Butler Spider

by Danny_shells

Summary:

Just before the battle with Thanos, Dr Strange pulls together enough power to send one person to a different dimension. A chance for that person to be safe from the destruction that Thanos was about to wrought on Earth. The group about to fight agreed that Peter Parker, for sheer virtual of being the only person not an adult there, would get the dubious honor.

Which is how Peter finds himself waking up in Gotham City, a place even crueler and darker than New York City. Peter has to try to find a way to fit into this new universe at just sixteen years old.

"I am still just your butler, and I cannot simply tell you that you will be adopting a new son. But I truly am not getting younger. You have seven children now, even if you haven’t adopted all of them legally. There is much more work than when it was just you and I. There is perhaps too much work for just myself, and then providence dropped a starving young man into my pathway for me to mold into a new generation of caretaker,” Alfred tried to explain himself.

Or

Alfred finds himself doing the adopting instead of Bruce, this time of a spider. Can Spider-Man become a first rate butler and keep his secret identity?

Notes:

• Inspired by Dark Matter by mysterycyclone

Chapter 1

“I’m sorry, I can’t save them all, I only have the power to send one away, and I made the decision that you, as the kid, should get the second chance,” Dr Strange’s face looked so serious.

 

“What no?! I need to help them, I can help!”

 

“I’ve seen every variation of the future. We aren’t going to win this Parker. Take this opportunity to live. We’re going to lose, but you will live,” Strange continued.

 

“Mr -Dr Strange, I don’t want this,” Peter ran towards Mr Stark who watched it with his Iron Man mask pulled apart, expressions visible.

 

“Peter, we’ve all agreed. It wasn’t fair of me to bring you into a fight like this, though we all know you would’ve shown up either way. We have a chance to save one of us by going to a dimension where Thanos doesn’t exist. No infinity stones. You can live your life,” Mr Stark was soft as he said the words, so much softer and gentler than he’d ever been when Peter had seen him as a kid.

 

“How am I supposed to live without anyone? Being the only one of us to make it?” Peter had snarled back, “I’m not better than the rest of you. I don’t somehow deserve to live while the rest of you die.”

 

“This one is just because of your age, by courtesy of being the only child, we’ve agreed to give you the chance. If we do somehow win, I will pull you back,” Dr Strange told him.

 

Peter could feel his body already starting to be pulled away, as though he were being squeezed through a tiny opening. He turned wide brown eyes at Mr Stark, who caught him as the squeezing grew so strong he felt like he couldn’t breath, couldn’t stand. He tried to open his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t even control that. He caught Mr Stark’s eyes, face close as his pseudo-dad held him. Peter felt the goodbye in those eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, but Pete, you will live! You are not going to drown in survivors' guilt or look for ways to come back. We will get you if it is safe, and until then, just live,” Mr Stark pleaded with him. 

 

Pete saw Thanos land behind Mr Stark and opened his mouth again, to warn him, because Thanos is larger than expected. His face is harder and more cruel than Peter has been expecting and he needed to warn Mr Stark. He needed to do more than just warn Mr Stark, Peter needed to help protect him and the rest of his family. MJ, May, Ned, they were all depending on him to defeat this newest bad guy and keep them safe. 

 

But then the squeezing reached its peak and everything went black.

 

Peter woke up with a gasp beneath a tree on the outskirts of Gotham, shivering, and trying to pull his shirt tighter around himself as he tried to pull himself out of the memory. It wasn't still happening. He wasn't facing Thanos anymore, he'd just dreamt about his last memory in his own dimension. 

 

It had been a nice idea from Mr Stark and Dr Strange. 

 

Sure Peter would just get a do over in a new dimension.

 

Except for the fact, he didn’t know anyone, didn’t have anything, and he was 16 years old. He literally didn’t even have a high school diploma in order to be able to get a job. 

 

It had only been three days, but Peter already wondered if he was going to survive this new dimension. 

 

It wasn’t winter here, but it also wasn’t the end of May like the dimension he had left. Based upon the bright colors of the leaves and the cold breeze blowing through him, he suspected it was sometime in the fall.

 

 If seasons even worked the same here as they did back home.

 

Taking stock of what he currently owned, Peter obviously had his spidersuit. Apparently, Dr Strange had tucked some legal documents into his pockets during the dimension hop, because he did have his birth certificate and social security card.

 

So long as there was still a Queens, New York, he’d be fine. And no one else had his social security number. 

 

He always kept a set of highly compressed civilian clothes in another pouch of the spider suit, so he’d had that. It’d been May back home though, so he had a tshirt and jeans, nothing warm. 

 

He’d been dropped on the edges of a city. From Queens himself, his first inclination had been to head into the city. But Gotham wasn’t anything like New York.

 

There seemed to be a rot in the city, a casual cruelty that had traumatized even a native New Yorker (a fairly cruel breed themselves).

 

First, there was the lack of any help offered in the city.

 

There was a single soup kitchen,  but it had been a dirty kitchen with crumbling brick facade and sneering, unfriendly faces. And it was the only one! The literal soup they served was a small bowl of thick grey goop that smelled like a skunk and tasted as bad. For a city of this size to have only one such resource that offers only one meal, craziness.

 

He hadn’t found any homeless shelters listed or food pantries. No proper, free, legal resources for struggling people. 

 

And there didn’t seem to be a safe place on the streets to rest.

 

All benches had arm rests in the middle. People laid out spiked chains on their stoops for the night. 

 

He’d made the mistake of trying to huddle around a fire under a bridge with what appeared to be some other homeless people. It was something that was done often enough back home. 

 

Not here apparently. 

 

Apparently in this dimension the gangs had a claim on each bridge, as one of the only decent places for a homeless person to stay without shelters or other options. He’d been run off quickly, barely avoiding getting beat up, even if his healing factor could heal it, it still would’ve hurt. 

 

“Hey, stop! Come back!” he yelled at the pickpocket running on his second day in a new dimension. 

 

Even without web shooters, he was still faster than the average human, and he was able to capture the wannabe thief. 

 

Reaching into the struggling man’s pockets, he’d found a cellphone, a touch bulkier than the slim Stark models he was used to. 

 

He held it up to the scowling man’s face, “Got facial recognition on this thing? Chuh-ching! Yeah you do.” 

 

He dialed 911 as the man struggled afresh, “Hello, I’ve got a thief I stopped down here. He had quite a few wallets on him that all say they belong to different people.” 

 

The cop who showed up a few minutes later had been his next wake up to this dimension. He knew that was technically vigilante work and it sometimes pissed off cops. He hadn’t been expecting the cop to swing at him with the baton. 

 

“What the heck?” he yelled at the officer. 

 

“Get out of here punk. Thanks for the extra cash though,” the cop had smirked at him while he emptied the wallets of all cash and credit cards right into his own pocket, dropping the IDs to the ground. 

 

Peter gaped at him, “What are you doing?” 

 

“This idiot was nice enough to gather some extra cash for me. I’ll keep it, and in exchange, not take him into the precinct. Sounds good to you, buddy?” the officer jabbed at his thief with the baton. 

 

The thief flinched away from the blunt force weapon, but shrugged, “S’fine with me. I can go gather up some more wallets.” 

 

“That’s wrong! You are acting like a criminal!” Peter couldn’t keep his mouth shut, scowling at the officer. 

 

Who laughed at him, “New to Gotham kid? Let me give you a piece of advice then, I don’t know a single officer in this city who wouldn’t do the same thing I just did. And, in fact, the next one would probably beat you to within an inch of your life for bothering us over something this petty. And still keep the cash, mind you. Next time, don’t try to be a hero. Mind your own damn business.” 

 

“Ok, sure I should mind my business, but why are you doing this?” 

 

“Listen kid, the only one who might give a damn is that Bat and his protégés,” the police officer said, twirling the baton.

 

“Bat?”

 

Both the officer and thief stopped to gape at him.

 

“Yeah, Batman? Gotham’s super hero?” The thief prompted.

 

“And his band of merry robins? You’ve never heard of them?” The officer sounded appalled.

 

“Well, you better learn about them quick. The bay can’t stand metas in his city. He’s fond of his own territory,” the thief said with a knowing look at Peter.

 

Peter had a feeling he might know what a meta was, “meta?”

 

“God, man, don’t you know anything? Metahuman, what I’d guess you are with how fast you ran,” the thief sneered at him.

 

“Wait, are you mega?” The officer took a step closer to Peter. 

 

Peter had left the scene quickly, shaking his head in disbelief. 

 

His stomach pains were definitely the worst part of the new universe. 

 

One time, Mr Stark had gotten bored and ran detailed analysis of the metabolism and eating habits of all of the Avengers. Even though Peter weighed about half of Captain America (maybe), their metabolism and food per day were incredibly similar. In this new city, Peter wasn’t consuming enough calories for a regular human let alone a superhuman. Even though it had only been three days, his body had quickly been eating away at any stored fat he’d had, leaving himself looking even more shrimpy than normal. 

 

On the third day in Gotham, he’d been so desperate for food that he’d tried dumpster diving. The soup kitchen gave out one oily meal a day, but his metabolism was too high for that. 

 

Like everything in the city, that had been a mistake too, he’d felt himself yanked back by his hair after pulling a single moldy bread loaf from the dumpster. 

 

“Lookie, here, boys, I found someone stealing from our dumpster,” a rough voice had taunted him, Peter’s head snapping up and to the side at the feeling and voice, taking in a group of four men, the closet one looking the largest and stupidest, which probably meant he was the leader. 

 

His spider sense had warned him just a second too late, or maybe he’d been too exhausted to notice. It wasn’t like he’d slept much in the last three nights with no safe place to bunker down. 

 

He’d gotten a few bruises to his face for that. It was always hard not to go overboard when fighting regular humans, a basic punch that could literally kill them or hospitalize him. So when he was this tired, it was often safer for the humans to just take the punches and move on. 

 

Now, the sky was just starting to brighten at the corners, and Peter did feel a bit better after getting some sleep. Perhaps it wasn’t quality sleep sitting upright under a tree, but sheer exhaustion allowed him some rest. 

 

As if on cue to block his vaguely hopeful thoughts, his stomach grumbled loudly. He grabbed at his stomach as pain echoed out from the empty organ. 

 

Standing up, he faced towards Gotham, spreading out in front of him. 

 

Sighing, he looked behind him. It was a road, but there wasn’t much that way. It felt less like the city this way, though it was literally a five minute walk outside of the main city. On the right side, he could see some sort of large stone building. 

 

He squinted, leaning into his better than average eyesight for a second, muttering to himself “What is that place?” 

 

It was truly massive, now that he focused on it, stone layers rising at least three stories high, a square tower on each corner. There was a landscaped lawn spreading up to it, split by a round driveway up to the impressive front steps. 

 

“Is that a mansion?” he asked himself, considering. If it was some sort of museum or government building, the walk there would be a bust. But if it was a mansion, the home of some rich millionaire, they might have some work he could complete in exchange for food. 

 

He looked back at Gotham, remembering how he’d been literally beaten off of the dumpsters . 

 

Shrugging to himself, he headed towards the imposing stone building. 

 

Up close, it was even more impressive, with his neck bent backwards, he looked up and up. He couldn’t see any signs listing it as a public building though. 

 

Peter looked to the sides of the building, but he couldn’t spot a clear servants door, and he didn’t really want to walk the entire way around the building. One, kind of creepy of him. Second, he was really hungry. 

 

So he walked up to the also imposing front door and gently lifted the door knocker, a gargoyle with large bat wings. It didn’t matter that he had been gentle, the gong noise was resounding. Then there was silence for a few minutes, and Peter shuffled his feet, toeing at the ground without looking up much. 

 

A swing of the door, and he was face to face with a much older man, what little hair he had completely white. He was in a smart black suit with a black bowtie. 

 

This was about when Peter began rambling, “Hello, I’m Peter. I was wondering if you guys had any small jobs around here I could do in exchange for some food? I’m not looking for a handout, but I thought maybe I could cut the grass or clean the gutters or maybe cook something but I don’t really know how to cook anything fancy but I can follow a recipe or I could clean, but I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to rob you guys which is why I started with outside jobs. You’re welcome to do a pat down before I leave just to ensure you don’t think I lifted anything.” 

 

He forced the word vomit to a stop and stared at the man. The man stared back impassively. 

 

Peter’s stomach growled, as the man’s mouth opened. He shut it again as he listened to the frankly loud sound of Peter’s stomach, louder than a loaded Mack truck heading up a mountain. 

 

Peter blushed, scarlett, brighter red than the Scarlet Witch’s hair. 

 

“Come inside, young sir, please,” the man’s voice was thick with a British accent. For a second, Peter worried that Gotham was somewhere in Europe, until he remembered that everyone he had spoken to up until this point had a normal American accent. 

 

“Uhm, yeah, sure,” he mumbled, following the man down the hallway, but almost immediately off a branch and down a half level, into the kitchen and more servants type corridors. While still opulent (the kitchen was full commercial grade with multiple ovens and sooo many burners), it wasn’t the extravagant over the top richness of the more visitor friendly parts. 

 

“Sit,” the man said simply, back turned to him as he pulled out containers and set a pan on the stove. 

 

“I’m uh Peter Parker, I don’t remember if I mentioned that already,” Peter said into the awkward quiet. 

 

“You did the first name, though not your family name. I am Alfred.” 

 

Alfred set down a large bowl of oatmeal in front of Peter within minutes, topped with what looked like brown sugar and cinnamon. It was a touch hot to eat right away, but Peter scarfed it down anyway. When he had finished it within minutes, Alfred simply scooped more into his bowl without comment. 

 

A single white eyebrow raised at the quantity of food the skinny teenager was putting away, but Peter was too hungry to notice.

 

Once he had finished, Alfred fixed him with an impassive stare, “Right, I shall have you pressuring washing the back patio.”

 

He led the way quickly through the manner, Peter unable to keep track of all the turns and different corridors needed. The back patio was larger than most entertaining venues, made of interlocking pavers. There were different levels with three gazebos and meticulously maintained landscaping outside of it, separating it from a lawn spreading out dotted with a few trees. 

 

Attached to the far side of the building, there did appear to be a gardeners shed. When Alfred unlocked it and opened it, Peter was surprised to find his first hint of things looking less than perfect. There were some cobwebs hanging down, and a bit of dirt and leaves on the floor. Alfred didn’t comment on this, so Peter didn’t either.

 

After he had started the pressure washer, Peter started to realize that the patio was pretty dirty too, with the pressure washer leaving the pavers a light tan instead of the dark brown he had assumed.

 

Peter sighed, this was going to be a larger job than expected.

 

When Alfred came out to fetch him for lunch (lunch on top of breakfast!), Peter was fairly soaked through with smelly water and covered with a fine layer of dirt and grime. He hasn’t realized how much pressure washing would make himself dirty.

 

The pavers though, looked pristine.

 

“Are your arms sore?” Alfred asked mildly as they walked swiftly back through the maze of a manor.

 

“Nope! I’m good to go longer, but I think I’ve about finished with the pavers,” Peter said, stretching out his arms and feeling for any aches.

 

Another single white eyebrow went up on Alfred’s face.

 

It stayed up during lunch as Peter demolished nearly an entire loaf of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

 

“When you’ve finished the pavers, come back here and you can help me to prepare supper,” Alfred informed him as they started the trek back to the pavers. Peter took that as a gentle reminder to remember the way this time and took pains to figure out which way they were going. 

 

It didn’t take Peter long to finish out the pavers, but he was surprised to find Alfred watching him before he could head back in.

 

“Before we start supper, I remembered there were a few garden items I wanted to move. I’m getting a little on in years to move such things alone. They’re a touch heavy, but I’m sure they won’t be too much for a young lad like you,” Alfred said mildly, moving towards the landscaping.

 

He had Peter move several marble busts and bird baths to different locations in the flower beds before nodding and leading the teenager into the house. He set Peter on chopping and peeling a giant stack of vegetables, russet potatoes, multicolored carrots, and onions. Peter stared at the multicolored carrots in slight amazement, but it wasn’t long before the monotony of the task had his eyes taking long blinks and his hands moving slowly.

 

Alfred walked over and Peter’s eyes snapped up to him.

 

“Sorry, Mr Alfred, I’ll go faster, I know I was draggin’ there a bit,” it seemed like even his words were slurred ever so slightly.

 

“Come along now, Mr Parker, follow me,” Alfred led him through the mansion to the high attic, Peter hesitating a bit but his spider senses were completely calm.

 

The corridors here were narrow again and not as brightly lit as the main entrance areas. It gave the appearance of servant’s hallways again. Alfred opened a door to a room with two sets of bunk beds, one on each wall. The wall over the top bunk bed on the right side was slanted where the roofline cut through the space of the room. There was a tall dresser with four drawers and another door at the back of the room that appeared to lead to a bathroom. Peter turned confused eyes on Alfred, who was setting a previously unnoticed covered platter on the dresser.

 

“Here is some supper. Get some sleep for tonight and we can discuss things in the morning when you are more refreshed, yes?” Alfred instructed him in the same calm, measured voice he’d been using all day.

 

“Thank you! I mean, are you sure? I guess if you own the house you can put me here,” Peter rambled.

 

Alfred finally gave a hint of a smile, “Young sir, I am the butler, I certainly do not own the place. But there is room in this servant’s corridor and you may use it for the night. One more question, how old are you?”

 

“Oh, uh, I’m 18, sir,” Peter lied, cringing as he said it. Alfred turned unimpressed eyebrows on him, but simply hummed a response. 

 

Peter stumbled through his thanks while Alfred took his leave. He found a warm plate piled high with mashed potatoes, vegetables, and a chicken thigh. He made short work of the plate and collapsed into the twin size bottom bunk bed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

 

Alfred paused in the kitchen, thinking. 

 

He’d been faced with a choice this morning. 

 

Well, he faced choices everyday. 

 

Whether to wear his dinosaur socks or his daisy socks hidden underneath his formal suit that he wore the same everyday.

 

Whether to make a cake or cookies for the boy’s dessert, and if Cass and Steph needed care packages since they wouldn’t be staying in the manor for a while. 

 

Alfred had to make many decisions in a day. 

 

But this morning he faced a moral decision. 

 

Regardless of what the boy says, there was no way he was a legal adult. Alfred made a note to ask about high school, if he even had a high school diploma though he already felt certain that he didn’t. 

 

Despite the boy’s age, though, Alfred wasn’t required to help him. 

 

It was Gotham City, where only the strong or the very cruel survive. Even if the boy looked like he had been starved for weeks, in dirty clothes, with bruises cutting across his face, Alfred hadn’t been required to help him. 

 

There was certainly no obligation for him to have fed him as well as he had either. Let alone to give him a safe place to sleep for the night. 

 

Alfred paused, remembering a time when he wouldn’t have been able to put Peter in any available servant room because all of the beds would have been full. A time when there were far fewer Waynes then there were now yet many more staff members. Bruce had made it nearly his full time job to gather in errant children. 

 

He called Bruce. 

 

“Alfred?” 

 

“Master Bruce, I am hiring an apprentice,” Alfred mixed up cookie batter for the next day, holding the phone between his shoulder and cheek. He heard the sounds of Bruce standing up abruptly and moving to a quieter location. 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I have found a young teenager, though I cannot tell you his exact age because I do believe he is lying about it, as well he might be a meta. Regardless, I have chosen him to be my protege,” Alfred used an ice cream scoop to start scooping out the dough to chill. The boys liked large cookies. 

 

“I will double your salary,” Bruce said. 

 

“This has nothing to do with my pay. I am entirely satisfied with my job, but I am not getting any younger,” Alfred continued. 

 

“Triple it,” Bruce countered. 

 

“That won’t make me any younger,” Alfred retorted. 

 

There was silence over the line for a while as Bruce mulled over things. Alfred gave him his time. 

 

“What did he look like? You could’ve told me that I was adopting a new son,” Bruce said finally. 

“I considered it for a millisecond, but that certainly would not be my place. I am still just your butler, and I cannot simply tell you that you will be adopting a new son. Who knows if he would even fit in. But I truly am not getting younger. You have seven children now, even if you haven’t adopted all of them legally. There is much more work than when it was just you and I. I remember when the manor had a full work staff. There is perhaps too much for just myself, and then providence dropped a starving young man into my pathway for me to mold into a new generation of caretaker,” Alfred tried to explain himself. 

 

“You’ve never been just my butler, and you know that. I hadn’t realized you felt stretched thin,” Bruce was quiet. 

 

“As the quote goes, “Like butter scraped over too much bread.” Or perhaps not that bad yet. I see areas of the manor that I am embarrassed by. I should have things in spick and span shape, yet there is a small pile of laundry to be down in the bowels of the manor. Then to carry all of those loads back up. Let me have this protege. If he is not a match, he will never know the secrets of the manor, but I will have my work load decreased for a while,” Alfred continued, feeling like he was saying too much and wondering why he was trying so hard for the strange boy. 

 

Bruce must’ve had the same thought, “You sure want him as your apprentice.” 

 

“I see something in him. I think it must’ve been what you saw each time you brought a new person into this manor,” Alfred said softly, “Besides, this is a unique opportunity. Your children need a new generation of someone they can rely on. Someone who will be there for them long after you or I. And sometimes that confidant is not a relative.” 

 

A pause. 

 

“I want to meet him before anything too official. Send me the information on him that you do have and I’ll start running information. Maybe send Tim on his trail too, the boy is excellent at sniffing out secrets,” Bruce said. 

 

Alfred smiled to himself and prepared on how to offer a job to Peter Parker as the new butler in training/janitor of the Wayne Mansion. 

Chapter 2: Damian

Summary:

Peter meets Damian and gets to clean his room. What's the current count of knives in that boy's room?

Peter stretched slowly in the warm morning sun. The sun wasn’t up very high but his room already felt pleasantly hot, and also like it would be stifling around noon.

 

His eyes slowly blinked open, taking in the room anew. He’d collapsed into the bottom bunk on the right side, right under the sloping roof.

 

Grinning, he jumped out of bed and headed towards the bathroom. There was no bathtub, but a standup shower looked like a true luxury after three days on the streets. 

 

There was a knock on the door while he was debating showering if he’d have to put his dirty clothes back on.

 

Opening it, he found Alfred, mild as ever

 

“I’m glad you are already awake. It is 6:30am. Please be in the kitchen by 7 so we can commence with making breakfast for the manor,” Alfred instructed him, motioning to the dresser, where Peter noticed a glowing alarm clock for the first time, “I have brought you some trousers and pants, a fresh shirt.”

 

“Trousers and pants?” 

 

“Ahh, I suppose you Yankees call them underwear,” Alfred said.

 

Peter blushed, “Thank you Mr Alfred, I can take it from here.”

 

Spending longer than he possibly should have under the hot water, Peter scrubbed at his skin until it was a fresh pink color. 

 

He’d nearly cried with joy at the sight of the bathroom already fully stocked with fresh supplies. A toothbrush in the package and travel size toothpaste sat on the counter of the sink, and all needed toiletries were in the shower. There were even pads and tampons in the drawer of the sink, not that he would need those, but it was impressive how Alfred had planned out for any continuity, even in just a servant’s room. 

 

Despite the extended shower, he was still dressed and ready to help with breakfast ten minutes before he needed to be in the kitchen. 

 

Getting from his attic room down to the slightly below ground level had the potential to be an issue. 

 

“Left from the kitchen, up the three steps, then down the corridor with the meadow painting, up a full set of steps, two rights, up the next servant steps, then a left, and a right and to my room,” Peter nodded to himself once. 

 

“Your room?”  a young voice questioned. 

 

Peter jumped slightly, eyes looking around widely for who had snuck up on him. They landed on a young boy with middle eastern features glaring at him. His spider senses tingled very slightly in the background. 

 

Embarrassed that he’d let his guard drop so far in the manor that he hadn’t even noticed a kid walking up to him, Peter grinned sheepishly, “You’re right, it’s not really my room, I mean just the room I spent the night in.”

 

The boy continued to glare at him, “I could kill you in this hallway without you making a sound six different ways.” 

 

Peter blinked, spider senses tingling a bit stronger, “...that’s quite impressive.”

 

“Are you doubting me?” the boy was suddenly closer to Peter, who took an awkward step back. 

 

“Trust me, I believe you. I guess I could maybe kill you one way with blunt force trauma but I haven’t tried before and you’d definitely make some noises so six ways without noises is impressive,” Peter really needed to work on his word vomit sometime, sounding all cool and calm like Captain America. 

 

Unnamed boy stared up at Peter, which was kind of nice cause Peter wasn’t exactly tall, glaring fiercely.

 

“Come, you are to help with breakfast,” he finally said, turning on his heel and clearly expecting Peter to follow.

 

They made it to the kitchen as the clock said 6:59, to Peter’s relief. He felt like it would be bad policy to arrive late on his second day on the job, especially after said job fed and housed him.

 

“Mr Parker, please crack those eggs after washing up. The entire dozen,” Alfred directed him, throwing a white apron at him. 

 

“Just Peter, please Mr Alfred,” Peter said as he scrubbed up his arms. Alfred did his hum response again.

 

“Master Damian, please chop the vegetables for the omelets,” Alfred also instructed the boy. Peter took note of the boy’s name as well as the way that Alfred called him master. 

 

So was he the child of the owner of the fancy mansion? And if so, why would he be helping in the kitchen? 

 

Regardless of the reason why, Damian attacked the vegetables with a zeal and raw talent with the knife that assured Peter that he definitely could’ve found a way to kill the enhanced spider human.

 

Peter shivered slightly at the sight of the perfectly even pieces of pepper cut at a rapid pace.

 

He turned to cracking his eggs.

 

The kitchen filled with sounds of sizzling, chopping, cracking.

 

When the food was ready, Alfred plated it and sat the three plates on the table, motioning for Peter to sit while Damian already was.

 

“Huh?” Peter asked, always eloquent.

 

“Master Wayne will not be back for several days, and the rest of the kids are not available for breakfast. For today, you will probably only see myself and Master Damian,” Alfred informed him.

 

Peter tried to send a hesitant smile at Damian.

 

He received a swift kick to the shins under the table.

 

While he didn’t flinch or grab at his shin (though it did hurt), Alfred still somehow knew and turned unimpressed eyebrows on Damian.

 

“Sorry, my foot slipped,” the boy sent out in a saccharine sweet voice.

 

“Forgiven,” Peter said, “…it was a solid kick.”

 

“I was aiming for a fly,” Damian offered, picking out a red pepper and chewing on it. 

 

“Apologies, Mr Parker. Damian has always been an especially violent child,” Alfred seemed to mean it as a reprimand but Damian preened slightly. 

 

“No worries!” Peter said, noticing how Alfred had loaded Peter’s plate with much more food than the other two. He suddenly realized how much he had eaten the previous day. 

 

He blushed, but downed the food.

 

“Today, we will have you stay in the house for a while. If you do good, I would like for you to eventually move on to cleaning the entire manor. A deep cleaning if you will. For today, I would have you start with the communal bathroom spaces. There are four on the main floor,” Alfred informed him.

 

The day passed both quickly and slowly. Alfred was right in saying that Peter wouldn’t be interacting with many people. Still, he found scrubbing the toilets to be repetitive enough to be almost peaceful. He hadn’t expected to almost enjoy the activity.

 

He had skipped a grade in high school and had been taking dual enrollment classes with college since he’d been allowed to.

 

Frequently, Mr Stark had called him in to intern at Stark Enterprises.

 

Not to mention, his vigilante work and the few times he’d even been allowed to help with Avengers work where lives were literally on the line and he had to think fast.

 

The housecleaning was low stress and required almost no thought. 

 

Though it was occasionally disgusting.

 

At first glance, each bathroom had looked like an amazing piece of architect, with golden faucets and solid marble everything, intricate tile inlays.

 

Then he had to look closer, lifting the toilet seats, and he’d realized that a bathroom was still a bathroom.

 

That old phrase of even the rich have to…poop.

 

“I wonder how many bathrooms there are here anyway,” he mumbled to himself.

 

“14,” a disembodied voice said.

 

Peter swung around, quickly pinpointing the voice to the vents, “Excuse me? Uh…Mr…Damian? Are you in the vents?” 

 

“14 bathrooms, and 18 bedrooms, though 4 of those are for the servants. I could kill you in any of the rooms, especially the bathrooms though, easier to drown you,” Damian continued, Peter spotting just his eyes glinting through the grate of the vent.

 

“Why do you want to kill me so badly?”

 

Damian jumped out at that question, his kick sending the vent cover flying, as though he’d been waiting for Peter to ask. Peter was fast, he felt fairly comfortable that he could move faster than Damian, but he allowed the boy to feel like he’d pinned him against the bathroom sink.

 

“See, I’ve been sent here to live with my sperm donor since my mother is dead. I couldn’t care less about him. But Alfred - Alfred is special. So I don’t know what you have planned, to rob the house or spread bad publicity about the family, whatever. But if you have something planned that will harm Alfred, I need you to understand the consequences,” Damian threatened him. 

 

Was that the glint of a knife in his hand? 

 

Peter held up his hands, “Woah, woah, woah, I don’t even know who your dad is. I’m not here to do anything to anyone. I don’t want to rob anyone or spread rumors or anything! I’m just here for some food. The place to sleep was an unexpected bonus. I just figured with a place this large, you guys might be able to spare some food.”

 

Damian narrowed his eyes as he stared Peter down.

 

“Besides, I think Mr Alfred is cool, alright? He’s been really great about taking in the random teen,” Peter added, trying to soothe the other’s temper.

 

“If someone was attacking the manor, would you defend Alfred, hide, or run away?” Damian asked.

 

“Definitely fight back, defend Mr. Alfred,” Peter said almost immediately. 

 

Damian glared for a second, “Would you die for him?” 

 

“I’d try not to, I don’t really want anyone to die, but I mean, probably if it came down to it. If I want to consider myself a hero or whatever, I’d have to be willing to die,” Peter said.

 

“Would you kill for him?” 

 

“Uhm, hopefully not. I’ve never killed anyone and it is kind of my personal goal to never kill someone,” Peter said awkwardly.

 

Damian huffed, “Like Father then. Such strong morals.”

 

Though he did step away from Peter and disappear into the vents after a final glare.

 

“If anything happens to Alfred, I’m coming after you,” a disembodied voice told Peter from the vents, at least sounding like it was crawling away from him.

 

“Noted!” Peter called out, feeling like he had a much better understanding of the only child he’d met thus far, “I’m also noting that you use the vents to get around and you’ll probably be watching me.”

 

Now that he knew what to expect though, he understood the faint tingling of his Spidey-senses he’d been feeling. Peter would probably know when the boy was watching him again in the future.

 

Alfred paused his work for lunch and then had Peter help with supper.

 

He’d made it through the four main floor bathrooms by the end of the day. Bleaching and using a toothbrush on each grout line across those intricate inlays had left Pete with aching knees. 

 

And he definitely felt the need to bleach himself after the toilets.

 

“We will talk in the morning,” Alfred told him after supper.

 

“Uh, sure,” Peter said, and spent the night worrying what that meant, “start breakfast at 7 again?”

 

“Yes,” Alfred said.

 

Had he already overstayed his welcome? 

 

Peter made sure he was dressed and in the kitchen by 6:50 sharp.

 

“Let us make breakfast. We can talk while eating. Please crack the eggs again,” Alfred instructed him. 

 

He watched as Alfred mixed spices and milk into the eggs before dipping and frying slices of bread in the mix.

 

“French toast?” He asked.

 

“Yes, Master Damian’s favorite. It will put him in a better mood for the rest of the day,” Alfred said.

 

“Will we need him in a better mood?” Peter almost didn’t want to know the answer.

 

“You will appreciate it, yes,” Alfred sounded almost amused.

 

Damian took his food but didn’t eat it with the other two. 

 

Peter picked at his French toast while watching Alfred. This was probably about when the butler would tell him to get lost and then he was back to not even being allowed to sleep under bridges and starving. It was much harder to put back on weight than it was for him to lose it, and Peter had seen in the mirrors yesterday how gaunt he still looked, as though he’d been starved for weeks instead of underfed for just a few days.

 

“Mr Peter, I have talked with Master Wayne, and we have decided-“

 

This was it, the moment of no return.

 

“-that we would like to hire you on a probationary basis.”

 

“-huh?”

 

“I am offering you a job, so long as you prove yourself capable. I wanted to see your work in cleaning before I decided on anything. You would be hired as a maid for now, with potential for upward movement based on your performance,” Alfred clarified.

 

Peter sat there with his mouth open.

 

“Is that not satisfactory?” Alfred questioned.

 

“No! That would be great! You know, it’d give me a chance to get back on my feet, figure out what I’m doing next, or even just stay here. You mentioned promotions or whatever. I always saw myself going to university, but I can’t do that without a diploma but with steady meals and a place to sleep maybe I'll get my GED or something. I could probably get a part time job to pay for that,” Peter was rambling again. 

 

Alfred frowned at him, “That answers my question on your level of education. I do not mean to pry, young sir, but is there a reason you need to get back on your feet? Have you lost someone?”

 

Peter’s face fell, “I lost everyone. I have no one left, Mr Alfred…”

 

And the words sunk in. 

 

The realization that he’d been putting off.

 

He was completely alone in this new world.

 

Even if Dr Strange did pull him back and the Avengers had somehow won despite what Dr Strange had seen, time may pass differently in this dimension. He could live to an old age and die before Dr Strange could even call for him.

 

Who knew how long it had been back in his dimension. MJ, Ned, and Aunt May were probably all gone to the Titan’s attack. 

 

A starched white handkerchief was pressed into his hand.

 

He looked up with wide brown eyes at Alfred who looked at him with a softness in the old man’s face.

 

“You are crying, Mr Peter,” Alfred said.

 

Peter reached up a hand, finding a few tears had slipped out, “Oh, I hadn’t even noticed.”

 

“You will find that orphans are not unusual in Gotham. It is a hard city,” Alfred said then paused as though waiting for Peter to say something. He sighed and then continued when Peter was silent, “Whether you work here only a short while or potentially longer, only time will tell. For now, let me explain today’s tasks to you.”

 

“Yeah, that would be good,” Peter mumbled.

 

“And if you want to talk, I am here to listen,” Alfred said.

 

“Thank you, but you’re right, I should get to work,” Peter whispered.

 

“Alright, Mr Parker. Your next assignment will be to clean some of the bedrooms and attached baths as applicable. Again, this is to be a deep cleaning. Moving furniture to clean under it, all grout lines,” Alfred said, “Of course, you won’t go into all of the bedrooms yet. Master Wayne’s is certainly off limits as well as his oldest sons. The rest of the bedrooms need it, especially Master Damian’s.”

 

“There it is, the reason for the French toast,” Peter muttered, staring at Alfred in horror, “You want me to go and clean his room?”

 

“Better to get it out of the way, yes. There are a variety of guest rooms as well, but I would get Master Damian’s while he is in a good mood. You will not do the other family rooms until you have met their owners, but I can assure you that Master Damian’s mood will sour as the others make their way back home,” Alfred said, setting the breakfast dishes in the sink.

 

“OK, sure, I can clean the kid’s room. He’s what, like eight?” 

 

“Ten years old, just a touch short for his age. One more thing, you should know that it is a Wayne family tradition to specialize in martial arts. Master Damian’s specialty within that is knives,” Alfred was scrubbing down the dishes now.

 

“Yep, it just keeps getting better,” Peter muttered.

 

He squared his shoulders as he headed to the stairs leading to the second story. Alfred had given him a better tour before he started the bathrooms the previous day, so he had a good idea of which doors he was allowed in and which he wasn’t as well as Damian’s room. 

 

Tingling down his spine let him know he was being watched. He found the eyes in the vent again.  

 

“Mr Alfred has told me it is my job to clean your room and bathroom today. It’ll take me about ten minutes to gather up my cleaning supplies and get to your room. That means you have ten minutes to hide anything you don’t want me to see or touch,” Peter called out.

 

“You wouldn’t dare,” the voice called to him.

 

Peter stood up a touch straighter, “If your room is between me losing my twin size bed or not, I absolutely would dare.”

 

The eyes disappeared and Peter smirked to himself. 

 

One issue at a time.

 

Knives covered most surfaces in the room. 

 

Or that was what Peter had mentally prepared himself for.

 

The reality was that the room was clearly the messy main inhabitation of a ten year old boy. At first glance, it smelled disgusting. He spotted several bowls and cups with contents in various states of decomposition. There were clothes strung across the room. A queen size bed took up one wall, not only was it unmade, but the sheets looked disgusting with several smears of what appeared to be blood on them and a small pile of ashes in another spot. 

 

A low bookcase along one window held books. Peter ran his fingertips along mystery novels like the entire leather bound Sherlock Holmes series. 

 

There was a desk on the other wall with a lamp and a cork board above it. It looked as though it was the main area adjusted during the ten minutes it had taken Peter to walk to the room. Small rips of paper were still stuck in a couple places to the cork board, but both the desk and cork board appeared to have been swiftly emptied. 

 

“Probably hid his notes in the vents. I wasn’t worried about your algebra notes,” Peter rolled his eyes. 

 

It was only as Peter started picking stuff up that he started to find weapons, which apparently hadn’t been what Damian had been worried about hiding from Peter. 

 

Not just knives, though there were plenty of them, some quite pretty with intricate carvings and jewels handles. There were also nunchucks and a metal strand that Peter was fairly certain was for strangling. Boxing gloves and weights as well. 

 

Peter got to work, making piles of the various types of objects.  First, every piece of clothing that wasn’t put away in the walk-in closet was set in a pile just outside the door of the room. Alfred had shown Peter the laundry shoot down to the basement, and he’d send all of it down at once. 

 

Next, he snapped open a trash bag and gathered up all of the trash. The contents of the bowls and cups were dumped into the toilet and flushed away, then the dishes set in a pile in his cleaning caddy to go downstairs. 

 

Bed was stripped up linens, and, yep, there were definitely a concerning number of blood stains on them. 

 

“Do you have a bunch of nosebleeds? I’m going to say something to Mr. Alfred about all this blood,” Peter bent down to a vent and called into it. 

 

There was a sound vaguely like a cat hissing, and then the sound moved farther away. Peter’s Spidey-sense started to calm down, and he suspected that Damian had finally moved away. 

 

The work out equipment went into one pile, the weapons into another. Peter then further separated the weapons by type. 

 

Balancing the knives in one hand, he shrugged before deciding to possibly clean and sharpen each knife if he had time after the room and bathroom. 

 

He got out the vacuum next. 

 

Moving all of the furniture to sweep under it was painfully easy. He simply used one hand to lift the queen size, solid wood set with the mattress and box spring on top, while vacuuming with the other hand.

Same process with the bookcase, dresser, and desk. 

 

He grinned in pleasure at the sharp vacuum lines in the plush carpets. 

 

The bathroom was pretty rough too, actually worse than the guest bathrooms. 

 

There were again splashes of blood in various states of age as well as multiple other unknown substances, including a strange orange one that glowed slightly. The stand up shower’s floor was coated in a light layer of mud and sand, and the grout lines on the wall definitely had some mold growth. 

 

Peter had just about finished up the main space by lunch time, and he quickly sent the laundry down the basement before heading to the kitchen. 

 

“Ahh, Mr Peter, how was your morning?” Alfred asked. 

 

“That was disgusting. There was also a concerning amount of blood,” Peter said. 

 

“Do not mind the blood, I’m sorry, perhaps I should have warned you about that. I am aware of it, and it is simply a hazard of martial arts training. As far as the state of the room, thank you for finally getting it cleaned. He has not allowed me into the room for several months, and I found myself spread a bit too thin to spend the time fighting with him over it,” a spark of mischief shone in Alfred’s eyes, and Peter gaped at him. 

 

“That was like your version of a prank, wasn’t it?! Send me into the prepubescent boy’s room to see if I survive?” 

 

“I made cookies to make up for it,” Alfred said, still with a smirk in his eyes. 

 

“...what kind of cookies?” 

 

He went back up after lunch to see what he could do with the knives. Alfred had informed him he goal for the afternoon should be in getting caught up with Damian’s laundry, so he’d started a load in the commercial size and grade laundry setup in the basement and then headed back up to the room. 

 

“What’re you doing?” Damian demanded as he popped into his room through some form of secret entrance, since Peter had been facing the door and it certainly did not open. 

 

“Do all of the rooms have secret entrances beyond the vents?” 

 

“All of the rooms have vents at least, maybe more, maybe less. I repeat, what are you doing with my knives?” 

 

“I figured I’d give all of them a good sharpening and oiling to keep them ready for you. This one still has a bit of blood crusted on it,” Peter held up said knife between two fingers, scrunching his nose in disgust. 

 

“What if you mess them up?” Damian demanded. 

 

“You can do it yourself if you like, but I’ve got a good amount of experience. When Aunt May ran her soup kitchen, she had me help after school and any decent kitchen has to have sharpened knives. It became one of my jobs,” Peter explained, not looking up from the knife block set he’d found on the mantle of the fireplace in the bedroom as well as the wood oil and other tools needed. 

 

Really, a queen bed and a fireplace in a child’s bedroom. 

 

Peter rolled his eyes in New York tiny apartments. 

 

Damian glared, but stayed silent as he watched Peter go through the entire process of working through the different levels of sharpening on the knife block, honing it, and then applying a thin layer of oil on the handle. 

 

“Father doesn’t approve of knives,” he finally said, settling into his desk chair, “I figured you would give me a lecture.” 

 

“Why would I? I’m certainly not your father or any type of authority figure in your life. I’m just here to clean your room. If you’re going to have this quantity of knives, then I guess it’s my job to make sure they’re in the best shape I possibly can, and then, if you chose to use them or not, I’ve done my job and made sure they’re ready if you do use them,” Peter said, moving on to the next knife in the pile. 

 

Alfred smiled to himself as he listened and watched from the small camera bat he’d directed to fly into Damian’s room before Peter had started that morning. Of course, there were no hardwired cameras in the bedrooms, especially one of the kid’s rooms, but there were the camera bats to be moved about as needed. 

 

He knew his good feeling about Peter was well placed. 

 

The teenager had done exactly the same as he would have, preparing the tools the bats choose to use, regardless of his own morality on them. Exactly as a butler should, keep everything ready for the masters to use at their discretion. 

 

And watching Peter lifting the furniture above his head with only a single hand had certainly supported Alfred’s meta theory. 

 

He grinned. 

 

It would be interesting to see how Peter got along with Bruce and the other batkids to see if Alfred would be able to offer Peter an official apprenticeship. 

Notes:

Thank you for all the positive support of the first chapter! You guys are awesome! I've never had a story do so well in the first twenty-four hours!

Ok, two chapters in two days! Haha I have to take advantage of the hyper fixation I have on this story, because I think we all know it won't last. I'd love to post a chapter a week, but I'm not great at sticking to a schedule. I write as inspiration hits.

Please stick with the story! I know this chapter wasn't the most exciting, but I have to build stuff up. Never fear, Peter will be going back to patrolling and being Spiderman, he's going to meet more characters, and he's going to get into more butler-y stuff than just cleaning rooms, but again, I have to ease into it. Sorry if this chapter wasn't the most thrilling but I love writing semi-feral Damian Wayne :)

Chapter 3: Tim and Duke

Being away from the manor was a necessary evil that Bruce tried to avoid whenever possible.

 

The last time he was away, Tim got uno- reversed by a reporter stalking him instead of Tim doing the stalking.

 

While Bruce had been amused by the turnabout, all the media and police had needed to know was that he’d gone full overprotective dad of his underage son. He’d been clear in absolute terms that the Wayne’s would not allow any such stalking in the future or even with that incident. 

 

The time before that, Damian had fallen through a vent and broken his leg, leading to mass panic at the idea of getting him to the appropriate medical facility when not in vigilante mode. Alfred had been away grocery shopping and apparently Duke and Steph weren’t sure what the protocol was when not being chased by villains.

 

It had cost a lot of money to reinforce all of the vents so Damian could still have his fun after that. 

 

It cost extra to do so without Damian knowing what he was doing. 

 

And so on.

 

Apparently this time  Alfred had decided to adopt a full on teenager, which had not been on Bruce’s travel Bingo. 

 

Bruce sighed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Bats? You alright?” Superman asked softly, leaning over at the Justice League round table to whisper it to Batman.

 

“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.

 

Superman raised unimpressed eyebrows that were scarily like Alfredo that Bruce felt himself immediately going honest.

 

“There’s a bit of situation back home but it’s not an emergency or a reason to leave a justice meeting. Just annoying,” Bruce confessed.

 

“Ahh, have you tried talking about the situation?”

 

“What do you mean? I’m literally talking to you right now,” Bruce said confused.

 

“You have a lot of kids Bruce, have you tried to get any of them to handle the situation?”

 

“I don’t think they even know about the situation,” Bruce paused to think, “Possibly my youngest at this point but he can’t do anything about the situation, he’s ten. The others don’t know.”

 

Superman rolled his eyes, “Still not doing that whole talking and asking for help thing, huh?”

 

“I can handle it myself when I get back,” Bruce countered.

 

Superman rolled his eyes, again.

 

“I believe I may be a bad influence on you. You just rolled your eyes at me twice,” Bruce’s eyes were wide behind the Batman mask in shock. 

 

“You certainly are. Still, this is bothering you enough to cause you to be sighing over it. Text or call one of your children, and get them to at least look at the situation. Someone besides Damian,” Superman sounded exasperated.

 

“I’m supposed to call Dick for situations like this, but he’s already covering for me as Batman, probably making me seem like a big softie,  and I don’t want to give him more work,” Bruce started with.

 

Somewhere in Gotham, Dick felt a shiver down his back, “I know you’re talking about me Dad. Smile one time and they never let you live it down.”

 

“Stephanie would either flirt with the situation or buy the situation a new wardrobe,” Bruce continued.

 

“Is that bad?” 

 

“Not for her, she’ll be fine. Could be for the situation.” 

 

“Next?”

 

“Cass would definitely just tie the situation up until I get back, which isn’t really helpful. Plus the communication barrier. One of my most effective children, but not for this situation.”

 

“I feel like ‘the situation’ could be a human.”

 

“I can neither confirm or deny anything.” 

 

Martian Manhunter coughed, “Are we distracting you two?” 

 

“No, you can continue with your speech, I wasn’t listening either way,” Batman said quickly.

 

Martian scoffed while the Flash interjected quickly, “That’s probably cue for a break for all of us. I gotta use the bathroom quick.”

 

“And I’m back,” he said, before anyone could even respond to his statement.

 

“A break would be nice. I shall go hunt us lunch,” Wonder Woman announced, walking out the door.

 

“Do you think she means actual hunting?” Martian questioned.

 

“If she is hunting, then I shall bring fish as well. It shall be a feast!” Aquaman smacked the table once and left.

 

“I’ll go supervise them,” Martian told the room at large, “Batman, Superman, finish your conversation please so we can move into budget discussions.”

 

“Flash, please get some actual snacks for the rest of the meeting,” Superman told Flash.

 

“You paying, big guy?” 

 

“Here, use my card,” Bruce was already sliding over his card, while Superman shot him a grateful look. Superman might’ve been the unofficial leader and strongest, but Batman was definitely the financier (No, Stephanie, he was not the Justice Leagues’ sugar daddy. No, not just Superman’s sugar daddy either. Yes, he would raise his eyebrows at her for that comment).

 

“Be back in a flash!” 

 

“That joke is horribly overused. Have you decided on a child for the situation?” 

 

Bruce nodded slowly, “Yes, I think I will send Jason.” 

 

Superman coughed, “You sure about that?” 

 

“Perhaps not. Let me at least send them all a text to make them aware of the situation.”

 

“Almost like I suggested in the first place.”

 

Batdad (name is locked): I am writing to inform you all that Alfred has a child.

 

Duke: jumpscare, Bats, I forgot you were even in this chat

 

Barbara: it’s like a digital version of his sneaking up

 

Dick: Alfred has a kid?

 

Steph: Alfred has a kid???

 

Cass: Our Alfred? 

 

Jason: Good job, I didn’t think you had it in you Alfred!

 

Alfred: Shall I ask what you meant by that?

 

Steph: for the sake of all of us, please don’t

 

Tim, Duke, Dick: No!

 

Batdad: None of you seem surprised by Alfred being in the chat? 

 

Tim: we couldn’t forget Alfred

 

Cass: he leaves little hearts on our memes and photos 

 

Alfred: Back to the point, he is not a child, he is claiming to be a legal adult. He is also not biologically related to me. I am hiring an apprentice. 

 

Dick: Should I leave patrol to go meet him? While dad’s gone?

 

Duke: has anyone other than Alfred met this guy 

 

Damian: I have met him. 

Damian:  he is made of strong moral fibers and does not approve of killing, preferring the idea of sacrificing himself 

Damian: he is despicable 

 

Tim: In other words…

Steph: he’s actually a decent human being

 

Dick: Damian, why were you discussing killing and dying with him? 

 

Batdad: Dick, do not leave patrol for this matter. I thought Jason could go visit him. 

 

Damian:….

 

Dick: Damian, please answer me 

 

Steph: Yeah, damian, how did that come up in conversation? 

 

Duke, Tim: Jason? 

 

Jason: I’m being sent as the welcoming committee? 

 

Tim: we’re almost the same age as the new kid, shouldn’t we go?

 

Batdad: I have full faith in Jason.

 

Barbara: Hate to interrupt, but a gas pipe just burst on Jason’s side of town

Barbara: He’ll be busy all night. Rerouting Steph and Cass to help.

Barbara: Duke and Tim, guess you guys get to be the welcoming committee after all

 

Alfred: Be safe

 

Duke, Tim, Steph, Cass, Jason, Dick, Barbara like Alfred’s text. 

 

 OOO

 

Peter woke up on his fourth day of employment to Damian glaring at him, Spidey-senses tingling hard enough to have woken him. 

 

The spider teen instinctively jumped straight up into the corner like a spider,  hitting his head on the bunk bed above him. Though one of his hands was curled around the upper bunk bed, like the position was maybe possibly for a human. 

 

“Owww,” he whined. 

 

Damian stared at Peter.

 

Peter stared back.

 

“…interesting,” Damian finally said, writing something on a tablet he was holding.

 

Peter got down and laughed awkwardly, “What’s interesting?” 

 

Damian ignored the question and asked his own, “Who’s MJ?” 

 

“That’s random, uhm MJ was a girl back home,” Peter replied.

 

“You said her name when I arrived in here, and then acted like you were kissing her,” Damian said. 

 

“How long have you been there? Maybe you could get out now so I could get dressed,” Peter suggested, he doubted Damian would have been in the room for long before his Spidey-sense would’ve woken him.

 

“I don’t have to do that, I am the master here and you are just a servant,” Damian stuck his nose into the air.

 

Peter didn’t even have time for indignation before a dark brown hand darted through the air and grabbed Damian’s ear, twisting hard.

 

“Damian Wayne, apologize! He is not just a servant and you can’t talk like that regardless. What’re you gonna do, stay in here while he changes?”

 

“Ow ow ow,” Damian pouted.

 

Two teenagers stepped around the edge of the door frame into Peter’s line of sight. 

The one looked more asleep than awake, nursing a large cup that smelled of coffee.

Peter took another sniff. Just straight coffee, no sugar or creamer and the cup was industrial size. He sent a concerned look at the holder, a boy about his age and his height, though with dark, almost black hair. He had vibrant blue eyes that popped out even more from how bloodshot and tired the eyes looked.

 

Holding onto Damian’s ear was another teenager who looked close to Peter’s age, but he was taller with dark skin. He wore a frown as he stared Damian down. 

 

“Sorry for Damian, his beliefs are not those of the entire family,” the tired looking one said, “He has only been in your room for about five minutes, just the time it took for us to get up here and retrieve him.”

 

“Oh no it’s fine! He’s right, I am the servant here,” Peter said, trying to run the sleep from his own eyes. 

 

“And he was watching you sleep. I would’ve been wayyyy ruder than you. I’m Duke and this is Tim,” Duke said.

 

“We were sent as the welcoming committee, so you wouldn’t think we were all like Damian,” before completely finishing Damian’s name, Tim yawned widely enough that Peter worried his jaw would break. 

“Uh nice to meet you?” Peter offered.

 

“For now, we’ll give you some privacy. Meet down at breakfast?” Duke offered.

 

Peter changed quickly and headed down. It was only 6:30 by the time he was heading down, so it seemed like most people in the house got a move on early. Though he wondered why Tim was awake and getting ready so early on a Friday when he was clearly exhausted. 

 

The question was answered when he spotted the workbooks and textbooks spread across the kitchen island with the two older teenagers sitting there. 

 

“You two are still in school?” Peter asked. 

 

“Just for one more year, seniors baby!” Duke called, high fiving Tim who yawned through it. 

 

“If you can pass Physics, which is sounding less likely each week,” Tim argued. 

 

“Hey, you didn’t do your homework either!” 

 

“Boys, homework should come before other extracurriculars,” Alfred scolded them, wearing a pink heart covered apron. 

 

Peter blinked at Alfred. 

 

“That’s his Friday apron, cause he’s in love with the weekend. Wait until you see his one for Saturday and Sunday,” Duke leaned over and whispered with a wink at Peter. 

 

“He has one for all of the holidays too,” Tim added, then added at regular volume, “‘sides it's not like the homework is hard, I just didn’t have the time to literally think through it and write down the answers.” 

 

“Uh, I could take a look at it if you want?” Peter offered, hesitating over the words. 

 

Tim raised his eyebrows, but was already sliding the book over, “Go for it.” 

 

Peter read through the page, “OK, so I know how to do this, you just need to put in the equation here.” 

 

It took him about twenty minutes to walk both of them through all of their homework. 

 

“Alright, I think that’s all the problems! Alfred, what did you want me to work on?” Peter turned to the older man, missing Tim and Duke’s impressed faces. 

 

“You’ve done plenty already, sit with the kids for breakfast. It’s ready regardless,” Alfred shooed Peter over to the island. 

 

“How did you do that man?” Duke clapped Peter on the back, “We’re barely into the year, and I already feel completely lost. You just picked up my worksheet at random and did it faster than Tim.” 

 

“I had budgeted a full hour for the homework, if I bothered to complete it. That’s why I’m awake at this hour. I could’ve gotten an extra forty minutes of sleep,” Tim poured himself another cup of coffee, missing Peter’s concerned face. 

 

“Oh, it wasn’t hard, just some physics. I was working on an internship, more engineering but we had to use practical physics to make sure some of the designs would work safely back home,” Peter grabbed some pancakes and drowned them in maple syrup. 

 

“An engineering internship? That’s impressive, especially since you look like you’re younger than us,” Tim pressed just a touch harder, the detective in him always just below the surface. 

 

“No! We’re definitely the same age or about, cause I told Alfred I was eighteen, so a legal adult.” Peter stumbled through his explanation. 

 

“So will you apply for college? Night classes?” Duke asked. 

 

“Uh, no I’m totally eighteen years old, just you know…a high school dropout. Life just got crazy, you know? But I am an adult so too old to go back to high school, but I can’t really apply to college without even a high school diploma. But I’d like to get my GED,” Peter finally got himself to stop talking, and looked down at his plate. 

 

They stared at him for a second, waiting until he looked up, then shrugged with gentle grins. 

 

“Not the craziest thing we’ve heard. Hope the GED works out for you,” Tim said. 

 

Peter perked up a bit, surprised they weren’t going to push the issue. He grabbed another four pancakes after checking that everyone had firsts, and there would still be more about he ate them. He also grabbed several of the bananas that were a free-for-all in the fruit basket on the island. 

 

“Come along, Mr Parker, you will be cleaning the guest rooms today, and the attached bath of one. The others do not have attached baths,” Alfred explained as he led the teenager away. 

 

“What’d’ya think?” Duke asked Tim, and technically Damian who hadn’t left the table, once Peter was out of earshot, even that of a meta since Alfred had given them a heads up. 

 

“I’m guessing a high level science/math brain, possibly genius though I can’t tell something like that from a single high school homework set. It was fairly impressive, but it could be through application with the internship he said he had,” Tim mused. 

 

“Emphasis on the science part. He didn’t know the difference between an adjective and an adverb when I mentioned the English homework,” Duke laughed. 

 

“I think he used his real name, he answered too immediately to it for it to be an alias unless he’s been using it for a long time or has training in just arts. Considering how horrible he is at lying, I’m guessing it’s his real name,” Tim continued, pulling out a blue notebook and adding his notes. 

 

Duke leaned over to read what he was writing, “Don’t forget to write down that we suspect he’s younger than 18. Even I picked that up, and I’m not the best sleuth since Sherlock Holmes.” 

 

Tim sent him a look, “Flattery will get you nowhere.” 

 

“But coffee will. Come on, we’ll stop at that coffee spot you like,” Duke said. 

 

Tim narrowed his eyes, “Why? You hate it there.” 

 

“Yeah, but I want to know everything about the new kid, and you work best on high octane caffeine,” Duke agreed. 

 

“Can’t argue with that,” Tim shrugged. 

 

The manor was quiet with Tim, Duke, and Damian at school, and Peter made it through the rooms quickly. 

 

They were different from Damian’s, with the main dirt being an accumulation of dust on the surfaces, washing and replacing the linens. 

 

Peter made his way back to the kitchen to begin supper prep. 

 

“Mr. Peter, let me go over the weekend rituals with you and give you your pay for the week,” Alfred said. 

 

“Pay? You guys don’t have to pay me? I’m already getting room and board, and let’s be honest, I know I eat a lot,” Peter argued. 

 

“Let us start with that then. Here is your pay fo the week. Of course, it was only a partial week, and your pay appropriately reflects that,” Alfred handed over a bank envelope. 

 

Peter took it out, since Alfred seemed to be waiting for that, and counted it. Before counting it again. 

 

“I think you made a mistake. There’s $2000 here,” Peter finally managed to get out. 

 

“No, that is the correct pay for four day’s work,” Alfred said. 

 

“That’s $500 per day! That’s crazy! That’s like $62 an hour. That’s over six figures in a year! To clean!” 

 

“It is not just to clean. This job requires a certain amount of discretion. You are working for a high profile family. There are disadvantages to that, and Master Wayne likes to compensate his employees in a way that reflects that,” Alfred explained. 

 

“Don’t sell family secrets, got it. But this is still too much money since I wasn’t going to do that anyway! I don’t even have a high school diploma, and this daily rate is what my aunt would make in a week sometimes,” Peter tried to hand Alfred back the man, but the man went to the counters and grabbed a block of cheddar cheese, handing it and the slicer to Peter. 

 

“Wayne Enterprises is making a substantial profit every year on top of Master Wayne already being old money. He can spend his money how he likes. There are only two of us and the landscaping crew after all,” Alfred said. 

 

“Wait, how much are you making a year? Sorry! That was rude!”

 

“More than you by a substantial amount, Mr Parker, now let me explain the weekends,” Alfred said, “Cut the cheese a bit thinner, that’s better.” 

 

Peter adjusted his cheese slicing and listened. 

 

“The weekends are meant to be your time off. They are when the teenagers and young adults get to indulge in cereal for breakfast, and I put together these large sandwich platters for lunch. I would appreciate your help with supper on Saturday, but just let me know if you cannot make it because of other commitments. It is fine. Sunday is completely your day off, as well as mine. However, there is a caveat to that. The manor often hosts special events such as a gala. For those events, we would be working and extended hours at that. Special events do not always fall on a weekend, but the nature of the beast is that they often do,” Alfred said. 

 

“$2500 a week, free room and board, and I get weekends off except for special events and Saturday supper? Why would I not be alright with that? That’s a better deal than I would get if I go to college and get a fancy degree,” Peter’s eyes were wide and he was sure he had a bit of a shell shocked expression on his face. 

 

“What degree would you get?” Alfred asked. 

 

“Engineering I’d say. Something along those lines. More practical than space probably,” Peter said quickly. 

 

Alfred hummed, as though there was something he wanted to say about that. Peter waited. Finally he said simply, “You never know when opportunities will come up.” 

 

Peter, truthfully, wasn’t paying the best attention. He was already planning on breaking out the spider suit tomorrow and checking out his new surroundings, during the day no less. It had been weird to take a week off, and now that he had a semi-stable homebase, he wanted to become the new friendly neighborhood spider. 

 

This meant he might get to regularly patrol during the day on the weekends, and then two nights during the week. That would definitely help his sleep levels; though he would have to be careful to switch up the times and week day evenings so he didn’t develop a standard pattern that could be used against him. 

 

Tim, Duke, and Damian joined the two staff at the kitchen island again for supper. 

 

“We’ll have to go to dinner hall tomorrow if Father is back,” Damian complained, as though he could read Peter’s mind. Peter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Maybe the boy could. 

 

“Unfortunately, but you know how Dad likes his traditions,” Tim said, and Duke scrunched his nose in distaste. 

 

“We always sneak in the kitchen with Alfred while Bruce is on business trips, but he doesn’t allow it when home. Everyone in the manor has to eat together, which is fine enough when Jason isn’t starting a food fight or Dick being the glorious favorite, but the kitchen is so much more casual than the stuffy dining hall,” Duke told Peter. 

 

Peter decided to ignore the concept of not a dining room, but hall, and focused on the new names, “Jason and Dick?” 

 

“Don’t you know anything about the family? How far away are you from?” Tim asked him. 

 

Peter blushed, “Just Queens, New York, but I wasn’t part of your social class.” 

 

“Hmm,” Tim said, “Well, it’s nice to meet someone who hasn’t already formed their opinions from the media. Dick is the oldest, and he is everything that goes along with that.” 

 

“If you had known him as a young boy, you might not hold the same opinion,” Alfred said mildly. 

 

“But we didn’t. All we know him as is the golden oldest who can do no wrong and steps in for Father when he’s gone,” Damian said. 

 

“Well, there was that one time he messed up with the media with the smi-” Duke grunted and didn’t finish his sentence, the laugh falling off his face as he glared at Damian across the table. 

 

“Regardless, it’s rare for anyone to find fault with Dick. Then there’s Jason…” Tim trailed off. 

 

“Jason?” Peter prompted. 

 

And awkward silence fell. 

 

“He’s technically the oldest, but Dick’s been here the longest, so he’s kind of the middle child?” Duke said, “Like how Damian is the youngest, but I’m the newest to the family, so I’m kind of the youngest?” 

 

“Dick’s been here ages,” Damian agreed. 

 

“Master Wayne adopted Master Dick when he was seven. He is now twenty five. Master Jason is twenty seven, but he didn’t come to the manor until he was sixteen and Master Dick was clearly fourteen. Master Wayne had Master Dick for nigh on seven years before adding anyone else,” Alfred explained a bit clearer. 

 

“Jason is great, but he got sick a couple years back and he got better, but he’s been really angry since then,” Tim finally offered in explanation. 

 

“Injuries can cause long lasting effects,” Peter said. 

 

“You’ll understand when you meet him.Bruce never legally adopted him the way he did Dick, and I think Jason’s just always been dealing with all that, feeling like a replacement or whatever,” Duke added in. 

 

Damian looked like he was about to kick someone, “Don’t air out your opinions on me when I’m not here. I’m sure Cassandra and Stephanie would feel the same.” 

 

“Sorry, yeah, maybe that was too much info for supper,” Duke rubbed his neck awkwardly, “Peter, like Super Smash Bros?” 

 

Peter had been feeling a bit of distaste for this Dick character who seemed to be causing issues within the family through sheer force of being too perfect, but perked up at the knowledge that Nintendo was cross dimensional, “Yes!” 

 

“Why don’t we play a few rounds, you, me, and Tim?” 

 

Peter hesitated, looking at Alfred, “Is that alright?” 

 

“It most certainly is. You are done with your job for the evening,” Alfred shooed off the teenager, hoping he would have some fun for the evening. 

 

 Peter took along only a couple hundred bucks in the morning as he headed back into Gotham. He gave Alfred an excuse of visiting the library and buying some essentials. 

 

Which was also the truth. 

 

Peter started by visiting the public library, where he used the computers to try to look up some information on this new dimension. 

 

He started with the Wayne family, and got lost down a rabbit hole for about an hour as he read about their history. 

 

“OK, so they’re kind of like the Starks of my life. Bruce Wayne even seems to have the classic playboy persona with plenty of publicity, though maybe without Tony’s intelligence? But he has also adopted slash sheltered a small brood of children who were all from poor and bad backgrounds? Who Bruce seems to do his best to keep out of the media attention, so adopting all of them probably wasn’t a publicity stunt in the first place,” Peter paused in his mumblings, “Strange.” 

 

“Most things with the Wayne family come across as weird through the media. Looking for anything specific?”

Peter looked up at the last minute, making eye contact with the girl in the wheelchair as she’d started talking. He looked at her with interest. Red hair, older than him, but probably not in her thirties yet. Noticeably in a wheelchair, but something about her had set off his Spidey-senses. At least he didn’t jump up onto the ceiling like a literal spider.

He said, “Oh no, just new to town and I’ve been hearing a lot about the rich family.”

 

“If rich is your only criteria, we actually have about seven millionaires and billionaires in Gotham. I can write you a list. Brucie, as the media calls him, is one of the prettiest but he’s really a touch too old to be your sugar daddy,” the girl said.

 

“No! I’m not looking for a uh- sugar -uh- daddy from anyone! Just trying to learn more about Gotham!” Peter said.

 

He really needed to practice his lying. 

 

The redhead laughed at him, “Barbara, nice to meet you kid.”

 

“Peter, and I really don’t think you’re that much older than me,” Peter argued.

 

“A man never asks a woman’s age, thus I could be fifty years older than you which is plenty enough to call you a kid,” she retorted.

 

“True, I guess…”

 

“But back to my original question, looking for anything specific? Maybe I can help, I am a librarian after all,” she pointed to her name tag, which did specify librarian. 

 

“Uh, maybe history books on Gotham?” he asked hesitantly. 

 

She paused, “Won’t find too many of them here. Most history in this city seems to be spread word of mouth.” 

 

Peter deflated slightly, that would’ve been too easy. 

 

“There is however, one book on the history of Batman that we have in circulation if you wanna see that one? It’s the one most people go for since he is kind of our call to fame other than bad stuff,” she offered. 

 

He perked back up, there was the name Batman again, “Yeah, that would be great.” 

 

She was gone for a while before she came back with a slim, hardcover book that looked to be in slightly rough shape, “I keep it at my own desk since it’s not in the best shape anymore.” 

 

Batman: Meta, Man, or Myth? 

By: J. Frogg

 

Gotham and Batman go hand-in-hand, or, they have for the last thirty odd years. Batman first appeared in the mid-1980s, a force to be reckoned with. Dressed in head-to-toe black in the design of a giant bat, first eye witnesses indeed thought they were being accosted by a bat. Several low level robbers turned themselves in with reports of being attacked by a giant bat. 

 

Those early visits of Batman were incredibly violent, even though he seems to have become more of a gentle soul in his old years, even expressing disapproval in the force of several of the Robins. 

 

Which leads us to the discussion of the Robins. 

 

The first Robin, for we are certain that they are a string of different sidekicks, not one and the same, was the most unhinged. It seems that Batman has developed protocol for his Robins over trial and error, though he is still working out some of the kinks. 

 

There was a lot of scribbling in the books, notes in the margins and certain things crossed out. Under the description of the first Robin, unhinged had been crossed out and replaced with passionate. Several different handwritings added their own opinions here; one saying feral, another saying dedicated. 

 

Next to the description of Batman, there was an amateur drawing of a giant bat with a frowny face. 

 

Peter grinned, flipping through it to see that the rest of the book was the same, “This is great, thanks. Seems like the people of Gotham have added in their own opinions on Batman.” 

 

“Something like that. Nice meeting you Peter Parker, I hope you come back to visit again,” she smiled, following him to the door of the library. 

 

“Do I have to do something to check this out?” he asked her. 

 

“Nah, just bring it back when you’re finished,” she grinned at him, and he smiled back shyly. 

 

Turning away, he headed towards what looked like a general store, Dollar General style. He found a backpack, which was cheap and cheaply made, as well as some additional bodycare essentials in scents he enjoyed and a variety of snacks for his increased metabolism. 

 

Then he tried to think through his web shooters. 

 

He had a half empty set as well as two backup canisters. 

 

After that, he’d have to try to figure out how to make more of the web fluid without access to a laboratory. He pursued the health aisle for a while, considering. 

 

Nail polish remover would give him a diluted form of ethyl acetate. 

 

Table salt would be an imperfect form of the potassium carbonate. 

 

He could probably grab some alcohol to use for the methanol. Again, not ideal, but workable, maybe. He’d have to increase the salt level to account for the fluidity. 

 

Salicylic acid was one of the easiest ones to buy with its ready ingredient within topical gels. At least he could explain the three non-alcohols in his room at the manor, not even needing to hide them. 

 

The carbon tetrachloride would be the hardest one to get without accessing a lab. Finally, he had to sigh and decide it was a problem for future him. Without that ingredient, he couldn’t make more web fluid, but he also couldn’t buy something like that at a Dollar General. 

 

Which meant it was time for patrol. 

 

Batfam Chat: 

Barbara: new kid is adorable

Barbara: i gave him the family book 

Dick: oh god, i sound like such a jerk in that book

Jason: excellent intro to the fam 

Steph: liked Jason's text 

Duke: he's totally younger than eighteen, though, right Babs? 

Barbara: definitely, i'm thinking fifteen or sixteen 

Tim: that's what I was thinking too. fear not, i've been working the case for twenty four hours and just meeting him helped me immensely with my data gathering 

Batdad: I will be home in six hours. I will let you know the official decision on him being Alfred's apprentice after I have met him. 

Cass: he's totally already Alfred's kid

Steph: you did already announce him as such

Batdad: Are there any objections or concerns from those of you who have already met him? 

Damian: is typing

Batdad: Besides his strong moral fiber of not wishing to kill which actually aligns with 77.778% of this family? 

Tim: Alfred would kill for us. 

Alfred: I am sorry, Master Bruce, I know your thoughts on the matter, but I would kill for the children. 

Batdad: The strong moral fiber which aligns with 66.67% of the family.  

Damian: stopped typing 

Jason: i'm the other person in the family who doesn't mind killing that's he's referring to, right? 

Cass: he's definitely not talking about me 

Jason: just checking that none of y'all have been plotting out murder without me. I am the first person you call if you have a dead body. 

Batdad: is typing 

Batdad: Actually, I feel like I support that. Please call myself or Alfred second, though. 

Dick: how to get away with murder 101 

Barbara: glad that I scrub all of these texts out of the servers 

Tim: this really isn't the most incriminating things that have been sent over text 

Steph: side-eye at Damian 

Damian: I am unafraid to admit the glories that I have unleashed on this undeserving city. 

Duke: it is so blatantly obvious that he is Bruce's biological child 

Notes:

Three chapters in three days. Please don't get used to this, there's no way this is sustainable for me. I'm just having so much fun with this story! I have so many ideas, and I want to get all of the family into the story! I need Peter to meet everyone, but those things take time.

I also really wanted to get to his first patrol in Gotham, but this chapter was already at 5,000 words. I figured I'd better get out what I have, so you guys get another chapter in basically another slice of life format! I have action planned out, but please understand this story is also supposed to be way more found family/slice of life than epic fantasy. Patrol coming soon, meeting Bruce, Jason, Dick, Steph, and Cass also coming soon, though not all in one chapter.

Please note, I did look up the official Marvel formula for the Spiderman web fluid but I actually do not have any sort of chemistry degree in those areas, and I'm completely making it up. Feel free to let me know of any inconsistencies in a comment, but please also know I won't understand the correction.

Thoughts on the Justice League at the start of the chapter and the family group chat? I had too much fun with both of those too, so they will probably be reoccurring to the story.

Chapter 4: Bruce

Summary:

First patrol, Peter meets Bruce, and creates the super suck vacuum.

Gotham spread out before Spiderman. 

 

He was in suit, mask completely obscuring his face, unlike the little domino masks he had seen drawn that the Robins tended to enjoy. 

 

Since his identity was hidden, and he was kind of trying to make a reputation for himself, he’d avoided using his web fluid. Instead, he’d simply allowed himself to stick to the building, and scaled one of the tallest buildings he’d could find like a true spider. 

 

He didn’t want to just jump into the patrol without trying to gain some basic information. 

 

Where was the police department, even if most of the police were corrupt? 

 

Where was the hospital in case someone was critically injured? 

 

He’d found those two and started trying to map out the e streets mentally, which wasn’t easy as literally nothing made sense or ran parallel, when he spotted a mugging. He stopped two such muggings before spotting a much larger issue, literally.

 

The explosion alerted him first, his Spidey-senses tingling.

 

It wasn’t any sort of monster though, but a tractor trailer with a blow out.

 

Normally that wasn’t enough to be more than an inconvenience, but the truck had been going around a sharp turn.

 

Peter watched as the truck tipped over as though in slow motion.

 

Shooting out sparks, the truck skidded on its side down the highway.

 

Directly in its path, a short school bus. 

 

“Ok, this isn’t even a full size bus, so we’ll be fine,” he mumbled to himself, swinging into action.

 

First, he shot a thick containing web in front of the truck.

 

It wasn’t enough so he shot three more in rapid succession, hoping it would stop the truck much quicker even if it didn’t bring it to a complete stop.

 

Next, he shot two thick webs onto the school bus below him. Leaning back on his heels, he pulled up, raising the school bus into the air and into his hands. 

 

Absently, he noticed people on the streets screaming, lots pointing up at him and the school bus or at the run away truck.

 

“Run sway!” He shouted at them, after all, he didn’t know how far that truck was going to skid. Some of them did run, but most of them stayed in their spots, just watching. He jumped down to the sidewalk with the bus in his hands, off to the side of where the truck was still skidding. 

 

At least it wasn’t a tanker truck or biohazard.

 

Though, it looked like it was carrying a load of wood.

 

He spotted issue number two at that realization. The truck hit the third web in the string of four and came to a grinding stop. 

 

But, without the forward motion, the logs came loose. On a logging truck, those massive logs often aren’t strapped down. 

 

Peter was already in motion; he moved the school bus to his right hand and sent out a web string with his left hand, catching the woman in the path of the first tree and tugging her to him.

 

Releasing her, he sent out webs rapid fire, sticking down the other massive logs. 

 

“Why is a logging truck going through the heart of Gotham?” he complained.

 

The woman he’d saved looked up at him, “You’d be surprised what gets sent through here. It’s a port city and a gateway to several major cities and manufacturing plants.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t know that, thanks for the info,” he said.

 

Then he noticed the screaming from the bus and frantic banging on the windows. 

 

He was still holding the school bus in his right hand, and the teenagers looked a touch scared. 

 

“Oh, sorry, I’ll set you guys down,” he called up. 

 

Adding his left hand, he walked over to the road and set the bus down between the lines. The doors opened with a puff of air. Then the screaming and crying teenagers came running out in a giant clot, pushing and shoving each other, instead of a single file line.

 

One teenager came up and screamed right in his face before turning away, running into a pole, and falling to the ground.

 

Peter winced, “Think he’s OK?”

 

The woman shrugged, “He will be eventually.”

 

“Right so, have a good day!” Peter waved.

 

“Who are you?” someone asked.

 

Peter shot a web onto the building and started to swing away, “Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!” 

 

Signal gaped at the suited man who stopped on the roof next to him.

 

“Oh hi! Didn’t see you there,” the freshly dubbed Spider-Man waved at him awkwardly.

 

“Dude, you just lifted a school bus with one hand,” Signal stated.

 

“Yeah, thank goodness it was a short bus, no jokes intended. A full size school bus is annoying, trying to balance the length with all those people, not letting anyone slide around. Bad enough with just a short bus,” Peter smiled, not necessarily visible behind the mask.

 

“How much does a school bus weigh?”

 

“Ten tons without people, mostly. It varies though.”

 

“Are you friendly?”

 

Peter considered, “Well, that depends on what your glorious purpose is. If you want to defend people and help the little guy, than yeah, I’m friendly. If you want to get rich quick or enslave the entire race, I’m not.”

 

“The first one, thank you. I’m Signal, Gotham’s daytime hero,” Signal explained.

 

“Oh, then I’m definitely friendly! Spider-Man, nice to meet you! Is that bat signal powered by nanotechnology? Could it activate that big bat symbol? Ohh you’ve used polarization to connect the two, when one lights up, it reacts to the opposite pull of the other, creating a buzzing affect,” Peter said rapid fire after only a single glance at Signal’s chest.

 

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s how it works?” Signal replied. 

 

“Super cool! I’ll be off then, but I’m around if you need me,” Peter swung away before Signal could get the words out.

 

“Wait! We aren’t supposed to patrol alone. ~sigh~ and he’s gone,” Signal sighed again and got out his phone.

 

Duke: new meta in Gotham

 

Tim: how do you know he’s a meta

 

Duke: I know I’m not the amazing detective, super genius as the rest of you, but I can tell a meta when they lift an entire school bus with one hand 

 

Duck: is he supersized? 

 

Steph: like Bane? 

 

Duke: nah, actually smaller than me

 

Cass: you might be jumping the gun, I just feel like there’s so many explanations other than a meta 

 

Duke: smartass

 

Barbara: did he give you a name? Is he friendly? 

 

Duke: yes and yes

Duke: Spider-Man

Duke: dude moved like a legit spider too 

 

Jason: freaky 

 

Steph: good or bad freaky? Jason, are you afraid of spiders? 

 

Jason: obviously good freaky. Not afraid of any fuckin spiders 

 

Damian: Shall we test that? 

 

Jason: don’t you fucking dare

 

Duke: actually, yeah, I don’t want Damian messing around with spiders in the manor 

 

Tim: seconded

 

OOO

 

Peter made it back to the manor at a respectable 4:30 and began helping Alfred with supper, trying to think through how to make web fluid now that he was down to less than two cartridges. 

 

Unbeknownst to him, there was a gathering of teenagers in the batcave below and slightly to the right of him as they awaited the return of Batman. 

 

Tim was flipping through a notebook, “I sent off everything. Oral swab, hair follicle, fingerprints, urine sample. It takes time for these things though, it’ll probably be a few weeks before I hear back.” 

 

“I don’t want to know how you got all of that,” Steph scrunched her nose up.

 

Duke tossed a piece of popcorn at her, which she caught, “definitely don’t want to know, he made me help.” 

 

Then a rumbling engine as the Batmobile parted the waterfall and entered its lair. 

 

“What are you all doing down here?” Bruce asked as he emerged from the vehicle, already pulling off his mask after a quick surveillance check of who all was in the room.

 

“Waiting for you to go meet the new kid,” Duke said.

 

“I haven’t met him yet, and I’m about to go on patrol,” Steph pouted. 

 

“Alfred is starting planning for the charity gala, just so you’re aware,” Tim said, sipping on his coffee as he added another note.

 

“Thank you for the warning. How many cups have you had today, Tim?” Bruce replied.

 

“Too many for me to answer honestly, too much against lying to give you a false answer,” Tim said.

 

Bruce sighed. 

 

OOO

 

Peter was directed to what Alfred called the study. Upon opening the door, he discovered that it appeared to be Bruce Wayne’s office.

 

The man in question was sitting behind a large dark wood desk (Peter would guess mahogany). Wayne seemed to match his desk, large and imposing, reeking of old money. His features seemed to be chiseled just right for the proportions. His hair was black, and his eyes appeared to be black at first glance, but Peter’s enhanced vision spoke to their dark blue color. 

 

“Hello, Peter Parker, Alfred has told me about you. I am Bruce Wayne, please sit,” Mr Wayne told him.

 

“Oh thank you sir, I mean, I will sit down, I mean, do you thank someone for letting you sit down?” Peter rambled. 

 

“You may if you wish, but it isn’t needed,” Mr Wayne replied. 

 

Peter sat down.

 

He’d thought he was prepared for this meeting after working for Mr Stark. Now, he realized his mistake; mr Stark and Mr Wayne were only similar in that they each had a frankly astounding amount of money.

 

Mr Stark was old money in that he was trying to avoid looking like old money, with his ratty tshirts and blue jeans, causal rock music playing, edgy beard.

 

Mr Wayne was old money, and appeared to be quite alright with looking like it, with his classic tailored suit and classic haircut. He also appeared quieter and less flirty than his newspaper articles had made him sound, in the newspaper he seemed like more than a playboy, and willing to try to flirt with anyone and anything. 

 

Which did make Peter relax on that area.

 

He hadn’t really made a plan for if the man appearing to be in his forties had flirted with him. So it was good the man was all business.

 

“Alright, let’s go through the question set. First, why did you decide to apply to this position?”

 

Peter blinked at Mr Wayne, “Uhm, I don’t think I officially applied to a position. I didn’t really know there was a position. But I was really hungry and I thought you guys might have some extra food. Didn’t want to beg for food so I offered to do manual labor in exchange for food. I don’t know why you’re paying me let alone as much as you’re paying me.”

 

Mr Wayne paused, “How much am I paying you?”

 

Peter squinted, “Is this a test? You’re paying me $500 a day…”

 

“Good, good, does that feel like an appropriate amount?”

 

“Too much really, especially with you feeding me and letting me stay in the servants corridor,” Peter said.

 

“Moving on, question two, how did you hear about this position?”

 

“Desperation,” Peter deadpanned.

 

Mr Wayne wrote something down on the paper in front of him, “What are your strengths and weaknesses?”

 

“In the context of this job or in general?” Peter clarified? 

 

Mr Wayne looked up, cocking one eyebrow, “Just the job for now please.”

 

“Ok, strengths: I’m pretty strong which is good for a manual position. I’ll also eat about anything so that’s good for working as a cook. Nothing makes me throw up to cook, like mushrooms or oysters. Weaknesses: I’m not really as dignified as Mr Alfred, so I might be an embarrassment as a servant,” Peter mused.

 

“How strong would say you are?”

 

“I mean, pretty strong,” Peter tries to think of a normal human strength, “I could lift like 300lbs.”

 

Mr Wayne pauses, “Deadlift or chest press?” 

 

Peter, who’s never been to a gym for actual workouts besides for messing around, sweats, “Uh, both?” 

 

Mr Wayne makes another note and it is quiet for a few minutes. Then he asks, “So we are on the same page, how do you feel about murder?” 

 

Peter paused, blinking, “I’ve been getting that question a lot around here. Is that the family’s secret? Oh my god, are you all mob bosses? Is that why you’re dressed like that?”

 

“Dressed like what?” Mr Wayne looked a touch insulted and Peter tried to backtrack.

 

“No, no, no, it looks very nice, just also super expensive and like this is your home right, so shouldn’t you feel like you can be more casual here? Plus it’s like a classic style suit and I always see the mob bosses wearing stuff like that in the movies.” 

 

Mr Wayne looks unimpressed with this answer, tugging at his suit. 

 

“Back to your original question, we do not tolerate killing around here, which is why I am asking,” Mr Wayne looked squarely at Peter, “That is one of my strictest rules. Even for the most depraved individuals, I do not believe in capital punishments.” 

 

Peter smiled, “No worries! I don’t believe in murder either. Uhm, is it going to be a possibility in this line of work though? Because I don’t normally really have the opportunity to kill someone enough that it’s a frequent job question.” 

 

“You never know what will come up,” Mr Wayne said, shuffling to a different paper on his desk.

 

The office was quiet.

 

He used a fountain pen to mark on a paper.

 

“So, uhm, did I get the job?” Peter asked after several minutes. 

 

“Yes, wasn’t that obvious?” Mr Wayne looked at Peter, a furrow between his eyebrows. 

 

Peter was screaming on the inside, “Yes, totally, thank you sir.”

 

Damian chose that moment to walk past the French doors of the study carrying a large bucket that had something red dripping down the sides of it. Bruce and Peter both watched him silently 

 

Duke ran after him, looking a touch exasperated, “Damian, put that down!”

 

“Was that blood?” Peter asked.

 

Bruce wrote something, attention already back on his paperwork, “Possibly, Damian tends to have more violent tendencies than some in the family, second only to Jason.”

 

“Have you…have you maybe told them about the no murder family rule?” Peter asked.

 

“Of course, it is a standard initiation ritual for anyone wishing to work with me,” Mr Wayne looked at him again, with that politely bewildered face, as though he isn’t sure why Peter is asking this question. 

 

“But Damian and Jason are your sons, not your employees. Maybe you forgot to tell them?” Peter offered.

 

Silence again.

 

“You are dismissed, Mr Parker,” Mr Wayne said.

 

Peter made it out of the study, and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, “I have got to learn how to complete a job interview.”

 

“You are a teenager, Mr Parker, such skills come with time,” Alfred voice said over his shoulder. 

 

Peter looked over, “I guess I got the job.”

 

Duke’s voice sounded then, “Please, Bruce is just a formality. Once Alfred said he was hiring you, it was done.”

 

“Hardly, Master Duke, though I appreciate your high regards for me,” Alfred said, “Come Mr Parker, now that things are a bit more official, I wish to discuss the upcoming gala with you.”

 

OOO

 

Batdad: For the official record, I do not approve of murder under any circumstances.

 

Dick: B, we’ve been over this…a lot.

 

Jason: feeling pretty pointed again

 

Damian: I believe this time is directed at me, not you

Damian: it actually wasn’t blood, it was red paint 

 

Batdad: I was counseled that I perhaps had not made my opinions known, so I wanted a digital record that I had.

 

Barbara: Damian, what were you planning with red paint

 

Damian: I don’t have to answer that 

 

Tim: he’s planning a prank for the new guy 

 

Damian: goddamnit Tim 

 

Tim: I know everything that happens in this manor

 

Jason: that’s just asking to get pranked

 

Duke: that was the vibe I gathered as well 

 

Alfred: Master Damian, why does Peter believe you are summoning demons? 

 

Tim: ohhh, before we prank him more, I need him to complete an activity to gather more understanding of his engineering intelligence. Alfred I’m on my way to explain your role. 

 

Peter stared at Damian’s room spread out before him. He’s just wanted to check in on the boy before supper. 

 

He was supposed to be moving onto the other family member's bedrooms that he’d met, but he was pretty positive he’d need to revisit Damian’s room first.

 

There was a pentagon drawn in what appeared to be red blood with a stuffed teddy bear in the middle cut down the center, stuffing insides spread almost artistically around it with the knife still in it. It was a beautiful knife with a white bone handle with flowers engraved. 

 

“He’s summoning demons,” Peter muttered to himself. 

 

Mr Wayne had thought his youngest probably had blood in the bucket.

 

“Mr Parker, I have a task for you. I believe this vacuum is broken, and you had previously said you had completed some engineering work,” Alfred said, appearing completely unphased by the state of Damian’s room, “Would you be willing to take a look at it and see if you can fix it? You don’t have to since it is your day off.”

 

“No, that sounds great! We’ll just leave Damian to his activities,” Peter agreed quickly, taking the vacuum and following Alfred back to the kitchen.

 

He stayed seated there while Alfred served the family their supper, Alfred having handed him a toolkit as well. Alfred had told him not to worry after helping him cook and the interview with Master Wayne. 

 

Supper had finished and Alfred was washing up the dishes when Peter snapped the final cover back on the vacuum and stood up with a smile.

 

“I think I got it, Mr Alfred!” 

 

“Excellent Mr Peter,” Alfred said, offering a small smile.

 

“Let’s see in the carpet, I added a new setting too. I think I’m gonna call it super suck! I think it’ll be great for high pile carpet, to really get the dirt,” Peter flipping the on switch.

 

It started up.

 

“Wonderful, Mr Peter!” Alfred said.

 

“Ok, so that’s low, then this is it’s original high. Now for super suck mode,” Peter said with a flourish of his arm.

 

Then stood back and stared with Alfred as the vacuum sucked up a long strip of carpet as wide as the vacuum, a loud ripping sounding even over the noise of the vacuum, ripping clear down the hallway.

 

Alfred reached over and shut off the vacuum.

 

There was quiet for a moment.

 

Peter’s shoulders hitched up towards his ears, a flush coming up from his neck.

 

“Come along, Mr Peter, I will show you the carpet binder and how to order a replacement piece. I suspect it would be simpler to just order a replacement piece for Master Damian’s room as well, rather than trying to get the red paint out,” Alfred turned around.

 

Peter gaped at the damage again before turning as well, “Wait, it was paint?!”  

Notes:

Again, not a scientist, so I tried to make up something for Peter to geek out over on Signal’s costume like he did in Captain America Civil War.

I did google some stuff in this chapter. According to Marvel canon, Spidey can lift ten tons. That is the average weight of a full size school bus. The short bus in this chapter is not a reference to any sort of inappropriate joke about mental capacities and was simply so I could put people on it and still be within Pete’s weight limit. The teenager running out of it and hitting a pole is also not a mental capacity joke but simply a reference to the different ways people handled trauma. Just wanted to clarify that.

Bruce to his kids: how do I interview someone for for a job?
Tim: here’s a list of the first three questions Google recommends
Bruce: solid
Also Bruce: Alfred, I’m worried $500/day isn’t enough. What’s the cost of living currently?
Also Bruce: just so everyone knows, this kid knows nothing about the regular human body and has clearly never been to a gym before. Everyone chip in to plan out his next workouts.

Chapter 5: Dick

Summary:

Peter meets Dick and accidentally pranks him. Descriptions of three of the Batfam's bedrooms if you are interested in my characterizations of each of them.

Notes:

AO3 lives again! The site was down for most of the day! In celebration of it being online again, here's another chapter :)

Tim’s room is drenched in books. There’s no dresser, but almost every wall is covered in floor to ceiling bookcases, like a mini library. Peter pursues the titles as he takes a Swiffer duster to the shelves, though there’s surprisingly little dust on the shelves. These books aren’t trophies; they’re actively read, based upon the cracking on the spines, frequently. 

 

Peter wonders when the other teenager has the time to read with as much as he does. 

 

“Suppose that helps fill the spaces where Alfred says he doesn’t sleep, insomniac,” Peter shakes his head. 

 

Most of the shelves are filled with mystery novels. There’s a good deal more than Damian’s room, but Peter finds another complete set of Sherlock Holmes and shakes his head again. 

 

Another shelf is filled with more analytical style books. Textbooks on psychology, sociology and profiling. There are biographies and autobiographies. Peter doesn’t recognize most of the names, but there’s a section on one shelf that he knows every name. It’s a whole shelf of biographies of serial killers. 

 

“No wonder he doesn’t sleep,” Peter mutters to himself, turning to the queen size bed and, above it, arguably the most interesting part of the room. 

 

Over the queen size bed and spilling onto the wall next to it are hundreds of pictures. 

 

He steps closer, dropping his guise of dusting to just stare at the photos. 

 

Peter liked photography, though he didn’t have much time for it, but he can tell that Tim has put time into this hobby. 

There are some recurring characters in the photos, and he wonders which of them are the Wayne family members he hasn’t met yet. A tall blonde woman, a short asian woman, a tall man that looks a lot like Bruce and Tim, another tall man who has brown hair instead of black and a streak of white right in the center. He suspects that they’re all part of the family that he hasn’t met yet, because, besides for them, there are no recurring people. Plenty of the photos are actually of objects or places. 

 

Beneath the photos, Peter takes in the perfectly made bed. Pulling back the sheets, there are no signs that anyone has slept a single time in the bed since it was made. 

 

Peter sighs, but, just like the guest rooms, strips the linens. 

 

Inside the overflowing laundry basket, plenty of the laundry has bloodstains.

Scattered throughout the room, Peter finds copious amounts of weapons, though no knives like Damian. Tons of batons and martial arts style weapons. 

 

The bathroom is in slightly worse condition, though not horribly. There are more splatters of blood in varying stages of drying as though Tim also gets injured frequently and just deals with it on his own. 

 

There’s some toothpaste in the sink and the mirror has some dried water splashes on it. 

 

There’s not as much mud and mold as Damian’s room, and Peter strongly suspects that Tim doesn’t mind Alfred coming in to clean his room. 

 

Going to the bell system, and built-in house intercom, he calls down to Alfred, “Hey, Mr Alfred?” 

 

“Yes, Mister Parker?” 

 

“Remember how you said about moving the furniture to clean under it? Did you mean to move Tim’s bookshelves too?” 

 

There is a pause as though Alfred is considering. Peter eyes the bookshelves with trepidation. That would officially turn his Monday cleaning into a multi day cleaning, and he’d have to come up with a way to mark where each book went back. People with that many books had an organization system, and he didn’t want to get on Tim’s bad side by messing it up. 

 

“Better not. We’ll add that to a once a year deep cleaning with Master Tim present. He will want to assist with moving the books. Do use the hose on the hoover to get as close to each bookshelf as possible,” Alfred finally told him. 

 

Peter breathed out a sigh of relief. 

 

At least he felt well rested after a peaceful patrol during the day on Sunday. He supposed maybe even the villains had some morals and had decided to take a day off. 

 

It still takes him the better part of Monday to clean the room, even with his tricks of lifting the entire bed for vacuuming. 

 

Tuesday was spent in Duke's room, and Duke and Tim actually sit on the bed before school to talk to him as he started. Duke's room has more knick nacks than Tim or Damian's. On the flip side, for having more items, it's much neater, with no clothes spread across the floors or furniture. There are a lot of pictures on the dresser and desk of Duke with an older African American couple who look a lot like him. The three are smiling in every picture. There are also pictures of Tim, Mr Wayne, Mr Alfred, and the same group of people from Tim's pictures. There's even a picture of Damian getting a nuggie from Duke. Even through the picture, Peter can tell that Damian is threatening Duke's life. 

 

He holds off on his lifting the bed trick, even if it could lift the bed with both boys on it. 

 

“Where’d you go to school?” 

 

“Midtown High School,” Peter answers Duke as he dusts the top of the dresser, “Where do you guys go to school? Who still goes to school?” 

 

“Gotham City High School for me, Duke, and Steph. That’s where Dick graduated from, top of his class of course,” Tim rolls his eyes. 

 

“And captain of his sport’s teams,” Duke shared a disgusted look with Tim, and Peter frowned again. 

 

“Is he just good at everything?” 

 

“Pretty much. You’ll understand when you meet him. Everyone likes Dick,” Tim says, “back to the original question, we’re the only three still in high school. Damian goes to Gotham City Middle School, and I’m sure he’ll go to the high school when he’s old enough. I did attend a boarding school before, but I never want to go back there.” 

 

“Only you?” Peter asked. 

 

“Nah, all the Drakes used to go there and graduate from there,” Tim said, writing in his blue notebook again. 

 

“How’d you create super suck mode on that vacuum?” Duke asked, tossing a ball up and catching it absently. Peter noted that he was trying to direct Peter away from Tim’s personal history, and cringed a touch. He hadn’t meant to ask anything too personal. 

 

“Just by limiting the air flow through the main cabin. I also had to increase the power, so I took about the engine and changed that. Kind of like converting a truck’s motor from a V6 to a V8,” Peter tried to explain. 

 

The two teenagers gave him impressed looks, and he ducked down, getting out a wet cloth to wipe the stupidly tall baseboards that gathered dust like crazy and Alfred had been very thorough in explaining how to clean properly. 

 

Duke breaks the easy silence, “So could you hot-wire a vehicle?” 

 

He’s laughing as Tim smacks him, and Peter grins, “Yeah, I probably could. I’ve never tried, but I understand the general mechanics behind the concept. Is that part of the family mob secret that I totally don’t know about?” 

 

The two stare at him. 

 

Tim speaks first, “The family mob what?” 

 

“Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to know or talk about it. Is it like fight club?” 

 

“We aren’t a mob,” Duke said. 

 

“I’m pretty positive you guys are running a gang,” Peter says. 

 

“On what basis?” Tim asks. 

 

“First of all, just the way Mr Wayne dresses. The expensive suits everyday gig,” Peter holds up a one. 

 

Duke scoffs, “That’s just B, he is truly old money.” 

 

“Then there’s all the martial arts training, the weapons everywhere, the blood in everyone’s bathrooms,” Peter waves his arm at the blood splattered across Duke’s bathroom to emphasize his point. “We thought Damian had a bucket of blood on Saturday, and Mr Wayne wasn’t even surprised or concerned. Where would he have access to that much blood and why wasn’t Mr Wayne worried about it?” 

 

Duke started to say something but Peter held up a hand, “There’s the constant reminders that murder is not allowed, plus the ridiculous pay with the caveat that I have to use discretion with the family secrets. Like literally the fact that part of the job was agreeing to keep the family secrets.” 

 

Tim rubbed at his hair, “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of that which doesn’t involve a gang. We’re not in a gang.”

 

Duke picked up his alarm clock and shoved it towards Tim, “Oh would you look at that, it’s time for school! Come on Tim. Peter, have a good day!” 

 

And they were gone. 

 

Peter laughed quietly, “I have accidentally joined a gang. Or not joined, because I didn’t go through an initiation ritual. I have accidentally started cleaning for a gang. ‘Least the pay is good.” 

Batchat

 

Tim: peter thinks the batfam is a gang 

 

Steph:…I mean, he’s not exactly wrong… 

 

Duke: he mentioned the weapons and the blood and it looks bad guys 

 

Tim: like really bad 

 

Batdad: He mentioned something about a mob during his job interview, but his only piece of evidence was my suit. 

 

Barbara: don’t you think you should’ve mentioned this immediately after the interview? 

 

Batdad: …I was insulted and trying to figure out what was wrong with my suit. 

 

Dick: Did B just mention an emotion? 

 

Jason: Pretty positive he’s always known the emotion of insult. Closer to the truth, he was embarrassed. 

 

Batdad: I don’t understand what is wrong with my suit. I use the same tailor family that the Waynes have always used. 

 

Steph: nothings wrong with the suit

 

Cass: it looks lovely 

 

Dick: you look great dad 

 

Damian: You look like a crime lord wearing a suit around a fancy manor, Father. It doesn’t help that you are frequently covered in either blood or bruises. Or both. And you are a giant. 

 

Tim, Duke, Dick, Steph, Cass: Damian! 

 

Damian: Someone has to be willing to tell him. 

 

Cass: It seemed like Peter was willing to tell him…

 

Tim: we need to focus on our cover story for Peter

 

Alfred: I have already informed him that martial arts are a family specialty. I would recommend reinforcing the same point. No need to add lies to the subterfuge. 

 

Duke: alright, we’ll try that I guess 

 

Barbara: Back to the reason for this group chat, there were sightings of Bane recently. 

 

Dick: We’re already dealing with Killer Croc! 

 

Barbara: Extra bad news, Joker has made like a jail bird again. 

 

Jason: if he gets anywhere near this family, I’m killing him finally

Jason: he’s evaded me long enough 

 

Batdad: Jason no 

 

Jason: Jason yes 

 

Barbara: To focus on the true reason we have this chat, we’re going to be stretched thin for a while. We should really be sending out two groups every night to cover both sides of the city, and we all know the rule is no one patrols alone. 

 

Cass: I guess that means I’m going to be waiting longer to meet new kid. 

 

Dick, Jason, Steph: same :( 

 

OOO

 

“I’m home!” the voice is deep and unfamiliar.  

 

Peter pauses in cleaning the landing at the top of the ornate staircase to peek between the banisters at the man standing at the entryway. It's the end of the week, and Alfred has him cleaning the main living spaces in preparation of the upcoming gala. Not to mention his other tasks beyond cleaning. There’s supplies and live flowers to order, catering to work out, alcohol to send to Mr Wayne to choose and more to order, cups for the alcohol. 

 

Alfred quickly walks up to the new man, but Peter doesn’t need to hear him say the man’s name to know who it is.

 

For being adopted, Dick Grayson looks more like Bruce Wayne than Damian, with the same black hair and blue eyes. In Damian’s defense, his mother’s middle eastern genes were clearly the dominant ones.

 

“Welcome back, Master Dick,” Alfred greets the man.

 

“Well, I heard of the gala coming up quickly. I assume I will be expected to make an appearance and figured I’d stop by,” Dick sounded a touch aggravated. 

 

Peter frowned at the man, not willing to admit that he may have formed a negative bias against the man simply because of everything his siblings had said about him.

 

Not that they’d said anything bad. 

 

In fact, it was Peter’s issue. 

 

One man was not allowed to be perfect, and Peter wasn’t afraid to be the one to put him in his place.

 

Dick spotted Peter at the top of the steps, and smiles. He takes off running, launches off the banister, grabs the low hanging chandelier, does a spin and lands on his toes right in front of Peter. 

 

“Hello! I’m Dick,” he says, hand outstretched. 

 

Peter frowns, annoyed that he had to play human. He could absolutely do the same thing if he wasn’t trying to hide that he was practically a spider. 

 

“I’m Peter,” he finally says, shaking Dick’s hand after a touch too long of a pause. 

 

The slightest furrow appears between Dick’s eyes, before he’s smiling again. 

 

“Alfie said you were going through and doing a deep cleaning of everyone’s bedrooms. Follow me, I’ll show you mine,” he says, turning before Peter’s even made up his mind if he wants to do that now. 

 

The frown deepens on Peter’s face. 

 

Sure, he was just a servant for the Wayne’s but at least the others had gotten to know him at least a tiny bit before just having him clean after them.

 

Still, he followed the much taller man to his bedroom. 

 

He glared lightly at the man’s back. 

 

Peter was in no way short, especially staying in a house with someone like Damian. He was almost average height for an American male, five foot ten inches. 

 

Damian was outright short. Tim was about the same height as Peter. Alfred was about the same height as well. Duke was taller by a few inches. Mr Wayne outright towered over Peter by at least six inches, and it seemed that his oldest adopted son took after him. 

 

Another strike against Dick as far as Peter was concerned. 

 

No human had a need to be that tall. 

 

“Here it is,” Dick spread out his arm. 

 

Peter paused in his glaring to take in the room. 

 

It was different from the three rooms he’d cleaned so far, more lived in which was ironic since Damian and Duke lived in the manor more than the other siblings. 

 

He’d been told, beyond Tim just not sleeping, that he also had to go back down the street to his own manor a few times a week to keep in touch with his parents, when they were in the country. 

 

On the other hand, he’d been told that Dick had his own apartment in a town called Bludhaven, where he had started as a police officer and now worked as a detective. 

 

The only other Wayne child who had their own place was Jason, at least, according to what Peter had gathered so far. 

 

Dick’s room was more heavily decorated, which did make sense considering he’d lived there the longest. 

 

Red and white fabric draped from the ceiling and a starry blue comforter on the queen size bed. Not the cheap circus themes, of course, but a proper rich kid room. The bed frame itself seemed to be made from pieces of a carousel, carved horses prancing on the headboard and footboard.

 

“It looks like a circus,” Peter said softly. 

 

“Well, yeah, that’s my whole thing,” Dick laughed softly, then paused when Peter just looked confused, “You don’t know?” 

 

“Know what?” Peter asked, grabbing his duster and starting his first swipe on the carved horse bed frame.

 

“Don’t you know how each of us came to be at the Manor? Our backstories and what not?” 

 

Peter frowned a touch, “Why would I know that? Not everyone is sitting around following the gossip magazines about your family.” 

 

Dick flinched back slightly, “Right, I didn’t mean that you’d been listening to gossip. It’s pretty well known. Anyway, I just meant that I grew up in a circus before Bruce adopted me.”

 

“He stole you from a circus?!” Peter stopped his dusting to gape at Dick, feeling a touch sorry for him, “What, he found a kid that looked the most like him and just took you? Or I mean, the rich person equivalent of offering your parents a ton of money for you?” 

 

“No! Bruce saved me! My parents were murdered, and he brought me here,” Dick sounded offended on Bruce’s behalf. 

 

Peter frowned, thinking about it. Dick seemed to be waiting for a response. 

 

“I’m sorry that happened,” he finally offered, “My parents died when I was young too.” 

 

“Seems like a common theme among the manor,” Dick said softly, having drifted over to his dresser and picking up a locket sitting on it. He didn’t open it, but Peter had a feeling he knew what was in it. The man looked entirely too much like a kicked puppy. 

 

“Anyway, enough about tragic backstories. I’ll leave you to your cleaning,” Dick ducked out the door then, and Peter felt a touch guilty, as though he had perhaps been a bit too harsh on the man. 

 

That guilt intensified a few hours later when Dick skidded into the main living area with just a towel wrapped around his waist. 

 

He stopped directly in front of Peter, who swallowed and blushed, Dick’s eyes frantic as he spread his black locks out like a fan, “Peter! What did you do!?” 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Peter said hesitantly as he noticed Dick’s hair wasn’t as black as it was a few hours ago. 

 

Before his eyes, he watched as Dick’s hair continued to lighten in horrible splotches to a general orange color.

 

“Did you move stuff in the bathroom? Leave a different chemical?” Dick demanded, tugging on the no longer black hair, “I was washing my hair like normal when I felt it start to burn! It's ruined!” 

 

Peter felt a sinking in his stomach, standing up, he ran over to his cleaning cart. He opened a shampoo bottle and took a strong sniff, flinching when he smelt pinewood and orange instead of bleach. 

 

He looked up at Dick having a meltdown in front of him and assorted Waynes gathered. Tim and Duke were laughing behind their hands while Damian looked gleeful. Forget trying to put Dick in his place, Peter wished he had never he even thought such a thing. 

 

“I used an empty shampoo bottle for the grout bleach. It helps me to apply it more precisely. I guess I accidentally took your shampoo and left the bleach behind,” Peter hunched up on himself, prepared for Dick to hit him or something equally dramatic as his yelling. 

 

“Dick is very vain about his appearance,” Damian called across the room. 

 

“You did this on purpose!” Dick accused, “What, did my brothers put you up to this?” 

 

“No! I wouldn’t do this on purpose even if I do think you’re full of yourself,” Peter slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, prepared again for a punch, flinching away. Most of the guys at his high school would’ve swung first and asked questions second if a prank like this had happened at school, even if it wasn’t a prank. 

 

He didn’t get punched though, and Dick actually stepped away from him, draping his large body over a chair dramatically. 

 

“Mr Dick? Uhm, I’m sure we can fix it. At least, I think Mr Alfred can fix about anything,” Peter said hesitantly. 

 

“It’s too late. If I’m going to be ugly, I’m never leaving the house again. I’ll just sit here until I turn to slime,” Dick moaned, one arm slung across his eyes. 

 

“Oh no, he’s gonna slime!” Duke called, ducking behind the couch. 

 

“What does that mean?” Peter demanded as the siblings each took a defensive position behind furniture. 

 

“Slime bomb! He’s gonna throw a slime bomb!” Tim yelled. 

 

Peter had a second to absorb that phrase, duck behind the couch with Duke before he heard the pop. 

 

Followed by a squelch. 

 

After a few seconds of silence, Peter peaked behind the couch, wide brown eyes taking in the mess. 

 

Dick was still hanging off both ends of the chair with just the little white towel wrapped around his waist, though all of him was now covered in a thin layer of green goop. 

 

“What is a slime bomb?” he asked. 

 

“Like a smoke bomb, but filled with a bubble of slime. Good for pranks and stuff, just like the smoke bombs,” Tim explained. 

 

Duke clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry man, that’s gonna take ages to clean up.” 

 

“Me? I have to clean it up?” Peter’s brown eyes narrowed. 

 

“Yeah, since you did kind of mess up his hair, I think it's fair you clean it. He’ll be like that for ages, at least until Alfred gets home from grocery shopping and finds a hairstylist that will come to the house and fix his hair,” Duke says. 

 

“Or buys him a wig,” Damian suggested, snapping pictures on his smartphone. 

 

“The family tends to be a bit dramatic about their hair,” Duke said, “Even Tim.” 

 

Tim shrugged apologetically when Peter turned disbelieving eyes on him. 

 

“It was an accident…” Peter trailed off, “Am I gonna be fired over it?” 

 

“No way man! Like you said, it was an accident,” Duke said, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. 

 

“Sides, you should see some of the crap we’ve done on purpose during prank wars,” Tim agreed. 

 

Then Tim, Duke, and Damian were gone, leaving Peter alone with the slimed man. 

 

He tried once, “You are really going to do this? You can’t just walk to the bathroom?” 

 

No response. 

 

Peter sighed, “Fine. For the record, I felt sorry for you over your hair, but now I’m starting to think it's karma giving you what you deserve.” 

 

Rolling up his sleeves, Peter grabbed the chair under Dick’s bottom and lifted it into the air. A stream of slime connected the chair to the ground even as he lifted. He grunted once, adjusting his hold on the chair a touch. Dick was completely unresponsive. 

 

He was halfway to the downstairs full bath when he heard a squelch behind him. 

 

Peter looked over his shoulder to see the slimed white towel laying on the ground. 

 

That meant…

 

Cheeks burning, he kept his eyes straight ahead and over Dick’s head the entire way to the bathroom where he dropped the chair to the floor. 

 

Peter ran a bubble bath of Dawn soap, cleaning wild birds and dramatic rich birds. 

 

“I’m just gonna close my eyes, and drop you in the tub. Please do not drown. I refuse to help; even this pay isn’t good enough for all that,” Peter said, closing his eyes tightly, picking Dick back up, chair still included, and dropping the entire slime mess into the tub with a splash. 

 

OOO

Duke, Tim, and Damian stared at the cameras as Peter carried their oldest brother to the bathroom, each of them having put in a comm as they tried to get ahold of Alfred. 

 

“Is he carrying Dick with no issues?” Duke asked. 

 

“Not even a sign of a struggle,” Tim muttered, writing furiously in the notebook. 

 

“But Dick is one of the largest of us. He’s gotta be like 200 pounds…” Duke trailed off. 

 

“Six feet 2 inches, 198.7 pounds at his last checkup,” Tim filled in. 

 

“And Peter’s like your size,” Duke said. Tim shot him an irritated look but didn’t comment. It was a valid statement. 

 

“So he just casually carried more than his own bodyweight through the house with Dick being a complete deadweight,” Duke clarified. 

 

“Keep up, Duke, we’ve already known Peter was meta,” Damian snarled. 

 

The comms were open for the entire discussion.

 

“I will call the family hairstylist and see if she can come out tonight to fix Master Dick’s hair, for the right price, which will be coming out of his allowance,” Alfred said. 

 

"He's twenty-five with a good paying job. Why does he still get an allowance?" Steph asked. 

 

"You're eighteen with an allowance, want B to cut you off?" Tim asked, Steph scoffed once but didn't argue. 

 

“So we have a new meta in town with super strength, and at the same time a new meta starts working with us with enhanced strength,” Bruce murmurs across the line, all of his children straightening up sharply at the thought. 

 

“You think Peter might be Spiderman?” Duke asked. 

 

“Anything is possible. It is a strange coincidence. Tim, what have you found so far?” 

 

Tim glared at the world, though only Duke and Damian could see. A cruel smirk spread across Damian’s face. 

 

“He is wearing the face of failure,” Damian crowed into the comms. 

 

“It’s not failure! I have some information. He’s five feet ten inches, actually shorter than me by one inch, Duke. He weighs 141.3 pounds. His engineering skills are top level, right up there with B. I feel like he could be a major asset in developing new Batgear if we get to the point where we trust him. I have Peter's fingerprints and a record of his teeth. So far, every search I’ve sent out has come back negative. No dental records or fingerprint records which can be explained away. He’s clearly a teenager and probably hasn’t gone through a background check or done anything criminal. Apparently he’s never been to a dentist, or he’s been to one who keeps his files off the internet. No hits on his name. No history of a Peter Parker living in New York City, specifically Queens. No birth records that would match across the country from a five year period before eighteen years old and five years after eighteen. I’m still waiting on the DNA results,” Tim growled, though his eyes danced lightly at the challenge. 

 

“For now, let us keep observing the situation. He certainly doesn’t seem malicious,” Bruce commented. 

 

“A bit of a clumsy mess,” Steph added. 

 

“I can’t believe he accidentally pranked Dick,” there was laughter in Jason’s voice that made Bruce smile slightly, a rare sound these days, “You guys better have gotten all the pictures.” 

 

“We got you covered there,” Duke said, and he, Tim, and Duke share smirks with each other. 

Notes:

And here we see how Howl's Moving Castle has influenced by story! There's a few other things from Howl's that I'd like to bring in as well, but that was definitely the big scene.

How does everyone feel about this length for chapters? Apparently this is sustainable for me to post a new chapter every day or two. (no promises) I originally wanted to add Peter's evening patrol to this chapter as well, but then I wanted to get the new chapter out to you more.

As for Bruce already hypothesizing about Peter being Spiderman, in my mind, if Tony Stark (who is highly intelligent but Batman is supposed to be the greatest detective alive) could figure out that Peter is Spiderman, it wouldn't take Batman and his merry band of Robins very long to figure it out. They don't know for sure he's Spiderman, but they're starting to have their suspicions. After all, Peter is canonically bad at keeping the fact he's Spiderman a secret. Does he have any clue the Waynes are the Batfam? Sadly none. As tagged, Peter is a touch oblivious here. He is a genius, but maybe not a genius detective.

Next time on Butler Spider: Peter goes out on patrol to burn off some nervous energy and meets his first rogue!

Chapter 6: Jason

Summary:

Peter goes on patrol and meets the Red Hood

Peter went on patrol to clear his head. 

 

It worked in the sense that his head was quickly filled with so much pain that he couldn’t think about his job issues.

 

 The patrol started normally enough, Peter perched himself on the edge of a roof, his classic squatting position with one hand down on the ledge as well.

 

“Stupid, Parker, imagine losing a job like that over mixing up bleach and shampoo,” he muttered to himself, still annoyed at the mistake.

 

Subconsciously, he understood what Duke and Tim had said about them purposely pulling pranks.

 

Realistically though, he’d accidentally bleached the hair of the oldest son, the heir to the man who was apparently the richest man in Gotham. Then he’d cost them money when a stylist had to make a home visit to the manor, and she’d even said that the color might be fixed, but the bleach had damaged the hair. It would be brittle and a touch frizzy until that length had grown out.

 

“At least your hair is short and that section should grow out in about five and a half months,” Tim had offered.

 

“Imagine if I still had my long hair, that would’ve been a nightmare,” Dick was smiling and he even laughed at the jibes of his brothers, but Peter hung back.

 

He’d stayed back from the dramatic oldest, unsure if he was going to be yelled at (still also considering if he was going to be hit). 

 

Peter was snapped back to the present at the sight of a well muscled man walking down the street in a black mask with tubes leading to a pack on his back and smaller tubes to his wrists, throwing cars on either side of him.

 

“What is that?” Peter crept closer, sticking tight to the building. 

 

“ Batman !” The man called out, “ Come fight me! ” 

 

For now, it was late at night and there were few people on the streets. Breathing man hadn’t hurt anyone within Peter’s eyesight.

 

He figured his best bet was to watch for now. 

 

Glancing side to side, Peter wondered if the infamous Gotham City bats would make an appearance. Other than Signal, he hadn’t met any of them on patrol yet.

 

Peter’s eyesight spotted a group of three men walking down the street a ways away. They looked young, maybe a few years older than him, with a stumble to their steps to suggest they’d been out drinking. The superhuman didn’t seem to have noticed them yet. 

 

“Guess that’s my sign to intervene,” Peter smiled sardonically behind his mask and flung a web to drop into the street.

 

“Who are you?” 

 

“Spider-Man.”

 

“I have no fight with you; I am here to kill Batman.”

 

“Yeah, but that just seems like a problem. See, I don’t believe in killing, especially a man who is lauded as a hero to the community,” Peter shot an web and swung up out of the reach of the man.

 

“Batman is a stain on society, a demon let loose on the people. He hates metas like you and I, so what affiliation do you have with him?”

 

“None really,” Peter swung down again, going for a kick that didn’t seem to bother the man much, “It’s just the principle of the matter. I don’t have to know Batman to say you shouldn’t kill him.”

 

Peter decided it was about time to end this, if possible. He’d determined that the guy did have bad intentions, though the flinging of cars and lack of care to property damage was a bit of a giveaway. He sprayed a thick web over the man’s feet, sticking him to the ground. 

 

His feet were thoroughly stuck, which is where Peter made his first mistake. He’d assumed the villain was out of reach now that he was stuck.

 

He hadn’t been expecting the man to grab a light pole clear out of the ground and swing it like a bat. 

 

His spidey-senses were going crazy. He was already moving, spraying another thick web to cover the man’s entire body in a caccoon and trying to flip out of the way, but the light pole was too long. 

 

“Oof,” Peter gasped as the pole connected with his ribs, feet going up in the air as he landed on his back hard.

 

Ignoring the blunt force trauma, he took in the man bundled up in his spider web, neck down.

 

Narrowing his eyes, Peter looked closer. The tubing from the man’s back and wrists seemed to be pulsating slightly. 

 

Almost as if the man was pumping something into his body.

 

Each muscle bulged and twitched, black streaks running through them as if the man were pumping ink through himself.

 

As the muscles bulged, the man ripped through Peter’s spider webs, releasing himself from the cocoon.

 

“Ohh this is bad,” Peter said, shooting a web and jumping up out of reach. 

 

Not to mention the ding to let him know he was low on web fluid. 

 

With a thwump, a black device lodged in a crack next to Peter. Looking closer, he could see that it was a grappling hook.

 

Following the length of it, he spotted a large man dressed all in black at the handle of the grappling hook. On top of dressing all in black, he had the strong appearance of a bat.

 

Batman swung in and snapped a flying kick into the villain’s chest.

 

The villain fell back onto the ground.

 

Peter suspected that Batman didn’t have more force than Peter, rather, that the kick was better aimed than Peter’s own and had hit something painful.

 

“Bane, you here to play?” a new voice added in, the squeal of tires adding to the cacophony as a motorcycle sped immediately to the right of the villain. A large gun in the hand of the helmeted man shot at the villain’s feet, making the villain roar with pain and rage.

 

“Red Bull, stand down!” Batman called out, his voice deep enough to sound like the depths of night. Peter was so distracted by how scary he sounded, that he missed exactly what Batman called the man in the helmet. 

 

Or maybe his reputation had just preceded him in Peter’s mind.

 

“No can do, Old Man. You have your way, you’d be broken over Bane’s knee. I’m here to even the playing field,” maybe Red Bull called out, spinning the motorcycle around with ease while Batman and maybe Bane had a hand-to-hand fight.

 

Peter wanted to drop in and help, but he was a little worried about accidentally hurting Batman or making things worse instead of better. 

 

Plus, it was fascinating to watch the fight.

 

It was closer to watching the Black Panther and his warriors fighting. 

 

Both Batman and Bane seemed to possess proper fighting training.

 

Even Steve and Bucky tended to fight in a dirtier, anything goes style, whereas these two seemed to be fighting with style.

 

Almost like a dance.

 

Batman’s head whipped to the side and he spit out some blood.

 

Peter winced

 

A painful dance.

 

Then Red Bull took another shot in the fight. Peter wasn’t sure if he was so good that he was certain he wouldn’t hit Batman or just didn’t care about collateral damages. 

 

Bane stumbled a step, one of the tubes shattering and a red patch blooming on his side. 

 

It was enough for Batman to rip the rest of the tubing off of him, and then knock him out with a flying roundhouse kick.

 

Bane slowly collapsed.

 

Peter dropped down next to Batman and Red Bull, using the last of his webbing to secure Bane again, at least giving Batman some assistance in transporting the villain, even if he could break out of it.

 

Looking closer at the black fluid leaking out of the tubing and remembering how it had affected Bane, he might not be able to break out of the webbing without it.

 

Peter grinned at Batman and Red Bull, “We totally did that! Good job team.”

 

Batman looked at him with such derision, even behind a mask, that Peter was surprised he wasn’t literally a bug under the man’s boot, “You are the most untrained individual I have ever met in the field. How much training have you had?”

 

“Hey! I mean, I haven’t had a lot of official training, but I learn best through doing. And I’ve watched some of the best superheroes in the world fight. That’s got to have taught me something,” Peter defended himself.

 

Batman’s glare intensified.

 

Peter tried to smile but ended up grimacing, “Are you going to punch me? Please don’t punch me.”

 

“Alright Old Man, I’ll take him and explain some stuff. You get Bane back to Arkham before he wakes up and causes more trouble,” Red Bull says, stepping between Batman and Peter. Peter is endlessly grateful. 

 

Batman stares around the vigilante to glare at Peter who waves sheepishly back. Finally, the large bat turns around and grabs the webbing holding Bane. He stuck some sort of wheeled contraction under the villain and dragged him away. 

 

None of the three of them noticed the smiling face watching them from the shadows before following Batman away. 

 

The other vigilante, Peter, who was fairly sure Batman had called him Red Bull or something like that, stared at Peter. Or Peter suspected he was looking at him, with the mirror effect on the helmet, it was hard to tell for sure where he was looking.

 

Peter suddenly realized how large the other vigilante was, standing an inch or two larger than Batman and even broader. 

 

“So…” Peter started awkwardly.

 

“That was stupid of you.”

 

“Uhm, before we do the whole scolding thing, could I have your name? I've been calling you Red Bull in my head; but I feel like that’s not completely correct,” Peter interjected.

 

“No it’s not. Don’t you know fuck all about this city?” 

 

“Not really, my knowledge is like a two out of ten I feel like,” Peter mused.

 

“This is gonna be exhausting, who left me to explain things to the new guy,” the man grumbled, then seemed to pause, “wait, you don’t know anything?”

 

“A bit harsh, not to quote Harry Potter, but I do know some things,” Peter retorted.

 

“Alright, come on, we’ll get burgers and I can explain some things,” the man sounds like he is suddenly grinning.

 

In that moment, the guy reminded Peter in a worrying way of Deadpool.

 

“It’s Red Hood by the way, follow me,” he commanded, already turning around.

 

Peter kept one arm tight against his aching ribs and followed Red Hood.

 

They get to a place called Batburger (bit on the nose with that), where Red Hood ordered for both of them. Then he led them to a nearby roof handing Peter a paper bag that’s already greasy and smells frankly delicious. 

 

Then pulls off his hood.

 

The spider mask’s eyes were extra wide as he stared at the freshly exposed face.

 

Red Hood was a lot younger than Peter had been mentally imagining. With his muscled build and automated voice, Peter had expected the man to be middle aged, probably close in age to

Batman.

 

Instead, the guy looked to be in his mid twenties, not horribly older than Peter himself.

 

Peter looked closer at the man. 

 

Brown hair with a streak of white right in the front, teal eyes. 

 

This guy was in the pictures at the Wayne’s! 

 

“Why would you take off your hood? I’m not taking off my mask,” Peter said rapidly.

 

“Can’t eat my burger like this. Besides, I don't care about hiding my identity as much as the rest of the Bats. They’ve got more to hide than me. Reckon my features are different enough that no one connects things. None of my little drug minions have yet,” Red Hood mused, taking a large bite out of his loaded burger.

 

“Besides, it’ll be easier to explain like this. Gotham 101,” he talked through a mouthful of burger, and Peter almost smiled. He really was like Deadpool.

 

“First up, do you know who you just fought?”

 

“Nope,” Peter said, hesitantly unwrapping the burger and lifting the bottom of his mask just enough to take a bite. 

 

Red Hood didn’t seem too interested in his identity, staring out over the roof. 

 

“That was Bane, one of Batman’s biggest rivals. Super strength and an actual brain behind the muscles,” Red Hood explained, popping a couple French fries.

 

“I noticed the super strength,” Peter said gingerly, poking his ribs again.

 

Red Hood eyed him at that, “Got a healing ability behind the super strength and spider mess?”

 

“Yeah, it’ll heal soon enough. I think I’m gonna have a bruise down my side, and I think he busted a couple ribs. Nothing going into my lungs though, the broken ones are down lower,” he stated only as he truly examined the side, noting what was going on. 

 

“Bat’s first rule, no one fights alone, especially not against any of the rogues,” Red Hood said.

 

“The rogues?”

 

“Mad Hatter, Bane who you just fought, Killer Croc, the Riddler, Two-Faced, and…the Joker,” here his eyes glowed a neon green. Peter glanced at the fury on his face and wondered at the backstory there. 

 

“The metas of Gotham. They’re normally locked up in Arkham, the insane asylum, but they break out periodically and then it’s Batman’s job to round them up. Keeps all the bats ridiculously overworked. They’re dangerous, the metas of Gotham will kill you in a heartbeat,” he paused, side eyeing Peter, “Well, most of the metas in Gotham.”

 

“I’m not here to kill anyone! I promise! I just want to help people,” Peter said, hands up but getting a bit sick of defending his non-homicidal tendencies.

 

Red Hood snorted, “That’s how they all start. Regardless, you probably don’t know the layout of Gotham then. Three blocks that way is Crime Alley. It's no man’s land. All the cops are crooked, people will do anything and everything wrong. Batman won’t touch it. It’s my land; understand?”

 

“Like Hell’s Kitchen in New York,” Peter said.

 

“If you say so, I’ve never been to New York and I don’t plan to go there.”

 

There was a pause as Peter considered that and Red Hood chewed with his mouth open. 

 

“Ok I can help you with it on weeknights. I was gonna leave the weekdays for the rest of Gotham,” Peter nodded once.

 

Red Hood stopped, glaring, grabbed Peter chin’s and forced the spider to make eye contact, “are you even listening to me? I just said not even the bats will go into Crime Alley.”

 

“Are you listening? You just said that no one fights alone and then you said not even the bats go there. I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen in New York. Bad parts of the bad cities are fine,” Peter said, glaring back through the mask.

 

They glared at each other for a few minutes.

 

Red Hood finally scoffed and slurped at the last of his milkshake, “Whatever, your funeral Little spider. Oh one last thing, you know Bruce Wayne and his family?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard of them. I don’t actually know them,” Peter said slowly.

 

“Listen closely, I’m kind of an…enforcer for their…business. I don’t like them, but they’re under my protection. Don’t mess with them. Only one allowed to hurt them is me,” Red Hood said.

 

On the inside, Peter was squealing. Finally concrete evidence that Mr Wayne was running a gang! On the other hand, he couldn’t exactly walk up to Tim and Duke and tell them that he knew for sure about the family gang cause some intimidating gun-for-hire told him as much while he was working as a supernatural spider vigilante. 

 

On the outside, he was completely calm and collected, “Duly noted. Don’t mess with the Wayne’s.”

 

“I’m not the only enforcer they have either. It’s a family business, so don’t take them lightly,” Red Hood added.

 

Such a gang.

 

OOO

On Monday, Peter’s ribs were still bruised, but they’d turned a sickly yellow and green instead of the deep blue and purple. With his healing factor, it should be cleared up by the next day. Bruises normally heal within a day, even very deep bruises, but broken bones normally take at least three days to heal.

 

He doesn’t think much of it, a bit extra careful not the bump into things, up until Alfred talks to him.

 

“Remember, the tailor will be over to measure you for your butler uniform,” Alfred says, “you are the first in the queue and in fact the only, so stick to the schedule please Mr Parker.”

 

“Oh yeah, that is today,” Peter said, looking up from the wine cellar where he was inventorying the stock, most all of the bottles being older than him. Quite a few were older than Alfred. 

 

“Yes, today. Come along now, wash the dust out of your hair before she gets here,” Alfred instructed him.

 

He led Peter to a side entertaining room where the tailor had set up a little platform.

 

“Hello, Parker, let’s get started on this, take off your clothes down to your undergarments,” the tailor instructed.

 

Peter paused, a flush already starting to creep up his neck.

 

He couldn’t take off his clothes or Alfred would surely see the horrible bruising.

 

“Uhm…” Peter made no moves to strip.

 

“Is everything quite alright? Just down to your pants, not naked,” Alfred said.

 

“Oh my pants? Just my shirt off?”

 

“Apologies, you Yankees call them underwear, down to your briefs or whatever your preference,” Alfred said.

 

Peter grimaced.

 

“Is that a problem?” The tailor asked, Peter didn’t miss the way she exchanged a glance with Alfred.

 

“Just a touch shy?” Peter offered.

 

Alfred gave him a look, “I’ll take my leave then. I’m sure this is not your issue, but please be aware that the tailor will inform me of any signs of drug use, should that be a concern of yours that I have thus far missed.”

 

“No!” Peter shook his head, “absolutely not.”

 

Alfred gave him a speculating glance but headed out of the room.

 

“If I make you nervous, sorry, there’s nothing to be done about it. I need proper measurements, and they’re never as good over clothes,” the tailor said, lips pursed.

 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just strip,” Peter said.

 

He heard the gasp as she saw the bruising down his left side.

 

“My god, that’s what you didn’t want him to see,” the tailor said finally.

 

Peter gave his best puppy dog eyes, “S’not drug use. Do you have to tell him?”

 

“Got yourself an abusive partner, have you?”

 

Peter considered his dignity for all of a second before latching onto the excuse she offered, “Yeah, he’s a real piece of work. But this time was too far! I’ve cut everything off with him. It’s one thing to say things, but I’m not going to stand around and be someone’s punching bag. And I have a good job now, so I don’t have to worry about a place to stay! I just don’t know what Alfred will think if I tell him.”

 

The tailor hummed around some pins in her mouth, though she was currently using a tape measure so he wasn’t really sure why she had them. Perhaps just a comfort thing.

 

“Old Alfred wouldn’t mind so long as you weren’t bringing the piece of work around here. And if you’re worried about it being a guy, the Wayne’s wouldn’t care about that. My mother did some tailoring for them when I was a girl, and Thomas Wayne was fond of anything beautiful. His wife, Martha, was the most beautiful, but he enjoyed men and women when she allowed it. Alfred was around for that, and it didn’t bother him any,” the tailor said, leaning closer and whispering. 

 

He noticed that she was extra gentle with his side, but only vaguely as he took in what she said.

 

“Really?” 

 

She laughed at his shocked face, “There’s nothing new under the sun. You young ones think you’ve invented everything. Thomas Wayne was a horror for his PR team, headed up by Alfred, of course. Constant questions about if he was cheating on his wife or in a throuple. No and no. He was obsessed with his wife, but like I said, he wasn’t immune to a passing beauty. Alfred was kept busy in those days, trying to keep the gossip going in the right direction.”

 

Peter added his own gossip, “I’ve heard Mr Wayne is a playboy, but I can’t see it.”

 

“He is sure enough! I can’t tell you how many suits I’ve had to sew all the buttons back on  or outright replace a suit because of a lack of patience,” the tailor said.

 

Then laughed at Peter’s scandalized face.

 

“Oh, to be young enough to be scandalized by such things. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Just remember, even among us staff, don’t talk about anything I wouldn’t already know. As the future butler, or so I’ve heard, you have to set the precedence. You set the tone for the staff,” she lectured him.

 

Peter nodded along and wondered if he should be taking notes.

 

“And no more visiting that man of yours, understood?” She added.

 

Peter blushed scarlet but nodded along, “Nope, definitely done with him.” 

Notes:

Few, first time waiting four days before posting a chapter to this story. I went to visit my sister, and she has no services. Like the middle ages.

Some of you might not like Jason revealing his face to Peter. That's completely fine. I have this headcanon that Jason is very loose with his face after his visit into the Lazarus Pit. His features have changed a lot, and the average citizen isn't going to know that a Lazarus Pit even exists. They have no reason to believe that the antihero is Bruce Wayne's dead ward.

General DC timeline: Jason came back. Killed a bunch of people and sent the heads in the duffel bag to Batman. Takes over Crime Alley and becomes the main gang leader there, killing off most of the drug dealers and anyone who hurts children. Clayface, impersonating Jason, attacked Tim in the Titan Tower. Bruce and the family find out that Jason is still alive, but Bruce doesn't express remorse at not killing the Joker to avenge Jason. They're currently at a stalemate. Jason wants the Joker dead; Bruce still doesn't believe in killing and misses his middle son. That's the end of canon in the story.

Where we are currently at: Jason doesn't regularly visit the manor or anything like that, though he will occasionally sneak in to steal supplies. He's taken up the mantle of Red Hood. He's slowly gaining control of his anger. Alfred purposely packs up food for Jason to steal, especially his cookies. Obviously, Peter will eventually be working on all of this, but he doesn't know any of this. He read an article that one of Bruce Wayne's wards, a Jason Todd, had died, he didn't look at the obituary with it and doesn't even know what Jason looked like. He figures it isn't really his business since Jason is dead, and he has no idea of a Lazarus Pit. Any questions?

Canonically, Bruce is only supposed to be six feet tall and Dick 5'10". First of all, they always look the same height. Secondly, Bruce is the same height as Superman in pretty much every cartoon and comic. Superman never looks like he's looming over Superman. So, as far as I'm concerned Bruce and Dick are both about six feet two inches, which I think I have said previously in this story.

Again, back to canon, Jason is supposed to be two inches taller than Bruce. So, to stick with my head-canon and with canon as much as possible, I just bump him up two inches too, to six feet four inches. He is also supposed to have at least 15 or more pounds of muscle on Bruce.

Here's a link to a video of a Russian weightlifter who has similar body dimensions to canon Jason Todd: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OepRR_02q3g

This obviously is not what Jason would've looked like as a teenage Robin following Bruce around. This is fully grown Jason Todd, after following Bruce's training footsteps around the world and maturing.

 

Other news:
This story will be broken into three story arcs. We are obviously currently in arc one. Leave a comment below guessing what the main idea of each arc will be :)

Final news which is more important for the next chapter, but I'm giving you guys a sneak peak. I'm attaching another link here: https://aminoapps.com/c/myheroacarp/page/item/izuku-midoriya-a-k-a-villain-deku/rYWD_ekFqILWEB3jXZzz0n5782x2LEg0B0

This will take you to a My Hero Academia fanpage where the main character of the series becomes a villain. That is not important to this story, and Peter is not going to become a villain. However, the outfit the character is wearing in the fanart is exactly how Peter is going to be dressed as butler. I don't really have any drawing abilities, but I will see what I can do or if anyone wants to make fanart, I will literally love you forever. Tom Holland in that outfit is what Butler Peter Parker looks like :) Friendlier expression too, cause Peter is a sweetheart.

Thank you for all the comments, they definitely make me write faster! I especially love the long ones, even if you disagree with my writing or add in constructive criticism. I always want to get better as a writer :)

I did a fan art of Peter Parker in his butler uniform!
https://www.tumblr.com/jumpyjoy/722871499227348992/peter-parker-as-a-butler-for-my-fan-fiction?source=share

Chapter 7: Baking and Killer Croc

Summary:

Baking and the Killer Croc, though no baking of Killer Croc.

Notes:

In a sign that I do listen to y’all, I went back and edited the incidents where someone snuck up on Peter to make them not sneaky. Spidey-senses are strong now! I’m leaving him not noticing the cameras though.

I also went out and took the line about 10 tons being his limit. The general consensus seems to be that Marvel may claim that, but we are not 😂 we’ll leave his limits as yet untested but maybe that’ll be a scene later on.
In case y'all notice the changes, you are not crazy, just went back and did some editing :)

Alfred looked up from his manor management binder and computer, feeling that something was off in the mansion. 

 

It was a well developed skill, born from a lifetime spent watching it as well as many years raising some of the most hellion boys to walk (or climb or swing or fly) through its halls. 

 

He stood up slowly. 

 

Certainly not a meta himself, it wasn’t that he could truly know that something was wrong. 

 

Instead, there was a quiet to the place, a stillness that made him think something was off. 

 

With narrowed eyes, he headed through the mansion, looking for the disturbance to the feeling of the manor. 

 

He clicked on his Agent A comm for just a minute, “Sir, are all of the bats accounted for?” 

 

“All of them are in their designated locations. We’ve had a bit of an issue with the Joker tonight so I’ve called in everyone,” Batman responded to him.

 

Alfred nodded to himself, thanking Bruce and cutting the intercoms. That left only himself and young Peter in the manor. Oracle was running comms, so he decided to use the extra time to talk with Peter while he could. Undoubtedly, with everyone, even Jason, out on patrol there would be some sort of emergency that would take his attention shortly.

 

For now, he suspected the negative feeling was coming from Peter.

 

Bad vibes, as Stephanie would call it. 

 

Despite the size of the manor, it didn’t take Alfred too long to find Peter. It was strange, after the others who had been brought into the manor, Peter seemed much calmer. He hadn’t gone exploring the way most of Bruce’s kids would have, opening every cupboard and looking for skeletons in closets.

 

He’d seemed content in the areas Alfred had mapped off for him.

 

Which made the kitchen the most likely spot, and, sure enough, there was Peter, peeling potatoes for the next day’s breakfast. Alfred watched him, though he suspected Peter already knew he was there.

 

The teenager was changing, even after only a few weeks in the manor. He had gained a bit of weight, no longer looking like a walking skeleton. 

 

Instead of his worn out shirt and shorts that had stunk to high heavens, he was finally fitted out in a proper butler’s regalia. No suit jacket to designate that he was an apprentice instead of full master butler. The vest and trousers had seemed different than anything he’d worn before, and even now, he paused to tug at the tie around his neck.

 

“It will become more familiar the longer you wear it,” Alfred said, stepping into the kitchen and starting to wash the dishes in the sink, offering his back to the teenager, saying wordlessly that he didn’t view him as a threat.

 

He wasn’t sure of the trauma of the teenager but it had worked with Jason and Damian when they were young.

 

Alfred doesn’t start the conversation either, scrubbing the dishes in silence.

 

“I just feel like an interloper. You know I’m just a teenager, right? Like, I don’t think I should be dressing up in nice clothes and pretending to be a proper adult,” Peter finally offered.

 

Alfred smiled to himself, “Do you know how old I was when I began my job?”

 

“Probably like 23?” Peter threw it out at random.

 

“Seventeen, I started at the queen’s employ. When I got out, I went to the Alfonzo residence as a low-level servant, and worked there for five years. I was young and wanted to see the world. Mrs Alfonzo wrote me a letter of recommendation, and I became employed with the Wayne’s. This was before Master Bruce was born. After a few years, I had worked up to  apprentice under their old Butler. He was a buffer. Another few years go by, and Master and Misses Wayne are killed. The old Butler felt he was too old to look after a boy, a true coffin-dodger at that point. Most of the wait staff assumed the boy would go to a boarding school or the like. But he was headstrong, even back then and insisted he be allowed to stay in the manor. I was one of the only ones who offered to stay on with a child leading us,” Alfred offered, looking up at the end of his long spiel.

 

Peter stared up at him with wide brown eyes, and perhaps a touch of hope shining in those eyes. 

 

“These positions are what you make of them. You don’t need a proper college degree to be a butler, though I suspect you’d have no issues with the college material,” Alfred said, “You just can’t be faffing around, and you must learn to look at the family’s best interests. If you can do that, you can be a butler.”

 

“Thanks, Mr Alfred,” Peter said quietly.

 

“Come lad, all of the masters are out of the manor for the night, so I suppose I can show you my comfort routine. Don’t tell them though, they’ll think I’ve lost the plot,” Alfred sighed as though put upon. 

 

Peter followed behind him as Alfred walked over to the commercial freezer and pulled out two labeled Tupperware containers.

 

“I’m assuming you would want chocolate chip cookie dough?” Alfred said, showing that the other tub had oatmeal raisin on it.

 

“You mean, you like those unironically?” Peter said, making a face at the oatmeal cookies.

 

“To each their own, Mr Peter, come to the small den with me,” Alfred again led the way.

 

He sat the tub of cookie dough on one couch before walking to a separate one, giving the teenager his space.

 

“Mr Peter, have you ever watched the Great British Bake Off?”  he asked.

 

“No, what’s that?”

 

“A bloody shame that you haven’t seen it, is what it is,” Alfred said, flipping through the TV to his show. 

 

Quite a few episodes later, Peter was feeling substantially better, even though it was coming up in the early hours of the morning. 

 

“Have you ever wanted to try making one of the recipes?” he asked Alfred.

 

“As a matter of fact, I’ve gotten a number of my recipes from the show. I have several of the recipe books,” Alfred said, already heading back into the kitchen. He pulled several hardcover recipe books off the shelves and placed them in front of Peter, “Pick a recipe to try.”

 

Peter glanced at the clock, 1:07am, “Now?”

 

“If you please. You may go to bed of course, if you’d rather,” Alfred offered.

 

Peter shrugged, “Early morning baking, let’s do it.”

 

“While we do, you can tell me about this partner of yours,” Alfred said, glancing at Peter from the corner of his eye.

 

Groaning, Peter continued flipping through the recipe book, “She told on me!”

 

“Only after the right motivator,” Alfred offered.

 

“Lies! All of you are gossips!” Peter cried, finding a picture that finally interested him and showed it to Alfred, who looked singularly unimpressed and not insulted.

 

“There is a certain level of gossip among the wait staff. Don’t tell the children though; they believe me above such things,” Alfred allowed, ”Florentine Cookies? A delightful recipe if complicated.”

 

“I want to try it,” Peter decided, “ And if I’m giving you new gossip, I want yours first. Do you have any good gossip about the family?”

 

Possibly he could distract Alfred enough with the baking and old gossip to avoid Peter having to spin more lies about his fake abusive partner.

 

“Nothing that could be sold for information such as to the media,” Alfred gave a warning, “but I suppose that is fair since I’m digging into your personal affairs.” 

 

Peter set the brown sugar, butter, and honey to boil as the recipe said, before dumping the almonds into the food processor to chop.

 

“I wanna know about Mr Wayne first, what do you have on him?”

 

Alfred was pulling out chocolate for Peter’s next step, “I suppose I can tell you this because you can look for it at the gala…Master Bruce has been in love with reporter Kent for a long time now.”

 

Peter dropped the almonds, “Really? But he’s known to be a playboy?”

 

“Ah, he certainly does live up to his reputation. Still, the reporter and he are quite fond of each other, I say. Watch at the next gala. As a servant, you’ll have a different perspective than most,” Alfred said, a hint of a smile creeping into his normally neutral expressions. 

 

Peter laughed, “The reporter and the billionaire, scandal. I repeat, gossips, the lot of you!”

 

“You’re one of us now,” Alfred said mildly. Peter didn’t deny it, ready to ask a question about Dick. 

 

His spidey-senes started tingling, and Peter wondered if something on the stove was going to explode. Burning syrup maybe? 

 

He gently pulled Alfred away from the stove, the man giving him a raised eyebrow. 

 

Then they both stilled as they heard a crash followed by a loud beeping siren. 

 

“That is the manor’s alarm system going off,” Alfred said. 

 

Peter was the meta, but Alfred showed his years of experience in the next few moments, ready for the invasion much faster than Peter. 

 

Hulk-sized green reptilian - thing burst into the room. This not-Hulk had scales covering him, with ridges, and a row of spikes down his back ending in a large flailing tail. His mouth was open in a row revealing rows of sharp, pointed teeth, exactly like an alligator’s mouth, even elongated slightly like a snout compared to a normal human’s mouth. He made Peter’s spidey-sense tingle almost painfully strongly. 

 

An absent thought flitted through Peter’s mind that he was really glad he hadn’t turned into looking like a spider when he gained his spider characteristics. It would’ve been so much harder to get people to trust him with a bunch of eyes and legs. 

 

Peter was moving, jumping up and sticking in a corner of the room, web shooter moving to grab Alfred and pull him up out of reach, mind cataloging the dimension parallel between the Hulk and the reptile dude. 

 

He couldn’t leave Alfred alone to get changed into his spider suit, so he’d have to reveal himself as a meta. 

 

Up until he remembered that his web shooters were empty with no refills and no way to make more.

 

Alfred was already moving though, grabbing the pan of boiling sugar and splashing it directly into the beast’s eyes, making it roar in pain and anger.

 

Peter jumped back down, “Mr Alfred!” 

 

Alfred didn’t pause after throwing the liquids, already opening a cabinet door and grabbing a shotgun that he racked quickly.

 

“Mr Alfred !” Peter repeated, slightly awed by this change in the mild mannered Butler, “it’s always the quiet ones, just like Mr Banner.”

 

“Apologies, Mr Parker, this will be loud,” Alfred said, pulling the trigger.

 

The shotgun was louder than he was expecting, and Peter noted absently that it was the first time he’d heard a shotgun in person. It made his sensitive hearing hurt slightly, but not enough to distract him.

 

He could already see how the shot’s spray hadn’t done anything to the reptile’s skin, even at close range, so he jumped between the reptile and Alfred, “Dude, you must have super thick skin, that’s pretty cool!”

 

Peter did not have enhanced skin, and the claws on the reptile scratched against his back as he grabbed Alfred and tried to jump away. He hissed at the feeling of the torn skin.

 

“I do not have thickened skin,” he called back, “if you could please keep that in mind.”

 

The Croc darted forward, swatting Peter, and inadvertently Alfred held in Peter’s arms, across the room. They hit the wall, Alfred letting out a low moan of pain as Peter heard a snap at impact. 

 

He glared at the villain, jumping up and running away with Alfred still held. 

 

“That is Killer Croc, one of Gotham’s rogue metas. He is a top tier killer, even against other metas and Batman,” Alfred warned him, as Peter tried to find a safe place to deposit the Butler during the fight, “low intelligence, but high strength and wrestling. Enhanced claws and teeth.”

 

“Noted,” Peter spotted the top of the staircase and dropped Alfred there, hoping he didn’t level the entire first floor and bring the house down around them in the fight.

 

The Killer Croc roared at him across the entrance hall. Peter didn’t want him trying to go after Alfred, “think Peter, get his attention but don’t get close to those teeth and claws.”

 

The croc was quickly getting closer, so Peter shrugged and grabbed the nearest heavy object, a grand piano, with a spin, throwing it straight into the croc’s face. It made the villain stumble a step, before continuing his march. 

 

“What’re you even here for?” Peter called out at him, hating that his face was fully visible to the croc and wondering if he had somehow already been found out as Spider-Man in this universe.

 

“Stopping the gala!” Croc called out as he continued to get closer.

 

“The gala for the poor? That's what you’re going to protest against?” Peter clarified.

 

“Wayne is making fun of the poor, not truly helping,” Croc growled as he moved swiftly across the room. 

 

Peter pulled the drapes clear off the wall and some off the rods with a tear. He didn’t have his web fluids but the eleven foot ceilings did require a lot of yards of fabric. Darting from wall to wall, he wrapped the villain in the loose floral fabric.

 

It didn’t work well.

 

The Croc was surprised for a minute but quickly shredded the fabric.

 

“Mr Peter, catch!” Alfred’s voice called out. 

 

Peter caught the large flying object without question, barely noticing that it was the vacuum he had modified. 

 

“Mr Alfred, I’ll have to clean the mess after the fight,” he called back.

 

“Bloody… no lad, use the super suck mode!” Alfred called down.

 

Peter blinked, “Oh, guess it can’t hurt to see what it’ll do?”

 

He flipped the switch past low and high and straight into super suck. Killer Croc looked surprised as Peter held the vacuum in the air, and the force of the suction pulled the villain across the room and into the front of the vacuum.

 

Despite the croc’s struggling, he couldn’t pull away from the vacuum.

 

Peter grinned at the croc, just his Spidey-sense tingled. All of the Croc didn’t fit in the flow of the suction, and one arm was free, reaching towards Peter.

 

But if he dropped the vacuum and jumped away, the Killer Croc could be completely free again, with the possibility of smashing the vacuum.

 

Peter grimaced, reaching out a hand and grabbing the croc’s swing with his palm. The claws stopped, inside Peter’s palm.

 

Then the croc started closing his fingers, shredding through Peter’s hand.

 

“Not cool, man,” he said through gritted teeth.

 

“Should’nt’ve gotten in the way,” Croc growled at him, tightening his fist even more, leaving deep gauges through Peter’s hand. 

 

Peter tried to think through the pain. Normally he would wrap up this type of villain with his web shooters but they were down. He had him mostly contained with the vacuum, but the one loose arm could destroy the entire vacuum and free him. 

 

The villain was an expert level wrestler according to Alfred, so, even with Peter’s strength, he didn’t want to get into an all out brawl with him. 

 

But what did spiders have on alligators? 

 

Looking up and up the staircase, Peter had an idea. 

 

Peter climbed swiftly up the stairwell, Croc fighting against him and the vacuum the entire way, but the vacuum held and Peter was able to mostly contain the lose arm. 

 

At the top, Peter looked down three stories. With the Croc’s enhanced skin and the thick ridges on his head, Peter doubted a fall from this height would kill him. Peter didn’t want to kill him though, just knock him unconscious. 

 

Peter held onto the vacuum and jumped, Croc roaring in his ear, finally sounding a touch frightened. 

 

It wasn’t quite a fight in the air. 

 

With most of the croc stuck in the vacuum, and Peter’s significantly lighter weight, he naturally rose to the top, perching himself on top of the vacuum. 

 

The Croc hit the bottom floor with a manor shaking thud, leaving a deep indent in the tiled floor, multiple cracked tiles flying away from the crash. 

Super suck mode kept going on the vacuum. 

 

Peter perched on top in his signature spider pose, feet together, legs in a squat, with one hand grabbing the vacuum. 

 

“Is he unconscious?” a deep voice asked him. 

 

Peter looked across the room to where Batman was standing in fight mode. 

 

“Appears to be, yes,” Peter said, glancing down to where the Croc’s mouth was drooling, some blood mixed in. He could still hear the reptile’s heartbeat and breathing though. 

 

Batman grabbed Peter by the front of his shirt and dangled him in the air, “What were you thinking?” 

 

Peter’s one hand grabbed onto the fist, already distracted by the technology he saw there, “Sir, you have a built-in control panel, so cool! I bet that connects back to your car? I think someone calls it a batmobile? Do the buttons also control your belt?”

 

Batman shook him, “What were you thinking, fighting the Killer Croc?” 

 

“I wasn’t really thinking I had much choice,” Peter quipped, eyes now cataloguing the tools he saw on Batman’s belt, “The belt is very cool. I think I can improve your grappling hook design though sir.” 

 

“Excuse me?” Batman asked. 

 

“It’s a bit bulky, you know?” 

 

“Don’t touch any of my tools,” Batman demanded. 

 

Peter held up his hands, still dangling in the air, “Right, I wouldn’t touch without permission. Batman doesn’t like metas and personally runs them out of town, I’ve been told. Are you going to punch me as part of the way to run me out of town?” 

 

A new voice popped up behind Batman, “He’s not going to punch you. We’re going to bring you to a medical facility.” 

 

The voice sounded exasperated in Peter, but he was fairly distracted by the burning in his back and the way his hand kept spazzing without his mind telling it to. 

 

A tall figure dressed in black with a blue stripe across the front stepped in between Batman and Peter, getting the bat to lower Peter to the ground.

 

“Spoiler, give me a hand here,” the blue bird said.

 

Peter squinted, “Let me guess, you’re Hawkman?”

 

“No, I go by Nightwing,” the figure said.

 

A woman stepped up who was almost as tall as Batman, long blond hair flowing from behind her mask. Spoiler picked up Peter like he weighed nothing and laid him across Nightwing’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Peter appreciated it, potato carry kept anyone from pressing against his shredded back.

 

From his position upside down, he watched red drip to the ground.

 

“Oh crap, that’s my blood, isn’t it?” he asked.

 

“It might be,” Nightwing said, then Peter was being laid in the back of the sleek Batmobile. Alfred climbed into the front passenger seat. 

 

He was awake for the drive to a clinic. The cuts on his back were deep enough that his healing factor couldn’t immediately heal them, but they weren’t life threatening. He wasn’t even losing enough blood to pass out, though he almost wished he was, between the burning feeling of the cuts, the itching feeling of his healing factor trying to work, and the sharp pain of his mangled hand. 

Peter avoided looking at his hand, though he felt fairly confident that his healing factor would heal that too. 

 

Spoiler and Nightwing picked him up by his legs and arms and carried him into the clinic. They didn’t ride in the Batmobile, but they got there at the same time. He’s too tired to complain much, especially since they’re careful with his wounds.

 

“This is Doc Thompkins, she’ll patch you right up,” Nightwing says with a smile through the mask as they lay him stomach down on a metal examination table. 

 

“Hi,” Peter groans a hello as the doctor is already cutting off the remains of his shirt and vest. 

 

“Not as bad as I was expecting. I’ll stitch them up, but they look to already be clotting and trying to pull shut,” she said as she used a metal tool to poke the cuts. 

 

“Healing factor,” he offers, hissing as she pours a cleaning solution over them. 

 

“Commonly needed among meta. That much force is often hard on the human body; it is nice that evolution is giving you extra healing to balance it out,” she says. 

 

He feels a sharp sting as she injects him with numbing solution, but it doesn’t work with his metabolism. The stitches are effectively done, and he soon has twenty stitches down his back. 

 

“Probably a touch of overkill, but putting them closer together can help with scarring. Assuming your healing factor would allow it to scar,” she mused. 

 

“It doesn’t,” he shrugged, pulling on the T-shirt that she provided him with. 

 

“Now for the hand,” she says, reaching out to it as he cradles it to his chest. He allows her to take it with gentle hands and pry at it, his eyes above her head, looking at the posters on the walls. 

 

One of breastfeeding, not something he believes he’ll need unless he makes the monumental mistake of getting a woman pregnant. Not that he had anything against children, but who knew what his radioactive, spider-modified sperm would do to a woman. 

 

He’s just reading over the poster on lung cancer when she says, “Not too bad. The original cuts were quite deep and could’ve lost you use of the hand, but as you probably expected, your healing is knitting it together. Fascinating to watch the tendons and muscles reconnect like that. I’d take it easy for several days though.” 

 

“Can do, now you’re going to look at Alfred?” he had tried to demand that she start with Alfred, but everyone had insisted he be looked at first. 

 

“Now I’m going to give you some pain medicine. I didn’t want to do it immediately in case it knocked you out, protocol to check for a concussion and such,” she pulled several vials from a cabinet and walked back to him. 

 

“Woah, no need to waste it on me, with my metabolism, it doesn’t work anyway,” he said with a shrug. 

 

“Oh no, this will work, our friend Barry Allen produced it just for metas and we’ve had a one hundred percent success rate thus far,” she said, sticking him with the needle before he could offer more reservations. 

 

Peter blinked several times, swaying lightly, feeling almost lightheaded, “Whaas, whas in that? Is it ssssuposed to work that qui-” 

 

He feel forward, unfeeling and completely out as Nightwing caught him with a grunt and laid him back on the table. 

 

“Gave him a strong dose, and, if he hasn’t had any pain meds since his meta genes activated, it might have worked even better than expected,” Doc Thompkins said as she headed towards Alfred. 

 

Red Robin walked into the clinic at that point, “Excellent, he’s already out. Time for some additional tests while we’re here. I want to run his blood again, and I can get a larger sample. 

 

Several hours later, Tim, Duke, Steph, and Damian were hanging out on the couches in the Batcave, comm systems open to Jason, Cass, and Dick. 

 

Well, the others were hanging out while Tim paced angrily in front of the computers. 

 

“His DNA isn’t right, it’s not human. There are no hits anywhere in the entire country on anything I’ve sent out. This isn’t even a case of witness protection or even CIA hiding. There’s always some form of trace there, even a section that’s too blank. This is clean. Peter doesn’t exist on Earth. Do you know what that means?” Tim demanded, chugging more black coffee. 

 

“The passion in your voice is telling me its time to cut your coffee intake for the day,” Steph said without looking up from where she was simultaneously beating Duke at video games and filing the nail she had broken during the night. 

 

“He’s an alien!” Tim ignored her. 

 

“New super?” 

 

“I call dibs,” Jason growled through the comms, “All of the rest of Robins have one, clearly this is divine intervention to give me a super.” 

 

“All supers are sweet, golden retriever humans, but we are not giving Jason the potentially sweetest one,” Duke argued as he fell off the rainbow bridge in MarioKart. 

 

“You cannot call dibs on a human,” Bruce’s voice called through the cave, “and we do not even know for certain that he is Kryptonian.” 

 

“Definitely an alien though,” Tim took another sip, pouting as Bruce deftly stole the cup from him and drained it into the waterfall. 

 

“Cass has a question, hold on,” Dick said, “She wants to know if we’ve decided if he’s Spiderman?” 

 

“I think the potential is great, several of his moves seemed decidedly spider-y, but we don’t have concrete proof,” Tim summarized, playing back video footage from the attack on the manor that he’d been analyzing during the last several hours while waiting on his blood results. 

 

“Better question is what happened with the attack in the first place? Killer Croc decided he didn’t like galas for the poor?” Steph asked. 

 

“I’m going through video footage of the city, seeing if I can find anything there, as well as Croc’s less than excessive digital footprint. Any bank statements or digital flyers recommending attacking Wayne Manor, I’ll find,” Barbara said, the sound of typing going in the background. 

 

“I’m going to pay him a visit tomorrow at Arkham and see if he has anything to add. Dick, Cass, you two are with me,” Bruce said, “The rest of you, we’re going back to our regular split. Everyone needs some sleep, even with the Joker still out there. No one patrols alone, but we can’t all be on patrol every night. If any of the pairs or groups of three sees anything, call for backup. We’ve caught Croc and Bane now, so only Joker is currently out of the rogues.” 

 

“Technically, we didn’t catch Croc or Bane,” Dick added. 

 

“Yeah, Spiderman caught Bane, and Peter caught Croc,” Duke said. 

 

Bruce didn’t refute that, staring out the waterfall.

Notes:

I feel like Alfred at the beginning of this chapter is a bit OOC; however! I don't have a lot of canon material on his personality outside of him being at his job which includes raising a bunch of non-homicidal but decidedly aggressive children and teenagers! The Great British Bake Off is a real show, and it is incredibly popular among the British. If it existed in the DC World, I feel like it would be entirely realistic that Alfred watches it and has the cookbooks. I also feel like Alfred is a total secret gossip, just like most servants in expensive households.

Alfred: what can I tell this boy without revealing important secrets? Ahh yes, Batman's secret crush on Superman, just worded with their civilian names.

Guys, I had this ready to go like two days ago, which fits with what I'm doing with this story apparently, but internet has been atrocious at my house. So many thunderstorms. It just wasn't worth it to me to try and format this on my phone. In good news, with the delay, instead of just getting a fluff chapter of like 2,000 words, just Alfred and Peter bonding, you guys got a full regular length chapter with the Killer Croc scene.

Next up on Butler Spider: bedside comfort(?) of Peter, confrontations about the piano, and drives to school

Chapter 8: Bread

Summary:

Peter baked bread

Peter woke up feeling groggy, like Ned had stuffed his ears with cotton balls as a prank, and some had gone through his eardrums and into his brain.

 

He blinked several times, trying to clear the strange feeling.

 

“Mr Parker, you are awake?” Alfred’s unflappable voice said next to him.

 

Peter slowly turned his head to turn and look at the Butler, “Mr Alfred? ...did I hit my head? ...wait…your doctor drugged me.”

 

He felt like he should be more outraged but he was too tired.

 

“Quite right, Mr Parker, for your own good of course. You needed rest for proper healing,” Alfred continued.

 

“Are you alright?” Peter asked instead of trying to dredge up enough emotion for outrage. 

 

Alfred waved his casted wrist, “I had worse serving in the SAS. You may have to take on some more of the butler duties for a while though.”

 

“Sure, sure, like three days?” 

 

“Sweet boy, I will probably need this cast for about two months, and then I will need some physical therapy,” Alfred said.

 

Peter blinked.

 

He blinked again, a touch slower.

 

“Oh,” he finally managed.

 

Regular humans just heal so slowly. 

 

“Go back to sleep, you will feel more yourself the next time you wake up,” Doc Tompkins said, adjusting the IV bag hanging by Peter’s head.

 

She spoke the truth because the next time he woke up, his head felt normal. He noticed Bruce was sitting on the chair by the bed.

 

“Mr Wayne?” Peter fidgeted with the blanket covering him.

 

“Good morning, Mr Parker. I am pleased to see you are awake,” Bruce said.

 

“Awake and fully conscious. Did I do anything embarrassing under the influence?” Peter asked.

 

“Potentially, but Alfred and I ran interference to keep the young ones away,” Bruce said, a smirk twitching on his lips.

 

Peter didn’t comment on the fact that he was actually younger than most of the ones Bruce just called the young ones, feeling a strong level of relief at the man's words. It had been a long time since a drug could make him loopy, and he was sure he'd said and done embarrassing things, “Thanks.”

 

Bruce leaned forward onto his knees, dark hair falling across his blue eyes, “Peter, you threw a piano at a reptile man.”

 

“Aww yeah about that, I’m maybe a meta? Sorry for not telling you during the interview, Mr Wayne,” Peter offered, shoulders hitching up around his ears.

 

Bruce waved a hand, “I’ve known since Alfred first said he wanted to hire you.”

 

“I’m afraid I offered you a touch of a subterfuge in asking you to move an 800 pound garden statue and you did it with ease,” Alfred’s voice sounded as he stepped into the room with several cups of what might be coffee.

 

“You’ve known the entire time?” Peter gaped.

 

Alfred walked over to the bed and handed one of the cups to Peter, then a different one to Bruce. Peter took another sniff at the one he was handed, and smelled the rich hints of dark chocolate instead of the coffee he'd been worried he'd be forced to drink. 

 

“I also used the manor’s cameras to spy on you when you first started. Lifting a solid wood bed above your head with one hand was an additional tell,” Alfred sipped at his tea. 

 

“You have cameras in the bedrooms?! Isn’t that kind of a breach of privacy and rights and stuff?” Peter demanded.

 

“They are movable. I had them following you to ensure you didn’t steal anything. Not into any private locations such as the loo or even into your bedroom, only the other's rooms and occasionally in the main areas. You understand that there are very expensive items in the manor,” Alfred clarified.

 

Tilting his head, Peter considered that. Alfred was right, Peter had been hired with very little information. He'd wondered why they were alright with hiring a random teenager off the streets, and then leaving him alone in the manor. Alfred being able to watch him did seem kind of fair in a violation of rights kind of way. 

 

"I guess as long as they weren't recording me in the bathroom or changing or anything like that...I can understand." He didn't mention that he doubted the cameras would be able to sneak up on him now that he knew they were there. 

 

“Back to the matter I wished to talk about, do you know how much the piano cost that you threw?” Bruce leveled his neutral face at Peter, staring him down. 

 

Peter wordlessly shook his head, already wondering how long he’d be working without pay.

 

“$103,489. It was purchased and customized by my great uncle Marcos for my grandfather,” Bruce said, Peter swallowed. That was a lot of money, even if Bruce was paying him a lot of money. If Peter worked for almost a full year without pay, he'd pay it back if Bruce didn't add interest. Plus the fact that it was a gift for Bruce's grandfather. Bruce was already old as far as Peter was concerned. That meant the piano had been an antique. A similar piano in today's economy would cost even more. Or was that cost inflated to the current market? 

 

“Oh man, uhm I can work without pay until its paid off?” Peter offered.

 

“No, Mr Parker, thank you,” Bruce said, a hint of a smirk suddenly playing on his lips as his face shifted to amusement. 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“I had no legitimate reason to get rid of that piano, but I cannot be more glad to see its demise. Tim, on nights when he cannot sleep, will occasionally put his lifelong piano lessons to use and play slow sad songs on the piano,” Bruce leaned closer, “Do you understand the feelings it evokes when you think you are home alone at 1:37 in the morning, and you hear slow piano music playing? Then to find Tim in a state of coffee induced zombie? Even on nights when I know the children are home, he should not be awake and playing a piano in the early hours of the morning." 

 

“Creepy, it is,” Alfred agreed.

 

Peter stared at them, blinking several times before offering, “Happy to help?” 

 

“We will simply tell the children you do not have the money to pay us back for it, so no new piano,” Bruce smirked. 

 

“And no piano playing at 1am?”

 

“Exactly.” 

 

OOO

Mr Wayne drove them both back to the manor. The man also strong armed Alfred into actually taking the medicine Doc Tompkins had prescribed. 

 

“If you do not take this medicine, I will get the children to drug you with it. Whoever gets you to take it gets a new vehicle,” Bruce threatened. 

 

Peter watched in admiration as Alfred took the medicine with a ferocious glare. He wouldn't have bet on the teenagers trying to drug him either. With their mob family mentally, who knows what they would've come up with to get Alfred to take it. 

 

“You will be able to handle the cleanup today? I have several crews coming in, but Alfred has left instructions," Bruce asked Peter after Alfred had been propped up with a billion pillows and his shows while Bruce and Peter walked back into the destroyed entrance hall. 

 

“Yes sir, Mr Wayne!”

 

“One other thing, Mr Parker, I will be letting my children know that you are a meta,” Bruce stared at him, “so do not worry about hiding your abilities but be aware that you may not use your strength or other abilities to intimidate my children.”

 

“I would never! But you aren’t firing me?” 

 

“Just over being a meta? No, as Alfred said, we suspected from the start. And I do not have an issue with metas," Bruce said. 

 

“Good thing you aren’t Batman then, huh mr Wayne?”

 

Bruce sighed deeply, as though Peter exhausted him, very similar to the job interview, before turning to walk away, throwing over his shoulder, “Call me Bruce, Parker. Anyone who saves Alfred gets the right.”

 

“Yes Mr Wayne-I mean-Mr Bruce I mean…sorry?” 

 

As the sun rose higher, Bruce had left for work and Alfred was ensconced in his room, pleasantly high on pain meds and settled with BBC, Peter faced a new dilemma. 

 

“Mr. Alfred drives you to school everyday, right?” he asked Damian, staring down at the high strung middle schooler who had a literal backpack over his shoulders, glaring up at Peter with bright blue eyes that stood out from his dark skin, arms crossed. Peter would have placed money on Damian being one of those kids that never had his backpack or books, but apparently not. 

 

“Yes, obviously. They feel that I am too young to take the subway system like the older three, and I have refused the plebeian bus system. It is too late for one of the three to drive me either, they’re school starts a half of an hour earlier,” Damian snarled.

 

“Probably afraid of the damage you’ll cause to unsuspecting commuters,” Peter muttered.

 

Damian didn’t argue that, and seemed a touched pleased, like a cat being accused of their own destruction.  

 

“Alright, guess I’ll have to drive you to school then,” Peter said, tugging on his own vest as a new fidget. 

 

“You? Do you know how to drive?” Damian's eyes narrowed. 

 

“Of course I know how to drive,” Peter scoffed. 

 

Peter, in fact, did not know how to drive. He grew up poor in New York City. The opportunity to learn how was nonexistent, not to mention he was only now sixteen and would've just now been able to get a learner's permit and start practicing.

 

However, he was a highly capable superhuman, how hard could driving be? 

 

Damian clung to the grab bar for dear life, actually looking frightened. Peter looked even more scared, eyes wide as he drove the car up onto the curb at too high of a rate of speed. 

 

“Civilian!” Damian called out. 

 

Peter cursed, yanking the wheel to the left. The car popped off the curb with a bit of a jump, throwing Damian into the ceiling. Peter had overcorrected, going into the left lane, narrowly avoiding the oncoming traffic with horn blaring, yanking back to the right. 

 

“You lied! You don’t know how to drive!” Damian wailed from the backseat. 

 

“I may have! It had to be done! Someone had to get you to school!”

 

“I could’ve called Dick or just skipped school!” 

 

“We don’t need Dick! I’ve got this!” Peter growled, stepping on the gas even more. 

 

He managed to drift into the drop off lane in front of the middle school, tires squealing as he slid the car sideways, counter-steering sharply with the wheel to end up mostly straight, thankfully arriving before the main stream of buses due to the speed in which he had driven there. 

 

Damian bailed from the sleek black car before Peter had put it in park, ducking into a smooth roll, popping up on his feet, and glaring at him from the sidewalk. 

 

“I’ll be back to get you after school! Have a good day!” Peter called. 

 

“I hope you die in a ditch,” Damian called back, “3:30 sharp! Don’t be late or I’m calling Richard.” 

 

Peter somehow made it back to the manor, breaking most traffic laws that he knew of. He’d also never taken a drivers education class or gotten his learners permit, so he was a touch spotty on the laws surrounding driving. It wasn't that he was trying to break the laws, he just didn't understand how hard to push the gas to hold the speed steady. 

 

Luckily, when he got back, Alfred had prepared a to-do list for the gala as well as a list of specific things for Peter to work on, so he knew what needed done. Most importantly, he had to oversee the various construction crews and tradesmen coming in to make repairs. With the gala in one week, there was no time to waste. 

 

More went into post superhuman fight clean up than he’d chosen to actively think through.

1. Stay away from the initial biohazard cleaning crew. Tell them not to touch the Venetian plaster in the dining hall. 

 

First, the biohazard people came. They wore their suits and directed Peter away from the main areas of the incidence, clearing away the drywall, broken tiles, and pieces of piano among other debris. He wasn't going to reveal to a random crew that he was one of the superhumans from the fight, so he had to act like just a butler and stay away while they worked. 

 

Then carpenters had come in and repaired any framing that was damaged, like in the wall to the kitchen. The electricians and plumbers walked through while the walls were open, checking that nothing was broken in their respective departments. 

 

On the list: 

5. Have the electricians add an extra outlet in the kitchen beneath the picture of Sir Frankness while they're here. 

 

"Could you add an outlet under that picture?" Peter pointed it out. 

The electrician grunted and got out her tool bag, cutting a hole in the wall where Peter had pointed. Peter took that as a yes. 

 

Then drywall people and other detail orientated tradesmen like the tile layers had to come make things look pretty around the manor.

 

Peter closely eyed the tile work done on the entrance, even leaning down, “It is…acceptable.”

 

“Acceptable? I cut each tile, roughening them slightly to match the existing tile. Don’t even get me started on how long it took me to match the grout perfectly for a seamless repair!” the tiler complained. 

 

“Yet that is the minimum of what Mr Wayne is paying you to do. You were reported to be the best at your job and able to fix the entryway to the foyer. You are being paid handsomely to do that,” Peter kept his arms folded, staring down his nose at the worker as Alfred had been teaching him. Damian had also been a good teacher. Peter tried to emulate the way Damian looked at him each morning when Peter handed him breakfast. 

 

He would normally never treat a tradesman like this, but Alfred had warned him that while the tile guy was the best in the local area, he had a tendency to make it seem like he had done more work than he had and charge more than the already above fair pay that Bruce offered. Alfred had given him strict instructions to be on the harsh side. 

 

The manor’s phone rang.

 

Peter grabbed it, answering it as he had been taught, “Wayne Manor, Peter speaking.”

 

“Mr Parker, this is Bruce. I’m calling to let you know not to worry about a family supper in the dining hall. I’ll be working late tonight. Please make sure Damian and Alfred eat, and offer the teenagers something,” Bruce’s voice sounded tired even in its deep timber and Peter found himself frowning. 

 

“Alright Mr Wayne, I can handle that,” Peter said, spinning the cord attached to the phone, pausing to consider that the home phone to the manor was a bulky corded monstrosity. He popped the back off of it. With just a little work, he could definitely make it cordless. 

 

“Just Bruce, or even B if you prefer.”

 

“You can call me Peter then, Mr Bruce, but I wanted to ask, have you had something to eat then?” Peter set the phone down, still able to hear Bruce's words with his hearing, and better able to work on the phone with two hands. 

 

“I’ll grab something by the office,” Bruce sounded flippant.

 

Peter frowned harder, “I’ll keep something warm in the kitchen for you, make sure you eat it when you get home.”

 

There was silence and Peter realized what he’d just said, a blush creeping up his neck at the realization he was bossing around his billionaire boss like he would’ve with Tony. 

 

“I mean if you want to sir! It’ll be there. I’m not saying what you have to do, but Mr Alfred wouldn’t like it if you don’t eat, and I don’t want him stressed while he’s healing,” Peter rambled.

 

“I’ll eat it when I get home, promise,” Bruce interrupted, now what crossed for humor in his voice, "Also, I keep hearing a noise. Is something wrong with the phone?" 

 

“Right, that’s good. Nothing's wrong, I'm just going to improve the phone! I'll show you when you get home and eat supper. I’m gonna go start supper before I say anything else. Bye Mr Bruce,” Peter said, hanging up before he could embarrass himself further. In another few minutes, he had converted the phone to a cordless, adding in speaker mode, and contemplated adding caller ID. 

 

Heading into the cleared kitchen, he frowned at the fresh drywall mud on the wall where Killer Croc had burst in. The drywall crew would be back the next day to sand, add another layer of drywall mud, sand again, then painting crews would be in. Honestly, he hadn’t realized how much work it was just to repair a hole in a wall let alone some of the stuff that’d been done by the Avengers and himself.

 

Turning away from the repairs, his eyes fell on Alfred’s cookbook shelf, and he was struck by inspiration. He grabbed the Great British Bake Off cookbook and flipped until he found the correct recipe. 

 

That afternoon, he went to pick up Damian, narrowly avoiding a car crash.

 

“I think that went better,” he grinned in the rear view mirror.

 

“I believe I am going to be ill,” Damian replied, truly looking green. 

 

“But you weren’t sick in the car, so that’s a win in my book,” Peter replied, squealing the tires into the garage, before heading into the kitchen, noticing that Damian first went to visit Alfred.

 

Damian eventually made his way into the kitchen as well, “What’s that smell?”

 

“Homemade bread,” Peter grinned, holding out the loaf pan.

 

The crust was a shade lighter than a golden glow, and it was quite sunken down the middle, but a member of the Wayne family there that evening would be hard pressed to say it smelled badly. As Peter turned the loaf out on a wooden cutting board and sliced it, a light layer of steam rose and the appetizing smell increased. Damian sniffed again, scowl in place to prevent Peter thinking he might actually enjoy the smell.

 

Peter poked the middle of one of the slices and frowned at the doughyness of it, “Not quite there, but it’ll work! I wanted to make it to go along with the soup to help Alfred feel better. I’m gonna try making more in the future though, that was therapeutic!”

 

“You believe your soup concoction will make Alfred feel better?” Damian walked closer, standing on his tip toes to peer into the pot like it was a cauldron of boiling animal parts.

 

“Chicken noodle soup is my specialty, I had to make it in Aunt May’s soup kitchen all the time. Everyone knows that a good homemade chicken noodle soup makes a person feel better,” Peter said, plating up a silver tray with a bowl of soup and a thick slice of bread with some butter on the side.

 

Alfred was propped on some pillows in his bed when Peter walked in, scowling at a show. He turned an open expression on the tray, “What’s this then, Mr Peter?”

 

“Supper! Chicken noodle soup!”

 

“You are aware I have a broken wrist, correct? I have not taken ill, Mr Peter,” Alfred said mildly.

 

“Hogwash, Mr Alfred! Chicken noodle soup makes everyone feel better,” Peter grinned, heading back out.

 

“You just wanted to say hogwash,” Damian complained, perched on the edge of Alfred’s bed. 

 

Duke and Tim were the next ones into the kitchen, and they scarfed down a bowl and ate several slices of the bread while telling Peter about their school day. Peter washed the dishes as he listened to them. 

 

After a full day of directing the activities around the manor, with Alfred helping as the medicine wore off later in the day, Peter found himself in the kitchen after midnight. The manor should be asleep, Peter just felt like his mind couldn’t calm down. He sat in the kitchen which was quickly becoming his safe place and considered the day.

 

Until his Spidey-senses tingled up his neck like a spider crawling there and his ears picked the sound of footsteps getting closer. Light footsteps as though they belonged to a child instead of a teenager.

 

He relaxed as Damian crept into the room, and startled at the sight of Peter looking at him.

 

“What are you doing here?” Damian demanded.

 

“Couldn’t sleep, same as you I bet,” Peter said.

 

“I am completely fine,” Damian growled, “just looking for a late evening bite.”

 

“So a midnight snack? You know Alfred doesn’t let you cook. I’ll make you a lavender latte with no caffeine and toast a slice of bread,” Peter was already moving and pulling out the containers he needed.

 

“It was doughy in the middle,” Damian complained.

 

“Yep, but the toasting will help. Butter?”

 

“…yes…”

 

Peter put the snack onto a plate and started walking into the den.

 

“Hello? Where are you retreating with my sustenance?” 

 

“To the den. Come on, we can watch cat videos on the TV,” Peter said.

 

“Cat videos? What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“I like them, they’re soothing. I assume you can’t sleep because you’re upset that Alfred got hurt when he’s the family member you’re closest to. Look, I don’t have any siblings or even cousins. I’m not really the best at comforting kids, and I fully believe you’d stab me if I try. Let’s compromise, I made you some food, I’ll put on cat videos until you feel calm enough to sleep or be alone in your room, and we all win?” Peter offered, syncing his phone to the TV and starting the first cat video.

 

Damian hesitated in the doorway, glaring to the left and right as though checking for a trick.

 

“Cat videos are for children and old women,” he finally grumbled.

 

Peter snorted, “Guess I’m an old woman then. I can shut it off, and you can just go back to bed if you are too old for such things?”

 

“I didn’t say that,” Damian was on the couch opposite Peter then, munching on his snack and glaring at the videos.

 

Slowly though, Peter noticed how his face lost some of his tension. He sipped at the lavender scented steamed milk and nibbled on the bread. 

 

Small victories with the demon child. 

 

“You know, you remind me a lot of a cat,” Peter mused, sleep deprivation making his mouth even loser than normal.

 

“How so?” Damian asked.

 

“You’re unconventional and massively independent. You always have at least one murder plan on your mind. You also have the grace and movements of a cat,” Peter offered.

 

Damian perked up slightly, “A feline is a wonderful animal to emulate.”

 

“You should get a pet cat. Might help you emulate it more or offer you a companion. Do you guys have any pets?” Peter asked.

 

“We used to have a dog named Ace, but he passed away about a year back. A German shepherd,” Tim’s voice said.

 

Peter didn’t jump, he’d heard the teenager approaching, not to mention Spidey-sense. Damian also seemed to have noticed his brother's approach. 

 

“A cat would be a far superior pet. I will investigate this,” Damian announced, up and heading towards his room.

 

Peter thought he might’ve been embarrassed to be caught by his older brother to be watching cat videos. He sighed as the boy walked away, feeling like that’s all he was doing recently.

 

“Thanks for looking out for him,” Tim offered quietly, taking up Damian’s spot. 

 

“I think it’s part of the job description,” Peter replied with a shrug.

 

Tim shrugged back, though it seemed mocking when he did it, “I believe the job description is just to cook and clean, not offer emotional support to ten year olds.”

 

“Alfred would,” Peter said simply.

 

“Yeah, yeah he would,” Tim said.

 

The boys sat on the couches in peaceful quiet for several minutes, both watching the playing cat video.

 

“Go to bed Peter,” Tim finally said.

 

“Are you?” Peter countered.

 

“Soon as I run some illegal blood tests, sure,” Tim said.

 

“Haha, very funny,” Peter said, disconnecting his phone and heading to his room with its three empty bunk beds and clean sheets.

 

“Wait, he was joking right? Or am I learning more family secrets in the mob business?” Peter questioned his quiet room before shrugging and falling asleep. 

Notes:

Full disclosure: I’m posting this chapter fairly late at night (for me, no judgement) with little editing after a long day. Please be prepared if it goes through some editing tomorrow. Feel free to offer constructive criticism, I’ll probably take you up on it 😜 I wanted to get this out to y’all though, new chapter in two days instead of four. Just a big old fluff and humor chapter.

Chapter 9: Steph and Cass

Summary:

Family dinner at Wayne Manor.

“I have asked for all of the children to come to the manor tonight for supper,” Alfred told Peter at the next morning’s debrief in the kitchen while Peter flipped pancakes, sprinkling chocolate chips into half of them.

 

“They’ll listen to you?” Peter asked, not rudely, still just trying to figure out the dynamics around the manor.

 

“Yes I’ve found that they do not like to refuse my requests when I am injured, and I have no qualms against using that for my own gain,” Alfred smirked to himself.

 

“Cool, cool, it’ll be nice to formally meet them all,” Peter said.

 

“Better now than trying to meet them at the gala. Regardless; that means your first time serving them a formal supper will be with all present,” Alfred said.

 

Peter dropped a pancake on the ground while he stared at Alfred in shock, before shaking the spatula at the old man, “Rude!”

 

“Apologies,” Alfred didn’t sound sorry.

 

“Ohh chocolate chips!” a female voice sounded, long blonde hair swinging into the kitchen, “I love chocolate!”

 

As Peter was coming to expect from the Wayne family, even though all but Damian were adopted, they were all tall. Except for Damian. Ironies never end. 

 

The blonde girl was taller than Peter by several inches, easily close to Bruce and Dick’s height. She had an athletic build and an easy confidence, greeting the room with a grin. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail that swung with her steps, grey sweatpants hung low on her hips, showing off a stomach potentially more toned than Peter’s own as she stretched, her crop top going up. A pair of black plastic glasses finished off her sleep deprived, comfy look. 

 

“Does anyone in this manor sleep?” 

 

“Well, do you?” she retorted. 

 

“Like a baby,” he replied, ignoring the nights he went out on patrol, or stayed up inventing and tinkering. 

 

She scrunched her nose at him, “I sense a lie. I’m Stephanie by the way, but you can just call me Steph.” 

 

“Peter,” he replied. 

 

She grabbed a couple pancakes on a plate and headed back to her room. 

 

When she came back down with the others for school, she looked almost completely different. Glasses were gone, blonde hair was perfectly straight, sweatpants replaced with a miniskirt. Peter watched curiously as she slung an air around Alfred, squeezing him. 

 

Tim and Duke focused on each filling a plate with pancakes; Peter slid the normal pancake toppings toward them. Duke accepted the butter and maple syrup, adding a generous scoop of strawberries on top. 

 

Peter watched in fascination as Tim opened the fridge and pulled out the ketchup, “What’re you doing?” 

 

“Ketchup on pancakes. It’s perfection,” Tim said, staring into Peter’s eyes as he squirted a large quantity of the red liquid onto his chocolate chip pancakes. 

 

Duke mimed gagging behind him, “Ignore him, man, the sleep deprivation is talking again.” 

 

“Is it good?” 

 

“The best,” Tim took a bite. 

 

Duke gagged for real, “it’s disgusting.” 

 

“Want to try?” 

 

Peter shrugged, “Sure.” 

 

Tim slid the plate across the island to Peter, staring at him with an impassive face while Duke tried to stop him. Peter cut off a piece. 

 

“We’ll be back for supper. Heard you called in everyone,” she even gave the old man a kiss on the cheek before stepping between Tim and Duke, ignoring Peter shrugging as he took another bite. 

 

“I don’t enjoy it, but it didn’t make me throw,” Peter finally offered, sliding the plate back to Tim. 

 

“Made me throw up. Steph too,” Duke countered. 

 

“It’ll be an interesting meal, not interesting in the way my ketchup pancakes are,” Tim added, Duke nodded sagely.

 

Peter felt his eyebrows raising, “Do some people not get along?” 

 

“You could say that,” Duke laughed. 

 

“You’ll see tonight. Bye Alfie, bye Peter!” Stephanie called. 

 

Peter waved to the trio of teenagers before turning back to Alfred, “Alright, Mr. Alfred, I’ll take Damian to school then. Figure you shouldn’t drive for a while with a broken wrist.” 

 

“I am perfectly capable of driving with it; however, you know how to drive?” Alfred’s one eyebrow was raised in a polite disbelief. Peter sweated for a minute, knowing he was terrible at lying. 

 

“Of course he does, Alfred, he drove me to school yesterday,” Damian breezed into the kitchen, grabbing two pancakes, rolling them up with peanut butter and strawberries, “Come along, new chauffeur.” 

 

Peter followed behind Damian with a sheepish smile at Alfred who watched them with narrowed eyes. 

 

“Why did you cover for me?” Peter asked once they were safely in the car and he’d focused on his Sidey-sense extra hard to check for cameras watching them. 

 

“Two reasons. First, you are a more interesting chauffeur than Alfred and no doubt easier to force to follow my will. Eventually you will learn to drive without killing anyone. Second, you now owe me for covering for you. I assume you do not want to be required to take a driving test and education classes,” Damain said. 

 

“You are an evil mastermind,” Peter shook his head in the rearview mirror. 

 

“Eyes on the road, Parker, you almost took out a sign. But I know,” Damian preened. 

 

That evening, Peter was carrying plates to the dining hall when he nearly dropped them at the sight of an unmasked Red Hood walking through the front door of the manor, “You!” 

 

“Me?” Red Hood smirked at him. 

 

Peter paused with his mouth open to say something when he realized that Spiderman knew Red Hood’s face, not Peter Parker, “Uh, are you supposed to be here?” 

 

“Yes, Alfie invited me to supper,” Red Hood replied. 

 

“Alfie? But aren’t you like a dangerous…uh…connection to the family? They just let you around them?” 

 

“First of all, I am dangerous; and if they knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t. Regardless, they don’t care so here I am. Secondly though, how have you heard about my connection to the family? I told that information to a certain spider vigilante, not you that I know of,” the Red Hood was in Peter’s space then, reminding him how much shorter he was than the older man. Not that Peter was scared of the man in a physical manner, he was definitely stronger than him. He was scared that he was about to be caught in his lies. 

 

“Maybe I have a connection to the spider and he warned me to be careful of you since he knows I work for the family,” Peter offered weakly. 

 

Red Hood took a half step forward, forcing Peter a half step back against the hall’s wall, plate held protectively in front of him like a barrier as Red Hood said, “Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.” 

 

Peter blinked, “What? I mean, you’re quoting, I get that. Where’s it from?” 

Red Hood rolled his eyes, “So you don’t appreciate the classics then. It’s Shakespeare.”

 

“Little Wing is a bit of a theater buff,” Dick was there then, slinging an arm carelessly across the taller man’s shoulders, while Red Hood scoffed and shoved him off. 

 

“At least one of us took school seriously,” Red Hood replied, and it sounded so strange, the two seeming to almost banter about stuff like school.

 

“Which one of us graduated again?” Dick sing songed, grabbing the plates out of Peter’s hands and skipping over Red Hood’s outstretched foot, setting them on the tables.

 

“I’m supposed to be doing that!” Peter yelped, trying to take them back.

 

“He looks like a little deer, not any sort of spider, with the floppy brown hair and the big brown eyes,” Red Hood snickered, and Peter shot him a glare.

 

“That’s cause im not any kind of spider anything,” Peter said, still trying to take back the plates, up until Dick starting flinging them across the table with a spin, each plate landing exactly in front of a seat. 

 

Peter glared at him even though he’d saved the teenager several steps, “show off.”

 

“Woah, Bambi? Not impressed with Dickie like everyone else?”

 

“No! You are not going to call me Bambi!” Peter knew he had to nip this in the bud right now, Red Hood was way too much like Deadpool. If he got the nickname Bambi, it was going to be around for ages. 

 

“You do look like a Bambi,” Dick smirked at him.

 

Peter glared at them both before turning on his heel and marching out of the dining hall like he still had control of the situation.

 

The entire Batfamily seemed to slowly filter into the dining hall.

 

Peter noticed a small (for the Wayne family) Asian woman in a seat. He noticed her especially for a few reasons. The easiest reason was that he hadn’t met her yet. 

 

The scarier reason was that he hadn’t noticed her enter the room but she set off his Spidey-senses in a crazy way. With how strongly she set them off, he should’ve noticed her every move, but he hadn’t. He kept one eye on her at all times.

 

It must’ve been a touch noticeable because Stephanie seemed to notice, “Oh this is Cass! You probably haven’t met her yet. She doesn’t talk but she knows sign language.”

 

Peter looked at her, trying to force his body to wave hello or say hi, but it was locked up in fight or flight mode. Cass didn’t wave either though, staring at him with a better blank face than even Alfred, completely unreadable.

 

Damian kicked him, hard, and Peter kick started back alive.

 

“Nice to meet you,” he finally offered, a touch too late.

 

She inclined her head.

 

Bruce was the last one to enter. Peter’s eyes widened at the man’s outfit, a causal for him blue sweater that perfectly matched his eyes and cost more than Peter’s entire combined wardrobe with a pair of perfectly tailored black pants. He settled into the head seat. 

 

Alfred stood at the wall, with Peter standing next to him,

 

“Alfred, won’t you take a seat?” Bruce asked first.

 

“Certainly not, Master Bruce,” Alfred replied.

 

Bruce sighed, “Let’s eat then.”

 

The meal certainly wasn’t what Peter had been expecting.

 

It started with Dick and Red Hood.

 

“J, have you heard about the new play going into the theater?”

 

“Heard it’s going to suck balls.”

 

“Language young sir.”

 

“Sorry Alfie, heard it’s going to suck your balls.”

 

“I think it’s going to be excellent.”

 

“It’s a look at poverty from the perspective of the grossly wealthy. It’s an insult to both of our childhoods.”

 

Then Cass and Duke seemed to have a silent conversation because they were arm wrestling.

 

“Come, silent champion. Beat this behemoth,” Damian urged Cass.

 

“Whyre you on her side?” Tim asked him, opening a folder that looked like one of the police folders Peter had seen on television.

 

“Tim, no crime scenes at the table,” Bruce intoned.

 

“I just wanted to check the connections quick,” Tim complained.

 

“No,” Bruce repeated.

 

He sighed, but shut the folder. Peter was standing behind him at the wall and had a viewpoint of him sneaking glanced into the folder in his lap. 

 

“Duke ate the final bowl of chocolate Chex,” Damian glared at Duke, cheering with excitement as Cass did beat Duke and sent a spoon flying while a dinner roll got crushed. Duke groaned in dissapointemnt before turning to his right where Stephanie was on her phone.

 

“Come on Steph, your turn,” he told her.

 

“B, throw me one of your cards. I want to order this new pair of jeans to try. Then I’ll wrestle you Duke, but it will be another hit to your ego,” Stephanie replied, holding out a hand to Bruce who simply pulled out his wallet and threw her a card.

 

“J, that’s ridiculous! Just because they depict a homeless youth does not mean they are discriminatory against the homeless!” Dick was saying.

 

Red Hood, apparently called Jay from what Peter could hear, gestured with his hands, “Then why is every homeless person in the play a villain? Every one of them has AIDS or steals or hurts someone else!” 

 

His eyes also seemed to be turning from more of a teal color to a vibrant, almost neon green. Peter was starting to reconsider his initial thought that he could take Red Hood as he considered if the giant of a man was one of the meta talked about around the city. 

 

Tim clapped politely as Stephanie cheered after beating Duke, another crushed dinner roll a victim of the arm wrestling. 

 

Peter turned to look at how Bruce was handling the chaos slowly descending around him. Bruce caught his eyes on him, and paused in cutting him food into polite bites, and looked at him.

 

“Mr Peter, I meant to ask, how do you feel about my current outfit choices?” Bruce asked him. The room quieting to give the conversation their attention. 

 

Peter rubbed his head as he considered what to say, “Uh, major old money vibes.”

 

Bruce looked confused, eyebrows creased together, “Is that a good thing?”

 

“Yes, B, he’s saying you look like you’re rich,” Stephanie rolled her eyes.

 

“I thought I was trying to not look rich?”

 

“You’re always going to look rich. You are attempting to not look like a mob boss,” Tim replied.

 

“Right, because I am not a mob boss,” Bruce sent a stern look at Peter.

 

“Course, not sir!” Peter squeaked, “at least not at dinner. What you do at work is your own business.”

 

The table erupted back into its noise and chaos. 

 

It would’ve taken  Peter ages to wash, dry, and put away all of the dishes for a four course formal dinner, but Bruce seemingly sent his children in to help after supper, stealing Alfred away to relax. It was as loud and chaotic in the kitchen as it had been in the dining hall.

 

Dick was showing how he could do a handstand and put away dishes with his feet. 

 

“That is not hygienic!” Steph laughed, not trying to stop him, and in fact, despite her words, getting into a handstand herself.

 

“I washed them just like hands!” Dick retorted, laughing as she dropped a plate that shattered. He stood up, using one hand on the small of her back to correct her posture. 

 

“We can’t use the regular Dawn soap, Jay, it dries out my hands. Alfred has a special pink one for sensitive skin,” Duke was demanding to Jay, who glared at the teenager. 

 

“The end of the world, dry hands,” he retorted.

 

“You’ve never had eczema, man,” Duke said, pulling out the pink dish soap. 

 

Tim and Damian weren’t even pretending to help, Tim fully engrossed in his folder with several additional pieces of paper spread out and a cup of coffee next to the folder. Damian was just sneaking candy.

 

“It’s 8:40, why are you drinking coffee?” Peter walked over to Tim, face slightly glaring. 

 

“I’m worried Damian might drink it and stay that short if I leave it laying around,” Tim said.

 

Peter rolled his eyes while the boy pushed Tim out of his seat. Tim didn’t even fight him, falling to the tiles with his papers closely clutched in his hands, making grabby hands at his coffee until Steph sighed and handed it down to him. 

 

Cass ended up being the only proper help, calmly drying dishes and placing them in the correct cupboards.

 

While it seemed like chaos, Peter had to admit that they got the entire kitchen cleaned in record time with only two dishes broken.

 

Tim noticed Peter's impressed face, “Alfred doesn’t allow any of us but J to help with the cooking or baking, so we had to get good at doing the cleanup.”

 

“What talent? You never help us clean,” Duke complained. 

 

Tim shrugged, “The rest of you at least.” 

OOO

 

New York skyline spread out before him. A tension Peter hadn’t even noticed relaxed within him at the sight. Sitting curled up against the edge, a hot dog in his hand from Coney Island.

 

“Petey-pie!” 

 

“Wade?” he asked, even though he knew he was in New York, his mouth still said, “you’re in Gotham?”

 

“Gotham? You’re in Gotham? Gotham, Gotham, Gotham. Gooooo-tham? Why is that familiar?” Deadpool didn’t appear across from Peter, but it was as though he’d been there behind a frosted glass screen and he could come into focus now that Peter knew he was there.

 

“There’s some sort of Batman there, a superhuman maybe,” Peter said, “But we’re in New York right now. This is New York.”

 

“Batman? Ahh yes, DC! That’s how I’ve heard of Gotham!” Wade exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

 

“No, it’s not by Washington DC,” Peter said, “but it is the east coast, kind of. Not our east coast, but still.”

 

“Not what I’m talking about,” Wade stepped closer, grabbing Peter by the shoulders, “don’t worry, baby boy, I’m coming!”

 

Peter smiled at him, “What about everyone else? Are they coming to get me? They said they would bring me back if they could.”

 

Wade hesitated. Even in a dream, Peter realized it couldn’t be good if Wade hesitated.

 

“It’s bad, kid, I’m not gonna lie. But I’m coming. I’ll be there like a big brother to keep you safe, and I can explain everything in person,” Wade finally said.

 

Peter snorted, “You get me in more trouble than anyone else.”

 

“Psh, it was one time Petey-pie!”

 

“It was like 23 times. One time Aunt May smacked you with her flip flop, remember?”

 

“Moving on! I also got you a present! Pretty jewlery for a pretty boy!”

 

“Wade, stop calling me that, I’m not a pretty boy,” Peter rolled his eyes. 

 

“Everyone likes jewlery! Especially this one. Wars fought over it. I’m hard to kill, so we’re making it work but I can’t keep it. Souls too dark. You though, Baby Boy, you have a soul of gold! It’s gonna love you!” 

 

Peter frowned, taking a bite of his hot dog, frowning deeper at the realization he couldn’t really taste it, “Wade that doesn’t sound good. Whatever you stole, put it back. You know what Matt would say.”

 

“Matt!” Wade snapped his fingers again, “I’ll check on him on my way. Team Red together again! Gotta wake up now, Petey, you’re forgetting to breathe!”

 

Wade slapped him across the face, hard.

 

Peter sat up in the bed with a gasp, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the bunk above his own.

 

He got out of bed, heading into the bathroom and splashing water onto his face.

 

Looking in the mirror, there was no mark on his cheek, no sign that he’d actually been slapped.

 

“It was just a dream, Peter, get it together,” he whispered to himself in the dark, gripping the edges of the sink.

 

The desire to give in to his misery and loneliness washed over him like a saltwater wave over a tidepool. It wasn’t that the sadness just swept back out into the ocean, it felt like sometimes he was filled to the brim with it and then life poured more in.

 

He missed his Aunt May and Ned and MJ. He missed the ways they would fill in that he lacked. Peter wanted to be the smart science kid, building and creating web fluid while Ned could hack into anything. Aunt May would make sure he was still acting like a teenager. And MJ…maybe he would’ve asked her out one day. Now he never could.

 

A few tears slipped out of his eyes and down his cheeks.

 

~Crash!~

 

“Damian! I’m going to kill you!” Tim’s voice sounded through the floor to Peter’s hearing, possibly loud enough to be heard even without super hearing.

 

Peter scrubbed at his face, wiping away most of the evidence.

 

A glance at the clock showed 4:57 am blinking back at him. Earlier than he normally got up for work, but too late to reasonably go back to bed. 

 

He pulled out his butler uniform and started getting ready, hurrying to see exactly what trouble Damian was causing. 

 

“It was just a dream,” he reminded himself, and then smiled a little bit as he heard Damian’s feet running full bore followed by Tim’s footsteps and Tim’s old money cursing. 

 

It wasn’t his home, but the Wayne Manor didn’t give him too much space for pity parties or even loneliness.

 

Notes:

Guys, you left so many comments on the last chapter! Like 30 in one chapter! Thank you!! It definitely encouraged me to get this chapter out faster. Sorry I’d didn’t personally reply to each one, but I did read each one and I really appreciated them!

Also, I really don’t mind constructive criticism. Doesn’t mean I always do what you suggest, but I don’t mind it. I do want to improve.

This story is not about me, but since some of y’all kind of asked, I, the author, am a female and go by she/her. I’m in my mid twenties, and I’ve been writing fanfiction since I was twelve (not on AO3)z I actually might take a little longer to get the next chapter out on Butler Spider, because I have two other active stories that I’ve been neglecting slightly and I’d really like to get a chapter out for both of them. If you like this story and like MHA or Percy Jackson, you might want to check them out. My writing style stays fairly consistent, slight crack undertones in attempts at humor, often with strange plot ideas.

I don’t have a ton of comments on this chapter. Definitely more of a humor/crack feel here, so sorry if that’s not your cup of tea. I feel like there’s some cannon backup though that the Batfamily together is a touch crack-y.

Please note that the Batfamily had agreed to call Jason just J to help not connect him to the dead child in case Peter had looked him up. Peter is the one who thought they were saying a complete name Jay and made no connection to any dead sons. Oblivious Peter is my favorite. Also note that Jason and Bruce have major beef and were ignoring each other through this chapter, willing to put their issues aside for their previous Alfred. It does not mean they’re good or Jason is coming back to the manor full time.

I dropped some major stuff this chapter, and I’m just going to stop typing there so I don’t spoil anything. Cause I want you guys to know the entire plot line! Like I have this plotted out through so many chapters and gold scenes and I just wish I could already have it all typed for you! Leave your thoughts in a comment. What do you think is going to happen? Please know some things are foreshadowing and won’t be returning until potentially like thirty more chapters. Don’t expect everything to get resolved immediately, cause it’s not.

Next time: the gala, finally, hopefully if I don’t go off track. The gala was supposed to be chapter 7 in my original outline.

Chapter 10: Gala

Summary:

Peter's first charity gala

Wayne Manor’s great hall spread out covered in opulent decorations. All of the furniture had needed to be moved, a job that this year only required Alfred and Peter. As in, Alfred directing while Peter singehandedly moved all of the furniture, including several hundred pound solid wood pieces. 

 

Each of the thousand piece crystal chandeliers needed dusting. 

 

Peter had sighed morosely as he stared up at them. It was bad enough that the Waynes already knew he had super strength, he didn’t want to reveal any skills that were especially spider-like. 

 

So he’d gotten out a ridiculously tall ladder and subjected himself to going up and down the ladder a bajillion times and moving it through the room before they’d put in the gala furniture. 

 

Replacing the regular furniture were 27 round tables that each seated 8 people. On each table was a long white tablecloth that Peter had to steam and iron to ensure complete flatness. 

 

Then there were the centerpieces, all the chairs to go with the tables, cleaning the sixteen feet tall windows, etc, etc.  

 

Peter was more exhausted than he thought he’d ever been in his life. And he was a teenage vigilante who had once been going to school and helping Mr Stark and the Avengers. There was just something about deep cleaning a gigantic mansion and then setting it up for a party that was exhausting. Peter continued to have so much new found empathy for Mr Stark’s cleaning crews. He’d seen Stark Tower after a few events, and he hadn’t even thought about who had to clean them.

 

“Mr Stark might’ve had robots or an AI service do some of that,” he muttered to himself, considering.

 

He glanced around him with newfound interest.

 

After the gala was over, so he didn’t accidentally rip something up like with the super suck, he might look into that.

 

“Need to try and recreate Karen, too,” he said, “if I still had her, I’d just tell her to create a list.”

 

During the dimension hop, he’d lost the Iron Spider. It wasn’t like something that could just have fallen in the dimensions. It was more the same way that Doctor Strange had slipped his government ID, birth certificate, and social security card into his pocket. As far as he could find through the internet, Gotham and this dimension's technology were behind his own dimensions. It seemed with the dimension hop that the Iron Spider had simplified itself to match what was available. 

 

He had theories about what would’ve happened if he’d time hopped in addition to dimensions, such as to the Victorian period. He had strong feelings that Strange had added a layer to his spell designed to help the clothings of the person’s dimension, hoping to fit it.

 

That just meant that Peter got to try recreating Karen.

 

“After the gala,” he reminded himself, focusing on final touches.

 

He and Alfred had put in several sixteen hour days leading up to the gala. It meant he hadn’t been able to patrol Crime Alley, trying to meet up with Red Hood, but he knew he had signed up to help in a big way with the galas. Plus, if he tried to flake off, he really didn’t know how Alred would be able to do it with his broken wrist. 

 

Finally the morning of the gala dawned. Peter pulled on a different wait staff uniform that Alfred had handed him two days prior. The uniform was made up of black pants, a white button up, and black bow tie. 

 

“It’ll allow any of the guests to be able to quickly identify a servant in case they need anything,” Alfred had explained. 

 

Peter surveyed the dance hall a final time, not seeing anything out of place. Then headed to the kitchen where a team of caterers had taken over his space. Alfred had a clipboard in hand, overseeing the food. 

 

“Mr Peter, please go check in with the florists, make sure they are placing the arrangements in the spots we discussed with them,” Alfred commanded him. 

 

“On it, Mr Alfred,” Peter headed to the side door, where a florist’s truck was parked and white roses were being unloaded, water added to the glass vases. He watched as they unloaded several hundred roses before moving on to the alcohol crew. 

 

Several waiters and waitresses had been hired just for the night to serve alcohol. 

 

Alfred had given him the patented Alfred glare 300 when Peter had volunteered to serve alcohol for the evening, “Not even in your wildest dreams. You are not of a legal age, and there will be no opportunities to sneak even a sip in this household.” 

 

“Yes, Mr Alfred,” Peter had agreed. 

 

“If the media asks for a statement from you, what have you decided to say?” 

 

“I am pleased to be under the employ of the Wayne family. It’s been a wonderful opportunity thus far. I’m especially excited for my first formal event and the chance to help raise money for charities,” Peter said. 

 

“Good wording,” Alfred praised. Peter preened slightly, completely different from how Damian did. 

 

As it started getting dark, early as fall had nearly passed into winter, the first guests started arriving. The giant wooden doors were propped open. A live band started up in the dancing hall, music filtering through the rest of the house. The chandeliers offered glittering light while endless candles offered a flickering light. Couples started flowing through the doors. Bruce’s children were stationed throughout the house to greet the guests. Bruce, Alfred, and Peter were stationed right at the door initially. 

 

Alfred greeted the guests, Peter taking coats and accessories as handed to them. Bruce was next in the entrance hall, stationed with a cup of bourbon according to Peter’s senses. After the stream of guests had arrived, Alfred led Peter into the great hall where they stayed against the wall with the other servants for hours. Sometimes Peter watched as Alfred answered a servant’s question or quietly diffused an emergency, such as when the waiters thought they were out of champagne and Alfred had to show them the supply of another twenty bottles. 

 

“Come dance with me, servant,” Stephanie grabbed Peter’s arm, though with well expressed intentions, plainly giving him space to pull away before actually touching him.

 

He gave her a polite smile, “Can’t, I’m on serving duty and watching that everything’s going alright duty.”

 

“It’s your first gala, come dance with me,” she insisted.

 

“Mr Alfred, tell her I really can’t,” Peter pleaded with his mentor, who smirked at him.

 

“Go Mr Peter, you are a teenager, have fun for a night. We are far enough into the gala and most adults drunk enough that I can handle the rest,” Alfred said.

 

Peter put on his outraged face, “Mr Alfred!”

 

Alfred shooed him away with his hands.

 

“Go to Mr Wayne, he’ll tell you I can’t dance with you!”

 

“Wanna bet?” Stephanie led him through the gala to where a small crowd of attractive men and women were gathered around Bruce, “B, Petey is going to dance with me in front of all of your guests, is that alright?”

 

“If he doesn’t mind,” B said.

 

“Traitor! I’m just the wait staff! I’m hired hands, I can’t go out on the dancefloor! My outfit alone should be an embarrassment,” Peter complained. 

 

“Anything is an embarrassment against a dress as beautiful as this one, but I shall allow it,” Stephanie did a quick twirl, sending the purple dress out in fluttery layers around her, the longest layers brushing against the legs of Peter’s black suit. 

 

“It is the most beautiful gown at the ball,” Peter inclined his head once, a flush creeping up his neck after he said it. 

 

She gave him a gentle smile and leaned in to whisper, “Admit it, you just don’t know how to dance.” 

 

“Not a single step,” he admitted, even as she tugged him onto the dance floor. 

 

“Don’t worry, white boy, you don’t need to know how to dance, Steph can lead,” Duke leaned back from his own dance partner as Stephanie led Peter into the middle of the dance floor. 

 

“You’ll just have to take the stereotypical girl’s role then. You’re shorter and don’t know how to lead, so I’ll have to,” Stephanie declared 

 

“Works for me if you’re sure. I apologize now for stepping on your toes,” Peter offered. 

 

But he didn’t really. Stephanie was a good dance partner, leading him through the fast paced steps smoothly, all with her easy smile on her face. 

 

Then Duke stepped in and stole Peter, breaking out dance moves that Peter were certain weren’t traditional but he’d easily admit looked better than most people on the dance floor. Duke took great pleasure in pointing out everytime someone else messed up on the dance floor. 

 

“There’s Tim, he almost never messes up unless he has a really terrible partner,” Duke conspired, “He’s had dance lessons longer than any of us since he actually grew up in this posh setting. See if you’re bad enough to trip him up.” 

 

“Hey!” Peter complained as Duke basically shoved him into Tim. Tim didn’t even miss a step, adjusting Peter’s hands into the correct holds, and gliding them away. 

 

“It’s a game to Steph and Duke, trying to get me to mess up,” Tim sounded almost apologetic, though Peter caught a predatory look in his eyes. 

 

“So we aren’t going to mess up then?” he asked the other teenager, finally looking easily into someone’s eyes with the way he and Tim were nearly the same height. 

 

“Absolutely not,” Tim showed entirely too many teeth as he smiled.

 

The music changed then, slowly slightly. Tim tilted his head in concentration, “American waltz. Not the easiest to fake, but we’ll get you through it. My nanny took me to waltzing lessons at three, so I fully believe in you. I’ll tell you each step and just do exactly as I say.” 

 

“Alright,” Peter agreed as Tim bowed to him. 

 

“Put out one hand, I’ll take it. We’ll glide into the middle of the floor, forming a circle. It’ll be a circle of dancers following leader, follower for each partner normally characterized by male then female around. If I go left, you go right basically, forming a circle with all the other dancers,” Tim whispered quickly, the smile never leaving his face or revealing that he was coaching Peter through it. 

 

“I’ll bow, then you bow. After the bow, one quick step close to me, left hand on my shoulder, right hand in my left hand,” Tim whispered out quickly. Peter managed those steps without hesitation, “I hate to tell anyone they need to smile, but a smile might make it appear that you have more confidence. Pinch me if that was rude.” 

 

Peter laughed, “No in these circumstances, it’s fine. If I look too confused, it’ll give up the whole game.” 

 

“That’s exactly what I think too. Alright, you’ll move slow - quick - slow, or 1,2,3 1,2,3 1,2,3. Box step, that is what’ll get us around the dance floor. Counter clockwise, no your other counter clockwise. Left foot step. Repeat. 1,2,3, 1,2,3,” Tim continued whispering the steps, Peter following as well as he could. Tim was good at leading them, moving through the steps will a grace that Peter noticed few of the dancers had. 

 

"So your nanny took you to lessons?" Peter dug a little for information. 

 

"Unfortunately. The revolving door of them kept me fed, learning the pathway a rich young heir needed to follow, and utterly bored," Tim added. 

 

Peter grimaced, "Sounds horrible." 

 

"I was glad when I convinced my parents I didn't need a nanny at seven," Tim said it in such a way that Peter didn't feel comfortable asking another question. It wasn't quiet though as Tim continued to whisper the steps. 

 

Eventually Tim smiled, “There you’ve got it!” 

 

Peter grinned back to him. 

 

Stephanie cut in, “No fair, Tim, you weren’t actually supposed to teach him to waltz in a single song.” 

 

Tim smirked at her, “It was your mistake of thinking I’d mess up.” 

 

Peter laughed again, surprised to find he was actually having fun. His Spidey-senses tingled. Looking up, he spotted a figure seated at a table across the room watching him. A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of Cass, though her face was still expressionless. 

 

“My turn!” Damian’s voice demanded, cutting through Peter's attention. Peter swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Cass and the way she set off his Spidey-senses.

 

“Do I get to be the leader this dance since I’m finally the taller one?” Peter asked.


“No, you plebeian, it’s a new song and you don't know the steps,” Damian managed to look down his nose even though Peter had a good foot on him. 

 

“Didn’t even notice that it wasn’t a waltz to be honest,” Peter admitted with a sheepish grin. Damian scoffed at him, moving them into the fast paced song. 

 

“Move your hand, I’m going to flip you over my arm,” Damian instructed. 

 

It took a second too long for Peter to comprehend what the boy had just said, even as his senses warned what was about to happen, “Wait! That’s a bad idea!” 

 

Then he allowed himself to be pulled forward and down, being spun around Damian’s arm. He blinked a few times, “That was impressive, but don’t tell the rest of your family I said that.” 

 

Whatever dance was starting, Peter was thoroughly out of his depth in a way that couldn’t be hidden among the fast paced steps. At one point, Damian simply shoved Peter out of his way, performing a series of sharp dance moves that looked almost more like punches. Peter stumbled his way through the dance, laughing quietly at the seriousness on Damian’s face, as though the ten year old was at war instead of dancing in his family’s fancy manor. 

 

Footsteps moved closer to him and Damian. He felt a large hand grab his right hand and gently pull him away from Damian. Looking up, brown eyes met Dick’s amused blue eyes, “He gets his passion from B.” 

 

Peter looked over at Bruce staying staunchly away from the dance floor and laughed. 

 

“No, no, I’m serious, the man can dance. He just feels he’s old enough he doesn’t have to show off and leaves it to his children now,” Dick insists, pulling Peter a half step closer to whisper the words while both watch Bruce. A man even taller than Bruce with glasses and one curl hanging over his forehead stepped up to him. Bruce bodily turned toward him. 

 

“That’s the reporter, Kent, isn’t it?” Peter asks Dick, dropping his voice. 

 

“Clark Kent, yes, you’ve heard of him?” Dick’s eyebrows are raised. 

 

Peter blushed a touch, “Just a bit of gossip.”

 

“Do I get to know the gossip?”

 

Peter shook his head in the negative, flush spreading up his throat at the fact he’d just admitted to his boss’s oldest son that he’d been gossiping about said boss. Bruce was gonna love that when Dick told it to him. 

 

“Shame, I love a good bit of gossip about Bruce,” Dick said. 

 

“Wouldn’t really be appropriate for me to be gossiping about him,” Peter said. 

 

“Not like you’re too uptight about your job.”

 

Peter stiffened slightly. He’d personally been preparing for the gala for the last 17 hours, not including all the hours before that day. He felt that he’d done everything expected of him in his job, “What do you mean by that?” 

 

“You know, dancing with all of us, not hiding in the kitchen,” Dick continued. 

 

“Oh yeah, cause I’m just a servant and shouldn’t get too friendly with the family?” Peter pulled away slightly. 

 

“I didn’t mean it like that! You are a servant, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be friendly with the family,” Dick said. 

 

“Right, just a servant to the family. I have to go,” Peter pulled away. 

 

He fled away from the ballroom to the kitchens, ignoring Steph’s questioning eyes, or Dick trying to call him back. He’d been unfair on Dick, the older man hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just that he’d broken the illusion Peter had crafted for a couple hours, that he was accepted by the family and cared for as not quite one of them, but more than just a servant. Not as much as Alfred certainly, but in a similar way, not one of the siblings, but someone they care about. 

 

Like he wasn’t alone in a brand new dimension. 

 

Still, for a while on the dance floor, he’d felt a bit like a fairytale prince, dropped in the midst of a story instead of a spider refugee. Then reality had to set in, and Peter remembered the tiredness of his bones and mind. 

 

The gala started winding down then, and Peter was too busy helping with all the cleanup to consider his thoughts any longer. Tablecloths and napkins bagged up to send to dry cleaning. All food thrown away or packed away depending on how many people may have breathed on it during the night. Double checking that every guest had everyone of their belongings. 

 

By the time Peter headed to his room at 4:38am, there was only energy to tip into his bunk and pass out, but he determined before he fell asleep that he would be patrolling Crime Alley at the next available moment. 

Batfam Chat:

jason: Joke spotted tonight 

 

Dick: do not engage!! 

Batdad: I’m on my way, Cass is coming along.

Jason: stop panicking, he already got away

 

Tim: he’s planning something

 

Duke: I don’t like this 

 

Batdad: It’s a good reminder to all of us that he’s still currently loose. Jason, wait at your safe house on third street until backup arrives.

Barbara: I’m sending his location to all of you. He’s not following that command, but someone meet up with him. 

Steph: on it 

Notes:

Thank you for all the comments on the last chapter! We're currently at like 36 which is crazy! I had been really worried you guys wouldn't like a full chapter of just Peter interacting with the Batfam, but you guys seemed to love it! Instead of getting into another patrol and stuff, here was just another fun chapter. A full chapter of Peter mainly acting like a proper little butler apprentice.

I do feel like after the last chapter that I need to warn you all, that regardless of Peter's dreams, this story will be slow getting to that part of the plot. Maybe like another twenty chapters slow. So please don't expect anything on those aspects of the plot too quickly. I wanted to give y'all some foreshadowing of what would eventually be coming, but we have to build up to that. It'll take a little while.

Link to video basis for Peter's dance with Damian: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8W4tyLo_oE
But with Peter taking the role of the girl and absolutely messing it up.

Up next: Peter finally patrols Crime Alley. Will he meet up Red Hood?

Chapter 11: Red Hood Patrol

Summary:

Peter goes on patrol with Red Hood, if he can find him.

Notes:

Trigger warnings:
-mentions of prostitution, non-graphic and of just a random pair on the streets. None of our characters.
-canon typical violence
-mentions of non consensual drug use

Mornings after a gala were slow. At least, they were for Peter. 

 

Alfred had told him to sleep in and recover from the prep and actual gala. A large assortment of fancy pastries had been ordered as well as an array of cut fruits, so breakfast was free range as people woke up. Things would need cleaned and organized, furniture put back, but Alfred had wisely scheduled all of it for the afternoon. Peter took notes. 

 

The worst of the cleanup had taken place immediately after the party, so the day was spent doing menial tasks like moving all the furniture back into place. 

 

Sneaking out to go on patrol required significantly more mental powers now that he knew the manor was filled with cameras. 

 

He really didn’t want them immediately figuring out that he was Spider-Man, maybe they were alright with having a meta on payroll, but he didn’t want to push his limits. 

 

The manor had seemed strangely empty all day, but he’d blamed it on everyone hiding in their bedrooms after the late night. At least he wasn’t too worried about running into an actual person on his way out of the manor, though his Spidey-sense should alert him to anyone before a human could hear him. 

 

Now that he was aware of the cameras, he could sense them, but he had to focus to catch every single one. 

 

He paused in the hallway, listening and feeling. 

 

Being watched made his Spidey-sense tingle across his back, like a literal spider crawling back there. 

 

Nothing. 

 

He made it to the end of the hallway and listened. 

 

Nothing again. 

 

There was a roof access just past his room that he’d found. Using that, he climbed onto the steep roof. Most people would be intimidated by the steepness of the roof or the potential three story drop, but most people aren’t part spider. 

 

Peter made it to the grounds with no issues, and then had to duck down behind trees and bushes to make it to the road. From there, he walked swiftly back into the city. 

 

OOO

 

Alfred watched from the computers in the batcave as Peter ducked and rolled quite dramatically across the manor’s lawn. He scrolled back through the recordings, but couldn’t find anything on camera of how Peter got onto the lawn. 

 

He patched into the coms as Peter walked down the lane, hoodie pulled up over his head, “Our young butler is heading into town. He seems to wish to avoid attention.”

 

“So he is probably either Spider-Man or is he going to visit the abusive partner,” Barbara was the first to speak. 

 

“If anyone sees Spider-Man tonight, let us know immediately,” Bruce commanded in full Batman mode.

 

OOO

 

The thing was that Peter was actually very competent at patrols and fights. Against the average criminal, he could handle practically anything, even without his web fluid. The typical move would be to go with guns, and his Spidey-senses always handled that. 

 

Maybe he didn’t do the best job against Bane, but he had it handled for going up against a supervillain who regularly gave Batman issues.

 

He wasn’t a damsel in distress!

 

Pausing in climbing up the side of the building in full spider gear, he titled his head to the side. Scratch that, Natasha was the scariest woman he’d ever met in his life, and most women were scarier than their male counterparts.

 

Scratch the phrase “damsel in distress” from his vocabulary because Black Widow would use it to demolish the patriarchy and kill like ten people.

 

He wasn’t a man in distress! 

 

And he was determined to prove that to Red Hood on tonight’s patrol.

 

As soon as he found the big bad crime lord.

 

Peter sighed, “My priorities are so screwed up in Gotham.”

 

Red Hood had said he controlled Crime Alley and to stay out of it. That meant Peter first needed to find Crime Alley. He dropped down next to a map of the subway, just to quickly double check for any locations officially labeled as Crime Alley. 

 

“Whatcha looking for?” A young voice asked him. 

 

Peter looked down to spot a little girl with double pigtails and a bow at the base of each one, licking an ice cream cone, “Uh, I’m looking for a place called Crime Alley?” 

 

“That’s just what everyone calls it, not it’s real name. Like how I’m called Lucy, but my name is actually Lucille. Or maybe not like that cause the real name for Crime Alley isn’t longer. It’s not called Criminal Avenue or anything like that, just a bad place. Mom says I can’t go there cause so many bad people live there,” she said rapidly, taking several licks during her explanation.

 

“Thank you, I figured but wanted to double check,” Peter explained.

 

“Who are you?” 

 

“Spider man, friendly neighborhood spider at your service,” he bowed dramatically at the waist.

 

She grinned, “That’s pretty cool. I’ve never met a person who’s also a spider before.” 

 

“So you know where Crime Alley is?” He asked. 

 

“Yeah, it’s called Park Row. It’s really old. Once, the whole city got destroyed but rich Mr Wayne paid to save that part cause his parents were killed there when he was eight and never got over it,” she said, pointing to it on the subway map. 

 

Peter paused at that info dump, “I hadn’t known that…”

 

“Yeah momma says he’s traumatized and that’s why he doesn’t settle down and just adopts traumatized children,” she continued, licking the ice cream. 

 

“Ok…I’m off then…Thank you! Feel free to call for Spider-Man if you ever need help!” He told her, walking down into the subway system. He’d noticed that the Green B route had a station only two blocks over from Park Row. 

 

“Bye!” 

 

While he’d love to do the proper method of sitting on the subway and paying, he didn’t want to mess with all of that in his Spider-Man suit. So he’d climbed onto the ceiling above the subways, and when the correct subway was in place, he just dropped down onto the roof of it. 

 

The subway had significantly dropped the time it would take him to get there, and kept him from getting lost in the still new to him city. 

 

Even after several patrols in Gotham, Peter still felt it would be easy to get lost. 

 

It was as though the city had sprung up without any planning or preparation, a common issue in cities that had grown rapidly. Parallel or perpendicular streets were rare, with most streets running their own course and intersecting streets at random. Buildings were tucked into every available space, and Peter had major questions for the code enforcers, because most of the buildings could not have been deemed safe.

 

As he crawled out of the roof of the subway system, he spotted the fact that the buildings seemed to be in even worst disrepair in this neighborhood, getting progressively worse as he got closer to and then entered Crime Alley. 

 

While the buildings were clearly old and must have once been impressive, they now looked like caricatures of a nice neighborhood. 

 

Almost every building had at least one window broken out, and quite a few buildings had every window cracked and smashed out. Porches were sagging or completely torn off. There was a fire station that had the doors ripped out, and the phrase “Burn bitches” spray painted across it. 

 

On the first street he entered in Park Row, only a single street lamp was lit up. 

 

“Do as you’ve been taught,” he reminded himself, scaling the side of the nearest, mostly stable looking building, “Obtain visuals.”

 

He looked out over Crime Alley, almost instantly spotting what looked like a drug deal. Despite his personal beliefs, he left it for now, looking for bigger events.

 

His hearing caught the sounds of what might be a woman in distress, down an alley to the right. Jumping from his rooftop to the next building over, he then dropped down into the alley.

 

“Oh gross guys!” he covered his eyes with a gloved hand, “right on the street?” 

 

The guy cursed, jerking his pants back up and running away. The woman sat back on her heels and glared at Peter. 

 

“Cost me $200,” she snarled at him. 

 

“Think he would’ve paid? Why didn’t you get the money upfront?” Peter asked, eyes still covered. 

 

“I know how to run my business! Most guys won’t pay upfront, say they want to see if it's worth the money first, and what’s a girl to do? I have things to buy,” she still sounded like a cornered cat. 

 

Peter peeked hesitantly out from behind his fingers, glad that she didn’t appear to have gotten naked at any point, though he was certain in some regions her outfit would be considered underwear and he didn’t want to be disrespectful by looking. 

 

“Listen, I’m not trying to be judgemental, I just feel like there has to be safer ways to run this business than in dark alleys. Even one of the many boarded up buildings might be better,” he pleaded with her. 

“Fuck off, spider,” she flipped him off and headed back towards the one street light. 

 

“God, I hate this job sometimes,” he muttered to himself, Spidey-sense tingling. 

 

“Saving men from having to pay prostitutes, one dark alley at a time,” Red Hood’s voice said, a hint of laughter.  

 

“Not my best move,” Peter shook it off, grimacing as he tried to remove the image from his mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like that, but he tried to avoid it whenever possible. So long as everything seemed consensual, he wasn’t trying to mess with a woman’s income.  

 

“Don’t feel too bad, she’s a regular at the drug scene.  She’s finally down enough to know she needs to get enough money to buy more. She needs a bath and a solid meal, she hasn’t eaten in like a week, but she’s not interested in that,” Red Hood added. 

 

Peter shrugged, “Maybe a little? Not like me breaking up her job is going to help her.” 

 

“True. Anyway, if you’re going to hang around, come with me,” Red Hood nodded towards a different roof. 

 

Peter followed Red Hood, scaling the wall while the older man used a grappling hook like Batman to swing up to the roof like Peter would normally do with his web fluid. J gestured to an alley on the opposite side of the building, where another drug deal seemed to be going down. 

 

“They aren’t selling your products?” Peter asked, slightly sarcastically. 

 

“Worst, they’re dealing in Joker venom. Happens everytime the fucker’s loose,” Red Hood snarled. 

 

“Joker venom?” 

 

Red Hood’s helmet swung to look at Peter, “Kid, don’t you know anything?!” 

 

Peter sighed in aggravation, “Not a kid, and I keep getting that question. I’m just new to town, alright?” 

 

“No, not alright. Do you know who the Joker is?” 

 

“Vaguely?” 

 

Red Hood just stared at him, “I’m sending you back to Batman. There’s a reason he runs people off. You’re gonna end up dead because you don’t know what you’re going up against. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.” 

 

“We don’t really have time for Shakespeare. Why don’t you stop being dramatic and start telling me about the Joker and Joker venom?” 

 

“The Joker is one of the worst if not the worst of the big baddies in Gotham. He’s not the worst thing in the world, but he’s bad news. He’s not even a meta; he just is really good at chemical warfare. He’s not looking for revenge or anything like that, he just wants to cause as much chaos and pain as possible in the world. He looks like a deranged clown and is a deranged clown,” J said quickly. 

 

Peter nodded slowly as he thought through it, but it didn’t seem to satisfy Red Hood. 

 

“No, you don’t get it. That kid of Bruce Wayne’s that died a couple years ago, you heard of him right?” 

 

“Yeah,” Peter said. 

 

“He was killed by the Joker. Not for any specific reason, just kidnapped and tortured before being killed to hurt Bruce Wayne,” J said, angry and soft at the same time. 

 

Peter considered that, “That’s horrible. You know, Bruce and Batman should team up. With Bruce’s money and Batman’s skills, they could really do something? Or maybe the Wayne family mob business is already supporting Batman and that’s why he has so many cool gadgets! Maybe it’s Bruce’s way to give back to the community after whatever damages his family is causing! Wait, where are you going? I think I’m on to something!”

 

“You are impossible,” Red Hood muttered under his breath, silently jumping onto a fire escape and down into the alley, Peter close behind. 

 

Red Hood straightened up in the alley, feet wide, acting every bit of his impressive height and build. Peter noticed that the dealers immediately seemed nervous upon spotting J. 

 

“Hood! I didn’t know you were in town tonight,” the shorter man said. 

 

“Where else would I be than my part of town?” Hood asked. 

 

“No where! You’re right, this is your area!” 

 

“Glad that we’ve clarified that. Now, let’s clarify why you think it would ever be appropriate to try to sell Joker venom in my area?” 

 

Sweat was beading on the short man’s forehead and the skinnier but taller man looked like he was going to try to run away. Peter walked around Red Hood to stand next to the skinny one, just in case. 

 

“Joker venom? No, you have it all wrong! I’m just selling normal heroin, cocaine, the normal street drugs. I’ll even give you a cut, course, for being in charge,” short and fat tried to defend himself. 

 

Peter edged closer himself, trying to see how Red Hood could know it was Joker Venom. He hypothesized that maybe it was a crazy color. 

 

Red Hood grabbed the fat man by the arm and twisted it, causing him to drop the paperbag he was holding. Without releasing the man, Hood kicked the bag, causing it to spill a series of syringes onto the ground, each one loaded with a milky white fluid. 

 

“Liquid form, that’s lethal unless it gets diluted,” Red Hood said, twisting the man’s arm harder. 

 

“It was going to be diluted! What, you found my demonstration victim?” the fat man’s demeanor was changing as the truth came out. 

 

“Found him laughing like crazy on a side street,” Red Hood agreed. 

“Fuck, he must’ve stumbled out of the house,” fat man said. 

 

Peter reached out an arm and punched out the tall one as he went to make a break for it, Spidey-senses warning him that he was going to move. He dropped, heavily, to the ground. Red Hood nodded at him. 

 

“Listen, the pay is amazing, way higher than what you’re offering,” the fat guy tries to bargain, “it’s not like it’s personal.” 

 

“What’s personal is the way I’m going to beat you black and blue, inject you with your own Joker venom, and drop you off at the local precinct. We’ll see how long it takes them to find some antivenom,” Red Hood snarls. 

 

The man doesn’t act terrified enough, even though he’s begging Red Hood to reconsider. Peter doesn’t even need his spidey-sense to know that he’s about to do something that they aren’t going to like. 

 

“Hood, watch out!” he calls, but it's a touch too late. 

 

The man hits something on his wrist, a button of some kind, and he gets injected with a black fluid. 

 

Unfortunately, Peter already recognizes it from the fight with Bane. 

 

Red Hood is already moving while Peter scales a wall out of easy reach, pulling out two pistols and shooting the man. The bullets don’t seem to do much, and Peter absently wonders if the super steroid also causes bullet resistance before noting the Kevlar vest that the fat man was watching. 

 

“Kevlar vest,” he calls out. 

 

“Fuck!” is his only reply from Hood. 

 

Peter isn’t a huge fan of venom induced bad guys, but his whole intention was to impress Red Hood, not to hide. Not to mention, it’d be embarrassing in general to just hide on a wall. 

 

So he jumps down into the fight as the fat man takes a swing on Red Hood. Catching the fist with his palm, he grunts, but isn’t too moved. 

 

The Winter Soldier punched about a million times harder with his metal hand. 

 

“Listen, we’re not doing this tonight, just surrender now,” Peter tells the fat man. 

 

The man grabs a pipe off the ground and swings with his other hand, and Peter ducks. He ducks the returning swing too, and twists the man’s wrist to make him drop the pipe. 

 

Red Hood comes in with a roundhouse kick that sends the fat man stumbling back a few steps. 

 

Peter goes in with a punch to the face, dropping the fat man out cold. 

 

Red Hood moved quickly, pulling out a syringe that he injects the man with.

 

“Did you actually inject him with Joker venom?” Peter asks.

 

“Absolutely. That’s my standard punishment for dealing the stuff on my streets,” Hood replies without a hint of regret.

 

“I guess that’s technically fair…” Peter trails off. He follows as Hood throws the fat man roughly over the back of a motorcycle. 

 

“Stay on guard while I drag him to the police station,” Hood commands him.

 

“I don’t think that’s considered proper motorcycle protocol,” Peter comments.

 

Hood pulls open a saddlebag and grabs out an orange flag, tacking it to the man’s butt with a literal pin. 

 

Peter shrugs, “Uhm, close enough?”

 

Red Hood isn’t gone long, and they wait on the roof for several more hours in companionable silence, watching the streets. It’s the slow, boring part of patrols that people rarely talk about. Peter starts doing some acrobatics on the roof to pass the time. Unfortunately, super powers don’t always protect him from himself. As he’s doing one flip, his hand sticks too tightly to the roof, and he tucks under himself, rolling and gets one of the building’s exhaust pipes to the face. It’s not enough to do much to Peter, but he already knows he’s going to have a bruise. 

 

Red Hood laughs at him, outright laughs, and Peter scowls. 

 

Then, they spotted a kid, maybe a preteen, sitting under the only working street light, on their last walk through Crime Alley for the night. At least, Peter’s last. 

 

“What’re you doing out here,” Red Hood demanded.

 

“Parents are fighting, figured I’d try my homework but I don’t understand this shit,” the kid muttered, defiance flashing his eyes like he expected Peter and Hood to tell him to go home.

 

Which Peter desperately wanted to do, but the sounds of the fight reaching his enhanced hearing, yelling and throwing objects and possibly even fists against flesh, meant he wasn’t telling the kid anything of the sort. Even if it was Crime Alley, it might be safer for the kid than home.

 

“What’re you working on?” he asked instead.

 

Please don’t say grammar, he thought to himself. 

 

“Trigonometry: sine, cosine, and tangent,” the kid finally muttered after squinting at the two dressed up in superhero costumes for several minutes.

 

Peter grinned in relief, but Red Hood cut in before he could say anything, “Spidey, help out the kid. I’ll “help” out the parents.” 

 

Something about the way he said help left no doubts about his intentions.

 

“Alright, so these are all right angles and finding the side lengths. You’ve probably heard the little saying SOH CAH TOA? No? What’s your school been teaching you? Alright it always helped me at first to draw out the triangles,” there was the sound of fists hitting and fresh screaming, now of fear not anger.

 

Peter and the boy ignored it.

 

“…so just to clarify Tangent is opposite divided by adjacent, all in relation to where the right angle is on the triangle,” Peter wrapped up the tutoring session a while later.

 

“Thanks, that was really helpful,” despite his words, the kid looked suspicious. Peter thought he understood the concept of no one does anything for free.

 

“Welcome. Listen, I think I’ll be patrolling with Red Hood a couple nights a week. Tell your buddies, any of you need help with homework, I can help on those nights, no cost or anything,” Peter offered.

 

It only made the boy more suspicious, “What’s in it for you?”

 

“A feeling of accomplishment. Your schools are clearly hiring crap teachers, and you guys deserve an education too,” Peter said.

 

“You also deserve a safe place to sleep,” Red Hood’s voice was low and angry, his knuckles split lightly with some blood dripping down, “Those low life’s bother you again, you call me. I don’t think they’ll be doing anything though.”

 

He held out a card with what looked like a phone number on it. The boy hesitated for a couple minutes, but eventually snatched it away, giving both of them suspicious looks before walking back into his now quiet house. 

 

It was quiet for a little while on the street.

 

Peter looked over at Red Hood, “Your knuckles are split.”

 

“Yeah, good deduction Sherlock fucking Holmes. Was the dripping blood your first clue?” he snarled back.

 

“Yeah, basically. Here, I’ve got some bandages, I’ll wrap it,” Peter offered, pulling out a wrap from a pocket.

 

“It’s fine, leave it. I like the reminder that I got to smash in some jerk’s face today. Makes the rest of the rage lighten up slightly.”

 

Peter considered the man, head tilting slightly, “You have a lot of rage?”

 

Red Hood stepped closer, getting into his face, but Peter didn’t back down like this. In this costume, he wasn’t just some awkward teenager. Even as J’s eyes started glowing on the dark street through the mirror finish of his helmet, turning a sickly green.

 

“I’m filled with so much rage that I would happily kill every single person I love. I’d grind their bones up in a coffee grinder. I’d slit every vein and artery and hang them on hooks to bleed out. And that’s the people I love,” he snarled in Peter’s face, the mirrored mask preventing Peter from seeing his face, but there was a catch in his voice. Most would think it was anger. 

 

Peter understood then, “That’s why you don’t live at the manor. Even though Mr Bruce would probably let you. You’re afraid you’ll hurt them in your anger.”

 

Red Hood scoffed, “Like if. I don’t live at the manor because I can’t stand them, especially the old man. I already told you, I’m going to be the one to kill them, not some upstart.”

 

Peter grinned a touch behind the mask, “Of course.”

 

“Don’t get cocky, you little shit. The old man’s gonna be out tomorrow evening, so we have a wager on a friendly game of basketball. Tell “Bambi” to be there. “He” is on my team,” J was smirking at him behind the mask, Peter just knew it. 

 

It worked though, any confidence Peter had was swiftly dispersed at the understanding that Red Hood, of all people, knew that Peter was also Spider Man. 

 

And with the way Red Hood reminded Peter of Deadpool, who knew what the man would do with the information. 

 

Red Hood was already walking away, confident in his intimidation tactics. 

 

Peter called after him anyway, “Same time Wednesday night?”

 

“I guess, you absolute brat. But if I kill you in a fit of rage, it’s your own fault.”

 

Peter grinned to himself. Overall, the night was a success.

OOO

 

“I haven’t received any reports of seeing Spider-Man out tonight,” the old man was saying over the communication system. 

 

“Nothing across the news reports,” Babs added. 

 

Jason considered. 

 

He was supposed to tell the Batfam that he’d been patrolling with Spider-Man all night. It was a pretty big clue that the vigilante was probably the teenager.

 

“If anyone hears anything different, announce it immediately. For now, I find a low probability that the vigilante was out for the entire night and didn’t get spotted a single time, especially with how many of us were out,” Batman’s voice was as commanding as ever. 

 

Jason smirked to himself. Yep, decision made. He wasn’t tattling on the little spider. It had been a touch enjoyable patrolling with him anyway, though Jason would never admit it.

Notes:

Peter bonds with Red Hood on patrol! Next chapter is already about half written, but I’m going camping from Thursday to Sunday. We will see how much service I have during that time period 😬

Next time: Peter has to deal with a bruise on his face. Misunderstandings abound.

Chapter 12: Basketball

Summary:

Peter plays basketball against the bat family.

Peter couldn’t just skip breakfast, so he had to go with a fading black eye (already fading from his healing factor, if he could’ve just waited until lunch, there would’ve been no evidence).

 

Alfred gave him a disapproving side eye, “I thought you were done with such things.” 

 

“It wasn’t like that! I literally fell!” 

 

The disapproving look got stronger. 

 

“I really did! I was trying to be cool, doing a flip, and I got stuck and hit a pole!” 

 

Damian was a different story.

 

“What happened?” He demanded instantly.

 

Peter struggled to explain when Alfred cut in, “Mr Parker is in a relationship with a person who is not respecting his person.”

 

Damian gaped at him, “but you have super strength, you could simply plot out his death for touching you  I can help you to dispose of any bodies.”

 

Peter shrugged, “I would never use my strength against someone I love. Honestly I wouldn’t use it against anyone who isn’t bad. But that is not what happened, Alfred!” 

 

“Not what happened to who? Dang, look at that shiner!’ Duke called as he walked into the kitchen. 

 

“It doesn’t look that bad, it’s already fading,” Peter pointed out, knowing it was true even as he checked his reflection in the refrigerator.

 

“Considering you have super healing, it must’ve been pretty bad when it happened,” Steph argued.

 

“Yeah, the pole was very sturdy,” Peter said, and almost instantly regretted it.

 

“He hit you with a pipe? You must not allow this indignity to continue!” Damian exclaimed.

 

“Someone is hurting Peter? And he’s allowing it?” Duke asked.

 

“Statistically, even if a person is larger or trained to defend themselves, it doesn’t mean they would. It’s part of the issue with men being abused by women and then not being believed in court because they’re larger,” Tim muttered into his breakfast bowl of eggs, potatoes, and bacon.

 

“Oh my god, I’m telling the rest of the family,” Steph whispered, cell phone already out, thumbs flying. 

 

“No!” Peter cried, reaching for the phone.

 

“Too late, I sent it in the group chat so we can think of a way to help you,” Stephanie said, dancing out of Peter’s grasp. 

Tim frowned, “Steph, that’s not how it works. That’s kind of an invasion of privacy.” 

Steph frowned back at him, “The rest of the family deserves to know too. What if the guy stops by? We need to know not to let Peter go with him or that he could be dangerous.”

 

“Children! Eat your breakfast,” Alfred said.

 

Peter frowned at all of them, “I wasn’t abused by some guy yesterday.”

 

“Absolutely,” Stephanie agreed.

 

“Mr Peter, just so you know, one of the local families has asked for you to help with their holiday gala. They are in need of more servers for the event, probably carrying around a tray of ordeavors. Would that be to your approval?” Alfred asked before driving Damian to school that day. He’d been alternating with Peter. 

 

“Oh yeah; that sounds fine,” Peter agreed. 

 

Once they’d left for school, Peter completed his chores for that day and then pulled back out the stuff for florentine cookies, determined to master them. Alfred had told him not to worry about the supplies, that Bruce and the kids would pay any amount of money as long as they ended up with homemade cookies. 

 

A finished florentine wasn’t much of a cookie; a layer of bubbly caramel covered on one side with a layer of dark chocolate.

 

Peter frowned at them, “Delicious, but I better make traditional chocolate chip too.”

 

He’d been working on his chocolate chip cookie recipe too. Apparently that was a big deal around the manor. 

 

As he pulled the tray out, he frowned. Nestle put a recipe on the back of their cookie bag, and he’d assumed it was the best. After all, he’d heard tons of people talk about the Nestle recipe. 

 

His batch looked…lackluster. A touch too dark on the bottom and they’d spread out too far, more of a cookie plate than a soft mound. 

 

“I need to isolate the variables, but the recipe is so vague. If it was by weight instead of volume…” Peter mused, staring at the cookies as he considered the Great British Bake Off and their use of scales, “That’s it! I’ve been viewing cooking and baking as their own thing, but I’m a scientist! I’m good at science! And baking can be science!” 

 

He grabbed a pencil and paper from the in-kitchen command center, “I’m gonna need a scale, digital thermometer, and probably some beakers to do this properly.” 

 

OOO

 

Jay showed up to the Manor in basketball shorts and a cut off tank top, brown hair with white piece and facial features in general actually fully visible for once instead of hidden behind his comfort helmet. 

 

Peter paused in the kitchen as he heard the unique step pattern of the man. Peter spread out his senses to make sure there wasn’t anyone around before grabbing Jay by the upper arm and dragging him into the nearest private room, which happened to be a broom closet.  

 

Jay raised his eyebrows at him. “Thanks for the offer Bambi, but I’m not interested in children like that.”

 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I didn’t drag you in here to make out with you.”

 

“You said that very quickly and without hesitation, that makes me think that not only were you being honest but you’re also certain of your feelings because you’re developing a crush on someone else perhaps someone in the family,” J said rapidly. 

 

Peter fell a flush rising up his neck and into his cheeks, “The whole assorted Wayne family is weirdly observant.”

 

“So, which one is it that you have a crush on? I don’t think it’s Cass because you’re too terrified of her. Unless you really do have an abusive ex that they’re all buzzing about in the family chat on top of Spidey duties that they don’t know about?” 

 

“Oh, you’re in the family chat? You are awful close to the family for just an enforcer who wants to kill them.”

 

Jason made a sound that was almost a snort in his throat, “fair.”

 

“Listen, we’re not here to make out or discuss anyone’s nonexistent love lives. I need some stuff and you seemed like the best option for acquiring some slightly illegal materials.”

 

J’s eyes narrowed as though he was angry, “are you actually doing drugs because Alfie is not going to like that.”

 

“No, I’m not doing drugs! Here it’s just a list of chemicals, and they can’t be put together to make any sort of illicit substance. Our mutual spider friend has a formula to create super strong web fluid, but he can’t get several of the ingredients that he needs and I said that I’d offer to talk to you about it.”

 

“Goddamn, he’s even more of a spider than I’ve seen.”

 

“Yep, so do you think you can get them? I have some cash I can pay you upfront a couple grand,” Peter started pulling out money from his suit pants. J shook his head. 

 

“I’ll let you know the cost when I get the stuff. Now back to which of my family members you have a crush on?”

 

“This conversation is over!”

 

“One more thing, Bambi,” here J pressed him back against the wall of the closet, looking every bit of his height and weight, “you ever try to drag me somewhere again, especially when I’m not curious, I’ll knock your teeth in and we’ll see if you healing factor can fix that.” 

 

Peter said, “…well, actually I already-“ 

 

“Understood?” 

 

Peter sighed but nodded. 

 

Peter looked up as the door opened and light flooded the space. Steph stared at them with a questioning look, “why are you arguing in a broom closet?”

 

“Peter was trying to get in my pants, but I told him I wasn’t into minors.”

 

“No, I wasn’t, you creep! And I’m totally not a minor!”

 

Neither J nor Steph looked very convinced at that lie.

 

“I’m the creep, yet you pulled me into the broom closet?” Jason leered at him. Peter stuck out his tongue back. 

 

Steph threw up her hands, “I don’t want to know what was going on anymore. Peter, J would be an even more abusive partner than your ex.”

 

J nodded sagely as though it wasn’t even an insult to him. Peter pleaded his innocence, knowing he’d brought this on himself by not thinking through the meeting location better, while the older two led him to a door he hadn’t been through before.

 

“This is the door to the basement where the gym is, I don’t think Alfred’s brought you down here or made you clean it,” Stephanie explained. 

 

Peter shook his head no as he followed them down the stairs that were almost as wide and ornate as the stairs to the second floor, offering no clue they were going down into a basement. The basement itself certainly didn’t give off the appearance of a basement either, with white drywall and tiled floors. There weren’t windows, but there was sufficient lights that were bright enough. 

 

“Where’s the dungeons and chains?” he joked.

 

“I know right, I said the same thing the first time I saw it,” Steph laughed.

 

J shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m sure if you explored underground long enough you’d at least find a holding cell.”

 

Steph ignored that comment while leading them through the door in the middle, into a gym every bit as large as his high school. It had a wooden floor, with two basketball hoops into the walls on the short width. A floor to ceiling curtain had been pulled across the gym to block off the other side, making it the right size for a game of basketball.

 

He spotted Duke, Tim, and Dick already down there. 

 

“Where’s Damian?” Peter asked.

 

“Sleepover with a friend,” Tim said. Peter smiled, proud of the kid. Look at him making friends. 

 

“Steph, are those my shorts?” Duke called out.

 

Peter looked over at her, taking in the outfit that was almost exactly what the boys were wearing, long, loose shorts with an oversized tshirt and high basketball shoes. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she still looked like she could win a pageant with makeup, but the clothes obviously didn’t fit her. She smirked at their interest.

 

“Yep, those are your shorts, and my high school t-shirt,” Dick laughed, “you steal Tim’s underwear?”

 

Her smirk held steady as she pulled up a waistband, “Obviously not, I stole J’s!”

 

“What the fuck, woman? Where did you even get those?” J called across the gym.

 

“Everyone knows you still bring your laundry to Alfie on Thursdays,” she laughed. 

 

Tim leaned over to Peter, “she steals our clothes for a sense of connection, like laying her claim that she’s part of the family. She’ll probably start doing it to you if she decides you’re part of the family too.”

 

“That’s kind of sweet in a klepto way,” Peter smiled.

 

“It’s annoying, man, she figures out which pieces are your favorite and that’s what she steals,” Duke leaned closer on his other side. 

 

“Are we going to play some basketball or just sit around talking about clothes?” J demanded.

 

Before they started, Peter did take in what everyone was wearing. Dick and J wore sleeveless tanks while Tim and Duke were wearing tshirts, all four with the same long basketball shorts as Steph. 

 

And every single one of them, including Stephanie, were more muscled than Peter. Larger arms, more obvious muscles. 

 

Rude, he thought to himself, I am absolutely stronger than every single one of them, but I look like the small one. Technically, he didn’t just look like the small one, he was the smallest one there. He sighed, where was Damian when he needed him? Or even Cass, she was shorter than him too. 

 

“I’m taking Bambi,” Jason called out; making eye contact with Duke.

 

“I’m taking Steph then,” he replied, “just in case he’s any good.”

 

Jason nodded, “flip a coin for big and little wing? Not like either one will be a help.”

 

“Rude!” Tim called, echoing Peter’s earlier thoughts while he realized J was using nicknames for Tim and Dick. 

 

“We have to speak our truth, Timmy,” Duke retorted, agreeing with J.

 

Jason ended up with Dick while Duke’s team got Tim. Three on three.

 

Peter had been considered average height at home, here he was the shortest. Jason considered him before they started, “Any good at point?”

 

“Absolutely!” he agreed.

 

“Any good in general?” Duke taunted.

 

“Dude, I grew up poor in Queens! There’s only so much to do. I can play ball,” Peter retorted.

 

“Dickwing, just try to keep the gymnastics to a minimum,” J commanded. Dick gave a jaunty salute that did nothing to reassure J if the man’s sigh was any sign. 

 

The game started fast paced, and didn’t look like it was slowing down any time soon. When Peter’s team got the ball, he dribbled it down the court. Duke’s team was pressing them, each player staying close to the opposite team. He spotted Dick set a pick, Steph running into it with a grunt, freeing up Jason.

 

Peter kept his eyes on Dick, but passed the ball over to Jason, hard and spot on. Peter ducked down under Duke’s arm into the paint as J shot it, then jumped up for the rebound.

 

He was shorter, but he could jump, and he only needed one finger on the ball for it to be his. His fingers were sticky enough to claim the ball.

 

Grabbing the ball, he shot it up again, but Steph was there, stuffing it.

 

“Come on, have to try harder than that when you’re short,” she taunted him.

 

“I’m not even short! You all are just freaks of nature,” he called back, a smile on his face.

 

“Says the literal meta,” Tim replied.

 

Just for that comment, he took a swipe and easily stole the ball from Duke, who did have some ball control but not enough compared to Peter’s sticky fingers. 

 

“Woah!” Duke called as Peter took off down the court into an easy layup.

 

“Hoo-rah!” J and Dick called out as the ball went through the hoop, possibly their normal cheer with how quickly and in sync they called it out.

 

Going back on defense, Peter quickly noticed that Tim was atrocious with basketball. It wasn’t that the teenager was non-athletic, because he wasn’t breathing hard and had no issues keeping up with the rest up and down the court. It was more like Tim couldn’t seem to handle the ball. He did read the court, knowing when the ball was coming to him, but then double dribbling or not making the shots when he took them.

 

Dick evened him out on their team. Peter realized quickly that while Dick had a bit of height on Tim, they were equals at the game. Dick did seem more interested in playing than playing basketball, like sticking a golden retriever on the court.

 

“Steph, look, look Steph! I’ve been working on my flips,” he called, which Peter supposed could’ve been a good distraction technique except he actually did a flip, missing when Peter stole the ball again, and passed it to him.

 

Peter sighed, J coming behind him and clapping him on the shoulder, “He’ll only get worst the longer we play. His attention span for basketball is short.” 

 

“Least you guys don’t have Tim. Timmy, how can you be so smart and so bad at basketball?” Duke complained, bumping his shoulder into Tim’s.

 

“I understand the game, I looked it up, I just can’t get my head in the game,” he sounded sad.

 

“Get your, get your head in the game,” Steph barked back.

 

J perked up.

 

“You still have the album?” Steph called over to him.

 

“I do,” he grunted, sounding serious even as he walked over to the bench immediately in from the door and pulled out what looked like an old MP3 player. 

 

Peter stared at it. 

 

Was the music player really old or was that how far behind technology was in this dimension? He made a note to himself to look up current electronics at the library when he stopped in the city to get the stuff to rebuild Karen. That might make the process slightly longer if everything was twenty or more years behind his own technology, but he could make it work. His internship at Stark Industries was rarely the biophysics he enjoyed most, and mainly building tech gear to help him or the Avengers in their work. He was extra thankful for the experience now, having more knowledge than just trying to reverse engineer it from having taken it apart at different times. 

 

The sound of a musical filled the air, distracting him from his thoughts. It sounded more modern than he was used to from the few musicals he’d watched with Aunt May. There was the sound of basketballs and sneakers squeaking against a gym floor before the sound of teenage boys singing. 

 

“What’s this?” he asked.

 

They all stopped to stare at him.

 

“High School Musical,” Duke offered.

 

Peter shrugged, “Never heard of it.”

 

“Never heard of it?” J sounded scandalized.

 

Tim sent calculating eyes his way that Peter didn’t like. He felt a bit like he’d failed an inter dimension pop quiz.

 

They went back to the game with the sound of the musical playing in the background. 

 

Duke had control of the ball, dribbling it while looking between Tim and Stephanie. Peter was supposed to be blocking Duke, hands out. 

 

“Steph!” He called, sending it her way. 

 

She caught it, and pivoted on her right foot, going for an easy under the hoop shot, but Dick tripped her at the last second. Ignoring the sounds of Dick and Stephanie arguing, Peter jumped for the rebound, ending up squashed between Duke and J who had both rushed for the ball bouncing off the hoop. Even with the jump, the two taller ones had also jumped, so Peter found his face crushed between the two’s sweaty armpits. 

 

“That was a disgusting, sweaty mess of testosterone,” he blanched when everyone’s feet had landed and he held the ball against his hip, elbows out to block Duke from stealing it. 

 

“Are you even sweating?” Duke complained, wiping his face with a towel he kept in a back pocket. 

 

“Not really,” Peter called back, dribbling back down the court to his hoop. 

 

Dick did get increasingly more distracted. When J made his next shot, Dick did a cartwheel down the court instead of rushing back to defense, leaving Stephanie free to make her shot. 

 

Peter figured it was alright, he and J were ahead by nine points on the other team. 

 

J did not seem to take it as well, “God damn, try to focus for longer than a minute.” 

 

“It’s definitely been longer than a minute! We’ve been playing for like thirty minutes,” Dick called back. 

 

“Guys, its fine, we’re literally winning currently,” Peter cut in between them. 

 

J glared at Dick, his eyes turning more neon green again, before he huffed and walked away. Dick didn’t seem scared, but he watched after the other man. 

 

Peter looked up at Dick while everyone seemed to agree to a nonverbal water break, Duke having plugged in his phone and playing techno music. 

 

Dick looked at him, “yes?” 

 

“Why do his eyes glow like that sometimes? Is he a meta?” Peter asked. 

 

Dick hesitated, mouth opening before shutting again, finally saying, “I can’t really comment on his personal business. Just be careful when his eyes get like that.” 

 

“You don’t act scared of him,” Peter said, stiffening at the implication that he couldn’t take care of himself.

 

Dick shrugged, “I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I’m not foolishly trying to be close to him regardless of if it means I get hurt.”

 

There was an undertone there that Peter didn’t fully understand. It didn’t feel romantic, like Dick and J had been lovers. Something else. 

 

“Were you guys close once?” Peter asked. 

 

Dick looked like a kicked puppy, his voice dropping quieter, Peter stepping closer to hear, “Like brothers once, but that was a long time ago.” 

 

“Really?” Peter questioned, but he could see hints of it, like the impression left when a charcoal drawing had another piece of paper sat on top of it. Perhaps there had once been a friendship between Dick and J.  

 

“We should get back to the game,” Dick said.

 

Peter wasn’t done with the conversation though, glaring up at Dick, “Well, I’m not going to be scared of him just because the rest of you decided there was something wrong with him.” 

 

“I hope you don’t,” Dick said so softly, even with Peter’s hearing that he could’ve misheard him. 

 

Duke changed the song, and Peter looked away at the difference. Looking back, he suddenly realized how close he had gotten to Dick during their conversation, stepping back quickly with a cough. 

 

The second half of the basketball game continued much like the first half, fast paced and aggressive, street style not college. Peter enjoyed it much more than he had expected. 

 

“Do you guys play often?” He asked while they all grabbed a drink of water. 

 

“Not as much as we should,” Duke commented. 

 

“Normally about once a month as long as the world isn’t ending. B makes us do a certain amount of physical training everyday to keep up with our martial arts skills, and this can count as our workout for the day. It is a touch more fun than just lifting weights for an hour,” Stephanie added.

 

“Though both have their place,” Tim said. 

 

“You guys have to workout everyday?” Peter asked, seeing nods all around, “No wonder you’re all ripped.” 

 

They laughed as he blushed, realizing what he just said. Duke, Dick, and Stephanie flexed their muscles, J and Tim rolling their eyes. 

 

“Wait, you’re saying you’re that strong and you don’t work out? You don’t go into Gotham and benchpress dumpsters or something?” Duke asked, pausing in a silly bodybuilders pose. 

 

“Nope,” Peter popped the p, “the strength is just there when I need it. I don’t even fully understand lifting. Is 300 pounds lifting normal for a guy my size?” 

 

“Lifting it how?” Dick asked. 

 

“You know, like all of it?” 

 

“All of it?” Tim sent him an unimpressed look. A sheepish look back from Peter. “OK, here’s the numbers. The average teenage male can deadlift about 2.1 times their weight. I’d say 300 pounds is fair for you. Now for bench pressing, that’s 1.2 times your weight, so, absolutely no way.” 

 

“Crap, that’s why I got that look during my job interview,” Peter muttered. 

 

“You told Bruce you could bench press 300 pounds…because you were trying to sound normal?” Duke was laughing. 

 

“Hey, I didn’t know that was going to be a question and I still get confused on the different types of lifting!” Peter defended himself, “What is this, pick on Peter night?” 

 

J laughed, “No, every day is pick on Peter day.” 

 

Peter’s team ended up winning, Dick and J again doing their hoo-rah and pounding their chests in a way that looked a touch painful. Peter watched hesitantly, hoping he wouldn’t have to participate. 

 

“You guys know what this means!” Dick called out to the losing team who groaned. 

 

“What does it mean?” Peter asked, “I didn’t know we had a bet on it.” 

 

“Winning team gets to pick the desserts for the week. And since it’s December and the start of holiday season, Alfie is going to give us good desserts!” J called to Peter. 

 

“Oh, I made cookies!” Peter said. He ran up to the kitchen and back down to the gym. “Here, try them!”

 

The assorted young adults tried the cookies. Duke refused any of the florentines, “Nothing personal, I can’t stand caramel.” 

 

“Not as good as Alfred’s, sorry,” Tim said, through a chocolate chip cookie. 

 

“No you’re right. But I was thinking about it, and I’m going to set up a series of trials, it’ll take a while cause I need to isolate individual variables and see how they interact in order to come up with a scientific formula for the best chocolate chip cookie. These can be my control, a popular recipe that I followed as closely as I could,” Peter said rapidly, fingers tapping as he wished he had a pencil to write down some ideas on variables he could isolate. 

 

There was quiet as Peter considered and the rest stuffed their faces with cookies. 

 

Then something J said sunk in, Peter said, “Wait it’s December isn’t it?” 

 

“Yeah…” Duke looked at him like he was crazy.

 

The looks got worse when Peter said, “I missed my birthday.”

 

“So you’re actually 19 now?” Tim asked, “When is your birthday?”

 

19 lines up with him telling Alfred he was 17. But he’d been 16 while fighting Thanos, so he was actually 17.  Maybe it was for the best he hadn’t noticed his birthday cause how did dimension travel affect that? Was he in a stasis for those lost three months? Even though he missed his birthday, did he need an additional three months in this timeline to biologically hit seventeen? “Guess I kind of was the entire time. I completely forgot about it. My birthday is August 1st.”

 

His birthday was August 1st. He’d left his dimension in May and landed here at the end of September. They’d be so busy with him adjusting and then prepping with the gala that he hadn’t considered the exact date. 

 

Luckily they didn’t comment on it, and Peter was left to his thoughts, including the fact that he didn’t even have anyone in this dimension who knew his birthday. 

Batfam Chat 

 

Tim: Peter is absolutely an alien, he hasn’t even heard of High School Musical

 

Batdad: I’m not sure we can use that as an accurate measurement.

 

Barbara: b, do you know what High School Musical is?

 

Batdad: Of course, but I did live with a teenage Jason. He played it at least once a week.

 

Jason: it’s a good fucking musical

 

Stephanie: did you mean it’s good or that it’s good for…shall we say Netflix and chill? 

 

Tim: don’t answer that!

 

Dick: god I don’t want to know the answer

 

Duke: Steph, please don’t ask questions like this

 

Jason: both 

 

Barbara: I’m blocking Damian’s access to the last several texts

 

Batdad: Thank you, Babara.

 

Damian: Father is giving you all dissapointed looks for whatever you just sent. Based upon my own current evidence, I believe he’s an extraterrestrial as well.

 

Duke: you do? 

 

Damian: Yes, I just said that. 

 

Dick: whether he has the meta gene, an alien, kryptonian, I don’t care, but who’s the abusive ex? We can take care of that tonight.

 

Steph: I’d go with you 

 

Tim: I will see what I can find out. He could still be using the ex as a cover for being Spider Man.

 

Barbara: I just feel like you or I would’ve found something yesterday. The only black zone we have is Crime Alley. Jason, you were out patrolling last night? 

 

Jason: Obviously. I took down the batch of Joker Venom that I literally turned in to the Batcave to be analyzed.

 

Barbara: and you didn’t see Spider Man?

 

Jason: did I say I had when you all asked last night? 

 

Batman: We will keep all of our options open. Nothings ruled out yet. As we don’t have the identification of the potential abusive ex either, you can not go hunt anyone down. 

 

Notes:

Hey guys! First of all, over 1000 kudos!! That’s crazy! Thank you all so much!

Posting this on my phone, which I don’t like to do. So if there are any huge formatting issues, please just let me know in a comment, I will happily fix them :) I have to admit I’m enjoying camping! Hope everyone gets a chance to spend some time outside during summer (if you are northern hemisphere). Switch it up, read your fanfics outside.

Notes on this chapter: I originally had Jason pick up Peter after the basketball game and throw him on his shoulders like they do in sports films, but I decided it was too OOC for Jason. If you dont feel like that would be out of character, feel free to imagine that.

Please, if any of you have the slightest inclination, this is the chapter that I would desperately love fanart of. There a scene I already have written for around chapter 21 of this story that I would also love in art form. But any of the scenes in the basketball game would be amazing as fanart. You would be my favorite fan and I would love you forever ❤️

Chapter 13: Karen's Little Sibling

Notes:

Trigger warnings: non-consensual kissing, and discussions of trying to pay someone for sex. Also talk of servants not being allowed to say no (not by anyone in the Wayne family!). Peter shuts it down real quick. If you want to skip that section, when you get to the second set of OOO, just stop reading the chapter.

The story is going to get a touch darker from here on out. I tried to keep it more lighthearted with my normal comedy, but it is Gotham, and nothing is too smooth. This is the only chapter with non-con elements so I didn't do the entire Rape tag, but I did add a tag up top.

For the full reading experience, I started by having this playlist playing during the first scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2S7BvkDN0hw. When you get through the gala scene, put on High School Musical in the background.

Peter thought he was the only one awake while he hummed in the kitchen, a radio in the window playing Buona sera signorina, one of Aunt May’s favorite songs. He was making himself some pizza rolls in the convection oven at 1am, thanking his stars that the frozen food was cross dimensional. 

 

Right up until he heard the front door open and cursing, as well as the sound of boots stomping in and liquid dripping onto the floor. 

 

Grabbing a cast iron skillet on the stove immediately, he leaned against the wall, sneaking toward the entrance hall. 

 

“Fuck, Jason, do you have to hold there?” Dick’s voice sounded pained. 

 

“Jason?” Peter mouthed to himself. 

 

“That’s what you get for getting a bruise there. What was your plan? Do a little flippy flip and knock them unconscious?” J’s voice replied. 

 

Peter hadn’t realized that J was the first initial, not the name Jay. He frowned, the name Jason sounded familiar for some reason. He seemed like he was right on the cusp of figuring something out. 

 

He made a mental note to rewatch Scooby-Doo, maybe the old mystery movies would help him. He’d always been better at science or math or engineering (which was basically both) or even learning languages than figuring out mysteries. He managed as Spider-Man, most of what he did was very straightforward, right or wrong. 

 

Then he realized what they were saying and stepped around the corner, taking in Dick and Jason leaning on each other. The liquid dripping had been blood from where Jason was holding an arm against himself. Dick’s face looked pretty bruised up. 

 

“Bambi, god damn, what’re you doing awake at this time?” Jason demanded. 

 

Peter looked back at them, “...making pizza rolls. What happened to you two?” 

 

“Bar fight,” Dick said quickly. 

 

“Apparently you were planning to get into a skillet fight,” Jason snarked back. 

 

Peter frowned, waving his skillet lightly, “Solid cast iron combined with super strength? This is a fantastic weapon. Haven’t you ever watched Tangled?” 

 

“You’re not blonde or hairy enough to be Rapunzel,” Jason retorted. 

 

“Obviously I’m post haircut. Get into the kitchen so we can see if I still have any remnants of my magic healing powers,” Peter deadpanned as he rolled his eyes. 

 

Jason grumbled under his breath, but headed to the kitchen, supporting Dick. 

 

“Do you actually have magic healing powers?” Dick asked.

 

“Obviously not, dumbass, it was a joke,” Jason snapped while Peter shook his head, laughing lightly. Peter started with Jason, grabbing the first aid kit that Alfred had shown him. He assumed it was so well stocked for the family practice of martial arts, but now he wasn’t completely sure. 

 

“I figured I’d be patching someone up from the martial arts, but I haven’t actually seen any of you practice martial arts,” Peter commented. 

 

“A lot of times we go out to other dojos,” Dick offered while Peter poured rubbing alcohol on the long cut on Jason’s arm, who hissed at him. 

 

“That fucking burns,” J hissed. 

 

“I assume it would, Jason,” Peter said.

 

“Crap, you heard me then?” Dick said. 

 

“Super hearing,” Peter pointed vaguely at his ears while he started wrapping gauze around what looked like a cut from a shard of glass, lining up with their bar fight excuse. 

 

“Yeah, my full name is Jason. You really thought J was it?” Jason offered. 

 

Peter tugged on the bandage, “...maybe.” 

 

Jason laughed, “You are oblivious, Bambi.” 

 

He jumped down from the counter, grabbing the pizza snacks, “I’m out now. I received medical treatment and dropped your sorry ass off at the manor. Nothing for Alfred to complain about.” 

 

“Thanks,” Dick offered back, sounding sincere. 

 

“Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after,” Jason said, jumping out a window instead of just going back out the front door. At least the kitchen was on the first floor. 

 

“Wait, not my pizza pockets!” Peter called out, too late. 

 

“I’m not feeble!” Dick called after him.

 

The radio played in the background while Peter sighed, grabbing a cotton ball and pouring the rubbing alcohol on it. The song switched to a different Italian song that Aunt May also listened to, and Peter paused for a moment to listen.

 

“You know Italian?” Dick asked.

 

“mia zia era italiana,” Peter offered.

 

Peter stepped closer, dabbing the cotton ball onto the split in Dick’s eyebrow. The taller man grimaced at the sting, but didn’t curse as Jason had. 

 

“Hey, I’m sorry I’ve been such a…”

 

“Dick?” 

 

Dick laughed lightly, one hand going up to rub his neck, “Yeah, guess I lived up to my name.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry too. I kind of went into meeting you a little biased cause of what your siblings say, and that wasn’t really fair to you,” Peter cringes to admit that. 

 

Dick looks devastated, “They think I’m a jerk?”

 

“No! The opposite, they all think you're perfect, and it just seemed too fake. I was just really convinced it was all a front to hide a jerk,” Peter was quick to assure him.

 

“I’m so far from perfect it isn’t even funny,” Dick mutters, blue eyes finally looking away. Peter grabs a bandaid out of the case, sticking it onto the eyebrow and drawing Dick’s gaze back on him, meeting brown eyes. 

 

“Yeah? Prove it,” Peter challenges.

 

“Prove I’m not perfect?” Dick smirks slightly.

 

Peter flushes but stands his ground, nodding, “Admit some sort of secret about you that makes you not perfect. All I ever hear is perfect Dick with every teacher liking him and perfect grades and on all the sports teams, blah, blah blah.”

 

A grin spreads across his face, “The teachers did not all love me. Mrs Albert hated me, third period English.”

 

“Not good enough.”

 

Dick leans closer, Italian voices crooning in the background, “I don’t mind telling you a secret. I get terrible panic attacks, so bad I feel like I can’t breathe. I have anxiety. I just want this family to work out so badly, sometimes it seems like I want it more than Bruce or anyone else in the family, except for Alfred. Half the time I think my siblings are literally going to kill each other and I’m the only one standing in their way. And I’m not even here all the time. I worry about way too much and way too often.”

 

Peter pauses, taking that in, “you have oldest daughter syndrome.”

 

“Terribly,” Dick agrees, “do I get a secret in return?”

 

Peter thinks about a secret that would be on the same level without revealing a whole host of things that he can’t share with his bosses’ oldest son, “My parents died when I was a kid, so I had to go live with my Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Then Uncle Ben gets shot a few years back. He was shot by a random bad guy, and I’ve always felt like it was my fault. Like I should’ve done something. But what was I gonna do? Anyway, I was scared of guns for a long time after that.”

 

“You really fit in too well, around here,” Dick shakes his head lightly as Peter wipes the alcohol cotton ball over cuts on his knuckles, “B hates guns cause he saw his parents get shot as a kid too.” 

 

“Good to know. Doesn’t J use guns during his enforcer role?” Peter asked. 

“Enforcer role?” 

 

“Yeah, for the family mob business that I definitely don’t know about. He’s the one who said that was his role,” Peter said. 

 

Dick had that look again, like he wanted to comment something about Jason, but decided not to, “Something like that, yeah, he uses guns. It’s part of why him and B are fighting so badly right now and Jason doesn’t want to spend time around the manor.” 

 

“And he’s afraid he’ll hurt you guys,” Peter says. 

 

Dick nods once, head tipped forward, black hair falling every so slightly into his eyes, and blocking his expression partly from Peter. It looks pained though, and Peter thinks about what he said of wanting the family to get along. 

 

Then Dick asks another question, “When have you seen Jason in his enforcer role?” 

 

Peter stumbles, “Uh, he showed up to the manor like that once.” 

 

The quiet Italian fills the air again. 

 

“Want me to make another batch of pizza rolls?” he finally asks, voice just a whisper. 

 

“God yes. Do you eat at 1am often?” Dick asks. 

 

“Super strength means super metabolism. I don’t need to get high to have late night munchies. So to answer succinctly, yes, fairly frequently. A lot of times I’ll just keep some granola bars by the bed so I don’t have to wake up completely and get out of bed, but I was feeling more awake tonight,” Peter offers. 

 

Dick laughs quietly, and Peter moves away from the man sitting on the counter, grabbing out the bag of pizza rolls and shaking the rest onto the still warm baking sheet. A hall light clicks on as the sound of Alfred’s footsteps reach Peter’s ears. 

 

“Incoming Alfred,” he gives Dick a heads up. 

 

The butler fusses on Dick for a few minutes, checking the bandaids and throwing the man a bag of frozen peas for the black eye which Dick catches with ease, pressing it against the eye with a sigh. 

 

OOO

 

Several days after the strange late night meeting Peter is determined to have a working phone, preferably with a different version of his favorite suit lady, Karen, built in before the next workweek, so he heads into Gotham after breakfast on Sunday. He needs quite a few electronic parts and some time. The nice thing is he already took apart a working model, so reverse engineering it shouldn’t be as bad. 

 

Probably. 

 

He found a used tech store down a side street close to Crime Alley, just close enough that things were even sketchier than normal for Gotham. 

 

The tech in Gotham was different than he was used to, a bit bulkier without Mr Stark’s arc reactor and nanotechnology. It wasn’t as far behind as J’s MP3 player had made it seem, though, apparently he was just fond of the old thing. 

 

Pulling multiple phones and other technologies off of the shelves, he pulled together enough to remake the suit's AI, now in a phone version. Absently, he noticed that all of the tech he planned to use was stamped with LexCorp.

 

It took a decent amount of money, but not enough to really hurt with the money he was making each day. He felt a little weird working on tech back in his little room at the manor, so he stopped by the library to work for a while. He’d save the soldering for back in the manor. 

 

The wheelchair librarian rolled over to him again, setting off his spidey-sense enough to know she was heading directly to him. 

 

“Hey Ms. Barbara,” he smiled at her, eyes on the same level while he sat to work. 

 

“Call me Barbara, or even Babs, kid,” she told him with an easy smile, “what’re you working on?” 

 

“Trying to make a phone. That’s like allowed in the library, right? I’m saving any soldering and smoke for back at my place,” Peter asked hesitantly. 

 

“I haven’t found any official signs saying no building phones in the library, but do save anything superheated for not here” Barbara said, looking around the library to prove her point. “That phone looks a little different from the current models I’ve seen.” 

 

“Yeah, it’s my own design! I did an internship a while back, and I’m trying to combine some of my bosses’ designs with my own thoughts,” Peter said, holding up the main board for her to examine. “That’s another reason I’m here. Public computers with access to the internet to pull off some sound clips for the voice controls. Like a GPS speaker.” 

 

Barbara stays there for a couple minutes as Peter shows how he uploads sound clips from a voice actor who uploads videos on Youtube to compile into the voice of his Karen. It’ll be a bit different from the original version, but Peter can’t exactly go to the original voice actor that Mr Stark had used and ask her to do a pro bono job for a random teenager. Might come across a bit weird anyway, if she even exists in this universe, which she probably doesn't. Not to mention, it feels a little weird to try to just rebuild Karen without it being his Karen. Like how vision had taught them that AI's held onto their memories at a certain point. Though his Karen wasn't as sophisticated as Vision. All the same, he'd have his own model. 

 

Peter’s spidey-sense goes off, and he looks up to see Tim approaching them. He waves at them. 

 

“Peter, you know Babs?” Tim asks. 

 

“Kind of, she’s a pretty great librarian,” Peter smiles at Tim. 

 

“She’s great at everything,” Tim retorts. 

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere-” Barbara starts to say, but Tim cuts in. 

 

“But coffee will get you everywhere. It’s become my own motto too, you should know that,” Tim finishes, pulling out a cup of coffee for the librarian, who shoots him a smile while giving him gimme-hands. He quickly passes the coffee over to her. 

 

“I enjoy coffee, you are addicted to coffee. The real question is how you know Peter, Tim?” Barbara asks. 

 

“I’m working at the Wayne Manor now, where Tim lives part time,” Peter says.

 

“Is that so? Thought you didn’t want a sugar daddy?” 

 

“I didn’t! I mean, I don’t! No sugaring of anything is happening here!” Peter protests. 

 

“You went to the manor to try to get B to be your sugar daddy? Isn’t he too old for you?” Tim questions. Peter groans at the matching shit faces staring at him from Barbara and Tim, dropping his face down onto the library table. 

 

“Anyway, then you must’ve interacted with Bruce Wayne’s unofficial daughter, Cass, then?” Barbara said.  

Peter stiffens slightly, “Uhm, yeah, a tiny bit…” 

 

“You’ll need these books,” Barbara passes him a stack of books. Peter flips through them. 

 

“American Sign Language for Beginnings. Sign Language for Dummies. A Comprehensive Guide to Sign Language,” Peter read off the first three titles, seeing that the stack was all similar. 

 

“Cass doesn’t speak,” Tim offers. 

 

“She stops by the library sometimes. Now that I know you know her, you’ll definitely need these,” Barbara offers. 

 

“Wow, you had them ready really quickly,” Peter says, raising his eyebrows. 

 

Barbara just smiles at him, “I may have heard some rumors. Always nice to have things confirmed.” 

 

“I will definitely work on the sign language,” he tells her, then watches as she rolls away, “Librarians are a force to be reckoned with.” 

 

“Agreed, especially Babs. Don’t ever try to mess with her,” Tim says sternly, staring across the library table at Peter. 

 

“...OK…” Peter says, pulling his phone protectively towards him. 

 

Tim stares him down again before finally nodding, and grabbing his own books, flipping through them. Peter glances across the table at him a few times before going back to work on his phone. He finally stops worrying about the other teenager, focusing on his building. 

 

Barbara comes back later to tell them that the library will be closing soon. 

 

Peter groans as he straightens his back, not realizing how tightly he had held his muscles while bent over the table or that so many hours had passed as he’d worked. He has several wires that will need soldering, but the general shape of the new phone was there. There’s also a pair of large, over-the-ear headphones that he plans to connect to the phone for the complete experience. It won’t be quite as smooth as the in-suit system he’d had before, but going with larger headphones allowed him to fit more sensors into the headphones. With the technology not being quite as good as the original in his universe, it was the best compromise he’d found. 

 

“So you like building stuff?” Tim asks. 

 

Peter doesn’t quite jump, but he does look across at him quickly, “Yeah, I like building stuff.” 

 

“What are you building?” 

 

“Just a phone. I didn’t really like the current models, and I figured I could just build my own,” Peter said. 

 

“Interesting,” Tim said, pulling out his phone and typing something on it. Peter blinked at him, before gathering up his stuff and shoving it into the store bag. 

 

“See you at the manor?” he offers. 

 

“Come on, you can just ride with me,” Tim says. He leads Peter to a red sports car parked in the library’s parking garage. 

 

Peter immediately looks it over, “This is sick, man.” 

 

Tim smirks, “My dad bought it for me. It’s definitely bragging a touch to also say I was allowed to get my permit at 14.” 

 

“Why? That’s awesome!” 

 

Tim loses a touch of his smirk, “My dad is disabled. He pulled some strings to get me permission to get my license to drive him around.” 

 

Peter decides that he doesn’t want to pursue that line of questioning, because Tim seems as shut off as ever when his biological parents are brought up, even though he was the one to start that line of conversation, “Want to pop the hood?” 

 

“Yeah,” Tim pops the hood, and Peter spends several minutes geeking out over the 454 big block that was dropped into the car. 

 

“They used to put these engines in the one ton Chevy trucks for heavy hauling. With the car’s weight and the suspension, this thing must be capable of flying,” Peter runs his hand over the hood as he shuts it. 

 

“Yep,” Tim is smiling again. 

 

“Crazy choice for a teenager. You rich people have no sense,” Peter sighs as Tim drives them back to the manor, flipping on sunglasses. Tim smiles in the rearview mirror at him without reply. 

 

That evening, in his tiny attic bedroom, Peter connects the final wire, reviewing the codes that took him weeks to rewrite, especially since that had always been Ned's specialty, and smiles as a voice speaks through the headphones to him, “Good evening, Mr Parker, sensors are fully functional and all systems are working as they should.” 

 

“Hello, phone lady. May I call you Ally? I'm going to tell you a story about a suit's AI called Karen.” 

OOO

 

Getting to the neighboring gala was Peter’s next challenge, though he hadn’t realized it would be a big deal.

 

Alfred had given him ample warning that he’d be helping with the neighbor’s holiday gala, but he hadn’t realized that Bruce and some of his kids would also be going.

 

“Yeah, of course, I can drive you Mr Wayne,” Peter said, already planning out how to pack his stuff when Bruce realized that Peter shouldn’t be driving, especially since he had no license, yet had been driving his youngest son for weeks.

 

“Just Bruce, kid,” Bruce reminded him.

 

“I don’t want Peter to drive, I already deal with him during the academic week,” Damian complained, Peter shot him grateful eyes, planning out a special dessert for the kid. 

 

“I’d like to drive,” Dick said, “I want to leave a bit earlier than you.”

 

“Peter, how about you, Steph, and Damian ride with Dick? I’ll drive myself, give me a few minutes to think on the way,” Bruce finally offered.

 

Peter tried not to look too enthusiastic as he agreed, “Sounds great!”

 

“Straight there, Master Bruce,” Alfred added.

 

Peter wondered where he thought Bruce was going. Maybe just to avoid the gala in general. Dick led Peter and Damian to his car in the garage.

 

“Is that a Porsche? It is! 1986! But you’ve made modifications?” Peter ran over to the car, running his hands just above the hood, not touching it because it would cost a lot to replace.

 

He ducks down under it, staring up at a modified chassis and quite a few other modifications, “locking clamps as though you could just pop the entire body off. Complete engine swap, something powerful, a lot of pistons. Would you mind terribly popping the hood? I have to see that closer.”

 

“Excuse me?” Dick’s voice sounded slightly strangled, “you got all that just from looking at it? I didn’t realize cars were your thing, you haven’t said anything about the limo you drive Damian to school in?”

 

“They’re not really, but I like looking at engines. The limo is fine, but it’s really run of the mill. I had to do a lot of stuff like that at my internship with Mr Stark. He was a total car head, and I can’t help but pick it up. Stuff like that just sticks with me, not as much as chemicals and biophysics, but a good engineering gig never hurt either,” Peter said, still fixating on the car, though thoughts of what the modifications would be for started running through his mind. “Are you an actor?”

 

“Why do you think that?” Dick asked as he popped the hood. 

 

“Being able to change the body styles quickly with those chassis clamps would be super helpful for limited resources on a set. Help to stay on budget too. Is that why you look like that? Cause you’re an actor?” Peter asked.

 

“Look like what?” Steph asked, Peter missing the note of amusement as Peter’s entire upper body dropped into the engine bay as he examined the engine and compression system.

 

“Hot,” Peter said simply, completely not noticing what he was saying in his car induced mania, missing Dick’s smirk, “like the rest of your siblings. This engine is amazing. I’ve never seen power like this in -“ he cut off for a second, “Gotham that is.”

 

Dick pouted, while Steph laughed, Damian rolling his eyes. 

 

“Thank you, Peter, we better get going,” Dick said, half smiling while he shook his head. 

 

“For what?” Peter asked, popping back out of the engine bay with a streak of grease across his forehead. Damian scowled but handed him a handkerchief to wipe it off with.

 

“You complimented his already overinflated ego, the big flamingo,” Damian complained.

 

Peter slid in the backseat, eyes watching the dashboard as Dick started the car, taking in the speed in which the car reached sixty miles per hour, “That’s good.” 

 

The Delonghi’s gala was both the same and different from the Wayne’s. 

 

As far as the decorations, the Delonghi’s manor had been ultra modernized which Peter normally liked but in this case clashed with the old building. For the gala decorations, it was nearly the same as the Wayne’s. Round table with real tablecloths, candles and flowers. 

 

How they treated the servants was also noticeably different. 

 

“Get the door! Quickly!” one of the cooks snapped at Peter.

 

“Stay in only the approved locations. Do not go anywhere else in the manor. My home is not a tour grounds for you all. If I spot a single one of you in an unapproved location, I will call the cops on you,” Mrs Delonghi was lecturing them.

 

Which Peter supposed was fair, especially if they’d had issues in the past. It still came across a bit harsh though. He leaned over to the waiter closest to him, “I would literally rather die than steal anything here.” 

 

The waiter gave him a horrified look as Mrs Delonghi’s eyes snapped over to him, narrowing as she looked over him and clearly found him lacking. Peter tried to smile back at her as a flush rose up his neck. He hadn’t meant for the comment to be overheard. 

 

“What is your name?” she demanded. 

“Uh, Peter Parker, ma’am, sorry, I didn’t mean anything as an insult,” he offered. 

 

She sniffed, looking down her nose at him, “I will be keeping a close eye on you, Mr. Parker.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, “I’ve got my eye on you, Wazoski, and all that.” 

 

She glared at him harder, while the others looked confused. Peter looked around at them, “No one got that? Maybe it’s a New York meme. Yep, shutting up now.” 

 

There was a general lack of respect for the wait staff that Peter noticed immediately. Demanding instead of asking. Over explaining simple tasks. Mrs Delonghi was in and out of the kitchen and hall, micromanaging everything.

 

At the gala, alcohol seemed to flow a touch freer, or the people were simply ruder. 

 

Peter noticed that many of the people appeared to be flirting if not hooking up at the gala, something he hadn’t expected. He wondered if maybe Bruce worked to reduce such things at his own galas because of his underaged children. Here, people’s morals seemed a touch looser, like they were back in Ancient Rome. 

 

As he was heading back to the kitchen, he spotted a man who’d been turned down inside the gala by a beautiful brunette woman. The man seemed to be trying to compose himself in the hallway, cup of alcohol in hand. 

 

“You, what’s your name?” the man called out to him. 

 

“Peter, sir,” he replied. 

 

“Come here, you’ll work,” the unnamed man said. 

“I’ll work? For what?” Peter asked, frowning. 

 

“I was turned down at the gala, but a servant isn’t allowed to say no. I’m going to kiss you and then I’m going to take you up to my room,” the man replied. 

 

“No! I do not want to kiss you or go up to your room. Are you part of the family that you have a room here? I’m here to work, not go off with anyone,” Peter replied. 

 

“Their nephew, Ivan. Come here, I won’t hurt you,” Ivan said, slurring his words slightly and even stumbling a step. 

 

“No! I repeat, I am here to work, and I don’t even know you,” Peter said. 

 

“Fair enough, make it work then. I’ll throw a couple hundred bucks at you if you make it worthwhile,” the man said, close enough that Peter could smell the expensive booze on his breath as his hand reached out to Peter’s shirt, fist clutching at the shirt, almost as though it was keeping him upright in his drunken state. 

 

It wasn’t that Peter couldn’t see it coming, couldn’t feel his spidey-senses tingling as the man’s face drew closer. He knew where this was going. But his mind was frozen. He wasn’t in Spider-Man mode. He couldn’t believe that someone would have the audacity to just assume that they could pay a servant to have sex with them.

 

Then slimy lips touched his own, and he was moving.

 

Despite his initial shock, he was still a superhuman. Both hands went up and shoved the man, not even using much of his super strength. The man nearly flew backward, one hand having been stuck in Peter’s white button up shirt and ripping off the buttons.

 

Peter stalked forward.

 

“What the hell?” the man managed to get out before Peter had grabbed his face and not so gently slammed it down against a side table in the hallway. The man collapsed, blood flowing almost instantly from his broken nose, some spraying Peter’s white shirt.

 

Peter had been very careful not to use too much strength where he would fracture the man’s face or even kill him. Just enough to break his nose and knock him out.

 

Peter stalked back into the gala, thankful that the lights were low with the candle decorations, looking for someone he knew to demand he go home.

 

Dick spotted him before Peter spotted him, on his way over to him as Peter met him.

 

Dick’s hand reached out, telegraphing his movements, cupping his chin so gently and loosely that Peter could’ve pulled away. 

 

“Who did this to you?” Dick demanded, voice low and angry as his eyes caught the torn and bloody shirt, mussed up hair and swollen lips.

 

“No one, I handled it,” Peter said automatically, “but I want to go back to the manor.” 

 

“Bambi, what happened?” Dick repeated, voice going soft now, hand gently gripping Peter’s elbow and leading him out of the party. 

 

Peter suddenly didn’t feel like a superhero. He felt like a teenage kid who didn’t understand. The softness of Dick was such a contrast to the harsh demanding nature of that guy that tears actually welled up in Peter’s eyes, his hands shaking just slightly. He knew Dick didn’t miss that either.

 

“It’s nothing, I just want to go back to the manor. I don’t want to be here anymore, but I took care of it,” he said again.

 

“Steph, come here,” Dick hissed on their way out.

 

Stephanie immediately left her conversation and joined them, taking in Peter’s face and her own face hardening like Dick’s had, “What happened? Abusive ex here?”

 

“No, I’ve never even met the guy before,” Peter hated the way his voice trembled. It wasn’t a big deal. The guy was literally unconscious. 

 

“You’ve never met him before? Where is he now?” there was authority in Dick’s voice, and Peter kind of wanted to let him take control.

 

“Uhm he’s through that door, in the hallway,” Peter motioned to where he’d come from. 

 

“Stay with him, I’ll be right back with Bruce,” Dick stalked off. Peter was glad no one seemed to be freaking out, though he didn’t understand why Dick and Steph seemed so angry.

 

She stayed close, but not touching him. 

 

Damian made his way over, looking like a thundercloud, “What happened to Peter?”

 

“I don’t fully know the situation yet,” Stephanie offered when Peter stayed quiet other than saying it was already handled.

 

Bruce was there then, “May I?” 

 

Peter didn’t know what he was asking for, so he nodded, staying still as Bruce gently placed his hands on Peter’s shoulders, looking him over.

 

“He knocked the lights out of Delonghi's first cousin, Ivan,” Dick said.

 

“I need the full story Peter,” Bruce said, voice gentle and soft.

 

Peter felt like the shaking in his hands was getting worse and he wasn’t completely sure why. He felt like he was going to get in trouble, especially breaking the guy’s nose was a bad idea. His Queens accent thicker than ever, “He was drunk, that’s all. He said that he’d been turned down but a servant wasn’t allowed to do that. I said no. He said he’d throw in some money. I said no again, clearly. Then he kissed me so I smashed his face into the table. I was careful though! I only broke his nose. But I wanted him to stop and the words weren’t working-“

 

“It’s alright Peter, breathe. You aren’t in trouble. I just needed to know before I go speak with the Delonghi’s. Steph, stay with Peter. Dick and Damian, keep the idiot in your custody,” Bruce commanded shortly. 

 

“Does it matter what shape he’s in?” 

 

“Not in my opinion,” Bruce replied.

 

“No, no, no! Don’t do all that, they’ll be even angrier,” Peter said, grabbing at Bruce’s suit sleeve.

 

“Good, I’m angry too,” Bruce replied, gently pulling out of Peter’s grasp and heading into the party. 

 

“Not at you,” Dick added quickly, taking Bruce's place next to Peter, and leading him ahead with a hand to his low back. 

 

“Yeah, you’re part of the Wayne team now. They need to know a situation like this is not acceptable. Some bosses wouldn’t care which is horrible. Not B, though, he has a zero tolerance policy,” Steph added, following behind while Damian took Peter's other side before Damian and Dick peeled away. 

 

Dick, Damian, and Bruce were gone then, but not for long. Dick dragged along Ivan, looking quite a bit rougher than when Peter had seen him. Bruce came back with a couple that looked every bit as old money as himself. The woman gasped when she saw her nephew.

 

“Ivan! Are you alright? What happened?” she demanded.

 

“Unfortunately Mrs Delonghi, your nephew was in a situation with my servant, who you hired for the night,” Bruce interrupts the woman fawning over her unconscious nephew. 

 

“A situation, what do you mean old sport? He’s been fighting a servant?” Mr Delonghi asked, mustache quivering as his face spun through the group gathered.

 

Peter was suddenly extra glad that Dick had immediately removed them from the gala and no one extra was watching as Mrs Delonghi spotted him. 

 

“You! I knew you were going to cause problems,” she practically screamed at him. 

 

“Not quite fighting. Your nephew attempted to assault my servant,” Bruce said.

 

“Assault?” Mr Delonghi looked affronted.

 

“My nephew isn’t even one of those types. He regularly dates women. Your servant is making stuff up to try to get attention, probably to distract from whatever he has stolen,” Mrs Delonghi retorted.

 

“One of those types? I remember hearing a rumor of your husband occasionally frequenting establishments for those types during my work as a police officer in Bludhaven,” Dick added in.

 

She sniffed down her nose at him too, “Oh excellent, the circus act is here tonight as well.”

 

Dick opened his mouth to say something, but Bruce spoke up first, face harder than Peter had ever seen it before. His voice had even dropped into a low tone, almost a growl. It reminded Peter of something, though he couldn’t remember who it could be, “You’d do well to remember that the circus act is now my legal heir and son.”

 

“Hold on, everyone, let’s work this out. We have been neighbors with the Wayne’s for several generations, I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding,” Mr Delonghi offered. 

 

“I had noticed that you have a fairly extensive security system, do you not?” Bruce asked in lieu of arguing, his voice tight. 

 

Mr Delonghi seemed to appreciate that suggestion, “Indeed I do, even have audio.”

 

“Let us watch what happened then,” Bruce commanded, leading the situation. 

 

The group trooped to a closed security room, leaving Ivan on a couch unconscious. There was quiet in the room as they all watched what happened. 

 

Mr Delonghi finally sighed as Bruce paused the video after Peter had knocked the man unconscious and headed back in the gala, as he had said, “Well, he is just a servant. How much will it take to appease you?” 

 

“He is not just a servant, he’s a living breathing person,” Steph added.

 

“Dick, take them home. I’ll meet you there,” Bruce said.

 

Dick stood for a minute glaring at the couple across from him, before Peter reached out with just two fingers and grabbed his sleeve. He huffed, but turned and followed Damian, Stephanie, and Peter to his car. 

 

The car ride home was tense and quiet as Peter sat in the back next to Stephanie. When they got to the manor, Alfred was waiting with mugs of hot chocolate for all of them. 

 

“To the telly room, all of you,” he commanded them lightly.

 

“What’re we watching?” Steph asked.

 

“Master Jason has sent over a movie that he said Mr Parker still needed to watch,” Alfred said, handing a DVD to her. Peter noted that he had apparently been told that Peter knew Jason's real name. Peter frowned again. He had definitely heard the name Jason connected to the Wayne family somehow, but he still couldn't remember the connection. 

 

“High School Musical,” Steph grinned, holding up the case. Damian groaned, but Dick seemed ambivalent. 

 

“Where’s Tim and Duke? They didn’t go to the gala either?” Peter asked Alfred, while following the man into the ktichen, helping the man to prepare popcorn and snacks while the others rearranged the movie room to their liking.

 

“I believe they are both at a friend's house. It’s not unusual for the children to schedule friend’s nights for the same nights as events such as galas. They try to avoid the events as often as possible,” Alfred said.

 

“I have like three memes about avoiding responsibilities that I want to send you about trying to avoid galas going forward,” Peter said, and almost immediately regretted it as that same atmosphere of tension fell over the kitchen like a wet blanket.

 

“I do apologize for tonight, Peter,” Alfred said, “it should not have happened while under the employ of Master Bruce.”

 

“It’s fine! Everything worked out. I wasn’t really in any danger,” Peter said.  

 

“It was still a violation of your person,” Alfred said.

 

“It’s fine,” Peter repeated, grabbing the bowls of popcorn and heading back to the movie room, semi-effectively ending the conversation. 

 

He was swiftly engrossed in the story laid out before him. 

 

“Oh my god, the memes that have to be out there about this movie,” he muttered more to himself than anyone as Sharpay took the screen, pulling out his new phone and scrolling through some of said memes. A whole world of new jokes was opening up before his eyes. 

 

“There are, Jas- uh J uses them like punctuation in his texts,” Steph threw some popcorn into the air, catching every piece. 

 

“I know now about his name being Jason. He doesn’t seem like he would be so big into classical literature and theater,” Peter says while singing basketball players continue to sing and play basketball on the screen. 

 

Dick laughs, throwing popcorn at Damian, who also catches it in his mouth, though glaring as though he might stab Dick. Peter sees a glint of silver as his spidey-senses go off, and moves closer to Damian, trying to be a physical barrier between Damian and Dick. 

 

“You should’ve known him in high school, he was hyper focused on school. Totally fit in with the literature thing then. Mrs Albert even liked him,” Dick said, oblivious to the danger he was in. Or maybe he was aware as he tried to throw another piece at Damian.

 

Peter’s hand was moving almost as quickly as it had left Dick’s hand, grabbing the piece in midair and eating it. Dick and Stephanie looked at him with wide eyes while Damian looked intrigued. 

 

“Dude, you didn’t even look like you’d moved,” Stephanie said. 

 

“I have pretty good reflexes,” Peter admitted. 

 

Tim and Duke arrived back to the manor after midnight, taking in the musical ending with only Peter paying attention while Dick, Damian, and Steph threw random items (mainly popcorn) at him. 

 

“He’s caught everything we've thrown at him!” Dick calls to them. 

 

“I’m just trying to finish the musical, guys,” Peter whines, hand catching the knife that Damian threw without taking his eyes on the movie. 

 

“Damian, no knives,” Duke and Steph complain in sync. 

 

“It’s fine,” Peter interjects. The others give him disbelieving looks, “I have a friend who’s way more obsessed with knives than Damian. He definitely views them as play toys.” 

 

The looks get worse. Duke says, “Uh, man, that is not reassuring?” 

 

“It’s not? Sorry,” Peter says, still distracted by the musical. 

 

“Tim, add to your notes, easily distracted and reveals information during said distractions,” Steph whispers to Tim, filling in him and Duke about what happened with the car before the gala. The group chat had already been buzzing about the incident at the gala. 

 

“Noted. Possible ADHD?” Tim says, typing in a note on his phone. 

 

"Maybe?" Steph says. 

After the movie has ended, and Peter’s putting away the dishes in the kitchen, Steph catches him, “Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about it and that’s completely fine. You’re right, nothing besides kissing happened. But if you do want to talk about it at some point, I’m here to listen, most of the family is here to listen. Most of us have dealt with some level of such stuff at some point or another. And, to be honest, Dick might be the best one to talk to. He’s dealt with more of it than any of us.”

 

”He has?” Peter asks, focusing on that.

”Yeah, but I’m not sharing all the details. Ask him about it. But if nothing else, I will tell you that he used to joke that he got hit on less after he turned 21 by the creepy old ladies at the galas than when he was a literal child,” she added.

 

Peter scrunched his nose, “That’s disgusting. If your goal was to make today’s incident seem less bad, you succeed.”

 

”It’s been after midnight, Petey, so that was all yesterday. It’s already getting into the past,” she clapped him on the shoulder, grabbed out some chocolate milk from the fridge and headed to bed. Peter decided she had the right idea, heading up to his bedroom, not feeling as bad after hours hanging out with the Wayne kids. 

Notes:

I have a decent amount of thoughts on this chapter. Please feel free to leave your thoughts in a comment as well. This is the only chapter with these elements, so as stated above, I didn't feel like it needed the full Rape tag. Please feel free to let me know if you think differently. If it is a big enough issue, I can add that tag.

I literally talked about this chapter to my mother (I frequently bounce ideas off her), and she was alright with the premise. I feel like that's a side to customer service type jobs that happens too frequently and doesn't get talked about enough, so I wanted to include it. Sorry if the story has been too lighthearted up to now and then that was a shock. That was my biggest worry, and why this chapter took an extra day to get out to you all. I liked the scene though, so I included it.

Other thoughts, I did make Aunt May Italian in this. Is that canon? No. Just something I liked and added.

Peter is eventually going to be close to Tim as well, but it's more of a slow build there, like with Cass. I don't find it realistic that everyone would immediately like him and trauma dump on him. We're still in arc one, where Peter is adjusting to Gotham and the Wayne family. There's a ton of misunderstandings, and he's this random teenager that they suspect is an alien and just showed up on their doorstep. Some people in the family feel like they have less to hide and more to share, while others are more hesitant.

I think I kind of gave away where I'm going with the romance with this chapter. Feel free to comment on that as well, but I am pretty set in stone. First of all, nothing will be happening of a sexual manner while Peter is underaged. Second of all, I don't plan to write anything explicit anyway. Maybe fade to black, but that would again not be happening until Peter is of age. Will they start dating while he is underaged? Possibly, how oblivious is Peter though?

Also, Peter's starting to figure things out with the Waynes! Super slowly though. Forget slow-burn romance, this is slow-burn misunderstandings.

Finally, this chapter was originally supposed to be three chapters in my timeline. Each of the three scenes was fleshed out a bit further, but I decided it didn't really need to be and combined the three. It is a longer chapter. That might mean the story will be two chapters shorter than 50 chapters, realistically, it also might not. The better news! That means we are two chapters closer to some of the big plot points that I believe we are all looking forward to (wink wink, red people).

Chapter 14: 🦏 Rhino

Summary:

Peter creates a spa day before fighting crime.

Notes:

I listened to Superhero by Metro Boomin while writing the fight scene.

Trigger warnings: canon typical violence (actually not even canon levels, pretty low)

Peter almost isn’t surprised to find Wade joins him in his dreams that night. 

 

“Petey-pie, I’m getting closer to you! Do you know how many Petey’s there are out there? None of them are as cute as you though! I got us Big Macs and Whoppers. Battle of the burgers,” he says, throwing one of each at Peter, who catches them. He goes through the motions of unwrapping the Big Mac and taking a bite, though he still can’t taste anything in his dreams. 

 

“If they’re all me, aren’t they all equally cute?” Peter asks. 

 

“Nah, they’re you but not you. Some of them are adorable, some of them are hot. Some are weird. I’ve killed at least six versions of you which is super weird and kind of turns me on,” Deadpool swings his legs off the roof of the building, back in New York. 

 

Peter shakes his head, used to Wade’s ramblings by this point. 

 

“Petey-pie? Cat got your tongue? Dog bit it off? Why aren’t you snarking back at me? Making jokes that I understand because I have culture?” Deadpool demanded. 

 

“I had a long day, Wade, that’s all,” Peter sighs, staring out at the New York skyline. He was missing his home. The manor was nice, and the Wayne family was better than he’d ever expected when he knocked on that door, but it wasn’t his family. 

 

He wanted Aunt May, ordering takeout cause she can’t cook anything, and Ned making him play Fortnite while running through his newest thing. He wanted MJ scolding him about his internalized misogyny and directing him towards the right things. He wanted to be playing vigilante at night with Wade and Matt and sometimes Mr Castle and Ms Jones, giving Aunt May and Mr Stark about a million aneurysms about his hometown companions, hanging out with that gang since he was fifteen and barely spiderman. He wanted to go to his internship with Mr Stark and learn engineering and get ribbed about calling all the adults mister and misses. 

 

“Wade, you’re in my dream. Tell me what I want to hear,” he finally said. 

 

“Baby boy, you are still a minor. I don’t believe in being an active participant in the wet dreams of minors. Now if you want a passive participant, just some modeling?” 

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” 

 

“It never is. Who wants someone this disfigured to do naked modeling. I’d turn your dream into a nightmare,” Wade bemoans himself. 

 

“Tell me they’re alright. Say everyone made it out alive, and they’re coming to get me. Say I get to go home,” Peter says. 

 

Wade is quiet in a very un-Wade like way. 

 

“It's my dream, Deadpool, you have to,” Peter says, and then he feels tears running down his cheeks. He paws at them, furious at himself. 

 

“I’m coming, Petey,” Wade finally whispers. “But I don’t want to lie to you, even in your dreams. Matt says that's bad practice with friends.” 

“He’s right, of course, freaking lawyer,” Peter complains. 

 

“And when I find you, we can try going back home if you want,” Wade offers, “It’ll have to be different from how I get to you, because that’s kind of a one way shot, selling all those souls and all that to create a dimension warp. I would’ve just asked the author to write me right into your story, but I needed some sort of a method if I’m not traveling alone.” 

 

“Wade, I don’t think you’re real,” Peter muttered sadly, resting his chin on his knees. 

“We don’t talk about real!” Wade sing-songed, making Peter groan at the Encanto reference, “I’m real fucking ugly, but I’m real! If I wasn’t real, how would I be able to bring you food?” 

Peter and Wade looked at the pile of Whoppers and Big Macs. 

 

“I can’t taste any of this food. It’s just dream food,” Peter said.  

 

“Not my best reasoning, but I’m real!” 

 

“Let’s just swing through New York for a while,” Peter suggests. 

 

“Do I get to hold onto your solid pecs?” Deadpool asks, suddenly in Peter’s space.

 

“Back up. You know the drill, here’s your own web shooter,” Peter reminds the taller vigilante, pulling off one of his web shooters and handing it to Deadpool. They haven’t done this very often, but it was the fastest way around New York. 

 

“We could just wait for my cab guy,” Wade offers. 

 

“No, that poor man is traumatized enough,” 

 

“He’s not traumatized! I’ve enlightened him! And he accepts my payment type,” Wade says. 

 

“A crisp high five is not a proper payment type,” Peter argues, glad to be back on familiar ground. 

 

“You’re right. Let’s go steal from a thief and drop the cash in the taxi,” Wade says, switching directions abruptly. 

 

“There are so many flaws with that method! First of all, where did he steal the cash from? Do those people need the money back? Second, what if your taxi guy gets implicated in the crime then?” Peter calls at the hit man’s retreating back, cringing slightly as Deadpool accidentally swings through a window. 

 

He feels a touch better, something about dealing with the idiot did make him feel more connected to his own dimension. 

 

OOO

 

Once Peter has woken up on Sunday morning, Bruce stops in the kitchen while Peter and Alfred are pulling out the breakfast cereals and going over their upcoming week. It’s Peter’s day off, but the week tends to go smoother when he’s mentally prepared himself on Sundays, not Monday mornings. He has the chalkboard absently pulled toward him in the pantry, writing out the meal plan while Alfred makes a grocery list based upon Peter’s inventory.

 

“Good morning. I wanted to let the two of you know that I will be leaving today on a business trip, and I will be gone for several days. Alfred, you know how the household runs better than I, so if you wouldn't mind holding down the fort for me. Dick has gone to Bludhaven as a consultant detective. Peter, I’m leaving you in charge of Damian, and general supervising of the teenagers. They don’t need quite as much direction as Damian, but keep an eye on them please. Make sure they go to school and eat something. Don’t let Tim subside on coffee alone,” Bruce instructs him. 

 

Peter nods, “Keep Damian alive, don’t let Tim have unlimited coffee. What about Steph and Duke?” 

 

“Steph isn’t staying here this week, but she’ll be in and out. She’s probably the most self-sufficient. Please help Duke with his schoolwork. Tim is smart enough to do it, but completely uncaring if he does it or not. Duke is highly intelligent, but he stresses over school sometimes. Sometimes he worries so much that he overthinks the simple stuff,” Bruce mused. 

 

“Right, Damian alive, limit Tim’s coffee, help Duke with schoolwork, and keep a half eye on Steph in case she needs something,” Peter repeated. 

 

“We will be fine Master Bruce. Enjoy your trip,” Alfred interjected. 

 

“Yes, it’ll be thrilling, I’m sure,” Bruce deadpanned, finishing his bowl of fruit and setting it into the sink. 

 

After loading up his expensive car with several suitcases, Bruce headed out, waving once in the rearview window to Alfred and Peter. 

 

“Brace yourself, Mr Peter, something always goes wrong when Master Bruce is out of town,” Alfred warned Peter, grabbing his coat and the grocery list to head to the stores. 

 

“But last time he was out of town was when I knocked on the door?” Peter said. 

 

“As I said,” Alfred said, a hint of amusement in his eyes. 

 

“Hey!” Peter called after him as Alfred drove away. 

 

Peter headed back into the manor, content to hang out for a while in the calm of his room, mentally preparing for his patrol that evening. He’d switched it from Saturday to Sunday evening into night because of the gala the previous evening. It’ll make waking up for work on Monday a touch more miserable than usual, but nothing worse than all those days of waking up for school after patrolling all night. 

 

His spidey-senses tingled, causing him to duck under the hands grabbing at him. Tim stood there, still dressed in his clothes from the previous day, as though he still hadn’t slept, one hand reaching out as though to grab at his arm. 

 

“Get in here,” Tim hissed at him. 

 

Peter ducked into Tim’s room, eyebrows raised in a question. 

 

“I’m not going to give you a heads up everytime, new guy, but I’m feeling generous today,” Tim hissed at him. 

 

“More like you’re planning to use him as a sacrifice,” Damian said as he crawled out of the air vent in Tim’s room. 

 

“Is that a weasel?” Peter asked Damian, taking in the fur draped around his shoulders and really hoping it wasn’t a dead animal for demon summoning. 

 

“What’s it to you?” Damian snapped, gripping the animal tighter. It at least gave Peter notice that the animal wasn’t dead as it blinked lazily at Peter. 

 

“Focus, Parker, we’re in the middle of a code purple,” Tim said, pointing to several things on his cork board. 

 

First, there was a calendar with five days marked in purple, then a set of three days in orange, and 5 days in green. Then there was a polaroid photo of Duke laughing. Finally, a polaroid photo of Stephanie fuming, hands in fists at her sides. 

“Code purple?” Peter asked. 

 

“Duke has angered Stephanie beyond the point of survival,” Damian stated, settling onto Tim’s bed. 

 

“Off my bed, demon child,” Tim snapped, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out what looked like medicine. 

 

“Make me,” Damian curled his lip in disgust at his older brother. 

 

Tim took a menacing step toward the younger and smaller brother. Peter stepped between them smoothly, picking up Damian by the scruff of his shirt and setting him on the beanbag chair in the room. Damian and the weasel hissed at him but settled down into the red beanbag chair. 

 

“I’m confused,” Peter admitted, turning back to Tim now that the first crisis was averted. 

 

“What’s going on is the stars have aligned in the worst possible way,” Tim pointed to the calendar. 

 

“What stars are aligned?” 

 

“Steph is on her period, which is sad enough because she gets horrible cramps, but then Duke went and ticked her off,” Tim said, “We’re probably all going to die.” 

 

“You track her period?” Peter asked, looking at the calendar with understanding. 

 

“Obviously,” Tim sniffed, “she needs extra support during that week. I actually track all three of the most important women around here.” 

 

Damian nodded, “Yes, Father says we must be extra cautious and respectful.” 

 

“How did Duke miss that then?” Peter questioned. 

“I said I track them, not him. He was having a hair emergency, and just borrowed some of her shampoo. Normally she keeps a secondary bottle under the sink in her bathroom, but she’s out. So she couldn’t take a shower. Then, he stole back his shorts, but she’d already planned on wearing them. No shampoo for her shower, no comfy shorts. Then at breakfast, Duke ate the last of her favorite cereal, the Cocoa Pebbles. It wasn’t that he was being purposefully malicious, just distracted and sleep deprived after last night,” Tim said. 

 

Peter held up his hands, “Ok, we can still fix this.” 

 

“What we can do is hide for our safety. That’s why I gave you a heads up,” Tim said, Damian actually nodding along behind him. 

 

“If we do that, Duke is going to die,” Peter hadn’t met an angry Stephanie before, but his Spidey-senses agreed with him. 

 

“There is no solidarity in these situations,” Damian intoned. 

 

He heard a crash somewhere in the manor and the sound of Duke screaming. He flinched slightly at the sound of ceramic smashing. Even without super hearing, bits of the screaming and smashing made it into Tim’s room. 

 

“Duke is probably already dead,” Tim added, “Now we hide until she finds us.”

 

“No, I refuse to accept that death is our only option. This is Mr Bruce’s first time out of the city since I’ve been hired, and it is not going to end with all of us dead,” Peter said. 

 

“What do you suggest then?” Damian asked. 

 

Peter thought through it out loud, “She needs a spa day. Comfy, relaxing. Aunt May liked to book a message once a month if we had the money. There was this little Asian lady on the second floor of our apartment building who would give massages in her apartment for cheap. You two have the money to send her to one.”

 

“None in Gotham proper, and I don’t know if we can convince her to drive to one. The closest decent one is at least two hours and she gets car sick. Don’t tell her I told you though. And a cheap one in the city is more likely to just end up being annoying,” Tim replied.

 

“Ok, then we’re bringing the spa here,” Peter decided. 

 

He quickly directed Tim to a department store he’d seen in town, “Wylie’s independently wealthy outside of Bruce, right?”

 

“My father’s credit card has a $10,000 limit,” Tim replied.

 

“That is outrageously extra. OK, what’s your phone number? I’ve made up a list of what we need, I’ll text it to you,” Peter suggested. 

Tim typed in his phone number, Peter sending the list. The other boy saluted him sarcastically, looking entirely too relieved to escape the manor. 

 

“While he’s gone, we’re gonna see if we can work out some of her frustrations,” Peter informed Damian. 

 

“I did not volunteer to die today,” Damian snarked. 

 

“No, you get to watch me die, come on, demon child,” Peter said, half fondly. 

 

Damian raised an eyebrow, but followed Peter down to the ground floor where they spotted Duke in a chokehold, obviously tapping out while Stephanie snarled at him. 

 

“Uhm, Steph,” Peter even tried her family nickname, it seemed to work as she looked up at him, “I was wondering, since almost no one is home today, maybe you could teach me some of the martial arts? It's just, after last night, your family was saying I needed some more official training. I’ve done a touch with martial arts, but I don’t think anything like the dedication your family puts in.” 

 

She smiled at him with entirely too many teeth, dropping Duke onto the floor with a grunt and grabbing Peter’s offered hand, “Come on, Petey, we’ll start with jiu jitsu. That’s my favorite style, and no one else will complain that I stole their favorite to teach you first.” 

 

Peter may have been stronger, but Stephanie used a ton of extra practice and even the couple of inches that she had his height to repeatedly force him to submit. 

 

It also didn’t help that Peter was still trying to act like he didn’t know anything about fighting. 

 

Plus, the fact he had never fought jiu jitsu before. 

 

“This is no-gi style, just meaning we aren’t wearing the official uniforms, which are called gi,” Stephanie told him while she hooked her legs around his thighs, flipped him over, and pulled his arm up and back. 

 

He grimaced, “Lovely.” 

 

“B would want you to learn Gi first, cause it’s more official, but no-gi is the fighting of real world. Street stuff,” she explained as they backed up, both crouching down slightly. 

 

Damian, Duke, and the weasel watched from the sidelines. 

 

“B will definitely make you start over with Gi. Not that you necessarily have to start over, they can be learned at the same time,” Duke added. 

 

She swept out his legs, and Peter hit his hip hard. 

 

Tim walked in at that point, giving a wink to Peter, “Steph is in side control right now, performing an Americana on you. Feel how your shoulder and arm are bent to the point that it feels like it’s going to break while your back in on the back? She could absolutely break your arm if she felt like it.” 

 

“I do, just a little bit,” Steph agreed. 

 

“I’d rather you didn’t. I have speedy healing, but it still hurts,” Peter said, “And any advice on getting out of this hold?” 

 

“Bridge and roll!” Duke called out, “Bridge! No, hips up!” 

 

“I don’t want to put my hips up! I don’t even know where to put my hands!” Peter called back. 

 

Steph laughed, “You have to forget I’m a girl. This isn’t anything inappropriate, it’s just sparring.” 

 

“Just tap out,” Duke sighed. 

 

Steph ruffled his hair as she released him, “That wasn’t terrible for your first time. Duke farted in B’s face his first time trying to learn Gi.” 

 

“Oh my god, Steph, do you have to bring that up every week?” Duke put his face in his hands, cheeks reddening. 

 

“Did he really?” Peter asked, laughing.

 

”Spread Eagle, B trying to show him the hold so his face was down near his crotch, and ‘poot,’ right in his face,” Steph said. 

 

“Jason in general uses farting as a weapon. It’s completely rude,” Tim draws the attention of a pouting Duke slightly. 

 

“Whatever works,” Steph shrugs, “You’ll see a divide in which of us prefer Jiu Jitsu over other fighting styles. Jason is another one who likes it. He says it reminds him of the street fighting of Crime Alley, just more disciplined. Even though I’m taller than most men now, I still prefer it because you don’t have to be stronger and taller than your opponent to have a good chance of winning.” 

 

“Thanks for starting to teach me,” Peter smiled at Steph who smiled back, “Hey, while you’re all here, do you guys think you could help me with something else?” 

 

“What’s up, man?” Duke asked. 

“It’s part of my butler training for Alfred. He said I have to know how to create a day of relaxation and pampering for the masters of the family,” Peter hesitates, trying to act natural, rubbing his neck awkwardly, “But I don’t want to give Mister Bruce a spa day. Maybe if he gets back from shopping and he sees you guys, it’ll count?” 

 

Duke and Stephanie are quick to agree, heading towards the kitchen and supplies, Damian following. Tim walks over to Peter, and whispers, “Good job, that actually sounded realistic.” 

 

Peter grins back at him in mischief, “I think your family is a bad influence on me.” 

 

Tim laughs, “Trust me, you don’t know the half of it yet.” 

 

Tim’s bought everything Peter asked for and then some. Plush robes that cover from neck to floor length in a white color. Gel eye masks that have to be refrigerated. Apparently the basement gym has an adjoining sauna that he starts everyone using (in bathing suits obviously). While they’re in the sauna, he cuts up cucumbers into little eye slices and makes up some mocktails for them to drink with fancy umbrellas. 

 

By the time Alfred has returned, the teenagers and Damian all look fairly relaxed, sitting in silence in the theater room with the lights low, calm Italian music playing in the background, cucumber slicers over eyes, face masks spread out. 

 

Alfred doesn’t say anything as he takes in the scene, Peter frantically pointing to Steph then Tim then the calendar. 

 

Instead, he turns around and grabs the home phone, calling a message therapist, “Mr Parker has done excellent with his relaxation course. As a reward for you four being his guinea pigs, I’ve called in a masseuse to come as the piece de resistance.” 

 

They all smile. It pushes Peter’s patrol back well into the evening, but he figures it was worth it. The bruises he’s gotten from training with Stephanie are already faded, and he hopes that he can one day try martial arts and stuff like that with the Waynes without holding back or at least not hiding how well he could do. 

 

Though, he might’ve still had to keep super strength off the table, which it normally is when sparring with non-super people. So maybe completely not holding back wasn’t in the cards, but it would be cool to really show them what he could do. 

OOO

With Ally working as an AI in his ears and his web slingers freshly refilled, Peter felt like a whole new Spider-Man. He’d created a connection to his suit with a little receiver box, allowing him to not require the phone and headphones when in it. It was still a large downgrade from Karen and the nanotech suit, but it was wayyyy better than how he’d started upon arriving in Gotham.

 

Web slingers sent out webs, Peter swung through the city.

 

He’d noticed how his web slinging style aligned with Batman’s grappling hook, even if he hadn’t seen the giant bat at work much. His bat underlings all seemed to use similar styles as well. 

 

Screaming distracted him from his thoughts, and he jumped down into the street, taking in what appeared to be an enormous, grey rhino man running through the streets, throwing cars while pedestrian ran away screaming. 

 

“On your right!” a voice called, and Peter looked up as a man dressed all in black with a stripe of blue across his chest swung off a grappling hook straight into the rhino man. His foot hit the rhino’s face, sending the man backwards in a flip to land lightly on his feet. The blue on the chest appeared to be some type of wings. Between that and the grappling hook, Peter suspected he was one of the assorted bats. 

 

The black suited man pulled out two black rods that he snapped, each of them expanding into a two foot long baton. He weilded them with the same precision he had weilded his feet, laughing and taunting the bad guy. 

 

“You must have terrible credit, because you are always charging,” the dark suited man quipped. Peter sighed at that one while the rhino started to roar in anger, and again charge the probable hero.

 

What appeared to be a woman with chin length black hair, also in a black costume with a gold bat emblem on the front jumped down next to Peter, throwing star already sent at the rhino man while she pulled out a long katana. 

 

“I’m feeling a touch left out,” Peter commented, watching how the batons and katana didn’t seem to do much against the fake rhino’s thick suit. 

 

“Please, feel free to join at any time. Unless you’re afraid you’ll get “rhino-overed?”” black suit said while using kicks to get to the rhino’s head, a baton hitting either side of the rhino’s head. The rhino landed a swat on him then, sending the man tumbling away which he turned into a smooth cartwheel.

 

“As long as Rambi doesn’t have any giant monkey friends, I should be good,” Peter called back, rolling his eyes.

 

Both the rhino man and the black suited man paused slightly to look at Peter.

 

“What? Rambi from Donkey Kong? Like the smash game?” blank stares, “No! You’ve never heard of Donkey Kong? What does that mean for my jokes? No Mario?”

 

Continued blank stares from the black suited man while the rhino charged again, woman with katana jumping in.

 

“You know what, never mind. I’ll go pout for my pop culture references later. Hey, rhino face!” Peter called out, web slingers ready.

 

The rhino turned over to him, horn lowered to stab Peter, eyes glaring and hateful.

 

Peter spread his feet a little, readying himself. The rhino man quickly charged toward him, but Peter was already spraying his web fluid, wrapping the man up. The man hadn’t quite been stopped by the time he got to Peter, so Peter jumped straight up in the air, landing on rhino’s shoulder, webs still spraying. He went around and around the rhino, pinning his arms and legs in place.

 

Then jumped up onto the rhino’s head, perching in his trademark squat to smile at the two black suited hero’s while the rhino glared and yelled. 

 

“That was…convenient,” the man muttered, before offering a smile up to Peter. The woman looked on impassively before turning to go.

 

That was when Peter stiffened, his attention finally able to focus on the woman, and how she affected his spider senses.

 

Because he’d only met one woman in Gotham with black shoulder length hair, who was about that tall, who set off his spider senses like that.

 

Somehow, that woman in the  black suit with baggy harem style pants and a tight long sleeve armored shirt with a utility belt, was Cass. 

 

Like the Wayne’s Cass.

 

Peter opened his mouth to shout something, ask questions, but she was already off, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to yell after her.

 

The man in black took a few steps back, running forward into a sideways kick, knocking the rhino to the ground.

 

Peter jumped into a backflip, landing lightly on the sidewalk.

 

“You must be the Spider-Man that signal was telling us about,” the other guy said, voice sounding distorted as though he used a voice modulator like Peter, though Peter wasn’t sure how since he could only see the domino mask. Maybe the man was just purposefully making his voice sound different than his normal voice, “I’m Nightwing.”

 

Peter’s spidey-senses were still tingling slightly, even with Cass gone, “Yep, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man here. Who was the woman you were fighting with?”

 

“That’s Orphan. We just took down the villain named Rhino. Think you can wait with him while I bring some special forces over to transport him to a holding cell?” Nightwing asked.

 

“Sure, but if I see something major, I’ll leave him to go after that. He’s pretty contained with my webs. I learned from Bane so I used a lot more so they can’t just break out,” Peter rambled a touch, even as Spider-Man.

 

Nightwing sent him a grin, “Fair enough. Thanks, Spidey.”

 

He waited until Nightwing was out of sight and probably hearing, “Ally, status update?”

 

“Web slingers are at 71.3% and you have two backup cartridges on you. Your health is still at 100%. Suit’s battery life is at 83%. The night is young,” she intoned in a nearly monotone voice. He really needed to work on the coding needed to give her more personality though that was a backup concern.

 

“Just so you know, and I admit it, I am freaking out right now,” he admitted to her.

 

“You are not currently in imminent danger,” she replied

 

“I think my job is in imminent danger. It seems to be tangled up more than I had realized,” he muttered more to himself than her.

 

When Nightwing got back followed by an armored truck, Pete gave him a salute and headed on his way. 

 

Gotham at night could almost look beautiful, especially swinging from tall buildings.

 

Peter made sure to go down into the streets on his patrols too, not staying up high enough to tint the streets with rose colored glasses. 

 

He headed towards Crime Alley and found three kids waiting for him under the single working street light on fifth street, the original kid and two of his buddies. It was a good distraction for his thoughts of work, so he sat down and helped them through their science and math work. Middle school math, the good old days.

 

“Do I get a name for any of you?” He asked them, whites of his spider mask looking towards the original kid.

 

“Not yet, help me pass the entire class and I’ll give you a name,” the kid said, glaring and leaning away.

 

“Fair enough, I’ll call you one, these two will be two and three. Deal?” he offered.

 

“Yeah, whatever, just don’t go thinking we owe you or something. You offered out of the goodness of your heart supposedly,” One complained.

 

“Yep, that’s what I agreed to,” Peter said.

 

The patrol passed quickly, the night going by with several low scale robberies, a purse snatcher, and some drunk guys in an alleyway that just needed webbed to cool down.

 

Peter found himself heading back to Wayne Manor entirely too quickly, mind free to try to consider what it meant that Cass was apparently a masked vigilante on the streets.

 

It wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility, even with just what he knew of the family. Jason was apparently Red Hood after all and he was allowed generally around the rest of the family. Cass didn’t seem to live at the manor, same as Jason, though she had a small (still larger than his own) impersonal room labeled as hers that Peter had cleaned.

 

How were the vigilantes connected to the Wayne’s though? Had Bruce just hired some of them to be protectors and hit man for the family?

 

Was Bruce connected to Batman somehow?

 

Peter groaned out loud, “Oh my god, I’m working for a pimp for vigilantes. The sugar daddy for the bats.”

 

Peter considered as he dropped his web off the last tall building, heading for the quieter tree lined lane that headed to the Wayne’s. He’d catalogued the cameras on the buildings on this side of town and knew where he had to duck to pull off his spider suit. 

 

“Maybe Bruce and Batman are lovers and that’s why Bruce is paying for all their fancy equipment? Could that reporter, Clark Kent, could he be Batman?” Peter considered, didn’t seem likely that Bruce would be so blatant about it, “Maybe, I’ll leave it on the table. So Bruce is probably sleeping with Batman though, funding his crime fighting and in return, Batman supplies Bruce with an enforcer and a family protector? What a tangled web they’ve created, and I’m finally starting to crack it!”

 

He fell asleep fairly quickly once he made it into his room, mind still whirling with possibilities. 

Notes:

Ok, you can say what you like about Peter’s fight with Stephanie being unrealistic, I found it very realistic, not just humor.

I, the author, am a female. I tried to be respectful of the topic of Stephanie being on her period and considered if I lived in a manor filled with rich people but largely men, how would I want to be treated? Feared, respected, yes. I didn’t mean anything disrespectful by including her being on her period in this chapter.

I have done Jiu Jitsu in real life, and it’s a really different breed. I’m not saying that Stephanie could take Peter in just a straight fight. I think we could pretty much all agree he’d win unless there were specific circumstances. However! In a strict jiu jitsu fight, even no gi, where he is trying to follow the rules of that martial arts style that he hasn’t learned and I think it would be realistic that he, as a seventeen year old, would feel uncomfortable with the grappling nature of the form against a female, might lose. If you don’t like that thought though, just imagine he went easy on her and was embarrassed by how much touching is involved 😜

I did throw in some BAMF Petey finally, getting in an easy win. Also some Damian animal lore. Does he have random pets stashed around the manor? Absolutely.

Here is a link to one version of Cass’s Orphan costume: https://twitter.com/Karahuset/status/1582542600837660673

That is not my drawing! Not my work! Just a reference photo for what I was drawing.

Chapter 15: The Joker

Summary:

Peter experienced game night at the Manor, barely surviving, before going out on patrol.

Notes:

Trigger warnings: sibling arguments. Also, Jason very non-graphcially kills a couple random bad guys by shooting them.

“Game night!” Duke yelled at Peter as he and Tim barged into the kitchen in the morning, distracting Peter from his thoughts of trying to figure out the connections between Batman and the Wayne family. 

 

“Game night?” Peter questioned.

 

“Yeah; this month is board games. Next game night will be video games. I’d say next month, but something always comes up and it gets pushed back,” Duke said, shooting a stink eye at Tim who rolled his eyes in response.

 

“I’m sorry that my physical therapy got in the way of your fun,” Tim deadpanned, filling a mug with coffee. Peter filled a plate with some eggs and fruit and slid it in front of Tim with a pointed look. The other teenager glared at him behind the mug.

 

“Did B make it your job to make sure I eat something?” he asked.

 

“His exact words were no subsisting off of coffee alone,” Peter said sternly, “and aren’t there enough people around here to still have a game night without Tim?” 

 

“Yeah but Dick was in Bludhaven, Steph and Cass were both busy, Jason won’t come around for game nights, and I’m not playing with just Damian,” Duke complained, “so you will be joining us tonight.” 

 

Peter shook his head, “It depends on if I get through all my work today, and if Alfred minds. I’m not here to be Supernanny.” 

 

“That’s basically your role for Damian, and I’ll have you know that I convinced my parents that I no longer needed a nanny at seven years old, three years younger than Damian,” Tim said, eating one of the strawberries on his plate and two bites of the eggs. 

 

“I’m not a nanny for him. I am a butler for the entire family,” Peter rolled his eyes. 

 

Duke and Tim grabbed their backpacks. Duke shot finger guns at Peter, “Game night, tonight. Be there or be square.” 

 

“Bye, nanny,” Tim called back. 

 

Peter grumbled, but went about his chores once he’d taken Damian to school. It was a little exciting to think that he had plans for the evening, instead of just prepping for his patrol. Though he probably would have to cut out of game night early to still have enough time to make patrol worthwhile. 

 

The game night could also make sneaking out for patrol a little easier, if everyone was distracted by it. Or harder, if they really asked a lot of questions about his bedtime.

 

The day passed quickly with him focusing on laundry. It wasn’t the worst chore, because Alfred had already told him to put something on the TV in the movie room while he folded the laundry. 

 

Alfred popped his head into the room while Peter was moving onto Duke’s clothing pile, “You have a package?” 

 

A grin spread across Peter’s face, “I bet that’s the centrifuge I ordered!” 

 

“What form of separation are you planning?” Alfred asked, voice as calm as ever. 

 

“Eggs! And other stuff! This one is food grade, and I’m going to use it to separate whole eggs. It’ll separate the egg shell from the whites and the whites from the yolk with minimal effort and loss of product!” Peter said, opening the box as he went into the kitchen. 

 

He’d slowly claimed the counter on the west wall of the kitchen, noticing that Alfred naturally stuck more to the South and East sides of the kitchen and the natural morning light. He’d spread out a food scale, set of beakers, various baking pans of different materials and sizes, a box of parchment paper and silicone baking sheets, and now the centrifuge. On the right side was a pile of shelf stable ingredients like different types of flour and baking soda. 

 

“I have some more ideas too, but this will be enough to start!” Peter said, plugging in the centrifuge and adjusting the levels.

 

“Start what exactly?” Alfred asked. 

“My great cake baking experiment! I’m going to use science to make the best tasting cake  possible, starting with a chocolate cake. Don’t worry, though Alfred, the teenagers have already told me that it doesn’t matter how physically perfect the cakes are, they’ll still prefer your cookies, and I don’t mind. I planned to do cookies at first, but that’s totes your thing,” Peter said, pulling eggs, butter, and shortening from the fridge. 

 

Alfred watched with the slightest fond smile as Peter went to work, unnoticed by the teenager as he focused on his cakes, notebook open with charts drawn in, listing different possibilities that he’d considered. 

 

“And I have an alarm set for the laundry machine, so I’ll even remember to switch the next load over!” Peter called as Alfred headed towards his office to do inventory on the paper products in the house. 

 

Game night started slowly, with the teenagers rolling in individually, Steph coming over as well even though Bruce had said she wouldn’t be over much that week. Peter rolled his eyes, for not living there, she sure did live in the manor.

 

Then he heard tires on the drive and looked out a window to see a van.

 

He raised his eyebrows, he wasn’t familiar with it.

 

Instead of footsteps, he heard tires rolling up to the front door.

 

Almost like the person couldn’t walk.

 

Peter opened the door, “Ms Barbara?”

 

“Babs!” Tim called.

 

“Did you bring the dips?” Duke called out.

 

“Hello, Peter, last warning, call me Barbara or I’m duct taping you to the inside of Bruce’s bedroom door and leaving you there until he comes back from his trip,” she said cheerfully, tossing two containers at Duke who caught them easily, air pumping in celebration.

 

“Uhm, right m- I mean, Barbara, but why Bruce’s door?” Peter stumbled over his words a second, trying to listen to her, consider her threat, and wonder how she knew the Wayne’s.

 

Did everyone in the city just know the Wayne’s? Should he expect the commissioner next? 

 

He paused, actually that one would at least make sense.

 

“Last place this bunch would think to look for you. I doubt you’re even allowed in there yet, and they’ve been telling me that you haven’t been exploring in your free time,” she said, rolling into the family room that he’d prepped for the game night during the day, without directions needed.

 

“I explore! But the places I’m allowed in. That’s already plenty of exploring to do. And I’m trying to figure out the city itself on my free time. I don’t understand why you people would think I would willingly cross boundaries?” Peter asked.

 

“Boundaries? What are those?” Steph asked.

 

“Cause none of the rest of us listened when Alfred or B told us to only stick to approved areas,” Tim said. 

 

Peter rolled his eyes, stepping away and into the kitchen for more snack foods. 

 

“Did you guys make salsa meal for supper? Yes! Tim, there’s even salsa meal!” Duke asked, popping his head in as Peter checked on what Alfred had made.

 

“What’s salsa meal?” Peter looked into the pot with what looked like a cheese dip in it.

 

“Similar to a queso. I’ve added in minced meat to make it more filling for the youth,” Alfred explained, ladling the thick dip into an all white serving bowl and handing it to Peter.

 

Supper that evening was a variety of different snack type foods. Peter knew from cooking breakfasts, lunches, and suppers for months now that this was not Alfred’s normal, high sodium and not terribly healthy. Alfred must been a fan of these game nights that hadn’t occurred for the extent of Peter’s tenure. 

 

“Go change, Mr Peter, you are off duty now. Enjoy the game night if you so wish,” Alfred told him once they’d set up a buffet style table with snack options.

 

Peter considered, “You sure? Won’t they mind me just crashing it.”

 

“Man, we need you to join, and you don’t want to do that in that stuffy uniform. There’s five of us without you, and that just won’t work,” Duke told him, slinging an easy arm around Peter’s shoulder.

 

“Five of you?” 

 

“Me, Tim, Steph, Babs, and Damian,” Duke counted them off on his fingers.

 

“You said Jason never comes to game night. Where’s Dick and Cass?” Peter questions, not that it’s necessarily his business.

 

“Yeah, Jason avoids game nights like a plague. Anything other than basketball, Alfred’s cooking and laundry skills, and aggravating Bruce, really,” Tim mused, stealing a chip and dipping it into the queso.

 

“Dick is working, and Cass got called in for a night shift at her job,” Steph said, copying Tim, though with a full plate full.

 

“Cass works?” Peter tried not to sound shocked. He supposed they couldn’t all be just mooching off of Wayne money.

 

“Yep, as a pizza delivery girl,” Duke said with the slightest touch of a smirk.

 

Peter went to change out of his Butler uniform with a frown, considering. Did Cass truly have a job during nights when she was conveniently working as a vigilante during the same time frames as Jason? 

 

More importantly, do the Wayne’s truly think she has this pizza job or do they know what she does while trying to keep Peter in the dark? 

 

As he threw on a red hoodie and some jeans, he considered the web he was finding himself in. 

 

He decided that maybe he’d try to gather some more information during the pizza night.

 

“We shall begin with Sleeping Queens 2,” Damian announced as Peter rejoined them. The assorted wards and friends (Barbara?) were sprawled across the space, almost each one with a plate of snack foods. Damian was perched on the armrest of Steph’s overstuffed chair which was pulled up to what seemed to be the main game table. Barbara got the other end, her wheelchair raised to match the table. 

 

Tim and Duke had pushed up a chair and were splitting it on the other side while another couch had been pulled up to the other long side of the table. Peter took a seat there. 

 

“This one again?” Tim complained.

 

“It is perfection,” Damian sniffed.

 

“Be quiet, you Victorian sick child,” Tim retorted.

 

Damian threw a pillow at Tim that absolutely had a throwing star stuck in it. Peter grabbed it out of the air, and turned towards Tim, “Victorian sick child? Really? His complexion is way too dark for that insult.”

 

“His speech patterns fit, and his lack of sleep do add to the sick appearance with a paler pallor than he should have with his ethnicity and the under eye bags,” Tim replied.

 

Peter watched as the card game was set up, trying to absorb that, “you really can’t speak of eyebags.”

 

The others laughed as Tim sent a betrayed look at Peter.

 

“How many cups of coffee have you had tonight, Tim?” Steph asked.

 

“You are not a parental figure in my life so I neither have to lie to you or share the truth,” Tim said.

 

They switched to other games throughout the evening. 

 

“None of the big three,” Duke said to Peter through a mouthful of cheesy chip, “B said we’d absolutely kill someone with Uno, Monopoly, or Trouble so they’re banned.”

 

“The list occasionally grows longer of banned games,” Barbara added.

 

“But he’s not here because of his business trip, would he know?” Peter asked, looking through his options on the Catan board, which he’d never heard of in his world. At least Monopoly, Uno, and Trouble were out there causing fights in this universe as well.

 

“He’d know. He always knows when we’re doing something that would get someone killed,” Tim said.

 

“Seems a touch hypocritical,” Peter said.

 

“Why?” Duke asked with a confused expression.

 

“Well, being in an illicit relationship with Batman seems like something that could get him killed,” Peter said.

 

Duke make a choking sound while Damian half fell off the armrest, all eyes suddenly wide and staring Peter down.

 

“That is what’s happening right? Bruce is sleeping with Batman in exchange for like protection and help with the family mob business while Bruce funds Batman’s operations,” Peter laid out his cards neatly.

 

Duke’s choked turned into a wheezing noise while a predatory look spread over Barbara’s face.  

 

Peter pointed at her, “Don’t say it!”

 

“You sure got an obsession with sugar daddies,” she said it anyway. 

 

“You’ve discussed sugar daddies with Barbara before?” Steph asked.

 

Tim stared at Peter very seriously, “Peter, I can assure you that Bruce is not having sex with Batman.”

 

“Well, you can’t be fully certain of that. What happens behind closed doors and all that,” Steph laughed as she said it, while Tim, Duke, and Barbara grimaced.

 

“Mental images about B’s free time that I don’t need. He has plenty of visitors to keep him busy without needing to pass the time with something like that,” Duke said. Steph cackled. 

 

Peter looked around them, “Bruce isn’t having sex with Batman?”

 

“Not to our knowledge,” Barbara offered, “but I will be telling Bruce you thought that.”

 

Peter groaned, “Noooo, it was just a thought.”

 

“Please never change, Peter, and I don’t even really know you that well,” Barbara laughed. 

 

“A thought on a different topic, have you thought about what you want to do or not do for Christmas?” Tim asked Peter, effectively distracting Peter from both his embarrassment and thoughts on the relationship between Bruce and Batman. 

 

“Christmas?” Peter hasn’t even thought about it, though he supposes it is December now.

 

“Yeah, the manor accepts anything with the holidays. B and Tim are both Jewish, which is absolutely why Tim is one of the favorites,” Steph says.

 

Tim rolls his eyes, “Alfred makes a drive to any choice of church on the day of. Him and Jason will hit up the Catholic Church, but he’ll drop Duke off at the little Baptist church outside of town.”

 

“I’ll go with him so he’s not alone,” Stephanie added.

 

Peter looked towards Damian, “What about you?”

 

Damian glared, “I don’t believe in such foolish, nonsensical traditions.”

 

“Do you believe in a different god? Islam?” Peter tried to dig a little deeper without being rude.

 

“No, Cass and I do not follow organized religions. Richard is your pagan worshipper,” Damian sniffed.

 

“You believe in organized presents,” Duke cut in.

 

Damian sniffed but didn’t deny it which meant it was true.

 

“So pick your poison, new Butler,” Tim says, “I’m building a train track which gives me the longest train on the island, giving me the coordinating point and leading me to have ten points. I win.” 

 

The others groan, Duke ribbing Tim about always winning the game. There’s a pause as several of them get food or drinks. Steph informs Peter that Tim tends to win strategy games, so Tim throws chips at Duke and Stephanie. 

 

They start playing the game of Life next, which wasn’t on the banned list, but Peter suspected would be shortly. They’d apparently Frankenstein-ed two sets together to have enough pieces for everyone.

 

“Duke, you can’t have six kids! There’s only four children peg spots!” Steph complained.

 

“It doesn’t say I can’t!” Duke argued.

 

“You’re just doing that for the extra life token!” 

 

“I landed in the spot, it says I have twins, I’m adding the twins!” Duke said.

 

“No!” Steph pulled the peg children back toward herself.

 

“It’s not impossible for Duke to have that many children, even from one wife,” Tim said.

 

“Can I have a husband along with my wife?” Damian asked.

 

“There’s only one spot to get married,” Barbara said.

 

“I want an annulment then!” Damian said.

 

“Annulments are only if the marriage hasn’t been consummated,” Tim said.

 

“Don’t talk about consummation with a ten year old,” Barbara reached over and smacked Tim on the back of his head, who glared at her but didn’t say anything else. 

 

“But, real questions, of course it isn’t consummated, how would the peg people have consummated it?” Duke said, picking up one the peg people and considering it from every angle before sticking it into a secondary car along with his wife, “there, two vehicles for all of my children and my wife is driving them.” 

 

“Oh my god, both of you shut up,” Steph said, “and you still can’t have six children! We don’t have enough cars!”

 

Peter understood why Alfred had encouraged him to attend game nights as Damian pulled out a knife to argue with Tim, that Steph quickly stole and used to pin down Duke’a shirt sleeve to the table as he reached for another child peg. Alfred had wanted a super strength babysitter for the group. 

 

“Glad we’re all just trying to make it to retirement age,” he offered, taking it all in.

 

“Video game night is worse, especially if Mario Kart comes out,” Barbara told him with a smile. 

 

Peter groaned as Damian pulled out another knife and Tim deflected it with a stainless steel serving platter from the snack table, Peter already moving to get in between them even though he was finally seeing evidence of the training in martial arts they all supposedly received. 

 

Once he’d gotten everyone calmed down with copious amounts of sugar dusted brownies, he finally felt comfortable enough to bow out of the game night and head towards patrol. 

 

OOO 

 

It was a quiet night on patrol. Even though he hasn’t been patrolling in Gotham as long as he had in New York, he already knows that isn’t normal. 

 

There’s a quiet in the air, a stillness, that screams of hiding. It’s not that everyone has just taken the night off. They haven’t reformed into nice people. The criminals seem scared of bigger fish out playing. 

 

Peter hasn’t been into deep woods, but he’s heard of the phenomenon of animals hiding before a major storm, leaving the woods eerily still and quiet as a natural disaster descends. 

 

Something about the night begs of that.

 

All of the small-time bad guys are hiding out, sensing something bigger is out on the prowl tonight.

 

Peter’s spidey-senses are tingling like mad, up and down his neck and his spine as though literal spiders are crawling all over him. He can’t even enjoy the quiet of the night because his muscles are all wound tighter than a spring. 

 

Peter wasn't waiting on the side of a skyscraper for long when he heard the roar of a motorcycle on the street. Red Hood stopped in front of him, one black boot hitting the asphalt as he leaned the bike towards Peter, helmet glancing up at him.

 

“Red Hood?”

 

“Spider-Man, wanna come with me on a drug bust? Unless you’re too busy babysitting an empty city?” Jason’s voice was completely distorted with his own voice modulator, sounding older and more dangerous, though that could’ve just been the anger he seemed to be filled with any time he went on patrol.

 

“They should be good,” Peter grinned, glad to see Jason accepting and actually seeking out backup.

 

“Follow me. Here’s a comm,” Jason tossed it to him, Peter catching it reflexively and sticking it into his ear.

 

“My comms aren’t connected to the Bat system tonight, so don’t worry about anyone listening in,” Jason told him.

 

“What drug bust is it?” Peter asked.

 

“Another shipment of Joker Venom is supposed to hit a warehouse on the North side of town, just outside the official Crime Alley,” Jason explained, gunning his motorcycle through the city while Peter swung along with him, easily keeping pace. “Do you have a gas mask built into that suit?”

 

Peter cringed, “A basic model yes, but I don’t know how well it’ll work against an unknown substance. It has my voice modulator in it as well.”

 

“As long as the venom is in liquid form like we’ve been dealing with, it’ll be fine. If you see any gases, leave immediately. It can literally be fatal so no hesitating. I have a fucking amazing gas mask built into the helmet, but no backups with me. I hadn’t planned on taking someone else along when I heard the scanners freaking out about Spider-man climbing buildings,” Jason commanded, voice hard as he explained about the Joker Venom.

 

“Thanks for giving me the chance to come along!” Peter said.

 

Jason didn’t reply to that as they approached the north part of town.

 

Eventually he stopped the bike, pulling it into a side alley. Peter jumped down next to him.

 

“We’ll go the rest of the way on foot so they don’t hear us arriving,” Jason told him.

 

They creep through the alley to another few blocks over, a warehouse looming in front of them. It looks like a typical drug production place, a few windows broken out, spray paint across the right corner, piles of trash drifting in the cold December breezes. 

 

His spidey-sense grows stronger looking down into the warehouse where people are loading glowing green vials into boxes.

 

“Looks like a shipping operation,” Peter whispers into the comma.

 

Jason grunts, “That’s enough Joker Venom to wipe out a smaller city.”

 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Peter admitted to Jason, trying to explain his Spidey-sense without outright explaining them. 

 

“You’re welcome to head out if you’re scared, spider. Someone has to stop that much lethal venom from getting out to the streets,” Jason said, already prying open a window and prepping to fire the grappling hook.

 

Peter reached out to grab his shoulder but stopped at the last minute, “I mean it. I think there’s more going on here than just a drug bust.”

 

Jason’s eyes were glowing teal through his mirrored helmet, “One can only hope.”

 

And he dropped down into the warehouse.

 

Peter sighed in frustration but followed him. 

 

“Ally, status in the warehouse?” he questioned his own AI, clicking off Jason’s comm link for a minute. 

 

“Sensors are detecting seven humans. No explosives that I can detect,” she responded to him. Those were two of the main things he’d designed her to detect. He was hoping to keep expanding and improving her with each day.

 

He frowned, thinking even as his feet hit the ground, and he was moving to kick the first worker. He clicked back on Jason’s comm link at the same time.

 

“There’s at least seven in the building. Behind you,” he said to Red Hood through the comm as another worker tried to sneak up behind him a syringe of the Joker Venom.

 

Red Hood was already moving, spinning around and shooting two rounds into the worker, one from each of his pistols. Peter sighed again, but acknowledged that this was Jason’s operation so he couldn’t really tell the other vigilante not to shoot people. He distracted himself by punching out another of the workers.

 

“What will we do with the Joker Venom?” Peter questioned as the final distributor dropped to the ground at Jason’s feet, either dead or unconscious. Probably dead.

 

Jason grunted, “Probably call in one of the baby bats. Batman is indisposed, so one of his little groupies will have to work. They have a better setup for getting the police and proper hazmat teams to get rid of this shit properly.”

 

Peter was preparing to make a comment about Batman being busy with Bruce when his senses tingled, making him spin around. 

 

“I had heard a rumor that Batman was out of town,” a man, tall and thin, steps onto a walkway halfway up the warehouse building.

 

Jason’s entire body tenses in a way that screams anger, and Peter feels himself tensing as well.

 

The man is wearing a purple suit with double holsters overtop, though Peter doesn’t recognize the guns in the holsters. Not that guns were his thing, but Wade had gushed over guns enough times that Peter felt fairly comfortable recognizing most models. He had a feeling they were custom.

 

Behind a thick gas mask, the man is wearing clown makeup done in a garish way, similar to something out of a horror movie. Thick black kohl around the eyes mixed with the white face paint and splashes of blood give a slight skeletal appearance to the face. A shock of neon green hair curls over the man’s forehead, almost in his eyes.

 

“Taken up a meaner persona, poor baby bird. The little birdies all grown up, even though I was so certain I’d killed you five years ago,” the man croons down to Jason, followed by a maniacal cackling laugh. 

 

“That’s the Joker isn’t it?” Peter asks.

 

“Get out, Spider, now!” Jason growls.

 

“Not without you. Just watching IT with Ned gave me nightmares, I’m definitely not leaving you alone in case he eats you,” Peter retorted.

 

“Eat him! Maybe that’s the solution? I did leave you whole last time I killed you. Perhaps I should chop you into little pieces and boil you to make sure the job stays done,” the Joker laughed through his statement.

 

Peter’s mind was whirling, “Dead? He sounds so certain he killed you.”

 

“I said run away, Spider, this fight isn’t for you,” Jason snapped.

 

“Again, not without you, but I would happily leave this battle for someone else,” Peter said, not particularly going up against someone who looked more like a nightmare than a villain. At least someone like Bane or Thanos were just evil and muscly. They weren’t trying to look like a horror show on top of the rest of their persona.

 

“Sorry, birdie and spider, no one is leaving just yet,” Joker said, a metal whirring sounding in Peter’s ears. Metal grates dropped down covering every exit to the warehouse. Peter turned in a circle, checking that every visible exit was closed off.

 

“I’m going to kill you this time,” Jason yelled across the warehouse, neon green eyes fully visible, glowing through the helmet.

 

“Birdie? Dead…” the final clue was starting to click into place in Peter’s head, but he still didn’t fully understand.

 

Bruce had another adopted child who had died a few years ago. Peter had noticed that there were no pictures of the child anywhere in the house and always thought that sad. But what if it wasn’t a child at all or even a different person? What if there were issues between Bruce and Jason because Jason had come back to life with a desire to kill people, maybe even for their brains? 

 

He glanced at Jason and his glowing eyes, remembering his question to Dick about Jason being a meta.

 

“Oh my god, you’re a zombie aren’t you? World War Z style, all fast and violent,” Peter whispered to Jason through the comms. 

 

“Act One was locking us in the building,” Joker laughed, “Act Two is releasing the gas!”

 

“I’m not a fucking zombie, but I might’ve died in the past,” Jason complains, “Jokes on you thought Joker, we both wore masks.”

 

“That’s why I brought my special toy with me,” Joker laughs again, pulling out the double guns in his holsters, finalizing Peter’s opinion that they were something custom.

 

Each gun looked a bit like a sawed off shotgun with a beautifully engraved handle painted yellow with red polka dots. Then the Joker pointed both at Peter and pulled the triggers. 

 

First, a flower did pop out of each one, like the classic clown toy.

 

Followed by about a million tiny pieces of super sharp shrapnel, spread out in a wider spread than a shotgun could ever create, with more force and power than a shotgun could’ve given.

 

It wasn’t that Peter couldn’t see the shrapnel coming, spider senses tingling, it was simply that he couldn’t move fast enough to move out of the way. 

 

If it has been a single bullet, he could’ve simply caught it, but a million tiny pieces? 

 

He moved fast enough to turn and duck slightly, his back and legs getting the worst.

 

Each piece must’ve had more force than a single bullet, ripping through the limited Kevlar armor of his suit with ease, leaving about a thousand little holes through his suit. Drops of blood leaked from a few places in his skin, but his healing factor was already pushing out the shrapnel and healing him. 

 

Peter’s eyes widened even as he heard another pair of shots and the tiny cracks of Jason’s helmet taking the shrapnel. It didn’t shatter, but spider web cracks spread across the entire surface, no doubt losing its air tight seal.

 

“My gas mask is meant to work as a complete unit with my suit. Like an astronaut’s suit. I’m compromised,” Peter admitted.

 

“There’s fucking holes in my helmet,” Jason admitted, revealing he was in the same shape.

 

Peter picked up Jason then, throwing him across his back with a stiff arm, running to the gates with super speed while holding his breath, even as Jason struggled to get free.

 

Peter pulled on the metal of the gate, trying to force it apart. He even let Jason done, using both hands.

 

With his strength, he should’ve been able to bend the metal with ease.

 

The Joker watched with blatant amusement, “I’d heard of you, little spider. I’ve been watching you, planning for this. When I saw how easy Bane was for you, I knew I’d need to order special metal for this setup. I wasn’t sure the Birdie would bring you, but I wanted to be ready just in case. First rule of magic after all, always ready for a trick!”

 

He just kept laughing in the background even as Peter struggled, chest growing tight, knowing they’d each soon have to take in the gassed air with no way out. Jason wasn’t trying to get out, shooting at the Joker, clip after clip. The Joker simply ducked behind a clear bulletproof shield, continuing to laugh.

 

Finally, the burning was too bad.

 

Peter took in a breath.

 

He frowned, “That’s not Joker Venom, that’s sweet and almond like Chloro-“

 

His last sight was Jason cursing with his poisoned air, the taller man dropping to his knees and then face forward in front of him, the Joker laughing behind them. 

Alfred did always say something went wrong while Bruce was out of town. Peter thinks this maybe isn’t what Alfred meant.

 

Peter doesn’t know it, but this kind of thing is exactly what Alfred meant. 

Notes:

Authors note: why did I have the batfam lie that Cass has a job as a pizza delivery girl? Obviously she doesn’t actually have that job. It was meant to be a nod to the fanfic: Peter the Pizza Guy by Irisen which is also inspired by Dark Matter.

 

https://images.app.goo.gl/hnw7D4ugU3tsaw9X9

The above image link (absolutely not my art!!) from Etsy artist https://www.etsy.com/shop/Digitalartist187?ref=shop-header-name&listing_id=1416589727 inspired my Joker in this scene.

Other notes: there’s about another five chapters in Arc 1 of this story. Maybe slightly more, slightly less. The next two-ish chapters especially will be darker. I will tag them appropriately. Nothing of a sexual nature, but some torture. If you don’t feel comfortable with that, you can skip them and I’ll put in the top author’s note when things will be lighter again.

This chapter and the rest of arc 1 were actually some of the first that I imagined with this story, believe it or not, especially the last three chapters in the arc. I’m so excited to finally get here. The first fourteen chapters were basically build up, trying to create relationships between Peter and the Batfam for what’s coming next 😭🤗

In a light note, there’s fanart from the basketball chapter!!

First; from the amazing My Life Is A Bad Sitcom:

https://www.tumblr.com/my-life-is-a-bad-sitcom/724427809019346944/quick-sketch-for-spider-butler-i-really-liked-the?source=share

Secondly; they motivated me to draw the scene as well:

https://www.tumblr.com/danny-shells/724483092448968704/fan-art-from-chapter-12-of-butler-spider-peter?source=share

And then I forgot to share them for two chapters 🫠🫠 please enjoy and consider drawing more fanart!

Chapter 16: Day 1

Summary:

Peter wakes up to his first day with the Joker.

Notes:

Trigger warnings: graphic depictions of torture, specifically Joker style. Mentions of dissociating. Nothing of a sexual nature though Peter does end up stripped to his boxers so the Joker can see the damage he’s causing to Peter’s chest and arms. I think fairly dark. Skip this chapter if you want to avoid the torture.

Batchat 

 

Alfred: Has anyone seen Peter this morning? 

 

Batdad: What has happened to Peter?

 

Tim: I haven’t seen him

 

Duke: nothing here, he wasn’t up to make breakfast

 

Damian: he’s not in his room either 

 

Steph: normally I’d say something about you breaking into his room, but completely acceptable at this point 

 

Cass: Spider-man was on patrol early in the night, but then I lost eyes on him and I haven’t heard any reports 

 

Tim: what time did he start patrolling? 

 

Cass: around midnight

 

Tim: guys, that’s about an hour after Peter said he was going to bed from game night 

 

Duke: which would’ve given him plenty of time to change, get mentally ready, and head out on patrol….

 

Dick: still circumstantial but definitely gives a certain appearance…

 

Alfred: That does not answer where he is now. He’s always been on time for breakfast in the months that he’s been staying with us, even coming with bruises when needed.

 

Dick: Jason, you were out last night, did you run into him? 

 

Batdad: Jason? Please answer.

 

Barbara: alright so we have radio silence from Jason and a missing Peter? Cass, dick, did either of you see Jason on patrol last night? 

 

Dick: I saw him near third street. There’s that little convenience store on the corner, it should’ve caught him on their cameras.

 

Barbara: pulling it up now 

 

Barbara: yep, he’s on camera there! He even stops and goes in for a hotdog

 

Tim: I’m at the computer in the batcave, I’ll see if I can pull up Spider-man anywhere in the city last night 

 

Alfred: Scanners said he was near Philadelphia St. I’m on my way down to the cave as well.

 

Barbara: looks like Jason is heading towards Philadelphia St on his motorcycle

 

Tim: I just spotted Spider-man on a skyscraper on Philadelphia st using a security cam across the street 

 

Barbara: there! 

 

Tim: yep! Jason meets up with Spider-man 

 

Barbara: Jason just threw Peter a comm. it’s not one of ours, but I can hack into that and get a transcript from the night.

 

Batdad: All of you meet in the cave and let me know what you find out. 

 

OOO

 

Peter woke up with his wrists and ankles shackled. It felt like he was leaning spread eagle against a board. 

 

His eyes squinted against bright, natural light, which was shocking on top of the ache in his head. Outside of his eyelids, he spotted what looked like a luxury apartment, walls of glass windows and marble look tile floors. 

 

“No one in Gotham seems to understand dungeons and setting the scene,” Peter complained. 

 

“The chloroform went through your body at a faster rate than the average human,” the Joker’s voice sounded to the side. 

 

Peter took in the chloroform comment while turning his head enough to take in the Joker. Still tall and thin, in a “this creature doesn’t eat much food” kind of way, the Joker stood with his back to Peter, arms holding something Peter couldn't see yet. Neon green hair that looked like it was receding a touch on either side of his head fell in limp curls that just reached the top of the green vest he was wearing. A long sleeve purple shirt was rolled up to the elbows revealing unhealthy pale skin covered with layers of scars and tattoos. 

 

“Were you really into the Outsiders during your teenage rebellious years cause there’s enough grease in your hair to drop your economic standing to the bottom?” Peter snarked.

 

“It will take the birdie a bit longer to wake up, but that just means we can start the first game,” he completely ignored Peter’s comments. 

 

“Great, sure I’m going to love this,” Peter said. 

 

“I’ve been watching just a bit, to make sure that my pranks will be just right. You have an interesting healing ability,” the Joker turned around, tossing a tomato lightly from hand to hand and laughing, “remember that old trope of throwing rotten food at bad actors?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“I’ve set up a little device. We’ll start with tomatoes and work our way up to something a bit sturdier like watermelons and cannonballs. I want to see exactly how long it takes before your healing ability can’t keep up with my little…game,” the Joker concluded, whipping his arm back and hurling the tomato at Peter. He turned his head, but the red fruit/vegetable still splattered across the side of his face. 

 

The Joker stepped back then, revealing what basically summed out to a catapult.

 

“Why are you doing this? What’s your end game?” Peter asked as the rotten vegetables started hitting him, turning his head though most of them seemed to be hitting his chest.

 

The Joker laughed, still sounding half deranged, as though he was being tickled and couldn’t stop himself, the scars on his face being stretched tight, “Why? Because I can. I have no deeper motive. I like chaos and pain. Catching the birdie will send the bats into a panic, giving me the chaos. I’ll cause him pain eventually, but, for now, I’m enjoying causing you pain.”

 

The Joker paused the catapult, stepping closer, a wicked looking knife in hand.

 

“Uhm, whatcha doing? Thought we were going with blunt force trauma here,” Peter asked.

 

“For the record, I have no desire for little boys. This is strictly so I can see the damage caused by my catapult. Luckily for you, I’m not that type of clown,” the Joker laughed, cutting off Peter’s suit in a smooth movement. Since the entire thing was one long piece, it left Peter mostly in just his boxer briefs, bits of the leggings remaining.

 

Peter eyed the knife with deeper trepidation, his suit was mainly bullet proof, and certainly shouldn’t have been sliced so easily by a simple knife. Same as he should be able to break the shackles holding him, but they didn’t budge, same as the gates in the warehouse. The Joker either had access or had created some sort of reinforced material. 

 

“How old are you anyway?” The Joker asked, turning back on the catapult.

 

“None of your business,” Peter replied.

 

Joker pushed in a lever and the projectiles flying at Peter were suddenly going with a lot more force, leaving bruises on his chest that healed almost instantly.

 

“Go on, tell me and I’ll go back a touch on the force level. What would it hurt anyway?” The Joker asked.

 

Peter said what he’d told Alfred, “19.”

 

“Tut tut, there’s a lie. Let’s increase the force for that one,” the Joker said, pushing in the lever farther.

 

“How can you even tell that?” Peter questioned. 

 

The Joker pointed to himself, “They think I’m crazy! But I’m also a genius! Too easy! I’m not the best chemist around for no reason! I used your blood sample to check what it said for age.”

 

“That’s not always accurate,” Peter argued through gritted teeth as the force of the vegetables, pieces of wood, and metal balls hitting his chest increased again.

 

“Tut tut, Morgan Levine’s biological age testing is quite accurate, but I used a different one for chronological age anyway,” the Joker said.

 

“Fine, I’m seventeen,” Peter admitted.

 

The Joker simply laughed as he set the machine higher instead of actually giving Peter a break.

 

This was a different experience for Peter. He’d been in so many fights in the past, but they were fights. He’d been around villains that wanted to take over the world and ones who just wanted revenge. He’d fought with Mr Stark against half the Avengers in a humans right mess and then fought with all the Avengers. He’d taken down burglars. 

 

He’d had broken bones and cuts, road rash that destroyed his stomach and only his healing factor kept him from having scars. He’d had gruesome injuries that hadn’t left a physical mark but had left a couple of mental scars.

But he’d never before been restrained and tortured just for the sake of being tortured.

 

He went somewhere else in his mind during the catapult. 

 

Somewhere happy, where Aunt May was reading one of those math logic puzzles to him, and he was trying to figure it out. Or Ned was FaceTiming him while they played COD.

 

Physically, his healing factor started to slow. The bruises got larger and larger as they started to connect like flooding marshlands of blood. They took longer to heal until they weren’t healing at all, Peter’s chest, upper arms, and even parts of his legs black and blue. No matter how much his spidey senses told him the projectiles were coming his way, the shackles kept him in place. 

 

It was a weird feeling, being so damaged that even his healing factor was struggling.

 

“Fuck, Spider, what’s he doing to you?” Jason asked, anger making his voice a tight growl.

 

“The old throwing rotten fruit at an actor! He’s been acting like a bad little spider!” The Joker said.

 

“Go fuck yourself,” Jason offered in reply. 

 

The Joker tutted, turning the force higher. Peter retreated in his mind again though he did have the new entertainment of Jason cussing out the Joker in new and more interesting ways with every passing minute. 

OOO

 

Bruce stalked through the hallway, kicking and punching every opponent in his sight. Superman and Wonder Woman raised their eyebrows behind his back. 

 

“What’s up with him?” Flash asked them. 

 

“That’s what we were just wondering,” Superman admitted. 

 

Then the sound of a phone ringing filled the air. The Justice League sent bewildered looks at each other. The villains stopped to stare as well, several of them patting their own pockets. Batman pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. 

 

“I have to take this,” his gravely voice said with no hesitation before he was stalking out a side hallway, snapping open the flip phone on his way, “Status report.” 

 

The alien overlord looked back at them with a semi polite bewildered face, “Am I not important enough for his priorities?” 

 

“I mean, do you want honesty or just a response?” Superman retorted. 

Martian turned around to shoot a look at Superman who raised his hands. The Flash was behind them in…a flash, “Clearly Supe’s is just speaking truth here.” 

 

“I am the Thief Lord! I have stolen three planets and used them as fuel for my own purposes! What could be more important than me? Continue the attack!” the alien said and the battle continued. 

 

Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash kept half an eye out for Batman, who quickly stepped back in and used some sort of sonic resonating device to take out the minions, the self proclaimed Thief Lord going down as well. 

 

“I have to head back to Gotham. Now,” Batman informed the Justice League as they stared at him. He sent out a modified grappling hook that wrapped around the Thief Lord’s ankle, then turned towards the ship, dragging the villain behind him.

 

The rest of the Justice League followed silently behind as they boarded the jet to return to Earth. 

 

Wonder Woman motioned silently at Superman towards Batman. Superman made a face, and motioned to his own chest in a “why me” motion. Wonder Woman raised her eyebrows.

 

Flash tried to cut in with a raised hand, but the two silently both mouthed no at him and he sat back down, pouting.

 

Superman sighed silently, and dramatically, but stood up and headed towards the pilot seat where Batman was flying them home. 

 

Aquaman spotted Superman coming and swiftly stood up, leaving the cockpit.

 

“Everything alright, Bats?” Superman asked, taking in the fury frankly radiating off of the bat dressed superhero, and even daring to lay one large hand on the man’s shoulder.

 

“No,” Batman said, eyes not leaving the galaxy outside.

 

“Could I have a bit more to work with?”

 

“Jason’s missing, Spider-Man is missing who we suspect is Peter, Alfred’s new protege who is also missing. And Barbara just called me to say that they tapped into security footage for buildings around the last place they tracked Jason and Spider-Man, and the Joker walked out minutes later, shooting out each of the cameras with a paintball gun,” Bruce said simply.

 

Clark rarely cursed, but he felt like the situation deserved it, “You mean, the Joker probably has Jason again?”

 

Bruce’s hands tightened around the controls of the jet, knuckles whiter than a blue collar’s thighs under the thick work blue jeans. 

 

His silence was damning enough.

 

“I have to get back there. They’re panicking. Or not all of them, but Dick and Tim especially. And who knows what Jason’s going through or if I’ll even make it in time,” Bruce finally muttered. 

 

OOO

 

“Time for our next game!” The Joker called out finally.

 

Peter sagged against the shackles, shoulder blades rubbed raw. He wished he’d been allowed to either stand fully or lay down instead of this half lean against the board the shackles were attached to. 

 

“I designed this one especially for you, Spider-man! I couldn’t help but notice how you stick to walls like a real spider,” the Joker said.

 

“Yeah, that’s part of the whole spider persona,” Peter replied.

 

“I’ve just been wondering if you’d still stick without skin,” the Joker asked.

 

“What do you mean?” Peter felt a touch sick to his stomach at the thoughts.

 

“You’re a spider, not a fish,” the Joker sang, off key, lips stretching into a grin too wide for a human, following right along the scars on either cheek, “a spider, not a fish, but I’m going to skin you like a fish.” 

 

Taking a razor blade out of a box, the Joker approached Peter. 

 

Peter was thrashing against the shackles, but he couldn’t break them.

 

“Now now little Spider, hold still or who knows what the razor might cut. Like an artery. With your healing powers already stretched so thin, who knows what might happen,” the Joker crooned to Peter.

 

Jason was cursing up a storm next to Peter, “Don’t touch him you motherfucking psychopath. Spider, you’re gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fucking fine.”

 

Peter forced himself to still. In a horrible way, Peter knew the Joker was right. If things went the right way, and Peter could get rest and food, his healing powers would heal everything without even a scar. But if he thrashed, and the Joker cut too deeply, there was no guarantee that his healing powers could stop the bleeding in time. He wasn’t immortal.

 

So he tried to hold still as the Joker flayed the skin off his hands and feet.

 

Broken sobs caught in his throat at the pain, though he gritted his teeth and glared at the Joker, refusing to look away. 

Notes:

This was a short one, but I didn’t want to just leave y’all hanging after the cliffhanger. Not sure this one was much better, but it was something to offer you. I am a teacher, and I’m officially back to work. I know you guys said not to worry if updates slowed slightly, but I wanted to give you the reasoning. I haven’t lost any of my interest in this story, and there’s plenty to publish, but I might not be able to pull off every other day during the school year.

We will see 😜

Let me know in a comment how this chapter was. Next one will be longer and I promise we’ll see some BAMF Peter.

Chapter 17: Days 2 and 3

Summary:

Peter and Jason are still with the Joker.

Notes:

Trigger Warnings: Continued graphic torture, though not as graphic as the last chapter. Character death.

If you want to skip the torture, I've put in the OOO. Start reading there to avoid the torture.

Day Two 

 

When the sun has disappeared from the wall of windows, the Joker disappears as well. Peter can’t tell what time it is, but he suspects it’s after midnight. There’s no sagging in relief, because he’s left without a word. One minute he’s carving up Peter’s flesh, the next he’s gone. 

 

It leaves Peter unsettled. It isn’t a break, because he doesn’t know where the Joker’s gone or when he’ll be back. Maybe he’s gone to sleep for the night, but maybe he’s grabbing new materials to carve up Peter some more.

 

He’s too disconnected to be too scared though.

 

His body isn’t connecting right to his brain. Part of him is locked in a box somewhere deep inside him, away from the pain. 

 

He’s looking down at his devolved hands and feet, all the tendons and muscles exposed as Jason speaks, “Still sticky huh?”

 

Peter’s spidey senses are still going off, so the Joker is probably watching somewhere, but he doesn’t mind pretending like it’s just him and Jason as he explains what he wouldn’t to the Joker. 

 

“Van Der Waals interaction, like a gecko,” he says, pretending like he’s tutoring some kids in Crime Alley instead of laid out like a prize pig, “I’m covered in microscopic hairs that create static electricity which allows me to stick. I actually wasn’t sure what would happen without skin, since the hair follicles exist within the skin. I’m theorizing that my body is reacting to the skinning in ways to assist me, pushing the hair follicles down deeper than they’d ever normally be and allowing me to retain my stickiness.” 

 

“But it doesn’t feel good?” Jason asks.

 

Peter grimaced, “Hurts like touching someone to a road rash.”

 

It hadn’t been a fun evening as the Joker had experimented, despite the promises of laughter.

 

Jason seems to sense what he’s thinking,”He wants to drive you crazy. So crazy that you laugh at the torture.”

 

Peter shudders, “that’s kind of horrible.”

 

They’re silent for a few minutes, Peter trying to breathe through the pain of his skin being missing and just the air in the room making it burn. He’s feeling a little more grounded, enough to even ask a question. 

 

“Did you-?” Peter starts to ask but can’t think of how to word it.

 

Jason seems to understand, a cruel look crossing his face, and Peter wonders if it’s directed at him, “Did I crack and laugh? Go off my rocker? No, I didn’t. I was sane clear when he bashed in my brains with a crowbar.”

 

“So it is the zombie-ness causing the violence?” Peter clarifies. In for a penny, out for a pound and all that. Jason’s actually talking.

 

Though his eyes are pure neon green and every inch of his body is tense, “a Lazarus Pit. That’s how I was brought back.”

 

Peter wracks his brain, but he’s never heard of it. He strongly suspects it’s just an alternate universe thing, “never heard of it.”

 

“It’s supposed to be a funny Bible connection,” Jason says.

 

“I’m actually Jewish,” Peter admits.

 

Jason actually snorts, “Another one. Alfred and I are finally outnumbered by a group.”

 

“Oh that’s right, they said you were Catholic,” Peter can’t believe they’re having this conversation in the middle of the Joker’s luxury apartment turned torture chamber. 

 

Jason can move his hands enough to pull his shirt to the side and reveal a rosary that Peter’d never noticed before, “Just another thing to feel fucking guilt over, really.”

 

The image crosses Peter’s mind of Jason kneeling at a cross, the large man bowing himself before a god and pleading for forgiveness. 

 

It’s gone then, replaced by a memory instead of just imagining. 

 

Peter’s fifteen, a year into being a vigilante, and still a bit overwhelmed by everything. 

 

He’s fallen asleep at Matt’s apartment. The first time, there was a risk that the villain they’d been tracking could also be tracking them. They’d fought the bad guy once, but he’d gotten away. Peter couldn’t risk someone following him to Ned’s place or his own. Matt gives him the only bed in the single bedroom apartment and takes the couch, literally having picked up a healing Peter and dropped him there.  

 

Now he sleeps there periodically when he’s had a panic attack or he’s too tired and sore to change and clean up so Aunt May doesn’t find out about the Spider-Man thing. He texts her and says he’s staying at Ned’s but they’re both safe. If he actually went to Ned’s apartment straight from being Spider-Man, there’s always that risk he’d be followed. Matt had been insisting since he’d first figured out how young Peter was as a fourteen year old vigilante. 

 

Everytime it happens, Matt always has someone else come stay at the apartment with them, usually Foggy. Peter’s woken up to Foggy sleeping on the couch, sleeping in a pile of blankets on the floor, and even sleeping with half of his body on the coffee table and half draped on the floor. 

 

And, everytime it happens, Peter’s woken up to Matt standing by the glowing red window lit up by the gaudy billboard, saying his Hail Mary’s over and over, pleading to a God that has probably damned him to literal hell for his actions. He remembers standing in the doorway of Matt’s bedroom, watching the man’s hands rub over the beads, mouth moving with the prayer. The shame on Matt’s face, though he was never going to stop being Daredevil. 

 

Now the shame was superimposed over Jason’s face. 

 

“You have to do a lot of explaining to your priest?” Peter asks again, trying to drag the image from his mind, suddenly more reminded of Matt than anything else. As he brings his mind back to his body, he notices that, beyond the pain, his skin feels weird. Too tight all over. 

 

“I keep my confessions short,” Jason says, “anyway, Lazarus of the Bible is some guy raised back to life by Jesus. So the Lazarus Pit…”

 

“Brings people back to life…but that’s incredible science! Something I’ve never heard of before or thought possible,” Peter admits, mind raising at the possibilities. The closet he can think of would be the work on skin grafts and AI, but not bringing a completely dead body back.

 

“It wasn’t ready, not really possible. It doesn’t work right when it’s used,” Jason growls.

 

Peter is silent for a minute.

 

“…so would I get turned into a zombie too if you killed me?” 

 

“Not a fucking zombie. I have a heartbeat now. If I kill you, you’ll stay fucking dead. But my emotions are wrong. My memories were gone for a while, I couldn’t remember being Jason or Robin or any of it,” Jason says.

 

Peter almost gets whiplash from how quickly his head turns toward Jason, “What do you mean, being Robin?” 

 

“Haven’t you put it together yet? I was the Robin that died,” Jason scowled up at the ceiling.

 

“But you were Bruce’s kid that died? The second adopted one?”

 

“Yes, and Bruce is Batman, keep up please,” Jason had the audacity to roll his eyes at Peter.

 

“Please do not drop bombs like that in the middle of a torture session while the person torturing us is probably still listening in,” Peter begged.

 

“Don’t worry, little Spider, I’ve already been aware of that secret,” the Joker laughed, “I found out a lot the first time I was torturing birdie. You know, everyone says he was the nicest of the birdies before I killed him. I do prefer this version though, it's so chaotic.”

 

The Joker dragged his jagged nails along Jason’s face, leaving scratches behind as Jason twisted his head from side to side, trying to get the Joker away from him. The sun certainly hadn’t risen yet, so Peter was right that the Joker hadn’t left them for a long sleep.

 

He wanted to distract the Joker from whatever he had planned to do next, “So what’s your plan next? Batman will eventually find us.”

 

“Will he though?” the Joker laughed.

 

“What’s so god damned funny now?” Jason demanded.

 

“There’s a signal blocking shield up. I couldn’t send out any signals for help,” Peter finally admitted, hoping he’d been wrong and Ally would’ve found a way after her original notification that she couldn’t get through and before she’d been removed from him with the cutting of the suit. 

 

At least unlike Karen, he’d be able to repair Ally when they got out of there.

 

“Sounds about typical,” Jason growled, pulling back slightly as the Joker had stayed right in his face.

 

Peter watched with wide eyes as Jason surged forward, head butting the Joker.

 

Then Jason was smirking as the Joker pulled away, blood gushing out of what looked like a broken nose.

 

“Tut tut tut, maybe I’ll have to move up your schedule instead of playing with the Spider more,” the Joker taunted Jason.

 

“No! It’s fine,” Peter demanded.

 

“What is your plan for me?” Jason asked, glaring from his shackled position on the floor up at the Joker.

 

Peter felt himself growl in the background, now ignored. He didn’t think it was an accident that Jason was trying to pull the Joker’s attention to himself.

 

“I want to make it so you can’t come back this time. After I kill you, I’m going to cut you into little pieces. So little in fact, you’ll be minced meat. Then I’m going to take you to Bat Burgers and make you into bat burgers and feed you to your little bat and bird friends,” the Joker laughed.

 

Peter wrinkled his nose, though not just in disgust, “Steal ideas from Criminal Minds much?”

 

Both Jason and the Joker looked at him blankly.

 

“What? Criminal Minds? You know, with the FBI team solving cases using profiling? You have to know it!” Peter gaped back at them. This was a line that the dimensions should not have crossed.

 

They ignore him then, going back to their taunts.

 

“I already know the worst that you can do, it’s just to kill me, and guess what, you’ve already done that once. It’s much less scary after I’ve already been through the process once,” Jason said to the Joker. 

 

The Joker’s smile didn’t flinch at Jason’s words, though he grabbed a large pipe wrench from a nearby table and swung it at Jason’s leg. A snapping sound filled the air. 

 

Peter flinched at the groan Jason made. It was through clenched teeth and clearly involuntary. Peter suspected that Jason’s femur was broken.

 

“I’m feeling left out over here,” Peter tried, needing the Joker’s attention back on himself. He had a healing factor, and as long as the Joker didn’t kill him, he’d be fine. Jason wasn’t truly a meta, and any injuries he sustained would have to be healed the old fashioned way. Not to mention, Peter had never heard of a zombie being able to turn into a zombie twice. 

 

The Joker continued smiling at Jason who glared back, before turning with a flourish towards Peter, “Have to include everyone in the magic show, of course. Do you have any thoughts on the next act if you are to hold my attention instead of the little birdie?” 

 

Cruel, Peter thought to himself. 

 

The threat was obvious, either Peter gave the Joker a valid way to torture Peter or the Joker would switch to torturing Jason. Peter grinned his teeth together. He couldn’t just let Jason get tortured though. 

 

“You’ve tried seeing how quickly I heal from bruises, but not burns,” Peter finally offered. 

 

It works to keep the Joker’s attention for now.

 

Which is enough. Because Peter can take it. He’s pretty positive it should be illegal to be tortured by someone who’s already killed you. Maybe this will be the stuff of his nightmares, but Jason has to be in a nightmare.

 

The day slips away in a haze of pain as the Joker uses different methods of burning Peter and then watching the skin slowly knit back together. It’s already healing slowly, most of his energy taken up with trying to heal his hands and feet. Peter keeps finding himself retreating further into his mind, losing his focus on the current situation. It feels like a blessing, though it scares him slightly. 

 

What if something important happens, like an opportunity to escape, but Peter’s too gone to notice and take it? 

 

Skin staying too tight, pulled taunt the entire time, even the areas that aren’t being burned. 

 

He’s thought it to himself before, but it’s very strange being locked up in a room being slowly tortured for no reason other than the Joker enjoys causing pain. 

 

He’d always thought he’d be tortured for some noble reason, like for standing up against evil or having rescued some kid. Eyes slipping over to Jason, he considers that maybe it is a noble reason, standing in the place of a fellow vigilante, trying to keep the Joker’s attention on himself with his healing abilities instead of the regular human. 

 

After it gets dark, the Joker again leaves with no warning or explanation. Peter finds himself slumping into an exhausted daze despite the pain in his entire body. He has trails of cigarette burns down each arm. On his chest, the Joker had heated up a metal clown nose from black metal to literally red hot and branded Peter with it, leaving what almost looked like giant round cigarette burns down his chest. 

 

Peter had rarely been so glad to know his healing abilities would leave him with no scars, assuming he didn’t die in the apartment. 

 

Day Three 

 

Sun streaming through the wall of windows wakes Peter up, even as his spidey-senses scream at him that the Joker is moving visibly into the room. The Joker reaches out a hand to Peter, “High five!” 

 

“No thank you,” Peter tries, moving his hands as far as the shackles will let him. 

 

He wants to scratch at his too tight skin rather than deal with the Joker’s mind games. 

 

“Come on, put one on me. You have to feel like slapping me by this point,” the Joker laughs. 

 

Peter glares, “Trust me, I do, just not your hand.” 

 

It doesn’t matter because the Joker is slapping his hand against Peter’s. His arm is spasming then, jumping and jerking. Peter can’t help the scream that escapes him, or the way his teeth smash together at the electricity dancing across his still unhealed hands. 

 

It’s going on the third day without food. Even though the Joker’s given him just enough water to survive, he hasn’t offered anything to eat. With Peter’s metabolism, he feels lightheaded all day. He can still heal if he gets food and out of these circumstances, but his healing factor is working almost as slowly as a regular human’s and hasn’t made much progress against his injuries. 

 

“Today’s the last day for you. I can only risk holding you two for so long, so it’s really about time I switch to my other audience member. Almost time for our final act, birdie,” the Joker informed Peter and Jason. 

 

“Might as well start on me now,” Jason muttered. He’d been trying to get the Joker to turn to him throughout the entire three days. Peter sent his glare towards Jason for just a second. 

 

“Now, now, don’t try to jump in line. There’s enough balloons for all of the children!” the Joker says. 

 

“Balloons?” Peter hates to ask. 

 

“Electricity and water! I’m going to hit you with water balloons, with a super secret special ingredient and then electrocute you! Are you excited for today’s show?” the Joker said it with a laugh and a too-wide smile. 

 

Peter was going to see that smile in his nightmares for years to come, he already knew it. 

 

His skin still feels entirely too tight, but now it’s gotten to the point that it's all he can focus on. Even the last bits of the Joker torturing him can’t distract him from the feeling of his skin, as though his skin were going to split open. The Joker uses a machine to hit him with water balloons that feel like they have a mild acid in them, before hitting him with an electric rod, but Peter can’t focus on the pain. He’s not drifting in his mind either, too focused on his skin. 

 

As the sun fades, the Joker completes his nightly ritual of leaving them, no telling if it would be for minutes or hours.

 

Jason tries to say something to Peter, but he can’t hear the words, let alone respond. He wants to scream that his skin feels like it's being pulled off.

 

Suddenly, he realizes that his skin is literally falling off.

 

Peter’s eyes widen even through the pain as his skin starts to pull off of himself. 

 

The pain is sharp and all encompassing, whiting out his vision in a starburst of agony as every inch of his skin lifts off of himself. The center of it starts to split, and Peter realizes that he is supposed to pull himself through the split, out of his skin. 

 

His body feels weird inside the skin pocket, like he no longer has bones and is just a pile of slime. 

 

Images of research from when he first was bit by the spider shot through his mind, Google search images of a spider molting. 

 

He’s molting, even though he isn’t really a spider, doesn’t have an exoskeleton, and it shouldn’t be possible. 

 

Somehow, his senses knew that he needed to get out of the manacles more than anything else, and had liquified his insides in an attempt to help.

 

Hesitantly, he goes to pull his right arm out of the shackles. He moans in pain as his skin stays inside the shackles, but his arm comes loose.

 

The skin left behind is white and feels strangely stiff. His arm doesn’t look right yet either. He can see inside his arm. He can see everything inside his arm! 

 

It looks like his entire arm has now been degloved, the hand even worse than the arm, already having been missing the top layer of skin. 

 

He watches for a second as blood pumps through the veins of his arm before lowering his arm. 

 

Jason looks strangely green across his face, and he seems to be whispering something at Peter. Peter can’t hear him through the blood rushing through his head and the pain. Or maybe he can hear that Jason’s saying something, but he can’t focus on it? 

 

Then he feels the skin lifting off his head too, off his ears, and he realizes that he literally can’t hear Jason. There’s a layer of the thick white skin covering his ears and everything has gone muted. The pain is starting to recede ever so slightly, like the worst sunburn he’s ever experienced. 

 

He starts pulling himself out of his molted skin, starting with his head through the center crack. 

 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Jason is chanting across from him. 

 

“Thought you were saying something helpful,” Peter grumbles. 

 

“I started with that, I’ve now devolved into my current mindfuck,” Jason replied, eyes wide, face green, “You just peeled yourself from your skin.” 

“Hurt more than anything the Joker’s done, for the record,” Peter pulled his other arm out of his skin, then his left leg. He was almost free of his skin and the shackles. 

 

“You’re completely bald currently,” Jason informs him. 

 

Peter’s hands immediately go up to his head, feeling a bare skull, no hair or skin. He drops his hands back to his sides almost as quickly as he’d put them up, “You know, I’m not sure this was worth getting out of the shackles, so there’s that.” 

 

“Will it grow back?” Jason asks. 

 

“I’m a little worried about whether my entire skin will grow back, not just my hair!” Peter snaps, then takes a deep breath, removing his final leg and heading over to Jason. His boxers have made it through the skin shedding somehow, and Peter doesn’t question it as he breaks the chains holding Jason in a pile on the ground, glad they were regular human strength chains. 

 

“Sorry, I think I’m more in shock over watching you de-skin then the whole Joker thing. I’ve kind of come to expect the Joker,” Jason mutters, leaning heavily on Peter because of his broken leg, Peter grits his teeth through the pain of anything touching his absent skin. 

“I think I molted, though it’s not something I should be able to do, so my body isn’t alright like a spider after molting,” Peter clarifies the term. 

 

“When I said you were more of a freaking spider than I’d realized, I really didn’t need you to prove exactly how freaky spider you were,” Jason says. 

 

Peter can’t reply to anything because his spidey-senses go off then. 

 

Adrenaline makes him move through the pain, reflexes as fast as ever. This time he has surprise on his side, instead of the Joker. For as much as the Joker is a genius, he hasn’t prepared for this possibility of Peter escaping. Which makes sense, because Peter had never expected something like this either. 

 

Peter has the Joker on the ground in less than a minute, blood pouring from the Joker’s nose again. Peter’s rebroken it during his move of slamming the Joker to the ground with as much force as Peter can manage. 

 

“This is certainly something, isn’t it? What have you done to your skin?” the Joker questioned Peter, not even sounding concerned. 

 

“Removed it better than you,” Peter says. 

 

“Give me a bit longer, I’m sure I can do better,” the Joker says. He still seems completely unconcerned, even with blood flowing down his face. In fact, his tongue sneaks out and licks at the blood. 

 

Peter sees red, this time in anger, “Don’t you understand? You’re at my mercy now. After you’ve tortured me.” 

 

The Joker just laughed, and Peter didn’t think past the red. 

 

One hand reached out just like the Joker had down to Jason, and crushed the bone in the Joker’s leg. He didn’t need advanced hearing to hear the bones grinding in the leg. The Joker keeps laughing through the pain. 

 

“Little spider’s all grown up, taking over my job!” the Joker says through his laughing. 

 

It’s enough to snap Peter out of his angry red haze, to come to himself enough to realize he’d just hurt the Joker for no reason other than to hurt the man. 

 

He won’t risk releasing the Joker, but he feels the desperate need to move away from the sociopath. 

 

OOOO

 

His spidey-senses go off again, but this time, he’s glad at what he sees. A giant black bat shaped human breaks down the door to the apartment, leaping in. Batman pauses when he spots Peter holding the Joker to the ground, Jason collapsed on the ground from where Peter had let go of him to attack the Joker. Behind Batman, Peter spots Nightwing and Orphan entering the apartment as well. 

 

“Right on time,” Peter offers, mentally deciding to ask how Batman found them later, “I need something to tie up the Joker with.” 

 

Batman moves, taking the Joker and tying him to a chair in the apartment with some metal rope off of his utility belt. 

 

“It’s time, B,” Jason speaks up from the floor. 

 

“Time for what?” Batman asks, moving towards Jason, taking in the broken leg before moving onto Peter. His face is horrified even through the mask. Peter waves awkwardly up at Batman from where he’d allowed himself to collapse to the floor now that the Joker was tied up. Adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay, but Peter wasn’t sure how long that would last. 

 

“Time for you to kill the Joker,” Jason announces. 

 

Bruce gaped, mouth open, at Jason who glared back. 

 

“Avenge me, show what you try to say, that you really did love me. Kill the Joker,” Jason demanded.

 

Peter isn’t sure how to help the situation or if there even is anything he can do. If he kills the Joker (which he’s never killed anyone to his knowledge so he’s not sure he could just walk over to the Joker and kill him, even if he knows how to kill people and he’s sure the Joker deserves it), he’s pretty positive whatever is going on between Bruce and Jason will not get resolved. Nightwing and Orphan seem to be in much the same position, staying back and watching. 

 

There’s quiet in the room. Bruce takes a step towards Jason, one hand outreached. Jason flinches away from him, eyes hard and demanding. 

 

Bruce flinches, a full body flinching at the sight of Jason pulling away. He takes a step towards the Joker. 

 

“Is it time for the final act? Ready to cut my career short? End all the laughs?” the Joker doesn’t sound scared or concerned. 

 

Bruce’s face hardens, his back straightening. He takes another step towards the Joker, though Peter has no idea what he’s decided. 

 

Perhaps the Joker’s lackadaisical attitude was the final push Bruce needs and he’s really going to break his moral code and kill the Joker. 

 

Maybe he’s going to slap the Joker and demand that they take him back to Arkham Asylum, beat up, but perfectly alive. 

 

In the middle of the stalemate, Peter hears the sound of a rifle going off with a silencer.

 

It’s one of the gun shots that Wade made him memorize, even if it isn’t Wade’s preferred. It is the preferred gun of US snipers.

 

The M24 Sniper Weapon System is the military version of the Remington Model 700 rifle, a silencer added to the barrel.

 

Peter is moving as soon as the sound registers, even with his missing skin. He grabs Bruce and Jason with each arm, glad for his super strength as the sheer muscled bulk of each one hits him. Throwing them to the ground, he hunches down over them. 

 

Orphan had moved at almost the same time as Peter, standing in front of him. Nightwing wasn’t far behind, performing a flip backwards, out of the firing zone and behind the kitchen island. 

 

Bruce and Jason are each moving before they even hit the ground, both trying to get up, despite Jason’s broken leg. 

 

“Sniper! Stay down!” he demands, turning to look over his shoulder, following his spidey-senses to the shattered wall of windows, obviously where the shot came from. Across from the windows, he can see another apartment. The wall of windows had been tinted with a reflective surface that hadn’t let Peter look out or people look in.

 

But he realizes that he doesn’t need to keep Jason and Bruce down as no more shots are fired and he can’t find the sniper in the other apartment. Whoever it was has already left. Peter can see the target, and he already knows Jason isn’t going to be happy.

 

Who knows if Bruce would’ve killed the Joker. His opportunity is gone because the Joker’s brains have been blown completely out the back of his skull with one well placed sniper shot.

 

“He’s dead?” Jason’s voice sounds weird, but Peter can’t judge what the tone is. 

 

Peter stays standing protectively over Jason while Bruce walks over to the Joker, fingers feeling out a pulse.

 

“He’s dead,” Bruce confirms in full Batman voice.

 

“Seems a bit obvious. I can see his brains,” Peter offers.

 

“We have to be certain in these situations,” Bruce scolds.

 

Peter holds up his hands in defense, “I’m just saying…” 

 

The other bats are flooding the area then. Peter spots Red Robin, Signal, Batgirl, and Robin join them. It seems like Batman’s pulled out his entire arsenal of backup for this rescue.

 

Red Robin and Nightwing head straight to Jason.

 

“Are you alright?” Nightwing asks, “I mean, obviously you aren’t alright.”

 

“Where are you injured?” Red Robin asks, hands already patting Jason down.

 

“Don’t fucking touch me, replacement. I’m not incapacitated,” Jason smacks Red Robin’s hands away. “For the record, I only have a broken leg. Spider’s the one who got tortured for the last three days.”

 

Peter watches, all the pieces falling into place. He recognizes the black hair of those two vigilantes. Now that he understands the connection between Bruce and Batman, it’s not hard to guess the rest. 

 

“Oh my god, you’re all in on it. The entire family,” he mutters. Red Robin is Tim and Nightwing is Dick. That makes sense why Dick and Nightwing are both always doing gymnastic style stunts. Not to mention all the deceptive materials in Tim's room including his profiling books. He's been profiling real criminals in the field. Signal is Duke. Batgirl must be Stephanie. He'd already figured out that Jason was Red Hood and Orphan was Cass. He looks at little Robin, not a below average height adult, but a ten year old child. 

Robin has already gotten to Peter, and he’s checking him over, eyes wide behind the domino mask. 


"You are in so much trouble! Why are you out here at ten years old!" Peter tells Damian. 

 

“You are missing your skin,” Damian sounds a touch queasy and Peter feels for him. He must look pretty bad for the demon summoning child to sound upset. 

 

Batgirl and Nightwing join them. 

 

“Glad you figured it out finally, Spider-Man,” Steph’s normal voice comes through the mask, whatever voice modulator she normally uses must be turned off, though her voice sounds tight with horror as well. Her use of his hero name doesn’t go unnoticed either, showing that they’re aware of who he is as well, “However, you look like shit.” 

 

“Language,” Bruce scolds from across the room. 

“How else am I supposed to describe that?” Stephanie complains. 

 

“How’re we getting Spider out with no skin?” Duke asks, standing guard over the Joker’s body, but looking at Peter.

 

“I can walk out. Just give me a minute,” Peter says looking down at his feet. They’re especially bad, because another layer was shed off of them during the molting, even with the skinning from the first day. He can see each strip of muscle and vein.

 

“We are not allowing that,” Damian says instantly.

 

Tim and Bruce are still gathered around Jason. 

 

“Batgirl, there are shock blankets in the Batmobile. Grab one of them to wrap him up in and I’ll carry him out. They’re at least sterile,” Nightwing commands softly.

 

They don’t listen for a second to Peter’s pleas to walk out, and he soon finds himself wrapped in a sterile blanket. He hisses through clenched teeth when Dick’s hands press against his skin to lift him up.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Dick whispers to him, continuing in the process, “I’ll be quick. I need to get you to a doctor like yesterday. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

 

Peter tries to shrug, but that hurts too, “‘S’fine. The back of my thighs and back aren’t as bad as some parts. This definitely hurts less than walking, to be honest.”

 

Dick’s laying Peter in the back of the Batmobile, partially in Damian’s lap who had insisted on not leaving Peter. Damian isn’t quite comforting, just staring down at Peter in horror, but Peter finds that he really appreciates seeing the kid. Dick ends up climbing into the backseat as well so that Jason can have the front seat, contorting his body so that he’s pretty much kneeling facing Peter and Damian, legs tucked under the front seats somehow. 

 

“You don’t have any hair right now. You look like a mummy or something,” Damian whispers. 

 

Peter wants to make a comment about Jason already telling him about his lack of hair, but the adrenaline is wearing off, and the pain is rising. 

 

Once Jason’s in the front seat, Batman gets into the front seat, and they’re off. 

 

Peter keeps his teeth clenched hard enough to break them the entire ride, each tiny bump in the road or just a turn in the road enough to cause some part of the seat to press against his absent skin, sending agony down his spine. He’s certain he’s making some sort of keening, groaning noise, but he can’t stop. 

 

Dick and Damian try to hold him steady, Dick continuing to whisper sorries and words that it’ll be alright, but Peter can’t focus past the pain. With the adrenaline starting to fade, all he can really feel is pain. 

 

The keening grows louder as they continue. Everything hurts so badly. 

 

He’s starting to feel like he’s going to blessedly pass out from the pain when they pull to a stop, and he’s being unloaded. 

 

“Something for the pain!” someone demands for him, and he wants to kiss whoever it is in thanks.

 

He feels the stab of a needle, and he’s starting to pass out, the pain slowly fading into the background. 

 

There’s enough awareness to know he’s been moved to a private room in the clinic. He can hear the assorted bats outside the room, so he knows everyone is close. Damian is curled up in one of the chairs, domino mask off, still looking scared and actually ten instead of his normal standoffish attitude. Dick took the other chair.

 

“Alfred’s on his way,” Dick tells him softly. 

 

Peter’s eyes meet Dick’s, seeing the dark circles under Dick’s eyes. The older man looks rough, like he hasn’t slept the entire time Peter and Jason were gone. Peter’s eyes roll over to Damian, taking in the same sleepless look to the boy’s features. A touch too drugged up to monitor what he’s saying, “Dick, did you have panic attacks while we were gone?”

 

“Tons, Bambi,” Dick says softly, Damian looking up at his brother in surprise at the admission. 

 

Peter drifts off to sleep to the sound of heart monitors and the bats gathered around him, pain medicine flooding his system, even despite the medicine, pain still making him ache. 

Notes:

First, please understand that Peter is dealing with a lot of pain and drugs. Some things are going to seem like plot holes at first, feel free to mention them in a comment, but it's meant to mirror Peter's own lack of understanding. We'll be finding out more in the next few chapters as he starts to heal and ask his own questions.

To note: Peter still will not have scars. The Joker basically overwhelmed his healing system with injuries and lack of proper sustenance, but now that he's receiving proper medical care, he'll start healing again.

Secondly, I've never heard of Peter being able to molt. That is something I've entirely created for this fic. I wanted the idea of Peter saving himself and Jason. Basically, under extreme torture and duress, Peter's abilities morphed in an attempt to save him. Kind of like Wade developing his healing ability in the first place. Will there be other side effects from the torture and mutating spider abilities? Possibly. I guess we will have to read and see.

Will he get his hair back???

Thirdly, sorry to those who wanted Wade to save Peter! We are getting very close to certain events you all are wishing for, but we aren't there yet. No Wade in the first Arc. Also, I really wanted Peter to save himself and Jason, even if the bats showed up right as he got the Joker apprehended.

Please feel free to leave constructive criticism in a comment or just thoughts on this chapter. Originally this was going to be two chapters, Day Two then Day Three, but I decided not to leave y'all hanging like that. I am trying to stick close to fifty chapters, and I didn't really want to give the Joker three entire days. Now we have some fun chapters! Time to see how the Batfam handles the aftermath! So excited!

Chapter 18: Spider Webs

Summary:

Peter heals after the Joker

Notes:

Warning: shameless nonsexual fluff. So much fluff it’ll rot your teeth out. No vigilante work, just fluff and bonding

A little dissaciating though and Peter starting to work through torture. He’s healing, but his skin also isn’t quite right.

His brain is fuzzy, thoughts too fluid the first time he wakes up.

 

Alfred and Bruce, in normal get up are sitting on his left, Damian still in the same seat on his right.

 

“Waz happening?” Peter tries to say.

 

“Peter, I am glad to see you awake,” Alfred says.

 

The pain isn’t so sharp or at the front of his brain anymore, “Why…feel?”

 

“If you will remember, we have a pain medicine that works on metas. It was created by Barry Allen, but you haven’t met him yet,” Bruce said.

 

“You are properly high right now, Peter,” Alfred told him, “how do you feel?”

 

“Floaty,” Peter replied, eyes drifting over the people in the room before landing on Bruce, “B, I know your secrets now!”

 

“Probably not all of them,” Bruce says with an easy smile, leaning onto his knees.

 

“That you’re having sex with Batman!” 

 

Bruce makes a shocked sound, eyes widening as he looks up at Alfred.

 

“Gods dammit, Bambi, we’ve been over this, not the correct response,” Jason says, wheeling himself in on a wheelchair, leg thickly ensconced in an orange cast. 

 

“Right….no, B is Batman, so he is sleeping with him every single night because he’s himself. Or he only sleeps with Batman when he changes his voice and hangs upside down to sleep. Do you hang upside down to sleep? Does it make your head hurt? How do you sleep through the pain? Do you fall off during the night?” Peter rambled.

 

Bruce gaped back, “Excuse me?” 

 

Peter continued to ramble on about Bruce’s relationship with Batman. Bruce turned to look at Alfred and Damian with narrowed eyes, “Neither of you seem surprised by this allegation. How long have you known of Peter’s…theories?”

 

“Long enough that I now find it humorous rather than horrifying,” Damian replied.

 

Alfred made a move that seemed like a highly refined shrug, “I have found it humorous since I first heard it as your children all rushed to announce it to me.”

 

Bruce put his head in his hands, “So they all know? I will never hear the end of it.”

 

“There was that one time that the media spotted Batman breaking into the manor just before a gala that you were late to. There were plenty of media suspicions that Brucie Wayne was hooking up with Batman leading to your late arrival and disheveled appearance,” Jason threw in.

 

Bruce just groaned quietly while Peter continued rambling in the background.

 

OOOO

 

The next time Peter woke up, there was a soft weight on his chest and a gentle vibration. He peaked open one eye to see a cat laying on his chest.

 

Damian was curled up in the chair by his bedside, staring at him. The boy was almost back to his normal expression of loud disdain. There was a shadow in his eyes though, a wariness, as though he was afraid that Peter would die at any moment. Peter suspected that most people wouldn’t be able to spot it, and Damian certainly wouldn’t want them to. 

 

“Still looking rough?” Peter asked, not really wanting the answer.

 

“I believe the darkening of your head suggests the regrowth of your hair,” Damian offered. 

 

Peter moved gently, not wanting to disturb the purring cat even in the midst of his desperation, “Thank the anime’s, I feel stubble! I won’t be bald forever!”

 

Damian’s nose crinkled, “That is good, you look like a sick child without hair.”

 

“Thank you for that, Damian. Where is the cat from?” 

 

“I have stolen him to comfort you in your healing,” Damian announced proudly.

 

Peter smiled at the boy, “That was honestly really sweet of you. But you have to bring him home then.”

 

“Indeed, young Master Damian,” Alfred said sternly, “come now, you can explain where the cat is from while your father has a word with Mr Peter.”

 

“It’s not a big deal Alfie, they obviously didn’t love her enough-“ Damian complained as Alfred led him away.

 

Bruce stepped into the room then, going back to the seat he’d been in before.

 

“You are looking better, Peter. Less like you will accuse me of having intimate relations with anyone,” Bruce said.

 

Peter groaned, the memory coming back and flooding his cheeks with red, “Sorry about that sir, I was a bit high.”

 

Bruce chuckled, “Not the first time that Bruce Wayne was accused of being in an illicit relationship with Batman, as I was reminded of. We are simply glad to see you getting better.”

 

“Heard I have hair starting to grow back,” Peter said. 

 

“Yes, you do. Doc wanted to talk to you about some changes you might be experiencing,” Bruce said.

 

Peter tried for a nervous chuckle, “You’re making it sound like the puberty talk.”

 

“In a way, after all, spiders and arachnids normally molt before a growth period. Peter, the doc thinks you’ve grown two inches. She can’t be certain while you are laying down, but you should be closer to six foot now instead of 5’10”,” Bruce said.

 

Peter felt like he was a balloon that had popped. The whole time with the Joker, he hadn’t been too worried about the torture because he figured nothing was permanent anyway. He didn’t scar, ever. 

 

And he still wouldn’t have physical scars, but his body had changed because of the torture. 

 

He would be different than he was before the Joker, in ways that would affect his life. It annoyed him, rubbing against raw emotions. 

 

“I guess some extra height is always appreciated,” he tried weakly. Bruce sent him a gentle look.

 

There was quiet for a moment as Peter tried to consider what other changes might have happened during the molt. 

“How did you find us?” Peter asked.

 

”Ah, there are many people who have worked with the Joker in the past. Under the right…motivation, we were able to find out the locations of the Joker’s hideouts. It took time to locate which once he had taken you to,” Bruce said.

 

Quiet again. That didn’t bother Peter much. He’d known both Matt and Castle to use torture to get answers. 

 

The older man leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, “Peter, I must give you my deepest thanks. Jason has told us about what you did during your time with the Joker, taking the attention off of Jason, and very likely saving his life. I cannot thank you enough. I’ve already lost Jason to death once, and it was one of if not the darkest time in my life.”

 

Peter felt awkward, “Oh, it wasn’t that special. Anyone would’ve done it.”

 

“I can assure you that they would not have. That is what qualifies you as a hero,” Bruce retorted, dark eyes serious and meeting Peter’s straight on.

 

“You know, you’re a lot better at this whole older vigilante mentor thing than interviewing for jobs,” Peter said, still trying for a return to levity.

 

Bruce sighed, “Most would disagree with you about my prowess in mentoring, but it does fit me better than some roles I find myself trying to fill. The job interview was truly a formality, Alfred was going to have you as his apprentice whether I bothered myself to like you or not. As to my own mentoring, while you are Alfred’s protege, I would like to extend the offer of some training to aid you as Spider-Man.”

 

“I thought I’d be run off now that you knew I was Spider-Man? Doesn’t Batman, I mean, don’t you hate metas?” Peter twisted the sheets on his lap, not meeting those serious dark eyes.

 

“Peter, I’ve told you since I first found out that you were a meta that I don’t hate them. Those are the same beliefs as Batman. I don’t like strangers coming into my territory, and I do always try to run them off, but it’s not because of bias against metas. I am naturally suspicious of practically everyone. And I am highly protective of my own. New vigilantes have such a potential to turn to villainy and cause harm to my own family, so I simply try to run them off. Some, apparently especially of the arachnid variety, seem to be especially sticky. Since I owe you a debt anyway, I will seek to repay you with proper, thorough, official training,” Bruce said.

 

“I have had some training! It’s just not really what you would consider formal. It was like on the job training,” Peter retorted. He hadn’t done much training with Mr Stark, at all, though he’d done the science interning and fighting with the Avengers. He’d picked up plenty through those events. 

 

Despite that, Wade and Matt had done tons to try to help him learn more, not to mention the times when he’d run into other New York vigilantes. 

 

Wade was as random as could be in his training, switching from topic to topic, but everything was incredibly interesting. For example, he’d given Peter in depth knowledge of guns; the different types, how to break them down and clean, how to disable them, but he’d never shot a shotgun around Peter. 

 

Handguns and rifles, incredibly in depth, Peter could identify different rifle shots just as he had with the sniper rifle. 

 

Shotguns, forgotten in typical Wade way. 

 

 Matt was highly disciplined, but he wasn’t necessarily a teacher, doing more through following Peter as the teenager had jumped head first into dangerous situations, offering backup and on the spot advice on fighting. 

 

Not to mention Peter’s own fighting style was more random, based upon his Spidey-senses mainly. It hadn’t meshed when Matt tried to do more formal fighting styles, and they’d eventually just agreed to disagree on fighting. 

 

Clashing with Batman’s highly structured version of fighting might be inevitable.

 

“Yeah, that would be great,” Peter said finally, accepting that it would be what it would be. He wasn’t going to be run off yet, but he might be by the end of the training. 

 

“We won’t begin until you have fully recovered,” Bruce said.

 

“That means no butler work as well, Peter,” Alfred said sternly as he walked back into the room, “You’re starting to heal and gain back your skin, but it is incredibly fragile right now. Even just moving improperly could rip it. We have no way of knowing what could happen then.”

 

Peter swallowed. 

 

All that went through his head was the image of ripping the skin on his stomach and his organs falling out. 

 

Holding up his hands, he looked closer at the healing. A layer of almost translucent white covered his hands. He could still see some of the inside of his body, but a barrier was clearly forming. 

 

Opaque skin was overrated anyway, now he wouldn’t even need X-rays.

 

Focusing on the healing brought the pain and discomfort to the front of his mind.

 

It wasn’t anything like the overwhelming pain of when the molt first happened, but he still felt uncomfortable. His skin itched and felt too sensitive. The sheets felt like they were scratchy, made out of porcupine quills. He felt too loose, like his joints were all too flexible still. Each joint also ached, just like when he first went through puberty and got taller. Which tracked with gaining two inches in a few days.

 

“How long was I unconscious?” 

 

“Three days,” Bruce said.

 

So it had been four days since he was with the Joker.

 

He was getting ready to ask about Jason when the man himself rolled into Peter’s clinic room, still with one leg in a cast. Jason would be in the cast for months, unlike Peter, who would heal quickly, even though Peter’s injuries were much worse. 

 

“You about ready to bust this joint?” Jason asked, “I have already told Doc Thompkins, “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

 

“I just want you to stop saying weird shit,” Tim complained, following behind Jason, “Just say goodbye like a normal person.” 

 

“Expectation is the root of all heartache,” Jason retorted, “And you have no room to speak, boy wonder.” 

 

“I know that was a Shakespeare quote too! Not to mention, you wore the suit once too!” 

 

“I wore it better though.” 

 

“You wore it like you were afraid someone might forget you had thighs if you wore more than just a bikini bottom. Imagine a full sized man running at you in scaled women’s underwear. Of course you caught bad guys, they were terrified.” 

 

“Got the job done,” Jason shrugged, unbothered by the quip on his costume. 

 

“What?” Peter asked, only having ever seen Jason’s intimidating crime lord costume, brown coat over the black body armor, mirrored red helmet. 

 

“Most of the adopted get a turn at being Robin, who Damian is currently. The Replacement made changes to the costume cause he thinks he’s so cool,” Jason said. 

 

“So you dressed up in the robin costume once?” Peter checked. 

 

“Not at ten like Dick and Damian though, as an older teenager and adult. I’ll show you pictures later,” Tim assured Peter. 

 

“You wore the fucking costume clear up until like two years ago, at sixteen, same as me. Least I came up with something to set myself apart, Red Robin, just continuing to steal from myself,” Jason said. 

 

Tim opened his mouth to say something, but Bruce cut in. 

“Boys,” Bruce said, pinching his nose like the bothered father he was, “Jason, you and Peter are riding with me. Tim is going to drive Alfred and Damian.” 

 

“I think you mean Alfred is going to drive Tim and Damian?” Peter questioned. 

 

“Just so, Mr Parker, come along boys,” Alfred said, taking the keys smoothly from Tim.

They didn’t actually move very quickly, staying to help Peter. Doc Thompkins came in and gave instructions on his skin. No baths yet, just like a newborn baby. He needed to stay as still as possible until the skin was no longer translucent. 

“If it was up to me, I’d keep you here, but I already know you won’t do that. If this keeps you more still, you can go recover at the manor,” Doc Thompkins lectured. 

 

Peter walked slowly, Alfred coming over and offering an arm that Peter hesitated to take. Damian slipped smoothly over to Peter’s other side. Peter insisted on walking by himself, not to mention he suspected that leaning against Alfred would actually cause more pain than just walking, based upon the way the sheets had felt against his skin. 

 

The ride wasn’t very pleasant either. He couldn’t wear the seatbelt, the press of it against his chest like a tight rubber band around a balloon. He decided he’d rather die from a car crash than wear the seatbelt. 

 

At the manor, he really wished he could go hide in his room and just exist, but Damian and Alfred stopped that, directing Peter towards the kitchen. 

 

“Alfie made us food for recovery,” Jason told him. 

 

Sure enough, there was soft scrambled eggs and soft bread in the kitchen. Peter glared at the bread. Once he was feeling better, he would master baking bread. 

 

Jason somehow got to bow out sooner than Peter, eating his eggs and rolling out of the room with a comment about catching a ride before the teenagers headed to school. Peter didn’t think Tim driving Jason around was a good idea, but Jason’s ego could probably take it. He didn’t want Jason driving his motorcycle with a broken leg either, which would probably be the man’s next move if he didn’t find an easy ride.

 

Alfred stepped closer, gently setting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

 

Tensing for a minute, Peter noticed first that it felt like too much pressure, just like the seatbelt. What he knew in his brain was just a gentle squeeze felt like toothpaste being forced through a tube. 

 

Alfred didn’t immediately remove his hand though, and Peter next noticed that all of his nerves were brand new and felt everything much stronger. 

 

Once he’d gotten past the initial too tight feeling, he realized that just a gentle squeeze on the shoulder felt really nice. He leaned into the hand. 

 

"I am so glad that you are alright, Peter," Alfred tells him softly. 

 

Peter doesn't feel like he's going to cry, but his throat does feel strangely tight. 

 

"May I hug you?" Alfred asks. 

 

"Yeah, that would be good," Peter says. 

 

It's like feeling a hug for a first time. Peter feels like he's loved. He swallows once, thinking of Aunt May's hugs, and, as much as he likes Alfred now, wishing she was here too. It would just be really nice to see her after the Joker. Alfred squeezes once, bringing Peter back to the kitchen and the way a hug feels now, leaning into it before Alfred pulls away.

 

Damian hadn’t missed a second. 

 

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed in concentration like Peter was a dumpster raccoon that Damian was going to bring back to the manor and hide in his bedroom for two weeks (he had actually done that, and Peter had nearly lost his crap at the mess. Damian had needed five rabies shots just in case). 

 

Damian reached out a hand, gently petting Peter’s arm. 

 

Again, it was too intense at first, almost painful, before it shifted to pleasant. 

 

Peter leaned boneless across the island, leaving his arm in Damian’s reach. It wasn’t sexual in any way, just pleasant and nice, like the feeling of a massage instead of just Damian’s hand ever so lightly touching his arm. All of his nerves were brand new and everything felt magnified. 

 

Damian grinned as Peter made a nose, down in his throat, almost a deep vibration, “Do spiders purr?” 

 

“Master Damian, I do not know about nature, but your pet spider apparently does,” Alfred replied. Peter opened his eyes enough to glare at the man before going back to enjoying his arms being petted like a dog.

 

Eventually he was directed up to his room to heal. 

 

“Found it,” Damian announced as Peter lay in his bed. Turning his head, Peter noticed Damian was on his phone. 

 

“Male wolf spiders can audibly purr,” Damian said proudly showing Peter his phone. 

 

“So I’m legit purring?” Peter questioned. 

 

“Yes,” Damian said, leaving Peter’s room through the air vent.

 

"You could at least close the vent behind you!" Peter called after Damian, no response forthcoming.  

 

The day passed slowly. 

 

Without all the pain meds in his system, and after sleeping for three days, he didn’t want to sleep. He was a touch afraid of what would appear in his dreams anyway. 

 

Peter opened up his door at a knock, staring in confusion as Duke entered carrying a mound of blankets topped with a TV and a game system, followed by Steph with her own mound of blankets, and finally Tim carrying several puzzles and what looked like snacks.

 

“Can I help you?” he asked.

 

“Yes, go in your bathroom and put this on,” Steph said, not pushing him or touching his still entirely too fragile skin but shooing him towards his bathroom.

 

Peter went along with it, walking in and staring at the pile of clothes sitting on his sink in confusion, “What’s this?”

 

“I’ve stolen your first outfit for you. The absolute softest stuff I could find,” Steph said, holding up a blue t-shirt, “Dick’s shirt, my fleece lined sweatpants, Bruce had a really soft beanie, Cass had a pair of extremely fluffy slippers. I stole Duke’s bathrobe in case you want to shower, and a fluffy towel each from Damian and Tim.”

 

She finished by throwing a pack of underwear into the bathroom sink, “Don’t worry, I figured you wouldn’t want to steal underwear yet, so I took Bruce’s credit card and bought the softest of them as well.”

 

“Steph! I can’t just wear stolen clothes,” Peter hissed.

 

“Yes you can and you will. You rescued Jason like he was some damsel in distress, so we’re donating soft stuff while you heal. We all owe you for keeping B from going on a rampage if Jason died again,” she insisted, no room for argument in her voice as she shut the door to the bathroom.

 

Peter sighed but started changing. He was swiftly realizing that there was little arguing with Stephanie when she was in one of her moods and he felt too tired to even try. Easier to just go along with it.

 

Plus, everything he touched did feel incredibly soft, and actually not making his skin hurt like his regular clothes had been. 

 

He wasn’t admitting that to her though.

 

As soon as he walked out, he knew that she knew he enjoyed the clothes. 

 

“What are you all doing in my room anyway?” 

 

“Post Joker protocol that we’ve recently implemented. We have to make sure that you aren’t going to go into a psychotic episode and try and kill Tim,” Stephanie announced, arranging pillows and blankets. 

 

“Has that happened a lot?” Peter shot them a concerned look. 

 

“Practically a rite of passage at this point,” Duke said, arranging his pile of blankets on the bunk across from Peter. 

 

“But you brought Tim with you?” Peter asked.

 

“I like to see it coming,” Tim said mildly. Peter smiled slightly at the deadpan voice. 

 

“Who all has tried to kill Tim?” he asked instead, trying to figure out exactly what they were talking about. 

 

“The first and arguably worst was Jason when he came back from the Lazarus Pit. He went into a proper psychotic rage and sold Tim’s identity to Clayface who broke into the Titan Tower and torture Tim. But we all thought it was Jason. Not to mention, Jason definitely would have killed Tim during that time period if the right opportunity had come up. Then Damien tried to kill Tim, and, more importantly, they are pretty much the two you’re closest to,” Steph added. 

 

“Steph would sometimes try to kill Tim when they were in the midst of a lover’s spat,” Duke added, plugging in the tv and setting it on Peter’s one dresser. 

 

Stephanie and Tim both shrugged, not really denying it.

 

“Huh, didn’t even know y’all were together,” Peter admitted.

 

Steph snapped at Peter, “Get with the gossip, servant boy. You are supposed to be all knowing in these areas, like Alfred.”

 

“On again off again, but we’ve realized we’re better as friends at this point,” Tim said.

 

“That’s very Twilight of you two,” Peter added.

 

Steph cocked her head to the side in question, so Peter explained, “you know, the strange, almost adopted siblings getting together?”

 

“We were very much not almost adopted siblings at that point,” Steph laughed, “both sets of our parents were alive, and I didn’t know Bruce at all except for the tabloids.”

 

“Yeah, another reason we’re just friends now. At this point, it would be weirdly like incest,” Tim agreed.

 

“But what are you all doing in my room? What are we gonna do all night?” Peter asked. 

 

Stephanie walked over to where Peter was still standing in the doorway between his bathroom and the bedroom, and directed him towards the pile of blankets that she had arranged on his bunk, “Petey, we’re gonna have a sleepover.”

 

Peter let himself be settled into the pile, Stephanie sinking in next to him, staying near the head of the bunk but letting her feet drape into Peter’s lap, “Uh, I haven’t really been sleeping a lot though…”

 

“None of us need a ton of sleep, and that’s specifically why I’m here. I don’t sleep much anyway,” Tim said, sitting on the bunk across from Steph and Peter. 

 

Video games played across the screen in aimless entertainment. 

 

Peter allowed himself to go along with the teenagers, acting his age instead of like a servant to the family. After the hours of staying as still as possible, it was nice to lay as still as possible while watching someone play. 

 

“Can’t believe I didn't think of video games earlier,” Peter complained mainly to himself. 

 

“Dude, you’ve just been laying up here all day?” Duke asks, destroying the robot on the screen. He’s clearly the best at the video games, winning most of the rounds. 

 

Peter shrugs, quickly regretting the motion, skin not enjoying the movement, though his skin is starting to feel better. 

 

“That’s alright, it takes time for healing. You did the best thing,” Stephanie says soothingly, wiggling her toes in Peter’s lap while she takes out Duke’s health. 

 

“Ha, finally won your first match,” Duke says when the screen switches to the official score. 

 

“Put MarioKart in and see where your confidence goes, ghost boy,” Stephanie snarks.

 

“Ghost boy?” Peter asks.

 

“Oh, Duke is a metahuman too. He has something he calls ghost vision where he can see where light was or will be allowing him to see like an imprint of what happened or will happen,” Tim said quickly. 

 

“Among other abilities,” Duke agrees. 

 

Peter grins, “That’s super cool! Why didn’t you say something after the Croc incident?”

 

“We try to keep it on the downlow,” Duke answered, “Not advertising all of our secrets and all that.”

 

“Don’t tell me the rest. I feel like I’ve been a few steps behind, but i bet I can figure it out now thst i know to look,” Peter says. 

 

“You’re on. Now, play me at COD,” Duke demands. 

 

Video games play in Peter’s room for hours, plenty of trash talk coming from the four teenagers. Eventually Duke and Steph each ended up in their own upper bunk. They weren’t quite asleep, but well on their way. The only light in the room was the glow of the TV set with the video game console. 

 

Peter shivered in his pile of blankets, feeling sleep trying to press in on himself. He didn’t want to go to sleep, even if he needed it. 

 

Tim didn’t appear to want to sleep either, letting out a sigh as he grabbed four puzzles and a bag. 

 

“What’re you doing?” Peter asked as Tim dumped all four puzzles into the bag. 

 

“Making it interesting,” Tim said. 

 

Several packets of paper came out of the boxes next, Tim flipping through them rapidly.

 

“Wait, what’re those?” Peter asked, leaning forward. 

 

“It’s a murder mystery puzzle, you’ve never heard of them?” Tim asked, pulling a piece at random from the bag and starting a puzzle.

 

“Explain,” Peter demanded, leaning off the edge of the bed, his skin having thickened more just in the day.

 

Tim huffed, “Simple, each puzzle comes with a murder story but the final clue is missing. It’s somewhere in the puzzle, but the reference photo doesn’t have the clue. You have to solve the puzzle, find the clue, and solve the puzzle. 1000 pieces is too easy though, so I put some together and solve them at once.”

 

“I’ve never really tried puzzles before,” Peter admitted. 

 

“Here, I suppose you can help,” Tim says with clear hesitation, scooting over enough to make a spot.

 

Peter hid a smile, because, as much as Tim and Damian fight and try to murder each other, they sometimes can be so similar that it’s hard to remember they aren’t biological siblings. 

 

Tim reads through the pamphlets quickly, each one interesting and unique. One is about a husband and wife murdered in their bedroom. Another is about a murder in a bar. The third is about a missing person, a woman in her mid forties. The final one is about a missing statue where the puzzle shows who stole it and where it’s hidden (so actually two things to find). 

 

Each story is fleshed out, Peter able to immerse himself in the story even if it’s only a page or three long. He looks at the box of each puzzle, what they’ll look like finished even if they’re missing a piece. 

 

Then Tim shakes the bag at him, motioning for him to pull a piece. 

 

The piece is blue, with one inner puzzle hole and three sticking out.

 

He knows instantly where it goes, in the third puzzle on the bottom right corner. It’s like he can picture the puzzle.

 

He sets it in the right spot.

 

Eyes narrowing, Tim pulls a piece and sets it in the correct spot on the second puzzle.

 

It’s clear that Tim wants to make it a competition, and, it might be in Tim’s eyes, but Peter’s too tired to be competitive. Peter simply wants to put the puzzles back together. He’s stuck on the thought of the four puzzles broken into all those pieces. It nearly consumed him, giving him an outlet for his mind, letting him drift away a bit again. 

 

Reach in, pull out a piece. Set it instantly into the piece it goes. 

 

Reach in, pull out a piece. 

 

Place the piece. 

 

The puzzles started to come together.

 

Peter wasn’t there though, even as his hands moved. 

 

He’s in a warm place, soft, and his brain feels as fuzzy as the blankets. 

 

Reach in, pull out a piece. 

 

Place the piece. 

 

Fuzzy and soft. 

 

Warm. 

 

“Don’t bother finishing the fourth puzzle. There’s the receipt for the pawn shop. Fosters sold it, and it’s at the pawn shop for retrieval,” Tim said. 

 

Peter jumped slightly, turning to look at Tim, “What?” 

 

“You dissociated there,” Tim said. 

 

“Oh, I might’ve,” Peter said, too tired to argue. 

 

“You definitely did,” Tim said. 

 

“OK,” Peter agrees, thinking he’d like to go back there. 

 

The puzzles lay out in front of them, each one nearly complete. 

 

“I can work with this,” Tim says, looking between the puzzles and Peter. It’s a strange look, like he’s plotting something. 

 

“Work with what?” Peter’s not sure he really wants the answer. 

 

“You’re a genius, aren’t you? A bit rough around English, but ridiculously smart. You’ve never been trained to use those brains for investigating, but I’m going to fix that,” Tim declares. 

 

“What?” Peter asks, stuck about ten steps back from tiredness. 

 

“Scooby-doo, Sherlock Holmes, sneaking into crime scenes. With enough training, I could actually have a partner in this family,” Tim says. 

 

“I haven’t watched more than an episode or two of Scooby-doo,” Peter admits. 

 

“We’ll start there,” Tim says. 

 

Peter isn’t quite caught up to Tim, but he has a feeling Tim just assigned him homework that includes watching Scooby-doo. And more training that’s going to result in a member of the Wayne family being highly annoyed with Peter’s lack of deductive reasoning. 

 

“Duke, look, Peter can keep up with Tim at puzzles,” Stephanie hisses from the bunk. 

 

“HUh?” Duke asks, rolling over, forgetting he was in the top bunk. He’s falling out then. 

Peter’s reflexes are as fast as ever, and he’s moving as soon as it registers that Duke is going to fall. Peter’s fast, throwing out his hands to catch Duke, wishing he had his web fluid to catch Duke like that instead of the large teenager landing on his sensitive arms. 

 

Wrists splitting open, some sort of white string does come out of Peter, spraying out and sticking Duke to the outside of the bunk, covering him from mid chest to knees. 

 

The room pauses. 

 

Tim reaches over and flips on the light in Peter’s room. 

 

“What the freak?” Peter asks. 

 

“Think you could’ve pulled out the whole f word for that one,” Steph says weakly, staring at where Duke is struggling against the white covering, looking for all the world like he’d been stuck in a giant spider web.

 

“You don’t produce spider webs,” Tim states with assurance. 

 

“Uh, no I never have before…I have a formula I use for making mine,” Peter says. 

 

“Yes, I am aware. I’ve ran testing on it,” Tim says. 

 

“Have you?” 

 

“I’ve ran an entire battery of tests on you. Now that you are aware of our larger secrets, there’s no sense hiding that from you,” Tim says. 

 

Peter shakes his head fondly, reminded of Mr Stark. 

 

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to be bothered by that,” Steph adds. 

 

“Eh, I had a mentor in New York, Mr Stark, who was constantly doing stuff like that. He ran all kinds of unauthorized tests on me. He figured out my web formula and offered me an internship because of it,” Peter said. 

 

“Guys, can we discuss illegal testing after I’ve been released?” Duke complained. 

 

“I don’t know, Peter, I feel like there’s a really annoying noise in your room. Maybe we should move to the movie room,” Tim said with a smirk. 

 

“I agree, must be the wind through the attic, let’s go,” Steph says with her own smirk. 

 

“Guys! No, Peter, don’t let them leave me like this!” Duke says. 

 

Peter sighs, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.” 

 

It takes Tim and Steph helping him. The only saving grace is the fact that Peter doesn’t seem to stick to his own webbing. 

The webbing is nearly completely different from the formula Peter had created. It’s a more translucent white, with a shine to it like a pearl. It’s much stickier than Peter’s formula, pulling all of the paint and even some of the top layer of wood off of the bunk bed as they tried to pull Duke off. 

 

It’s short, too. Too short for Peter to use for swinging through the city. It doesn’t feel as strong as his formula either. It’s like it swapped length and strength for stickiness. 

 

Peter’s guilty of saving as much as Tim for examining at a later date. 

 

"We should run some more tests about what's changed about you since the molting. Definitely before you go on patrol again," Tim says. 

 

"Like B is going to let him go on patrol for months," Steph laughs. 

"He doesn't get to control that about me. He's not my guardian or anything. He's just my daytime boss, not Spider-man's boss," Peter says quickly. 

 

"Don't worry, he'll understand that he's not in control of you," Duke says, "And if he doesn't, I'm sure there's plenty of people around here to remind him." 

 

Morning comes quickly with the teenagers needing to go to school, leaving Peter alone again. 

 

Steph gives Peter a hug, “There’s another soft outfit for you on the dresser. Dick and Jason will be over in an hour. Keep them from fighting.”

 

“I will,” he agrees instantly. 

 

“Cass says she’ll be over with them,” Tim says as he checks what looks like a text, “Try not to be too scared of her. She says she wont kill you since you saved Jason.”

 

“No promises,” Peter jokes. 

 

“We’ll see you after school. I’ll make Tim buy us all milkshakes,” Steph says. 

 

Duke grabs Peter’s phone, texting something swiftly, “There, man, I added all our numbers since you only had Tim’s and Alfred’s. Just text the flavor you want.”

 

“Why do i have to pay?” Tim complains as they walk away. 

 

“Can’t think of any reason, oh trust fund baby,” Duke’s voice gets softer as the trio walks away. 

Notes:

Guys! Almost 39,000 hits! Over 2,000 kudos! That's crazy! Thank you all so much!! I've never had stats like that on one of my stories! Thank you so much for liking this story. Thank you for the TikToks recommending it, and adding it to collections on here. Thank you for all the comments! It really does encourage me to write and update faster.

Wolf spiders purring is a legit scientific thing. Please note though, that male wolf spiders purr to attract a mate. I am not using Peter's purring like that! I'm just using it as Peter purring like cat, in response to calm, pleasing situations. There is nothing sexual to the purr, and he was not sexualizing Damian in any way.

I have added some changes to Peter since the molt, but I tried not to make them too creepy spider. More funny spider. Please feel free to leave thoughts on it in the comments. All of your comments definitely influenced some of those abilities, with a lot of people voting for him to get organic webs and grow taller.

One more chapter in Arc 1 and then we're onto Arc 2! Cheers!

Chapter 19: Movies

Summary:

Peter faces his need for sleep.

Peter felt hungry and figured food would help him to stay awake. Alfred had driven Damian to school, so there wasn’t anyone about to scold him. He was in the kitchen moving around when Jason and Dick arrived. 

 

“What’re you doing Bambi?” Jason demanded, voice sharp.

 

“Making some food,” he said, glancing at Dick walking in behind Jason who was aggressively wheeling into the kitchen.

 

“That’s definitely something you aren’t supposed to do. What if you burn your skin? Knives!” Dick exclaims.

 

“What else would we do? I’m well aware that you aren’t supposed to be in the kitchen, Richard,” Peter said, waving the spatula in his hand at Dick while he waited for his eggs to be fried enough to flip.

 

“Got you there, big wing, you could burn iced tea,” Jason smirked, “however, I am allowed in the kitchen, so shoo.”

 

“No, my eggs are almost done. I’ve got this,” Peter pouted.

 

“Get him,” Jason said to Dick.

 

Peter’s spidey senses were good, warning him of Dick’s movements, but he wasn’t allowed to move much without pain or the risk of his skin splitting. Dick scooped him up despite Peter’s verbal protests, chest shaking with laughter that shook Peter as well. He was incredibly gentle, not causing Peter any pain. In the back of his mind, Peter suspected that Dick probably was so gentle because he’d had to carry injured comrades in the past. It was a sad thought, so Peter pushed it away.

 

“Get the movie room set up, I’ll finish breakfast so we get something tasty,” Jason commanded.

 

“Hey! I’m a great cook!” Peter tossed over Dick’s shoulder.

 

Dick sat Peter down on the couch without jostling his skin, a considerable feat. Peter considered Dick, remembering his throwaway comment of growing up in a circus. Perhaps it wasn’t just carrying wounded friends that had given Dick the ability to move someone else gently. 

 

“What did you do in the circus?” Peter asked as Dick walked over to the movie shelf. 

 

Dick stilled, shoulders tensing. Regret crossed Peter’s mind for a second, it was like someone asking him about Uncle Ben, but then he considered that sometimes it's nice to know that Ben isn’t forgotten and perhaps Dick feels the same way. 

 

“My family performed trapeze arts,” Dick finally said, going back to flipping through the titles like it was nothing. 

 

“Were you good?” 

 

“We had some special moves,” Dick smiled softly, eyes still pained, “That’s how Tim figured Batman and I out. I was showing off on a patrol, doing my quadruple somersault. There’s not really anyone besides a Grayson who can do that. Tim knew that about the Graysons, and my height would match up with my age as Robin, and he figured it all out.”

 

“And he blackmailed Bruce until he let him take over as Robin?” Peter demanded, shocked at Tim.

 

“No! Tim was content to just watch the family in secret. He was a kid himself, too smart and good at figuring things out for his own good. Jason took over for me as Robin after B and I got into a fight about my independence. I eventually became Nightwing, which is way better for myself anyway. Jason was really Tim’s Robin. He even saved Tim once, and took him to get ice cream. Tim idolized Jason. But then Jason was taken and killed. And B went off the dead end. He teetered precariously close to being a villain rather than a hero. Batman was someone feared by all, not a hero feared by villains,” Dick trailed off considering, “I wasn’t any help either, so we’re clear. I wasn’t beating people up every night, but I was so blinded by grief. I’d already watched my parents die, then I gained a new family and lost my little brother. Tim stepped in then. He found a Robin costume and put it on, insisting that Batman needs a Robin to keep him centered. It was quite a struggle for him, but he eventually got B settled and back to working as a hero.”

 

“And now Tim isn’t even Robin anymore?” 

 

“Nah, he grew up, just like the rest of us. I think he would’ve stayed a sidekick longer, but other people needed the position. First Steph, for just a little while, then Damian.” 

 

“Stephanie wears different costumes,” Peter noted.

 

Dick smiled at that, “We’ve all had to assume different roles, but she hasn’t quite settled into a final costume yet. Ask her about her spoiler costume. Speaking of wearing different costumes, I had to fill in for B when he had a broken back, and she was my batgirl with Damian as my Robin.”

 

“You were Batman?!” Peter tries not to sound too shocked.

 

Dick laughed anyway, “Yeah it was as big of a train wreck as you’re imagining. I’m not really serious enough for B’s persona but there’s only so many people who can fill in. I did fine at stopping the criminals, but B has never forgiven me for making him seem friendlier.”

 

“Do you want me to change the subject?” Peter offered an out. 

 

“No, you’re fine, ask your questions,” Dick said. 

 

Blue eyes met Peter’s brown ones, “So that’s where your acrobatics come in as Nightwing?” 

 

“Yes, I’ve kept up with them over the years. I’ve found that it’s a considerable help during vigilante work,” Dick said. 

 

“My style would probably actually mesh with you. I fight mainly based on my instincts, so it can be very random and on the fly. I think Bruce is going to hate training me,” Peter admits. 

 

Dick smiles crookedly, only one half of his mouth going up, “Yeah, he didn’t have the best time training me either. When you’re feeling up to it, I have an acrobatics room down in the gym. You could train with me?” 

 

Peter’s eyes widened, “Really? That sounds amazing!”

 

“Sounds pretty good to me too. There’s not too many people in the manor who humor my acrobatics. It would be nice to have a decent flier; I could actually do some of the moves my family used to. Based upon what I’ve seen Spider-man do, I don’t think you’d have any issues keeping up,” Dick said, face still stuck between hopeful and that melancholy look that suggested he was remembering a missing family before the manor. 

 

“It’s a date then,” Peter blushed, “Or not a date, but yeah-” 

 

“Alright, breakfast is ready. Here we have a plate for everyone. Don’t expect this kind of room service ever again. Dick, put in High School Musical,” Jason commanded as he wheeled into the room, running over Dick’s foot, with multiple plates balanced on his lap. 

 

“Ouch!” Dick said, hopping on one foot as he held the other one, “Better have limited your intake, my foot is saying you’ve gotten fatter.” 

 

“Pot, meet kettle. Heard you ate five pieces of pizza the other day on patrol,” Jason said, handing a plate to Peter. Peter nearly drooled as he took in the food. Jason had apparently fried him up several additional eggs as well as adding chopped up fruit and some butter toast, clearly taking Peter’s superhuman metabolism into consideration. 

 

His spidey-senses went off, that tingling like spiders crawling down his back. His eyes instantly went to the right, spotting Cass walking into the room. 

Her hands were moving, talking in sign language to Jason as she walked in. At least, Peter was fairly positive she was talking to him, as she made eye contact with him. 

 

It was difficult to tear his eyes away from her face, senses going off stronger than they did for anyone else in the house (though everyone set them off at one point or another), but he eventually dropped his eyes to her hands, where she seemed to be complaining about Jason’s choice in movie. 

 

“So what that Peter just watched it! Peter, you want to watch High School Musical again, right?” Jason asked (more like demanded), confirming Peter’s awkward attempts at following the sign language.

“What’s the other option?” he questioned. 

“San Andreas!” Dick called out, holding it up. Cass nodded along, clearly picking that one. 

 

Peter gulped, his instincts telling him to just appease Cass even if that wasn’t what he really wanted. He needed to stand firm, just consider the meal Jason had just made him, “I’m fine with High School Musical again.” 

 

Jason laughed, fist pumping the air. 

 

Dick and Cass both sighed, but an awkward New Year’s Eve scene was quickly playing. 

“San Andreas next,” Dick said, sitting down to the right of Peter. Jason pushed himself out of the wheelchair to the left of Peter on the couch. Cass settled into the loveseat to their right, still able to face the TV, but face more visible to Peter than Jason or Dick. 

 

All four of them finished their food while the movie played. Jason and Dick kept a running commentary going over top of Peter’s head. At one point, Dick left and came back with a slightly burnt bag of microwave popcorn. Jason snorted. 

 

“Shut it, little wing,” Dick snapped.

 

Peter crinkles his face at the cuteness of the nickname, hiding his face in the fuzzy blanket that he pulled down over himself, surprised by how much Jason and Dick have been acting like brothers recently. Or really, all of the adopted siblings. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of them. 

 

Once they were about halfway through, Peter’s senses went off again. He moved his eyes enough to see that Cass was staring at him. 

 

‘You sign?” she asked him. 

 

‘Some, little bit,’ he replied. 

 

‘I can talk now, but I do not like to. Normally chose sign,’ she warns him. 

 

He shrugs, ‘Do what’s comfortable to you. I can learn more.’ 

 

‘You need sleep. Go sleep,’ she commanded him. He suspected she was purposefully keeping her signs simple so he could follow along. Languages come naturally to him, but this is one of the first times he’s actually using sign language in a conversation instead of looking at pictures of it. 

 

‘Don’t want to,’ he said, even as his eyelids betrayed him, each blink seeming to take longer than the one before. 

 

She signed something to him that he didn’t recognize, one semi curled hand stacked on top of the other curled hand. 

 

‘What mean?’ he asks. 

 

She spells the word out, ‘s-p-i-d-e-r. Large spider. You.’ 

 

‘Oh that’s your sign name for me?’ Peter realizes and clarifies. She nods. 

 

‘I will not kill you, large spider. You protected Jason. Now, we protect you. Sleep.’ 

 

There’s something different about the older three. Maybe Tim is smarter, and Stephanie is better at communicating with people, and Duke is a literal metahuman. But Dick, Jason, and Cass have been doing this whole saving people thing for longer than the teenagers. They have more experience. Even if it’s just a mental thing, Peter does feel safer with them. 

 

Maybe Cass is right. Maybe he can try taking a nap here. 

 

He doesn’t instantly fall asleep, though he’s tired now from forcing himself to stay awake for over twenty-four hours. 

 

From a distance, he feels himself start to fall asleep, head falling down and jerking back up. He feels Dick and Jason lower him down on the couch, so his head is on the armrest and he’s laid out across them. 

 

Then, fingers are running through the short hair growing back on his head, rubbing his sensitive scalp, and a different hand is ever so gently rubbing at his ankles. 

 

“Is he purring?” a voice asks above him. If his life was on the line, he couldn’t tell someone which of the brothers spoke. 

 

“Damian replied, he said it's a spider thing,” the other brother replies. 

 

“Cute.” 

 

Peter drifts to sleep, a musical playing, three vigilantes watching over him. In fact, Cass’ dark eyes are the last thing he sees, eyes drifting from the TV screen over to her. 

 

OOO

 

His dreams aren’t peaceful though. 

 

Almost instantly, he’s back in the Joker’s apartment, shackled in place by metal that he can’t break. His muscles are shaking. 

 

But he’s not the one being tortured. 

 

This time it’s Jason, and Peter is forced to watch, knowing that anything the Joker does to Jason will take a billion times longer to heal than it would on Peter, assuming that Jason’s zombie body can even survive hardcore torture. 

 

Jason is pleading, not with the Joker though, “Peter, why wouldn’t you help me? Why wouldn’t you take my place? You can heal. The injuries would be gone by tomorrow.” 

 

Peter keeps begging the Joker to take him instead, but the Joker just laughs, that high pitched hysterical laugh. 

 

“Petey-pie, why do you look like that?” Wade’s voice enters Peter’s dreams, and he groans. 

 

“Wade, I’m not in the mood tonight. You need to not visit me,” Peter demands. 

 

“Why are you shackled? Let’s get you down from there,” Wade says, and there’s a hard edge to Wade’s voice. The same hardness that’s there when Wade is on a job, especially one about protecting children. 

 

Wade breaks the shackles and catches Peter as he drops, the Joker and Jason disappearing. 

 

“Not sure you’re aware of this, baby boy, but you were in a nightmare,” Wade says. 

 

“More like a memory,” Peter snorts. 

 

Wade’s eyes narrow through his expressive mask, “What do you mean?” 

 

“I was held captive a few days ago and tortured. My psyche is probably trying to work through it, which is why you need to head out,” Peter says, walking through the dream apartment to check that Jason wasn’t tucked away somewhere else being tortured. He couldn’t find anyone in the apartment besides from Wade. 

 

“Torture? Who would torture you? You just point me at them! When I get there!” 

 

“You’re never going to get here! You’re just a dream! You aren’t real! I need to stop dreaming about you because it hurts too much!” Peter yelled then. 

 

“I’m real. Petey, I’m so close,” Wade said softly. 

 

Peter’s voice dropped too, regret for yelling at even a dream version of someone from home, “But don’t you see, you’re going to say that every night. Every dream, you’re going to be so close and getting closer and almost here. I can’t keep doing this Wade. It hurts too much.” 

 

Wade stepped closer and wiped Peter’s face, tears going down Peter’s cheeks, “I’m coming. Bye Petey.” 

 

“Bye Wade,” Peter whispered. 

 

He woke up to tears and a cheesy natural disaster movie. Scrubbing at his face with the long sleeves on his shirt, he hoped no one would notice. Sleep still clung to him, making him feel clumsier than usual. 

 

Cass gave him away, signing something to Dick and Jason. 

 

“Peter?” Dick asked.

 

“Just a bad dream, it’s nothing,” Peter said quickly, sitting up and staring at the movie, hoping they’d drop it. 

 

No such luck, “Was it about the Joker?”

“Just at first. Then Wade showed up,” Peter said. 

 

“Wade, who’s Wade?” Jason asked. 

 

“Just someone important from home. He said he was going to find me, but he can’t find me, and I’m sick of dreaming about it,” Peter said. 

 

“Wouldn’t it be good if someone from home visited you?” Dick asked slowly, carefully. 

 

“No, because it would mean I’ve lost if he comes by himself. He can’t visit me alone. Sure, if he brought my whole family that would be fine, but that’s not what he says in my dreams. He keeps saying he’s coming to find me, which isn’t right. It can’t be just him, and it's just a dream anyway. He’s not coming. He’s back home, and I’m here, and it’s fine,” Peter rambled, trying to push his panic back down. He couldn’t get into that right now, he couldn’t give away that he was from a different dimension. He was already weird enough. 

 

Not to mention, he wasn’t in any sort of mental capacity needed to think through the implications of Wade being on his way alone to Peter. That would mean the Avengers had lost, and his world really was gone. 

 

He pushed it away, grabbing the remote from near Dick and turning up the TV slightly, hoping he was being direct enough to stop the conversation. 

 

It seemed to work. 

 

Despite the dream, Peter did feel better after the nap. His skin was continuing to harden. The nerves still felt brand new (which they were) and everything felt overly sensitive, but there was less fear that a paper cut would cause him to bleed to death.

 

He figured within a couple of days he would be completely back to normal.

 

His new normal. 

 

OOO

 

Batchat

 

Jason: interesting conversation with Peter earlier

 

Dick: it was…enlightening

 

Barbara: enlighten the rest of us

 

Jason: sounds like Peter really does have an abusive ex that he’s terrified of finding him, despite also getting injuries from being a vigilante

 

Cass: he was more upset over the dream of the ex than his dream of the Joker 

 

Dick: yeah said he would’ve lost if Wade finds him and that he can’t visit him alone

 

Tim: the plot thickens!

Steph: So the guy is close but doesn’t know that Peter’s living with us? And Peter’s terrified of what would happen if the guy finds out where he lives? Or the guy is no where near us, but Peter’s just scared of being found and his injuries were all from being Spider-man? 

 

Jason: i guess? I don’t really understand the whole dynamic but Peter nearly had a panic attack at just the thought of the guy finding him. Again, more scared of that than the Joker who literally just tortured him.

 

Duke: sounds like an abusive situation to me! 

 

Alfred: We will remain vigilant to the situation. We can’t be certain which bruises came from vigilante work and what may have come from other circumstances. 

 

Tim: guys, assuming Peter is an alien as we have been, since he doesn’t contain the metagene, that means the ex could be an alien from his home planet as well…we might be dealing with a SITUATION ™ if the ex does find Peter

 

Batdad: I’ll send a message to Clark, update him and tell him to be on standby in case we need to fight alien fire with our own alien fire. 

 

OOO

 

Peter caught up with Alfred in the kitchen later as the older man was working on supper. Peter settled himself into one of the chairs at the island. 

 

Peter wasn’t supposed to do much, but he grabbed the peeled garlic and the garlic press to give his hands something to do. 

 

Alfred waited for him to talk, dicing cucumbers across from him at the island.

 

“When I took the job, I didn’t think I’d fall in love with them,” Peter said, then cringed slightly, “I don’t mean love in a weird way. I mean-“

 

“I know what you mean,” Alfred interrupted gently.

 

“Like, I want them to succeed. I want all of them to be safe and have the best things in life. It doesn’t mean I agree with everything they do or their choices, but I want to support them,” Peter said.

 

“Yes,” Alfred said simply.

 

“If an opportunity came up to go home, I would take it,” Peter said, hoping Alfred wouldn’t ask why Peter couldn’t just go back to New York. 

 

“No one would blame you for that,” Alfred said, thinking Peter was talking about his alien home planet. 

 

“But while I’m here, I’m going to do the best I can,” Peter said.

 

“That means you have the chance to be more than just a butler to them. It’s all in how much you wish to put into the role,” Alfred took the diced vegetables and added them to a large salad bowl.

 

“Is that what happened with you?” Peter found himself doing a lot of digging into people’s pasts after the Joker. He felt like some of his politeness has been stripped away. 

 

“I hadn’t been with the Waynes long when the master and mistress died. Master Bruce was supposed to be shipped off to boarding schools until he reached his majority. He threw a fit though, demanded he be allowed to stay. He showed a tenacity that I admired, so, when they asked if i would be willing to consider staying on as both butler and supervisor to Master Bruce, I agreed. I hadn’t realized how much of my job was to be simply directing him away from seeking revenge. Which I both succeeded and failed at,” Alfred said as he stood over the stove, pan frying chicken cutlets. 

 

Peter was impressed with himself for now recognizing what Alfred was doing. His cooking skills were improving! 

 

“I found after raising Master Bruce that I couldn’t just look for a new job after he had reached adulthood. My ties were too deep. Things were good at first, Master Bruce had found an outlet for his rage as Batman, and then he even adopted Dick,” Alfred said. 

 

“But…?” Peter prompted. 

 

“The years when Master Bruce added Jason were even better. Dick and Jason helped to entertain each other, Master Bruce wasn’t alone. Then Jason was killed, and the situation at the manor became a dog’s dinner,” Alfred said, finally turning away from the stove and facing Peter head on. “We went rapidly through a period of adding children; Tim then Cass and Stephanie almost concurrently then Damian then Duke. We found out that Jason had given the Joker the Mickey, and was alive again. Dick never truly left even when he was working full time with Bludhaven.”

 

“That’s a lot,” Peter said.

 

“It was, indeed Mr Peter,” Alfred said.

 

“And then I came along?” 

 

“And then you came along,” Alfred agreed. 

 

 End Arc 1 

Notes:

Arc 1 is finished!!!

For a short time while planning this story, I thought about ending the whole thing here, but I felt like there was wayyyy too much unanswered to do that. I also almost combined this chapter with the last chapter, but that would’ve made it like a super chapter at over 8,000 words, which is highly unusual just for this story. That’s why I’m adding this update so quickly, I already had it written out. I did appreciate taking an extra day to do some heavy editing on this chapter. I’m sure I still missed stuff though 😂😅

Arc 2 should be about the same length as Arc 1 and then I’m planning on Arc 3 being a bit shorter. We still need the Christmas special within the next chapter or two.

If you are binging this after I add more chapters, this is a good place for a break, maybe even to stop for the night. Arc 1 is about the length of a shorter full length novel at 82,000 words.

Let me know in a comment what you thought of Arc 1 and what you think you’ll be seeing in Arc 2!

Chapter 20: Christmas Interlude

Summary:

Who killed the Joker? Dick has a massive tree (that's not an innuendo, literally a pine tree). Jason goes to Mass. Tim and Peter bond over cameras.

Notes:

While this chapter is called an interlude, I'd still recommend reading it to at least find out who killed the Joker. Beyond that, sorry for posting the Christmas chapter in September, but that's when it fit the story's timeline! Maybe reread it at the holiday time if you want?

Final note, there are depictions of multiple holiday traditions of different religions in this chapter. I in no way meant to be disrespectful to any of those traditions. I tried to approach a blended holiday with nearly everyone in the family celebrating differently as respectfully as possible. If you follow any of these religions and I have written something incorrectly or in a disrespectful way, please know it was completely accidental and feel free to let me know if I need to edit anything.

Thank you!

The next day is December 18th, and the lighting of the first menorah candle. While there is a larger menorah for the family room of the manor, Bruce also quietly gives Tim and Peter each a menorah after he’s heard that Peter is also Jewish. Peter places his smaller menorah in the window ledge of his room, thoughts filled with memories of lighting the menorah candles with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. 

 

Alfred lets Peter lead the way through the meals that first day, with Peter making latkes and sufganya . 

 

Peter gives his gelt (or Chanukah gift) to Damian, the only at least biological child in the manor (Peter’s ignoring his mental state). 

 

He also elbows Tim in the side until the teenager grumbles but hands Damian another gelt . 

 

“Give it to charity,” Peter reminds Damian. 

 

The ten-year old looks gleeful and not at all like he will be giving the money to charity. Peter sighs. 

 

OOOOO

 

It’s only three days later when Peter can’t sleep during the night and is wandering the manor looking for a midnight snack. He comforts himself that he won’t get scared by Tim playing the piano without warning, thinking that he’s the only one awake in the manor. 

 

He quickly realizes that several people are awake. 

 

Jason’s hand reaches out to grab Peter, but his spidey-sense had warned him. Peter ducks under the hand, sending Jason a concerned look, “It’s 1:27am. Is this one of your homicidal rampages? Do I have to lock Tim up?”

 

“Drake should always be locked up, but probably not. If you’re up anyway, you get to come support Dick’s paganism,” Jason growled, heading towards the entrance hall.

 

“Excuse me?” Peter asks weakly, even though he’s already following Jason. That explanation didn’t really make it sound any less likely that Jason was on some sort of homicidal rampage. 

 

“It’s the solstice!” Dick says, racing down the stairs past Jason and Peter. 

 

“I was just here for some Cheez-it’s or pizza bites,” Peter offers awkwardly.

 

“Get ready to offer sacrifices to Dick’s gods. Is this the year we get to sacrifice Drake?” 

 

Dick rolls his eyes, “We aren’t sacrificing Tim any year, Jason.”

 

“But you are making sacrifices?” Peter’s voice sounded slightly alarmed.

 

“Oh a sort, burning incense and such,” Dick said, heading out the door and into the side yard.

 

Peter blinks at what he sees, pausing in the side doorway of the manor. Dick has apparently acquired a tree from somewhere and has it laying in the side yard. Not like a fiddle leaf fig or some sort of houseplant. Peter’s pretty positive the tree trunk is larger than a full size bedroom dresser. It’s stil covered in pine needles, implying it’s fresh as well. Peter looks to the left and right, but he can’t see any sort of massive tree stump or tire tracks. He’s completely unsure of where Dick found the massive tree or how it was brought into the yard without him noticing. 

 

Tim was sitting on a bench next to Dick’s giant log, camera snapping away. Peter perked up at the sight of the camera, one of the many he’d seen stored in Tim’s bedroom.

 

“Can I take a turn?” he asked.

 

Tim seemed to be considering it, face set in a scowl at the thought. Peter understood.

 

“I guess. Here I have a spare, you can use it. Be careful it’s a-“

 

“Nikon Z8 mirrorless with 120 mm lens attachment and a real leather strap, probably starting around $5,000,” Peter rattled off quickly as Tim started to hand it over.

 

Tim paused, “…$5,137.48. I feel better about letting you use this.”

 

Peter grinned. 

 

He added “get a decent camera in this universe” to his mental to-do list. He’d been limited by Aunt May’s salary already being used on necessities back home, but now he could afford to splurge a bit.

 

Watching Dick’s solstice celebrations through the lens of a camera was truly amazing. Peter could zoom in and capture any moment of the evening, from Dick lighting the giant tree, the flames rapidly licking their way through the pine needles, slowly eating away at the main trunk, to Dick dancing around the fire.

 

Zooming in on a dark shape to the side, he spotted Bruce standing in a black suit, head respectfully bowed slightly as the man watched his oldest son. 

 

At one point Dick took a bowl of what had to be blood, the iron scent hitting Peter’s nose, and drew symbols across his chest, splashing the rest onto the burning tree. 

 

Clicking away, Peter tried to capture every moment. 

 

Then, he was distracted by a neighbor standing at the window in her neighboring mansion, “The Wayne’s are out summoning demons again.”

 

“Towns gone to pot, I swear,” a man replied in the mansion.

 

“It’s the heir again too! What was Bruce Wayne thinking, bringing some pagan circus act to this area,” the woman complained.

 

Peter glared their way, considering how he would get payback for their comments to the Wayne’s, even if none of the ones standing around the fire knew that their neighbors were shit talking them or would probably even care. 

 

He was drawn back into the ritual in front of him as Dick moved to stare at the fire, backlit by the flames, saying what sounded like a final chant. Peter took more pictures. 

 

The next day, Peter knocks on Tim’s door. With a fleece blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and a cup of steaming coffee already in hand, Tim glares out at Peter. 

 

“We were up until the sun rose. Why are you in my room at 8am?” Tim demanded. 

 

“You were awake anyway,” Peter complains, “But I wanted to see how the pictures turned out.” 

 

Tim sighs, but steps back, silently inviting Peter into his room. Tim grabs his laptop, a sim card processor plugged into the USB port. He settles against his pillows, breathing from the steam rising off his cup, before looking at Peter through blinking eyes, “Come on then, get on the bed so we can look.” 

 

Peter climbs onto the bed before Tim can change his mind and send him packing. 

 

Tim has apparently hasn’t gone to sleep yet, uploading the images to his computer so he could look at them. The pictures from his camera are on the left while Peter’s pictures are on the right. 

 

It’s interesting scrolling through them with someone else who loves photography. 

 

Ned had always supported Peter in a confused way, and Aunt May had been supportive in her overworked way, but this wasn’t supporting Peter. This was too artists comparing photos they’d taken of the same events. 

 

It opened a door between them that Peter hadn’t thought could happen. He’d never heard Tim talk so much to him, and especially not in a pleasant way. 

 

“You focus way more on the landscape, the overall scene,” Tim commented. 

 

“And you focus entirely on the individual. Microexpressions and their body language,” Peter noted, “Your photos read like a crime scene. Though an artist crime scene of course!” 

 

“They’re almost like a documentary of last night,” Tim adds, clicking on a picture of the flames consuming the pine needles that Peter had taken, and zooming in on the hints of Dick’s face in the bottom of the frame. 

 

“I always wished I could take pictures for the news, like one of those news Twitter feeds or something like that,” Peter admitted. 

 

Tim was silent, but continued clicking on pictures, letting Peter lounge on his bed. 

 

“I’ll send some to the shop, and we can have Alfred pick them up. Bet Dick would like that as a Christmas present from us,” Tim finally says, and Peter just grins. 

 

OOOOO

 

Peter hadn’t been cleared to go back to work, but he was anyway. Alfred had been running around like crazy to get stuff ready for the holiday, as flustered as Peter had ever seen the older man, and Peter was determined to help lighten the load. The tailor had been back to measure Peter as his skin had gone back to a normal color, another brand new shipment of butler uniforms arriving. His skin was still sensitive, but not in the way it had been, and he had uniforms to fit his new height. It was time to go back to work. 

 

He hadn’t announced he would be going back to cleaning, either, because they would have talked him out of it. Possibly locked him up in the attic bedroom, in an overprotective way, not a Cinderella way.

 

Damian’s room seemed like a decent place to begin cleaning without announcing it, since the ten year old at least shouldn’t have anything too incriminating hiding away in there.

 

And the room had started fairly easy. Damian had allowed some junk food wrappers to pile up on his floor, and Peter had gotten down to grab them. 

 

Peter stared at the rifle under the bed.

 

The rifle didn’t have eyes, so it couldn’t stare back, but it was definitely there. 

 

He imagined the rifle was laughing at him for underestimating Damian.

 

Grabbing the rifle from under the bed, he marched down to the entrance hall where the teens and Damian should be returning from school.

 

Tim spotted him and started to walk past when he saw the rifle in Peter’s hands. Tim came to a screeching stop on the tiled entrance. He immediately moved right in front of Peter. 

 

“What do you have?” Tim asked.

 

Peter held up a hand, “Don’t even try, I need Damian.”

 

“Did you find that in his room?” Tim followed Peter, trying to grab his shoulder, but Peter had no issues avoiding the grabbing hands.

 

“Yes,” Peter said shortly, moving past Tim smoothly to try to find Damian. 

 

“It’s normal for young boys to begin experimenting-“

 

“Tim, that’s what people say when they talk about masturbating. Not the rifle used to kill the Joker!” Peter finally snapped, head turning towards Tim. 

 

Alfred and Damian paused in the doorway, turning to look at Peter and Tim. Peter was too angry to even blush at his own words. 

 

“Ahh,” Alfred said, eyes on the rifle in Peter’s hands, “Let us retire to Master Damian’s hands for this conversation. It would be unfortunate if Master Bruce were to see that.”

 

Peter isn’t impressed, but he allows himself to be lead to Damian’s room; Alfred, Tim and Damian acting as a barrier around him. 

 

“Why does Damian have the exact brand of rifle used to kill the Joker?” Peter demands as soon as the door is shut. 

 

“He was supposed to have gotten rid of it,” Tim glares at Damian who looks back impassively. 

 

“I had a big project due at school,” Damian says. 

 

“Who cares about school! It should’ve been gone ages ago! Imagine if Bruce had seen it!” Tim throws his hands up. 

 

“Some of us actually care about our grades, Drake. Aren’t you close to flunking out of school despite all of your intelligence?” Damian goaded. 

 

Tim’s hands went into fists that Peter was afraid were about to be used for violence against the kid. 

 

“Focus!” he demanded of the two. 

 

“I shot the Joker,” Alfred cut in. 

 

Everyone in the room stopped. Peter turned to look at Alfred, confusion on his face. 

 

“But it was my plan,” Tim added, not in a petulant way, more taking some of the blame, trying to soften the blow, “When we realized Todd was taken again, I knew we needed a more permanent solution. We couldn’t know if B would actually kill the Joker, but we needed him out of the picture completely. Todd could never heal with the Joker still alive.” 

 

“I volunteered to acquire the weapon and dispose of it, though I was truly distracted by a final project,” Damian offered 

 

“I had planned to hire Deathstroke, you don’t know him yet-” 

 

“But I volunteered,” Alfred cut in gently. 

 

“Why would you do that?” Peter asked, trying to understand. 

 

Alfred stepped closer, a cross between a fatherly look on his face and the silent determination that must have been there when he pulled the trigger. Peter wanted to look away. Alfred wasn’t supposed to be so fond of him already. What if he got pulled back to his dimension? 

 

“I had no plans of that monster hurting Jason again, though we took too long to keep the two of you from any harm. As I’ve said before, I served in the queen’s service. I’ve done sniping missions before,” Alfred said. 

“You’ll quickly discover that Jason is Alfred’s favorite, and he seems pretty fond of you too. The Joker just picked the wrong Waynes to kidnap this time,” Tim said, seeming to try to a hint of levity. 

 

“And what would happen if Bruce were to find out?” Peter clarified. 

 

“I’m sure he suspects,” Alfred said. 

 

“Can’t be certain though there is a possibility that he would send Alfred away. There’s also a possibility that he was planning on breaking his moral code and actually kill the Joker, so maybe he would buy Alred a fruit basket in thanks,” Tim added. 

 

Peter thought it over, handing the gun back to Damian, “Get rid of it today. And no more secret sniping missions!” 

 

None of the three of them agreed to that. 

 

OOOO

 

Peter yawns as he kneads the dough over and under. 

 

Fold the dough, pull it towards himself, and squish it down on the counter. Fold, pull, squish. Repeat.

 

“Full attention, boy, we need the buns ready before the children wake up,” Alfred admonishes Peter gently, his speech looser than normal. Peter doesn’t tell Alfred that he’s the same age as about three of those children. On the other hand, Peter suspects that Alfred still lumps Bruce in with the children. 

 

They make a full spread of cinnamon buns early in the morning. It’s worth it later when Peter watches Damian skid down the stairway, yelling something about presents, the smell of cinnamon and sugar thick in the air. 

 

Peter skids to a stop in front of the door as the doorbell rings. Barbara is behind the door, a loaf of something that doesn’t necessarily smell pleasant balanced on the tulle lap of her red dress, matching with her loosely curled red hair. She’s wearing makeup and looks beautiful. 

 

“Wow! You look fancy!” he tells her.

 

“Thanks, Petey,” she grins at him. 

 

Jason steps around him and scoops Barbara out of her chair, carrying her bridal style despite her protests, “No need for your chair on Christmas, Babs. Let us spoil you.”

 

“If you’re really spoiling, does that mean you cooked?” she grins at him, switching to accepting the easy ride.

 

Jason grunts, “I might make lunch, but Alfie and Bambie made cinnamon rolls topped with cream cheese for breakfast. They are sufficient.” 

 

The family room had been outfitted with a massive Christmas tree, and the floor is nearly invisible under the pile of presents. Peter gapes at it. 

 

“Sometimes I can’t stand rich people,” he mutters to himself. 

 

“Oh I get it,” Duke agrees, standing next to Peter as the two take in Damian diving onto the pile of presents, immediately starting to sort them. Peter finds a small pile addressed to him, glad that he’d gone out during the week and bought some gifts for everyone. He did regret that online shopping wasn’t as big of a thing in this dimension as it had been in his own. Having to physically go to the mall to buy gifts was a bit of a drag. 

 

Peter opens the last of his packages, taking in the softness of the sweater.

 

“What’s this?” he asks, not unpleasantly as he unfolds a sweater with designs of Christmas trees and neutral Christmas colors. 

 

“Matching family sweaters! We’ll pose for a Wayne Christmas photo next!” Dick tells him, grinning as he pulls out his own sweater. Peter holds his sweater up against himself.

 

A touch scratchy as he pulls it on, Peter notes the smell and the fact the sweater is from natural fibers, probably wool and cotton. He sees everyone else finding a similar sweater and pulling them on. 

 

The tripod is grabbed from where it was leaning against a wall, Tim setting it up with his camera on top. There’s tussling as everyone tries to fit in the frame. Peter hears well over a hundred clicks as Tim records it all.

 

“All those pictures and there probably won’t even be a good one!” Steph complains.

 

“Don’t make Jason and I look fat this year,” Dick puts his finger right in Tim’s face.

 

Tim smirks, “the camera doesn’t lie.”

OOOOO

“Selina,” Bruce growled, voice in full deep Batman version.

 

“Selina? Who?” Peter asked, taking in the mistletoe hung in multiple doorways through the manor, spotting three just from his spot in the entrance hall. He also examined the vines that looked suspiciously like poison ivy curling and moving from where it was twined with the mistletoe, like some sort of plant snake.

 

A note hung from the first one, Bruce glaring at it like he had laser vision. Peter stepped close enough to read it.

 

Merry Christmas darling Wayne’s (especially you Brucie) 

 

As my present to you all, I have collaborated with Poison Ivy to spread sexual cheer through the manor. Not only did we hang mistletoe, but she added some of her vines to grab onto whoever steps under it and hold them until they kiss. For true familial relations, if you view someone as a sibling or parent or such, a kiss on the head will release them. Beyond that, a proper lip smacking is needed.

 

I’m stealing the children in February for a heist. Please have them packed and ready, Brucie.  Children, you must bring over Clark while the mistletoe is up. I want an update! 

Toodles darlings,

Selina. 

 

Oh this was bad. 

 

OOOOO

 

It took a few seconds for the image in front of Peter to compute as he took in what looked like Steph and Cass making out under the mistletoe, the plants requirements far met and exceeded. 

 

Peter immediately slapped both hands over his eyes, trying to back out of the room, but running into a side table, knowing what sounds like several expensive glass items off. Keeping one hand over his eyes, his other hand grabbed the vases and set them back on the table before moving towards the doorway again, too flustered to be much smoother than that. 

 

Steph laughed, “Petey, you’re fine.”

 

“I’m not trying to be  weird or anything! I didn’t realize you were here! I mean, I did know cause I can hear your heartbeats, but I didn’t realize what was going on,” Peter replied.

 

The girls laugh at him while Peter leaves, face aflame.

 

“What embarrassment has befallen you for your face to look like that?” Damian questions him, dragging Tim’s raised eyebrows to Peter as Peter flees to the media room.

 

“He spotted someone under the mistletoe or he walked in on someone naked,” Tim says calmly.

 

“I don’t know how you know everything, but please stop,” Peter pleads.

 

Tim’s eyes narrow, “My money would be on the mistletoe.”

 

“I repeat, please stop,” Peter says.

 

OOOO

He only gets stuck under the mistletoe once himself, hurrying to grab a present he’d forgotten and forgetting entirely about the plants. He finds ivy moving faster than even his reflexes to wrap him up against Duke. 

 

The dark skinned teen grins at him, faces even with Peter’s extra inches. 

 

“You alright with a quick kiss?” Duke asks. 

 

Peter blushes but nods, thankful as ever that he’d learned kissing by experimenting with Ned during middle school, “Guess you don’t view me as a brother?” 

 

“We can try, though I can’t imagine I do. Worked for Dick and Tim earlier though. They were trapped and Dick gave Tim a kiss on the top of his head. They were released instantly.” 

 

Duke leaned his head forward and Peter gave a kiss to the wild curls. If anything, the ivy tightens around them. 

 

“No luck,” Peter says. 

 

“Just kiss me dude,” Duke laughs. 

 

They kiss quickly, mouths closed. Peter’s still blushing as Duke gives a wink and walks away. 

 

OOOOO

 

It’s time for those who attend church to head to church then, Alfred offering the ride that the teenagers had told Peter he would be. Duke and Steph announce their going to the Baptist church. 

 

Peter slides next to Jason, “Can I go with you?” 

 

Jason looks over at him, considering as he pushes back the white clump of hair at the front of Jason’s head, “I guess if you want to?” 

 

“I’m not a Christian. I won’t like get struck by lightning for stepping into the church will I?” Peter clarifies. 

Jason lets out a bark of laughter, “Church will be packed today with people who only go to mass for Christmas. God might not have enough lightning bolts for all of you.” 

 

“Not super comforting, but alright,” Peter says. 

 

He’s quiet during the service, tucked in between Alfred and Jason on the pew. He stands, kneels, and sits as everyone else does, wanting to focus on the Latin words, but also wanting to focus on Jason. 

 

The man looks much different in church, calmer, with more guilt almost plain across his face, one hand staying on the rosary. 

 

Peter wants to say something to appease the man of the guilt that he normally only catches glimpses of, but he’s not sure he has the right words. Even if he had the exact right words, it still might not matter to Jason. 

 

So he just sits quietly on the pew, offering support. 

 

With presents seeming to be the main religion of Damian, he feels a bit of peace that he’s offered support to all four of the main four children of Bruce during the holiday season. 

 

OOOO

 

There’s a family party in the evening. Not a big media gala, but just the core family. Alfred hands Peter a green velvet suit to wear, implying that he wasn’t just a servant to the family during that evening. Everyone helps to set out the dishes, and Jason had done most of the cooking. It was truly amazing with more seasoning and kick than Alfred normally used. 

 

“One glass,” Bruce cautions the teenagers, handing them a tray that holds champagne glasses. 

 

“I’ll pass. It doesn’t do anything to me because of my metabolism,” Peter says. 

 

It is highly amusing to watch the rest of the family slowly get a bit tipsy. Regardless of what Bruce says, Peter’s spotted Steph grab three of the glasses. 

 

She leans on him, whispering, “Guide me to the patio. Smoothly though, don’t want B to realize.” 

 

“Realize that you’re drunk? I’m sure he’s aware,” Peter rolls his eyes, but guides her out onto the patio, the cool air a good idea. 

 

Duke and Tim follow them out there, and Steph moves to lean against the two boys instead of Peter. 

 

Peter takes in the sight of the three of them against the concrete rail of the patio, thinking that it would’ve been so easy for him to be super insecure in his job. The three teenagers were clearly very close with each other. Yet, they’d done an excellent job of welcoming him in and making him feel like a friend instead of just an employee of the family. 

 

“Whatcha thinking, Petey?” Steph asked. 

 

“That I really like all of you,” Peter admits. 

 

“Careful, I don’t like you like that, and no one in this family is good at sharing,” Steph waggs a finger in his face, Duke going cross eyed following it even though it’s in Peter’s face. 

 

Peter rolls his eyes, “Not like all of you like that, and I realize now that you like someone else.” 

 

“Cass,” Tim says quickly, quieter while tipsy apparently. 

 

“Yeah, hadn’t realized that before tonight,” Peter says a touch ruefully, recognizing his own need to get better at paying attention to what’s right in front of him, “Will that be like a problem?” 

 

“Only the main four are really like brothers. So long as it’s not Dick, Jason, Tim, or Damian getting with each other, I don’t think B would find any of the rest of us dating wrong,” Duke said. 

 

Jason was walking by the open door and stuck his head onto the patio, face twisted in disgust, “Fucking disgusting! Nothing ever between Dick, Drake, myself, and Damian.”

 

“Fuck off, like anyone would like you,” Tim tossed back, face twisted in his own disgust. 

 

Jason headed back into the room. 

 

Peter continued, “No I meant, uhhh…you and Cass both being girls…No one will make a fuss about that will they?” 

 

Tim stills slightly, but Duke and Steph laugh. Steph is the one to reply, “Nope! B is real big on sex education because of adopting so many. He doesn’t want there to ever be anything to the rumors of why he adopts little boys, so he brings us to Doc Thompkins and makes sure we really understand no means no and that we can tell a trusted adult anything. As part of the sex education, he tells us that we can be into anything we want as long as it’s consensual and a Wayne allows tops.” 

 

“A Wayne always tops,” Duke and Tim echo immediately. 

 

Peter’s face is on fire, “Too much information!” 

 

“All that to say B won’t care about Cass and I getting together if we wanted to, which I’m not even sure what she wants, though maybe he would mind…” Steph trails off. 

 

“How would you both top?” Duke agrees. 

 

Steph looks horrified, then pauses, “Well, she’s more of a Wayne then I am. I do technically still have a mom, and my dad only died like a year ago, so it would still be early to be adopted by Bruce, while Cass is completely an orphan.” 

 

Duke nods along sagely, “Just claim Cass is the Wayne.” 

 

“Alright, time for bed or for me to leave this conversation,” Peter steers the teenagers back inside, hoping they’ll have forgotten the conversation by the next day. 

 

Once he’s gotten the teenagers settled, all three of them crashing in Duke’s room with Duke on a beanbag, Steph sprawled across the bed, and Tim hunched in a computer chair despite Peter’s best efforts to get them into comfortable places, he goes back downstairs. 

 

Bruce and Alfred approach him with a cup that he can smell isn’t alcoholic, though Bruce and Alfred each hold a cup of barely drunk champagne. 

 

“Apple cider,” Alfred informs him, “Not hard.” 

 

“Thank you sir,” Peter takes the cup. 

 

“A toast,” Bruce says. 

 

“What for?” Peter asks, taking in Damian asleep on a curved couch, Dick, Jason, and Barbara in an argument with Cass standing silently near. 

 

“To a wonderful new year. To new relationships and strengthening the bonds of old ones,” Bruce says. 

 

Peter holds up his cup, tapping it lightly against Bruce and Alfred’s. 

 

It’s different, unlike any holiday he’s had before. Sure, Mr Stark throws a Christmas party every year for the Avengers, but Peter was never invited to them. Aunt May and him would’ve had a small tree in their apartment, exchanged a handful of presents. He and Ned would’ve swapped a present for each of gaming stuff. MJ would probably have made him something to fight the patriarchy, and he would’ve spent ages with Aunt May trying to find her a gift that wouldn’t support the patriarchy or white supremacy. 

 

He thought again that the holiday was completely different. He especially missed Aunt May, Ned, and MJ. 

 

But he found that Christmas with the Waynes really hadn’t been bad in any way. 

 

OOOOO

 

The next day, the mistletoe is still there, and Peter’s given permission to do anything needed to remove it. 

 

It’s one of the best Christmas presents he’s ever been given, full permission to run experiments and then full destruction of a vicious, probably man eating plant. He eventually removes every mistletoe from the manor.

Notes:

To clarify, Duke and Peter is not the relationship I intend, I just thought that was cute.

This chapter is a slightly different style than my normal. It's more of snapshots of the holiday season versus one continuous story. We'll be back to my regular style for the rest of the chapters (probably). I did enjoy switching things up slightly and I felt like it was cool for the interlude.

Please let me know in a comment what you think. I know a lot of you were hoping for Deathstroke, and I swear I nearly did that, but I love love love the thought of Alfred killing for his boys, especially Jason, even if he is becoming close to Peter.

Chapter 21: Mister Freeze

Summary:

The moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived. I repeat, the big one is here.

Notes:

Trigger warnings:
-canon levels of violence during a takedown of a villain

Arc 2

 

“ You are certainly flexible enough to assume the proper martial arts position.” 

 

“I can probably bend in half,” Peter considered, hand to his chin, folding himself forward at the waist, completely bending in half. 

 

Bruce frowned, “Not necessary, we’re just trying to run through the moves. Do the move twenty times, then we’ll run a fight.”

 

While Peter was incredibly thankful that his skin was finally thickening enough to begin the martial arts training under Bruce, it felt a bit like a waste of time. 

 

The same thing happened every time. No matter how many times Peter practiced the same move, his spider senses won out and he followed them instead of moving through the motions Bruce taught him before the fight. At least his skin was starting to toughen enough that he could do these practices with Bruce, each blow feeling more painful than it should, but manageable. 

 

Finally, he settled on the floor, Bruce leaning against the wall and considering.

 

“His senses are too strong, like mine were,” Cass said.

 

Peter was surprised to hear her voice, but he’d known she was selectively mute. Peter’s head had been following her from the moment she walked into the room, and she motioned towards that as evidenced. 

 

“Sorry, my friend Matt had the same issue when he tried to teach me,” Peter offered, “I can do any of the moves, no flexibility or strength issues, but I don’t automatically use those moves, no matter how many times he had me practice them. I always defer to my spider senses, which aren’t exactly a neat disciplined method like formal martial arts.”

 

He considered how Matt had wanted to train Peter to use his spider sense more like how Matt himself used his enhanced senses, but they hadn’t had time for that. With Peter going to school full time, Matt being a full time lawyer, and them both working as vigilantes on top of Peter sometimes going to help the Avengers. By the time Matt understood Peter’s spider sense and realized the connection to his own senses as well as being close enough to Peter to offer that kind of training, they hadn’t had a chance before Thanos and the end of Peter’s world. 

 

“If you didn’t have this sense, I’d say you could be an excellent martial artist. As you said, you have literal superhuman abilities that would only help,” Bruce agreed.

 

Damian stalked forward from where he had been sitting next to the wall with Cass, “Cass and I’s turn, Father.”

 

Bruce considered them, “Be mindful of what you teach him.”

 

Damian rolled his eyes, “We are reformed assassins, Father. Mind what Crime Lord Todd is teaching him.” 

 

Bruce considered this before sighing and leaving the gym. Damian and Cass turned to Peter with matching feral fins. Peter felt a shiver go down his spine that very well may have nothing to do with his spider senses. 

 

OOOOO

 

Peter felt his eyebrows raise as he spotted the brand new cast encasing Tim’s wrist. The paleness of Tim’s skin stuck out harshly against the plain black of the cast material, reminding Peter how much the bats did during the nighttime hours, leaving Tim pale for even a Caucasian, “Rough night? You couldn’t have picked a fun cast color?” 

 

Tim muttered something that sounded like expletives as he shuffled through cupboards. Peter grabbed the fresh coffee that he’d made on a very expensive coffee machine and slid it over to Tim. Tim took one suspicious sniff before snatching the coffee and settling into a seat at the island with a sigh.

 

Peter counted that as a win.

 

Duke clapped Peter on the shoulder as he walked in, “Tim got into a fight with FireFly and lost.”

 

“I didn’t lose,” Tim muttered.

 

“A firefly broke your wrist?” Peter clarified, slightly aghast as he looked again at the broken wrist, considering how long Tim was going to be benched, all for a firefly? 

 

“Not a firefly, the FireFly. One of the goons of Gotham,” Duke explained.

 

“Firefly is captured, even if I broke my wrist in the battle. That’s a win for me,” Tim complained.

 

“Aren’t you all late for school?” Peter asked, not in an accusing way. After spending a night on a rough patrol and even breaking his arm, Peter felt like Tim and Duke deserved to be late for school.

 

“No school today,” Damian said, grabbing an apple and eyeing Tim’s cast with a mix of glee and clear disdain that Tim had allowed himself to be injured.

 

Tim used his good hand to flick pieces of scrambled eggs off of Duke’s plate and onto Damian’s face. Duke protectively shielded his plate while Damian wiped his face with a napkin.

 

From their explanations, it seemed they had a holiday similar to Peter’s universe’s Labor Day, though the timing was all wrong, occurring in January. 

 

“So what will you all get into today?” Peter asked the assorted teenagers at the table.

 

“Video games,” Stephanie said, nudging Duke with her shoulder and a competitive grin. 

 

Duke grinned back, “Cass said she’d even join today.”

 

Tim sighed, looking forlornly at his hand. Peter understood, video games probably weren’t on the table for Tim.

 

Duke and Stephanie gave him a sheepish grin.

 

“Can’t just cancel on Cass, she doesn’t play very often,” Duke mumbled.

 

“Go, have fun. I’ll probably come watch later,” Tim waved them. It didn’t take them much convincing before the other two were off.

 

Damian was still eating his eggs as Peter turned a curious look on him, silently asking the boy what he would be getting into. Damian glared but said, “I suppose you may transport me to the library.”

 

“Library will be closed,” Tim chimed in.

 

Damian scowled.

 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll both figure something out. I’m off to do the grocery shopping. Alfred has already left to coordinate that big decor order, so I’m doing the local errands today,” Peter said, grabbing the shopping list from the counter. Tim and Damian both perked up. Peter nearly groaned at the thought of chaperoning two of the most out of touch with normal behavior Waynes through the grocery store. He just wanted to grab the groceries quickly and get back. 

 

“I shall accompany you on this endeavor,” Damian announced.

 

“With that kind of speech? Have either of you even been in a grocery store?” Peter asked.

 

“Of course I’ve been in a grocery store,” Tim’s face was insulted as he listed off a grocery store that was incredibly high end. Peter rolled his eyes. Tim wasn’t as bad as Bruce, especially in the day to day, but there were definitely moments when Peter was reminded of how differently he had grown up than Tim, separate universes besides. Money really did lead to a different life. 

 

Both boys glared at him, as always, incredibly similar for not being blood related. 

 

Peter simply turned and grabbed the keys to the manor’s SUV, accepting a lost cause that he couldn’t convince Tim or Damian that there were more interesting things to do than hang out with Peter as he did errands. 

 

Dick popped up then, throwing an arm over both Tim and Damian’s shoulders and dragging them close into an aggressive version of a side hug, nearly bumping their heads together with a laugh while both complained and tried to escape. 

 

“And what are my two favorite brothers getting into with my favorite apprentice butler?” Dick asked.

 

Damian scowled, “You told Todd he was your favorite last week.”

 

“That was last week,” Dick retorted, “this is today.”

 

Tim rolled his eyes, trying to pull away, “And you told Cass she was your favorite yesterday when she pulled out snacks before patrol.”

 

“She’s not a brother, last time I checked. I said she was my favorite sister. Open to making her my favorite brother  if she’s feeling a change,” Dick replied.

 

“We’re going to acquire sustenance with Peter,” Damian announced. Dick’s face lit up with intrigue. 

 

Peter just sighed as he handed over the keys to the SUV, accepting that three of the Wayne’s would now be following along as he tried to do his errands. Dick snatched the keys while talking about getting groceries for his Bludhaven apartment. Peter wondered absently why he bothered, considering the man by and large just stayed at the Wayne Manor. 

 

Peter did claim the passenger seat at least, leaving Tim and Damian squabbling in the back seat. 

 

“We aren’t buying the sugar cereals, you know Alfred isn’t going to let us eat them more than just Saturdays anyway,” Tim said. 

 

“I don’t exactly hate you but if you were on fire, and I had water,” Damian paused for effect, “I would drink it.”

 

At the first red light, Peter turned around and glared strongly at the two of them, pointing his finger at them, “Listen! If you two cannot behave on a simple trip to the grocery store, I will talk to Bruce about your privileges of going out as bats.” 

 

Peter wasn’t sure he really had the power to follow through with his threat, but Tim and Damian went quiet anyway, each pouting with arms crossed.

 

“I’m benched for my wrist anyway,” Tim muttered.

 

“Could still be benched from computer privileges with Babs,” Dick said.

 

Tim scowled but didn’t argue that as Dick pulled into the grocery store lot and parked swiftly. Peter grabbed a grocery cart, pushing it quickly into the grocery store. 

 

“We don’t even need a lot. We can be in and out,” Peter announced, steering the cart towards dry goods like flour first, Dick, Tim and Damian following along like easily distracted kittens.

 

Despite Tim’s earlier remarks, Damian still grabbed every sugary cereal he could find and threw them into the cart. Tim kept glaring and putting each one back on the shelves. Peter completely ignored them, grabbing two bags of bread flour for his bread baking experiment.

 

“Are you making more cake?” Dick asked with enthusiasm, “I’ll grab some butter and eggs.” 

 

It wasn’t like Peter had high hopes for the grocery shopping anyway, but some random blue skinned guy in a knockoff astronaut suit bursting literally through the glass front of the store was absolutely Peter’s last straw. 

 

“Mister Freeze,” Dick declared, stepping protectively in front of his brothers and Peter, face suddenly serious. 

 

“I am here to steal the store’s dry ice,” the apparent Mister Freeze declared, looking for all the world like he was about to start monologuing.

 

“I don’t know who you are, but I’ve only got like 15 minutes to pen you in,” Peter announced, glaring with all of his tiredness.

 

“Excuse me?” Mister Freeze questioned, staring at Peter’s group, who were glaring him down instead of running away screaming like most of the store. 

 

Tim rolled his eyes, but reached down to the bottom of the shelving unit, pulling a single pin. With that single pin, the entire shelving unit collapsed, canned goods going rolling. The fall of that shelf seemed to be taking out another one. Tim unabashedly turned to the side that hadn’t been knocked over and pulled out more pins. The store was in chaos, no one listening to Mister Freeze’s monologue. 

 

“Get into your suit,” Tim hissed to Peter.

 

“On it,” Peter replied, taking a half second to appreciate the defense Tim had started even with one broken arm, “You’re like really good at this strategizing stuff.”

 

Peter ran into the back of the store into the bathroom he was supposed to ask permission to use, using a touch of super strength to break open the locked knob. No one had been hiding in there, luckily, so he swiftly changed into his Ally supported suit.

 

“What I wouldn’t do for nanotechnology and instant suits again,” he complained to her.

 

“All systems are at full operating power.”

 

“With enough dry ice, I’ll place every citizen in Gotham into a frozen state until the world is ready for them to be released,” Mister Freeze was back to monologuing.

 

“Honestly, being frozen sounds like the best nap of my life,” Peter commented, popping back up as Spider Man. 

 

Damian, Dick, and Tim were throwing food products at the man while the villian sprayed some sort of ice out of modifier flame throwers. 

 

Peter took a half second to appreciate the irony of flame throwers turned into ice throwers. 

 

Before he used an artificial web to swing into the fight, kicking Mister Freeze across his suited face.

 

“Batman defeated him originally with a can of soup! Break his stasis chamber and he freezes himself!” Tim called out.

 

“Righto, bust the suit, stop the villain,” Peter considered his options. He kind of wished he had the modified shotgun that the Joker had created, because that would’ve made this situation super simple. 

 

He ducked down next to Damian, spreading his body protectively over the boy’s as the ice flames went off overhead. He hissed through clenched teeth at the burning in his back. This was why he wasn’t even back to regular patrols as Spider Man yet, still too sensitive. 

 

“Use the salt,” Damian glared up at him. 

 

“In the wound?” Peter questioned. 

 

“No, to defeat the villain. Salt lowers the-“ 

 

“Freezing temperature! Brilliant Damian!” Peter cut in, understanding. 

 

“Understand that I am only staying back because I did not bring a costume to protect my identity,” Damian added. 

 

“It could be suspicious if we all just suddenly appeared. I’ll create a diversion,” Dick said, popping up next to Damian and Peter. 

 

The man did just that, using his flexibility to swing from the commercial lights right in close to Mister Freeze while avoiding the ice gun. 

 

Peter grabbed as much salt off the shelves as he could, sneaking up behind Mister Freeze. Just as he got close, his spider senses tingled, this time not for himself though. He saw the trajectory of the freeze gun versus Dick, and realized that Mister Freeze might actually get Dick this time. 

 

“NO!” He shouted, ripping the salt containers in half and flinging it onto the gun. 

 

At the same time, he jumped forward, putting all of his force behind his fist as it collided with the glass cover of Mister Freeze’s helmet. 

 

“Spider Man,” Mister Freeze said, even as his helmet cracked under the force of Peter going full strength. 

 

“Friendly neighborhood hero,” Peter chimed in. 

 

“The Rogues have our eyes on you. Just because you defeated the Joker, don’t think you are safe in Gotham,” Mister Freeze said before freezing over. 

 

Tim, Damian, and Dick came to stand next to Peter as they stared at the frozen supervillain. Peter turned first to Dick, checking him over for injuries from the freeze gun. 

 

“I’m fine, Spidey, a touch of minor frostbite on my arms that’s basically just going to be some irritated skin. The salt made the gun malfunction and saved me from anything serious,” Dick said. Peter let out a relieved sigh before looking at Tim, considering Mister Freeze’s words. 

 

“That was weird,” Peter said, “Red Hood mentioned the Rogues before.” 

 

“Batman’s main enemies. That was weird the way he said it though. The Rogues don’t work together, yet he worded it like they were a team,” Tim’s brain was blatantly working in over time. Peter didn’t like what he was implying, that with the loss of the Joker, something was changing in the underground of Gotham. 

 

“The city is already bad enough. Probably just poor wording on Ice Pop’s part,” Peter offered. 

 

“Ice Pop?” Damian questioned. 

 

“Names have power and all that. Don’t want him to think we were actually scared of him,” Peter replied. 

 

“We’ll catch up to you at the assigned meeting place. I’m thinking we’ll need to try a different grocery store,” Dick said with a hint of a smile, looking at the sea of products that covered the floor. 

 

Peter groaned, “I said we needed to be in and out.” 

 

OOOOO

 

It took well into January, but Peter finally felt up to going on patrol again. It was embarrassing to admit, but he’d been a liability before then. It wasn’t even his emotional state, it just took ages for his body to completely regrow his skin. Even after his skin had returned to a normal color and thickness, he’d then been hypersensitive about any touch. 

 

Not to mention the time it took to fix Ally. He groaned aloud at just the thought. 

 

Swinging on artificial webs, he took in Gotham. 

 

The city hadn’t changed much in the time he’d been down recovering. 

 

It was still a rat pit of crime and disease. Though, he now had a special intercom resting in his ear. 

 

“Spider, what’s your ETA?” Batman’s voice sounded. 

 

That had been a whole thing, with Batman wanting him to stay off of patrols for like six months while he underwent intensive training. Peter had scoffed and threatened to quit working at the manor. Bruce had scowled. Alfred had stepped in. Bruce didn’t like it, and had expressed himself numerous times, but Peter was out on patrol. 

 

“He’s on the corner of Fifth and Lincoln, moving quickly towards you,” Barbara’s voice sounded. 

 

“That’s creepy,” Peter added. 

 

“Get used to it, those intercoms have all kinds of special features,” Tim’s voice said then. 

 

“Right, tracking, communication, internet searching through voice controls. It’s obnoxious that I can’t just shut them off though when I need a break.”

 

“That’s because certain people have abused the privilege. Some of the earpieces do have the option to be muted or turned off and on, but you have to earn that privilege.”

 

“I was thinking if you let me have some time with them, I could definitely add some infrared scanning. Oh! And a-” Peter cut himself off as his vision caught on something in the distance. 

 

It couldn’t be. 

 

There was no way that Wade had actually found his way across dimensions. The man was a high level mercenary without the ability to die, not any sort of warlock or sorcerer or anything that would bring him across dimensions to Peter. 

 

And yet…

 

There was an incredibly familiar looking red and black costumed man standing. Or not really standing, more doing a combination of twerking and flossing. 

 

Either this dimension had it’s own Deadpool or Peter’s version had found his way to him. 

 

Peter took off, having to hit close to his limit of nearly 200 mile per hour. He didn’t even bother with his webs, running full bore toward the Deadpool. 

 

“Wow, Spidey is gone!” he heard distantly through the earpiece. Even though it was being broadcasted into his ear, he felt like he was hearing it through a bubble of water, so focused was he on reaching the impossibility before him. 

 

“He just hit 167 miles per hour! Did anyone know he could go that fast?” 

 

There was more talking in the earpiece but he completely ignored it as he narrowed in on Deadpool. 

 

Deadpool’s strangely expressive mask showed wide eyes and what seemed like a happy expression, arms spread wide as though for Peter to hug him. Peter skidded to a stop in front of Wade, hesitation hidden behind his own mask. 

 

“Baby Boy, I found you,” Wade said. 

 

Peter didn’t hesitate then, jumping into Wade’s waiting arms. Wade caught him with the ease of too much time spent training, patching each other up, and just being vigilantes together, Wade’s hands holding under Peter’s thighs. 

 

“Don’t call me that,” Peter grumbled under his breath while he attempted to squeeze the life out of Wade, unafraid of his superstrength when Wade was literally un-killable. 

 

“Petey-pie, spidey, Sweetums, Dear, I’ve been practicing,” Wade crooned. 

 

Peter was sure his disgusted face was visible even through the mask, “They just keep getting worse.” 

 

“Why would you complain about Baby Boy then?” 

 

“Cause I’m not just the baby,” Peter easily fell into the usual argument before he paused, realizing that voice didn’t come from Wade, remembering at the last second not to use their real names, “Daredevil?” 

 

Matt was standing slightly behind Wade, arms open same as Wade. Peter left Wade and jumped onto Matt, glomping him though not nearly as strongly as he had Wade, since Matt still had normal healing. He couldn’t see Matt’s face through the mask, but something in his posture seemed off. Eventually, Peter stood on his own feet in front of them. 

 

“Oh my god, it’s really you. You’re both really here. How did you find me? I thought I wouldn’t see you again in my lifetime,” Peter said rapidly, silly grin on his face. 

 

“I said I’d find you. Team Red together again, baby!” Wade pumped a fist in the air in celebration. “I’ll explain everything, how we got here, deets about back home, but first, I really need you to take this.”

 

He held out a glowing stone. 

 

“What? No, Deadpool, I’m not taking that, especially if it's what I think it is,” Peter said, taking a step back. 

 

“Yes, you need to take it,” Deadpool said, “Plot points, and all that. It’s not going to kill you. Your soul is wayyy purer than mine, and it hasn’t succeeded in killing me yet.” 

 

“I don’t want it,” Peter said, taking another step away from the soul stone. 

 

“That’s why you should take it. You don’t want its’ power, so it’ll be alright,” Wade argued, taking a step forward. 

 

He pulled off his mask with one smooth move, revealing that his already horribly disfigured skin was worse than ever, literally melting away, large patches of his skull showing, “It’s been trying to melt me into a pile of gunk, but my healing factor is sadly too strong. Now the “trying to sever my soul from said healing factor” would work entirely better at actually killing me off. Please take it, Peter.” 

 

Wade looked so uncharacteristically serious that Peter knew his resolve was never going to last. He wanted nothing to do with the soul stone, just as he hadn’t wanted to switch dimensions, but now it was here. Wade was very hard to kill, but that didn’t mean the infinity stone literally in charge of souls couldn’t actually kill him. Peter reached out a hand hesitantly. 

 

Voices in the earpiece were shouting something, but Peter had been ignoring them so far and simply continued to do so. 

 

His hand touched the soul stone, expecting a shock of electric or some other pulse, but there was only a gentle warmth. 

 

He grabbed the amber colored stone, taking it out of Wade’s hand. 

 

The warmth spread rapidly until it felt like his body was on fire. No, he realized, not his body. 

 

His soul.

 

That was the last thought he had before he passed out, a pulse of dark orange light flashing up through Gotham’s sky. 

 

As Peter collapsed, Wade and Matt both moving to catch him, the Bats arrived on the scene. 

Notes:

Thank you to everyone for all of the comments and kudos thus far!

I’ve got a lot going on in my life, all pretty much good, but it got to the point where I didn’t feel like I had the extra energy to reply to the comments on the previous chapter. They are greatly appreciated; I read through all of them! And you are always welcome to leave any kind of constructive criticism. No one insulted me or anything like that. I didn’t reply to the positive comments anymore than the negative ones. I did read all of the comments, just didn’t feel like I had the mental energy needed to enter into discourse over the previous chapter.  I just took a little break, and then came back with this chapter :) I felt with ending an arc and even giving you the interlude, it wouldn’t be a big deal to take three weeks off. Now though, I think you all would be highly upset if I didn’t post the next chapter quickly. It’s mostly written, so I’ll hopefully have it out shortly.

For the comments of people who said they found the story through TikTok, welcome! I don’t have TikTok so I don’t fully understand BookTok, especially since this isn’t a proper book. All that to say, I have some friends who have it and have been trying to explain that some people have been recommending my story there. Thank you!!! You are welcome to recommend it away, just don’t claim it as yours! Obviously I don’t own any of the characters, and even parts of the story were inspired by other works. I’ll let you guys know if I decide to get a TikTok, so if anyone claims to be Danny Shells on TikTok, they aren’t me.

 

Peter, getting comfortable around the Wayne’s: I swear I will make your brother turn this vehicle around

 

Tim: I’m older than you

 

Peter: godsdamnit Tim

 

Wade: obviously like melting from the Soul Stone: “Peter take this”

Peter: “sure I had a bad week, let me make another bad decision”

 

So were you guys expecting Matt to have gone with Wade? Team Red, reunited finally!

Trying to set up Arc 2 was kind of difficult, not going to lie. I kind of wanted to just immediately start with Deadpool and Daredevil, but I needed to set up a few things. Will I actually be writing out some scenes of Cass and Damian training Peter? Yes absolutely. I did decide to give you a cut scene though in order to get this chapter out to y’all sooner. Three weeks was plenty long enough to wait.

Also to clarify, there is no romance between Wade and Peter. I used canon nicknames that Wade has come up with, but they’re not from a place of weirdness. Wade does have a love interest eventually in this story, though it might not show up until Arc 3. See if you can guess that one ;) I’ll probably be posting the romance tag with the next chapter with Peter.

Chapter 22: Video Games

Summary:

Inside Peter’s brain, and then Peter wakes up.

Notes:

Ridiculously low levels of violence from Wade. He’s really trying not to harm Petey’s little friends.

Flirting with Peter. Skip the scene with Dick to avoid that.

Peter opened his eyes to two incredibly powerful and angry looking men. 

 

“Mr Fury, sir?” he asked, focusing on the one he’d at least known a tiny bit through the Avengers.

 

“It’s Director Fury, Parker,” Fury barked out, eyepatch neatly in place.

 

“Uhm, sorry, sir, I mean, Director, sir,” Peter stumbled over his words before staring at the red demon looking man sitting across from him.

 

“I was once known as Red Skull. Your Captain America fought and defeated me,” the noseless, red Voldemort spoke. 

 

“Sick, at least that’s a brag worthy defeat,” Peter said. 

 

“A defeat is a defeat. Focus boy,” Director Fury snapped.

 

“Not as much of a boy as the last time you saw him,” Red Skull murmured.

 

Director Fury paused, looking over Peter with those calculating eyes, “No, I suppose he’s not. Being thrust into a new dimension alone will do that. He’s more of a man than a boy at this point. All the more reason to allow him to keep the stone.” 

 

“He has not made the sacrifice,” Red Skull argued.

 

“What sacrifice?” Peter asked, fearing the answer.

 

“To give up your most loved one,” Red Skull said.

 

Director Fury snorted, “How has he not given up his most loved ones? Huh? Explain to me who he hasn’t lost?”

 

“There is the damaged one…” 

 

“Don’t get me wrong, Wilson is one of the most annoying men I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. I too am annoyed that we didn’t choose to separate his soul from his body and finally give him eternal rest. However! That doesn’t make the man Parker’s closest loved ones,” Director Fury argued.

 

“He didn’t choose to sacrifice anyone, even himself,” Red Skull countered.

 

“Yeah because no one has let me make my own choices! And guess what? I would NEVER have sacrificed someone I loved over myself! I would’ve died before letting Thanos snap Aunt May and Ned. And I don’t want your stupid power anyway, so just keep it! I just didn’t want you to kill Wade, because he’s not my closest loved one or whatever, but I do love him and his stupid jokes and stupid personality and he’s at least someone from home! So there!” Peter finished his tirade, breathing heavily. 

 

Director Fury and Red Skull seemed to have a silent conversation. Peter wasn’t sure what was being decided, because the two spirit men had the best poker faces he’d ever had to face before. Suddenly, he was more thankful for low level villains who just broadcast all of their emotions. 

 

“You’re lucky for the universe you were dropped in. Gotham is hard, but you’re probably harder. There’s some sort of game system, you won’t have heard of it before, it’s not in your universe. Called the PlayStation. You need the second one. There’s a game for it, Kingdom Hearts. You need to play that. No one will be able to talk to you for a while. You need to get stronger. Find your little friends and do training with your bats, understand?” Director Fury barked the orders like he was talking to one of his soldiers.

 

Peter felt like he should salute or something, but he’d never figured out all of the rules of when that was appropriate or how to hold his hand, “Uhm yes sir, but also no sir, because I’m confused.”

 

“Best of luck to you Parker, you need it,” the director said, the red wraith to him getting blurry around the edges as they both faded out. 

 

OOOO

Tucked close to the cape of his father, Damian perched on the ledge of the rooftop. 

 

It was Peter’s first night back on patrol since the incident with the Joker, and most of the family was out to support him. Cass, Steph, Duke, and Alfred were back at the manor, hopefully sleeping in preparation for their shift the following day or night. Tim and Babs were working the computers together because of Tim’s broken arm. Damian would never have admitted it, but there was comfort in knowing so many of his comrades were out watching each other's backs. 

 

It should’ve been an easy night. Damian was looking forward to punching some low level villain in the face and sneering in the face of others. 

 

Right up until Peter took off running. 

 

It was a strange sight. 

 

In the months of Peter working for them, and seeing him on patrol as Spider Man, Damian couldn’t remember seeing him run. 

 

Which was honestly a bit of a shame because Peter was fast, probably as fast as Superman, though not as fast as one of the speedsters. 

 

Then he saw the way that the random suited man was holding Peter, and the man’s words registered in his mind. 

 

“Baby boy?” Damian mouthed to himself, face in a scowl as he and the other bats moved towards Peter as quickly as possible. 

 

“Spider, who is this?” Bruce demanded on the comms. 

 

Peter seemed to be ignoring them. 

 

Then the following nicknames were utterly disgusting, and Damian found his face twisting in anger and disgust. 

 

“He just said the other one is called Daredevil. Anyone know anything about him?” Dick asked. 

 

The sound of typing filled the comms before Tim answered, “Search is too broad. Nothing on a vigilante, villain, or hero Daredevil, but there are plenty of generic results of people doing stupid stuff.” 

 

“Uhm guys, he’s telling Spider to take something that Peter’s saying he doesn’t want,” Babs voice interjected. 

 

“Spider Man, do not take that! Spider Man!” Bruce yelled into the comms, right as they were scaling the wall, grappling hooks helping pull them up. 

 

Damian had never tried to fool himself into thinking of himself as calm and collected. He was thankful for that as he prepared to mortally wound the scourge who had kidnapped his butler.

 

“Put him down!” he yelled as the tall red suited men scooped Peter up as he collapsed.

 

Red flickered on the edges of his vision, and he prepared himself to fully unleash on them.

 

Damian had heard the nicknames that the apparent Wade had so casually slandered Peter with. Names entirely too personal as far as Damian was concerned. 

 

“Look! A pet sized bat!” the taller one fairly squealed, pointing at him. Damian was fairly certain that this was Wade, the ex. He’d thought maybe the man wouldn’t be too old, but, even with his face all messed up, his voice sounded like a full grown man, nothing close to Peter’s age. His face actually made him look like an alien, with no hair and strange lumpy skin. Damian realized suddenly that Peter’s molting might have been closer to his true appearance than any of the family had realized. Despite that, Wade looked worse than just being an alien, with parts of his face looking like they had melted off. 

 

Damian hated him already.

 

“Release Spider Man,” Batman demanded, voice low and gravely, anger making it sound tight.

 

“ H ey, Brucie dear, the Bat theme always suits you so well ! ” Deadpool singsonged, adjusting his hold on the completely lax superhero, “Speaking of Peter though, what have you all been feeding him? He’s taller than last time I saw him!”

 

“So these are the bats you’ve been talking about?” Daredevil said mildly, not even bothering to look at each of them, masked face just drifting over the collective group, not looking bothered that the bats nearly had the two men circled. 

 

Damian could feel from his position next to his father how Bruce had frozen next to him, not in fear, but aggravation. This strange alien was aware of at least Bruce’s identity. 

 

“What did You do to him?!” Jason demanded. 

 

“Just gave him a little power boost,” Wade said happily, taking a step away from the bats, not like he was running away, but as though he was simply done with the conversation and ready to leave.

 

“Give him back!” Damian made his own demands.

 

“No can do, short stuff. Gotta keep an eye and make sure he’s alright. We’ll just have a little sleepover. Had plenty of those before,” Wade said.

 

And the thought of this alien who had so little respect for Peter’s person, who had convinced him to take something that had been harming Wade and made Peter pass out, so casually saying he would take Peter back for a “sleepover” was too much for Damian. The rage snapped over him completely like a rubber band pulled too tight. 

 

He darted forward, pulling out a large knife, and took a swipe at Deadpool. 

 

It may have been a combination of the older man not having expected such a violent approach right away and moving himself to protect Peter, but Damian’s blade struck true. Wade had tossed Peter’s body to Matt, who caught him with a grunt. Wade didn’t even seem to fight the blade, allowing Damian to cut his arm off above the wrist. Damian did feel a touch of surprise that Wade had protected Peter instead of using him as a human shield. 

 

“Aww shucks, this is going to take ages to grow back. Brucie, baby, please control your youngest,” Wade said.

 

Damian didn’t need to look at his siblings to feel their shock and anger. Not only did Wade know of Bruce’s identity, but he had some understanding of the family dynamics. 

 

“Spider Man has been talking to you about us?” Dick asked.

 

“Of course not. You think he even figures out enough to share with other people?” the other red suited man spoke up then, voice nearly as deep as Bruce’s. 

 

The man had them there; for Peter being a literal genius on level with Tim, he wasn’t necessarily good at figuring out secret identities and the like. 

 

“I know a lot from my own sources. Petey-pie hasn’t revealed a word to us,” Wade tacked on. “Daredevil, don’t kill any of them.”

 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Deep voice complained.

 

“Baby boy is attached to them,” Wade sighed.

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time we killed someone he told us not to,” Daredevil said, one arm holding Peter in a fireman’s hood across his shoulders, the other having pulled out a red baton weapon. 

 

“He’s already ticked at us,” Deadpool laughed, “like super dooper mad. We should probably suck up just a tiny bit.”

 

“We’ll see how much they piss me off,” was the final retort before the fight officially began. 

 

Daredevil moved at the same time as Wade, though with different styles. 

 

Even with Peter slung across his back, Daredevil was dangerously effective, aiming to disable the bats with a single move. It didn’t work, because they were definitely highly trained professionals. It was close though, Daredevil had to have been close to the same fighting experience as any of the younger bats, possibly even Bruce. He also seemed to have a strange ability to almost sense their next move. 

 

Wade, on the other hand, kept up an annoying commentary throughout the entire fight, giving the general appearance that he wasn’t even taking it seriously. 

 

No matter where he was punched, hit, or cut, he didn’t seem particularly bothered. 

 

“Motherfucker, you put holes in my suit,” he complained as Jason shot him in the abdomen, once per gun. 

 

“Won’t need the suit when you’re dead,” Jason retorted. 

 

“I’d really rather not be naked even in death, so technically I will need the suit. If you wanted to see my hole, you could’ve just asked nicely, not created new ones!” 

 

“Hold Peter!” Daredevil called, tossing Peter threw the air before hooking a leg around Bruce’s and dragging them to the ground. 

 

“Baby boy! I’ve got you!” Wade called, catching the unconscious body. 

 

“Stop calling him that!” Damian called out. 

 

“I don’t understand why we can’t just talk this out? I get that we can’t settle it over beers with most of you being just babies yourselves. OOOOhhh, how about a good old arm wrestling match over our favorite Spidey?” 

 

“He’s not a trophy to be won,” Jason snarled. 

 

“Devil, take him back, I’m pulling out the swords,” Wade kind of handed Peter over, drawing out his two samurai swords and deflecting Jason’s next bullet. 

 

“Impressive,” Jason admitted, voice still angry. 

 

Daredevil didn’t bother with any witty comments, running to the edge of the building and down off of it, holding onto Peter and the fire escape. Wade followed him, not bothering with the fire escape and landing several stories down with a smash onto a car. Damian wanted to wince at the sound Wade’s body made. 

 

“Shoot out the lights,” Daredevil’s voice called. 

 

“On it,” Wade replied, so he apparently wasn’t dead yet. 

 

The lights exploded. With no moon, not to mention heavy clouds, it suddenly got very dark. 

 

“He’s going into the factory directly ahead with Spider!” Oracle called out, clearly following Peter’s tracking device. 

 

Inside the factory was even darker than the street, but Damian had clicked on his night vision built into the domino mask, wishing they’d had time for Peter to install the infrared vision he’d mentioned. 

 

Daredevil must’ve had his own form of night vision built in, because he was an absolute menace in the dark factory. Damian stayed away from where Jason, Dick, and Bruce were all trying to retrieve Peter from Daredevil. Damian was hunting Peter’s ex. 

 

He didn’t bother to quiet his steps as he approached Wade, who watched him with a curious expression. 

 

“So is that considered like a kilt? The little piece that hangs down like a skirt? I have to say, such an improvement over the bikini bottoms of your predecessors. A bit much for a preteen boy, don’t you think?” 

 

“What did Peter ever see in you?” Damian complained, not expecting the way Wade would completely still.

 

“Stop, rewind, repeat that for me again, oh baby bat,” Wade held up one hand.

 

“Why would Peter have ever dated you? And why would he have stayed with everything you did to him?” Damian demanded. 

 

Wade looked horrified. 

 

“Daredevil, give them Petey,” he said, finally.

 

“After all that work?” the other red suit asked, landing a solid kick on Jason’s mask that must’ve rattled his brains even through the padding based on the sounds of Jason’s cursing. 

 

“Yeah, we’ll regroup with him later. Time for us to leave,” Wade’s voice sounded funny, less like the teasing commentary he’d offered thus far. 

 

Daredevil sighed but threw Peter towards Jason and Dick. Dick caught him. 

 

“Fuck that shit,” Jason said, shooting several more rounds into Wade as the man turned to leave. 

 

“Red Hood, stop!” Bruce demanded, but it was probably too late. 

 

Wade crumpled, Daredevil carrying him out with a curse. 

 

Damian didn’t want to admit it, but it was a good thing that Wade and Daredevil had called the fight. For there only being two of them, they had put up a solid fight against the Bats on patrol. And the two of them had clarified that they weren’t trying to kill any of them. 

 

OOOO

 

“How’s our favorite apprentice butler?” Dick’s voice cut through the fog of Peter’s head. 

 

“S’fine,” Peter muttered back, throat dry. Dick must have understood, because a cup was pressed into his hand, Peter taking a sip of ice water before he’d even tried to open his eyes. 

 

“Shit, Damian’s gonna be mad he wasn’t here when you woke up. I literally just got him to leave,” Dick said, running a hand through his hair while Peter blinked up at him from the hospital bed. 

 

“He needs sleep,” Peter said automatically, frowning at the sight before him, realizing he must’ve been out longer than he’d thought. 

 

The normally nearly perfect oldest said of the Wayne family looked rough. Dark eye bags to mirror Tim’s, a layer of stubble on his chin. Not to mention the use of a curse word. 

 

“Were you worried?” Peter asked, before blushing at realizing what he was asking, entirely too personal. Dick didn’t look startled but his face softened slightly, a haunted look crossing his eyes. 

 

“Terrified every time I walked into the med bay. You looked dead laying there. Most of the time I couldn’t even tell that you were breathing,” Dick whispered, blatant honesty in his voice. 

 

“I was fine, just adjusting,” Peter said. 

 

“But you looked dead,” Dick argued.

 

There was quiet for a moment before a thought crossed Peter’s head. He was too tired and sleepy to rethink it. 

 

“Here, let me see your hand. You know how to find a pulse, right?” Peter questioned.

 

“Practically a requirement in field work,” Dick said, holding out his hand, and letting Peter move the hand until it encircled Peter’s wrist. Dick’s pointer and middle finger tightened lightly on the wrist, pressing enough to feel the strong beat of Peter’s pulse.

 

Peter swallowed, brown eyes meeting Dick’s worried blue ones, watching the worry slowly fading as Dick felt his pulse, “Next time you’re worried, you can just feel my pulse.” 

 

“I’m going to take you up on that. You’ll be annoyed with how often I get worried,” Dick whispered back. 

 

“Maybe it’ll help me to calm down too,” Peter admitted softly.

 

Peter noticed how Dick continued to hold on to his wrist, calloused hands starting to gently rub circles. He shivered once at the feeling, instantly regretting it as it seemed to remind Dick of where he was.

 

“Where are Wade and Matt?” Peter asked before things could get awkward.

 

Dick’s hand tightened momentarily around Peter’s wrist, a squeeze not of reassurance, but a quiet anger. Peter furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. 

 

“They got away, but we’ll capture them. Peter, you need to know that we can’t be certain that Wade survived. Jason and Damian were especially violent,” Dick said slowly and cautiously. 

 

“I have to find them and figure out what’s going on. Where’s Aunt May?” 

 

“Peter, Damian cut off Wade’s arm. Jason shot him repeatedly. I’m really not sure if he will have survived all the injuries,” Dick repeated himself.

 

Peter’s wide eyes swung to Dick before relief crossed his face, “Oh I haven’t explained anything to you guys. My bad. Wade’s healing factor is incredibly more powerful than mine. He can’t be killed. Or he can die, but he just comes back.”

 

Dick blinked.

 

“Excuse me?” He finally settled on. 

 

“Yeah, it’s a blessing and a curse. You don’t have to worry that he’s like really dead though. Which is almost funny, cause you guys have your Zombie Jason and I have Zombie Wade, and I’d never thought it like that before,” Peter was rambling slightly, he knew. 

 

“I should update the others, and send Damian back in,” Dick muttered. 

 

“Wait!” Peter called out as Dick started to walk out of the room, knowing that when he left, Peter would have to face reality. Going to find Wade, hearing what happened back home, even dealing with Alfred and Damian’s worry. He tried to come up with a reason for Dick to stay with him.

 

“Yes?” Dick asked, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Uhm, I want to see your car!” even as Peter blurted it out, he realized it was true. He hadn’t taken the time in the month since he’d found out about the Wayne’s also being the Bats to go to the garage and look at the cars now that he understood why Dick’s car had clamps to change the body on it. Dick had spent a lot of time working in Bludhaven as a detective and it had seemed like there was always something to do. 

 

“My car?”

 

“Yeah! I understand the body clamps now! I want to see it in action, with you switching out your daytime car for the Nightbird!” Peter said rapidly, realizing it wasn’t just an excuse, starting to push himself up off the bed. The world spinned for a second, probably just from laying so long, but Dick already had his hands on Peter’s shoulders by the time his head had cleared.

 

“Woah! That sounds fine, but I can’t just let you walk all the way to the garage. Alfred and Damian would both have my head,” Dick said.

 

Peter glared at him, “Well, I’m going and it’s not your responsibility to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

 

“I can’t even tell you what not to do with my car?” Dick smirked slightly but almost immediately continued talking, “No worries, I’ll just carry you there.”

 

“No! I’m fine, I don’t need carried again!” Peter has been carried by Dick two times but he’d been nearly unconscious both times and didn’t need a repeat when he felt fine.

 

Dick didn’t try to pick him up though, turning his back to Peter and crouching down, looking over his shoulder to say, “Piggie back, come on, it’ll be fun! We can go down the stairs the way I usually do!”

 

Peter hesitated thinking it through, “You know, I can go down the stairs the same way you do, right?”

 

“Oh, you could definitely keep up with me,” Dick said, and it had to have just been referring to the acrobatics, but Peter had to fight to keep a blush down.

 

“Alright, I guess, though I’m not sure how you jumping off the stairs with me on your back is any better for my recovery than me just walking down the stairs,” Peter finally conceded, climbing onto Dick’s back. 

 

Then Dick was standing up, hands under Peter’s thighs to hold him there, Peter’s arms wrapped loosely around Dick’s shoulders. 

 

Peter swallowed. 

 

With the added molting height, Peter stood his own against practically anyone in the Wayne household now, but he was still lean. Incredible abs, not much in the way of bulky arms despite the fact he could absolutely outlift any of the Waynes. 

 

Dick seemed to be the opposite, bulk all around. Laying on Dick’s shoulders only emphasizing how broad they were. 

 

There were only so many people who could fill in for Batman after all, and it wasn’t just in the physical feats of Batman. There was a certain physique needed, and Dick was one of the few who could fill that. 

 

At least then Dick was jumping off of the stairwell, and considerations of his body mainly left Peter’s immediate brain functions. 

 

There was no fear. Peter wasn’t injured, and he could have absolutely saved himself and Dick. There was no need though. 

 

Dick easily grabbed the chandelier, both hands leaving Peter to grab it. He swung them back and forth before letting go, flipping them three times before landing  a level below. 

 

Peter nearly screamed with delight before remembering that it was night, settling for laughing. 

 

Dick laughed beneath him, clearly enjoying himself as well. 

 

“I’m not used to people not being scared by that,” Dick admitted. 

 

“Do you take people down the staircase on your back while doing flips often?” Peter questioned. 

 

“It would probably sound bad if I said yes,” Dick said, turning to grin at Peter over his shoulder, “So just pretend like you’re the only one.” 

 

Peter laughed again, feeling lighthearted for a moment, purposefully pushing away the realities that he really needed to face. 

 

“He is definitely the first one not to scream,” Alfred’s voice cut in. 

 

Peter had only enough warning that Alfred had been approaching from his spider senses to not jump. He hadn’t been paying attention to them as he should, too focused on other things. 

 

“Alfred!” He called out, jumping off of Dick’s back and moving to hug Alfred without thinking. 

 

The older butler hugged him back. 

 

“You worried the family, Mister Parker,” Alfred scolded him gently. 

 

“Sorry,” Peter rubbed his head as he stepped back, offering a sheepish grin, “I just needed to help Wade. I was worried the stone would actually manage to kill him.” 

 

“And then immediately letting Dick take you on adventures? How do you know you are up to that?”

 

“I’m fine. I’m pretty positive they decided not to give me the super special powers anyway. I need to find Tim though,” Peter said. 

 

“Tim?” Dick questioned. 

 

“Yeah, I think I was ordered to take a side quest, and I need to borrow his brains,” Peter said, already moving towards Tim’s room. 

 

“Ordered by who? What powers are you referring to?” Alfred asked, following Peter. 

 

“The demon in the stone, with Director Fury sir,” Peter rambled, getting to Tim’s door and knocking. 

 

Tim pulled the door open with a scowl, bags as deep as ever under his eyes, “Parker, you’re awake then?” 

 

“I’ve been demoted to Parker?” Peter asked. 

 

“Yes, for doing stupid things. To think I thought our brains might have one day complimented each other,” Tim sniffed. 

 

Peter contemplated rolling his eyes, but refrained, “Listen, I need your assistance. You’re like the smartest guy around.” 

 

“Flattery will get you no where-“ 

 

“Which is why I’ll let you be the first one to know what’s going on with me, like with the stone I grabbed from Wade. Don’t you want to have all that knowledge?” 

 

Tim’s eyes narrowed as he considered. Alfred was looking on with disapproval, while Dick had his arms crossed. 

 

Damian popped out of an air vent, “I thought I heard voices.” 

 

“Did no one in this house sleep while I was unconscious?” Peter threw his hands in the air at the sight of Damian’s own exhausted face looking back at him, “How long was I asleep anyway?”

 

“35.5 hours,” Alfred replied. 

 

“Dang, I would’ve guessed like an hour,” Peter made a face. 

 

“What do you need to figure out about the stone?” Tim finally said. 

 

“I just need some sort of gaming system called a PlayStation 2 and some game called Kingdom Hearts. The leaders inside the stone told me that would help me to understand what was happening,” Peter said, “Then I have to find Wade and Matt and find out what happened back home. Unless anyone has a lead on where they’re at?”

 

“Dead in a ditch,” Damian offered.

 

Peter did roll his eyes then. 

 

OOOOO

 

He didn’t know exactly what went down after he’d grabbed the Soul Stone, but Dick had given him enough information to know that a fight must’ve gone down between the Bats and Team Red. He doubted the Bats would be too thrilled with him leaving the manor to go find Wade and Matt, and he was entirely correct. 

 

Leaving to even go acquire the PlayStation was denied to him, though Tim managed to locate one and have it sent to the manor within an hour. 

 

“So it’s just a gaming system?” Peter asked, turning the device over in his hands. 

 

“You have Nintendo where you come from, but no PlayStation?” Tim asked, “Because it’s not like you just didn’t have one, it’s more like you’ve never even heard of it before.” 

 

Peter grimaced, annoyed at himself for having revealed that much. But after Wade and Matt had shown up, how much was he really hiding anyways? 

 

Damian was curled up on Tim’s bean bag chair, sure to be booted when Tim finally noticed. 

 

Alfred had gone to inform Jason that Peter was awake and feeling fine, while Dick told Bruce. Duke, Cass, and Stephanie were on patrol, though Dick assured him before he left that all three had visited him in the med room while he was unconscious. 

 

Tim and Peter sat on the carpeted floor in front of the TV as they hooked up the game system. 

 

It took them 17 straight hours of playing to finish the game, Damian staying with them the entire time. The rest of the Wayne’s visited at some point during the game marathon, but Peter wasn’t embarrassed to admit it kind of faded to the background. Alfred managed to get them to eat some while they played, and switched out players while the other used the restroom. 

 

Duke’s visit had been enlightening. 

 

“Did they tell you that you’re haunted now?” Duke said immediately as he walked into Tim’s room. 

 

“I think I just had a stroke. What did you say?” Peter paused the game and turned on his spot to look Duke in the eyes. 

 

“I can see impressions due to light currents. There are so many ghosts with you ever since you touched that stone. I’ve never seen so many with one person before,” Duke explained. 

 

Peter closed his eyes. He thought about asking what the “ghosts” looked like, but decided he didn’t want to know until he’d finished the game and talked to Wade. Or Matt, whoever he caught first. 

 

Finally, the end credits rolled. Peter laid on his back on the carpet; Tim mirroring him next.

 

“So you’re from a different planet that’s kind of a different dimension?” Tim said when the quiet had apparently gone on too long. 

 

“Different dimension is a good way to put it,” Peter admitted. 

 

“And your dimension planet was consumed?” Tim asked. 

 

“I need to find Wade and Matt,” Peter felt restless, “When I left, it hadn’t been yet. And Thanos’ goal wasn’t really to destroy the entire planet, just wipe out half the population. They sent me away to protect me before it happened.” 

 

Tim offered him an uncharacteristically soft look, “But it could’ve been after you left?” 

 

“Maybe,” Peter conceded. 

 

“But the strongest of your world, the so-called heroes, might be stored inside the stone that seems to have fused with the skin on your chest, if the soul stone is working like the premise of Kingdom Hearts?” Tim clarified. 

 

Peter pulled up his shirt again to look at the soul stone softly glowing from where it did appear to have merged with his skin. He pushed down any comparisons his mind wanted to make with Tony’s arc reactor. He settled on saying, “Posssibly.” 

 

There was quiet again. 

 

Finally, Damian spoke up, “We will find your not dead ex and sacrifice him to Richard’s gods after we have wrung all information from him.” 

 

“What did you just say?” Peter gaped at Damian. 

 

“B probably won’t let us sacrifice him, and you said he can’t really die anyway,” Tim complained. 

 

Peter shook his head, making a circle with his hand, “No, not the sacrificing part. Go back, you called him my ex?” 

 

“Yes, Wade is your abusive ex,” Damian announced. 

 

Peter started laughing. It sounded hysterical even as he laughed so hard that he laid his head down on his knees. 

 

Tim and Damian shared a slightly concerned look. 

 

“Wade isn’t my ex. He would NEVER have even considered such a thing because of the age gap between us. He would have literally rather locked himself up in prison. He’s super inappropriate but nothing real,” Peter finally managed to get out through his laughter. 

 

“Ah, perhaps that is why he responded to the accusation in such a way,” Damian thought. 

 

Peter started laughing all over again, “You said that to his face!” 

 

“Regardless of his status in your life, you’re right. We need to find him and more information,” Tim said. 

 

“Agreed. Now to find Deadpool and Daredevil after being unleashed unsupervised for over two days in Gotham,” Peter felt a bit sick at the very idea. 

Notes:

First, I’ve said it before, but thank you for blowing this up!! You guys are the best! Most comments ever on a single chapter on chapter 21! It was crazy! They just kept rolling in.

Yep, going with Dick/Peter. I completely understand that makes some people uncomfortable. Nothing sexual will be happening while Peter is underaged, and I’m not planning on including anything like that in the story regardless. The romance is really meant to be more of a secondary element anyway. A few things to keep in mind; not only has Peter lied about his age, but the Bats are also under the impression that Peter is a type of alien dude. They believed that Peter lied about being 19, but they also are now considering that maybe he just ages differently than a human. So he lied to say that he was 19, but maybe he’s the equivalent of 19 within his race.

Will that eventually be revealed? Of course. Is it going to be a big issue with Dick/conflict? What do you think?

I really hope this isn’t something that turns a lot of people away from the story, but it is the route I decided to go with. Hoping you can continue with the story even if you don’t care for the pairing.

Besides that, things are starting to be revealed, though there’s still plenty to find out. What happened back in the Marvel world? Did it go the same way it had in the original timeline? Remember the ripple effects.

If you have never played Kingdom Hearts, you definitely should. However! Don’t worry, I will be explaining more of the game in the future. I tried to put it in super simple terms that really summed up Peter’s situation, not the game anyway.

Chapter 23: Hugo Strange

Summary:

Peter goes hunting for Deadpool and Daredevil while Hugo Strange is on the loose!

Notes:

Trigger warnings:

Discussions of the snap and the end of a dimension.

 

Also! Thank you for over 80,000 hits and 4,000 kudos!! Y’all are incredible and that means so much! We hit over 100k words on this chapter, and I’m really hopeful that we might hit 1k in bookmarks!! Sorry for the almost three week long break again, but here we go!

“So Peter is from another world and now haunted?” Duke gaped across the table, spoonful of yogurt forgotten as he took in the newest information Tim revealed.

 

“Keep up, Duke, we’ve suspected he was an alien for months,” Tim said, closing Duke’s mouth with a finger. Steph shaking her head from next to them.

 

“Wait, what do you mean haunted?” Peter asked.

 

“I can see ghosts, my dude, and you have so many of them around you it isn’t even funny,” Duke said, still gaping at Peter.

 

Peter considered. That was a little creepy but probably a side effect of the soul stone. Them thinking he was an alien was easier than explaining the radioactive spider stuff. Plus, he hadn’t neglected to notice that, while they now trusted him much more, they still hadn't revealed all of their secrets to him. He might know their secret identities, but there were a lot of missing pieces. For example, he didn’t know where Bruce kept his Batmobile or bat themed weapons, because they weren’t in any of the rooms he was allowed in. 

 

“More of like from another dimension,” Peter tried to balance his explanation, “sort of like Stargate.”

 

“The movie?” Bruce asked.

 

“You’ve watched it, old man?” Jason questioned in disbelief as he leaned back, chair on only two legs while he ate his breakfast bagel.

 

Bruce looked affronted, “I sometimes put on action movies while I go through my exercises. I try to stay up to date on culture.”

 

“Culture? B, you’re wearing a three piece suit to breakfast after patrolling all night,” Steph added, Peter noticed the same quiet exhaustion on her face that he saw in all the gathered Bats. The time since Wade and Matt had been unleashed had been stressful on the Wayne’s. 

 

Bruce’s affronted look grew stronger, “Again with the suit slander?”

 

“Still look like a mob leader, boss man,” Peter said, with a thumbs up, “But it’s cool! Makes you look all professional and stuff.”

 

Damian had attempted to trip him into a chair while he was serving, so Peter was leaning against Damian’s chair instead of standing properly against the wall as a Butler should. 

 

“Focus,” Dick commanded, not harshly, but like he was trying to bring the conversation back on topic. It seemed like he had slipped into his Nightwing persona instead of his normal happy-go-lucky golden retriever self.

 

“Right, uh, how to word this? So my dimension was facing what looked like the end. Thanos, the titan was coming to snap away half of existence,” Peter started.

 

“A titan?” Tim cut in, not having heard the name before.

 

“Yeah, giant purple alien,” Peter said.

 

Duke whistled, “Just so you’re aware, the Titans of this world are nothing like yours.”

 

“Well, some are aliens,” Dick countered.

 

“Are they purple?” 

 

“Noted. Titans exist, but they aren’t Thanos,” Peter cut in, “So we were getting ready for the final showdown, I’d guess it would be the final showdown anyway. I’d been training like it was boss level stuff, when, Mr Strange, our wizard dude.”

 

Here he paused to judge how they seemed about the word wizard.

 

“We too have a wizard,” Bruce said.

 

“Ok cool, I gotta remember that! So because I was the youngest one there, Mr Strange decided to send me to a different universe as a protection thing which was stupid because I’d already been fighting with Mr Stark for like three years at that point. But I guess it didn’t look good in the battle when he looked at the future so he decided I’d have better chances staying here until it was over,” Peter said, “But there was a plan! They were gonna come get me after they won! Cause it was all of Earth’s mightiest heroes and even some aliens, so they couldn’t have lost.”

 

“Peter,” Stephanie cut in softly. 

 

Peter continued on, voice getting faster, not letting it sink in to himself what was going on, “They were all going to come bring me home. Which is why it’s not really good that it’s just Deadpool and Daredevil, but I am kind of closest to them so they maybe just volunteered to get me. Everyone else is probably just busy on cleanup duty. So I have to find my idiots and see what they’re up to, because I definitely shouldn’t have left them unsupervised in Gotham.”

 

“Peter, I think-“ 

 

But Peter was gone, moving so quickly he was a literal blur, gone from the room.

 

“We misjudged that situation,” Stephanie commented.

 

Tim looked at Damian’s scowl, “Did you want to be called his idiot?”

 

“Of course not, but I do not believe the idiots referenced should be classified as his,” Damian retorted, looking affronted at the thought, though he’d definitely just been scowling over Peter’s word choice. 

 

“Dick, Jason, Damian, follow him,” Bruce commanded. The three immediately leave, Jason pulling his mechanical helmet over his head on the way. 

 

“On it,” Dick said through the earpiece that Bruce had set to just announce into the room, reminding them that the three could still listen in while Peter did not currently have an earpiece in. 

 

“You’re not going with them?” Duke asked, “or sending one of us to help? Seemed like Peter’s on the edge of a breakdown.”

 

“Dick and Jason can handle a situation as well as me. In fact, from what we’ve seen of these new individuals so far in Gotham, Dick and Jason would perhaps hold their calm better than I would. If they are important to Peter, we should at least get more information before locking them up in Arkham. Plus, I do think those three might be better for Peter’s emotional state,” Bruce mused.

 

“And you’re going to follow behind?” Oracle’s voice sounded over the intercom, Alfred nodding from where he stood against the wall. 

 

“I’m going to follow behind,” Bruce was already pulling his cowl on, standing up from his seat, “I’ve called in reinforcements as well, though I’m not sure when they may arrive.” 

 

“Tell us more about what’s going on, Tim, you definitely understand more than just what Peter was able to get through before having a breakdown,” Stephanie leaned closer to Tim. 

 

Tim ran fingers through his black hair while he leaned back in the chair, gathering himself to try to explain more, “Peter said he’d been told by the stone that Deadpool gave him that he needed to play a game called Kingdom Hearts.”

 

“What’s the connection with that? Why would he do that before even going to find them?”

 

“I’m thinking maybe a mild compulsion from the stone? Like it was projecting this need straight into his brain to play the game,” Tim hypothesized, “Irregardless, the general concept is that a boy is sent to different worlds to protect them after his world is consumed by darkness.”

 

“Bit on the nose there,” Duke said.

 

“Yeah, kind of,” Tim agreed, “I mean, some parts were just silly with the story actually including some major Disney characters like Donald and Goofy, but the overall premise seems to line up entirely too closely. It’s like Peter’s been sent out as a champion.”

 

“A champion? Does that mean his purple alien is on his way to our world?” Duke asked.

 

“What does that mean for his world? Did the boy in the game save his own people?” Cass asked quietly.

 

Tim was quiet for too long. Finally he said, “I don’t have all the answers. The boy managed to save a few people, but not all of them or even the actual world.”

 

The quiet felt like a blanket over them.

 

“There’s also the fact that I really need to analyze what the stone is doing to him. In the game, there was a sword that seemed to be the equivalent of that stone. It gave Sora, the main character, the ability to call back some of the strong heroes who had been consumed by the darkness,” Tim said, then paused, “I swear this is one of the craziest phrases I’ve had to say with some level of seriousness.”

 

“Try to get Spider back to homebase without setting off potential crazy new powers. Got it,” Jason replied. 

 

“I had a tracking device sewed into his pants. He will probably notice it before too long, but it does give you a lead way,” Alfred spoke up then. 

 

OOOOOO

 

“If I were two slightly homicidal anti-heroes dropped in a dangerous city, where would I be?” Peter questioned himself.

 

An explosion rocked the building Peter was perched on, a giant plume of black smoke rising a few blocks over.

 

Peter sighed, “Yep that lines up.”

 

Moving swiftly on his webs, Peter headed towards the screaming. 

 

The nice thing about bright red suits was the way they stuck out during the daytime hours. 

 

Peter spotted Matt and Wade at the same time that Matt spotted him, nudging Wade and pointing towards Peter. 

 

Wade started running towards Peter with his arms open, one hand ridiculously small from where Damian had cut it off, “Baby boy!” 

 

“Deadpool!”

 

Deadpool’s mask eyes widened significantly, “Sugarplum?” 

 

“You are so dead!” Peter yelled back.

 

Wade skidded to a stop, taking in Peter’s anger even through Peter’s Spider Man mask. He started backpedaling, trying to get away. 

 

Matt snorted, “I think he’s mad at us.” 

 

Peter had already reached Wade, and grabbed the taller man by his ear, pulling him down on level with himself. He moved quickly, grabbing Matt by his ear in the same move, knowing that Matt’s reflexes were just as good as his own. 

 

He took in the fact that he was now the same height as Matt while  Wade was barely taller instead of towering over him. In that moment, he felt slight vindication for his molt and the advantage it gave him. 

 

“You’re taller,” Matt complained, hand coming up to grab at his ear while his face twisted slightly in pain. Peter was using quite a bit of his superstrength while pulling on their ears. 

 

“Result of torture. What were you two thinking?” Peter demanded. 

 

“I should be forgiven because I see nothing wrong with what has happened. I didn’t even ask to dimension hop with Deadpool,” Matt stated, more in his lawyer voice than anything. 

 

“We’re going back to the torture comment in a second, but relax baby boy, we didn’t even cause the explosion,” Wade tried smoothing things over while bent over grabbing at his ear. 

 

Another explosion went off behind Peter, who simply raised his eyebrows. 

 

“I think that one was actually us,” Matt said. 

 

Wade shrugged, “Yeah, yeah, I think when I shot and it sparked that fire, the fire may have just reached the barrels of fuel. But we really didn’t start this!” 

 

Peter twisted his hand one last time, before letting them go, “What’s going on then?” 

 

“Three hulk style things came barrelling into the city supposedly lead by some other dude named Strange who isn’t this world’s Doctor Strange,” Matt recapped quickly. 

 

“Hulk things?” Peter started to ask, before said creatures made their own appearance 

 

About 15 feet tall, vaguely humanoid, all aggression. 

 

“Normal method, take them out at the knees and go from there?” Peter clarified. He took Matt just jumping in and going for the knees as agreement, but Wade laid a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Wait, we gotta talk about something first, Spidey,” Wade sounded so serious it was like he wasn’t Wade at all. 

 

“Huh?” Peter asked, glancing back at the monsters, “Now?” 

 

“Yes! I can’t fight crime with you anymore thinking that you think we’re more than friends here. I am way too old for you, Baby Boy,” Wade cried dramatically, holding Peter at arms length away. 

 

Peter’s face was on fire while he rolled his eyes and started shooting webs at the monsters to trip them up, “Deadpool! Stop! I never thought we were dating or whatever. The bats came up with that idea on their own.” 

 

“Oh thank god! So we’re good? Just our normal thing? Cause Devil would’ve castrated me for defiling his favorite little spider,” Deadpool added in, pulling out his own gun in the baby sized hand. 

 

“Most of New York would cause bodily damage to you for touching the spider,” Matt’s voice was solidly deadpanned. 

 

“Guys! No one is defiling anyone, please focus on the giant monster things!” Peter practically begged, ready to be done with that conversation. 

 

“Now in the future, even if you are like 22 now, but later in the future, when you’re actually an adult because turning 18 isn’t some magic switch. Anyway though, if you wanted to roll in the sheets when you’re much older and mature, we could make that happen,” Deadpool turned to wink at Peter before jumping onto a car and then onto the shoulder of the monster, cutting with one hand and shooting with the other. 

 

Peter paused in his web shooting, “22? What do you mean by that?”

 

“Your bat pets have arrived!” Deadpool called back. 

 

Peter’s senses had alerted him to their arrival, but he took enough time to take in Red Hood, Nightwing, and Robin approaching from the ground, giving them a brief wave before turning back to the fight. 

 

An opportunity formed in his mind, so he went for it. 

 

While he jumped, his artificial web shooters were going. He jumped three times in a circle around the first giant, spinners lacing up the monster’s two legs together around the knees. Then he jumped onto the monster that Daredevil had been attacking. 

 

Using both hands, he grabbed his own webs and pulled them towards himself. 

 

“Operation Giant Knockers!” Deadpool cheered behind him while Peter successfully pulled the monster over. It was unable to catch itself with Peter having wrapped up its legs, so it fell into the giant Peter was still perched on. Peter jumped up at the last minute, going up into the air while the two fell together. 

 

He was shooting webs again while he came back down, using enough webs to stick the two together. 

 

They started fighting and attacking each other, trying to get free. 

 

“We are not calling it that,” Matt yelled back at Deadpool, both of them turning toward the final one while Peter slung a web onto a nearby building and pulled himself off the fighting monsters. 

 

Peter spotted Batman and the other bats fighting with an actual human.

 

“Is this Strange?” Peter asked.

 

“It’s actually a pretty normal Thursday evening for me,” Nightwing quipped back, mainly just standing back and watching his father figure fight. 

 

“If anything, it’s a tiny bit stranger than usual. We had backup to take down the monsters this time,” Red Hood added.

 

“Yes, this is Hugo Strange,” Batman answered clearly, ducking a punch, and delivering his own uppercut. 

 

Leaning against the building next to Jason, Peter took the chance to observe Batman’s fighting style. Bruce’s sons seemed more like they were enjoying letting their father do the work, but Peter enjoyed the chance to watch the older man fight.

 

He was a truly talented fighter, using his size and martial arts abilities quite effectively. 

 

“If anyone could lend me a hand?” Batman complained as Hugo landed a kick on Batman’s side.

 

“Isn’t watching a fight a good way to see the martial arts in action?” Peter asked, already moving. He ducked in between the two larger men, trying to drop into a spinning kick that he’d seen Natasha do before, using the side of his foot to knock the guy’s head back, a bit of extra strength enough to drop the man to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

 

Batman was already pulling out a pair of meta approved handcuffs, fitting over the entire hand and wrist similar to the ones Peter remembered watching on TV being applied to Loki in his own dimension. 

 

Wade and Matt came to stand on either side of Peter, and slightly in front of him, staring at the gathered bats. Peter huffed at the traditional protectiveness of the two. 

 

“Sup daddy bat,” Wade waved, ignoring the struggling supervillain at Batman’s feet.

 

“Never call me that again,” Bruce immediately demanded.

 

“What about Father of all Dark Crevices?” 

 

Dick and Jason weren’t quite able to suppress their snorts at that one.

 

“You are making me rethink offering you an olive branch out of respect for Spider Man,” Bruce replied.

 

“I have prepared twenty ways to kill you,” Damian narrowed his eyes at the two of them, “All of them would be painful. My first choice is a bloodletting in which I hang you by your wrists and slowly drain your body of blood.”

 

“Drain it how? Are you a little baby vampire baby?!” Wade sounded entirely too gleeful to be discussing his potential torturous death, but Wade was immortal, so Peter figured he probably wasn’t the one to talk. 

 

“Tiny cuts all over your body,” Damian replied, glare in full force behind the domino mask.

 

“I like it! Death by a thousand paper cuts, always a classic!” 

 

“Spider needs to talk to you, but we don’t want you talking to him alone,” Jason finally cut in, mirth thick in his voice in a way that was strange for the normally angry man.

 

Wade turned toward Jason, he wasn’t quite the same height as Jason, but it looked like it with the way Jason was slouching, “Is the helmet to hide the fact you’re secretly a girl?” 

 

“Nope,” Jason said, “Wouldn’t bother hiding that.” 

 

“Shame, I’ve always liked a woman taller than myself. Now a man…” 

 

“Deadpool, focus,” Matt commanded. 

 

“Nightwing and I will accompany you to neutral territory and simply stand guard while you have your meeting. You must understand that we wouldn’t feel comfortable simply allowing you to have Spider Man without anyone there, especially with the stone situation,” Batman countered. 

 

“Strange of you to assume that you have the ability to allow or otherwise control the situation in any way,” Matt said. 

 

“Crime Alley,” Peter said. 

 

“Excuse you?” all the large posturing men turned towards Peter who rolled his eyes. 

 

“There aren’t the cameras in Crime Alley, even if Oracle has been working to get it all wired up. It’s true neutral territory, and it won’t all be recorded. Batman can come, but I’d assume Red Hood will want to trade positions with Nightwing in agreement for letting us use his territory,” Peter explained himself. 

 

There was a pause as everyone considered it. Dick had his arms crossed and looked particularly displeased with having been excluded from the meeting. Damian looked even less pleased, and Peter was certain that the preteen boy would be attempting to crash the meeting. 

 

“That’s reasonable,” Batman finally said. 

 

“We don’t need a mediator, but I guess we’ll allow the interlopers if Spidey wants it,” Deadpool didn’t sound happy. 

 

Jason’s motorcycle led the rest of them quickly to an abandoned warehouse that seemed perfect for the meeting, Dick and Damian peeling off on their own with aggressive scowls. 

 

Peter closed his eyes, focusing on truly sending out his senses as closely as he could, checking for any bugs or other surveillance devices. It was a skill that Matt had been training him on before he left, and he could feel the stillness of the other man as he did the same thing. Spidey-senses came back with a negative, so Peter pulled off his mask. 

 

Wade did the same; Matt left his on. Jason and Bruce stayed fully suited up. 

 

“One more thing,” Peter turned towards Bruce and Jason, “mics off. Completely. Some of this stuff shouldn’t get back to the younger ones, and it’s not your business to share. If I want you to share it, I’ll tell them personally.” 

 

Bruce and Jason didn’t even complain as they shut off their comm system. 

 

“I can’t believe you guys are really here,” Peter felt like he was going to cry, “Does this mean it’s time to go back?” 

 

“Baby boy, let’s sit down,” Wade said. 

 

It felt like Peter’s heart was going to beat out of his chest, a lump in his throat, “No…” 

 

“The last five years have been rough,” Matt started. 

 

“Five years? What are you talking about?” 

 

“Petey, it’s been five years since the fight with Thanos. You’ve been gone for five years,” Wade said. 

 

Peter shook his head, “No, it’s been less than a single year. I lost a couple months during the dimension hop. I left in May, but ended up here around September. It’s been five months, not five years.” 

 

The three stared at each other, Peter’s eyes slipping back and forth between them. 

 

“A month in this world must be close to a year back home,” Matt muttered. 

 

“I’ve been gone for five years? What’s been going on during those five years? How is everyone?” Peter demanded. 

 

“It’s been…it’s been bad, Peter. Thanos won. The snap happened. Half of the population, gone in a day,” Wade said, entirely too serious. 

 

Peter pulled at his hair, tugging sharply to try to ground himself even as his eyes filled with tears, “What? No, the Avengers wouldn’t have lost! They couldn’t have lost!” 

 

Matt came closer, trying to corral Peter into a hug, but Peter couldn’t bear it, moving away, “Tell me the rest. Tell me everything.” 

 

“Half the world, gone in a second. We called it dusting,” Matt said softly, close enough to hug Peter despite the teenager not allowing him, “Foggy was snapped. Your Ned.” 

 

“That’s why you’ve been off. The tenseness to you. Five years without Foggy,” Peter tried to imagine Matt without Foggy, but he couldn’t. He completely ignored the final remark about Ned. It couldn’t be possible. 

 

“Yeah, had to forcibly drag him along. He was just wallowing in his apartment. See, there was a final stand. An attempt by the Avengers to fix things. It involved a time machine and Banner merging his intelligence with the Hulk. But Thanos decided that the snap wasn’t even enough. Instead of getting rid of half of the population, he basically decided to destroy the universe and create a new one. No one really won that battle. Not Thanos or the Avengers. It was too much power in one location, all fighting for different desires. The universe started collapsing in on itself, starting with Thanos. He didn’t get to create a new universe, but he did kind of destroy our world. Basically a giant black hole. It kept trying to destroy me, but my atoms kept putting themselves back together as the world was unmade. I grabbed the soul stone, used it to travel to Matt’s soul right before New York disintegrated, and used it one final time to pull us to your soul. Kept getting lost at different Peter Parkers across the multiverse though. Finally made it to you,” Wade said everything quickly and without the correct emotions at all. 

 

Peter sat down then, hard, on the dirty concrete floor of the warehouse. A cloud of dust rose around him, which was fine because it felt like his entire brain had turned into dust. 

He was crying.

 

“Everything is gone?” he finally managed to get out. 

 

“I mean, I couldn’t stay to see everything destroyed because dear old Matty does not have regenerative skills like myself, but that is what happened at the original fighting spot and appeared to be spreading outwards as far as I could tell. I’m not an astrophysicist or whichever branch of science studies stuff like that,” Wade said. 

 

“We have to go back. We have to fix this,” Peter stood up and started pacing. 

 

“We’ll do whatever you decide. We decided on the way here to follow you,” Matt said. 

 

“Whatever I decide? Don’t you think we have to try to get back to our world and save everyone?” Peter demanded. 

 

Matt and Wade shared another one of those looks. 

 

“Is there a point where something can’t be saved?” Matt finally asked. 

 

“Have you given up on Foggy?” 

 

Matt could move so quickly that it was sometimes a shock that the man didn’t have superspeed. He grabbed the front of Peter’s suit, Peter not stopping it, “Don’t ask me something like that. You don’t know what those five years were like for me! What I did to try to get them back!” 

 

Wade was there then, pushing himself between them, “Everyone calm down. We aren’t going to say anything harmful. We can go shoot up villains to release tension, not beat up each other.” 

 

“I’m more of a beat up villains and loved ones, personally,” Jason threw in. 

 

Wade’s eyes lit up through the mask, “Oh honey, we can add all kinds of bondage.” 

 

Peter made a disgusted face, while Matt rolled his eyes, tension broken. Jason grabbed a wrench off a conveyor belt and threw it solidly at Wade’s head who didn’t even try to doge. Peter turned back to Matt. 

 

“Sorry, Matt, I didn’t mean it like that,” Peter said, feeling small. 

 

Matt knocked him gently on the shoulder, “It’s a lot to take in. Give it a couple days. We’ll get settled in Gotham. It’ll take time to find a way back to our world anyway.”

 

“Yep, all the souls are gone from our world, so we can’t just use the stone to travel back,” Wade said. 

 

Peter nodded, scrubbing at the tears on his face, “Yeah, honestly that does make sense. We’ll regroup and come up with a way to get back to our dimension and save everyone there.” 

 

“And what will your…friends be doing during the next several days?” Bruce cut in. 

 

“Like we said, settling in, getting to know the layout,” Wade said. 

“Continuing to kill?” Bruce did not sound happy. 

 

Peter grimaced. Ohh yeah, this was not going to go over well. Bruce’s one rule: don’t kill. Wade’s job: kill. Merc with a mouth versus Batman. 

 

“Not innocents?” Wade offered.

 

“I’ll keep an eye on them, old man. Lord knows you aren’t going to let them in any of your safe houses with the blood on their hands,” Jason said. 

 

“Oh Red, you could’ve gotten me back to your house without bringing your dad into it,” Wade crooned, leaning on Jason who immediately shoved him off. 

 

Jason stuck a finger in Wade’s face, “A safe house. Not my house. Not anywhere near me.” 

 

“A bed is a bed,” Matt cut in. 

 

Bruce’s face was hard, “You won’t be staying in Gotham for long. I don’t need more metas coming in, especially ones without care for the sanctity of life.” 

 

“No fear there. Peter’s already decided that we’ll be heading back to our own dimension as soon as we can figure it out,” Matt said. 

 

There was a quiet pause as it was considered, before Bruce finally nodded, “I don’t like it, but I understand the situation. No more killing in Gotham, or you won’t even be welcome to stay while you try to find a way home.” 

 

Then he was off in a flurry of black cloaks. 

 

“Don’t worry, Jason will show you who to kill and where so that B doesn’t know,” Peter finally offered then considered what he was saying, “Man, what is life anymore? Alright, I’m off for the night. You three will be good?” 

 

He shot dubious looks at Wade, Matt, and Jason, questioning how smart it was to leave the three alone together, and just how tired Batman must’ve been to allow it. 

 

“The old man said he had reinforcements coming into town. He’s probably in a hurry to get them. As much as he doesn’t mind fighting metas alone, I think he’s starting to learn about strength in numbers,” Jason said, as though reading Peter’s mind. 

 

“OK, I guess maybe that’s it. He probably doesn’t have some sort of chemical formula that he’s planning on injecting you three with to force you to stop killing people,” Peter mused, “I’ll be back tomorrow and we can start planning stuff better.” 

 

He gave Matt and Wade each a long hug before leaving the warehouse. 

It wasn’t too hard to find Robin hiding.

 

”You’re going back?” Damian didn’t even bother acting like he had been doing anything other than eavesdropping.

 

”I have to, my family is there. Aunt May and MJ must’ve died in the imploding. Ned needs unsnapped,” Peter was crying again. 

Damian face is twisted as though he was trying to show emotions and absolutely hating every second of it, “But what about us?”

 

”You guys have each other. You’re a family. My family needs me,” Peter replied.

 

Damian looked up at Peter, face entirely too young. Peter suddenly realized how young he must’ve looked when he started as a vigilante, and he’d been older than Damian by years. 

“What if we still need you too?”

 

Peter didn’t have an answer to that, so he gave Damian a hug before bringing the younger boy back to the manor, giving him a piggy back ride while Peter used his webs to swing through the city. Damian was nearly asleep by the time they got back to the manor.

”Let me go,” he demanded.

Peter sat him on the ground.

Damian sniffed once, not like he was going to cry, but like he was disgusted in Peter. Maybe in himself for showing so much emotions.

 

”Yes, well, goodnight and salutations then,” Damian murmured before trudging off to his room.

 

Peter stood in the quiet of the manor for several minutes before getting into his butler uniform to prepare for these reinforcements that Jason had said were coming. 

 

OOOOOO

 

Peter opened the large entrance door to the manor, “Hello! Uh…Mr Kent?”

 

The reporter waved back at him awkwardly, “Mr Peter.”

 

“Uhm, can I help you? It’s a little late in the evening for an interview…” Peter said.

 

“Uh, Bruce should be expecting me? I came as quickly as I could, but there was a bit of a delay on the way here,” Clark sounded like he was asking instead of informing Peter.

 

Peter noted the use of the first name, “Let me just check real quick. Please step into the foyer and I’ll be right back.”

 

Peter walked calmly out of sight, and then rushed down the hall until he’d spotted Tim, “Clark Kent is here for Bruce. Should I send him away?”

 

“Oh, nah, he’s the reinforcements that B called for,” Tim said casually, already walking away, “I’ll tell B that his friend is here.”

 

Thinking hard, Peter was pretty positive he’d made the connections, “Right, to spin the media angle of the two new “mutants.” I didn’t know they were friends, but honestly, this is an opportunity.”

 

“An opportunity to do what?” Duke questioned, still relaxing in one of the seats.

 

“Mr Wayne and Mr Kent like each other. If Kent will be staying with us for a few days, it could be a good opportunity for them to see each other outside of billionaire and reporter,” Peter announced, turning around and heading back towards the foyer.

 

Duke was laughing behind him, “Let me know how that goes.”

 

“I will!” Peter called back, “This is the chance for mine and Alfred’s OTP to finally launch.”

 

“OTP? Alfred is in on this?” Duke called back.

Notes:

I tried to cover any plot holes I could think of, but feel free to comment any you see.

1. No Bruce isn’t accepting of Wade and Matt. He wants them out, and I tried to write that while also putting it as he might be willing to give them a couple days to find a way home.

2. From my understanding of the snap, people who were dusted for the five years remained their original age after the return. So, while it was five years in the original timeline, Peter is still 17. Because he hasn’t lived five years and if they did testing to see his chronological age, it would be 17. That’s what I’m going with anyway. I almost used that to just bump him up to 22, but I don’t think that’s how Marvel did it. Anyone have insight on that? Should I be using it to bump him to 22 since it’s been five years in his original timeline???

3. To clarify if there is any confusion, things mainly happened like Avengers: Endgame; however!! So 2014 Thanos has time traveled just like the Avengers and they meet up for the big final battle. In this one, the snapped were not returned and before they could even fight it out, the whole universe started to implode. Too much time traveling/power in one location and the fabric of the world started to disintegrate. Wade couldn’t be killed even that way, so, he grabs the soul stone and hightailed it to Matt. Grabs a Matt who’s just like ready to die depressed after the five years, and heads toward Peter. Get lost for a little while. Kind of like Spider Man: Homecoming, Matt and Wade are meeting like the different versions of Peter. So they actually met the Andrew Garfield version and some other ones. Before they finally arrive at Peter. Wanted to clarify that whole sequence a touch.

4. Hopefully the last of the serious Wade. That was strange to write. Tried to bring back some humor into this chapter, even with the serious discussions.

Chapter 24: Skating

Summary:

Peter tries to adjust to the news.

Notes:

Trigger warning:
Unlabeled disassociating. Dealing with the idea of losing family.

He didn’t get to do much matchmaking between Bruce and the reporter, before he was distracted by his overwhelming desire to find a way back to his dimension. 

 

“I need a way back to my dimension,” Peter announced after he knocked on Tim’s door. 

 

Tim pulled the door open farther, sighing as Peter walked in, “Yeah, let me just grab the stargate.”

 

Peter perked up, “Bruce has one?”

 

“Peter, I mean this in the nicest way possible. No he doesn’t have one,” Tim said, going back to his cork board. Peter took a second to look it over before realizing what Tim was analyzing this time. 

 

“It’s set up for Matt and Wade!” 

 

“Yep, we’re trying to figure out everything we can about them,” Tim admitted, casually, flipping through a pile of pictures on his desk.

 

Peter looked over his shoulder, taking in the action shots of himself, Wade, and Matt during the most recent fight, “These are really good!”

 

Tim snorted, “They better be, after all this time.”

 

“All this time? But you just met me a few months ago and them just days ago?” 

 

Tim looked at Peter in shock, “Wasn’t talking about that. Don’t you know anything?”

 

Peter shrugged, sick of trying to explain that he didn’t.

 

“I’m just used to the family and everyone being in everyone else’s business. I figured the others had told you my whole back story,” Tim muttered.

 

“They didn’t,” Peter said.

 

“Photography is how I got into this whole thing. I used to sneak out at seven years old and photograph Batman and Robin. I saw Dick’s quadruple flip move and realized he must be Dick Grayson, the recently orphaned son of the famous Flying Graysons. I didn’t do anything with the knowledge, just followed them around. Jason saved my life once as Robin. When he died, B lost it. He was barely better than a villain himself. I decided that Batman needs Robin. So I finally revealed myself and demanded that B make me Robin,” Tim turned slightly away from Peter, clearly lost in his memories.

 

“And he just accepted that?” Peter’s surprise was validated by Tim’s snort.

 

“No, threw all kinds of protests, but I just didn’t go away,” Tim replied, with just a hint of a smile, “he made me train for like a year, but I eventually got to be Robin. Up until Steph needed it. Then I went back to it for a while until Damian came along. Dick said he needed it.”

 

“Oh so that’s why you two fight so much. You gave up Robin for Steph, but were forced to for Damian.” 

 

Tim’s hands were tightly clenched at his side. It didn’t really matter what he said, Peter knew he was right, “Dick said I was too old to be Robin, that I was an ally, not a sidekick.” 

 

Peter personally thought that was a compliment, “But you weren’t ready to give up Robin?”

 

“Never planned on even being Robin, it felt fake to label myself as a hero. Robin was enough,”Tim muttered. 

 

And suddenly Peter understood Tim better. The teenager had enjoyed photographing Batman for years. He’d had no plans to reveal himself or become a hero. He only did when the need was too high and no one else was stepping up.Then, he’d been forcefully ejected from the Robin position and forced into trying to become his own hero. But he was struck with imposter syndrome, that feeling that he was barely a sidekick, let alone a full blown hero, even though he’d been acting as a hero for years. 

 

Tim rolled his eyes, “So I switched to Red Robin instead, even though B is back as Batman. Let Damian have it. I had it for years, and I still get to be a hero. At least, I can go back out in some capacity when I get this stupid cast off.”

 

Then a more pressing thought hit Peter, “Years. You were following Bruce at seven years old, out on the streets photographing him. What were your parents thinking? Aunt May would’ve killed me. Literally dead!”

 

There was the sudden shut down again, a smile gone from his face as Tim converted into a stone wall, “They didn’t know obviously.”

 

Peter wondered how they could not know. How could parents not notice that their literal child was missing from his bed night after night. Something was wrong with Tim’s proper home life, but he had just enough social decorum to understand that Tim didn’t want to share with Peter. Yet. Hopefully he’d eventually open up about that too.

 

“I love photography too. After my parents died, I wanted photos of everyone, and everything. My memories in a tangible form, you know? I got even worse after Uncle Ben died. Then I got my powers, and I kind of switched to superhero fights, photographing them because my reflexes kept me pretty safe. Suddenly, I was wearing a mask and trying to help in the fights instead of just photographing them,” Peter offered some of his own privacy instead of prying into Tim’s.

 

Tim sent him a half smile in reply, “Forget the drug pipeline. Apparently the camera to hero pipeline is more addicting.”

 

Peter smiled back, feeling like he understood Tim better, even if there were parts that neither of them were sharing.

 

Then his eyes drifted back to that cork board, and he remembered his situation, stuck in Gotham, now with Wade and Matt and devastating news, “I have to get back. I came to you because you’re supposed to be the smartest one.”

 

“At solving crimes maybe. Not so much in cross dimensional travel. Even Clark might know more about that than me, or maybe not. Your two best options are Doctor Fate or John Constantine,” Tim said, his own eyes drifting to the cork board. Peter followed his gaze to a red string off to the side, labeled dimension hop, with a picture of one man labeled John Constantine and just the name Doctor Fate. John Constantine appeared to be a middle aged man wearing a blue pinstripe suit with trench coat layered overtop with sharp features and a hard face. 

 

“They know how to get me home?” Peter felt a touch of bitter hope rising in him.

 

Tim shrugged though, “I don’t know if they do or not, but they’re the only two I can think of that might.”

 

“Ok where do I find them?” Peter demanded.

 

“One is a ghost and the other is more a legend than anything,” Tim said.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“John Constantine is constantly faking his death. At least, I think he’s faking it. Maybe he’s constantly being resurrected? I know he’s been to hell about as many times as the Winchester brothers,” Tim mused.

 

“Confusing me more,” Peter said.

 

“A TV show, not prudent. I was just trying to make a joke. We can watch it another time. But I can’t tell you if John is alive or dead, or where to find him. Hence the ghost comment,” Tim explained, “Whereas Doctor Fate is this legendary figure in history. John Constantine is already an incredibly powerful sorcerer, but Doctor Fate is basically the most powerful of all. Though it’s actually a role held by whoever is controlling the magic items which grants the wielder's magic powers.”

 

Peter sat on the beanbag chair and stared at Tim who was sitting criss cross on his bed. Tim stared back at him.

 

“I was worried you all wouldn’t believe me that a sorcerer had sent me to a different dimension, and then you’re going to drop all of that like fact on me??” Peter’s voice felt a touch too high pitched. 

 

“Should’ve done more research on this dimension before making assumptions.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure all this is just listed under Google,” Peter retorted.

 

Tim’s reply was cut off by a yawn splitting his face in half, and Peter was struck with guilt. Maybe it wasn’t all his fault, but he had definitely been helping keep the Wayne’s awake. 

 

“Ok, while we research two men who we don’t have an easy way to find, we also need to fix your sleeping schedule. How long have you been awake this time?” Peter asked, knowing Tim’s tendency to go days without sleep.

 

“Not answering that,” Tim said, grabbing a pack of candy off his nightstand and chewing on it.

 

They were both interrupted by Stephanie walking in, without knocking, looking straight out of an 80s Sears catalog. Pink leggings with rainbow striped leg warmers, and a tight neon yellow bodysuit, hair in a high ponytail.

 

“Petey, you can’t fix everything or everyone in this manor, and Tim’s sleeping habits might be one of those unattainable goals,” she cautioned, handing Peter a pile of clothes. He held the top shirt up gingerly.

 

“Let me guess, more “borrowed” clothes?” he questioned.

 

“It should all fit. You can’t go skateboarding in a butler uniform. I refuse to be seen in public with you like that,” she chirped, pushing him towards Tim’s bathroom. 

 

What did it say about him that he didn’t even try to fight it this time?

 

While the clothing was almost entirely all borrowed (he recognized Duke’s wide leg black jeans. The shirt was new to him but it smelled like Jason), there was a brand new pair of Vans that absolutely weren’t borrowed. 

 

“Did you steal B’s credit card again?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“He said to take it to cheer you up. Duke and I went to get everything. We just assumed you knew how to skateboard?”

 

Duke handed a brand new skateboard over to Peter, a nice one, even as Peter’s mind flashed through memories of skating through NYC on a skateboard that Aunt May had saved up to buy him for Christmas. 

 

“Yeah, I can keep up. Shouldn’t we stay here and try to figure stuff out, though? It’s after dark, and it’s getting late,” Peter argued. 

 

“Scared of the dark, Spider? We’ll keep you safe,” Stephanie teased him gently. 

 

“We have no leads on either Doctor Fate or Constantine. Couldn’t hurt,” Tim said.

 

The three of them looked at Peter with expectant, hopeful eyes. They were inviting him to join their own tight-knit group, making space for him, not even making him feel like just a tag along. 

 

“Alright let’s go,” he offered, changing into the outfit before following them downstairs.

 

“Ah, ah, you are perhaps forgetting something?” Alfred asked them in the foyer.

 

Peter whirled toward him with a guilty look. This was the moment when Alfred finally understood that Peter was just a servant and should not be fraternizing on such a level with Bruce Wayne’s own children.

 

Tim groaned, “It’s so far past his bedtime.”

 

It was not in fact a complaint about Peter hanging out after hours with the Wayne’s teenagers. Peter suspected Tim found the truth far worse.

 

Damian stood in front of them, scowling at Alfred’s side, head to toe in a skating safety apparatus. Knee pads, elbow pads, helmet, reflective tape. Razor scooter in hand. 

 

Peter hid a smile behind his hand at the adorable sight.

 

“You going skating with us, little bro?” Duke asked with an offered fist bump at Damian who looked at Duke with such disdain that Peter was surprised Duke was able to just laugh. 

 

“I don’t need to remind you that it is as much past your bedtime as it would be his, do I, Master Tim?” Alfred intoned.

 

“What Tim means is we’d love to have the child join us,” Stephanie cut in quickly, pulling Damian into a hug that the boy immediately tried to squirm out of. 

 

As soon as they’re on the street, Duke and Tim start skateboarding. Peter had expected them to drive into the city, but they’ve apparently decided to roll in. 

 

Wind passing through his loose curls makes it flutter, and Peter was struck by the realization that his hair had finally grown back out. His extra height is a boon as well, making it easier to go faster once he’s adjusted his balance, perhaps a touch of spider powers helping him stick to the skateboard as he adjusted. The skateboard itself was a dream, wheels smooth. 

 

For as private as the Wayne Manor feels, it is quite close to Gotham proper. Peter looked back at the hulking stone building, suddenly stuck in the first moment of looking up at it in starving hunger. Steph rollerbladed closer to him, bumping his shoulder and knocking him from his thoughts.

 

Then the manor is out of sight, and they’re into Gotham proper.

 

Extra five creepy points for the number of broken out buildings within the city.

 

Reflexes as sharp as ever, Peter caught the camera that Tim threw at him without warning.

 

“Only because I knew you’d catch it,” Tim said, face back to that hopeful look, like he’s trying to reach out to Peter while in disbelief that he’s offering to make friends, ready to be rejected.

 

Peter turned the camera over in his hands. It’s a ridiculously expensive model, and it felt amazing to hold.

 

Dialogue from earlier that evening flows through his memories, and he understood. Tim was telling him to start capturing the memories of the here and now. Not to mention, the other teen had been trying to draw Peter into a competition for ages, over solving puzzles and other silly things. 

 

This time Peter decided he’s finally ready for that competition.

 

“Best photo keeps both cameras,” Tim called from his skateboard, holding up his camera with his one good arm.

 

“Deal,” Peter breathed out at the thought of owning both cameras, even if he’s making plenty of money to buy them himself, not quite at the point of his normal grin breaking out on his face, but getting closer. Tim grinned at him though, and Duke did a trick down the stair’s railing, calling to Peter to photograph him. Then Steph is calling out tricks for Duke to try. 

 

And it feels like it’s alright if Peter isn’t up to grinning, like maybe the teenagers understand and they’re alright with it.

 

Damian went close enough to Peter to touch, and stared up at him.

 

“Yes?” Peter questioned.

 

“I’m going to complete the best trick of all, and I demand that you take proper photographic evidence. Drake is forever making me look bad in the photos,” Damian demanded, eyes determined as he turned to look at the railing that Duke just went down.

 

“Deal,” Peter said again.

 

One hour, two hours, maybe more, pass quickly. Tim provided several memory cards with the camera, so Peter doesn’t worry about sorting through the photos, he just clicked away.

 

Skateboarding isn’t necessarily the work of heroes (Peter might be willing to argue that point), but he can use all the things he’s learned from photographing superheroes for the action shots. 

 

Eventually though, everyone is wearing down, the late hour pressing in. Tim yawns more than he talks and Duke stumbles a trick.

 

They’ve made it to the top of one of Gotham’s parking garages. 

 

Lights twinkle all different colors below.

 

Peter sat down on the concrete level, leaning against the chain link safety fence that goes around the edge of the building, Steph settling down next to him.

 

“Gotham almost looks nice from up here,” he murmured after a pause.

 

“Good thing we know better,” she agreed.

 

“What if it all disappeared one day? Would you go after it?” Peter leans his head back as far as it will go, looking up at the few stars that still manage to shine in the brightness of a city. It’s more than New York offered, so Gotham continues to be a darker city in every possible way. 

 

“Gotham? Is it really worth bringing back?” Duke tried to make a joke from where he was sitting cross legged on his skateboard, gently rolling only a foot or two back and forth.

 

“That’s why we save it every night, isn’t it? Because we save things even when they don’t deserve to be saved,” Peter said. 

 

There’s quiet among the group before Duke walks over to Peter, one good hand offered to help him up, “Of course that’s what we do. I’d go after it too. But we can’t save someone dead.” 

 

“Gone isn’t the same as dead, is it?” Peter takes the hand, letting the larger teen pull him to his feet.

 

“Gone could be dead or could be missing. You must find which situation you are truly in,” Damian added, scootering past them to the parking garage ramp. 

 

They went back to the manor in a line, the four teenagers and one preteen next to each other, silently supporting while their demons played out through their heads. 

 

For a hero, what can be worse than not saving their own loved ones? 

 

The moon was well past overhead when they got back. While Duke and Stephanie quietly headed to their own rooms, Steph giving Peter a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug, Tim and Damian wandered into the kitchen.

 

“It is Saturday. Time for cereal,” Damian declared.

 

“Alfred is not going to view things that way, and you know it,” Tim argued.

 

Peter stepped in, “I’m making Sleepy Time tea and you two are going to sit on the couch.” 

 

He shooed them into the family room and quickly made two cups of the tea that he’d purchased as a first step toward trying to help Tim with his sleeping issues, adding a liberal dose of honey to each one. 

 

Settled down next to Tim on the couch, with Damian on the loveseat nearby, he turned the TV to a black and white show and waited. 

 

Tim gave a hesitant sniff, wrinkling his nose. 

 

“Drink,” Peter demanded, “if you don’t like it, I won’t make it again, but you have to at least try.” 

 

“I already have both a father and a pseudo-father, you are not eligible to apply for the position,” Tim said. 

 

Peter’s reflexes were needed to catch the nearly empty cup as Tim passed out only minutes later. Tim embodied the idea of going from one hundred to zero, and his sleep habits always held a violent air to them. When he finally fell asleep, he acted as though it was an affront to his person and as such would sleep as aggressively as possible. 

 

Right up until his head landed on Peter’s shoulder. 

 

Peter blinked down at the teenager, wondering what to do when he heard Damian getting up. He looked over at the boy as he came over and sat on Peter’s right side. 

 

“I am not some weak willed simpleton as Drake is. I am choosing to sleep here,” Damian said, curling up on Peter’s other side, more talking cat than ten year old boy, even his movements in settling against Peter's side that of a feline. 

 

“Uhhh, noted?” Peter said, looking down at a lapful of black hair and sleeping Waynes in confusion. He had imagined this going differently with them heading to their own rooms after unwinding for a bit. Instead, he ended up with Tim and Damian both asleep and laying on him, soft snores coming from Tim. 

 

Dick paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of Peter trapped under his brothers with an easy smile, “You’re nap trapped now Bambi.” 

 

“Nap trapped?” Peter asked in alarm. 

 

Cass leaned around Dick to take in the sight, signing at Peter, ‘If you move, wake them.’ Dick nodded to his signs. 

 

Peter groaned quietly, accepting for now that he was stuck with Tim and Damian. Cass grabbed blankets and spread them over each boy while Dick grabbed the camera that Tim had left on the end table and snapped a picture despite Peter’s almost silent protests. 

 

“Tim never even said who won,” Peter pouted, sighing as he sat the borrowed camera on the end table for Tim to find when he woke up. 

 

The manor was quiet then, as Peter listened to Cass and Dick each head to their own rooms in the last hours before dawn, his enhanced hearing checking that everyone was asleep. 

 

Tim snored on while Damian occasionally talked. 

 

He only made it for a few hours on the couch before he felt too antsy. 

 

It was sinking in that he’d again left Wade and Matt alone in Gotham. This time, he feared that they would disappear. Sure, Wade couldn’t be killed, but what if they were locked up somewhere? Or sent back to their own dimensions? Splinched like a wizard with half of Wade in Peter’s current dimension and the other half left in the original dimension? 

 

He never should’ve left them. 

 

He needed to find them and keep them with him. 

 

Slithering his way out from the accidental cuddle pile on the couch, he rushed upstairs to grab his spider suit and head out looking for them. 

Senses sending tingles down his spine, he came to a complete stop inside his bedroom door, taking in Wade and Matt casually sitting on opposite bunk beds. 

 

“You’re alright,” he breathed out, panic making him forget all rules of social engagement as he rushed towards Matt, burying his face in Matt’s chest in a tight hug. Matt didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms back around him. 

 

“Course we’re alright, bambi,” Wade’s voice said. 

 

“Don’t cry,” Matt said softly. 

 

“I’m not crying,” Peter denied, but a hand to his face highlighted the trail of tears sneaking down each cheek, “Ok, maybe I’m crying a little bit. How did you get here?” 

 

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer,” Jason’s voice piped up, and Peter turned enough to spot him before burying himself back into the chest of the Daredevil suit. 

 

“Like it’s hard,” Matt scoffed. 

 

Peter wanted to laugh, but found he was crying too hard. The thought of Jason casually helping Wade and Matt into the manor (probably mainly because he knew Bruce would hate having Wade Merc-with-the-mouth Wilson in the manor) was funny, but Peter felt too much guilt. 

 

“I never should’ve left you guys,” Peter sobbed. 

 

“I’ve only been killed like once today, Petey, that’s boring. I’m built for tough love, rough love, etc,” Wade said. 

 

“What he means is we’re fine. We aren’t going anywhere unless you’re coming with us. We thought you might be a bit worried and decided to sneak in to keep you company,” Matt said, forever more eloquent than Wade. 

 

“And my hand is even almost back to a normal size!” Wade waved his hand, which did look only a tiny bit smaller than his regular hand. 

 

“You’ll both stay?” Peter demanded, feeling a touch childish, but he’s sure Matt and Wade have seen him act even more like a child. 

 

Matt ran a reassuring hand through Peter’s brown curls, “Yeah we’ll stay.” 

 

“Sleepover! Jason, baby, why don’t you go get us some popcorn! We can do each other’s nails and tell scary stories like how my bambi got tortured and then have sex in your dad’s bed,” Wade wiggled his eyebrows at Jason. Peter wasn’t even looking at Wade, but he knew the exact face Wade was making at Jason, having seen it too many times, never directed at him. 

 

“How about I cut out your intestines and let you eat them as a snack?” Jason replied. 

 

“See, this is what I mean about tough love! Go ahead, maybe pain is a turn on to me,” Wade said. 

“Shut up, idiot. Don’t talk about torture right before Peter falls asleep,” Matt had felt Peter tense at Wade’s casually thrown in question and threw something at Wade over Peter’s head, the lump and Wade’s ouch telling Peter it had landed. 

 

“Not tired,” Peter’s lie was shown with his all body yawn. 

 

“We’ll table that conversation. Go to sleep Petey-pie,” Wade demanded. 

 

Peter drifted off on his bunk bed. He was aware that Matt eventually lowered him to laying and left the bed. He was also vaguely aware of a scuffle between Wade and Jason over a bed (or not sharing a bed), before Matt shut them up with a hiss about letting the rest of the manor know they were there. 

 

A sharp knock on the door woke Peter with a start. 

 

Wide eyed, he took in Matt sitting straight up in the bunk bed across from him, and Wade holding up a gun on the top bunk. Peter darted toward the door. 

 

He wasn’t completely sure how he was going to keep those two hidden, but he had a feeling Bruce wouldn’t be super happy to see them in his manor. Batman hadn’t seemed like he wanted to become best friends with them. 

 

Peter opened the door just a touch, revealing Tim, Duke, and Stephanie again, “Thought I just saw you guys?” 

 

“It’s a Friday, so you’re off for the weekend, but Alfred wanted to check in with you,” Duke’s eyebrows were skyhigh. 

 

“No worries, I’ll be right down,” Peter tried to shut the door, but Tim’s foot was in it. 

 

“This is a bad house to hide secrets,” he said. 

 

“Who’s trying to keep secrets?” Peter tried for an easy smile. 

 

“You are the worst liar in the world,” Stephanie snorted. 

 

“Excuse me for wanting a minute to myself after just waking up,” Peter tried. 

 

Then he felt the large bulk of Jason right behind him, one hand going up to the top of the doorframe, vastly overshadowing Peter’s thin frame even with Peter’s added height. Peter cringed as he realized exactly how this was going to look. 

 

Was it worth the three thinking he was sleeping with Jason to avoid them finding out he’d snuck Matt and Wade into the manor? 

 

“What’s going on, children?” Jason asked. 

 

“Holy fuck, you hid Jason in your room overnight?” 

Notes:

Sorry for the delay! My phone broke and it delayed everything! Even if I try not to write on my phone, I'm used to using talk-to-text during my commute and it was no longer available!

This chapter is meant to feel a touch disjointed again, leaning into Peter's current mental state. He's a genius, but he's dealing with a horrible reality, the idea that his entire universe is gone to his knowledge. He's struggled with disassociating previously in the story, and he's not doing the best emotionally. Just wanted to explain that portion of the writing.

Again, Jason is not with Peter or going to get with Peter. I just found that ending to the chapter humorous.

Too much fluff? Too much teenagers being teenagers and skating and not enough Peter pulling his weight as butler? We hit 1,000 bookmarks!! This entire chapter is one of the scenes that I had planned out before I published a single chapter. I've just been waiting for the relationships and everything to build up enough for it to make sense.

Should be getting back into traditional butler scenes in next chapter, including Peter starting on his robot AI for cleaning the manor.

Chapter 25: Patrol

Summary:

Peter works on a vacuum system for the manor then goes on patrol, meeting up with Duke and Stephanie.

“Holy fuck you slept with Jason overnight?”

 

“Will that impact the relationship we were betting on?” Duke asked Tim, who had his eyes narrowed in concentration.

 

“Probably not, they have passed women between them,” Tim mused.

 

“Gross,” Steph scrunched up her face

 

“God damnit, don’t make it sound worse. No one passed a woman back and forth. She didn’t say she’d slept with my brother,” Jason muttered in disgust.

 

Peter’s face was so red he was pretty positive he was going to spontaneously combust. He pointed between the teenagers and Jason, “Nothing happened here! Nothing! HOWEVER, I’m gonna need more info about that last comment.”

 

“I had memory loss after being resurrected. Not a fucking zombie either. I slept with Dick’s girl, who knew but didn’t bother to tell either of us,” Jason’s face was angry as he leaned against the doorframe.

 

Peter thought quickly. He still wasn’t sure if it was better for the teens to think he was sleeping with Jason or for them to find out that Deadpool and Daredevil didn’t have much issues bypassing the manor’s security. 

 

He made his decision.

 

Faster than their eyes could even follow him, he was behind Jason and shoving him out of Peter’s room, “Bye, I’ll be down in a couple minutes to make breakfast with Alfred. Nothing happened!” 

 

“Can I at least have my fucking shirt?” Jason called through the door. 

 

Peter could hear Steph’s giggles and comment, “If it wasn’t Jason in this situation, I’m sure he’d say, “You doth protest too much.””

 

“Shut up, Barbie,” Jason retorted. Peter listened as the footsteps walked away, staring at his amused friends in horror.

 

“We are never mentioning this again!” he demanded.

 

“The probability of that is like a negative one hundred percent,” Wade replied, Matt nodded along next to him even as both men pulled on their masks and headed towards the window of Peter’s room. 

 

Peter groaned. 

 

He tried to gather himself before heading down to check in with Alfred and then help with breakfast, even if it was just Saturday’s cereal. 

 

Alfred was in fact waiting for him, face impenetrable to Peter’s obvious cringing, teenagers and Jason invading the kitchen. 

 

“Uh, good morning Mister Alfred?” Peter offered. 

 

“Is it good?” Alfred asked mildly. That was when Peter spotted the humor hiding in Alfred’s face, a twitch at his mouth, the slightest crinkle next to his eyes. 

 

“Yes, it is a good morning,” Peter declared, straightening his back and ignoring the majority of the Wayne family making fun of him. 

 

“What are your plans for the day, Mister Peter?” Alfred asked. 

 

“I’m going to continue my work on a centralized vacuuming system for the manor that I’ve been working on,” Peter said, slipping into developing mode as he considered the work he’d been doing for the last several weeks. 

 

“Will it be operational today?” Duke asked as he poured milk into a bowl and topped it with some kind of cereal called Captain Crunch, new to this universe. Peter paused what he was thinking to give the man a concerned look. 

 

“That is not the correct way to make a bowl of cereal,” Peter said. 

 

“I’ve been telling him that for ages,” Stephanie said, making herself a bowl of Berry Bat cereal, also distinct to this universe. 

 

“Cereal is a form of self-expression and I refuse to be judged on the methods that I use or the type of cereal I consume,” Duke declared, clutching his cereal to his chest and leaning against a cabinet away from Steph or Peter. 

 

“You just like the Captain Crunch commercials,” Tim said. 

“Commercials?” Peter asked. 

“You don’t know what a commercial is? Do you not have those in your world?” Stephanie cried in horror. 

 

“Obviously he knows what a commercial is, Stephanie, we have watched TV with him since his arrival,” Duke rolled his eyes, “I think he just hasn’t seen the Captain Crunch commercials.” 

 

“I can’t believe I made it as long as I did in this universe while making incorrect cultural jokes,” Peter commented while Tim pulled up a video of said commercials. 

 

“To be fair, there is a decent amount of crossover. Like MarioKart,” Tim said while they quietly watched the video. 

 

“And after working on the vacuum system?” Alfred directed them back to the original conversation. 

 

“Oh, I need to get out on patrol with Jason. There’s a kid in Crime Alley that I’ve been tutoring, and he has a big math test on Monday,” Peter said. Jason scowled but nodded at the disbelieving looks sent his way. 

 

“That’s why you go to Crime Alley?” Duke asked. 

 

Peter paused, looking at the other teenager, “Well, it’s not the only reason, but it’s certainly a good reason.” 

 

“That’s just not what we thought you were getting up to in Crime Alley,” Tim added his own comment. 

 

“Anyway, you might get to patrol some with us! Duke’s getting ready to go out on his daytime patrol, and I offered to be his partner for today,” Stephanie chirped, waving her Spoiler mask in the air. 

 

“Hey, someone had mentioned I should ask you about your costumes,” Peter said, remembering that he’d never really asked Stephanie why she went with the name Spoiler or sometimes wore different costumes. 

 

“Is that a question?” Stephanie teased. 

 

“You can take it as one, because I’m not even sure how to word what I’m trying to ask,” Peter laughed at himself softly. 

 

Stephanie gave him a pleased look, happy to share her own history, “I started with the Spoiler costume. My dad was actually a villain, Cluemaster. He used to set up these elaborate hunts that always ended up with a bunch of people injured or dead and his own pockets fatter. I took on the name Spoiler because I wanted to spoil his fun, which wasn’t truly fun at all. Really disgusting and horrible.” 

 

“That’s how she got on Tim’s radar. It was during her original Spoiler arc that they dated,” Duke added with a laugh while Tim and Stephanie shared disgusted looks at the memory. 

 

“Eww, thanks for that reminder, Duke. But yes, it’s true. Both of my parents were still alive, I didn’t know Batman at all, but Tim was working as Robin and our altar egos did have a bit of a relationship,” Stephanie chimed in, “Then I got to be Robin for a while. I was the fourth one. But it wasn’t a good time for anyone. Then I got to take over as Batgirl from-” 

 

“I don’t think he knows that yet,” Tim interjected. 

 

Peter glanced at him in surprise, “Uhm, no not really? I didn’t realize there had been a Batgirl before Stephanie?” 

 

“Well, that’s not my identity to reveal, you know how it goes. Good catch Tim. Anyway, there have been like three Batgirls. At this point, I don’t exclusively use Batgirl. Cass and I kind of switch off and on because it helps people not to realize our identities. On days when I’m going out on patrol and she’s already Batgirl, I use my old Spoiler costume,” Stephanie finished up. 

 

Peter understood not outing someone’s real identity. It had been a big deal back home too. Even if Stephanie was happy telling him about his past, it didn’t give her the right to share someone else’s secret identity. 

 

“Cool! That actually makes a lot more sense than what I’d been trying to come up with on my own,” Peter smiled at her. 

 

“And what were your theories?” Tim asked. 

 

“You know, I thought maybe it was something like spoiling the children with love or something,” Peter laughed awkwardly turning into a real laugh as Tim plunked his head down onto the kitchen island with a mumbled complaint of hopeless. 

 

“No spoiling with love, more spoiling evil’s fun,” Stephanie laughed as well. 

 

Not long after breakfast, Peter headed to the maintenance room down in the basement of the manor. 

 

The vacuum system had been a love project of Peter’s for weeks. It seemed like it should be a simple process, but he may have made it unnecessarily complex. It was just, if he was going to go through all this work, he wanted it to be as automated as possible. He wasn’t content just adding in a vacuum schedule and he certainly didn’t want to have to turn on the system every time. So he was adding in sensors so the vacuum system could detect when the floors were dirty and send out the appropriate vacuum suction strength depending on the flooring and type of dirt. Not to mention considerations of adding an automated mopping system as well. 

 

“Your heating system isn’t hot enough to get the glycol to steam,” he thought to himself. He chuckled for a second, he didn’t usually imagine Shuri’s voice when he was building, but it made sense. He wished he could’ve had more experiences with her, because she had to be the best engineer he’d ever met, better than even Mr Stark. “Compliments later, focus on your heating coil.” 

 

He adjusted the heating coil. 

 

“And you’ve forgotten an overflow valve in case of overheating, like on a water heater. Idiot,” Shuri’s voice added an insult for good measure. 

 

Alfred came into the maintenance room to supervise. Peter didn’t try to hide anything as he’d casually built the vacuum system throughout the main level of the manor. 

“Is it about ready to be turned on?” Alfred asked. 

“Not quite, maybe another day of work. I’d like to be home when I turn it on, and I really do need to go on patrol this afternoon,” Peter replied absently while he adjusted another hose. 

 

Alfred was quiet so long that Peter looked up at him. The man’s face was as impassive as ever, but he seemed distracted. 

 

“Alfred?” Peter asked. 

 

“Mister Peter, I hadn’t realized engineering was your thing?” Alfred questioned, almost avoiding Peter’s question. 

 

“It’s not really. It’s crazy how easy this thing came together, it was like I could just see the diagrams in my head. Normally I’m more in chemical engineering and biophysics like with my web fluid, but I did intern under Mr Stark for a while. Guess I learned more from following him around than I realized. And I did just practice with building an AI. I’d like to incorporate some aspects of that into this, and I have it set up for me to expand on that,” Peter mused, rambling a bit as he tightened pipes before checking the voltage. 

 

Vacuums were strange, especially a whole manor system with minor AI built in. 

 

Alfred hummed, but left the room. 

 

An hour later, Peter called it for the day, leaving the vacuum system all assembled and ready to be turned on when he had more time to supervise it running. For now, he was excited to visit his kid in Crime Alley and maybe do some patrolling with Duke and Stephanie for once. 

“Alright, the quadratic formula! I’ve prepped an entire study guide for you. I’ve made some extra copies for your friends too. It’s Saturday, so if you study tonight and tomorrow, I really think you’ll be good for the test on Monday,” Peter announced as he dropped down onto the sidewalk. 

The kid looked up at Peter, “Look, I shouldn't be telling you this, but you have seriously helped my math grade.” 

 

“Tell me what? You can tell me anything, and you won’t get in trouble,” Peter said. 

 

“Don’t make promises like that,” in that moment, Peter wished the kid would at least just tell Peter his name. Because he was right, without Peter knowing more than a general idea of where he lived in Crime Alley, it would be hard for Peter to keep him safe. 

 

“Here,” Peter ripped off a corner of his notebook page, “this is my personal number. Text or call if anything goes wrong.” 

 

“Preferably text?” the kid checked. 

 

Peter grinned at him, “Yeah, I reckon we’d both prefer texting over talking on the phone. Send an SOS meme if needed. Seriously though, you can call if you need help.” 

 

The kid hesitated before snatching the paper and tucking it into his pocket, “I’m gonna pass it around my crew too.” 

 

“That’s totally fine, good idea,” Peter knew that the kid’s “crew” was actually just a group of five middle school boys and two girls who had grown up together in Crime Alley and were constantly getting pushed towards joining an actual gang. At least, that’s who had visited the tutoring sessions while Peter had been giving them. 

 

“Anyway, what I’m not supposed to be sharing is that rumor has it that some of the rogues have been working together,” the kid said. 

 

Peter leaned back on his haunches, thinking. 

 

“You don’t believe me?” the kid scowled. 

 

“No! I am curious how you came across the info, but it actually lines up with another tip I was given,” Peter said. 

 

“Oh, well, I can’t tell you much about my sources, but one of my crew ran a job with one of the gangs that Red Hood doesn’t have complete control over. I told him it was a stupid idea, but he needed the money quick for his little sister’s diabetes medicine. They were talking about a big gig they were gonna help with that had two rogues leading it,” the kid said quickly and quietly, leaning closer to Spider Man as though afraid to be overheard. 

 

“I’ll talk to Red Hood about the medicine. We can get it for her without anyone having to pay,” Peter immediately said. 

 

The kid narrowed his eyes at Peter, “Mikey won’t want to be under anyone’s control, like owe them shit.” 

 

“No strings attached. Kids should have access to medicine and it shouldn’t be another’s kid’s responsibility to get it,” Peter argued. 

 

The kid didn’t look like he believed Peter but promised to pass along the info. Peter hadn’t missed how the kid had dropped Mikey’s name. Normally he was really good at avoiding names, so it was probably a purposeful name drop. 

 

Peter could only stay another half hour before he needed to get back into the more mainstream areas of Gotham if he wanted to catch up with Duke and Stephanie. He waved goodbye to Red Hood as he swung back into the more commercial areas of Gotham. 

 

“Where am I meeting y'all?” Peter asked into the intercom. 

 

“Y’all? Thought you were from New York,” Duke complained.

 

“Thought I’d switch it up,” Peter said. 

 

“We’re on the corner of North and 6th. Dealing with a meta I haven’t met before. Some kind of fire deal,” Stephanie added. 

 

By the time Peter got there, which was pretty quick, Deadpool had also arrived on scene. 

 

“We didn’t start the fire! It’s always burning since the world started turning,” Deadpool sang loudly as the meta sent flames at the red suited vigilante. Peter made a mental note to never tell the man that his singing actually sounded half decent, because he would either start singing in a horribly off-key way just to be annoying or he would start singing so often that it would be annoying. 

 

“Does that help you dodge the flames?” Signal asked, lacking Duke’s normal easy going vibes while in his vigilante gear. 

 

“Who said I was trying to dodge? I’m just trying to get close enough to stab and slice,” Deadpool replied. 

 

The meta let out a yell, flames going in a wider circle. Peter noticed Stephanie dive into a roll to get away. She didn’t cry out, so he assumed she was alright. He could hear her cursing over the earpieces. 

 

“Deadpool, we can’t just kill him. We don’t know anything about him or if he’s even a bad guy. And even if he has done bad things, our first response can’t be to kill him,” Peter called with exasperation. 

 

“What if I don’t slice enough to kill him, just incapacitate?” Deadpool called back. 

Peter considered, “Deal, but be careful! Of him, not you.” 

 

“Spidey, you wound me!” Deadpool grabbed at his chest dramatically. 

 

“While he goes in, Spider, use your webs to tie him up,” Duke said softly through the earpiece so the guy wouldn’t hear. 

 

“Can do!” Peter said back. Using the buildings to swing, he went in a circle around the guy, wrapping him up. 

 

It didn’t last long, the man used his flames to melt through the webs. 

 

“Uh, new plan, guys?” Peter asked, using his hands and feet to stick to one of the walls and watch what was going on.

 

Then, it’s like he taps into his inner Winter Soldier, remembering the way the man fought a little dirty. If the Winter Soldier were here, he’d fight superhumans with superhumans. 

 

“Signal, can you do anything with shadows?” Peter asked. 

 

Signal nodded from where he was standing, Peter able to see him. Peter didn’t even know when he’d noticed something like that about Duke, but now it made sense. The shadows did seem to almost follow Duke, sticking to him in a way that didn’t seem quite natural. 

 

“Use the shadows to blind him,” Peter said. 

 

A dark cloud that looked like the Disney Peter Pan’s shadow left Duke, running like a featureless man straight at the flame guy and wrapped itself around the superhuman. The guy starting screaming in fear and scratching at the shadow wrapped around his head. 

 

“Deadpool, now!’ Spider Man yelled. 

 

Deadpool used the hilt of his katana to hit the meta’s head. Flame guy dropped like a sack of potatoes. Peter dropped down next to them, wrapping up the guy in his webs again, leaving his wrists clear where Signal snapped on a set of power suppressing cuffs onto the guy. 

 

“Better get him to a complete containment cell at the police station quickly though, in case he can set off flames from more than just his hands,” Duke said, “I’ll take him. Looks like the end of patrol anyway. Meet back at the base afterwards?” 

 

Everyone adding their affirmatives. Peter said goodbye to Deadpool with a wave. 

 

“I love you!” Deadpool made a heart with his hands. 

 

Contemplating flipping him off but afraid a kid could be watching, Peter just rolled his eyes, thankful for the expressiveness of his suit and the fact it couldn’t be mistaken before webbing back to the edge of Gotham. 

 

Peter pulled off his mask as he swung into the window of his attic room. He could’ve just gone through the front door of the manor since everyone living there knew he was Spider Man, but he didn’t like taking any chances of someone having a guest over. 

 

Changing completely into his butler outfit, he headed downstairs for a post patrol snack when his spidey sense went off. 

 

Something was wrong in the manor. 

 

Freezing completely, he tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out what had set off his senses. 

 

He could hear Alfred in his quarters, the man quietly humming a military cadence while he sounded like he was hanging laundry. 

 

Damian was in his room, and Peter could catch the scratching of a pencil against paper. He could be drawing, working on homework, or writing out a new demon summoning ritual. Regardless, he sounded fine. 

 

Bruce was in his office, and he couldn’t hear anyone breaking in. 

 

Then Peter’s ears caught it. Crying coming from the laundry room on the main level of the manor, back behind and slightly to the side of the kitchen. He headed straight there. 

 

It was a female crying voice, which normally would narrow it down to Cass, Steph, or Barbara, assuming the infamous Selina hadn’t invaded the manor again. 

 

He recognized the voice a second later, though he hadn’t heard her cry before. 

 

“Stephanie?” he called out hesitantly as he entered the laundry room. 

 

All the lights were out, and shadows stretched long on the walls in the setting sun. The laundry had all been completed and put away, so the counters were empty. The crying seemed to be coming from the corner where the laundry hampers were normally stacked, which were slightly pushed forward. He found Stephanie tucked behind them in a ball. His nose caught the scent of burnt flesh and his worry intensified. 

 

“Steph?” he asked again, leaning over her. 

 

An arm shot out and grabbed his shirt, yanking him closer to her. He braced his arms against the wall, hoping it was actually Stephanie and not some look alike trying to kill everyone in the manor. 

 

“I want to make one thing clear. I am crying out of anger and frustration, not because I am weak,” Stephanie snarled. 

 

Peter held his hands out, “Woah, of course no one thinks you’re weak. I am worried about why you are angry enough to cry and why I can smell a burn on you.” 

 

Stephanie let out a wordless yell of rage, hands shaking in what Peter now recognized as anger, “I don’t want to talk about it!” 

 

“I think we might have to,” Peter said, refusing to leave one of his closest friends in this dimension to cry and deal with burns alone in the laundry room. 

 

“I’m so mad I might end up punching you if I try to explain and you didn’t even do anything!” she said, punching the wall hard enough to leave a fist print in the drywall. 

 

“No worries, I have super fast healing. No one in the manor would even know,” Peter offered. 

 

“It was during the fight with that new meta. He burnt me. Somewhere kind of private. Across my butt,” Stephanie managed to get out through clenched teeth. 

 

“That’s horrible. Come on, let’s get you to the doctor,” Peter said. 

 

“No, it gets worse. I could’ve handled that, just a hazard of the job. There was some reporter there, among the civilians. He kept jeering and making comments, but I was ignoring him. Then he said…” she trailed off and her teeth ground together loudly enough that Peter worried she was going to crack one. 

 

“What did he say, Steph?” Peter tried for a gentle voice, though he felt anger starting to rise up in himself, worried about how this would go. 

 

“My suit was burned clear through. It wasn’t just that it got hot and that’s how I got a burn. My suit melted away. And the guy said he took a picture. He showed me when I came over. It looks terrible. You can clearly see my whole butt, both cheeks and starting to get into other areas. But my butt looks horrible! All red and there's bubbles from the burns. He said he was going to splash the Spoiler’s butt across the magazines of Gotham. I broke his camera but he said he already had it on the cloud. He claimed he had a business associate who would know if I did anything to him, and to let him go or it would be instantly posted onto Twitter and a bunch of other social media immediately. I felt powerless, Pete. What was I supposed to do when he had a digital copy of it that I couldn’t reach?” Stephanie started crying again, her tightly fisted hands still shaking. 

 

Peter felt fury rise up in himself. He remembered how he’d felt when the one guy at the party had kissed him without permission. He couldn't imagine how Stephanie felt in a situation like this. 

 

“OK, we are going to handle this, and it starts with you not hiding in the laundry room with burns,” Peter said, reaching out a hand and pulling Stephanie to her feet, hands moving slowly enough in case she wanted to pull away or didn’t want his help. 

 

Pulling out his phone, he shot a quick text to Alfred that Steph needed medical help and to meet in the front foyer. 

 

Alfred was there before Peter and Stephanie, and quickly took control of her. 

 

“Where are you going Mister Peter?” Alfred asked him once Alfred had Stephanie leaning on him. 

 

“To get Bruce and potentially commit a murder. Some creep has pictures of Steph’s butt and is claiming he’s going to put them in the magazines,” Peter called back, not wanting to make Stephanie explain again. 

 

“Bruce does not allow murder, but he would allow you to beat the man almost to death,” Alfred replied, voice tight with his own anger at the news. 

 

Peter barged into Bruce’s office without knocking in a way that he never had before, anger making him careless. Bruce raised his eyebrows but didn’t look angry. 

 

“A reporter took pictures of Stephanie’s burnt butt during the patrol and is claiming to spread them around. I need your backup,” Peter demanded before turning and heading towards the garage. 

 

“Where is Stephanie?” Bruce was moving instantly. 

 

“I sent her for medical care with Alfred,” Peter replied. 

 

“Do you know which reporter it is?” 

 

“Yes, she gave me the name and I’ve already looked up his information,” Peter said, “I need you to drive us there and back me up.” 

 

“As Batman or Bruce?”

 

“Bruce, I need you to use your political and money powers,” Peter said. 

 

“I can do that,” Bruce agreed, getting into his ridiculously expensive car. Peter was glad this was one of those times when Bruce had been wearing a full suit while at home on a Saturday. It helped give the right impression. 

 

While Bruce drove, Peter grabbed his phone and hit a number on it, “Hey, I need a huge favor. Meet me at Dalwish Street. In full suit.” 

 

When they arrived, Daredevil was waiting for them, and walked in next to Bruce as Peter stalked into the building. 

 

Peter didn’t knock as he walked into the magazine’s building. 

 

“Excuse me?” a secretary asked, standing up before taking in the sight of an angry Bruce Wayne with the brand new Daredevil walking next to him led by an angry Peter Parker (not that secretary knew Peter Parker or even knew much about Daredevil, but everyone in Gotham knew Bruce Wayne), “Uhm, can I help you?” 

“I need to speak with Carson Alters, immediately,” Peter said. 

 

She led the way without comment, people peeking around their cubicles, random reporters and editors staring with wide eyes. 

 

“Here he is,” she announced, shutting the door behind it, which Daredevil leaned against. Bruce followed Peter as the teenager moved to slam his palms down on the desk of the startled reporter. 

 

“You have an inappropriate picture of the vigilante Spoiler,” Peter demanded. 

The reporter smirked, “I might.” 

Notes:

Over 100k hits!!! That's crazy!! I have never had so much traction on one of my stories or so many people reading it! Thank you!! Thank you to the people who have shared it on TikTok because I think a lot of you have come from there.

Sorry for another cliffhanger! I wanted to get this chapter out though, and that meant ending it. How did we go from fun teasing of Peter to drama in one chapter? Arc 2 is starting to build up. I've thrown in so many hints and foreshadowing. Please consider leaving a comment with what you noticed and where you think this is going next.

With the holidays coming up, my posting will probably be slower. I've been averaging a chapter like every two weeks. I'd prefer one a week, but we'll see. As always, extra comments really motivate me to write more. I had a friend announce she was pregnant this week. Can you imagine kids in this economy? Or what would happen to posting with children? Exciting, but crazy.

In this chapter, Carson Alters is completely made up as far as I know. He won't be in the story for a long time.

Also, I've published a new Harry Potter fanfic on here. It's morally grey Harry who's more magic than human. What would happen if Dumbledore and Voldemort had been killed during the first Wizarding War, like within a week of each other? What would have happened to the wizarding world without either of them? Strongly Secret Garden inspired. I'm trying a different vibe for my writing in it, trying to stretch myself, and it has less of my normal humor. More detailed descriptions. Consider checking that how if it's your vibes and even leaving constructive criticism since I'm trying something new :) It's called the Secret Menagerie and will be Charlie/Harry which is a vastly underrated ship.

Chapter 26: Peter channels Black Widow

Summary:

Peter refuses to let anyone hurt one of his bats.

“So you’re the bastard,” Peter cursed, anger deepening his voice in a way he rarely had ever heard from himself. 

 

The man had the audacity to shrug, “Normally depends on who you talk to. Officially, my parents were married when I was born.”

 

“You aren’t even going to deny having the pictures of Spoiler?” Peter clarified.

 

“Course not! They’re gold! A picture like that is front page worthy. I’m going to make a pretty penny,” Carson gloated. 

 

“Like hell. You need to delete them,” Peter demanded.

 

The man sat back, smirk on his face as he considered Peter, “Ahhh, angry boyfriend? Fellow vigilante?”

 

“Angry friend,” Peter clarified.

 

“Listen kid, you seem like you have some connections, which we can totally look into later.” Carson’s eyes darted to Daredevil, swallowing slightly, before looking at Bruce Wayne with blatant curiosity, “but this is just business. Nothing personal.” 

 

“You took pictures with her suit burned off her butt,” Peter argued.

 

The man nodded, “And I’m going to make a ton of money. Business. Who are you anyway?”

 

“Just a butler in training,” Peter crossed his arms over his chest glaring.

 

“Butler?” Carson clarified.

 

“Training with my butler,” Bruce offered, voice as steady as ever, a touch more serious than his normal playboy act in public. 

 

“Doing a favor for the boy? I have heard you like them young yourself, all those poor little orphans you bring back to your place,” the man quipped.

 

Peter’s hands tightened into fists, but Bruce replied before he could, “Contrary, my stance on sexual harassment is well documented. I am here as a favor for my employee, who felt that someone of my standing might be able to help push you into making the proper choice in this situation.”

 

The man scoffed, turning towards Daredevil, “And you’re the hired muscle to make sure I follow their directions?”

 

Daredevil just tilted his head, “I think the butler is enough to deal with a fat lard as yourself. I believe I have been brought along to walk you through the legal ramifications of selling explicit photos of an individual, especially to the general public.” 

 

The man seemed to lose some of his cockiness as Daredevil did in fact spend several minutes lecturing on selling butt photos from a legal standpoint. It might’ve been all legal jargon from their dimension, but it still made Peter smirk slightly. He knew the man couldn’t just legally get away with that. 

 

“What’re you gonna do, reveal Spoiler’s identity? Without that, most of that stuff doesn’t apply,” Carson argued. 

 

“You are going to make the right choice and delete those photos. She’s horrified about them,” Peter said.

 

Alters smirked, “Ohh poor thing. Maybe she should’ve thought of all the possible repercussions before going to work as a vigilante of the night.”

 

“I’ll repeat myself one final time. Will you delete the photos?” Peter asked.

 

“No. What’re you going to do? Kill me?” the reporter was rather sarcastic as he said it.

 

Peter grinned, leaning forward so he was looking at the man through his slightly too long curls, “Kill you? No, no, no…Of course not…You are surrounded by a group of men who don’t believe in killing.”

 

He paused for a second, tilting his head to stare at the man, considering his next steps as he had been since Steph had told him. He’d been running through situation and what his mentors might suggest.

 

Tony would’ve used his money to muscle the guy into an elaborate scenario where Tony revealed everyone’s secrets. Not realy Peter’s style. 

 

Personally, Peter felt like Captain America would’ve actually acted a lot like this universe’s Superman, and used deep disappointment and horror before resorting a little bit to his fists and dunking the guy in cold water to get him to delete the photos. Peter had the strength, but he didn’t feel like he had the intimidating stature and longstanding moral reputation to pull that one off. 

 

No, Peter didn’t want to use the methods of any of the male Avengers. This was the case of a female vigilante being sexually harassed by an old, white man for his own benefit. Peter wanted to embody Natasha in full Black Widow mode. He softly said, “I’m going to castrate you.”

 

Matt felt a slight twitch to the side of him from Bruce, and his own eyebrows went up a bit but neither stopped Peter or interrupted. The man’s fat jaw dropped as he stared up at Peter.

 

“I’m going to use a chemical that keeps you awake and aware but paralyzed. Then I’m going to surgically cut off your balls. Just to be safe, I’m also going to remove your penis, in case you’re a rapist on top of a grade A creep and sex offender. Don’t worry, I’ll keep everything clean so you don’t get an infection. No death around here. Personally, I think that’s too nice for the likes of you,” Peter explained the entire process, enhanced features smelling the man’s cold sweat. 

 

“You can’t just threaten me like that,” the man sputtered, “Are you two going to let him just say stuff like that?!” 

 

Bruce looked down at his nicely manicured nails, “I didn’t hear anything.”

 

Daredevil smiled then, “I’m one of those vigilantes you don’t seem to like. Who’s even going to take my word of what I’ve heard?”

 

The blood visibly drained out of the man’s face while he tried to keep him cool, “What do you want? Money?”

 

“The photos deleted,” Peter repeated.

 

“This is ridiculous! You can’t just come in and threaten a man with something like that! You’re like half my size anyway, I bet this is an empty threat,” the man was rambling, trying to posture.

 

Peter took one hand and used a bit more than human strength to push the man back into his seat.

 

Carson Alters sat back down and gaped.

 

“You’re serious,” he finally muttered.

 

“Tick tock. The timeline of your manhood is quickly diminishing,” Peter said, arms crossing again as he cocked a hip and stared down the reporter.

 

“Fine, I’ll delete them,” the man snarled, grabbing out his phone and clicking away, “Here’s the photos.”

 

Turning the phone, Peter and the other two men were able to take in the photos. There were about twenty of them, though all nearly identical. The man had clearly been snapping away as he’d taken them. About six were blurry, but the rest were a decent shot. The man must have some history of working as a photographer. 

 

The photos themselves were bad. Spoiler’s entire buttocks were exposed with her mask completely visible as she looked back at the flames in pain, and in a few of the photos, a bit more graphic even. The burns were red with some flesh bubbling up. All of them were horribly embarrassing and Peter couldn’t even imagine the thought of having similar photos floating around the web, which they definitely would’ve if they’d been posted in a magazine. 

 

“And there, deleted,” the man snarled, showing himself touch the delete button and the photos going away.

 

“Thank you,” Peter smiled sweetly, and turned to leave. 

 

The men followed him quietly until they had left the building. Peter pulled out his phone, and pressed Tim’s number, putting it on speaker phone, “What was the verdict?”

 

“He had like three digital copies,” Tim said, “I think Oracle and I have scrubbed them all. We razed his entire system.”

 

“If he has a physical copy, or like a memory stick, I can’t reach that from my computer,” Oracle’s voice added in. “One other thing, I’ve done an indepth search of his computer while checking everything. It’s bad, guys.” 

 

“Bad how?” Bruce asked. 

 

“Well, it stands to reason what kind of man wants to use such photos for his own gain. Guess what he has tons of on his computer?” 

 

Peter was still too angry to think of the implications, but Bruce clearly understood what Oracle was implying, “Porn.” 

 

“Not just any, though plenty of that. There’s hundreds of files of child exploitation. With his history of being a photographer, it looks like he might’ve been involved in making some of it,” Oracle clarified. 

 

Peter recoiled, disgusted, and not used to working on cases like that. He took a steadying breath before nodding even though Oracle and Tim couldn’t physically see him. 

 

“I understand. We need him to never want to reveal those pictures, and he deserves so much for what he’s done,” Peter said, clicking off of the phone call, before scrolling to a different number, “I’m calling in Wade.”

 

Daredevil grinned.

 

“Hello, Wade? I need a favor. Can you capture Carson Alters and castrate him? I definitely want him left alive, just in pain. I’m standing outside his office now,” Peter said.

 

There was silence for a moment.

 

Then squealing so loud that Peter had to pull the phone way far away from his ear.

 

“I’m so proud of you baby boy!!!” Wade squealed, “Finally ready for me to castrate men on your behalf! I will go castrate away. No killing today!”

 

“One more thing Wade. It looks like he was making child porn. I need info on any children he still knows about and what we can do to help,” Peter said. 

 

Wade’s voice was much tighter and angrier then, “Roger that. Maximum pain incoming. I’ll keep you updated with info gathering.” 

 

Peter clicked off of that call and turned to look at Bruce who looked back with raised eyebrows. 

 

Peter looked up at Bruce sadly, “Are you mad at me? Going to fire me?”

 

“Would you have castrated him yourself?” Bruce asked mildly, no emotion showing.

 

“Like a prize bull,” Peter said without hesitation, before looking at Bruce with accidentally large puppy dog eyes, “So, are you mad?”

 

“No, he made his own bed. I am not surprised by your viciousness either. I too have done things that aren’t strictly ethically right in the protection of my family. And you didn’t threaten to kill anyone,” Bruce said, “Though I am surprised to find out your friend is a lawyer.”

 

Bruce turned to look at Daredevil. Matt shrugged with an air somewhere near indifference, but Peter knew him well enough to catch that lingering emotion he’d been getting from Matt since he’d arrived in this dimension, something close to agony.

 

“Possibly in a past life,” Matt offered before going back to brooding.

 

The trio piled into Bruce’s car with Bruce driving. 

 

“I’m surprised you two dislike each other so much. You’re actually really similar,” Peter offered his own remark.

 

Bruce stiffened, “I have been over this. I do not care for those who carelessly waste the lives of others.”

 

Peter tilted his head in confusion, “Huh? Daredevil is super against killing, like you. It’s one of both of our big things, though he’s more likely to beat someone within an inch of their lives. Like someone else we know who maybe is all dark and brooding and dresses like a bat…”

 

“When I first met him, he was bragging about all the people he’d killed that you had told him not to, him and that…Deadpool?”

 

Peter turned and gave Daredevil a confused look, “Yeah Deadpool kills a lot. You’re not going to like him as a person either. But Daredevil, you don’t kill.”

 

Daredevil shrugged unapologetically, a hint of smile at his lips, “I felt like messing with your buddy.”

 

Peter groaned while Bruce stared at Daredevil with an appraising look in the  rear view mirror. 

 

Daredevil asked to be dropped off a few streets over. 

 

“Be careful!” Peter called after his vigilante friend. 

 

“I’ll go check in on Deadpool,” Daredevil offered. 

 

“Here’s the paralytic I was talking about. I had planned on using it for super other endevors, but it’ll work as described,” Peter threw a vial at Daredevil who caught it with another one of those smirks before darting down an alley and out of sight. 

 

Bruce and Peter were greeted by Alfred at the manor. 

 

“Was your task successful?” Alfred asked. 

 

“Of course!” Peter said, “Carson Alters will find himself in a bit of a medical emergency over the next several weeks that will require substantiation anesthesia. After that, if that isn’t enough to keep him from wanting to sell the photos, the local newspaper agencies will have been informed that he had a medical emergency requiring extra strength prescription medication and to not take anything he says or shows seriously. Tim is setting up a tracker on his phone and computer to watch for him to upload or send any photos in case they are Spoiler’s.” 

 

“Seems like you have covered your bases,” Alfred agreed. 

 

Peter’s eyebrows pinched together, his whole face downturned, “There’s more, Mr Alfred. Oracle found a bunch of child pornography on his computer, and it even looks like he might’ve helped to make some of it. Wade is going to see if he can get information about his victims to help them.”

 

It was all exhausting and so much worse than he had expected going into an already bad situation. Alfred stepped closer and pulled the teenager into a hug. 

 

“This is why we have a team,” Alfred said simply. 

 

Peter buried his face in the junction between the man’s neck and shoulder, letting a shudder go through his body. Bruce and Alfred shared a look over his head. 

 

“Come, now Peter,” Alfred pulled away, “a thick cup of French hot chocolate is in order with a simple carbohydrate in the form of a baguette.” 

 

Damian was already sitting at the kitchen island with his own cup of untouched hot chocolate. He perked up at the sight of Peter, “How did the assination go?” 

 

“No killing,” Bruce said in an expaserated sigh. 

 

“Well, you definitely made an exception for this, right?” Damian demanded. 

 

“I do not make exceptions with people’s lives,” Bruce pointed the serving spoon at his youngest before Alfred had gathered up the mugs and stolen the serving spoon from his employer. Bruce settled into a chair at the island with Peter and Damian. 

 

“I had his castrated,” Peter whispered, feeling a touch ashamed as the adrenaline came down, leaving him feeling more sick than anything. Sick at what he’d asked Wade to do, but more sick at what had been revealed. 

 

Damian looked at Peter with wide, starstruck eyes, “Brilliant!” 

 

Peter sighed, taking a morose bite out of his baguette as he thought. On the other side of the kitchen, he spotted the red and yellow Robin costume to be mended as well as Spoiler’s burnt costume. They weren’t left laying around the manor in case of workers stopping by, but the family had become a bit more lax now that Peter knew. Probably closer to how they had been before he had arrived. 

 

Staring at it, Peter was struck with a thought, as though Shuri was talking straight to him, ‘You need to upgrade all of their equipment.” 

 

Peter had never really talked to Maria Hill, but the Avengers had talked of her constantly, and he could imagine her saying, ‘Your soldiers are only as good as their equipment.’ He rolled his eyes at himself, since the bats weren’t soldiers, but maybe his sleep deprived thoughts had some merit.  

 

‘Go through everything. Make sure something like this doesn’t happen again,’ Shuri urged him, or at least her memory. 

 

“Damian, bring me over your costume. I want to look it over and see if I can make any improvements,” Peter said, before turning to Bruce, “And you, sir, maybe I can improve your suit as well?” 

 

“Doubtful, Mr Parker, I did invent it myself, and that is something of my area of expertise,” Bruce countered, taking a sip of his hot chocolate while raising his eyebrows at his employee. 

 

“I need to start by making all of them fire and heat proof,” Peter murmured, turning over Damain’s costume. 

 

“My cape is already entirely fireproof,” Bruce said. 

 

“I think I remember the formula for that improved fabric that Shuri had created,” Peter muttered. 

 

“Are we making suggestions as to how to improve our performance? I wish to add retractable claws to my gloves,” Damian declared. 

 

“Bulletproof?” Peter asked Bruce. 

 

“The cape is entirely impervious to flame, bullets, radiation, blunt force trauma,” Bruce clarified. 

 

“Then why wouldn’t you include that in Spoiler’s costume?!” Peter demanded. 

 

Off to the side, Damian had grabbed a notebook out of one of the kitchen drawers and taken the pencil he had demanded from Alfred, sketching out his demands quickly. Bruce looked sad, but not angry as he met Peter’s eyes evenly. 

 

“Some members of the family require flexibility that I cannot include in the skin tight components. I offered them a cape of their own, but they declined,” Bruce said, “I have added some flame resistance to the suits themselves, but I can only do so much.” 

 

“Oh, so your cape is proof everything, but not the tighter suit! Do to flexibility issues? I can improve that!” Peter said thinking again. 

 

‘Use the changes I made to the Nomex structure,’ it finally clicked what Shuri had used. 

 

Damian took the papers and shoved them into Peter’s face, distracting him from his thoughts though he held on to what he remembered of Shuri’s formula, “Here, retractable claws like this.” 

 

Peter took the papers and looked at them before turning to Damian with a smile, “This is really good! I didn’t know you could draw like this.”

 

“It’s nothing!” Damian scowled, looking away, “But I want that added!” 

 

“Come on Damian, I know what we’re doing today,” Peter declared, “We’re going to find all of the bats, and find out what each of them want added to their costumes and how we can make them better.” 

 

“Add in extra protection while keeping the flexibility that Dick and the girls need,” Bruce looked quite intrigued, “I am quite interested in seeing what you come up with, Peter.” 

 

Peter’s next stop was Tim’s room, where Duke and Steph were settled with Tim as usual. Stephanie seemed to be destroying Duke in another video game. 

 

“What changes would you guys make to your costumes?” Peter demanded as he entered the room. 

 

“Extra fireproofing,” Stephanie snarks, pausing the game to look over at Peter, “Tim said you guys handled it.”

 

“Yeah, of course we did,” Peter said. 

 

“Thank you,” Steph says softly before coughing, “Anyway, changes to the suits?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m going to improve all of them. Keep you guys more safe. You don’t have the super fast healing and I can’t give you mine, but I can try to be preemptive.” 

 

“I could maybe use a slightly better mechanism for holding my batons,” Duke offered, “Not that I don’t already love my costume, but sometimes the holders feel a little clunky where they are placed.” 

 

Peter motioned at Damian who started drawing, offering Duke several iterations before Duke pointed to one of them. 

 

Dick walked into the room, “If we’re going over costume changes, I want to look good in mine.” 

 

“Ohh, yeah! Make sure my butt and my boobs look good!” Steph threw in, then frowned at Tim and Peter’s disbelieving looks, “What?” 

 

“Didn’t we just have a whole situation with some guy taking pictures of your butt?” Tim clarigied. 

 

“Yeah, because the pictures looked bad! I’m not going to hide away just because of one bad incident. Part of my whole thing is being beautiful and I’m not going to not consider how my boobs look in costume. That would be like letting the creeps win,” Stephanie crossed her arms over said chest and pouted at Tim. 

 

“Agreed, I want my ass to look nice,” Dick said, nodding along. 

 

“Peter, make sure we look good in our suits!” Stephanie demanded. 

 

Peter snorted, “Not like I need to do anything for either of you then.” 

 

Shit eating grins spread across Stephanie and Dick’s faces as they shared a look and moved closer to Peter who looked at them in confusion. 

 

“Huh?” he asked. 

 

“You think we look nice, Petey?” Stephanie asked, leaning on him gently. 

 

Peter blushed, “Well, I mean, obviously, is anyone here going to argue that?” 

 

“I will argue forever that Richard looks ugly,” Damian raised his hand like he was in class. Tim nodded along, “Yeah, older brothers are gross.” 

 

Dick leaned on Peter’s other side, “That’s fine you two, Bambi thinks my ass looks nice.” 

 

“Moving on!” Peter said swiftly, using a touch of superspeed to escape Stephanie and Dick, though the two still looked entirely pleased, “Damian wants claws, Duke wants a smoother system for his weaponry, Steph and Dick are concerned with their looks, but I’m also going to improve the material composition and general design elements on each one. Tim, you’re up.” 

 

Tim pulled out a pile of papers and laid it into Peter’s hands, “Here is a detailed essay on everything that could be improved on my suit.” 

 

Peter raised his eyebrows, but had to agree as he flipped through the pages, “OK that was at least easy. Come on, Damian, we’re going find Cass and Jason before we make our final design renderings of each.” 

 

The other four waited until Peter had left the room before Tim turned to Dick, “We need to get him access to the Batcave if he’s going to do all this for us.” 

 

“He’s gonna need access to the labs and all the chemicals,” Duke agreed. 

 

Dick grabbed a baseball off of Tim’s shelves and tossed it into the air absently, “Best of luck with that, especially with his new friends showing up. Think B is going to reveal big secrets like that?” 

 

“If it protects his children, I think he would,” Alfred’s voice added into the conversation as the butler walked in the open doorway, “Come children, let us have a discussion with Master Bruce.” 

 

Peter found Cass and Jason together. He looked over their costume designs that Damian had quickly sketched of what they already had, “Honestly, you two have some of the best designs besides for B. The helmet is a bit genius really. 

 

Jason stared, “I don’t like my head being touched.” 

 

Peter grimaced as he realized what he said, “Regardless of the reasoning, it really is a good move. The leather suit is good too, but I’m going to add extra layers of kevlar and some other stuff.” 

 

“Add the protection where it really matters, especially in light of the punishment you doled out today,” Jason’s face was mainly a smirk as he gestured to his crouch. 

 

“This family has an unhealthy obsession with their own private parts,” Peter muttered, “Already heard about today though?” 

 

“You did the right thing, Bambi,” Jason offered, not softly or sweetly, but entirely matter-of-fact, like a sergeant, “he deserved it for what he had done.” 

 

“I guess,” Peter muttered, flipping through the papers so he wouldn’t have to look Jason in the eye. 

 

“Hair,” Cass added. When Peter turned to look at her, she signed how she wanted a tool that could instantly and handlessly pull her hair back without pulling it. 

 

“Write that down, Damian,” Peter declared, already thinking through what he could build with that. 

 

Then it was time for Peter to help Alfred with supper, meaning he had to put off actually working on the costumes for the time. He was able to move smoothly in the kitchen after the months of working there, getting into a solid groove with Alfred, pulling out the vegetables and starting to chop them without being told. There was quiet in the kitchen as he stayed in his thoughts during prep and then cooking. 

 

At serving time, he stood near the walls as the entire family gathered in the formal dining room, handing over dishes as needed. 

 

Bruce cleared his throat near the end of supper, glancing at his gathered children through his narrowed eyebrows, “Peter, there has been a consensus that I need to show you my work area if you are to truly improve the suits of everyone; however, I think it is a bad idea.” 

 

“...I appreciate your honesty?” Peter said, confused what the correct response was to that statement. 

 

Stephanie and Tim rolled their eyes while Dick leaned forward and stared down Bruce, “B we talked about this.” 

 

Bruce huffed slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

 

“You don’t have to show me anything,” Peter offered quickly and a touch frantically, “I don’t want to start a fight. I can use my room.” 

 

“No, you need access to all the suits to see the progression. Not to mention the tools and chemicals and stuff,” Duke agreed, clearly repeating something he’d been saying for a while. 

 

Bruce sighed, but stood up, everyone else following while Peter awkwardly stayed against the wall of the room. Stephanie and Tim came over and grabbed an arm each, pulling Peter along. Down the steps to the basement gym, off to the side where Bruce tapped on a piece of wood paneling to see what looked like a blank concrete wall behind that. Bruce tapped again in a pattern before the concrete slid down to reveal a key pad. 

 

Looking over his shoulder, Bruce glared lightly at Peter, “I’m not showing you the pin yet.” 

 

“OK…” Peter said, still really confused. 

 

Bruce shuffled so the keypad was hidden from sight before tapping away. The paneling slid down to reveal a metal door. Opening that revealed what looked like a cave tunnel. 

 

“Come on,” Dick said behind Peter, gently pushing him forward while Stephanie and Tim pulled on his arms. 

 

The tunnel quickly opened up to a large cavern that seemed to branch out in several directions. Peter slowly turned, taking in the waterfall and batmobile resting on a ledge, the wall of computer systems, and the glass case holding multiple generations of suits. Peter moved slowly along the case, taking in the progression and improvements shown there. 

 

Duke stepped up next to him, “As the previous newest, I appointed myself to check in how you’re doing.” 

 

“What is all this?” Peter asked, amazed in ways he hadn’t been since Tony had first taken him into Stark tower.

 

“You thought we pulled all this off inside the manor without anyone finding out I’m Batman?” Bruce asked. 

 

“I mean, maybe?” Peter asked, turning back around to the suits. 

 

The family laughed, some just smirking and others laughing aloud. Peter was too busy looking at everything to be upset. 

 

“The labs are over here,” Tim directed Peter through one of the side tunnels. 

 

Peter wasn’t sure about everything in this new dimension, but he was pretty certain he’d died and gone to heaven as he took in the lab that rivaled Mr Stark’s any day, with metal tables covered with every tool or material he could’ve asked for. A locked, glass cabinet along one entire wall held every chemical imaginable.

 

He spun in a circle once with a smile on his face before getting to work. 

 

“Someone will have to come down and retrieve him later so he doesn’t pull an all-nighter,” Alfred stated, the batfamily moving throughout the cave system to their own work, Tim settling into a seat at one of the tables near Peter to keep an eye on him while working.

 

“If I can’t get him to go upstairs, I’ll just send Dick,” Tim said, Peter completely oblivious while Dick smacked the back of Tim’s head. 

 

“Actually, do that, I want to show him my gymnastics room!” Dick said then, smiling down at Tim, “Duke, wanna lift for an hour or two while they geek out?” 

 

“For sure, man, I’ve been trying to PR and you can spot me!” Duke said, those two heading towards the gym system.

 

“We need to create a lifting system for Peter. I theorize with additional training that we could improve his strength,” Damian said, mainly to Cass.

 

“I will come and listen to your training suggestions,” Bruce offered while he went with those two, Stephanie following along as well. 

 

“Can you hand me the phenylene-diamine please?” Peter asked Tim. 

Notes:

Hey!! I’m alive! Sorry for the super long break. I decided to prioritize family over the holidays, and honestly have no regrets. Hopefully no more breakfast for a month and a half ha. Also, anyone else feel like they write better fanfiction when their mental state is kind of trash? But my mental state recently has actually been kind of great.

Other thoughts, I might not make this a full fifty chapters. I’m thinking I might cut it off closer to 40 chapters, so mentally prepare yourselves if I end this. Just depends on how many chapters it takes to wrap up everything I want to wrap up. Let me know what you all think in a comment :)

Chapter 27

Notes:

Warning, what seems like a heavy romance chapter at first, but is actually Dick finding out Peter's age. I warned from the start that the hyperfixation would end. I don't want to leave this story just hanging though, so I'll see what I can do about finishing it up. We probably won't get the glorious three arcs I was originally going for, and all the cool scenes. I also feel like I've forgotten some of what I wrote at this point, so feel free to mention any glaring plot holes as I continue writing, and I can try to edit them if I feel bothered. I'd like to include a Halloween chapter and another Christmas chapter. I was also supposed to write a summer/beach chapter over the summer. Hmmm, we shall see what happens. I'd rather wrap this up so you all have a nice conclusion and then potentially come back and add bonus chapters, compared to leaving it hanging. Anyway, this chapter isn't my favorite, but I feel like you all deserved something about like 8 months.

Dick leaned against the door jam of the lab, watching Peter work. As the family had guessed, it was late into the night, and Peter was still working away. Tim had stayed with him, casework spread out across a table. Glancing at the notes while he walked past, Dick noticed that Tim had the notes from five different cases all spread out at once. 

 

“Think they’re connected?” Dick asked him gently. 

 

“Possibly. Almost seems like the work of the rogues, but I remember what Peter said of the rumors that the rogues are working together,” Tim said. 

 

“The notes will wait for the morning. Get some sleep. You’re on patrol tomorrow evening,” Dick said, shooing his little brother towards the exit. 

 

Tim mumbled something illegible as he walked away, barely awake. 

 

Dick turned his attention back to Peter then, taking in the bags under Peter’s own eyes. 

 

“It's not healthy for you to look anything like Tim,” Dick teased, staying a table over to give Peter his space. 

 

“Have I accidentally dyed my hair black again?” Peter asked, one hand running through his hair as though he could feel a change in color. 

 

Dick laughed softly, “Is that a common occurrence?” 

 

Peter looked guilty, “It’s gotten better. When I was first figuring out Kevlar, it happened more often. All colors though, not just black.” 

 

“You haven’t dyed your hair. I meant the bags under your eyes from lack of sleep,” Dick siad. 

 

Peter gave a bit of a guilty look at Dick, “I can’t just stop my work though. The bats are going out every day on patrol. These changes could save someone’s life.” 

 

“We’ve lived with what we currently have for years. I’m not saying the improved suits wouldn’t be absolutely amazing, but they can wait another night or more so you don’t kill yourself working,” Dick said. 

 

Peter ran his hand through his hair, considering as he looked at the chemicals spread over the table, “Probably couldn’t get to sleep anyway.” 

 

Dick smirked at him, “I can wear you out. Come with me.” 

 

Peter blushed, not certain what Dick even meant, though he followed the man. 

 

“This is my gymnastics room,” Dick said, waving his arms as Peter took in another room in the cave system. 

 

Tall ceilings were sprinkled with ropes and pulleys and circle tubes. There were three tall platforms with a net spread out about eight feet off the floor. Thick pads covered most of the floor. There were gymnastic beams and poles. Everything was brightly colored and it somehow looked like Dick had deposited a circus into a cave, which actually was basically what he had done. 

 

“It’s amazing,” Peter admitted, seeing Dick in this space even more than his circus themed bedroom. The man smirked at him before grabbing onto a rope that had been secured to the wall. Pulling on it at an angle, Dick released the rope.

 

“Have you done any aerialist arts with a partner?” Dick questioned, “since a lot of your moves are already aerialist based.”

 

“Nah, I haven’t been trained in that kind of stuff. Just doing what comes naturally with my spider instincts,” Peter replied, watching as Dick reached the top of the rope.

 

Looping the rope around his lower leg over and over again, Dick met Peter’s eyes and gave a wink before letting go of the rope, twenty or more feet in the air. He flipped repeatedly, catching himself with just his legs directly in front of Peter’s face, upside down. Peter smiled, closer to Dick than he normally stood.

 

“That looks more like a spider position than a human one,” Peter teased, thinking of how often he’d dropped like that in front of a villain or civilian on one of his webs. 

 

“So, wanna try with me?” Dick asked. 

 

“Yes!”

 

The thought of being able to perform his normal moves with someone who could keep up, even if Dick couldn’t be physically as strong as Peter, was amazing. Black Widow was easily more flexible than Peter, but she hadn’t been interested in getting up in the air on his webs. Same with anyone else he’d worked with. Now he had the opportunity to have a true equal, in this particular area.

 

Peter headed towards the walls, causally sticking to them and crawling up to the platform, lightly jumping over onto it instead of using the rope ladder below the platform.

 

Dick climbed up the ladder onto the acrobat platform across from Peter with a good deal more flair than he used on patrols, facing him with a lazy grin. Reaching up his hands, Dick unlooped a wooden swing bar, holding onto it with both hands. 

 

“Wait, am I catching you?” Peter called, since they hadn’t discussed a plan. 

 

Dick laughed as he stepped lightly off the platform, clearly content to swing for a minute by his arms. He flipped completely over the bar but didn’t release it, showing that there was no need for anyone to catch him. He spun over the bar again as it swung back and forth in the air before stepping lightly back on his own platform, swing bar still in hand. 

 

“How about I catch you?” he called across the room lightly. 

 

“Uh, sure,” Peter said, unused to being the one caught, but also comfortable that he’d be able to catch himself with his webs. 

 

“Let me get in position then,” Dick stepped off the platform again, but this time he swung his legs up onto the bar, holding himself upside down, his arms outstretched as he swung back and forth. 

 

Peter swallowed once, not that he wasn’t very confident in his own abilities, but never having tried to be so precise in a nonbattle situation, simply trying to have fun. It made him suspicious that his Parker luck would activate and he’d end up looking like a fool instead of the very competent spider human that he was. 

 

Unhooking his own swing bar, he stepped off his platform, feeling the pull on his shoulder muscles as his hands and arms held himself up. 

 

His own swinging fell into rhythm with Dick’s, and at just the right moment, Dick said, “Now.” 

 

Peter let go, not even needing to add more force than just following the arch of his swing, hands reaching out. For a moment, he was weightless in the air. It was his favorite sensation, like he was flying. Then his hands collided with slightly wider ones, noting callouses that felt similar to his own. Each hand wrapped around the opposing wrist, locking them together. Peter looked up at Dick’s upside down face, at the joyful smile. 

 

“Again,” he said, slightly breathless with his own joy. 

 

Dick and Peter swung back once, following the momentum of the swing before Dick pushed Peter back up into the air. Peter did a flip as he went back onto his platform, Dick righting himself before landing on his own platform as well. 

 

“I’ll catch you though,” Peter called across the span. 

 

“With webs or hands?” Dick asked back. 

 

Peter grinned, a touch mischievously, “It’s a surprise.” 

 

The answer actually ended up being both. Peter felt his body starting to lag after they’d been flipping and twisting through the air for close to an hour. Both men were used to working on little to no sleep, but Peter knew he soon needed to end the night. 

 

“You’re ready to call it a night,” Dick said, not truly asking. 

 

Peter nodded reluctantly. Dick laughed though as he stepped off his platform without any swings or bars, letting himself free fall down onto the net below, bouncing three times before holding onto the edge of the net, slowly lowering himself to just above the ground, dropping down silently. 

 

Peter simply crawled to the underside of his platform and down the large pole, knowing he probably looked more like a spider than normal. He glanced at Dick, but the man didn’t seem bothered by it and Peter relaxed a miniscule amount. 

 

Dick walked over to him, “Have fun?” 

 

“Yes, we should do that again sometime,” Peter replied. 

 

Dick laughed, “Agreed. And now you even look ready for bed.” 

 

Peter flushed slightly, “I know I should sleep more, but sometimes my mind is racing and I can’t get it to stop.” 

“I’m here to help with that anytime,” Dick said slightly softer, maybe a touch deeper. Peter realized suddenly that Dick was standing quite close to him.

 

Dick leaned in to kiss him, and Peter felt his eyes drift closed, wondering if this was really happening or all a sleep deprived waking dream.

 

Loud boots sounded on the epoxy concrete floors, breaking the illusion.

 

“Nope, this is where I draw the line,” Jason’s voice sounded.

 

“J?” Peter asked, jolting away from Dick who merely rolled his eyes, looking utterly unbothered by his brother. 

 

“Dick, he’s 17,” Jason declared. 

 

That caught Dick’s attention, the man visibly jolting, eyebrows creasing deeply, “No, he’s 19, aren’t you, Peter?” 

 

Peter flushed under direct attention, “Uh, yeah.” 

 

“No he’s not, I heard him while we were with the Joker, and he thought I was unconscious. He’s underaged,” Jason announced. 

 

Peter hunched in on himself while Dick’s face turned an impressive shade of red while the man moved away from him. Dick’s mouth opened and closed several times before his face seemed to shutter, closing off emotions. Dick looked between them silently for a long minute. 

 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he finally asked. 

 

Peter nodded hopelessly while Dick turned on his heel and walked away. 

 

Jason leaned against the wall, his own face closed off. Peter quickly started gathering up his stuff, face blazing in a mix of embarrassment and shame. 

 

“Aren’t you going to yell at me?” Jason finally asked, voice already defensive and tight. 

 

“Yell at you? Why would I do that? I was the one lying, and the truth always finds a way out,” Peter replied, slightly sarcastically, but truly angry at himself, not Jason. 

“I knew he would regret it, Bambi. The flirting was one thing, everyone in this mansion is a flirt. But he would never forgive himself if he took it too far. And trust me, if he starts kissing you, he’s going to take it too far,” Jason said. 

 

Peter’s face continued to flame, though now for additional reasons, “No, you did the right thing. I just couldn’t bear to do it myself. Think he’ll tell B though? I don’t want them making me go back to high school.” 

 

“We’ll have to see,” Jason says quietly as Peter opens the door to the gymnastic gym. 

 

Jason stood there for a moment, considering if he should find his brother and talk to him, before he realized something. 

 

“Wait, you didn't finish high school?!” 

~~~~~~

Despite everything, Peter was surprised to find that his body was truly so tired that he passed out in his small attic room, and was able to sleep for a few hours before his butler duties started up again. While he wanted to go straight down to the batcave, he knew he first needed to help Alfred and complete his proper work. 

 

Hours later, he was down working on the suits again, trying to distract himself while the teens were at school, Bruce was working, and Dick was painfully obviously avoiding the entire mansion, he felt his phone buzz. 

 

“ Gonna smash some bad guy balls in the alley, ” there were a stream of emojis as well. 

 

“ Was that an invite or a brag? ” Peter replied to Wade, without the emojis. 

 

“INVITE” 

 

Peter considered his space, wishing he had finished at least one entire suit, before sighing and downing his own spider suit. There was no way he was knowingly sending Deadpool and Daredevil out without him. 

 

Deadpool, Red Hood, and Daredevil moved through Crime Alley, Spider-Man swinging above them. They were stalking a local crime lord that Red Hood had tracked down after the man hired a group of the local children to run drugs. 

 

RIght as the fight really picked up, Deadpool decided it was time for a certain conversation, “Your brother has a crush on Spidey, but he seems a touch old.” 

 

“Bambi told him he was 19,” Jason retorted. 

 

Deadpool’s mask eyes were narrowed, “Baby boy is obviously not that old.”

 

“I could totally be 19!” Spider-Man complained, Daredevil paused in punching a criminal in the face to turn a disbelieving look at the teen. The effect was slightly ruined by Daredevil’s mask which did not show emotions the way Deadpool’s could. 

 

Jason was also punching a lackey while he said, “He’s an alien. We figured it was just something with aging differently but being the adult equivalent”

 

Daredevil said, “The only defense I will offer a certain someone is that he is acting and working as an adult. Except I bet you haven’t filed taxes.” 

 

“Is that still a thing in this universe?” Peter’s voice held quite a bit of alarm. 

 

“Taxes are universal,” Daredevil called back, Jason giving a nod. 

 

“And I suppose it should be acknowledged that a certain other someone was acting under the impression that Peter was an adult. It is an old old courtroom debate, but it should be mentioned that he wasn’t willfully grooming an underaged individual. Also, while Peter is quite a few years younger, they are currently acting as though they were of the same general phase in life because Peter isn’t attending any form of schooling, but is working a job and almost adulting,” Daredevil adds in. 

 

“Whose side are you on?” Deadpool threw an entire body at Daredevil who uses his batons to hit the man on the head before leaving the body laying there. 

 

“I’m not on either side. I am simply stating the facts. Obviously it’s still morally wrong, but I don’t see it was done with a willful intent,” Daredevil replied, grabbing a random box and throwing it at Deadpool’s head. Blood gushed out slightly, but it didn’t bother Deadpool. 

 

“Can’t I just be 18? Not like anyone but you three know any differently, and there’s no records to prove either way,” Peter grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, though a very fast pout in order to web up the last of the lackeys as the quartet reached the office of the actual gang leader. 

 

“No,” the other three men instantly retorted, in agreement about something.

 

“What are you doing in Crime Alley?” Jason demanded after he had kicked in the door and grabbed the huddling leader by the front of his cheap blazer, shaking in his boots. 

 

“I…I mean, it’s Crime Alley! This is the place,” the man stuttered. 

 

“No, it’s been under my jurisdiction for years, and I’ve made it clear that I don’t allow child labor, especially in the drug business. Clean out and move to some other part of Gotham. You aren’t welcome in my area,” Jason snarled, shoving the man down before turning to leave. 

 

Back in the main alley, Deadpool pointed at a sketchy looking Chinese joint with only the letter p still lit up in their open sign, “Tacos! Chimichangas!” 

 

He grabbed Peter and Jason by hand, tugging them towards the place. Peter did not trust the food from there, but his stomach growled as if on cue. Matt sighed, but followed willingly along. At least Deadpool did the ordering for them, switching incorrectly between English and Spanish, sounding to Peter as if he was doing more accidentally insulting than anything. 

 

The group of vigilantes made their way to a rooftop, each with their own greasy paper bag. 

 

“So you two are doing OK?” Peter questioned after the sound of chewing had slowed down slightly. 

 

“They’re staying with me,” Jason barked, sounding as if he didn’t want to admit that. 

 

“Roommates! BFFs! We’ll have a sleepover with you too, Baby Boy. I’ll need you to paint my toes though. I’ve never been very flexible and I can’t reach at least three of my toenails,” Deadpool squealed. 

 

“No,” Jason said. 

 

“Oh, are you volunteering to paint them instead?” Deadpool somehow gave the appearance of batting long eyelashes with his giant white mask eyes. 

 

“No.” 

 

“If you can’t reach them, how are you cleaning them?” Daredevil asked. 

 

Peter took that to mean the trio was doing alright. 

 

“B wants you two out of the city,” Peter said. 

 

“Didn’t figure he’d want them. He’s not a fan of the unknown,” Jason said. 

 

“He said something about bringing in a few friends to look into our dimension situation?” Peter was half telling Jason and half asking the man if he had more information. 

 

“Wow, the dimension hop is making him bring in the Justice League. Not like him. That’ll be interesting,” Jason murmured, half to himself.

 

"Better Three Hours Too Soon Than A Minute Too Late," Matt said, sounding like he was quoting. 

 

"You can't start quoting Shakespeare too," Peter whined. 

 

Jason shrugged, "I suppose that could be his thoughts, but it's just not like B to involve others, especially within Gotham." 

 

"I think old Batty's thoughts are, "Whatever I feel like I wanna do. Gosh!" Deadpool said in an truly excellent mimic, preening as the other three turned unimpressed looks at him, "Napoleon Dynamite, though I know it sounds like Shakespeare." 

Chapter 28: Bat Blog

Summary:

Chapter warnings:
Discussion of poverty
Dead random civilian in Gotham (with semi graphic description)
Passing mention of Joker Gas
Catholic subplot and religious turmoil

Peter had been expecting a knock at the door, but his jaw nearly dropped when he saw reporter Clark Kent standing on the stoop. Eyes narrowing, he asked, “Mr Kent?”

 

“Hi, Peter. I brought a couple friends with me to talk to Bruce,” Clark replied with his easy, if slightly awkward grin. Peter leaned over to look around Clark, revealing a man and a woman standing there.

 

First, Peter noticed how buff the woman was, standing in a black tank top and black leggings. Her biceps were probably larger than Peter’s own. Who was he kidding? Her biceps were blatantly larger than his own. Seriousness highlighted her features, but she didn’t appear cruel. 

 

The unknown man next to Mr Kent was leaner while being about the same height as the woman, tall and gangly in a way that reminded Peter of himself. He must’ve had 10 or so years on Peter’s own age, with Peter’s eyes catching a few strands of silver sprinkled in the light brown hair. Every bit of the man seemed unassuming, which just furthered Peter’s beliefs that the man and the woman must’ve been from the Justice League. He wasn’t completely sure of Kent’s contribution. 

 

“Please come in, I’ll alert Mr Wayne of your presence,” Peter said, trying to sound as posh as Alfred. He may have failed noticing the slight smile that the unassuming man tried to hide. He straightened up a little further anyway, insulted. 

 

“Mr Wayne, your guests are here,” Peter announced as he walked into Bruce’s office after knocking. 

 

The taller man stood up quickly, moving around his desk and out to the entrance, Peter following him.

 

“Clark, Diana, Barry, thank you so much for coming,” Bruce said, nodding his head to the three. 

 

“Dimension hoppers?” the woman, apparently Diana said, getting straight into it.

 

“Let’s head down to the batcave,” Bruce replied mildly.

 

Peter followed after the adults, continuing to try to piece together Clark’s involvement. Down in the main cavern of the batcave, Peter saw the assorted bats all gathered in the room, even Stephanie and Barbara there. 

 

“We need someone to go find Doctor Fate,” Diana muttered.

 

“Doctor Fate?” Peter asked.

 

Tim looked thoughtful, “The only person any of us can think of who might be able to send you back to your universe. I mean, there is also Constantine.”

 

The adults groaned in a way that suggested they didn’t want to involve Constantine. Peter raised his eyebrows at Tim in a silent question.

 

“Man whore,” Stephanie mouthed back at Peter, who hid a smile behind his hand. It wasn’t the correct time to be laughing at how the Justice League either had all slept with the same man or just was annoyed by a man flirting with all of them. 

 

“Constantine will find us if he wants to, but none of us will find the ghost through our own searching,” Bruce said, and everyone accepted that. If the great Batman couldn’t find someone, only Tim probably stood a chance of finding him.

 

“But no one has seen Fate in years,” Clark said, sounding sad, “Not since the last time we got that Alien invasion in Egypt.”

 

“So we send someone to Egypt, and tell them to bring back the good Doctor lickety-split,” Barry announced, walking over to Peter, who raised his eyebrows at the man, “Now Bruce said you both make your own web formula and you now organically produce webs. I’ll like to do some analysis.”

 

“Are you a scientist? Doctor?” Peter asked.

 

“Forensic scientist, to be specific,” Barry said with an easy grin, “Barry Allen, the Flash, at your service. It’ll only take one minute, literally. Then we just wait for the machines to do their work.”

 

Moving faster than Peter could see, Barry had grabbed his wrist and moved his hand in a way that did produce webs, collecting the sample in a glass jar that he held up as he stopped moving so fast. Peter had been around speedsters a couple times, and he had some techniques for stopping Barry if it really bothered him. It helped that Peter was also curious about what changes had happened to him. 

 

“I’ll just take this down to the labs then,” Barry said, and he was gone.

 

“WOW,” Peter said, impressed despite himself.

 

“He’s called the Flash for a good reason,” Clark sounded amused.

 

“Speedsters,” Bruce said with disdain dripping in his voice.

 

Clark clapped the other man on his back with a laugh, “Don’t act like Barry isn’t one of your favorites.”

 

Bruce just grumbled, looking away. Peter couldn’t help hearing the older man’s grumbled comment, “Better than Oliver, that’s for sure.”

 

“Who will we send to retrieve Doctor Fate?” Diana asked, getting the conversation back on track. The three Justice League members looked at each other while the various batfam members perched in the room. 

 

“I’ll go,” a voice popped up.

 

Peter felt his heart drop into his stomach. It was the one person he hadn’t expected to volunteer. He slowly turned to look at Dick, who was looking at his father and completely ignoring Peter. To be fair, Dick wasn’t looking at anyone else, so it might not have been just Peter he was avoiding. Bruce and Dick were clearly having a silent conversation from the way Bruce’s eyebrows kept quirking, up then furrowed then back to neutral. 

 

“It would be a good chance for him to show the league what he can do,” Diana said. Bruce merely raised his eyebrows back at his oldest, neither confirming nor denying what Diana had said. 

 

“It may take a long time to find Doctor Fate. It could easily take months,” Tim added, still looking like he was deep in planning mode, “While Egypt is his home base, we don’t even know if he’s on the planet. The fact no one from the League has heard from him in 17 months is a bad sign. He helped with that alien invasion in Singapore.”

 

“How do you know it’s been 17 months since the last alien invasion in Singapore that Fate helped with just off the top of your head?” Clark asked Tim, who shot him back a disdainful look eerily reminiscent of Damian.

 

“Someone around here needs to be keeping track of things. Dick, I’ll go with you. I’m benched for a while anyway,” Tim announced, waving his casted wrist. 

 

“Now everyone hold on. That would put Gotham and Bludhaven down two of their caped heroes,” Bruce protested, probably thinking of his own increased workload.

 

“I believe Gotham has three additional vigilantes,” Diana commented, “You may have to put them to work.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Bruce argued immediately, crossing his arms over his wide chest, face carved out of marble.

 

“You might not have much of a choice. No one else is volunteering to go after Doctor Fate. I don’t trust the three dimension hoppers to be the ones to go try to find our ally. And the League can’t afford any of its official members currently, especially since, like Drake said, they could be going to Egypt to sit for weeks or months waiting for a sign of Fate,” Diana argued. 

 

“You already trust Bambi enough to use him for Gotham patrols. Deadpool and Daredevil are both staying with me. I’ll use them in Crime Alley, and I’ll take them to Bludhaven twice a week,” Jason offered, his own arms crossed his chest, a mirror image of Bruce. 

 

There was silence in the batcave as the assorted members either considered the proposition or waited to see what Bruce would say.

 

“I don’t like any of this, but I suppose that would work,” Bruce finally said. 

 

“We’ll leave first thing in the morning. I’ll go make sure the jet is ready,” Dick said, turning and walking away. 

 

Barry ran back into the batcave from one of the side labs at that point, “This kid is great! I’m going to steal him. The organic makeup of these webs is groundbreaking!” 

 

Silence hung in the air like fog.

 

“Oh I missed something! Come on, Parker, we’re running away to do science stuff! And you can tell me all the gossip while we’re at it!” Barry announced. 

 

“No stealing, Barry!” Clark declared. 

 

Peter tried to talk to Dick later that evening, but the man didn’t open his bedroom door to Peter’s knocking. Damian popped out of an air vent next to the door and grabbed Peter’s hand.

 

“Come along, Parker. Richard is unavailable currently,” Damian said, dragging the unyielding spider behind him with a firm pressure. 

 

“Yeah, I kind of guessed he was angry,” Peter replied, wondering how much Damian had heard. In this family, he suspected all of the bats knew what had happened.

 

“We are having a meeting in Drake’s room,” Damian’s sneer was way worse than Peter remembered JJ Jameson’s being, so he allowed himself to be dragged along. 

 

“You’re willingly going into Tim’s room?” Peter asked.

 

“We need to go over the division of responsibilities,” Damian said primly, shoving Peter through the open doorway into Tim’s room.

 

Duke and Stephanie were sprawled on the two bean bags that Tim had in his room while Tim was seated at the desk chair. A duffle bag was open on Tim’s bed while several piles of gear and clothes were spread on the bed. 

 

“Is that going to be enough pairs of underwear?” Stephanie was asking when Peter stumbled through the doorway.

 

Tim gave her an eye roll, “I’ll do laundry if we’re there longer than 2 weeks. I can’t just carry unlimited amounts of underwear.”

 

“That seems like exactly the kind of thing a vigilante should bring unlimited amounts of along,” Duke countered, pumping his fist in the air while the other held a portable game console, “New high score!”

 

“B will be dropping us off. I don’t want to be carrying around more bags than necessary while on mission. And if I’m just leaving it in a hotel or apartment, what difference does it make if I do laundry? I suspect this is going to take way too long for me to be able to bring enough outfits so I’m going to be doing laundry either way,” Tim argued back, but Peter noticed that the teenager dropped an extra three pairs of his boxer briefs into one of the piles on the bed.

 

“You think this is going to take a long time?” Peter asked, his heart dropping again. 

 

Tim met Peter’s eyes, looking for something there, before nodding, “Yes I think it’s going to take a while.”

 

“Dick might drag it out until you’re at least legal,” Stephanie chortled. 

 

Duke paused his game and looked up, “Where does that fall on the morality scale? Like he wouldn’t even be on the same continent but it’s weird to just wait for someone to be legal.”

 

“He’s not going to be waiting for Peter; I assure you he will be sleeping with plenty of people,” Tim countered. 

 

Peter hunched slightly, not surprised even as the tips of his ears and his cheeks burned in embarrassment, “So you all know about that then?”

 

“The way you are trying to do the horizontal tango with Dick or the fact you’re actually 17?” Duke asked.

 

“I’m not trying to do any dancing, horizontal or otherwise!” Peter burst out in further embarrassment.

 

“See, I do believe that from you, but Dick is totally a manwhore and he would’ve gotten you into his bed sooner rather than later. Maybe it all starts with a kiss, but he would’ve taken things further within like 72 hours,” Stephanie said with a flick of her hair.

 

“Which is why it’s majorly uncool to have lied about your age, dude,” Duke said in a scolding tone.

 

“Do you think that’s why he volunteered to go on this mission?” Peter asked glumly, perching onto the edge of the bed.

 

“Absolutely,” the others all agreed.

 

“But it’s good for him either way. It helps the Justice League see him as a capable hero,” Tim added, “it’s part of why I agreed to go as well.”

 

“Well, thank you for going to try to find someone who can help me and the guys,” Peter said.

 

“And now you’re going to do something for me,” Tim replied.

 

“I am?” Peter asked. 

 

Tim grabbed his laptop off his desk, standing smoothly from the rolling chair, and handing it over to Peter. Peter looked at the page lightly glowing.

 

“Batwatch. My masterpiece. I’ve been working on this blog for about 10 years. Gotham needs to see that the bats are there to help them. It’s not a lot of work. Just when you’re on patrol, sometimes snap some pictures and upload. They don’t even need captions except for when it’s something big or you really want to make a point. My equipment is in my room here. Cameras, long distance lens, drones. Use what you need to get the shots and then use my laptop to upload it. Or your fancy phone,” Tim said.

 

“What?” Peter asked, scrolling through the blog even as his mouth dropped slightly, “I mean, I don’t need you to repeat that. Just, you want me to continue your blog while you’re gone?”

 

“Like I said, it’s crucial for public opinion to stay on the side of the bats,” Tim shrugged, “You’re the only one I trust to get good pictures that are discreet enough. No revealing anyone’s identity on accident.”

 

~~~——~~~~

 

The next morning, Peter made an entire breakfast spread, at least trying to send Dick and Tim away with a full stomach, even as Dick refused to even glance his way. It was clear he’d really upset Dick. 

 

Then they were gone with Bruce flying them to Egypt.

 

Alfred stood next to Peter in the batcave as they watched the Batjet get far enough away that it was no longer visible. 

 

“They will be fine, Mr Parker,” Alfred said mildly. Though his eyes were following the jet just as closely as Peter’s own.

 

“Somewhere deep inside I know that, but it doesn’t reduce the anxiety any,” Peter replied, no longer feeling like it was a failure on his fault to feel that anxiety, “They’re going on this secret mission across the world for me. I feel like it should be me.”

 

“You don’t know Doctor Fate at all, let alone have any ideas of how to find him. As Diane said, everyone feels more comfortable with those we know going to find Doctor Fate,” Alfred replied. 

 

Peter hummed noncommittally. 

 

“This is the best plan to get you back to your own dimension, if that is what you wish?” Alfred asked.

 

“It doesn’t matter what I want, I have to get back and help,” Peter said, still staring out at the blue sky. 

 

March

 

Peter posts a picture of Signal, Robin and Spoiler eating Bat Burgers. The three are at a booth in full costume. Spoiler is leaning against Robin, who looks extra short. Signal is throwing up a peace sign. The two older heroes are obviously laughing while Robin pouts. Spiderman had been sitting next to Signal before he’d jumped up with the camera to snap the picture. 

 

It’s only the day after uploading that when Peter is supposed to patrol with Duke during the day again.

 

“Careful, the ice storm last night knocked out power across over half of Gotham,” Bruce warns the two before they’ve suited up. Peter exchanged a wary glance with Duke.

 

“Half of the city is without power?” Duke repeated. 

 

“All of our communications are still up, they are satellite based. But yes, traffic signals will be out. Elevators, escalators. a lot of people’s heat,” Bruce warned them, “Wayne Enterprises is setting up heat shelters within all of the community buildings, and I’m going to oversee the delivery of generators.”

 

“Sounds like all the more reason for us to be out there,” Peter said.

 

Bruce and Duke nodded.

 

“Yes, I have to agree. Be careful though,” Bruce said.

 

“Looks like a storm on the horizon,” Alfred added, looking out the oversized windows where Peter could see black clouds rolling in.

 

Duke and Peter were three hours into their patrol when the blizzard hit. 

 

“Woah! Major storm warning just hit! Like blizzard big,” Barbara’s voice warned the two over their comms.

 

A mid march blizzard is unusual but not impossible. Peter blames his luck as he sighs. 

 

“Let’s try to get as many people to their houses as possible,” Duke suggests. 

 

They help until the white swirl is blinding, snowflakes hiding everything. Peter is struggling even to see Duke next to him, and the other boy has his sun glowing powers going at full strength. He feels cold. Cold down into his bones. 

 

“We’re out of visibility,” Duke yelled into the comms, the roar of the wind making everything hard to hear. 

 

“I’m cold,” Peter offered through his chattering teeth. He had heaters built into his suit, but he feared that the weather was too cold for his limits, colder than he had experienced in Gotham during the entire year. 

 

“Get out of the weather,” Bruce’s stern voice told them. 

 

“Most of the houses around you are abandoned,” Bab’s voice offered. 

 

In other words, there wouldn’t be heat even if the power wasn’t out, but getting out of the wind would at least be helpful. Peter felt so cold that he thought he might be turning into a spider-sicle. 

 

Stumbling, he almost went down into a snowpile, but Duke’s arm shot out and caught him. 

 

“Woah, Spidey, you alright?” Duke called to him. 

 

White swirled across his vision. 

 

It was the last thing he remembered. 

 

Duke stumbled himself with a grunt as he caught the full weight of Peter, who appeared to have passed out, “Spiderman is down.” 

 

“Just like that? ANy chance of poison?” Bab asked. 

 

“We haven’t even been in any fights. Just this storm,” Duke retorted. 

 

“Jason, get your butt over to your roommates. Ask them if they know what’s going on with Spidey,” Stephanie demanded. 

 

Jason let out a growl but didn’t deny her demands or pretend like he hadn’t been listening in as well. 

 

Deadpool’s frantic voice came over the comms, “Is my baby boy alright?” 

 

“He just passed out cold,” Duke replied, breaking a window in a door that he had finally found through the white out conditions and unlocking the door with one hand. His other hand was wrapped around Peter’s waist, dragging the other teen into the house with him. He laid Peter on the floor and turned to shut the door. The wind battled against him, blocking him from closing the door. With another grunt, he strained, finally able to pull it shut. There was no electric or heat in the house, but just shutting out the wind raised the temperatures instantly. 

 

“Spiders don’t do well in the cold,” Damian offered. 

 

“Baby boy probably wasn’t watching the temps since they dropped so rapidly. He might be going into a dormant state,” Deadpool wailed, “I’m coming Spidey!”

“You won’t be able to see anything. Deadpool, do not open that door. Deadpool!” Jason yelled while the sound of a slamming door came across the comms. 

 

“He’s not going to be any help,” Barbara said, “It’s a complete white out.” 

 

“OK, need to heat up Spider Man,” Duke muttered, partially to himself. He lit up one of his hands like a flashlight, looking through the space. There was a fireplace on the one wall, so he grabbed some books from a pile on the floor and threw them into the fireplace, “Now I just need a flame.” 

 

“Signal, could you direct a small beam of light? Like using a magnifying glass?” Bruce asked. 

 

“I’m not sure,” Duke replies, trying anyway. It takes time that he’s worried Peter doesn’t have, as the other superhero grows stiller and stiller, lips blue from the cold. 

 

Then, a curl of smoke! 

 

The pages on top slowly light, more and more catching until a small fire burns in the fireplace. Duke drags Peter over to the fireplace, keeping one arm around the mainly catatonic man to keep him from falling into the flames. 

 

Peter comes around slowly. 

 

He’s so cold. So cold that everything aches. 

 

A part of his brain tells him that’s good because death by cold isn’t painful. If he can feel painfully cold, he’s not close to death. 

 

“Hey Spidey,” he feels the rumble of the words almost more than he hears them.

 

“Huh?” Peter manages.

 

“Listen, I’m just trying to warm you up, no homo and all that jazz,” the voice continues and Peter realizes he’s pulled against someone’s chest, arms wrapped around him. He manages to open his eyes enough to take in the yellow suit.

 

“Signal?” he whispers out.

 

“Yeah, Spidey, you were freezing man,” Duke offers with an easy grin as Peter turns his head to look at him.

 

“Where are we?” Peter asks, feeling as though he’s slowly thawing out. He reaches his hands toward the fire, not recognizing the fireplace or actually any of his surroundings.

 

“Broke into one of the houses to get out of that blizzard and warm you up,” Signal explains.

 

Peter relaxes back against the other teen, trying to wake the rest of the way up. It feels like trying to climb out of a weighted ball pit where all of the balls are also sticky. I.e. nearly impossible.

 

“Sorry, guess my increased spider changes made the cold even worst to me,” Peter finally managed, eyes still slowly blinking.

 

“Scared me a touch,” Duke admitted.

 

“Sorry,” Peter slurred again, leaning back more firmly against Duke.

 

“Someone find a way to get a picture of this,” he hears Stephanie whisper across the comms.

 

“No way, dude!” Duke says back, “You post anything Spoiler and I’m posting that picture I have of you smelling that bouquet the kids gave you before remembering your mask filters out smells and you couldn’t even smell anything.”

 

“Go ahead, it was still a cute picture,” Stephanie scoffs.

 

The blizzard ends an hour later and Peter is still weak enough that Signal has to carry him home. The snow melts a day later, resulting in some flash flooding on Gotham streets. Wade is found 3 days later, frozen solid and plowed off the road into a snowbank that took some extra time to melt. He complains of his freezer burnt fingers and toes for an extra week before Matt cuts off his hands and feet. They grow back normally. 

 

April

 

The Batwatch blog gets many new pictures of the bats, but the most reposted picture is of Batman standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, Robin tucked against his side, looking out over Gotham. 

 

May

 

An expose of Crime Alley is featured on the blog. 

 

Peter takes pictures of many of his informants, without indicating them as informants. He loves the chance to highlight teenagers in a good light. Three of the pictures are of a pickup basketball game on the streets. 

 

In one picture, a teen boy palms a basketball, angry face staring into the camera behind the ball.

 

Two of the teens are actually playing, in movement.

 

There’s pictures of a hooker on a corner, leaning into the open window of a car that Peter had blurred out the license plate. Her outfit is provocative and cheap. From the way she’s leaning forward, most of the bottom curve of her butt cheeks is visible. She flips off the camera with one hand, the other and her head still inside the car talking to the mid aged man inside. 

 

He sneaks in a couple pictures of people taking drugs, whether it’s a hand to mouth with head thrown back swallowing or a needle sticking in an arm because it’s on every street and alleyway. People deserve to see the good and the bad. 

 

Of course there are pictures of Red Hood.

 

The crime lord on his vintage motorcycle, holding a smoking cigarette to his lips. The visor on his helmet is up just enough for the cigarette to make it to his lips, a hint of dark stubble on the exposed chin. There’s nothing to identify him. Peter is careful to throw him even a different carton of cigarettes than his usual before taking the picture.

 

The crime lord mid grapple, one hand holding a pistol while the other holds on to the grapple gun. 

 

Red Hood playing basketball with the teen boys is Peter’s favorite. The basketball is at the top of its arch, clearly about to go through the hoop. Red Hood is mid jump. There are five teenage boys around him. Two setting picks, two looking for openings. One with his arm outstretched trying to block Red Hood’s shot. 

 

On the side of the photo, two teenage girls in jeans and crop tops are sitting on the stoop of an abandoned house, one chewing gum, the other holding a magazine even though both are watching the basketball game. 

 

The caption says simply “Crime Alley.” 

 

He doesn’t style any of it in a negative light or positive.

 

He simply shoots the pictures and posts them, sans captions. 

 

Let people avoid the worst streets of Gotham. He won’t let it drift from their minds. Poverty on display to be shown to the people. Let them see what’s happening in their city and let them form their own opinions, but they can’t stay as ostriches with their heads in the sand. There is more going wrong within Gotham than just the Rogues. 

 

Daredevil is fond of these pictures. Peter assumes they remind him of Hell’s Kitchen but he’s not quite daring enough to ask. 

 

June 

 

Three pictures were posted to the Batwatch blog. 

 

Spoiler and Batgirl mid run, purple cape and black cape flowing out behind each respective girl. Stephanie’s blonde hair flowed out from under her purple hood but Cass’s black locks were entirely hidden.

 

Peter also captured an individual picture of each girl while fighting. Cass was using her thighs to effectively choke out a rogue. Stephanie was whacking a nondescript henchman with her Bo staff. 

 

July

 

June and July both seemed to be focused around the women in Gotham when Peter posted pictures of Poison Ivy and Catwoman on July. They were both mid fight with Batman, but neither one looked bad.

 

“Thanks for making my plants look nice,” Peter found written out in ivy on a Gotham rooftop the next day while patrolling. 

 

August 

 

Peter’s 18th birthday dawned on a perfect moderate day. Warm and sunny as though Gotham wasn’t actually a literal hell. Peter felt like the temperatures should be as hot as he’d heard Arizona and the desert were, really highlighting the hellish aspect of the city. 

 

Fearing it could somehow be connected back to his civilian persona, who Tim had gotten him legal documents for and had his actual birthday on, Peter obviously didn’t post anything birthday related for Spiderman. 

 

He does include two pictures of Spiderman with the bats in honor of his birthday, as well as a picture of Team Red. 

 

Apparently Red Hood is now a member of Team Red, so he’s standing with his arms crossed next to Spiderman. Deadpool is half draped across Spiderman, while Daredevil is sitting cross legged next to them. 

 

September 

 

Peter doesn’t post the pictures he gets of Jason, sans helmet, Rosary beads slipping through his fingers, head bowed in what seems to be prayer. Hands and biceps clenched in what Peter suspects is agony. He doesn’t ask how Jason’s own resurrection has impacted his faith, though he wants to. 

 

He does post the pictures he has of Red Hood shooting. 

 

Peter doesn’t post the pictures he has of Damian with his hood down, eyes looking too big even with the domino mask, face unlined. Clearly too young for this lifestyle.

 

He does post the picture he has of Damian mid kick. 

 

Peter doesn’t post the picture of Duke crying, just a few tears slipping through his eyes at the sight of a young woman’s face forever frozen while laughing on Joker venom before she had walked off a roof and impaled herself on a flag pole hanging out of the side of a business. Even with the Joker dead, some of his poison remained. Duke had been the first one to find her. Bruce stood stoically behind Signal with his hand on the teen’s shoulder, dressed as Batman and offering comfort as the police arrived. 

 

He does post the pictures he has of Batman and Signal, nondescript ones of them fighting the Riddler and random thugs. 

 

October 

 

For October, Peter posts some pictures of the Bat’s vehicles. 

 

The Batmobile with the top up, Batman jumping out towards a set of thugs.

 

Spoiler mid turn on her bike, leaning impossibly close to the ground, smirk visible on her bright red lips, the rest of her face shadowed from her hood. 

 

Robin on his bike, hunched forward, the blur of the city lights showing even in the stillness of the picture how fast he must’ve been going (Damian gets a lecture from Alfred and Bruce on bike safety that week). 

 

Signal has a bright yellow Batmobile that he uses occasionally, and Peter is happy to have gotten a good picture of it to post. 

 

Assorted pictures of the Bats on their way to help. 

 

It’s also the month that Peter has to drive Team Red in Crime Alley.

 

“I thought you had your license!” Jason screams, his voice higher pitched than Peter had ever heard the man’s normally gravelly bass.

 

“I grew up in New York City! When would I have had the chance to get my license?” Peter drifts around the next turn like he’d been practicing in MarioKart. The controls on the car he’d “borrowed” weren’t quite the same as a game controller but he thought he did fine when only a few sparks flew from where he scraped against the metal posts.

 

Matt threw up in the backseat, his equilibrium combined with Peter’s erratic driving a recipe for disaster. 

 

Wade squealed, head and arms through the open moon roof, his legs somehow managing to be sprawled on the other three in the car at the same time.

 

Jason reached one hand to pull Wade down, causing the man to sprawl across Jason, both too big to fit on the passenger seat. Jason ignored Wade’s cursing, starting a Hail Mary, “Hail Mary, Full of Grace-“

 

Matt groaned in the backseat, “the Lord is with thee-“

 

“That would’ve been a high score on MarioKart,” Peter offered as he scraped the other side of the car, spinning in a circle twice as he pulled the emergency brake at top speed.

 

The two tires on the left side of the car hit the curb hard enough to fold them under, but the car came to a stop.

 

Deadpool managed to be the first one out as Jason bodily threw the man out of the car, following shortly after. He waved a pistol at Peter, “I’m shooting you before I ever let you drive again.”

 

“Sweet nonmoving ground!” Daredevil kneeled on the sidewalk, wiping his mouth as another pile of throw up landed on the sidewalk. 

 

“I would’ve felt worst about wrecking the car if I didn’t know it belonged to a drug dealer,” Peter commented, clicking the locks on the car just in case. 

 

November 

 

“It’s almost Christmas. Do you think they’ll be back in time for Christmas?” Damian asked Peter quietly while Peter cleaned in Damian’s room. Peter paused with the Swiffer duster in his hand. He had to consciously remind himself not to crush the duster from his worry and anger. Anger at himself, for allowing the two men to leave looking for a way to get him home. 

 

“I hope so,” he replied, unsure what to say to the preteen. It had been two months since they’d gotten an update from Dick or Tim, which didn’t seem like a good sign. They were supposed to send an update at least every week but those had slowed down the longer they’d been away with nothing to update on. 

 

December 

 

Peter was the first to sense something off in the manor.

 

A feeling like spiders crawling down his back caused his eyes to narrow and his entire body to tense, every sense reaching out trying to identify what was setting off his Spidey senses. 

 

Notes:

I don’t remember if it’s canon that Tim had a bat blog or if it’s just from fanfics. I in no way claim this is my original idea. I’ve definitely read about it in fics. I believe the fic I’m referring to is Latchkey in which Tim runs a blog called BatWatch. The idea of the blog is definitely at least from that author if not others.

Other notes, you guys deserve a completed fic, so it’s not going to be the beautiful 50 chapter saga, but I’m going to try to wrap it up in one or two more chapters. After it’s completed, I’ll try to throw in my end notes with the timeline and everything else I was gonna include. I think it’s better to be completed and then if I ever get another wind, I can come back and add in extra scenes or whatever.

Let me know in the comments what you think of this one. A bit piece meal but I do just love it.

 

Link to not my artwork of how I picture Diane:
https://www.reddit.com/r/DCAU/comments/12kbt05/artwork_of_diana_in_her_wonder_woman_outfit_and/

Inspiration for the description of Cass and Stephanie
https://bleedingcool.com/comics/new-look-cassandra-cain-stephanie-brown-revealed-spoilers/

Inspiration for the description of Jason Todd with rosary beads
https://www.tumblr.com/lethologicaee/724834825212657665/catholic-jason-an-alternate-version-and-detail

Also I had the worst time uploading this and crashed out like 3 times so there’s that 😭😭

Chapter 29: The End

Summary:

Last Chapter

The End is here 

 

Peter slipped through the manor, certain something was off, Alfred following him silently. 

 

In the front foyer, Peter stopped suddenly and waited, his Spidey senses making his skin crawl.  

 

A man stepped out of the shadows and smiled at Peter. Peter tensed, it didn’t feel like a particularly nice smile. The man had blonde hair and a sharp jawline, smoke curling up from the lit cigarette in his hand.

 

“Heard you all have been looking for me?” The man said simply, sounding as British as Alfred. 

 

“Constantine,” Alfred said behind him, sounding disapproving. 

 

“In the flesh. Or perhaps in the spirit? Not sure if I’m just a ghost this time,” the man mused. 

 

“Put out that cigarette in the manor,” Alfred commanded sharply.

 

Constantine took a slow draw on it, seemingly ignoring Alfred, causing Peter to bristle up like an insulted cat. The man surveyed Peter as he spoke, “That stone of yours is causing a storm of unease among the spirit world.”

 

Peter’s hand went involuntarily to where the Soul Stone was stuck to the skin in his chest.

 

“They sent me to talk with you about it,” Constantine let another curl of smoke out from between his lips. Peter followed the trail and noticed how it seemed to almost twist into the shape of a dragon. 

 

He focused back on Constantine, too tense to say anything yet, Spidey senses still crawling over him.

 

“I can’t send you back to your dimension,” Constantine announced.

 

Bruce stepped out of the shadows to stand beside Alfred and Peter, “That’s unfortunate but not entirely unexpected. I never have figured out the limits of what you can and can’t do.”

 

Constantine shrugged, “Returning as a ghost is one thing, but dimension travel is a bit more.”

 

“Why are you here then? Just to keep me from going looking for you?” Peter finally managed to unglue his mouth. 

 

“Nah, wouldn’t bother with a trip just for that. Told you, the spirits are nervous. Your stone is a powerful thing. I can’t send you home, but I can show you a vision,” Constantine said.

 

“A vision? Like a fortune teller at a carnival?” Peter scoffed.

 

“No, just two possibilities of what could happen. Talk to your Wade about that. He knows from traveling the dimensions that every decision can branch out into a million possibilities. I’m not saying this is what would happen for certain, but it is two things that definitely could happen. The souls of this world want me to show you. I haven’t seen it myself, so don’t ask me any questions, I haven’t any answers,” Constantine said, reaching a hand toward Peter.

 

He tried to move, to jump away or throw a web, something, but it felt like his body had been turned to stone. 

 

Then Peter was falling.

 

His arms flailed widely but there was nothing to catch himself on, just blackness all around. 

 

Thump!

 

He hit the bottom of nothingness, but then it wasn’t nothing anymore. It didn’t hurt, but he wasn’t falling anymore. 

 

A planet loomed in front of him, looking like his own.

 

“Am I in space?” Peter murmured, mind racing, eyes flitting around at the stars and darkness around him. He looked to be in space, yet he still breathed like normal.

 

Then he saw the darkness around him split wide, into a jagged seam. Earth was sucked in, compressing and folding in on itself. 

 

“Your world did not end in fire or ice,” a voice said, though Peter could not see anyone no matter how he turned, it sounded like it could be Constantine. 

 

Earth crumpled into the black hole, the rest of the galaxy swiftly following.

 

“Your dimension collapsed, too many of its anchor characters gone. It simply ceased to exist. There is no saving that,” the voice repeated. 

 

Peter watched as the last of the stars and far off planets fell into the black hole until there was nothing and no one.

 

He was alone in the darkness and a cold panic curled up his throat.

 

Was he dead now? 

 

Would he ever be able to get out of this vision? 

 

Was it even a vision? 

 

“You may go back, there are ways to go back, but you will not succeed. Your dimension has ended,” the voice said.

 

Then he was falling again, the wind hitting his face and leaving his eyes watering the only sign that he wasn’t still floating in the black nothingness.

 

This time when he hit the floor, the air knocked out of him again, he was inside a room. 

 

A familiar room in fact, though it had some things off about it. It was Bruce’s main martial arts workout room though Peter didn’t remember some of the swords and daggers on the weapons wall and the punching bag was the wrong color. 

 

“This is another option for your future,” Constantine’s voice said, and Peter swung his body toward the voice to actually see the blonde man standing there. 

 

“This is some ghosts of Christmas yet to come crap,” Peter muttered, turning to where Constantine pointed. 

 

He watched Bruce walk into the room with two boys and two girls walking or skipping around him. Bruce looked older than Peter had seen him, with most of the sides of his black hair turned silver, but a smile larger than Peter had ever seen graced Bruce’s face. 

 

“What’re we working on today, Papa?” One of the boys asked as he did a cartwheel into the room. 

 

The boy looked just like Peter, but the cartwheel, calling Bruce grandfather. 

 

Peter’s jaw dropped as he tried to reconcile the vision of what he felt certain was his and Dick’s potential kid. 

 

“Oh my God, are we adding mPreg to this story? It is wayyyy too late in the game for that, people are going to be checking the tags and everything,” Wade’s annoying voice filled the room over Peter’s existential crisis. 

 

Constantine sniffed, “There are surrogates, adoption, cloning in this universe, and the first thing you’re going with is male pregnancy?” 

 

Peter felt his brain short circuit, continuing to stare at the children in the vision. 

 

“Men can’t get pregnant in this dimension, can they? Like, do I need to do a Gotham birds and the bees?” Peter cringed as he asked it. 

 

“No, they can’t,” Constantine said. A deep sigh of relief left Peter’s lungs but he still felt like he might need to cover any potential differences in the horizontal tango in this dimension. He debated between asking Jason or Tim, not necessarily liking his odds of avoiding being teased mercilessly regardless of which option he went with. 

 

Peter turned back to the vision, having missed a couple minutes for his crisis but taking in Bruce softly teaching his crowd of grandchildren. 

 

“The soul stone wants to stay here,” Constantine told him, “You are good for this dimension. You help usher in a period of peace.” 

 

“Me?” 

 

Wade smooshed his cheek up against Peter’s while enveloping him in a hug, “My baby boy all grown up! Ushering in peace!” 

 

Peter tried to shove the larger man off, who managed to hang on surprisingly well considering Peter’s super strength, “Get off, Wade!” 

 

“You were a balancing piece they were missing, an outside perspective here to help them, selfishly putting them first. You won’t stay as a butler, you’re already moving into a position of other. Helping them create better equipment that keeps key players from dying. Mediating among them, focusing on helping where you can. Using your own skills and strengths in battles,” Constantine continued. 

 

Then there was a sucking feeling, and Peter came back to his senses quickly, feeling that he was kneeling on the floor, chest heaving. 

 

Constantine was gone, but his Spidey sense was still going off. No time to process that whole debacle, because another was just starting. 

 

“Someone is in the manor,” Peter managed, ducking into the broom closet that he and Jason had argued in months ago. He pulled on his Spider suit and threw the door back open. 

 

Alfred had pulled out a shotgun from one of his numerous caches in the manor, and Bruce stood wary, still in civilian clothes. Peter understood why as there was the clack of high heels on the tiled floors as Harley Quinn stepped into sight. 

 

Behind her were Clayface, Killer Croc, Two-Face, Poison Ivy, and two costumed villains that Peter didn’t recognize. 

 

“Little Spidey! We weren’t expecting you to be here to play!” Harley Quinn called, absentmindedly swinging her hammer, “We’re just here for Brucie Boy!” 

 

“Me? Why?” Bruce seemed to be somewhere between his playboy Brucie persona and his normal civilian persona. 

 

“Figure if we steal Batman’s lover, the Bat himself will come rescue you,” Poison Ivy announced as her vines spread over Alfred and Bruce, Spider Man throwing himself up to stick to the ceiling, narrowly avoiding the first wave of ivy. 

 

Peter paused long enough to point at Bruce, “See! I told you that was a logical train of thought.” 

 

Bruce coughed as a leaf tickled his nose, face entirely bemused, “Sorry to disappoint you all, but Batman and I are not lovers.” 

 

“Well, we’ll see if you’re important enough for him to rescue you anyway,” Harley said, pointing a comically large gun at the three of them. 

 

“You’re going to shoot us?” Alfred asked, his own shotgun wrapped completely in ivy to the point he couldn’t reach the trigger any longer. 

 

“No, just shrink you!” she laughed, a giant beam of red light shooting out wide enough to encompass Spider Man as well as Bruce and Alfred. 

 

Peter felt the world growing larger, the walls around him growing massive, he dropped down next to Bruce and Alfred to better protect them. As he did, he realized the world wasn’t getting larger, he was shrinking. 

 

“Shrink ray!” Peter swung a punch but his equilibrium was off. What would’ve reached Clayface’ when Peter was full size was nowhere near the rogue. 

 

Before he could throw another punch, he saw a glass cup sat on top of him. A giant piece of paper that he later realized was just a playing card was stuck between the cup and the floor, effectively trapping him in the cup. 

 

The cup was flipped upside down aggressively, throwing him against the glass with enough force that he knew he’d have some bruises later on. The lid was opened swiftly while he was trying to recover from being flipped upside down not of his own free will. Bruce and Alfred, also shrunk, were dropped into the cup and he had to rush to catch Alfred, worried about how the old man’s body would do being dropped from such a height against the glass. He was able to partially catch Bruce as well, but B had flipped in midair to land more gently. 

 

“I think a good punch would shatter the cup,” he offered once they had all gotten their bearings. 

 

“Don’t Spider Man, we don’t know how far the fall would be and who knows what damage the giant shards of glass could do to us,” Bruce said in a Batman voice, full of authority. 

 

Peter nodded his agreement. 

 

It felt like they were speeding faster than light, but Peter quickly realized it was just quick human sized steps seeming so much faster because of him being so much smaller. He watched closely, trying to figure out where they were going. It seemed to be the one park in Gotham. 

 

Dilapidated, rusty playground equipment in one cluster screamed of tetanus (or at least needing tetanus shots). The bar for swings held only chains, one seat board snapped in half and dangling on the end of one pair of chains, the other pair of chains snapped off at different heights. Where a slide should be was just an open drop off about 7 feet in the air.

 

“Couldn’t pay to fix up the playground?” Peter asked Bruce.

 

“I do it every year and it always turns back to this, like magic,” Bruce said in a dejected voice.

 

“Is there much of a black market for playground slides?” Peter genuinely questioned, thinking maybe it was a dimension difference.

 

“No, Mr Spider Man, there is not,” Alfred added. 

 

Under a large tree, there was a small koi pond. Or what should be a koi pond. All Peter could see as they were swiftly dropped into it were a couple big bullfrogs and a lot of mosquitos.

 

The three hit the water each with their own splashes. Peter immediately turned to Alfred, but the old butler swam smoothly to shore. They pulled themselves to shore with sopping wet clothes hindering the process. 

 

“The suit is water repellant for rain but maybe I need to make it completely water proof?” Peter mused aloud. 

 

A voice just like Shuri’s whispered plans for making the suit entirely hydrophobic without adding any weight. 

 

The rogues were laughing at the three. 

 

“We’ll just wait over here, darlings. See if Batman or his little birdies stop by,” Harley Quinn called as the rogues each moved to an entrance of the park slightly out of reach. 

 

“What’s the plan, Spider Man?” Bruce asked, still trying to keep his voice more civilian and less of Batman. 

 

“Do you still have your-” the rest of Peter’s sentence is stolen from his mouth as his spidey sense reacts in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before. It feels like every nerve in his body is on fire. Tensing and turning, Peter comes face to face with the largest spider he has ever seen. 

 

Immediately, he rears up, brain shut down, instincts controlling him. Trying to make himself seem as large as possible, he hisses at the spider that looms over him. 

 

“A fishing spider,” Alfred offers to Bruce, both men scrambling back. 

 

“Ah, good to know our opponent,” Bruce offers back, “Damian?” 

 

“Damian,” Alfred agrees, “Something about comparing Spidey to every type of spider he can think of to determine which type of spider he might be.” 

 

Spider Man and the spider were engaged in quite a bit of show boating, each reared up and hissing at the other. The fishing spider clicked its mandibles aggressively, and Peter seemed to click his own teeth together in reply. 

 

“Spider Man! Punch him! Even if he is bigger, I assume you are still stronger than him,” Bruce shouted, trying to snap his younger butler out of the spider induced trance he seemed to be in. 

 

The words seemed to have no effect as Peter continued facing off against the spider. Even Alfred yelling at Peter couldn’t seem to snap him out of it. 

 

“It has been an honor serving as your butler all these years, Master Wayne,” Alfred said to Bruce. 

 

“Stop it Alfred,” Bruce replied, “even if he doesn’t remember he’s not actually a spider, I still think he can take a regular spider.” 

 

It became a moot point as a giant foot came down and stomped quickly on the fishing spider. 

 

“Hey dude, I thought you weren’t actually a spider?” Signal teased, crouching down to look at Spider Man. 

 

Spider Man rubbed an arm, “My bad, kind of gave into my instincts there. It was just the shock of sudden spider.” 

 

“Let’s see if we can get you back to normal size,” Spoiler said, pointing the same shrink ray at them. 

 

“Bats! You came to play!” Harley’s voice rang out across the park. Peter looked over at the other Batman standing there while Bruce grew to normal size next to him. The Batman didn’t look quite large enough to be Jason, but it could be hard to tell between the stand in Batmans and Bruce. Something about the suit seemed to make them stand up straighter, and the blackness of the bat suit hid most any differences as long as the man in the suit was generally close to the same size as Bruce. 

 

“Harley Quinn,” the voice, even in a deep growl to imitate Bruce’s batman voice was enough for Peter to know who was in that suit. 

 

His heart racing, Peter’s eyes snapped to the fake Batman, where Dick’s blue eyes looked across the park at him. 

 

Peter swallowed and tried to focus on the fight, wanting nothing more than to go talk to Dick. He looked across the park for Tim, but couldn’t spot Red Robin. Signal, Spoiler, and Robin were each fighting a Rogue. As Peter gained back his equilibrium, he jumped into the fray of the fight too, ushering Bruce and Alfred to climb the tree over the pond to keep them away from the fight. Even if Bruce was probably desperate to jump in. 

 

“Thanks for saving me, Batman, but I’m afraid this is only fueling the rumors of our sordid love affair,” Bruce called across the park to his oldest son. 

 

“Gross, emotions,” the wording was Dick but the voice and costume was all Batman, and it brought a smile to Peter’s face even as he ducked a punch from Clayface. 

 

“Aww, Bats, we can find you a good romance,” Harley called as she swung her hammer at Signal. 

 

Peter remembered catching the Winter Soldier’s arm with his hand, and wished the Avengers could be there to help with the fight, even if the Bat Family was winning. 

 

Suddenly, Winter Soldier appeared in front of Peter like a hologram, flickering, but apparently solid enough to land a hit on Clayface with his metal arm, causing Clayface to shudder like a mud puddle that was stomped in. 

 

Winter Soldier didn’t hesitate, swinging out a leg to sweep out the legs of clayface, causing the man to go down hard. Clayface tries shifting his face but he doesn’t know anything about Winter Soldier and settles back on his red clay original form. Winter Soldier seemed to make a mistake then, throwing a giant car that was parked on the edge of sidewalk, seemingly going far over Clayface. 

 

“You missed,” Clayface laughed.

 

“Not quite,” Winter Soldier replied as water exploded from the fire hydrant he’d taken out with the flying car, and Clayface melted away.

 

Winter Soldier turned to Spider Man as both took in the quiet as the rogues were all subdued. 

 

“Mr Winter Soldier, sir!” Peter was quick to say.

 

“Queens,” Bucky replied, clapping Peter on the shoulder with his metal arm, even though his form still seemed washed out and semi-translucent. 

 

“What’re you doing here?” Peter asked.

 

“One of the souls in the soul stone. Responding to your call for aid,” Bucky said.

 

“I did not call for help. Just thinking I liked working with the Avengers,” Peter didn’t pout at all, “I was doing fine against Clayface.”

 

“Course you were, Queens. Anyway, gives me a chance to tell you that we’re all doing good in the stone. We’d like you to call on us a bit more actually. We like having something to do and it seems like the only one you’ve really been listening to is Shuri,” Bucky said.

 

“I knew I’d never been that good at engineering before,” Peter muttered to himself, understanding that Shuri had actually been the one to design the new suits that the Bats were all wearing during this fight. “So you’re all just…in there?”

 

“Yeah, it’s weird. Don’t really notice time passing the way it does out here or pay attention to your day to day life. Like I said, you played the game though, you understand that we’re here and can be called on, through quite a bit of your own energy. Sorry about that, you’re probably about to pass out,” Bucky said.

 

“I’ve got him,” Dick’s voice was then as Peter realized he was in fact starting to pass out.

 

“But we’re OK in the stone. Listen, there’s too many people trying to get you to do things because they think its right. You’re the new wielder of the stone. You do whatever the fuck you want, alright? Don’t throw away your life because you think you have to try to save our old dimension.” 

 

If Bucky said anything else, Peter didn’t hear it, feeling strong arms sweep under his knees and pull him against the dark black material of Batman’s suit. 

Peter woke up in the manor, in his attic bedroom with Damian watching over him. 

 

“Please stop doing this,” Peter pleaded.

 

“I’ve been documenting all spider aspects of you that I could observe,” Damian replied, sketching away in one of his journals before flipping it around to show a drawing of Peter in only his briefs, with little labels of each spider quirk Damian could remember, “your reaction to the fishing spider implies you have been holding out on me.” 

 

“That is so invasive it’s something Tim would do,” Peter retorted, thankful that Damian had at least included briefs in his drawing.

 

“Drake is incapacitated currently, so you are never to tell him of this comparison your delusions have dreamed up,” Damian responded, taking back the drawing and adding another detail.

 

Peter sat up quickly, “What do you mean incapacitated?”

 

“Drake is down in the med bay. He’s been unconscious since Richard brought him back,” Damian said. 

 

Peter headed down to the med bay immediately. 

 

Dick was mostly asleep in the chair beside Tim’s bed. Tim was as still as a dead body, but Peter could read the monitors well enough to see his heart rate, blood pressure, O2 stats and more. Peter paused in the doorway, considering running away. 

 

The choice was taken from him as Dick stood swiftly up.

 

“Bambi?” the slightly taller man asks as he stepped closer.

 

Peter held out a cup of coffee he’d grabbed from the kitchen on the way through. He hadn’t been sure who was staying with Tim, but he figured anyone would appreciate coffee, “coffee?”

 

“Sure,” Dick agreed easily, taking the cup from Peter and draining it in a minute. 

 

“What happened?” Peter gestured towards Tim. 

 

“We ran into a spot of trouble. We found Dr Fate, but when Timmy touched the armor, he collapsed and the armor stuck to his skin. I don’t know if it was some kind of fail safe, like a defense system. He’s been unconscious since then,” Dick said, gesturing to Tim right as things changed. 

 

Gasping, Tim sat straight up. Peter watched as the armor slowly seemed to be absorbed into his skin. Tim seemed feverish, eyes wide and flitting around without seeming to really take in what was happening. 

 

“Tim, Timmy, you alright?” Dick asked, immediately grabbing his little brother’s shoulder. 

 

“Dick? Where am I?” Tim asked, his eyes finally settling around Dick’s face, before seeming to slowly focus in on his brother. 

 

“Back at the manor,” Peter offered, handing Tim a cup of water that he took, the flush slowly dropping from Tim’s cheeks, the fevered look draining away too quickly. Peter subtly pressed a button to let whoever was in the manor know that something was going on in the med bay, “What happened?” 

 

“I believe I accidentally became Dr Fate,” Tim said, looking down at his hands where he seemed to pull the armor back into existence, “Though I need to start on a PHD immediately if I’m going to keep that title. Come on, call for everyone to meet up.” 

 

“Already did,” Peter replied, moving closer as Tim tried to move the blankets off of his legs. 

 

Tim swung his legs out of bed, Dick and Peter immediately moving to support him on either side as it was clear that Tim wasn’t willing to have the conversation in his hospital bed. They made their way slowly up the stairs before Dick just swung Tim onto his back and they moved much quicker to the sitting room where Peter had called for the bats to meet up. Kent and Diana had made their way back as well. 

 

“Tim, what’s going on?” Stephanie immediately asked, moving to pull Tim off Dick’s back and set him gently on one of the cushions. 

 

“Based on Nabu chattering away in my brain, I think I accidentally took on the role of Doctor Fate when I touched his helmet,” Tim announced with no lead up. 

 

“Excuse me?” Bruce asked, his voice sounding faint, but his face clearly already set in full detective mode, flipping through possibilities so loudly it was almost audible. 

 

“Kent Nelson is dead,” Dick said, finally chiming in, “I saw his remains after Timmy passed out, before I left while I was trying to figure out what was going on.”

 

Clark Kent bowed his head in sorrow and Peter was sure he saw glimpses of pain across Bruce and Diana’s faces, but it was much harder to tell with those two. 

 

“I didn’t know Fate’s abilities were passed on through the helmet?” Jason added in, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking angry in a corner. Peter knew the man would never admit it, but he seemed annoyed that Tim was hurt. Possibly just that Tim had been hurt by someone other than himself. 

 

“Of course, the Helmet of Fate carries significant mystical prowess,” Damian snapped, definitely looking angry that he wasn’t the one to put Tim into a coma for a week. 

 

“I didn’t know the powers were transferable like the Green Lantern, but Kent had spoken of how the helmet had awoken his powers. Do you have any other artifacts?” Diana asked. 

 

Tim pulled a fancy gold necklace from under his shirt before seeming to focus, his eyes shutting as his clothes melted back into the armor from before, a cape stuck between his back and the couch. 

 

“The Amulet of Anubis and the Cloak of Destiny. That does look like he has taken on the role of Doctor Fate,” Bruce muttered, stepping closer and taking the amulet into his hand. 

 

Tim looked directly at Peter, as though sensing Peter’s questions now that he knew Tim was alright, "I'm certain I can send you three back to your own dimension.” 

 

Then he paused, “But I have no idea how. Maybe we should send a monkey first?” 

 

“You will do no such thing to an animal, Drake!” Damian immediately protested. 

 

“It’s just a bit tricky, like I can feel the power there, but I haven’t done anything magical yet and it does feel intense to send three people through time and a dimension,” Tim continued. 

 

“What if we send Deadpool first?” 

 

“You are not sending Deadpool!” Jason protested vehemently, causing Peter to give him a significant look and Jason to respond with flipping him off while continuing to argue, “You don’t even know that the Replacement will be able to bring him back.” 

 

“Everyone stop!” Peter finally says, staring straight at Tim, because he had done some research into Doctor Fate, “Can’t you like, see the fates of people now?” 

 

Tim hesitates, before nodding. 

 

“What’s my fate then? Am I supposed to go back to my dimension?” 

 

Tim didn’t answer immediately. 

 

“It’s what you want, regardless of your “fate”,” Tim put the last word in quotations and spoke it with some level of disdain. 

 

“That’s not what I asked. Do you see me being fated to go back?” Peter asked again. 

 

There was quiet in the room. 

 

Too quiet. 

 

“No,” Tim finally said into the quiet room. Damian gave a happy shout in the corner of the room. 

 

Peter nodded, ignoring the rushing sound in his ears, “That lines up with what Constantine said, before the rogue battle. And if that changes, in the future, you’ll have more experience over your powers, and we could revisit this then, right?” 

 

“Of course! If anything changes in your fate, you’ll be the first one I tell,” Tim agrees. Peter is smart enough not to trust Tim’s words. Tim is sure to do whatever he thinks is best, especially for his own family.  

 

“I have to go find Deadpool and Daredevil and see what they say,” Peter says, out a window of the manor before the bats react beyond sending him sad looks, except for Damian who looks gleeful. Jason shoves his youngest brother as Peter escapes, before following Peter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Peter sat with his back against Matt’s, looking out at the darkening skyline of Gotham. Wade was slurping away at a convenience store slushy that looks radioactive and Jason, to the best of Peter’s knowledge, was cleaning a pistol. Even if Deadpool made Peter shoot them, he normally didn’t trust the teenager to actually clean his babies. 

 

He’d been hiding with Team Red in the alley for several days, trying to process everything he’d been told. 

 

Focusing on the feel of the soul stone for one of the first times, normally Peter tried to avoid even thinking of the soul stone attached to his chest, Peter felt himself slip into a meditative state. 

 

All of the souls embedded in the soul stone appeared before his eyes, stretching out in a field of green and flowers. Millions from the snap and thousands or millions from the soul stone’s long existence. 

 

Peter tried to focus on the one soul he knew he needed for them to stay here. 

 

“Foggy?” he called out. 

 

The souls quieted. It was hard to identify a soul’s face without their bodies. In this state, they were each more of their personalities than their features. 

 

But Peter knew when Foggy’s soul was before him. 

 

“Hey buddy, you seem older,” Foggy told him, Foggy’s form solidifying more to the extent that Bucky’s had, like a hologram or a ghost. 

 

“It’s been a few years apparently. Longer for you than me. Longer for Matt,” Peter said. 

 

“Matt,” Foggy whispered back. 

 

“See, Foggy, we’re trapped in another dimension, but you’re stuck in this rock. And Matt isn’t doing the best without you. We’ve had to give up New York City, and everyone we know, and Wade seems to be adjusting well,” Peter rambled. 

 

Foggy snorted, “No surprises there. That sewer rat could probably adjust to a volcano.” 

 

Peter smiled faintly at that, “And I have the bat team, but Matt seems to be struggling the most.”

 

“You want me to talk to him? Make me corporeal for a few minutes like you did with the Winter Soldier?” Foggy sounded hopeful. 

 

Peter smiled a little more, “One step better, if I can pull it off. How would you feel about being in your own little stone?”

 

“My own stone? Well it wouldn’t be as nice as my apartment, but maybe the soul stone is a little crowded around here?” Foggy says. 

 

“I could put you in your own little stone and put it on a necklace for Matt. Something like Davey Jones from the Pirates. Let you out once a year to socialize with Matt, keep him from suddenly snapping and starting to kill people,” Peter explained. 

 

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” Foggy said. 

 

So Peter came back to his own senses, pulling himself out of the soul stone. From his pocket, he pulled out a fancy gemstone, part lapus lazuli and part sapphire that he’d made Jason acquire for him after his talk with Tim and Constantine a few days ago. Communication, truth, loyalty, sincerity, and inner peace. The thing is Peter knew Foggy meant to Matt, and what Matt’s been missing while in this dimension. 

 

Slowly, carefully, Peter pulled up the feeling of Foggy’s soul, the equal parts loyalty, truth, stale pizza boxes, and long hair, and pushed it into the necklace stone.

 

“Petey-pie, whatcha doing?” Wade asked, suddenly closer. Peter realized suddenly that Matt’s presence is missing from his back as well, seeing that the other three have all surrounded him while he was focusing.

 

“Giving Matt back his missing piece,” Peter said, purposely vague as he makes sure it’ll work.

 

Foggy’s soul seemed to be anchored to the gemstone, but he wasn't completely sure that the soul wouldn’t snap back into the soul stone when Peter stopped focusing. He pressed the necklace into Matt’s hand and pulled away with his own powers.

 

Foggy’s form flickered into view on the rooftop.

 

“Matty? You look like shit, buddy,” Foggy said.

 

“Foggy?” Matt whispered, sightless eyes swinging back and forth as he tried to find the sound without any physical body to trace with his super senses. There was no heart beat to track or even breathing sounds when Foggy was just a soul.

 

“Here, I put his soul in this necklace. I should be able to call him out at least once a year for a day or two for you guys to chatter. Probably a bit more often for shorter visits. I don’t really know yet, we’ll figure it out,” Peter said quickly, pressing the necklace into Matt’s hand who clenched almost painfully tightly around the gemstone.

 

“Thank you,” Matt managed. 

 

“I think we’re gonna stay in this dimension, at least for a while. We’ll have Tim keep a close eye on things. If it looks like we can save our dimension after all, we go back. But…I don’t want to go back just for us to die,” Peter whispered the last part, “Dr Strange sent me here to have a life, and it’s impossibly selfish, but I want to have a life, you know?” 

 

“Yeah, that makes sense, baby boy,” Wade said. 

 

“We’ll just head out now, let you two catch up,” Jason said, and the other three members of team red head off the roof.

Notes:

So sorry about the delay! Fanfic author curse hit me. Literally had this almost written and the macbook and iPad both broke in the same evening. Took forever to get the Mac fixed and I still don't have the iPad back. I know I could've posted it with my iPhone cause it was all saved in a Google doc, but it filled me with so much dread that I just didn't and waited for my Mac back. And just other stuff. Switching jobs, broken car, etc. But all that's left is the epilogue which I have mostly written out cause it's one of my favorites and then the story is done. Maybe I'll come back sometimes to add in cut scenes or stuff, so keep it on your radar if you've liked it and would like something like that. Send any questions you want answered in the epilogue in a comment so I can wrap it up. If you feel that there are any plot holes, make sure you comment them cause I'm only promising the epilogue. I love you all. This is officially the longest story I've ever written and published (on AO3).

Notes:

I binged Dark Matter, but then I wanted a fic where Peter met the Batfamily faster. Slightly inspired by Howl’s Moving Castle and Holly Potter and the Midlife Crisis. That doesn’t make much sense yet, but it will in good time.

Literally the first chapter, let me want y’all that I would like to add romance to this thing and I don’t see myself waiting until Peter is legally 18. Please mentally prepare yourselves.