeper. This left them to decipher his riddle in order to uncover the truth. After a long 24 hours, they could attribute their exhaustion to their emotions and their desperate need to save Peter. But finally, something began to click into place.

Peter always had a habit of sitting or standing on the ceiling while doing stressful work. It helped him relax and think more clearly.

Jason stood up and looked at the ceiling. "Karen, where did Peter do most of his work on the ceiling?"

Barbara also stood up, trying to understand what Jason was up to. "He did most of his work in the lab, right in the center of the ceiling."

Not bothering to answer Barbara's questions, Jason dashed into the other room. He grabbed his jacket and his gear, then wrestled his grappling hook out before heading into the lab. Once he reached the center, he clenched his jaw.

He eyed the grappling gun, took a deep breath, and pointed it upward. "Sorry, Peter," he muttered as he shot the grappling gun into the air.

The gun punctured the ceiling, and Jason quickly used it to lift himself. He scanned the room and noticed something unusual about the layout, with papers and sticky notes scattered around. Slowly, he maneuvered himself , using the grapple gun as if it were spider-webbing like Peter would. That’s when he finally saw it—a message from Peter. The coordinates were positioned in such a way that they could only be deciphered from a higher perspective and upside down, something only Peter or those close to him would know to look for.

“Babs, write this down quickly,” Jason urged as he listed off the coordinates.

As they entered the coordinates into Barbara's computer, they both leaned over the screen. The location pinged a spot in Blüdhaven. Jason let out a breath of relief; he could finally sense they were getting closer to finding Peter.

“I’m going to contact Dick,” Barbara said, picking up her phone.

Jason scowled. “Why?” He didn’t want to deal with any of his family right now.

“If Peter found something in Blüdhaven, Dick might have information about the meta-trafficking, or worse, he might not know about it, and it could be running wild over there as well.” Barbara began to dial Dick's number. “He also knows the city better than we do, and having more hands-on deck could really help, especially if it’s as big as we think it is.”

Jason didn’t argue. Instead, he got up and left Barbara to her call. He needed to prepare, and his hands twitched with anticipation. He needed his gun.

After finishing her call with Dick, Barbara was left with a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes wandered, and she shakily rested them on her leg braces. She realized she couldn’t join a fight like she used to. The supports for her legs would break if she attempted anything like that. She stood up and walked over to her bag.

She moved slowly, almost hesitantly, as she contemplated the decision before her. Kneeling down, she reached into her bag and pulled out the pieces of a rifle—one she had used during childhood hunting trips with her father. Carefully, she began assembling the weapon, twisting and clipping each part securely together. Once complete, she double-checked the ammunition before loading and cocking the gun.

She knew she couldn't stay out of this fight. Deep down, she understood that her choice went against her own morals. Taking a deep breath, she rested her forehead against the side of the barrel. Over time, her morals had begun to shift and blur. What once seemed like a clear distinction between right and wrong now appeared to be filled with shades of gray—the same gray that Jason inhabited. She finally grasped his reasoning.

Her grip on the gun felt desperate as she remembered the pain the Joker had put her through—the suffering he inflicted on her family and the citizens of Gotham. All the people she and her colleagues had put behind bars, only to see them get out and continue down the same destructive path. The abduction of Peter was just the last straw for her. It had caused her emotions to overflow, and she was finally accepting that some situations required more permanent solutions.

Traffickers deserved the end of her barrel. They deserved a meeting with death. She took a knife out of her bag and slowly carved a name to its side, “Headsman.” She muttered to the gun.

She wasn't Batgirl anymore; she couldn't be. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to fight crime like that anymore. But for this, maybe she could become the justice that some people needed. The Red Hood was a symbol for Crime Alley, a protector, no matter how much Batman disliked his approach to handling things. She wouldn't embody this version of herself all the time, but when the situation called for it, she would respond.

“Barbara,” Karen said directly to her, “Peter made something for you—specifically for a situation like this.”

Barbara stood up, rifle in hand, and looked over to what Karen was referring to. A drawer in an upgraded filing cabinet slid open, revealing a black suit with gold accents inside. She walked over and stared at the suit, which had gold accents. Setting the rifle down next to the cabinet, she picked up the suit. It was heavy in her hands and clearly reinforced with armor. She glanced once more into the drawer and noticed pieces of metal that looked like they were meant to attach to the pants.

“Peter had a feeling that you were part of something similar to him,” Karen said, as Barbara touched the metal to let her fingers adjust to its coldness. “Given your personality and the fact that Batgirl hasn't been seen since your accident, he made some adjustments. He added components to your bracer to enhance your movement. With these modifications, you'll find that jumping and climbing will be much easier. However, please refrain from attacks and shootouts, as they're still not fully tested.”

Barbara smiled again, surprised by the complexity of Peter's mind. He seemed to know things before she even did. “Thank you, Kare,” she said, taking the items and laying them out. “I guess I should get suited up.”

+†+🪦+†+

Explaining he was Red Hood was easy. Barbara seemed to already have an idea, especially since the showdown on the roof he had with B, when she was in the hospital. He never gave Babs enough credit for her computer skills. There was not a lot you could hide from her if she knew where to look.

He smiled beneath his helmet as he looked at the new suit Barbara was wearing. “I like the fit.” The design reminded him of a blend of her Batgirl suit and military attire. It made him think of someone from Peter’s past, a soldier he had briefly mentioned. This soldier had been mind-controlled for a century before breaking free and becoming an executioner for those who had controlled him.

Barbara’s smile was hidden behind her mask, which covered her mouth, leaving her eyes open behind her hood. “I’ll let Peter know you like his design.” Her voice was light. “Call me, Headsman.” She finished while double-checking that her rifle was secure.

Red Hood nodded and held out a hand for a shake. “Alright, Headsman. I love the definition behind that pick.” It was weird that someone else picked up a mantel that was like his own. "Are you ready to meet up with Golden Boy?”

Barbara shook his hand, “Yes. Let's keep who I am from Nightwing. All he knows is that Red Hood and a friend of his are coming to him with info on meta trafficking.”

Hood nodded before walking to the edge of the roof. " That sounds good to me. Let's get this started.” He let himself jump backward, already had his grapple gun out to catch him.

Watching Headsman use the new additions to her bracers to leap across rooftops, reaching places he had never thought possible, made him want to ask Peter if he could get something similar. It would make chasing a lot easier.

When they arrived at the location where he had stashed a vehicle for situations like this, the two of them hopped in, with Hood taking the wheel. They sped off to Bludhaven, where they would meet Nightwing. He really hoped they would find everything they needed there or, even better, the means to finally find Peter. The drive was mostly silent as they made their way there.

Bludhaven had long been a city of shadows, its streets stained by the weight of crime and corruption. The skyline, punctuated by crumbling high-rises and decaying warehouses, told a story of neglect and despair. Neon signs flickered in the drizzle, casting an eerie glow on the pavement below, where abandoned alleyways whispered secrets of desperation and danger. The air was thick with tension, clinging to the inhabitants like a shroud, while the distant wail of sirens served as a haunting reminder of the chaos that unfolded in the night. In the face of such darkness, the resilience of the city’s residents shone through; they navigated the perilous streets with a hardened determination, striving to hold onto hope amidst the overwhelming odds.

It felt as if they were gazing upon a version of Gotham City where Batman never answered the call. The shadows danced ominously in the streets, whispering of chaos and despair. Although Nightwing now stood as the city's lone guardian, valiantly trying to shield Bludhaven from its grim fate, the impact of his efforts would take time to manifest. The scars of the city ran deep, and it would be several years before Nightwing's dedication could begin to weave a thread of hope into the fabric of this troubled place.

Hood now understood why Dick had chosen this place, just as he had chosen Crime Alley.

“Nightwing will meet us at the coordinates,” Headsman said, using a deeper tone to disguise her own voice.

Hood nodded, directing himself to the location Peter had left for them. “I can’t wait to see what he has planned for us.”

“Do you think we’re about to walk in on an operation?”

“There’s no way Peter has a place in Blüdhaven,” Hood said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. He didn’t want to be distracted by the thought of Peter being with them instead of in captivity. “I think we’re going to be shooting tonight.”

When they arrived, Nightwing was already on a rooftop overlooking a warehouse. He appeared to be lost in thought. “You know, when Barbara called me about working with you, I thought she was crazy,” Nightwing admitted when they approached. “I almost contacted B for backup, just in case.” Nightwing turned to look at them but kept his gaze on Hood. “Imagine my surprise when I mentioned Red Hood, and he finally told me something a little too late—again.”

Nightwing walked up to Hood and stopped directly in front of him. “Missed you, Little Wing.” He placed a comforting hand on Hood's shoulder but didn’t dare push for a hug.

Hood seemed caught off guard before placing one hand on Nightwing's shoulder. “Same old, Goldie,” he said, his voice filled with nostalgia.

The two stared at each other, so much left unsaid between them, but they were on a mission. Jason kept everything he wanted to ask in the back of his throat and looked towards the warehouse, “Alright, let's catch you up on what we know.” Jason took the lead, seeing as Barbara didn’t want to give any clues to Dick on who she was.

Luckily, her outfit made her look almost like a cyborg, making it harder for anyone to connect the dots about who was beneath her mask.

It didn’t take long to explain everything to Nightwing. Once he understood what was happening, he was fully on board. Hood mentioned Peter, and Nightwing was caught off guard when he began to fanboy.

“Peter!” Nightwing exclaimed, his eyes wide. “You mean Peter Parker—the one who improved Arkham? The same Peter who worked in the library? That Peter?” He went on about how much he wanted to meet Peter and hoped he could help with some projects in Blüdhaven.

Headsman giggled, staying out of earshot of Nightwing. It was pretty amusing to watch a grown man talk about Peter as if he were an A-list celebrity.

“I’m picking up a ping near you,” Karen spoke out loud through the phone Jason stashed on him, “In the vent to your right.”

Listening immediately, Jason walked over to the vent. Getting his fingers onto the edges , he yanked the bolted-down hatch off and set it to the side.

“Damn, so those aren't just for show?” Nightwing chirped up, staring at the vent lid Jason took off with his hands, “I definitely don't want to be the guy you’re fighting tonight.”

“We’ll see about that.” Jason kept his voice as mellow as he could even though he had a smirk underneath his helmet as he said that.

Taking the time to walk up, Headsman reached inside and pulled out a credit case. It was tattered and worn. Definitely something from a thrift store, “I guess this is the missing information we needed.”

“Open it.” Jason followed Barbara to the side as they opened it.

Inside the first few documents was information about the warehouse behind them. The only lead Peter got that could lead them to the main base of the trafficking. The other information in there tied up what they were missing back at Peter’s. They knew what they needed to do now.

After getting everything together, the three of them make their way into the warehouse.

The night air was crisp and sharp against Jason's skin as he crouched beside the steel-framed warehouse entrance, every ounce of his training sharpening his focus. The dampness of the pavement clung to his knees, and shadows cloaked him in a protective shroud. Bathed in darkness, he glanced over at Barbara—currently known as Headsman. The two had split from Nightwing, who was methodically surveying the surroundings, searching for any vulnerabilities they could exploit on their way out.

Jason felt a surge of reassurance at having Barbara beside him. Her exceptional hacking skills would prove invaluable; he was grateful not to have the burden of handling it all alone. “Ready?” he asked, managing a confident grin, despite the adrenaline pulsing in his veins. “Stay low, stay quiet. You lead, and I’ll cover.”

“Absolutely,” Headsman replied, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers were already dancing over a small device that synced seamlessly with the warehouse's extensive security system. With her at the helm, they were virtually undetectable.

“Let’s go.” He took the lead, gliding toward the service entrance with the practiced precision of a predator. Together, they navigated through the shadows, staying close to the ground, slipping past the harsh glow of the floodlights illuminating the main area. Each step they took was deliberate, echoing the intense tactics they had internalized during their rigorous training beneath Batman's watchful eye.

As they entered the building, Jason was greeted by the musty scent of old wood mixed with the sharp smell of rusted metal, a reminder of the place's forgotten past. He motioned to Barbara, his expression turning serious. “I’ll check the left side; you take the right. Signal if you find anything.”

“Got it,” she responded, confidence radiating from her as she faded into the shadows. Jason couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly she blended into the darkness; at the same time, a protective instinct unfurled within him. He knew she was more than capable, but that lingering feeling was hard to shake off.

Suddenly, the sound of shuffling footsteps broke through the otherwise eerie silence, and Jason tightened his grip on his weapon. Pressing himself against the cool concrete wall, he strained to listen. “We’ve got company,” he murmured into his comms.

Meanwhile, Barbara had found a computer console tucked away in the far corner of the room, her fingers flying over the keyboard with a practiced ease. “Just found their operations list,” she whispered, casting a furtive glance back at him while the screen blinked with lines of data.

Before he could respond, a familiar voice crackled through the comms. “Where are you guys?” Nightwing’s tone was thick with urgency. “I’m at the entrance—everything looks clear!”

“We’re inside and hopefully found the intel we need,” Jason replied quickly, pulse racing. “Barbara’s on a terminal right now. We’ll need backup when we get out.”

“Copy that. I’ll make sure to keep the area clear.”

“Red Hood!” Barbara’s voice sliced through his thoughts, urgency lacing her words. “Look here—Peter’s name is on this list! They’ve categorized the metas by their powers, and it says ‘Bought’ next to his name.”

The mention of Peter sent a jolt through Jason’s chest, a sinking realization unfurling. “We have to get that file. Can you download it?” he urged, feeling the pressure mounting.

“Just a sec,” she said, fingers a blur over the keyboard, her intense focus unwavering.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through Jason as he stood sentry, scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. They were running out of time. “Hurry, we don’t want to get caught,” he urged, glancing at her anxiously.

“Almost there!” Just then, chaos erupted—the steady hum of machines escalated, and the overhead lights flickered ominously. Jason’s heart dropped as he heard the pounding footsteps of guards rushing toward the room.

“We don’t have time!” The anxiety gnawed at his stomach. He knew he should pull her away for their safety, but a desperate need to uncover what plans the enemy had for Peter tethered him to the spot. He had to know.

Just in the nick of time, Headsman finished the download, shoving the portable drive into her pocket as they made their escape. Jason led her through a maze of crates, their movements fluid from countless hours of training together.

Bursting out into the cool night, they dashed toward the alley, their breaths coming in heavy, exhilarated gasps. Turning to Barbara, Jason caught her intense gaze, a mixture of adrenaline and anxiety reflecting in her eyes. “That was too close.”

At that moment, Nightwing arrived, his silhouette cutting a strong figure against the shadowy backdrop. “What did you find?” he asked, scanning their surroundings.

“We have exactly what we need, but we need to act fast. It looks like they have plans for Peter,” Jason explained, urgency threading through his voice as he watched Nightwing’s expression shift into one of determination as he processed the information.

“Perfect! Now we have an idea of where they’re keeping him. It’s better than what we had before.” Nightwing’s eyes gleamed with resolve. He was committed to this mission until the end.

Jason nodded, but a conflict bubbled within him. He had always been reckless, diving headfirst into danger. Yes, he usually planned his actions, but working as part of a team again felt strangely surreal. It felt wrong, an unsettling reminder of the complications between him and Peter. Jason had often let his frustration dictate his actions in the past; now, with therapy having helped him manage those emotions, it left him wondering if he could finally change the narrative.

He looked at both the Headsman and Nightwing, absorbing their appearances, before turning around and saying, “Let's move out of the area.”

“Shouldn’t we shut it down?” Nightwing didn’t take a step to follow. He was used to gathering intel and then shutting down the place immediately.

Jason smirked underneath his helmet, “Don’t worry about it. Got it covered.” He grappled up the building and started to run away from the warehouse.

Headsman and Nightwing followed, “And how do you have it-” Dick didn’t get to finish as the warehouse exploded behind them. Making him trip from surprise, “How- what?”

Jason laughed, “Keep up goldie! You’re falling behind,” Refusing to answer the question about the explosion. Dick didn’t need to know what he causally carries on himself all the time; it’ll give him a heart attack.

Chapter Text

Was it hour six, now? No, that wasn’t right. It had to been longer. Was it? Has it been a day? It could have been two.

Peter held his fingers trying to count. He couldn’t see, couldn’t smell, couldn’t even hear. They took away all his senses but touch. He could feel them, sometimes it was to guide him, but most of the time they were wandering, analyzing. They were sizing him up for something and that scared him.

Doe, Re, Mi— He could hear her, her voice gently whispering in his ear. Aunt May?

“Come on Peter.” Her voice was light, trying to urge him to breathe, “Say it with me.”

Doe, Re, Mi, Fa— He could picture her clearly, the memory that his mind had conjured was from a long time ago. When he still needed an inhaler and had anxiety about going to junior high.

She held him close humming the tune along with him, “So, La, Ti, Doe.” Her fingers brushing through his hair, trying to calm him, “Again Peter.” She kissed the top of his head, “You can say it again.”

Peter felt the shake of his body before the tears. Doe, Re, Mi— The quake that was rippling through him like he was collapsing. He wanted to so bad to speak aloud, to settle his nerves, but he was stuck in the dark. Fa, So, La, Ti— Losing his mind slowly as they kept him senseless.

Doe—

The floor was cold pavement by the roughness. Chains he should have been able to easily break felt heavy, like his energy was being zapped away. Was it the collar they put on him? It tingled him oddly, making him stay awake as he couldn’t sleep with the sensation it was giving him

“Peter.” Aunt May stared out the window, “No matter how buried it gets,” She slowly looked back at him with a smile, “or how lost you feel,” She gently grabbed his hands, “You must promise me that you will hold on to hope.” Kissing his forehead, she brushed his hair back, “Keep it alive.”

There was more to that. His nails started to dig into his own skin. Why can’t he remember the rest? There was more. There was more, she said more, why must he hold on to hope? Why was it on him. What did she mean by it. How could he forget it. Forget her? Aunt May what was it? Please, what was it, say it again. Say it again. Please say it again, Please Aunt May—

A hand grabbed Peter’s Head, Pulling him to face a certain direction. They forcefully repositioned him on to his knees, making him bow.

To who? Peter didn’t know, he wanted to know. He felt like he was going insane by the silence, the darkness. They always came and went. They’d kick him sometimes, punch him. He could feel hands graze him at other times. Hold him. Like they were waiting, scheming. He doesn’t know how long it's been. They fed him around 6 times. Was that breakfast and dinner? Has it been three days?

Oh? He was slowly remembering now. The time that was lost in the ruins, he was regaining it. Its been close to a week now since they’ve taken him.

A hand started to mess with something next to his ears. Suddenly, he could finally hear. The clicking of metal, the swishing of fabrics, how the accessories on the other pants rubbed against each other.

He could hear his own breath again. He heard the sound of his chains moving as they took off whatever was on his ears fully. It was so loud, a cacophony of sounds that felt foreign and raw, like a floodgate had just opened.

His senses, once dulled by the constant hum of his own heartbeat, were now assaulted by the smallest of noises. The sharp scrape of leather against the floor, a distant couch from outside the room. The rustle of a hand reaching for something. It was overwhelming, almost painful. He clenched his jaw, trying to adjust to the onslaught of new input.

He was begging to hear again, to see, to talk. Now he got one sense back, and he couldn’t fuckin handle it.

Everything was too loud. The air was thick with the sound of everything moving, each breath like a wave crashing against his eardrums. He shuddered at the scrapes of boots, the click of a distant lock, the soft sounds of the people around him. At least three were hovering over him, watching him.

Peter's fingers twitched, almost involuntarily, and his hands tightened around the chains as if to ground himself in the noise.

The hand that gave him back his hearing was about to lift the mask, only to stop, “No.” He recognized this voice, a women who he talked to a few times. The rough edge of her disdain wasn’t hard to forget, “I'd rather keep him from seeing. He’s smart enough to use even his sight to his advantage.” As she walked closer, the click of her heels echoed through the room, “Right, Peter?” She was In front of him. Mocking him, “Take off the gag, then leave me be. I have much to discuss with him."

As the gag was removed, Peter felt the booming ache that came from it. The freeing sensation was more painful than the dull pain he grew accustomed to, “Alyce Sinner.” Peter's voice was hoarse, but he wanted her to know, he knew it was her.

“Doctor Sinner.” She sneered at him, correcting him. He felt her heel dig into his thigh, “Good to see you again, Mr. Parker.” She let up her foot, “It’s time we had a chat.”

Peter coughed, “Oh finally. I was starting to think you enjoyed staring at me in awkward silence,” Even with the strain in his voice, Peter continued, “What’s the topic today? Your villain monologue or another round of bad life choices.”

Alyce’s foot collided with his head with a sharp. Punishing blow, then pressed him into the ground with a merciless precision. Her heel dug in as she sneered, “I won’t tolerant you’re blubber, Hieratic.”  She laughed coldly, “The blindfold suits you, Peter.” She lifted her foot from his head and used her hand to pull his hair, making him sit up again, “Stripped of sight, all you have left are words.” Her nails felt like she was piercing his skull, “I’ll cut through every false one until I reach the truth.”

“Wow, Strong opening line.” Peter might be in the worst exhaustion in his life, but he was not going without a fight, “What’s next? The part where you tell me resistance is futile?” He mocked her, “Or are we skipping straight to the shoe-to-the-face encore?”

“Do not test me.” She gripped his hair back, making him look up, “You made me see Envy itself.” She dropped her grip on his hair, “That was no accident. Tell me how.” She rips one of her ribbons out of her hair, dropping it beside his head.

Peter knew he was  fucked in this situation; there wasn’t much he could do with a lunatic like Alyce Sinner here. His ears easily heard her taking off her ribbons. He messed with her that bad,ly huh? Just the consequences of his actions. Each ribbon was dedicated to one of the sins she dedicates herself to. Without seeing them, he couldn’t read what emotion she was feeling. Making this a deadly tango for him.  

“Or maybe you just,” He paused, maybe he can push the right buttons and make her give up, “Y’know, imagined it. Stress. Sleep deprivation. Too much cult nostalgia rattling around in your head.”

She slapped him, “Lies. You paraded my ribbons before me.” Peter could feel her breath on his skin, “Speak.” Alyce tore another ribbon free, her tone sharpening.

“Sorry, Lady, but if I had powers like that, I’d be doing Vegas shows," Peter tilted his head to where he thinks she’s standing. “Not playing Houdini in a basement.”

“Still mocking,” Her heel pushed into his back, “You think sarcasm will shield you? Shall I show what comes after Pride.”

Peter smiled, “Well, I’m flattered, but I don’t think we’re at that stage in our relationship.”

“Enough,” Kicking him onto his stomach, she stood on his hand, “What did you use? Magic? Sorcery?” She pressed more into his hand with each word.

“Magic? Me?” Peter winced, “If I had a wand, I’d be waving it at these chains.”

Sinner having enough with his responses finally snapped. Proceeding to stab him with her heel, “Lust.” she growled listing out the sins like a countdown.

“Of course you inventory temptations like collectible postcards.” Peter received more hits for his response.

Alyce huffed, “Names, not jokes.” She walked away for a moment, Peter can hear her grabbing something, “How, did you do it?”

“I told you,” Peter heaved, resting on his stomach, “ ‘How’ is for magicians and men with more patience than sense. I’m running low on both.”

Peter made a mistake on continuing to make jabs at Sinner as he felt a whip connect with his back, “Gluttony.”

The pain was intense, causing his throat to be tied up, so she continued through his grunts of pain, “Greed.”

“Sloth.”

“That one stings,“ Peter managed to let out, “You ever try to sleep, Boss?” The banter was now more for his own comfort then to mess with Sinner.

“What did I say about mocking.” She whipped him again, “Tell me. Now.” She pushed Peter to flip over, now lying on his back, “Or I will make you reveal every truth your body is hiding.”

Peter could feel his own blood smearing on the floor below him. The fresh wounds being agitated against the concrete floor, “You’ve already made a small industry out of that. Very original, Alyce.”

Alyce walked to hover over Peter, “You think I play games?” She laughed before changing her tone to something darker, “I will do anything to make you speak.”

Peter shuddered. His nerves were attacking his own mind. “Anything.” He whispered.

“Anything.” As Alyce spoke slowly, intentional, she moved the whip to rest on Peter's chest before letting it slowly move lower, showing him how far she would go, “How much longer will you hold out? What will I have to do to get the answers I want? Who do I need to bring.” She taunted letting Peter feel the sensations she was implying, “You lasted on sarcasm and blood for a week. Can you even continue? Take it?” She stepped away from Peter holding her whip at the ready, “One Last Chance.”

Peter knew this was checkmate for him, with a rasp in his voice, “Alright.” His pain could be heard, “No more dancing. It wasn’t demons. Not from magic, or even worship visions conjured from holy regrets.” He hissed has the pain in his back intensified, “Drones.” He finally admitted.

“Drones?” Alyce questioned.

“Futuristic drones. Small, precise.” Peter rambled slowly, “They fed you images, what you love, what you worship. I gave your obsession a script.”

With shaking hands Alyce pulled out another ribbon from her hair, “Why. Why twist my faith?”

Peter laughed at that, his ribs ache in protest, “Because Arkham’s a joke.”

“Do you know how sick-” Hood spat with venom as he, helmet-less, looked down at the Penguin, “I am of this merry-go-round?”

 “Every life you destroy ruins five others.”

“So, I’m prolific,” Penguin shrugged, “I should apologize for that?”

Hood put his helmet back on, “I didn’t come here to listen to you say you’re sorry.” Hood grabbed his gun, “To hear you beg for your life.” He took a step back. “I’m not going to arrest you just so some corrupt judge lets you walk out of jail an hour later.” Peter could hear the reloading of Hood's gun, “I’m here to END this,” Peter made his way over slowly, not wanting to alert Hood, “Tonight!” 

Peter’s face went grim, “A revolting door for psychos. I needed in, and you weren’t gonna hand me key, even with a resume and a smile.” Peter looked away from where he could hear Alyce was, “So I used what you gave me to get through the door.”

“You manipulated me to work at Arkham.” Alyce grinded her teeth, seething at the thought of how easy it was to get through her.

“I manipulated your obsession to let me in.” Peter admitted once more, hearing how it was affecting Alyce, “I upgraded the security, rewired procedures, built better containment. Arkham’s stronger because of it.

“You used my faith as a key.” She accused.

“I used what opened the door.” He smiled through the pain, “You did the rest.”

Alyce yelled in anger, “And you expect absolution?”

Peter scoffs at her words, his voice breaking to something more honest, “I expect Arkham to hold the people it’s supposed to. Help them finally.” Peter let his body fully relax as his energy drained, “I expect fewer dead on the streets. I’ll take your contempt over Gotham’s rot.”

“Wrath.” Alyce shouted as if she was going to strike Peter, but fell short, “You will suffer.” She cursed instead. Having filled herself on torturing Peter already.

“Maybe.” With the last of his energy, defiantly, “Or maybe Arkham will stand while you keep swinging at ghosts.”

Alyce started to walk towards the exit of the room, “You have told me everything I wanted to hear.” Peter felt relief flush through his bones in a cold sensation. Yet, it was ruined. “Hopefully, your buyer won’t be too mad at the state I left you in.”

“Buyer?” Peter questioned.

Unfortunately for him, Alyce was already opening the door, “Goodbye, Peter. I hope you have fun.” She left out the door, after that.

“Alyce!” Peter felt fear course through him as he called out.

Two pairs of footsteps, heavier than Alyce step in. One was pushing in what Peter could believe was a wheelchair. They picked Peter up off the ground and pushed him into the chair. His wounds were burning him in protest at the forceful interaction.

“Get off me!” Peter snapped only to get his head pulled back and the gag back in his mouth.

The man laughed, “Always liked you better like that.” They fixed his chains to be attached to the chair now, “Now, Time to haul your ass out of here. The Court doesn’t like waiting.”

The court?

+†+🪦+†+

If Jason could have his way, he wouldn’t be here. In a random room, in the manor, with a camera pointed towards him like he was a goddamn doll. He’s been in this room many times. Every time there was an interview on the Waynes, they’ll always do it in-house. A controlled environment, Bruce will say.

One thing is for sure; the cameras are smaller than he remembered. Or maybe the room was bigger? Either way, everything was slowly starting to feel too far away, especially Bruce who was sitting next to him. He could feel the chair under him, the stiff fabric of his suit, the faint tug of the tie Alfred knotted feels too tight. He felt like he was wearing someone else’s skin.

The women who Jason didn’t care to remember their name, smiled in that uptight weird way reporters did when they wanted something, “Jason,” She began, “You’ve been back in Gotham for a few months?” She looked at Bruce for confirmation before continuing, “Can you tell us what you remember? About where you have been all these years.”

Jason blinked. The words she said definitely reached him, but for some reason didn’t land correctly. His mind was still in another place, back in the alley where he found the scatter remains of Peters nanobots. A torn piece of his sweater. He can remember the sound of his own hoarse breaths. The panic jitters that made his fingers twitch.

“Jason?” Bruce’s voice was low, a grounding rumble next to him.

He glanced over. Bruce’s expression didn’t move but Jason caught the tiny tilt of his head, Your turn.

“Oh, sorry.” He tried to adjust how he was sitting but everything still felt wrong. His tongue still heavy, “Uh. Not much. Pieces. Faces. Names that don’t mean anything.” Jason’s voice getting quieter as he continued. Amnesia wasn’t really a lie, he barely remembered anything from the past, especially his stay with the League before Talia woke him up with the Pit.

The faces of the dead staring back at him.

The reporter nodded acting sympathetic, “It must have been difficult.”

He almost laughed at that. Difficult didn’t cover dying, waking up in a grave, being found by the League of Assassins, being thrown into a pit only to find out the world kept spinning without you. But that wasn’t the story they’d agreed on, the one Tim had polished, and Bruce had memorized, it didn’t have room for resurrection.

Bruce stepped in smoothly. “Jason’s been focusing on his recovery,” he said, voice calm, practiced. Jason recognized the tone, the billionaire philanthropist mask, the same one he wore at fundraisers. The one that never cracked.

“Understandable,” The reporter turned her sights to Bruce, “You must have been overjoyed when your son came home.”

“Yes,” Bruce said smoothly. “It was like a miracle to see him, like my prayers were answered.”

Jason’s gaze drifted to the window, the skyline blurred. He wondered if Peter was cold wherever he was, if they let him keep on his sweater. Jason knew the cold affected Peter more than normal; must be the spider-like powers he has. He hoped they weren’t… his chest tightened at the thought, but his pulse stayed flat, like an emotion that short-circuited on the way out.

He tried to focus on the window, the sharp edges, and how the light dances through it. Yet his mind loves playing tricks as the longer he stared he imagined movement. Peter’s silhouette, a blur, a clue. He’s been following dead ends all week, each colder than the last. They didn’t know who the Court of Owls was, but they took Peter, bought him. Yet everything on them were ghost stories from the past.

“Jason,” the reporter returned her eyes to him, “Do you remember how you got back to Gotham?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Bruce’s hand brushed his forearm, just enough pressure to anchor him. “Some memories have returned after medical treatment,” Bruce answered for him easily, “But it’s unclear how much Jason’s recalled.”

Jason looked over the camera, the light gleaming red, still recording. He tried to steady his breathing. The room tilting as he tried to refocus. “Yeah.” He finally said, “Still remembering.”

He didn’t want to look at Bruce to see his face. He knew the other had his own questions for him. Especially with how he was acting. He didn’t want Bruce to know. To know about the case Babs and Dick have been helping him on. He couldn’t handle the weight of what that’ll mean. He didn’t even want to acknowledge what was happening with them right now. If he was more clear-headed, he would have pushed Bruce away.

The rest of the interview was blurred into static. Questions floated around him, voices muffled under the hum of the old lights. His brain filled with Peter's voice, over and over.

“You worry too much, Jay.”

Maybe he did. Maybe if he’d worried more, Peter wouldn’t be gone.

He barely noticed when the interview ended. The woman stood, smiled, shook their hands saying the usual words. Brave, inspiring, miracle. Jason’s hand was cold when it met hers.

Bruce’s hand on his shoulder shook him awake, “Jason.”

“What?” He brushed Bruce’s hand off.

“You did well today.”

“Don’t do that.” Jason seethed slightly. He didn’t want to hear this. Not now, not after everything.

Bruce’s brow shifted, “Do what?”

“You don’t get to pat me on the head for one interview.” He was tired. Agitated by how Bruce kept wanting to fall in step to how they were before. Before, when he was Robin, when they were a duo. Before he died. “This isn’t The Aeneid, we’re not Aeneas and Ascanius.” He didn’t even know why he was getting so angry at Bruce, “So stop patronizing me.”

He turned away, ready to walk out, but he didn’t. He wanted to hear how Bruce responds. Wants him to step out of line so he can use it to stay away. It was easier; it was a norm he can fall back on.

“I always saw us more like Daedalus and Icarus.”

Jason can feel his own body stiffen, surprised at the response Bruce gave, “Oh yeah?” He didn’t want understanding, “My Hubris got me killed,” he wanted anger, fighting. He wanted to bare his teeth, “Is that why? After all your so wonderful words about anger management.”

“That’s not,”

“Spare me the circuitous,” Jason laughed painfully, “Just your biggest failure that didn’t heed your ‘guidance’.” He mocked himself, “That’s all I am to you.”

“Jason.” Bruce's voice tightened.

Throwing back his head, “What!” Jason practically heaved the word out.

Taking a step forward Bruce seemed to reach out to him but stopped himself, “You’re not my biggest failure.” He tried to search into Jason’s eyes to get his point across, “It wasn’t directed to you, but to me. About how I failed you.” Bruce finally broke eye contact with him, “My biggest failure was not doing right by you.”

Jason wanted to snap, to argue back. The words wouldn’t spring to life as he just shrank from Bruce's words. He couldn’t get himself to interrupt. It was like a lock was tightening around his vocal cords, causing a chain reaction throughout his body.

“Daedalus wasn’t a perfect man,” Bruce continued, his voice was low. Steady. The kind of tone he used when words cost something to say. “He built something brilliant, something he thought would save them both.” He looked back at Jason, “But he didn’t think about how fragile it really was, or how much it would demand from his son.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. His pulse seemed to ricochet through his veins. He didn’t know where Bruce was taking it and a part of him didn’t want to. But he did ask for this, pushed for this.

“I used to think I gave you a way out,” Bruce’s gaze softens, “From the life you were born too. The suit, the training. All of it. Those were my wings…” Bruce continues, “I told myself I was saving you. But I never stopped to think if I was asking you to fly too high, or too close to something that could burn you.”

Jason said nothing. Unlike before, when the world around him blurred, the noise was static this time. It was like he focused on Bruce. Watching every breath the man made. Reciting all the words he spoke in his mind like it was biblical.

“Icarus didn’t die because he didn’t listen,” Bruce went on after a moment. “He died because his father built the wings wrong.”

The words hung between them, heavy and deliberate. Jason felt them settle in his chest like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. He wanted to throw something back, something cruel, but anger didn’t come. It faltered, caught somewhere behind his ribs.

“You were never the problem, Jason.” He said quietly. “You didn’t fall. I let you. I gave you something fragile and expected it to hold when it shouldn’t have had to.”

Jason swallowed hard, the sound loud in his own ears. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless. He didn’t look away, but the sharpness in his expression cracked, slightly. He hated that Bruce could still do this, still affecting him so much. Why he always let the man sway the line he was balancing on, every time.

Bruce held his ground, letting the silence stretch. When he spoke again there was a wave in his voice, a crack, “You weren’t my failure.” He tried to reach out, but Jason took a step back, “You were my son.”

He didn’t want this. These weren’t the words he was after or the reaction he demanded. This felt like a rapture in Jason’s own ideology of Bruce. He forced his eyes to the ground, jaw trembling once before he could make it stop. The words pressed against him, hot and unwelcome, filling every crevice he built to keep them out.

He didn’t trust his voice enough to speak. So, he did what he always did. He turned away before Bruce could see the look on his face.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Master Bruce,” Alfred walked in with the perfect excuse for Jason to use, “I just finished escorting our guest out, and dinner is prepared.” Jason took the chance to walk out, using the door Alfred had opened, “Master Jason.” He gave a nod to him.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Finding his voice again, “I was just leaving,”

+†+🪦+†+

Jason would of never imagined Peter's apartment suffocating him and yet, here he was drowning. Resting his head on his hands, he sat on the worn couch that held so many memories. Some were of him bleeding out and Peter patching him up, others were just watching movies or even talking about fuck all. All the memories involved one spider meta man that swung into Jason’s life and now has left an unsolicited hole in his chest.

Not even a week ago, he found comfort in coming here. The buzzing of electronics and the hum of the lights were once a positive aspect of this place. It was now all a reminder that the silence wasn’t normal. It’s an outcome from the very person who used to fill not being here. Couldn’t be here to make this place the shelter Jason was used to coming to.

By now Karen would have gotten Jason to get off his ass and start doing something. But Barbara had the AI right now. So that left Jason with the aftermath of what the hell just happened between him and Bruce. Left him with the thoughts of his own mind.

Resurrection: the interview made him think about it. Something he locked in a chest and buried so he didn’t have to. Yeah, it gets brought into conversations, joked about even. Jason, though, refused to dwell on the subject, because resurrection wasn’t a gift.

Resurrection was a curse to Jason, one that shackled him in a way he could not escape. To the world, it was a miracle. His family, his so-called family, claimed to be blessed by his return. But Jason, who clawed his way out of his grave, saw it differently. He didn’t want the world to know he was alive. He honestly planned for the world to remember him as the boy Joker killed, as Jason Peter Wayne. Though his grave was marked differently, his adoption papers say otherwise.

Jason Wayne, the boy who once wore a mask of innocence and hope, Died.

Jason Todd, a creature that was forged in blood and vengeance, Lives.

In his mind resurrection wasn’t a second chance; it was a twisted joke. Dragged from the ashes of his death, he was reshaped by the League of Assassins. The very ones who trained him to what he was now. Left them, to become a bloody shadow under the weight Batman holds in Gotham.

What the fuck was he doing?

Jason sat up, taking a deep breath. His eyes scanned the room.

What the actual fuck was he doing?

This wasn’t a pity party. Why was he just sitting on his ass and not doing something? Yeah, they came to many dead ends on trying to find Peter. The information from the Warehouse had documentation on who bought what Meta. But you can’t trace a ghost down. Barbara might have taken ahold of trying to find out who the Court of Owls was. But that wasn’t the only part of the mission they needed to get done. There was still a whole ass trafficking empire in his city.

In his alley.

Sitting up, Jason got to work. Ideas went through his mind like a hurricane. Which strategy will work? What can get him in and out? The lowest of the Alley already knew about the trafficking ring running rampant on Metas. Does that mean the other heavy hitters knew as well?

Jason snarled as he put on his gear and grabbed a certain burner. He dialed quickly as he started to pack his shit to get out the door.

“Haven’t heard from you in a week, Boss.” Jay's voice filtered through the phone as Jason left Peter's building, “What’cha need?”

“Get everyone together.” He hopped onto his bike, revving it to life, “I’m going to be there in ten.”

Jay’s voice didn’t waver as she listened to Hood speak, “Got a mission?”

Was his idea really a mission? “Something like that.”

“We’ll be ready.”

“Good.” Jason threw the burner in front of his bike. Putting on his helmet, he made sure to run over the phone. Crushing it on his way to the Iceberg Lounge.

His idea was closer to war plans.