Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Despite only having a career of just a few months. Jason Todd knew that Spider-Man  was one of the best heroes he ever had the honor of fighting alongside with. Of even knowing. Unlike his father Batman he was genuine. He wanted to help because there are still good people who need protection from the monsters in the world. Not some crusade of bloodless revenge. Not once taking a soul like Batman but… different…

The warehouse is dark and dingy but still slightly lighted by old yellow bulbs. The typical Gotham goons crawl out of the woodwork to jump him and Spidey. The typical Gotham idiots who only fuel the flames of the rogue villains, if only they see if they all just quit working for them. They'd have nothing and no one. No backup, no cannon fodder, no contacts, no possible way to commit such levels of devastation as they usually do.

Yet these ones are stronger… hopped up on banes shit. Strange.

Difficult to fight too. The metal pipe Spider had given him after tossing his guns (thanks for that by the way you arachnid jerk) bent and warped under the force he was wielding with and the near immovable objects that is their heads. 

Yet there's too many, he’s at a disadvantage without his guns. He hasn’t spared as much as he should lately. God he can practically hear Damian’s smug expression if he hears that Jason gets his ass beat just because he simply hasn’t trained. He might be benched, sure but seeing the demon brat’s ‘I’m better than you face’ is much much worse than a lecture from Bruce.

There’s too many though… he can’t even see the new kid. He’s surrounded. Nothing new. He’s used to that in a personal way. All he can do is swing and kick. Swing, blam, bad guy goes down. Swing, blam, still standing, jump kick to the head, kapow she’s down too. Swing, thunk, kick to the balls, random goon goes down clutching the family jewels. 

One by one he takes them down. Thinning out the crowd of his ‘adoring’ fans. Yet he still can’t see the Spider anywhere, did he go down? Fuck if he did then the physical trauma from the superstrength would be monumental he needs to find him get him medical attention he-

A sudden blow to the back launches him into some crates a distance away.  Blinding white pain covers his eyes before he blinks it away. Tinnitus rings in his ears as he torpidly looks as another goon approaches him. He tries to move, to even crawl away but his limbs are like Jello and black swarms the edge of his vision. Is time moving slower for some reason? Or is it faster? Is this what the Speed Force is like? Or is he dying again?

The goon approaches slowly yet excitedly, an almost skip in his step. A gun in his right hand, taking aim. Smarter than the other villain groupies Jason usually fights perhaps. Investing in their own career. He’s going to die again. Oh well… it’s not as scary this time. Maybe because he’s in the speed force? Jason still hasn’t figured if he is or isn’t yet.

He takes aim. Jason breathes out in preparation for the bullet.

A figure jump kicks his would-be murderer before the trigger even budges. Spider-Man. So, he’s fine, that's good.

In fact, he’s beating the ever-loving shit out of the random goon dude. A quick grab to the wrist and he wrestles the gun out his hand and tosses it away. Then, the punches start flying. The guy’s face quickly turns bloody. Then, suddenly, he twists the arm that aimed, his fist aimed for the elbow and CRACK! Then another further down his forearm. Crack!  Then he grabs hand in a tight grip and- snap, crackle, and pop. The ne'er-do-well screams in agony as Spider-Man lifts him with one arm and tosses him away. Like a dirty rag.

Damn.

“... hey hey red,” Spider-Man kneels next to him in flurried concern. “You, okay? Hit your head? Bleeding? Oh man oh man oh man…”

“Damn.” Red hood looks at the thug’s crumpled form. “Did you kill him?

Not that he’d judge.

Spider-Man looks at the whooped bad guy, then tilts his head as if he’s listening to something, “...No… but he'll probably need a hospital. You however talk to me about what your health lookin’ like, not dying?”

“You broke his arm in two places,” Jason says in pure shock. “And broke his hand like… bubble wrap.”

“...Yeah.”

“I’m not judging just… surprised,” Jason scootches up, trying to breathe. “You didn’t seem the type to…”

“To what?”

“Go that far.”

“...”

“Not judging… I’ve killed people before.”

“I won’t ever kill anyone,” Spider-man declares. “But I am responsible for how to deal with pieces of shit like him.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t need to end a life to make sure they won’t hurt anyone ever again.” Spider-Man looks over at the groaning bad guy.

Fuck.

That is something that nobody can replace. An actual hero who isn’t afraid of actually finishing the fight. Making certain that no monster could bear its teeth at the innocent ever again. That was Spider-Man. Iconic and irreplaceable. A hero.

Which means now, that Red hood never felt such rage before and that is really saying something. Even when he faced Bruce over him not killing Joker, even when he tried to kill Tim. This rage is a nuclear firestorm compared to those instances. Barely controlled. Barely restrained from being thrown upon who stands before him.

The symbol of Spider-man (altered but recognizable) glares at Red Hood from a different suit. A mockery of the one he is familiar with.  The suit is dark, black and red, blatantly different from Spidey’s sunny red and blue. It’s much more Gotham-esque. It… it fits better.

It pisses him off.

Red hood is not short. In fact he’s the tallest of his siblings, proudly six foot with a muscle-based build to match. Yet somehow this son of a bitch is taller than him. Muscles accentuated on his upper body, less so on his lower.  Spidey wasn’t this built, he was thin and lanky, even to the point where Night wing and Agent A were concerned about his diet.

So, this…

This obviously isn't… 

“Red hood?” Oracle asks over comms. “Hood what do you see?”

What does he see? He sees lots of things. He can see that they're standing over the playground that Spider-man rebuilt. He can see the smog is worse in the city tonight. He can see the black and red suit. He can see the green at the edges of his vision. Angry, boiling, and hateful green.

He sees… a replacement.

“He saved my life more than once,” Red hood finally growls. “He stopped me from ending others… but he saved mine.”

The replacement doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He only has his torso turned just slightly so he faces Red hood. Standing on the edge of the building, silhouetted by the Gotham city skyline. 

“He never took a life.” Red hood slowly clicks off the safety of his .45. “But I might take yours.”

“Batman, do you have his cords?” Oracle hurriedly asks, listening in on the conversation. 

 “On my way.” Batman growls. Great. He doesn’t have much time to deal with this.

“That is… if you don't have a good fucking explanation.” Hood removes the gun from its holster. “On why you’re shitting on his fucking name… by wearing his FUCKING SYMBOL?!”

 The replacement clenches a fist. Perhaps preparing for an attack, perhaps Hood landed an emotional blow. He fucking hopes it’s the former.

Nearly as quick as Flash he takes aim, wrist trembling in green tinged rage, “...Well?!”

The replacement doesn’t move nor speak for a minute. Nor does Jason. The pits roar at him to just pull the fucking trigger and finish the bastard, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Not until he hears whatever this paperclip's fucking excuse is for wearing that symbol.  

Distantly he hears the rumble of the batmobile getting closer to them. Besides that, strangely, Gotham is quiet.

“. . .” The replacement sighs so quietly Jason nearly didn’t hear it, then, in a surprisingly baritone voice, he answers.

“He was my brother.”

Chapter Text

The Marvel Universe, New York City

Two months prior from present day, Two months after the snap…

“Look, it's Spider-man!”

“Spider-Man!”

“My daughter’s dead because of you son of a bitch!”

Sigh.

The Scarlet Spider swung across the towering skyscraper of New York; the air is just starting to get crisp in the evening. Heralding the start of fall in New York, it is welcomed since the city can become sweltering quite quick.  His torn sleeveless hoodie and super suit does little to halt the wind chill from biting into his bones. Maybe he should finally buy a regular coat this year. Aunt May offered to buy him a “proper coat” last year.  He turned her down, saying that most coats don’t ever fit with his costume. Peter never went out with a coat either, since May always knitted him a new sweater for the colder seas-

Stop thinking about them, Ben. No more.

The cold, focus on the cold, the evening bitter cold. The same cold that settled into him when half the world, half the universe turned to ash. Halved its warmth and home. Not that he’s ever cared about the people he knew that died, he tried very hard to move from the original's life. No really. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Why would he care? Like eighty percent of his memories aren’t even his so the people he knew aren’t his to mourn- 

“FUCK YOU SPIDER-MAN!” Cries yet another random civilian.

Yeah, Yeah, fuck you too buddy, Scarlet thinks as he swings and swishes through the night air.  Getting closer and closer to the avenger's tower. He might kill Stark while he’s there. Maybe. His wife is pregnant though, so that usually stops him. Maybe he’ll beat him up. That’s a good compromise, he’d be grateful for just a beating. Gets to raise his kid.

The Avengers Tower comes into his sight after rounding a building. It’s changed, plenty of large panels are missing from the sides of the tower. Purely aesthetic in purpose at least, as the tower's reinforced security-based walls are exposed to the evening air. As for why the tower’s got such a nouveau makeover, well, the first month after the ‘snap’ (as it’s called now) was very… chaotic. Resources in use or not had to be prioritized to cauterize the wounds. 

A few more passersbys on the cold streets below him heckle and growl insults to the Spider, luckily the wind drowns them out as he jumps up to the tower. Landing on his feet against the vertical height (thanks sticky powers) he begins to sprint up and up the heights. Sometimes he casts a web to pull himself up just for a bit of acceleration to climb the ever-erring fortress. Not that he’s eager to see anyone in the tower, no, he just wants this over and done with as quickly as he can. He’s got familial priorities today.

Which floor is it? 

To be honest, he sort of guesstimates where the labs are, worst case scenario he climbs into a broom closet, big whoop. He can just leave the room he’s in, hop into an elevator, go through that roof hatch thing that’s in every elevator ever and then just climb up the elevator shaft to the correct floor.

Simple.

I’d rather find the right window first, he thinks as he settles onto one pane. Slowing to a stop then sitting cross legged against a window, looking directly down on the New York streets below. Then he taps the pane to his left a couple times.

“Friday it’s me, open up.” Reilly commands the ai, knowing full well that it informed its creator of his presence.

Nothing happens after a minute or two. Annoyed, he taps the glass more incessantly.

“Open up you stupid fucking sapient tower thing-” Suddenly the pane pops slightly open and rolls to the left like a minivan car door. 

Wow, insulting it worked? 

A head roughly pokes through the open window, “Doors exist you know!”

Oh,  wow I actually got the right floor this time.

“Stark.” Scarlet-Spider greets, then pushes his head back into the building with his hand as he simultaneously climbs in.

“Gah you little-!” Stark squawks infuriated after his face is grabbed. “You fucking… you have level A fucking access! Friday knows you! You literally walk in through the front door!”

“Doors are for pussies.” Scarlet says as he examines the room, after straightening his posture. Stark’s favored lab, unclean, dangerous, various projects lying about, he actually did get the correct floor. Knew he would get it eventually.

 “You got the stuff?” Wasting no time in cutting to the chase. Less time he spends here the better.

Stark groans, taps a window right of the one he left open, causing the other to slide shut, “You make this sound like a drug deal.” He says before walking away from the windows and into the lab.

“...technically it is.” 

 “No, it isn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“College, now drop it with the drug talk.”

“Heh.”

Infuriating Stark has become one of Ben’s favorite pastimes recently. Mainly because it’s so easy.

Stark leads him to the only clean table in the entire lab, all that rests on it is a large matte black reinforced briefcase with the Stark logo on it. Stark taps the A on his name and the circle around the name glows blue, before the light grows brighter and splinters into a hologram keyboard.

“Okay so there's two codes to open this case.” 

“Two?” Scarlet repeats, in a disbelieving tone. “Wouldn’t that make it easier for someone to hack into it?”

“Don’t question my scientific thought process, angsty.” Stark glares at the hoodie wearing spider.

“Don’t take risks with my brother’s health, drunkie .”

Stark glares at him, maybe that was a low blow. Especially since he’s been sober for years now, hasn’t even touched champagne since hearing that Pepper’s expecting. Which he has to admit, he’s impressed that he hasn’t spiraled since The Snap. The same couldn't be said for Thor.

“You know angsty, most people would show a little I don’t know gratitude , for saving their brother’s life?” Stark crosses his arms.

“Oh, like how you saved Peter’s?"

“...”

Stark doesn’t respond, his face is carefully neutral. The only indication of hurt or any emotion is how his eyes glaze over with tears, or perhaps a memory. Perhaps… he went too far… no. No Stark should feel haunted. Ben and Kaine weren’t there to save him, but Stark was. There is… there is no one else to blame… is there?

“...What’s the fucking code.”

“Code is echo alfa 199999.”

“Jesus Christ, you want Kaine to decompose into mush? What’s with all the nines?” Scarlet growls, hitting the table with his fist.

“Weren’t you just concerned about people hacking into it?” Stark uncrossed his arms.

“Fuck fine, please tell the other code is smaller.”

“Echo alfa 616.” Stark types in the code to the floating hologram, various clicks sound from the briefcase as it unlocks. “No caps and that is an alfa with an f not a ph. Do not mess that up. Get the code wrong after three times the case will disintegrate the contents.” 

“Fuck why? ”

“Do you want any more clone siblings?” Stark bites back; the case opens letting out a hiss and a cold puff of vapor around the sides. “Because the entire contents of this case can make an entire clone family tree here.”

“Ugh.”

Stark waves his hand above the open case, wafting the water vapor away revealing dozens upon dozens of pills with an odd green glow.

“As mutually agreed, these pills contain a very diluted solution of that new chemical compound we formulated and stem cells,” Stark plucks up a glowing green pill, presenting it to Scarlet. “The one that successfully repaired skin grafts up to halfway through the second stage of decomposition.”

“Is there a way we could get them to stop glowing like that?” Reilly takes the glowing pill. “It’s kind of… eerie.”

“We’ve tried, remember? Glow only goes down if diluted, which it had to be diluted anyways but not anymore than it has.”

“These are a lot of pills…”

“One pill a day, results on his pain should be immediate,” Stark rubs his chin. “No more than one pill, I mean it . The mice we tested on showed signs of spicy mania, can’t risk that.”

“One pill a day, got it, but these are a lot of pills.” 

“The full prescription yeah, don’t be too grateful or anything.”

“Making the chemical is complicated but not impossible, but where did you get the stem cells?”

“...donations.”

“...huh.” Scarlet racks his brains. “For a while blood and plasma draws were mandatory for all healthy people, but I don’t think there was any for stem cells. Who donated all of-”

“Yo hoooo~ ! ” A grating, annoying voice calls from the right of them. Causing them both to startle in surprise. Scarlet Spider jumps into a combative yet classic spidey pose and Stark’s nanotech bleeds out from his skin dawning the Iron man suit.

Deadpool lounges seductively on a cluttered table full of Wakandan knives and spears, wearing his classic Deadpool suit, a fluffy pink tutu, and is… missing one of his legs.

“Oh, goddammit Deadpool!” 

“The fuck Wilson?!”

“Nice to see you, my arachnophobia inducing friend!” Wade chatters. “Man, I've been so damn busy lately I haven't been able to visit that much! So much going on in the multiverse! Death wanted me to go swing dancing with her, there was this sasquatch sighting which I had to investigate, then Wolvie wanted to help repair shit in the earth’s… everywhere, but when Stark called me for help, I couldn't say no!” 

“...How did you get in- wait where’s your fucking leg?”

Oh,  shit wait why did I ask that? There’s no good explanation to a missing leg especially with Wilson.

“Why, it's soup!”

“...What?”

“Stem cell soup.” Deadpool points to the case of pills.

“...” 

I was okay before knowing that.

“...I won’t tell Kaine where the stem cells came from then.”

Deadpool makes a dramatic offended gasp, bringing his hand to his collarbone. Clutching his non-existent pearls.

“Do you actually think Kaine would react well to that, smart mouth?”

“Oooooh! Fair point!” Deadpool sits up then claps his hands excitedly. “I’ll make sure I’ll be the one to tell him. It’ll be hilarious, does he still stomp around when he’s angry? Or is that when he’s eepy? Eh, it’ll still be funny.”

“I-”

“Oh, tell Kainey that chimichanga night is still a thing! He hasn’t responded to any of the emails, regular mails, the pamphlets- did you not get the pamphlets? I can send more pamphlets- no shut up White I got to ask if they got the pamphlets. Did you get the pamphlets?”

“We got the goddamn pamphlets!” Reilly shouts, pushing himself away from the table “You plastered them to every goddamn door in our building!”

“Well why haven’t you guys shown up for chimichanga night then!?”

“...” Reilly sighs and tosses the pill back into the case, then snaps it shut, putting just a slight pressure on it so the locks are properly set with various clicks. “...I'm going now.”

“Oh, come on man! Why do you hate Mexican food? Do you get the shits or something? Is avocado too much for Parkers?”

I'm not going to dignify that with a response, Reilly thinks as he picks up the case by the handle.

“At least use the door!” Stark calls as the Scarlet Spider turns away. “I’m getting tired of paying the window washers to get rid of your footprints on my building!”

“Pssh he’s not gonna use the door or the window.” Deadpool leans back on the cluttered table.

“What-”

“Nah cause the author is just gonna end the chapter right here,” Dead throws his hands in the air. “Then in the next chapter they’ll start the story up again at Benny’s apartment, completely skipping over him traveling! Which by the way is super lazy and-!’

Chapter Text

A few weeks later…

Ben Reilly never quite liked looking in the mirror. Especially since learning a hard lesson that he was not in fact Peter parker. His facial features, his build… are exactly like the original’s. Even his eye color, a deep brown in the same. Though, it is of some comfort that his hair color is different. A light blond. Sometimes when he forgets to shave his beard, he allows it grow out patchily so that helps him too. Yet still… the mirror is not his friend.

Teeth have to be brushed though.

It’s always such an ordeal brushing his teeth. With his spider powers he has to be careful brushing around the gums of his canines, or his fangs will extend, and he might bite into his lip by accident. His venom won’t hurt him, the fang itself will. He doesn’t want a lip piercing.

Well… actually that sounds kind of cool, Ben considers the idea.  

Spitting into the sink and then running the tap. Ben rubs the back of his neck as he stares into that awful mirror. There’s bags beneath his eyes, today was a long one. The gangs in the city are finally dusting themselves off after the snap. Getting organized again. It’s such a pain since the heroes of the world are still scrambling. How come the worst of people always seem to end up on top?

He pushes himself away from the sink… foregoing flossing. He’s just… his bones need rest. The armchair in the living room, unlike the mirror, is his best friend. Despite the fact that he really should floss, he leaves the bathroom and goes into the den.

The apartment itself is modern. Chic even. Courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D. awhile ago (before the snap) when his brother the original was forging a bond between himself, Ben, and Kaine. They didn’t need his charity, they were fine. Kaine was certainly against it. Their safehouse wasn’t that rundown. Plus, Kaine had a job as a bouncer, he was making money. They were working up to a new place, but… they were convinced that this was easier and safer.

Safer at least. Those floor to ceiling windows are bullet proof, they have a Stark-Tech security system in place, an elevator that leads up to the living room and to top it all off? An espresso machine. Also, the apartment is only two blocks away from aunt Mays.

Plopping himself on the long gray L-shaped couch, Ben debates whether to turn on the TV or not. His favorite shows have either been canceled or completely changed since the Snap. Actors and writers weren’t spared. The news is obviously a no go. New York still can’t seem to get that he isn’t Spider-Man. The smear campaign is endless thanks to a certain newspaper. You would think that people would blame the person responsible (Thanass) but no. Shit on the dead, why don’t you.

So instead, he merely stares into the void. Daydreaming out of boredom. Kaine will be back soon, and Ben has to give him the case of medicine for his… decaying problems. Though he would’ve preferred to give the pills to him sooner, the Fantastic Four needed his aid for a month longer. Winter hit New York early this year, so they weren't even sure if the plane would leave London. Better late than never, good thing the new chemical doesn’t seem to degrade. It should help Kaine. A lot. 

The first attempt of cloning Peter Spider-Man was a success for the villain, Jackal. Not perfect though. Kaine aged faster than Spider-Man but luckily stagnated to a normal aging rate when he reached the physical age of the early to mid-twenties… but his form was still unstable. He can… deteriorate… decay even. It happens in waves maybe once every couple of months, and he heals from them when it just stops. Yet each time they hit they last longer and take longer to heal as well. Painful too. Several times he had to be hopped up on Captain America’s meds and just… ride it out. A team of doctors comes in every couple of hours to apply antiseptics and antibiotics, preventing him from resting. Those times were terrifying, especially when Ben along with May and Peter would visit him as often as possible to be of… some support. Though on some days he wouldn’t allow visitors of any kind to see him, fearing he would be too… grotesque.

Ben Reilly despises the Jackal with every molecule in his body… but deep down he is grateful that he improved his cloning process so that Ben wouldn’t go through the same. He is also grateful that the son of a bitch was dusted in his prison cell. That’s what a bastard gets for playing god. 

A soft ‘ding’ sounds from the elevator front door at the far end wall of the living room. Ben looks up to see the doors softly slide open to reveal… Kaine Parker. Long brown hair, tall, built like captain america and ten times more annoying.  He groans as he leaves the elevator, rolling his suitcase along with him. Kicking off his shoes half haphazardly. Making a beeline for his favorite recliner.

“Ugh…” Kaine groans as he plops down in his chair, immediately reclining. Head tilted back, facing the ceiling.

“Welcome back.”

“ Ugh. ”

“How was the U.K?” Ben smirks, finding his brother’s exhaustion hilarious.

“If I had to spend one more minute around Johnny fucking Storm, I would’ve strangled him.”

Ben laughs, “That bad?”

“And Mr. Fantastic's powers are so… gross ,” Kaine admits with a shudder. “I can hear the bones and sinews stretch when he- iick.. I’d never say this to him, but it's so gross.”

“Oh, shit you can hear it?”

“Yes, and it’s horrible.”

“And also do you have any idea how many missions went wrong because Johnny kept trying to eff a broad?” Kaine scratches his beard. “It’s like every villainess in the world is an ex of his.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say broad? ” 

“Yeah?”

“Who even says broad anymore?”

“Me.”

“Like not calling them a chick? Where did you ever hear a woman be called a broad before?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Hehehehe.” Ben laughs as he scootches to the arm of the couch, before leaning over the side and grabbing the Stark-Tech case. “Well, I got something to improve your spirits.”

“Liquor?”

“We both know you’re technically too young for that.”

“Eh.”

“Here.” Ben lifts the case onto the glass coffee table. “This is the perfected treatment for your decaying issues.”

“No shit.” Kaine tilts his head back down, looking at the case.

“Yup,” Ben presses the Stark logo and types in the password. “Two codes to the box here, echo alfa-616 and echo alfa-199999. No ph's just f’s, and no caps.”

“Fuck you better write that down cause I’m not gonna remember it.” Kaine sits up and watches as the case clicks and hisses open, cool water vapor escaping onto the table.  Covering it like a fog.

“I will… here,” Ben takes out a pill and tosses it to Kaine. “Take one a day every day.”

Kaine catches the pill, “...why’s it glowing like that?”

“It’s part of the new chemical compound that Stark and I formulated,” Ben explains while closing the case. “It’s harmless, so long as it’s not ingested in large amounts, so it’s diluted. It healed grafts of flesh up through the second stage of decomposition. The DNA from me, and the stem cells should handle the preventative stuff from there.”

“...thought it’d be like… a lotion or something.”

“Nope.”

“What’s the chemical called?”

“I forget the formulae type name because it’s super long, but we’ve been calling it chemical Resurgence unofficially.”

“Well… thanks.” Kaine says as he pops the pill into his mouth, swallowing it without water.

Silence quickly takes over and it is immensely awkward. Kaine looking at the floor, and Ben looking at the tv even though it’s not even on at the moment. He doesn’t know what to do right now. His brother is right here, but so much has happened and it all puts so much distance between them. He hasn’t seen him since the week after the… after the…

New York is ablaze. Everything was cut down by half. Everything that was important. Half everyone, half of their hope and family. Gone, just like that. No one knows what happened. There’s a blackout, half of the power company's workforce isn’t there to help. There are riots, screaming, endless calls to 911, and Ben and Kaine work tirelessly through the night to staunch the chaotic bleeding.

They aren’t even able to communicate with the other heroes of York. He’s pretty sure he saw Johnny and Sue Storm downtown. Maybe Daredevil too. Yet the communication networks set up by shields are down, for some reason. They can’t find anyone else. Barely any heroes are on the field, where the hell are the avengers? Where is anyone? Ben and Kaine can barely keep track of each other. Peter… they can’t find Peter… can’t hail him on any communication network.

Swinging from building-to-building Ben pulls out individuals from various blazes, trying his best not to jostle them. Too many of the bodies he carried on his back were too limp, he couldn't even hear their heartbeats over the roaring inferno from hell. Kaine is on the streets below, guiding people away, and lifting empty ash filled cars out of there way for ambulances and fire engines to make through.

Ben dives into the inferno yet again, kicking in a window, ignoring the flames that try to wrap around him. His spidey senses scream of danger around him, surrounding him like the room’s filling up with water. He almost wishes it was water.

He trips over something, something soft, a blanket? No, a cat. Frozen in fear. Surrounded by the blaze. Quickly Ben picks it up and holds it beneath his left arm, ignoring its panicked thrashes. He’s trying to hear, to listen for anyone. The fire… it’s so loud. What was Peter’s strategy for fires again? He should know this; he has his memories. But… but it’s so loud and he’s so tired. How long has it been since the first got ashed? He… he doesn’t know-

A heartbeat. Frantic. Not from the cat, it’s slower, but too fast to be healthy. A person. Down the hall. Ben sprints in the direction of the beats. Jumping over debris and dodging blazes where he can. If not, he takes the brunt of them, so the cat is spared. It’s fine. He has super healing. It won’t even scar. He’s fine, he's okay, everything is going to be ok.

The heartbeat is behind a doorway, blocked by debris and angry orange fire. Quickly he kicks it all away to the right of him. A bedroom stands before… no… a nursery… fuck.

((Trigger warning for a demise of a youngling starts here))

One heartbeat. Just one. Kaine ignores the smoke and the sinking feeling in his stomach and rushes to the heartbeat. Finally seeing a woman, kneeling next to a crib. Clutching the wooden bars as tightly as she can sobbing uncontrollably. Ben kneels down to her in a slide, shaking her shoulder quickly to get her attention.

Her eyes snap up in shock, her eyes red rimmed and full of tear, she grabs his arm desperately, hope starting to shine in her eyes, “Please! Please save her! Please she-she turned… the crib please help her oh please!” 

Ben quickly looks in the crib, hoping that the fire is too loud, hoping he wouldn’t have to see this again tonight. The cat yowling and scratching his arm, the woman begs and pleads. Quickly rifling through the blankets trying to find…

…

…

Just ash.

…

…

((Trigger warning ends here!))

“...you’re quiet.” Kaine points out.

“Mm.” Ben subtlety blinks away the memory. Not allowing even the most miniscule reaction form on his face.

“Usually, you’d be talking my ear off.”

“I guess.”

“Even more than Peter would.”

Ben doesn’t respond to that; his eyes remain glued to the blank tv. He’s right, normally he’d be the extroverted one leading any and all conversations. Kaine would be the near quiet one too. Yet… the words haven’t spilled out as easily as they used to.

“...didn’t touch your music stuff while you were away,” Ben switches the topic. “As promised.”

“Good,” Kaine allows the topic to change. “I’ll have to re-tune the guitars, and get more picks, always seem to lose them.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t take the V-shaped one with you.”

“Joan? Nah, I didn't want to risk her getting damaged in case villains attacked the base.”

“Can’t believe you name your guitars.” 

“They all have personalities,” Kaine defends. “Though mostly I only name the six string ones instead of the five or four strings.”

“There a difference ‘tween them? I mean they all make the vibrations to make the noise, one string can’t make that much of a difference.”

“...” Kaine’s face turns to one of very specific blank stare of betrayal. “...That’s a fucked-up thing to say to me, Ben.”

“Heh.” For the first time today, Ben cracks a smile.

Silence reigns again and neither of them fight it this time. It’s too late in the evening for this. It’s gotta be past one am so all the catching up and stuff can definitely wait for the morning. 

“I’m gonna go hit the hay.” Ben stands up, cracking his back as he does so. “Long day, punching people..."

“Well, I’m going to go to bed too,” Kaine smacks his legs then stands up with a tired groan. “Heathrow airport to JFK was absolute hell. Can’t believe Shield set me up in economy, cheap ass bastards.”

“Ah dude that sucks I-”

Danger. 

Dangerdangerdangerdangerdangerdangerdangerdanger danger screaming all around them no warning no build up what- 

Ben’s spidey senses screech suddenly at him. Forcing him to fix his posture into a combative spidey stance. Kaine does the same simultaneously, his lethargy moving out of the way for adrenaline.  Everything around them is fine though, even New York outside the gigantic windows is as calm as it could be.

“Feel that?”

“Yeah.” Ben’s eyes dart around, and he slowly inches over to Kaine. “Where the fuck is the threat? It’s… it’s...”

“All… all around us.” Kaine growls.

Swiftly, the room then is tinted orange, and the lights flicker in and out. Orange like fire, Ben finds his breath suddenly quicker as he takes in the color around them. The room begins to sway and quake around them. Their inner spider’s hissing at the danger surrounding.

“Ait...areful!” A distant gossamer voice sounds like an underwater echo around them.

“...has…e… one…”

“Who are you!?” Kaine demands the unknown voices.

The orange glow intensifies, and Ben’s breathing quickens, looking around for any exits. He can’t…  he can’t see anything through the orange, it's too opaque.

“...least… end… box… ith… em.”

“That voice…” Ben racks his brain with the familiarity of the voice 

The floor goes out beneath them as the orange swirls with a new color, blue; they both shout in surprise as that happens. They don’t fall. They don’t fly. There’s a sensation of travel and distance that Ben could feel in every atom of his body. As if he’s being ripped apart and being put back together. Yet… it feels like it should be painful. His entire body is numb. He can’t… see anything other than the orange and blue. Where’s Kaine? Where is anything? He can’t hear, he can't see. Is this another snap is he dying is-

Without warning he falls to his knees on cold wet cement.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor, North of Gotham City…

Peter can see clearly now that the Waynes have truly opened up to him being around. Thus, he finally no longer feels out of place.

Now they weren’t rude to him or anything like that. Didn’t make him feel unwelcome. They were just exercising the behavior Peter saw Tony do when the cameras were rolling. He calls it wearing one’s ‘publicity face’. In which rich and famous people carefully calculate every word they speak when the unblinking public eye is upon them. It often entails fake smiles, evading questions, overt kindness, the kind of stuff people would see on red carpet interviews.

Now Duke, Steph, and Tim never put on their publicity faces when Peter moved in. They’re his friends and they act as such when they sneak up behind him to scare him on purpose. Dick was just… awkward. Yet parental. Which is an odd combo but a fair one, Peter would guess you wouldn’t know how to act around your newly adopted teen. The random peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that appear on his desk helps. Cassandra (she prefers to be called Cass as he’s been told by Duke) interacted with the rest of the household but little with Peter. Alfred was perfectly fine with him at the start, in fact on his first official night at Wayne manor (the night where Bane attacked does not count), he baked him and him alone cookies. Which apparently is a huge event.

Then there was Mr. Wayne himself and his youngest child Damian. Damian was… not standoffish. Steph told Peter that he is relieved that his actions saved Alfred from Bane, which apparently helped a lot. Concerning for someone his age, as Damian regarded Peter as he would a stranger on the street. Practically invisible. That was soon fixed when Peter interacted with the dogs Ace and Titus. It wasn’t anything major in Peter’s eyes, that day he was missing his dog back home, Sandwich.

You named a dog sandwich? Sam laughs from far away.

Sandwich the dog loved… loves sandwiches as Peter learned upon meeting the street mutt. So, anyway, he was really melancholic about the wellbeing of his friend back home and while Damian was at school, Peter interacted with his two hounds. They never left his side when he was at the manor so it was really Peter’s only chance. He didn’t quite know their personalities, so he taught them a few tricks to figure them out. Alfred gave him the treat jar and that helped bunches. Damian came home that day to find Peter giving them treats, and at first he was angry at Peter. Really angry actually. Apparently their diet is quite strict.

The child decimated you in a verbal battle, Drax says with pride.

It wasn’t so much a battle as it was a massacre. Tim and Duke snickered at him as if they were expecting it, as if it was an inevitability. Peter doesn’t know what was even said, he would switch from english to arabic in his tirade, but somehow he knows that damian picked apart every single one of his anxieties. Then it stopped when Titus took Damian’s school bag from him in his maw… and carried it off to Damian’s room. Which was the main trick that Peter tried to teach him. The angry tween fell silent when Peter stuttered through his explanation.

Then simply walked away.

Since then he didn’t ignore Peter, and acted as prickly to him as he did with the others. Which is good, apparently. He’s now on the same level with them. Though he has been calling him ‘nephew’, which is kind of weird since Peter’s older, but by technicality he isn’t wrong and Peter doesn’t toss olive branches.

Mr. Wayne however is a completely different story. He was charismatic, sure, showing true hospitality. Peter wasn’t surprised… the media apparently had an accurate depiction of him. Flippant and frivolous, only showing any care to his kids. Just a ditsy kind of guy. Then… Peter rescued a nest of baby bunnies from the vicious killer known as Alfred the cat. Getting his arms clawed up to ribbons, but saved the bunnies, and no harm done to ferocious feline either. Since then, the billionaire has been quiet and distant, completely serious all the time. It was odd. Then came the horrific realization that it was possible that Bruce Wayne wants to kill helpless little bunnies. What else would warrant such a change? The one percent are horrifically evil in this world...

 Then with the combined chuckling reassurances of Alfred (the human) and Dick after he voiced his concerns to them, it was revealed to Peter that Bruce Wayne does not desire the death of soft little bunnies. He just acts like that normally. Which means he’s finally opened up to Peter.

Which…

Huh?

What?

Why reveal that after he rescues bunnies of all things? 

Why set up such a farce in the face of the media? Wouldn’t it be simpler to not have a scandal every two steps? So confusing. What could he ever gain from that? The media is so wrong about their depiction of him through the billionaire’s own efforts. Which… what? Why? He made Peter think he wanted the demise of bunnies for like two days!

He’s got something to hide, Nick Fury declares in the back of Peter’s mind. 

He must admit that is sound reasoning but in his experience with the one percent (particularly with being around Harry Osborn, Norman Osborn, and Mr. Stark), the extremely wealthy are just… well… weird and eccentric. Traumatized too from what he’s seen. Bruce Wayne did see his parents die. Thus becoming a member of the dead parent club, current president being Mr. Stark. There’s no way that wouldn’t have lasting effects. Fortunately not bunny killing effects in Mr. Wayne's case.

As for Cassandra, she has yet to interact with him like she does with the others, but he won’t push her. He gets the feeling that she just prefers her space. Or perhaps she thinks he doesn’t know sign language? He might have to talk to her about that when he next catches her.

Jason is barely around, so there's that.

So, in Peter’s opinion. He’s well integrated with the Waynes now. That detail is important for tonight. For tonight is family night, a rare monthly occurrence that is wholly dependent on everyone's respective schedules. Alfred will draw a name from his bowler hat, and whoever gets their name drawn will pick the night’s activity.

It should not be nearly as intense as it is.

Mr. Wayne, Dick, Cass, and Damian take up the couch. Alfred the cat on Damians lap, and his dogs Titus and Ace laying on the ground before him. On the floor practically in a nest of blankets sit Peter, Duke, Tim, and Steph. All watching the inexpressive Alfred stand before them all, holding the infamous bowler hat upside down in his right hand.

“Now, I’m sure I don’t need to remind any of you the rules of family night,” Alfred announces, looking around the room. “Even so, I shall ‘cover my bases’ so to say…”

Alfred then clears his throat, beginning to repeat the same rules of last month.

“There will be no threatening anyone of any manner.”

A pointed look to Damian, who raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“...There will be no blackmail.”

Another look, but to Steph, who purses her lips and looks away.

“...There will be no abuse of parental titles nor the revokings of allowances.”

A direct stare to Bruce, who gives a very very small sheepish smile.

“...And no physical nor phycological violence of any sort.”

A piercing gaze scrutinizes all but Peter.

“...now then,” Alfred clears his throat, before raising the bowler hat a tad higher. “The last person who got to pick family night's last activity does not have their name in the hat. Master Bruce, your name will be added in again next month.”

Everyone sighs in relief at that, though Bruce does look a bit offended. If only he could realize a chess tournament was just a boring idea. Peter lost in the first round because he got Tim as his first opponent. It wasn’t that fun after that, chess is boring when you just watch it. Though it was funny watching Bruce and Tim do rematch after rematch because each round kept ending in stalemates. 

“Now when I pull this name out,” Alfred raises his white gloved left hand. “All of you, save for last month’s winner, will have the opportunity to bribe the victor to allow you to pick tonight's activity if you so wish. You will keep your end of the bribe or there will be severe consequences. Including the revoking of dessert rights, increase of chores, and a grounding. Is that understood?”

Everyone nods solemnly. 

Slowly, Alfred puts his hand into the bowler hat that will determine tonight's fate. All breaths are held, every single one of the Waynes hold a focus in their faces that Peter rarely sees in civilians. Even the stoic billionaire clenches his fists in preparation.

Finally Alfred pulls out a little white slip of paper and unfolds it, “...master Jaso- ah he’s not here tonight, my apologies.”  

Everyone can’t help but groan as Alfred slips the paper into his vest pocket. Suspense growing as he rifles through the hat once again. The tension so thick in the air, one could cut it with a knife. Peter, looking around, could see a trickle of sweat go down the side of Tim’s face. Damian is petting Alfred the cat sort of quickly, without reprise, though it seems the cat loves it.

Finally, he pulls out another slip of paper and unfolds it.

“Master Parker.” 

Holy shit.

VICTORY! Drax screams in his mind, causing Peter to just barely wince. For some reason Duke does so as well, maybe he wanted to win the family night raffle this time. A few of the others groan in disappointment at not being picked, but they don’t voice the discontent.

“Hey congrats Peter!” Tim smiles.

“Can’t wait to hear what you pick!” Duke agrees with a nod, rubbing his ear.

“Yeah sure…” 

This feels too intense for his taste… but he does have some idea of what he wants for the family activity. Though the intense calculating stares from all the Waynes remind him of how the bats were when he worked with him. Even calm and easy Dick, smiling and relaxed but holds a strange zeal that he hasn’t seen before.

Rich people are weird.

“Shall we proceed to the bribes?” Alfred asks.

“Sure.”

“I’m forfeiting my bribe,” Duke informs, “I trust Peter to make good judgment.”

Cass then signs, Me too.

“Very well.” Alfred nods. “Young master Wayne?”

“Nephew, relinquish your choice of activity to me tonight and I shall aid you in lab cleanup for one week.”

Damn starting off strong.

“Miss Brown?”

“Oh, um, two nights of my desserts!”

“Psh that’s nothing,” Tim laughs. “A week of my desserts.”

That’s a better deal, Peter thinks with a little interest. That interest must’ve shown on his face because Tim puffs up a little with pride.

“I might kill you for that Timmy-”

“Miss Brown…”

“Sorry Alfred.”

“Now then, Master Richard?” Alfred asks the final competing Wayne.

“An increase of allowance.” Dick smirks, causing Tim and Steph to grieve in loss of victory.

“I am required to inquire by how much Master Richard.” Alfred raises an eyebrow.

“Um, five percent?”

“That accommodates for the average inflation rate of three percent…” Bruce mutters to himself.

Peter shifts uncomfortably at the thought of an allowance increase, which causes Dick’s face to fall in slight guilt. It’s not that he isn’t grateful, it’s just that money's always been weird for him. He’s used to saving it for what he needs, not hoarding it for what he wants. Dick set up an entire bank account for Peter’s allowance, which isn't unheard of for doing that for one’s teenager. It’s just those banks aren’t usually offshore. Or have more than four digits in said bank account.

“Thanks… but I’m picking what we do tonight, sorry guys.” Peter rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Steph and Tim whine, but do not do anything else.

“Well then, what shall be tonight's activity Master parker?” Alfred gives a small, comforting smile. As if Peter's victory was his own.

“Can we do a movie marathon?” Peter asks. “With some popcorn too? I wanna watch the Hobbit, all parts.”

“Two weeks of lab clean up.” Damian offers.

“Bribes are closed young master Wayne.” Alfred reminds.

“Tt.”

The others seem to be happy with the prospect of a movie marathon, though Damian murmurs on how incorrect the main characters' combative forms are. In response to that, Alfred the cat jumps off his lap and begins to leave the room. 

This might actually be a fun night.

Halfway into the second movie, there were several popcorn refills and several debates on how realistic their swordsmanship and archery skills are. Which really doesn’t matter all that much to Peter , it is a movie after all. Magic, dragons, wizards, and long-lost gold are the focus of the movies. Though Peter’s favorite parts are just of the ones in Hobbiton, it’s a specific kind of peacefulness he just falls for.

Though when they reach the barrel escape scene, another debate comes up when Legolas starts jumping on the dwarves' heads.

“I can do that.” Dick declares.

“No, you can’t.” Tim laughs in disbelief.

“Really?” Dick seems shocked that Tim would disagree. “You actually think I can’t?”

“They're going through rapids downhill,” Tim argues. “No one would be able to keep their balance during that.”

“Except for Legolas.” Peter points out, in agreement with Tim.

“Except for Legolas.” 

“Both of you seem to forget that I am an acrobat,” Dick crosses his arms.

“The elf is also firing arrows from atop the dwarves' heads,” Damian points out. “You do not practice any form of archery, Grayson.”

“Also, the orcs are trying to shoot him,” Steph points out.

“That’s not the point guys, jumping from head-to-head is the cool part!”

"That is not the cool part." Peter laughs.

“That wouldn’t be nearly as impressive by itself,” Duke shakes his head. “That halves the coolness.”

“Nah, what halves the coolness is that he doesn’t have the Legolas hairstyle.” Peter points out.

“True!” Steph exclaims.

“Oh my god he’s right,” Duke says in amazement. “It’s the hair. ”

“It’s all about the swish .” Tim nods along.

“You guys think…” Dick leans forward and uncrosses his arms. “That I can’t jump from head-to-head of barrel riding dwarves just because I don’t have the correct hairstyle? ”

“Yes.” Peter, Tim, Duke, and Steph say in unison.

“While I do not think that Grayson could manage a feat.” Damian argues. “I do not think his physical visage would matter; it would be an endeavor based on skill.”

“I got the skill-”

It wouldn’t work like that, Cass signs in asl with a small smile.

“I can give you an actual real-life example on how it absolutely would work like that.” Peter says to Cass, who blinks in pleasant surprise that he understood her.

“Oh really?” Dick shakes his head, already not believing Peter's reasoning before it is spoken.

“One word, two syllables.” Peter smirks. “Batman.”

“Batman?” Bruce repeats with a raised eyebrow. Heads turn to Peter in interest, even Alfred raises an eyebrow.

“More specifically his cape.” Peter begins to explain. “Lemme theorize here, even us mere civilians know that guy is extremely paranoid and has backup plans to his backup plans, right?”

Everyone except Bruce nods, and a few chuckle like they're in on a joke.

“Then how come he hasn’t ditched the cape?” Peter delves further into his explication. “Tactically it’s useless to him at best-”

“I believe it is common knowledge that it is a glider and who knows, could be fire resistant-” Bruce tries to counter but Peter interrupts him.

“And a danger to him at worst,” Peter throws up his hands. “What’s he gonna do if someone manages to sneak up on him, flip that cape over his head and start jumping him while he’s blind?”

“Ooooh.”

“He’s got a point Bruce.”

“Such an oversight of Batman…”

“Tactically amateur of him, father.”

Bruce is silent at that, though he has a slight… calculative expression on him.

“Or what if someone manages to coil the cape up?” Peter goes on. “And tries to choke him out with it? That’d be bad for him lemme tell you that, for Gotham too, I guess. Yet why hasn’t that happened yet? Normal criminals are dumb sure, but his rogues? They are smart too. So how come they never tried such an obvious way to kick his butt? He’s the only super in the justice league that doesn’t have superpowers, he can’t take any risk! So, what’s the explanation? It’s the fit. The fit is armor. No other way to explain such a silly design fail.”

“...”

“The fit is armor.” Tim repeats in awe.

“Even Gotham's scum respects the drip.”

“It makes so much sense! ”

“I can still do the barrel jumping thing though!”

“ Enough everyone,” Bruce chuckles, but that oddly critical and clever look doesn’t move from his eyes. “We got off topic, look they’re already in Laketown.”

Thus, attention was directed back to the movie. The family people around him fall into the plot and silence easily, it’s quite relaxing actually. Though from what Peter heard last month, it’s usually much more chaotic. So this might be a nice change of pace for the Waynes, maybe. He gets the impression that they’re quite serious all the time, but he doesn’t know what about.

Though… something pulls at his chest. Like a fishing hook stabbed into his soul, and something is tugging and tugging at him. Yet its force is too weak to budge him from the water. Perhaps he’s homesick… who knows. It’s quite insistent. 

I… feel it too? Sam says in confusion. The other ghosts murmur in agreement with Sam.

Wait… what?

The pull gets stronger, stronger, like a thread pulling in a certain direction. Trying his best not to visibly show his nerves, he turns his face in the direction of the pulling. It’s to the window… whoa…

Outside, distantly, Peter see’s the city skyline of Gotham. It’s flickering lights blinking like stars that hold the worst of the eastern seaboard. There’s… there’s a ginormous column of orange and blue light. Flickering and writhing upon itself, as if it’s unstable. Glowing brighter, then darker, then bright again like a heartbeat. 

“Hey Peter, what’s- whoa!” Tim’s drops as he looks through one of the windows as well.

“Guys look at the city!” Peter jumps up and hurries to the window, just barely listening to the others as they bawk in shock at the display. All of them standing up and looking outside. Ignoring the movie.

“Is it the bat signal- no wait what is that?”

“What the hell?!”

“How far up does it go?”

“Father, what is this?”

“A problem.”

“Peter, I want you away from the windows.” Dick tries to guide Peter away from the windows by gently grabbing his shoulder, but the teen stays firmly in place.

It’s… it’s like that first night in Gotham. With that orange glow across the water, when Peter was on the roof of the firehouse. Different though. With the glowing swirl of blue. He feels no connection to that. Weird… yet the siren's call is still there, different, but not uncomfortable. 

It glows brighter, brighter, and brighter. Turning blindingly white against the Gotham night sky, writhing and twisting upon itself. So bright that it looks almost like daytime.

Then it fades. Plunging Gotham into her usual inky void like darkness. Though from what Peter can peek at the city, several city blocks go dark and stay dark. A blackout. Though, thankfully, that pulling feeling on his soul disappears within a few seconds as well. It was different this time, for some reason it was like… he can't shake the feeling that it could’ve gone wrong. Really really wrong. 

Maybe a minute of two passes with the lot just staring at the city, waiting for… yup. There it is. With a flicker, replacing the mystery column of doom, appears the bat signal.

“...do you think he’ll bring the justice league into it this time?” Peter asks, trying to ease the tension. 

No one says anything. Alfred though pauses the movie and clears his throat. 

“Well now everyone, I believe that is all for this evening.” Alfred then clicks off the television.

“But the movie marathon...” Peter tries to protest.

“I’m sorry Peter, not tonight.” Dick bears a soft guilty look in his eyes. “We’ll finish it later, I promise.”

The Waynes have truly opened up to Peter, that much he can see clearly. Gotham herself though? Not so much.

Chapter Text

Crime Alley…

“Fucking- owww!” Kaine groans when he smacks into the ground, a couple of thunks sounding near him, but he doesn’t lift his face.

Why me? Why not other heroes. Why not Johnny storm, he needs a humbling.

It felt like he was… ripped away from everything. Even himself, layer by layer like he was being 3d printed out of existence and back into it. Molecule by molecule, strangely it didn't hurt. Yet… he could’ve sworn he heard someone. Or maybe not, his ears are ringing, his legs are numb, so are his arms, and his head might as well be full of sand. So maybe it did hurt but his brain is blocking out the memory.

This is life. Out of one mess, only to trample into another in the name of justice and peace. Do other heroes do stuff as often as this? Or is it just a parker luck thing? Whatever it is, it sucks, and he’ll just make his home right here. On the ground. Mourning his most likely broken nose. 

What even was all that, all those colors. Orange and blue (isn’t there a football team with those colors?), then it turned all white and blinding. Science is Ben’s thing, maybe he’d know. Whatever, that doesn’t matter now. Let him assimilate into the earth. Heathrow to JFK airport and then whisked away by orange and blue lights. He was just about to go to bed too. Fate is a bitch, let that be known across the world. 

“Fuck you univeeeeerse…” Someone groans from nearby.

Oh  shit wait Ben.

Kaine immediately lifts his face from the dark cold ground and blinks away the blurriness, are they in a warehouse? No…

“Ben… you alright?” Kaine groans as he sits up, his body takes longer with the super healing nowadays, so he’ll need a minute. 

“Fine, Kaine, the fuck was that?” Ben sits up, looking around. It’s not a warehouse, it seems to be an old, abandoned fire station, judging from the long pole that extends from one of the collapsed floors. The roof is caved in, what seems to be recently judging from the small chunks of debris falling from the large round hole in the ceiling. 

“The worst.” Kaine begins to stretch and fix his posture, groaning as his muscles are pulled in the wrong direction. “That was… the worst.”

“Where are we?”

“Hell.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Me too.”

It’s cold, New York cold. So maybe, hopefully, they’re still in the city. Perhaps it was a villain attack, trying to strike the heroes as they still fight the damages of the Snap. Wait, no that can’t be right, his spidey senses are completely calm right now. It’s almost like whiplash, the danger was here, then it wasn’t. So that rules out a direct villain attack, which means some wanted them out of the way for something. So… there’s still a probability they’re in hell, maybe.

“A… fire station?” Ben looks around, his arms loosely crossed. “This place is falling apart…”

“Look at the ceiling.”

“Oh, wow did we do that?”

“Or whatever tossed us here.”

 Kaine begins to look around more closely, this place seems to be a wreck, most likely was before they showed up. Tufts of snow blown in from windows and pile on certain spots beneath the well damaged roof. There seems to be an abandoned tent in the corner of the room, and the stark tech med case sits nearby Kaine. 

“Whoever… or whatever that did this to us sent the case too.” Kaine shuffles over to the matte black briefcase, his body beginning to ache in pain. “Do you think it’s damaged?”

“Don’t think anything could destroy that case.” Ben stands up, brushing off some snow. “It’s made of vibranium.”

 “Ah.”

“We need to get our bearings, figure out where we are, c’mon, get up.'' Ben looks back and forth around the room, he’s never liked it when he gets caught off guard.

“Just… just give me a minute will you?” Kaine keeps his movements very measured and precise. His entire body aching from the ordeal, especially his chest. Deep controlled breathes is his only sign of movement.

“Is… the pain back?”

“Just give me a minute.” Kaine grinds out, stilling his movements.

It almost always starts as an ache, then it gets worse. Slowly devolving into a fiery heavy pain that is the worst in his neck and chest areas. The starting symptoms are so invisible considering he gets tossed around so often as a hero. Aches and bruises are part of the job. Yet if he’s really fucking careful, and he just doesn’t fucking move, sometimes it’s no more than an ache. Won’t turn into pain or start a decaying spell.

Fuck you Jackal… fuck you…

“...the fuck… why…” Kaine whispers to himself, haven’t they’ve been through enough? He just got back. 

C’mon Kaine, get up, Peter would want you to keep moving. It’s not safe here.

With a groan and steady movements, Kaine rises, picking up the totally not suspicious briefcase with him. He… already looks like a wreck from the plane ride back to New York, bags beneath his eyes, horrible posture, sweaty and gross, but now he looks like death warmed over. Not a moment's peace.

“Let’s get out of here.” Kaine finally says after a few seconds. “You see a way...?”

“There’s an open window over there if you don’t wanna move debris out of the way of the door.” Ben points to a window that isn’t too far off the ground. 

Shuffling like zombies, it was incredibly easy to climb out and over the window and ledge with their respective Spidey powers, then landing and jumping off an old dumpster. The cold is sharper outside of the abandoned fire station, it’s a wet cold too. So that reveals a little bit of their geographical location. Kaine is hoping to all fuck that he’s still on the same continent, if those weird lights tossed him back into the U.K. He’ll become a villain again. 

They begin out of the dirty and frozen alley to a flickering yellow streetlight. Even with the snow all around them, he could see this place is absolutely filthy so… maybe they are still in New York. At Least one of the bad neighborhoods, not ideal but not horrible.

“...wait… what the hell?” Ben says as he looks around, they seem to be in a bay or riverside area, but not one he’d recognize from the map of the big apple. The architecture from what he can see across the water, save for the warehouses, is strangely… Gothic.

“Where are we?” Kaine says as he turns around slowly, taking all the strange sights. Gothic architecture, maybe a European country, no… that doesn’t seem right either.

“Not New York.” 

As they continue to walk down the snowy district, Kaine tries to soak up everything around them. Debris and garbage around them have brand names in english, pollution is awful with the foul-smelling river and trash everywhere, there seems to be a power outage with some buildings across the water are light up, also this entire city district looks like the hulk went through it so… 

New Jersey then?

“Where we just dropped into an old noir film or…?” Ben stops on what seems a well-traveled sidewalk, judging from the footprints in the fresh snow and old ones on impacted ice.

“I don’t know…” Kaine mumbles, something on the ground catches his eye. Is that a newspaper? Score. He places down the briefcase. 

“The fuck is with this mix matched architecture here?” Ben throws his hand up in the air.

“Uh huh…” Kaine says as he bends down to pick up the newspaper, brushing off the snow.

“It’s so… gothic but not at the same time!” Ben points up at a building corner. “Look! Who would put gargoyles on a warehouse? Can’t pay to keep this district from falling apart but hey let’s slap some gargoyles about, that'll make it better!”

“...”

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“...”

“Kaine?”

“...”

“Kaine, what's wrong?”

“Ben… look at this.” Kaine holds up the newspaper with trembling hands.

Ben leans down, “... what is the Gotham Gazette?”

“... read it. ”

Gotham Gazette

City still mourns Arachnid Hero

 by

Vicky Vale

The hero known as Spider-Man made a surprising but not unwelcome debut in Park Row, otherwise known as Crime Alley, and in his short time as hero in Gotham he has arguably repaired more damage to the alley than Batman has in his entire career.  Locals claim they have seen Spider-Man protect small businesses from extortionist gangs, repair community property, and rescue local cats from precarious trees. Unfortunately, some of the worst villains in the city made an unusual alliance that resulted in the scheme which led to Spider-Man’s demise, whether that Spider-Man was the target that night is unknown. The GCPD revealed the confirmed villains were Two-Face, the Joker, the Penguin, and Clayface, though due to the rumors of a sniper at the event it is possible that the respective mercenaries Deadshot or Deathstroke are also likely perpetrators…

“...”

“...”

“... the FUCK IS THIS?!” Kaine shouts, crumpling the newspaper in his grip; his heart beating out of his chest.

“I-I-I-” Ben stutters and looks at the newspaper with wide eyes, the photo on the front page shows a crane suspended by webs. “I- give me that.”

Ben rips the paper out of Kaine’s grip, and the older clone begins to pace back and forth in the cold night. He was alive, here in this unknown city Gotham. Why… how?  Kaine punches a nearby wall building, just barely reigning in the super strength so the entire wall wouldn’t come down. He was alive.

…Fuck. Fucking fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck!

“This… this can’t be real there is no way this is real!” Ben flips through the pages not caring for the occasional tear. 

“Course it is!” Kaine snaps, stopping his pacing on the icy ground. “He was… fuck… we could’ve saved him… if we just knew.”

His older (shorter) brother, everything he thought he was supposed to be, only for the original to reveal he can be so much more. Who brought him to aunt Mays who then shoveled pie and cookies to them, who urged him to become good, who had every right to beat him into the earth only to…  only to leave them all in the dark, leaving for Titan. Dying, failing himself and the universe. To leave Kaine and Ben to find Aunt May’s ashes on her couch. To fix everything he left behind.

But he wasn’t dead… he was far from home and in danger and now he’s dead for real.

A strange numbness molds with the shock in his heart, he doesn't know how to do this. The mourning thing. He didn’t have time to do it properly after the snap, there was too much to do. Too many fires to put out, both figuratively and literally as the day was certainly not saved at that battle.

People were so angry after that day… especially the heroes that weren’t there.

The X-Men, the Fantastic 4, dozens of independent vigilantes weren’t even told of the threat that was rising. There could’ve been preventative measures, fail safes, some kind of warning so they could’ve at least prepared to keep their homes at least safe. But no. Whoever’s decision it was, the avengers, or shield, or even asgard, they dropped the ball on a universal scale. A perfect fifty percent, all gone, and so many heroes were sitting on their asses none the wiser.

Peter knew, he left with them… he knew.

Looking up at Ben, he sees that the younger clone read the article with a gripped attention, his mouth slightly ajar as he takes in every worded detail in the paper. Shaking his head every now and then in his shocked stupor.

“...” Ben closes his mouth and crumples the paper into a ball. “I know what this is, what’s going on here.”

“For the love of fuck, enlighten me.”

“This place, Gotham, the villains, this… Spider-Man.” Ben throws the ball, it flies over a warehouse easily. “Not ours. Not our world. Not… our Peter. It’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” Kaine repeats still in a shocked numbness. “How is any of this fine?”

“Not our world, or dimension, or, hell, universe dum dum!” Ben snaps at Kaine, throwing his hands in the air. “A different Spider-Man died here, not ours to mourn here so it’s fine.”

“That… that doesn’t seem right.” Kaine shakes his head.

“You got a better idea then?”

“Maybe he… I don’t know… found a way here… like how we just...?”

“You realize how fucking stupid that sounds? You got no evidence of that. None.”  

“Well neither do you!” Kaine challenges with a glare, beginning to pace once. “A random newspaper isn’t enough we need to figure this out here -”

“What you need is to drop it!” Ben shouts. “Peter’s dead! May’s dead! You freaking out over a fucking coincidence won’t change that! Get over it already! We need to figure out how to get back home! Who knows what’s happening in New York without us!? Get your shit together!”

Kaines jaw drops in shock, where did that all come from?

“...that made you feel strong, Benny?” Kaine takes a step forward, telling himself that it’s the cold biting his eyes and nothing else. “Did that calm your panic, doing me like that? Did that help you get your shit together?”

“Oh, my shit is always together.” He clenches his fists at his sides when Kaine steps forward. “Cause one of us has to be focused here, you’re obviously not.”

“I’m not the one throwing a tantrum in the street.”

He wasn’t even talking to Ben for a whole fifteen minutes (first conversation they had in months) before this shit happened, before all those weird lights and stuff. This all seems so out of the blue, but this whole situation here is quite bizarre. Emotions… aren’t Kaines' thing. He doesn’t know how to talk about this.

“Shut up and fuck you.” He shakes his head and turns his back to his brother, walking forward again. “We need… we just need to get back home.” 

Ben continues to walk forward down the icy sidewalk, Kaine staying behind watching him. Not ready to move forward like him. This isn’t how things used to be, he was just as talkative as Peter was, just as smart and bright, Kaine was always the odd one out. A constant storm cloud that he never waved away from his head. Brash and sometimes downright rude, and before that he was basically a murderous psychopath. Hell, he’s different now too, it’s not just Ben. They both changed, but where does that leave them in this strange land?

Clumps of snow begin to fall slowly from the sky; Kaine lets out a slow breath, the puff visible in the cold air before disappearing. Then, he picks up the briefcase and follows Ben down the dark icy path.

Chapter Text

During their scouting of the city, Gotham, they encountered many things. Some familiar, some not even close. The muggings that they happened upon and stopped were familiar, the cops partaking in them were a little unusual and incredibly infuriating but not unheard of. Ben urges for a low profile while they get their bearings but there are things that parkers don’t walk away from, like fights. The things that are unfamiliar to them come in a slew of varieties.

Firstly they got different brands and corporations here, a word, ‘Luthcorp’, was on the taser the pig pointed at Kaine earlier. Secondly, the strange architecture but that's not a make-or-break kind of a thing. Just different.

Thirdly, this place is the biggest shithole Kaine has ever had the displeasure of stepping into. The gangs here are organized and strong, most of the people he saw on the streets at night who weren’t being mugged or harassed were criminals. His least favorite group are the ones wearing the clown masks, like that’s purposefully fucked. Which is weird honestly, in his experience gangs try to earn the local civilians respect and adoration. They get them to trust them more than the cops (which isn’t difficult), so should anything happen with the law the locals would cover their asses. These ones however are out to just plain torture them all. 

Then there’s the cops, jeez, he thought the ones in New York were bad. It seems the good ones stick to more populated and snazzy areas, while the shittier ones are shoved into equally shitty hellholes. Kaine and Ben stopped a group from harassing some teenager, they were claiming that they just saw her break into a store, and they’ll forget what they saw if she just hands over everything in her bag. Poor kid was a crying mess. Ben got her to calm down.

In certain neighborhoods his spidey senses turn into constant buzz in his ears, an intensity that he can’t shake away till they walk somewhere safer. Which is a rare few locations in the city. He knows Ben feels it when he starts checking their surroundings more frequently. 

“... we need a place to hunker down for the night.” Kaine says after exhaustion begins to set in. “We can’t run on empty here.”

“We can keep going.”

“ You can.” Kaine reminds. “I can’t.”

“...fine.” 

“We’re basically homeless now, we’ll need to find jobs.” Kaine murmurs as Ben changes their course. “We don’t exist in this world… I think… so no official payrolls.”

“Well, we’re not turning ganger that’s for sure…” Ben actually shudders. “Creepy looking group.”

“Ugh I know…” 

They trudge through the ice and falling snow, occasionally another person passes them by, though usually when they see Kaine they begin to walk faster. He always hated how people could get intimidated by him, how could they not? He’s 6 '4 and basically pure muscle. Not quite a friendly looking neighborhood Spider hero. However… it might actually be useful here in this warzone of a city.

“Got an idea of where we’ll hold up?” Kaine asks.

“The sewers.”

“Ah fuck ugh why!?” Kaine recoils at the revolting idea.

“This city… is awful.” Ben sniffs, then rubs his eye. “Which means any good spot for the homeless to settle is more than likely already taken.”

“...ugh… fine…” Kaine shakes his head. “I’m too tired to argue…”

As they soldier on through the cold, Kaine keeps an eye on their surroundings. So far his first impression of the city is awful, but he has seen signs of hope around. That newspaper said there’s a hero here, Batman, who normally deals with the whole city. Doesn’t seem to be doing a good job of it but any help is better than none. They also passed a playground earlier which seemed old, but newly repaired so that’s a good sign too. Maybe this place is just different in the daytime, kind of like Hell’s Kitchen back in NYC.

  Wonder how Matt’s doing right now?

A strong horrible smell warns Kaine of their approaching destination.

“...super smell… worst superpower ever.” Kaine murmurs as they find a manhole cover in an inconspicuous alleyway.

“We’ll go blind to it eventually.” Ben frowns at the manhole too, obviously beginning to regret his idea, then leans down and pries the cover up with ease, the thin layer of ice cracking off it easily.

“We’ll reek, even if we bathe, we’ll reek.”

Ben doesn’t respond to that, only placing the manhole cover near the side of the entrance, “We’ll go nose blind to that too.”

They stand for a few moments in silence, staring down into the inky pungent abyss that will hold their temporary home for the foreseeable future. The apartment they had before was fancy, clean, and sheek. This isn’t just a step down, it’s several stories down into the earth.

“You go first… you gotta take the case down with you,” Ben sniffs, most likely trying to grab fresh air while he can. “I’ll close the entrance after me.”

“Lucky me…” He adjusts the case, so it is braced in his armpit tightly, then shimmies down into the hole, climbing down the questionable rusting ladder with his free hand. 

That smell…

His sinuses burn as if lava were being poured up his nose, his eyes tear up from the disgusting miasma as well. As he climbs down further and further, he begins to reflect on his life. He really should’ve stuck with the Fantastic 4 for another month, could’ve become an official team member if he hung around enough, but no. Not to find that giant Lizard guy that Peter had to fight often, but to live in the sewers like the Lizard guy…

“Hrck!” Kaine gags on the rancid air as he finally plops onto the dark brick laden ground, a few feet above the horrible smelling ‘water’.

This is the worst.

“Oh, fucking hell .” Ben drops down next to Kaine. “We should find- oh fuck it smells like ass. ”

“This… was your idea.” Kaine closes his eyes in hope of blocking out the burning. “I will never live it down you hear me?”

“I deserve it- krk!” Ben coughs. “There’s usually maintenance rooms in the sewers… and if the infrastructure of the sewers is as bad as they are top side, they should be abandoned.”

As they continue on in misery and woe, they reluctantly keep their eyes open for anything that could look like a maintenance room. Sometimes they find a rusted door to kick open, but it’s always a hallway that connects one waterway to another. Or to catwalks that climb above the rivers of sewage, like the one they’re traversing now.

A couple hours ago they were lounging in a ritzy new york apartment with a well-loved espresso machine. Just a few hours.

With a kick, Kaine forces open a rusted metal door, revealing a dirty five-hundred square foot(ish) room. There are old, rusted computers from the late nineties or perhaps from the early two thousands resting on metal cabinet tables, some ancient frail looking wooden chairs, and various piles of garbage.

Home sweet home .

“Score.” Kaine says, tossing the case into the back of the room.

“Ok when I said that I doubt that anything could destroy that case,” Ben frowns when he walks in. “I didn’t mean you should try to destroy it.”

“Ok, dude, I literally don’t care,” Kaine says as he jumps to a wall, using his sticky powers to climb up and around, trying to find a clean corner. “ Heathrow to JFK and then I get tossed through the multiverse like a ping pong ball. I’m done. I really am.”

Ben shakes his head and then begins to examine and push about the clutter in the room, he leaves the computers alone, but he tosses anything he deems garbage he can over the catwalk. Kaine feels a twinge of guilt watching him work, he should help, but todays been too much for him. For them both.

“You should save that for later.” Kaine suggests from his corner when Ben walks back into the room. “There might be needles in all that, it can wait.”

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here,” Ben shuffles his right foot back and forth, scraping the ground. “I don’t want us living in complete squalor.”

“Hm, I think some plants could really liven up the place.” Kaine cracks his knuckles and examines his corner, yes, this will do nicely.

Ben gives him a look that says, are you serious right now?

“Seriously though, stop.” Kaine urges as he begins to string his natural webbing from wall to wall. “We’ll clean this place up after we get some rest.”

“What are you doing?” Ben looks up at Kaine’s work curiously. 

“I’m not sleeping on the floor.” Kaine explains as he deftly weaves the webbing in an inhuman way. “So, I’m making myself a hammock. You should make yourself one too.” 

“You know we get territorial about our webs if we make them from the natural stuff, right?” Ben tilts his head and places his hands on his hips. “This might start fights.”

“Only if one steps foot into the other’s web, so it’s fine.” Kaine shrugs as he finishes up the web. “You can sleep on the floor if you want.”

Ben takes one look at the utterly filthy floor and then shakes his head, climbing up the ceiling corner diagonal from Kaine’s, on the right from the door. Beginning to weave his own web, his patterns are a bit different from Kaine’s, but still similar. Kaine’s web has a series of sharp triangular outlines in it, which get smaller when close to the epicenter of the web. Ben’s is a series of rectangles that shrink into squares when close to the center as well.

Peters was… a mix of those shapes, plus some others. The only thing Kaine could ever compare it to was an Art Deco style. It was really something. He left them everywhere though, never cleaned them up. Aunt May whacked him with a broom a couple times to get him to clean his webs. All three of them were afraid of the broom of doom, even though they faced far far worse weapons.

I miss them…

“We should really plan our next move though,” Ben says as he clambors into his web, sitting crisscross. “We need information, resources.”

“On that, I agree,” Kaine says while laying back on his own web. “But we have to establish ourselves here first, get our footing.”

“And how would we do that?” 

“Firstly, figure out what we need for survival here,” Kaine scratches his chin. “Food, a clean source of water, cause I’m not drinking that shit outside.”

“It’s winter too, so we need warmer clothes than what we got on,” Ben also begins to list off necessities. “Blankets, and some kind of heating element in here too.”

“Can’t use a fire, barely any ventilation here.”

“A generator to power some kind of heater then.”

“Can’t be a gas one,” Kaine brightens with an idea. “Hey, we could use the… ‘ river ’... outside our door. With a water wheel type of a generator and feed the wiring back up to here.”

“We’ll need some copper, and other scraps too.” Ben frowns.

Kaine points to the ancient and dust gathering computers on the old metal tables below them. Perfect for recycling.

“...Kaine you’re a fucking genius.”

“I know.” Kaine smirks. “I am the superior close.”

“Hmph… tell me that again when you don’t have to worry about decaying alive anymore.”

“Well, I got more powers than you.”

“Two powers, just two .” Ben crosses his arms. “Molten hands and wrist bone-y stingers hardly count, it’s not like they’re super speed or something like that.”

“Keep telling yourself that Benji… but as far as resources go.” Kaine begins to think about that matter again. “We’ll need food, our metabolisms’ will starve us if we’re not careful. That should be our first priority.”

“I dunno, food might be useless to us if we freeze to death here,” Ben disagrees with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Think heating and the ‘sewage wheel’ should be the immediate thing we work on.”

“We can multitask then,” Kaine yawns, “In the daytime one of us goes on the job hunt, or dumpster dive and maybe pinch some blankets, while the other does the techy stuff here. Alternating and all that.”

“Sounds solid,” Ben lays back in his hammock turning onto his side, curling up into a bean. “I think we need to get an alarm clock here too… when we can… no sun to wake us here and all.”

“Good idea… could make it out of scraps too.” Kaine yawns as he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. 

It is slightly comforting to have an immediate plan in place, it feels like they’re starting to get their footing here in this hell hole. They’ll need information when they get established though, on the who’s who and the what’s what in this world. Knowledge isn't just power, its strength, and they'll need every piece of strength they could muster, his gut says it'll be needed. That can wait though.

Finally, after Heathrow to JFK, potentially across the multiverse, and then trekking across a frozen foul-smelling clown-ridden warzone of a city… Kaine Parker at long last gets some sleep.

Chapter Text

Over the next week, Peter noticed that the Wayne’s seemed busier than they normally were. Which is saying something considering that literally every single one of them has bags beneath their eyes. None more than Tim, but that’s by the by. The blackout in the city through a wrench at Waynetech as most of the time that there is an outage, it’s almost always Waynetech that steps up and helps get the lights back on.

Also the family has been odd around Peter too; Dick told him after that night that beacon of doom nearly destroyed the fire house that Peter was staying in, so it was a good thing he wasn't still there. He and Mr. Wayne asked him if he had any clue of why that was, not that they were accusing him of anything.

Peter was alarmed (rightfully so cause what the fuck that’s bad) and told them the truth, that has no idea why it hit the firehouse of all places. He didn’t tell them about the strange pull in his chest that night or that inkling feeling that could’ve gone much worse, but how does one even explain a gut reaction? He’s not keeping secrets. Totally not. 

No secrets… not one? From somewhere far far off he just knows that Sam is raising an eyebrow at him.

I have no idea what you are implying.

The Waynes believed him of course, which is good, he can tell that they can read people easily. Other than that it's not good because they apparently have a protocol for this type of situation. 

Rich people in Gotham get kidnapped. Quite often as they told him while showing him dozens upon dozens of articles telling the tragic story of some Beau or Belle being taken away from their glitzy palace and held for ransom. Not even Gotham’s elite and all their wealth could be completely protected from Gotham’s darkness.

Which results in the ‘protocol’, it doesn’t have a name by the way. The Waynes refer to it as just that. The ‘Protocol’ is that when there’s any hint or inclination that the scum of the city are rearing their heads to a Wayne, they stay out of the public eye completely until the heat cools off. Which means that Peter has been cooped up in the manor for a week and he’s already losing his marbles here. He’s hearing bodiless voices too that can’t be good. That’s gotta be auditory hallucinations.

I take offense to that, Bucky mutters.

See?

“I will become a problem for society if I stay here much longer.” Peter says to Damian as they draw together, Alfred the Cat as their model. “I trust you to end me if necessary.” 

They’re in the art room currently, it used to be a study but there’s already a couple rooms that are also study’s, Mr. Wayne repurposed it when he found out Damian liked painting. The ‘blood heir’ (as he calls himself) only allows him in here with supervision. Which isn’t that bad really, he’s just paranoid that Peter would incorrectly store things or damage his tools. As a fellow artist, Peter understands. People not respecting the stuff that you use is such an insulting thing.

“I will do what needs to be done.” Damian doesn't look up from his sketch. “But why do you believe that you become a problem for society?”

“Staying here, in the manor, without going out.” Peter shakes his head, looking at his own sketch then back to the cat, basking in the cold white window sill. “I’m going nuts here.”

“Hmph, I believe that common phrase used to describe that is cabin fever. ” Damian looks at Alfred the cat who then moves away the window and jumps onto the floor, they both groan as their model once again refuses to be compliant with them.

"Cats... how did humanity fall in love with such homicidal creatures?" Peter sigh, placing his pencil down.

"Perhaps that are just exceptional listeners?" Damian offers while assessing his sketch.

“You’re an agent of chaos Alfred.” Peter says fondly as he saunters away, he then looks at Damian. “What do you got?”

Damian lifts up his sketchbook to reveal a drawing of Alfred basking in the window, his eyes closed in bliss, his whiskers purposely so long they nearly reach the floor. He likes it, Alfred does have long whiskers.

“Love it.” Peter smiles. “Love the whiskers, and what you did with the tail. Looks like it’s wrapped around… a paint brush?”

“Yes.” Damian nods in approval, which is the closest he’ll ever get to a smile. “May I see yours?”

Peter holds up his drawing. It’s certainly of Alfred the cat, but to an inept eye is abstract and fractured (he hates few things more than abstract art). It’s actually his favorite style, Art Deco, bold and with repeating lines and shapes. Frankly Peter just projecting his webbing style into it, helps ease his more spidery instincts.

“Art deco again?” Damian peers at the paper.

“Uh, yeah, I know I won't get better if I don't try different things.” Peter chuckles nervously. “It’s just my favorite is all.”

“...no, it is your modus operandi.”

“My what what?”

“Tt, your style you simpleton, an artist’s defining feature,” Damian rolls his eyes and stands from his stool. “Your way of operating in direct translation.” 

“That Latin?”

“Tt.”

“Hey to an untrained ear, Latin sounds like Italian.” Peter defends, while flipping close his own sketchbook. “Can’t blame me for lack of knowledge.”

“I shall as you do not bother to learn either language or yet pass judgement on their similarities.”

“...I’m gonna learn two whole ass languages to prove you wrong,” Peter glares.

“Spite is a powerful educational tool.” Damian nods once again, before turning away. “Now come, follow me.”

“Um, what? Why?” Despite his confusion Peter stands, brushing the eraser shavings off his lap before following Damian out of the room, carrying his sketchbook with him.

“I am taking you to Grayson, we are going to convince him to allow an outing.” 

“Oh cool!” Peter brightens as he follows Damian down the opulent hallway. “But also why?”

“Because nephew, your presence has lost its charm.” 

Peter harrumphs at that, while his resident ghosts laugh. 

The walls of Wayne manor are full of paintings both of landscape and portraits, most of them are of the Waynes themselves. Peter’s curious about them truthfully, he’s heard a rumor that Mr. Wayne’s great-great(maybe three greats)grandfather helped smuggle slaves out of the south as part of the Underground Railroad. He doesn’t know if it’s true or not but he hopes it is. It's a shame that Mr. Wayne isn’t nearly as badass.

“Hey… is it true one of your ancestors worked with the Underground railroad?” Peter asks, hoping to pass the time.

“Two, Solomon and Joshua Wayne,” Damian tilts his head up with pride. “Though the good deeds they achieved lead to Joshua's death. Solomon later funded the architect Cyrus Pinkney to construct much of Gotham’s unique architectural landmarks.”

“That’s badass.”

“The Wayne family is one of warriors.” 

“Your mom’s side of the family warriors too?” Peter asks curiously, they’re nearing the gym now.

Peter, Bucky admonishes.

What?

Oh, wait, he sees what he did wrong. Damian has gone silent. Sure, he doesn’t waste words sure but when he’s disinterested, he usually makes that ‘Tt’ sound or just tells you to leave his presence. That isn’t happening though, his head is tilted downwards as he stops in front of the door to the gymnasium.

Ah crap… not my business I shouldn’t of…

“Um… Damian I’m sorry I didn’t mean-” 

“They are.” Damian interrupts. “They are warriors as well… and I hope you will never meet them.”

Oookay then...?

They open the door to show a small gym, at least compared to the one that the Avengers let Peter train in. various workout machines about, lotta dumbbells, yoga mats, and two hanging punching bags one of which Dick is laying a beating to. There’s a couple of large floor to ceiling windows that peer out into one of the snow-covered gardens outside, a white blue-ish hue of light pouring in.

The gym seems well loved, but he barely sees any of the Waynes here. Which is weird because they’re all jacked. He could swear Jason is in the same weight class as Kaine. Maybe an even match if Tim and Ben were in the ring against each other too.

…

Kaine…

…

Ben…

…

I’m so sorry guys…

“Grayson.” Damian calls out, but Dick doesn’t hear him.

Pow, pow, kick. Pow, pow, kick. Kick, pow, kick. Each blow causes the heavy bag of sand to shake upon the chains it’s dangling on. Peter’s is surprised, not really expecting that Dick knows how to box.

Damian shouts, “Grayson!”

The assault against the bag ceases, Dick turns around, his hair actually dripping with sweat, “Peter, Damian! Surprised to see you two here!”

“Grayson.” Damian holds that classic serious look that is so similar to Mr. Waynes. “Peter needs to get out of the manor.”

 “Damian we’ve been over this.” Dick frowns at Damian before turning to sit on a nearby wooden bench. “The adoption papers are finalized and he’s a welcomed member of the family.” 

‘We’ve been over this’? What does he mean ‘we’ve been over this’?

HA! The child disapproves of your presence at their household, Drax mocks from a galaxy far far away.

Shut up Drax.

“Incorrect, I find his presence tolerable now.” Damian disagrees with a scowl. “But that may change if you do not arrange an outing.”

“Damian, you know the protocol.” 

“The protocol demands that the individual be out of the public’s unblinking eyes and safe at a secure location.” Damian crosses his arms and begins to pace back and forth, reminding Peter of a tiny prowling lion. “However, the security of this location has been called into question as I am now inclined to stab him.”

Dick sighs and drags a hand down his sweaty face, looking at Damian and then to Peter tiredly. Almost as if he believes he would actually do it.

He… He wouldn’t actually stab me, right?

I do not know Peter, the child has a concerning number of knives on him, T’challa notes.

I don’t see any.

I have a trained eye, which is why it is concerning, T’challa responds with regality.

So… the kid has knives on him that Peter can’t see, which means he knows how to hide them, and maybe even how to use them. Official training then, not unheard of especially in this city. Gotham isn’t safe for anyone sure, but rich people usually have people fight for them. 

Didn’t Damian just mention that his family is ‘one of warriors’? Strange…

Yes Peter? Doctor Strange answers.

No, not you.

 “Peter?” Dick bursts him out of his bubble. Oh, god, they’re both looking at him. They were probably talking to him, and he wasn’t attention oh fuck it’s just like language arts class.

“Hm? Yeah?” Peter shuffles on his feet and rubs the back of his neck with a small smile. “S-Sorry I wasn’t… I was just spacing off.”

“Tt.”

“It’s ok, I was just asking if you’ve been feeling cooped up?” Dick leans down and rests his elbows on his knees.

“I-I mean, yeah, I guess.” Peter looks away. “I mean, I’m not a social butterfly but you guys have jobs and I’m usually left on my own which isn’t a bad thing! It just gets boring most of the time and I think Alfred is nearly ready to banish me from the chores he normally does.”

“No no, it’s a bad thing,” Dick shakes his head. “Not fair to turn you into, like, a princess locked away in a tower-”

“Hey-”

“So, I’ll arrange an outing with everyone.” Dick nods with a smile. “But it’ll take some time to arrange it. Gotta pick a location, get a security team ready, the works.”

“Um, great! Sounds good!”

“Finally.” Is all that Damian says before he turns around and promptly leaves the room.

Dick seems un-bothered by Damian’s quick escape, in fact he seems quite happy, “I’m surprised Damian came with you to convince me, though I think I would've agreed just as easily no matter what.”

“It was his idea actually.” Peter a little. “I was just venting to him, I don’t think he appreciated it.”

“Don’t worry, he’s just an independent person, actually kind of like a cat.”

“We were actually drawing Alfred the cat earlier!” Peter smiles. “He let me borrow his pencils.”

“Oh wow!” Dick’s jaw nearly drops in surprise, he fixes his posture and smiles brightly. “Yeah you have nothing to worry about, he usually hates when people touch his stuff. Can I see what you drew?”

“Um… sure…” Peter flips open his sketchbook to show the page he drew the resident cat on. “Just don’t look at the other ones.”

Dick takes the sketchbook and looks at it closely, holding it at the sides so he wouldn't smudge the graphite. He lets out a low whistle while looking at the geometric lines and shapes.

“Wow… this is great!” Dick compliments. “This looks like it took some effort, um, reminds me of the art from the 1920's. What was it again? Ah, shoot, what was it? It's on the tip of my tongue.”

“...Art deco.”

"Yeah that! The lines and stuff look really difficult." 

"Sure." 

“I'm sure you worked really hard.” Dick is still smiling as he hands Peter back his sketchbook, noting that he’s now gone a little quiet.

“What's going on?” Dick says as Peter’s expression is carefully neutral.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Didn’t say anything was.” Dick sniffs and wipes his forehead with the topside of his forearm.

 “...I think I may have gone a few steps back with Damian.” Peter reveals, his gut beginning to twist in guilt. 

“How so?” Dick’s smile turns softer, non-threatening. “I don’t think he’s angry with you, he would’ve made that known if that was the case, would’ve stabbed you actually.”

“He wouldn’t actually, right?”

“Heheh, no, well maybe, depends on how angry he is.” Dick smiles comfortingly at him. “What did you say?”

“I asked about his mom’s side of the family.”

Dick sucks in a breath through his teeth, his brow furrowing, and frowning as he leans back a little on the bench, “Yeah that’s… a heavy topic for him.”

“I messed up didn’t I?” Peter tilts his head down.

“No, it’s ok, you didn’t know.” Dick shakes his head. “Damian knows that too, you’re fine.”

“Why is it a heavy topic?” His curiosity commands him to ask.

“Not… it’s not really my story to say.” Dick shakes his head, while biting his cheek. “Let’s just say he had a difficult early life and leave it at that.”

“I… kinda got that vibe from when I asked.” Peter sighs exhaustedly, then looks back up at Dick. “Is there anything… any topic I should avoid asking about? I don’t want to dig up hatchets.”

“I’m not going to tell you to not ask questions.” Dick shakes his head, then crosses his arms and taps his fingers against his right one, thinking. “Just to respect it when someone doesn’t want to give out the any or the complete entirety of their business, ok?”

Peter nods, and they continue to talk about the potential outing that Dick will arrange. He wants a few of the others to come along too, so it might take some time to find a break in their schedules, but hopefully they’ll get to come along. It's been forever since they last hung out, and no family-night does not count as the weird light beacon completely ruined it. Hopefully Peter could convince Dick to let them come to crime alley, he wants to check on people there.

Should be a fun day.

Chapter Text

Downtown Gotham, Gotham University…

Building the sewage wheel was a cinch, on the first day Ben got most of the work done and on the next Kaine finished it up before the morning was even over. Setting it up however was an absolutely different matter. Someone had to be on the banks of the sewage to set the machine itself up while the other had to make sure that the cable would stay up in the room and not slip down into the rapid. Neither of them wanted to do it. Ben argued that since he did most of the work he should be with the cable, Kaine argued that he should have the cable because who in their right mind would want to be so close to a river of crap. Both had fair arguments, so they flipped a coin. Kaine lost.

So now, they developed a new system of chores. Kaine gathers food and necessities from any source possible while on the job hunt, Ben gathers all information he could and figure out how to find a way home… if that’s even possible.

Which leaves Ben walking to Gotham University, over the past couple of days he exhausted the other means of information gathering. Stealing papers from newsstands, sneaking glances at the TVs at diners before he’s chased out for not buying anything, but he didn’t bother going to the public library. One glance at it (and all its decay) told him he wouldn’t find any useful information there. Besides, public libraries mean public opinion.

On the information he was able to gather he discovered many things about this world. One, there are no avengers here, in their place is an organization known as the Justice League, to which several key members are currently missing . Those members are Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Flash. Also, Superman’s team save for his youngest sidekick is also missing. All of the super speedsters in the world are missing, not just the heroes, the villains too. Their respective cities are falling apart, and Batman has been seen traveling to and throw to pick up the slack. That’s all he’s been able to gather, and it’s very alarming. Heroes disappearing is never a good sign, but the super speedsters, why want them all gone? Perhaps they're the main targets of the villains.

I’m not a hero in this world though, Ben thinks with a surprising amount of relief. Not my job to figure out why.

Though the words ‘great power comes with great responsibility’ nag at him, he’s not being compliant with the chaos here. He’s not. Figuring out how to cross the multiverse to go back home and figure out who sent them here has to coincide with the safety of earth, his earth.   

Which leaves him at Gotham University, and its surprisingly good security. There are metal detectors and security guards everywhere on the surprisingly clean campus. He doesn’t have to worry about the security guards, he looks like a student anyways. As for the metal detectors, well, he’s lucky if he has loose change so that won’t be an issue.

The library is its own building on campus, with no surrounding classrooms or labs in it, and the front door is code locked. Not open to the public, students and staff are the only ones allowed inside. Now, he could easily take apart the little keypad and do something akin to a hotwire, but there’s cameras everywhere. Ben doesn’t want to go to prison for something as small as destruction of property, Kaine would laugh his ass off.

So… the helpless newby ploy has to be played. He only needs to wait for the next student or staff member to walk in or out of the building and Ben will just ask to… come along with. It might work, he’s got a boyish face shape, so people tend to underestimate or coddle him. Idiots.

For now, Ben sits and waits on a nearby bench which rests nearby a surprisingly well-off flower bed. In fact, all of the plants he’s seen on campus seem to be thriving, he’d think that pollution in this city wouldn’t allow that but apparently not.

So he watches passerby and passerby, trying to ignore the growing frustration. Seriously, aren't finals coming up around this time? Get it together people and start cramming, and help Ben into the building. 

Finally, he sees an… odd... looking woman walk towards the library. She has a lab coat on, and this is a scientific university so she could be staff or student. He’s a student looking type. They’d be chill about it.

“Excuse me… um miss?” Ben puts on his 'puppy parker' face as he stands up and jogs up to her.

“Hm?” She doesn’t turn her head and continues walking, but at least she acknowledged his presence.

“I um… forgot the code to the thing.” Ben smiles awkwardly. “So can I walk in after you, please?”

She stops, heels clicking as she turns to him, she has an id tag on her breast pocket. It says ‘doctor’... shit.

“You forgot the code?”

“Um… yes… ma’am.”

“Then why didn’t you go to the main office and ask?” She raises a red eyebrow at him.

“I um forgot where it was, the campus is big.” Ben laughs awkwardly, now rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m a new transfer.”

“Uhuh.” She seems to agree with him on that much. 

“...”

“...”

“... The student code is 5632.” She says finally with a sigh. “Don’t forget it, and don’t bother me again.”

“Oh, thank you so much doctor…” He squints at her id badge thing. “Isley. You’re the best!”

Her eyebrow raises even further than that, “You’re definitely new to Gotham. Transferring here was a mistake, one you’ll pay for.”

The green lady then turns away, heels clicking as she reaches the door, taps the code panel with her phone, and walks in after the door audibly clicks open. Wonder is she was hit by way too much radiation like Doctor Banner?

Well,  that was ominous…

Ben shakes his head after he watches her leave. The city is a shit hole, he gets that, wouldn't have been ‘transferred’ here if he had a say in the matter. Right now, though, he needs to focus on how to get out and how to survive until that time.

Ben punches in the code and walks in, right before him is a modern large half circle of a receptionist’s desk before a momentous library. Obviously an old one too, behind the desk is a large grand staircase that splits off to the left and right upper levels, and from those levels two more staircases that stretch across to what he can assume is the top floor, hopefully the computers aren’t up there. Wait… he doesn’t have a login. Or an email. 

Books it is then. 

“Excuse, Mr.?” Ben asks the receptionist. “Where are the modern history textbooks?”

“What topic?” He doesn’t look from his computer screen.

“Um, heroes and stuff.” 

“Second floor, aisles 4-5.”

“Thanks… see ya.”

“Mm.”

Ben moves past the receptionist and makes his way to the grand staircase; he's quite amazed that none of the villains destroyed the campus yet. Or maybe they have once or twice, but just missed the library? There seems to be a lot of security on campus, and the library is old and in excellent condition. Are the banisters redwood? They are, so it must’ve been constructed before the sale and chopping of redwood trees were illegalized.

As he reaches the aisles he was directed to, he notices that all the textbooks around are new. Well, not new-new but they’re not old relics. So that means all the old, rare, and historically-culturally significant texts are being kept at a safer location. It’s a thing near all colleges do, but judging from the state of the city he’d be surprised if they were kept anywhere on campus.

I’m not really sure on what kind of textbook that I should look for… so I’ll just grab the one that has the most check out stamps on the inside of the cover.

When he reaches the correct aisle, he starts skimming through a few books here and there, trying to find one that seems to be legit. Most of them are filled with political hoo-hah about the necessity and consequences of heroes. He doesn’t need social studies, he wants dates, their villains, their allies, abilities, weaknesses, all of it. Maybe they’ll help him and Kaine get back home if it’s possible. If not, then he needs to know who to avoid.

Finally, he finds a book that actually seems useful. From how worn out it is, he summarizes that students check it out often. Can’t quite make out the author’s name though, at least he can tell it’s somewhat modern with the remnants of glossiness on the cover.

Right, heroes first. Then the villains. He’ll be here for a while yet.

I wonder how Kaine's doing right now?

Crime Alley…

“Well damn fuck you too!” Kaine shouts as he is pushed out of the (in)convenience store by an angry old bitty. “You can’t afford to be fucking picky you know, you old bat!”

She slams the glass door shut with an automated (ding-dong) in his face without saying anything. After locking it, she flips the ‘We’re open’ sign to the ‘Sorry we’re Closed’ sign, then after ripping off the ‘Help Wanted’ tapped to the inside of the glass, little pieces of it remain stuck on by the tape.

It’s like this city wants him to be homeless forever. That old lady was sweet and nice and didn't care that he didn’t have any official documents or anything. Yet when she asked if he was meta, and he responded in the affirmative she started screaming and yelling. How there's ‘no metas allowed in Gotham’ or that ‘batman should’ve locked you up by now’ and a bunch more bigoted shit. She literally pushed him out of her store, at least in Kaine’s shock he knew not to lay one hand on her. 

He’s heard of blackgate, and it is not a place he wants to check into much less because of some resentful old hag.

The X-Men would have never allowed things like that happen so easily; they always had a team of mutants' rights lawyers on standby for those who needed them. Eager to solidify mutant rights and safety laws more, they had links and hotlines on standby practically 24/7. This world though seems to be a few decades behind in that social regard.

Kaine begins to walk through the decrepit streets of ‘crime alley’, fitting name by the way. His hope depletes with each lumbering step he takes, his surroundings might as well be a reflection of his mind. There is so much chaos and agony around that needs fixing and no place to start fixing it.

He and Ben don’t talk, not unless it’s about resources, plans, and discoveries. There isn’t just an elephant in the room, it’s the entire herd. Kaine wants to talk about… everything, but Ben doesn’t, which is fair. Ben isn’t a therapist.

How does this even work?

When families lose people, do they talk about them? Acknowledge them? The only frame of reference of someone being lost is from one of his… one of Peter’s … memories. From when uncle Ben died, it was mostly just tears after that. Is that the first step of mourning? Crying? He isn’t sure, but he can’t cry here. Not even sure if he knows how to, and besides, tears are a sign of weakness and Gotham feasts upon the weak.

Yet… there is doubt. About where they are, about this world’s deceased Spider-Man. He didn't die recently; he and Ben were fortunately late to that show. Yet even an outsider like Kaine could tell that Spider-Man does not fit into Gotham, the city is too dirty, too corrupting. So why did a Spider make a debut here of all places. Feels like it should have been New York.

Ben would call it baseless superstition, Kaine however calls it a gut feeling.

His stomach growls, ok, so it actually might be his near empty stomach instead. He’ll try to find one more job offer today before he’ll start dumpster diving again, see if he could find any scraps of food and other supplies before heading back. He needs to talk to Ben on finding a clean water source, perhaps the piping above the ‘river’. They both need showers. 

Walking past a couple of downtrodden townhomes, Kaine spots a sign near a stairwell. ‘Bartender Needed’ it reads. Some families turn their homes into their place of work, sure, but he’s never heard of someone basing a bar out of their house. Not even sure of the legality of that, but when in Gotham

I can’t be picky…

His spider senses don’t shout at him as he climbs the rickety wooden and grayed steps, which is a good sign. The door isn’t locked when he reaches the landing which is also good.

God,  I hope I’m not breaking into someone's house here…

Opening the decaying door, he hesitantly peers inside and… oh wow it’s a completely normal bar. The walls are paneled with a dark grain of wood, the bar itself matching, it might’ve been a positive sign of wealth if not for the strange array of tables. Some are wooden, some are metal, some have cushioning, all look as if they were picked up off of street corners. The floor is wooden, worn and exposed due the erosion of foot traffic, though there are some glossy bits that hug stubbornly to the walls. A few metal stools at the front of the bar, and shelves of booze behind it.

Quite a setup to put in your own house. 

“...Hello?” Kaine says as he walks in spinning around. 

“...” he could hear some clanking from a door next to the shelves behind the bar. “...don’t open till four! Close the door after you!”

“I’m here about the job?”

The clanking stops, and no ones responds for a moment, “Fuck, right, be right out.”

Kaine waits patiently, still checking his surroundings carefully. The spidey senses aren’t talking to him, but he’s been surprised before.

The door opens, revealing a dark toned, tall and lean woman. She looks to be in her late forties or perhaps early fifties. Her hair is in long braids, her clothes consist of jeans and a wonder woman t-shirt, and an unimpressed expression as she examines Kaine.

“Damn… what did your parents feed you? ” She has an disgusted look on her face as she looks him up and down. “Too damn much, from what I can tell. How’d you fit in through the door?”

“I er… walked in.”

“Hmph, well, you want a job?” She walks over to behind the surprisingly clean bar, Kaine following but staying on the drinker’s side of it.

“I want food… so… yeah.”

“Tch, have you ever had a job interview before?” She frowns at him, placing her palms on the bartop.

“...Yes, I’m just blunt.” Technically he does know how to do interviews but those are Peter’s memories. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“Mhm.” She sniffs. “Well, I’m gonna ask you a few questions to determine if you are suited for this ok?”

“Alright?”

“Your name?”

“Kaine.”

“I’m Victoria, now how old are you?”

“Twenty five.” Not really but he certainly doesn’t look like it.

“Highschool graduate?”

“Didn’t finish it.”

“Hmph, got any id?”

“No.”

“Know how to sling drinks?”

“No, but I can learn.”

“Do you have any redeeming qualities?”

“Can throw a solid punch.”

Victoria shakes her head while looking at him with an expression that describes only the feeling of ‘are you serious’, “You might actually be perfect for this place.”

“...Seriously?” It is now Kaine’s turn to wear the ‘are you serious' face.

“Not so fast.” She holds a hand up before placing it back down on the bar. “I said you might be a perfect fit. Depending on how the rest of our conversation goes; what’s your ace in the hole?”

“My what?”

“We get the worst of the worst here.” Victoria shrugs. “A ‘solid punch’ won’t be much against certain clientele if things get messy, and weapons don’t count. So, what is it?”

“...um...”

“You got to have something, or you’re out that door.”

“...I’m meta.” Kaine actually winces, expecting this woman to begin shoving him out the door like the last one.

“Solid, what ability?”

“Sorry I… just earlier I was shoved out of the last place I tried applying to because I said I’m meta.” Kaine shakes his head, furrowing his brows. “You really don’t care? Or is this a trap into something?”

“I meet all types at this bar, metas included,” She crosses her arms empathetically. “Wouldn’t shove you out cause A, that bigoted bullcrap and I’m sorry you had to deal with that, and B, half my resident alcoholics are meta. Wouldn't be smart business wise, now, your power?”

Oh right… should show her one of my unique ones though. In case Ben uses any spider abilities.

Holding out his hand palm side up, he activates his broiling ability. No fire appears, but a searing heat begins to emulate from the palm, which turns his hand molten and red-hot looking. When he deactivates it his hand is torrefied and discolored. Though the healing factor he has, slow compared to Ben’s, will handle it in a few hours.

“Shit… that hurt.” Victoria says as a statement.

“Yes, but I got super healing too.” Kaine shrugs, lowering his hand back down. “...Didn’t see a sign outside. What’s the name of this place?”

“It’s Equilibrium.” Victoria straightens her posture, looking at Kaine with a razor glare. “We get all types of people here, good, bad, and worse. Don’t know why certain… figures… first started coming to my bar here, but now it’s a landmark in the criminal underworld-”

“If you want me to start working for some desolate crime syndicate I’m gonna walk out that door.” Kaine interrupts holding his head high, not quite caring that he interrupted her.

“If you go down that particular path, I’d fire you.” Victoria pushes herself away from the bar. “Same as I will if you join the GCPD, or work at a soup line or any of that volunteering crap.”

“What?” Kaine tilts his head. “I’d get fired for doing good things?”

“Equilibrium, kid.” She walks across the bar. “If it rises to the light, the villains and gangs will set this place ablaze. If it sinks into the dark, the bat-clan will finally have an excuse to get pummeling and punching and then take my license away, not before they interrogate me on every ne'er do well that’s ever sipped at my bar. It’s a delicate balance.”

“Oh…”

“So… before we put a bow on this I need to know, and be honest.” She pokes him on his chest. “Are you in the light or the dark, or have ties to them? Be truthful, cause neither of us will last long if you lie.”

Light or dark… 

Why is it the simple things that are the most complicated?

Kaine doesn’t exist in this world. Spider-Man did, but no Kaine, no Ben, no Stark, and no Avengers. He’s here, but is he really here? All they’ve been doing is surviving, fixing problems before they could become issues and there is no certainty they’ll ever go back home. Where they belong, where they were loved, where Kaine existed.  Yet everyone he’s loved is gone, Aunt May, Peter, Uncle Ben (even if those memories don’t quite belong to him), and he and Ben don’t even talk about anything other than survival.

Kaine was ‘born’ in one world, the dark world of villainy and identity crises, then Peter and May helped him come into the light. Been in both worlds. Now he’s in a new world and his place in it is…

Great power comes with great responsibility. Word’s he lived by, no, the words he died by . His inaction, intentional or not, got uncle Ben killed. That’s why he became Spider-Man, not just to repent for Ben’s death, but it was his responsibility to act. If one has the power to prevent suffering, to prevent death, it’s a great disservice that leaves everyone suffering if they do not do it. Yet no one is suffering, they’re all dusted. Suffering is beneath death.

…

What can I act on anymore? I’m so far from home, a home I’m trying to get back to.

…

But there's no one home, it’d just be me and Ben.

…

I’m not a hero in this world.

…

I don’t belong here, or anywhere.

…

This isn’t equilibrium, it’s Limbo.

…

“No ties… no nothing.” Kaine gulps, once again fighting off the burning in his eyes. “Would have them if I could, but I don't think I’m lucky enough for that.”

“Then you’re perfect.” Victoria smiles, as if she knows exactly what’s going through his head. “Now… let's have you learn how to sling some drinks.”

 At least food won’t be an issue anymore.

Chapter Text

…Where it seems to be a lifetime ago…

Venom roars as they swing after Peter from skyscraper to skyscraper, wrapping buildings in webbing like a maypole dance. Venom and Eddie haven’t been in much trouble lately, but todays an exception apparently and Peter has an inclination of why.

“Dude!” Peter shouts, awkwardly wincing when his voice cracks. “You can’t just start fights every time you and Eddie get into a squabble! Marriage counseling is a thing dude!”

“ NONE of your business! ” Venom roars from his place on the side of the building across from Peter’s. 

Spider-Man then slides out of the way, still on the same scraper, watching in frustration as Venom crashes into the glass of where he was seconds earlier. Glass shattering and falling to the streets below, he bites his lips in hope that no one is down below or else they’d face a razor shower.

“Karen… I’m gonna need to get back up here.” Peter says as he crawls over to the venom sized hole in the glass panes before standing. “Tell them to bring air horns too, Venom’s having a tantrum again.”

“Of course, Peter.” Karen's metallic voice responded in the affirmative as Peter looked around.

Damaged cubicles and glass shards are everywhere, innocent civilians in dapper suits are hiding in various spots around the room. Peter’s spidey senses are still tingling but the civilians aren’t in any immediate danger of being eaten by Venom, they and Eddie are more of an anti-hero nowadays.

Venom is punching a copying machine in the corner of the room. It slowly flattens into a pulp, then the symbiote begins to stomp and jump on it. Exactly like a screaming toddler throwing a hissy fit.

“C’mon the printer didn’t do nothing.” Spider-Man laughs as he slowly approaches. “Stop that now, do you have any idea how difficult recycling is with printers?”

“ Eddie promised me that I would get to eat CRIMINALS! ” Venom shouts as he picks up the pancaked computer and throws it into a wall, causing the random business suits around them to scream in terror.

“Yeah ok, but if you two eat people I’ll have to arrest you guys and the government will have to separate you from each other.” Spider-Man points out, putting his hands on his hips doing a pose that doesn't have a name in this universe.

“ YOU WILL NOT SEPARATE US! ” Venom roars as he whips around to face Peter, quickly picking him up and throwing him through the same hole venom made in the glass earlier. 

“DUDE THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT!” Spider-Man screeches as he free falls, Venom swiftly rushes after him, diving down to continue his assailment.

Honestly Peter isn’t sure what Eddie’s and Venom’s relationship with each other even is, but it’s quite obviously codependent. Eddie and Venom being away from each other is just a recipe for disaster and then some, there have been… instances. That resulted in people being eaten. Sometimes the Avengers were called in, sometimes other hero outfits. No one has ever effectively been able to contain Venom, always making his (Her? Their? He should ask for pronouns later) way back to Eddie Brock.

“Karen that back up I asked for?” Spider-Man asks as he breaks out of free fall and starts swinging above the busy New York streets. “Remember that? Could really use some extra hands here.”

“The Scarlet Spiders are en route,” Karen responds smoothly. “Currently heading down FDR Drive.”

“Ngh… maybe I could lure Venom their way, set up an ambush.” Peter thinks of a plan. “Which pier are they closest to?” 

“East River Greenway Park is their closest location.”

“Ok… ok that’s perfect!” Peter shouted with glee as he changed his course through the city. “Tell them to weave huuuge webs beneath the Brooklyn bridge, length wise! I got the rest!”

“Conveying the message now.”

So, Spider-Man swings and slings from building to building, staying out of Venom's reach but just close enough so he wouldn't give up on the chase. Unlikely he ever would though. His spidey senses are shrieking at him now. Really should’ve worded that better earlier, separating Venom and Eddie? God he’s such an idiot. 

“Hey grandma with your big teeth!” Spidey mock from ahead. “You’re reeeeally getting slow in your old age! Sure you don’t need a nap?! Some prunes!?”

Venom only roars even louder and really starts throwing their all into the chase, swinging and jumping from building-to-building dead set on catching a Spider. The Spider himself though, only laughs, most likely from the adrenaline. Or perhaps because he gets to insult as many bad guys as he wants while wearing the mask. Most likely a combination of both though.

“You can’t catch me, you can’t catch me!” Spider-Man mocks easily as he is pursued, the civilians below sometimes shouting in surprise and awe of seeing the chase above their heads. 

“ Do you EVER SHUT UP?! ” Venom bellows after him, leaping from his buildings even faster hunting his prey.

“Peter, I must advise you not to enrage Venom further.” Karen nags at him. “His pace is accelerating by two percent.”

“It’ll be fine, I’m tuckering him out,” Peter hushes, breathing heavily. “It’ll be easier to talk to Eddie when his tenant is exhausted.”

“I recommend taking him to the bridge immediately, your brothers are finished with the webbing.” 

“Great.” Spider-man begins to huff in slight exhaustion, beginning to change course and leading Venom through the busy never sleeping city. Going south through the buildings and streets towards the bridge. Ignoring the angry roars and sometimes insults about his mother from behind him. 

At Least Venom doesn’t have a personal vendetta against him anymore. The whole suit thing was a turd warmed over. Good thing Ed is a better listener than his guest or Spidey would still have been chasing the two around New York.

At last, he rounds a building with Venom hot on his tail and he finally sees the Brooklyn Bridge. Swinging to one building then building to run across it in a full sprint. Which is pretty fast with his spidery powers, not Quicksilver faster, but just a bit faster than a streetcar. Then propelling himself with one huge jump. Landing on one of the huge cables leading up to the stone arches, sprinting the entire way.  Venom in chase after him, running and climbing up sometimes on all fours.

Finally, when Peter reaches the archway he leaps high into the air, arms spread wide like he’s saying ‘you want sum of this?’ Venom screeches as he leaps up into the air after him, and that is when Spider-Man makes his move. Diving down and slinging a web that lands right on the symbiotes shoulder. 

As he dives, he keeps pressing the trigger of the web cartridge repeatedly as he aims to circle around, round, and round the enraged space alien. Venom struggles greatly, ripping some threads but in their scuffling only spinning around the totally not screaming spider further.

In a final flourish, Spider-Man pulls on the web, dragging himself through the air to the thrashing perp, quickly maneuvering his body to a perfect kick to the chest. Half Sparta kicking him off the ledge, and in milliseconds as he starts to fall, the superhero attaches his end of them webbing to the top of the arch. Shooting a few more webs on top of it to make certain it doesn’t come undone. 

Venom falls, falls, falls, screeching all the way. Then the cord of the web is pulled taut against the top of the ledge of the bridge and the bottom. Swinging the symbiote down and underneath the famous bridge. 

Right into Kaines and Bens webs.

Peter sighs in relief, leaning down to rest his palms on his knees, hunched over and trying to catch his breath. That was a workout, most of his bad guys nowadays have turned over a new leaf-ish. Like Deadpool. Hasn’t killed anyone in a while, or at least none that Spidey knows of.

“Congratulations Peter,” Karen approvingly states. “The Scarlet Spiders are securing Venom now; would you like to help?”

“Sure, sure, yeah, give me a minute.” The original Spider sighs and begins his descent of the bridge. Ignoring the civilians' photos from the walkway above the road. They’re mostly tourists anyways, actual new yorkers are very well used to seeing him around... defacing public property and whatnot.

After reaching the underbelly of the bridge, he could see Venom thrashing in the webs like a stuck fly. Only getting himself even more stuck. Sitting criss-cross near the angry symbiote on the web in Ben, in his red suit with his classic ripped hoodie. Happily chatting away at the space alien. Above him on the metal beams, sits Kaine, sitting menacingly and dramatically. So, he seems to be in a good mood. He has the air-horns too so that’s good.

“You know Venom there are much better ways to work out your anger, constructively y’know,” Ben informs in the usual annoying spider way. “And no, punching bad guys doesn’t count. It’s not healthy nor constructive, my scarlet doppelganger here tried that and doesn't he look like the picture of mental stability. That right doppelganger?”

“Hrn.” Kaine grunts from on high.

“See? Oh, wait, is it marital issues and stuff?” Ben prattles on, it makes Peter proud, damn near brings a tear to his eye. “Last month I rescued a marriage counselor from Mysterio, well, not just her, a building full of people, but anyways! Apparently she’s like the best in New York, celebrities go to see her. She’s good too! I think Iron-Man and Peprika went to her as well? Oh, shit wait, that was told in confidence…”

“Will you shut up !?” Venom roars almost desperately now.

“Rude! And no!”

“Hey guys.” Peter says as he crawls forward on the webbing, judging from the style, this is one of Kaines. “Thanks for swinging in.”

“Ugh.”

“No prob, but that one's overused.” One out of two bros laugh though, so it’s a win.

“Why is it attacking people again?” Kaine busts down to business. “I thought it was on good behavior.”

“He not it… wait… dude what’s your pronouns?” Spider-Man asks as he stands on the web, not caring that he’s horizontal.

“ Ngh, my species doesn't do pronouns !”

“So… they/them?”

“WE !”

“We what?” 

“ We are Venom! ”

“Dude think on this for a while, or don’t, though I think they/them is safe to use for now.” Ben nods along.

“Have you guys managed to talk to Ed yet?” Peter asks.

“Nope.”

“Parasite won’t give up the reins.” Kaine remarks from his spot.

“I  am no parasite! ”

“Did Eddie have a say in your little rampage?”

“ ... ”

“Answer me, space goop.”

“ ...no. "

“Well, there you go.’

“Dude, stop bullying Venom.” Peter shakes his head at his taller sibling, then looks at Venom. “We’re gonna need to talk to Eddie, so if you could?”

“ No! ”

“You’re being unreasonable, man.”

“ You will not separate us! ”

“Dude, you misunderstood me back there!” Spider-Man groans while crossing his arms. “I meant it was a probability! Also, someone else would have to do that, like, I don’t know how. Catch you with a bucket? You got revenge for me saying that earlier by the way, you threw me out a window so let it go.”

That is when Kaine descends in a slow and almost disturbingly spider-like way, “Did he now?”  

“Be chill dude…” Ben warns as Kaine approaches the symbiotic.

“WE WILL NOt-” Venom prepares to roar but Kaine lifts an air-horn menacingly.

“Let us talk to Eddie.”

“ No! ”

A BWOOOMP sounds out as Kaine presses the horn for a few seconds. During it Venom wails in agony, thrashing in the webs. Only succeeding in getting himself further stuck.

When he finally stops, he growls at Venom, “I brought three more cans of this with me, are you going to let us talk to Edward or am I gonna explode your alien eardrums?”

“ ...grrrr. ” Venom growls, saliva dripping from his nightmarish and countless incisors, trying to intimidate Kaine. Who is undeterred.

He holds the can a bit closer to Venom’s face, keeping his finger on top of the button in preparation. The message is clear… ‘try me bitch’.

Venom growls louder, the sound reverberating across the webs, then he slinks back into and beneath Eddie’s skin. Revealing the chronically depressed millennial, in a dirty jogging suit and sweaty hair.

“...uuuugh…” Eddie groans.

“Hey dude!” 

“...five more minuuuutes.”

“Nap times over.” Kaine cuts to the chase. “Your ‘guest’ has made quite a mess of things here.”

Eddie’s eyes snap open before looking at the more intimidating scarlet spider, “Please don’t tell me they ate anyone I can’t shit out bones again, the phalanges hurt so bad.”

“You have to pass their bones… just the little ones or the big ones too?” Ben asks.

“Didn’t eat anyone no but caused quite a rampage.” Peter interrupts before the depressed journalist could answer that question. “A lotta destruction of property, breaking and entering, throwing superheroes out of windows…”

“Uuuuugh…”

“Was a chore getting to talk to you too, had to break out the air horns,” Ben helpfully informs as well, but Ed only frowns at that.

“Didn’t have to hurt them,” Eddie shakes his head. “Was my fault really, I promised him something way back and now it’s a common argument.”

“I don’t know if there's a compromise for that one…” Peter sighs.

“Yeah, eating or not eating people is a… this or that thing,” Ben says as he plucks the strings of the web.

“I know…”

“Listen, since your space invader didn’t eat anyone, shield will cover the damages.” Peter paces along the web. “But they won’t do that forever, so you two really need to get it together, ok?”

“I know…”

“All's well that ends well,” Ben claps his hands. “Anyone hungry? Cause I’m starved.”

“We should clean up the webs here.” Peter rolls his shoulders as he looks across the bridge "The daily bugle will have a field day with this."

“They’re biodegradable, it's fine.” Ben shrugs.

“They're gonna shit on us anyways,” Kaine huffs, slinging a web and pulling himself up to the underneath of the bridge. “So might as well grab some grub, not gonna starve myself for the public’s sadistic eye.”

“Delmar's?” Peter suggests.

“Always.” They both respond.

“...wait guys?” Brock asks tentatively. “Can you get me down from here before you...?”

“Oh, shoot my bad…”

It’s more fun to swing with his brothers across NYC than by himself, it feels more superheroy like for some reason. They work largely independently targeting districts that need some webbing, but it’s not like they’re the lone wolf types. Well, maybe Kaine could but he’s just prickly as a person. Not like a cactus though. More like a hedgehog, still a softie on the inside.

Swinging to Delmar’s is not an unusual event for them either, their little feasts at the bodega have earned it a famed reputation across New York. People now go there to eat and hopefully catch a glimpse of the trio of arachnids. They learned quickly not to talk about superhero or personal business though.

Strangely… today no one was at the bodega when they walked in. No Spidey senses rang off though, so they weren’t worried. Well, Peter is a little worried about Delmar, and didn't want his business to go through a bad slump. 

“Delmar, my good chef!” Ben greets as he bounds in, taking each step little higher than a normal walk should be. “Our usuals please!”

“You got it Spidey!” Delmar hollers from the kitchen.

 They take their usual spots at the long counter, sitting on worn and well-loved stools. Kaine on the left, Ben in the middle, and Peter on the right. 

“I hope Eddie and Venom figure it out.” Peter states as he drums on the countertop. “Though I still don’t really understand what they are.”

“A sad man and space goop.” Kaine rests his elbow on the tabletop. “There you go, that’s what they are.”

“I think he meant their relationship.” Ben offers.

“Well… that’s their business, isn’t it?” 

“True.” Peter admits.

They sit in companionable silence for a couple minutes, listening to Delmar slice and dice things in the kitchen, the a.c unit in the window working in vain against the New York summer heat, the tv above the counters droning on with some reporter standing in front of a picture of the webbed-up bridge.

“...if they were dating.” Peter thinks aloud. “Would that make Eddie a monster fucker?”

“Dude!” Ben gasps.

Kaine roars with laughter, placing his head down onto the table as his shoulders shake with each chuckle. Peter and Ben begin to laugh as well, Delmar chuckles from the kitchen too. He didn’t mean to say it out loud. Sometimes the intrusive thoughts just win, ok?

“Dude, I don't even want to think about how it would work!” Ben wheezes through his snickering. 

“Stop, stop, you're putting it in my head!” Peter begs and then covers his eyes.

The laughter begins to die down as they wait for their food, though Kaine struggles to stifle his chortles. This… this is nice. Talking to his brothers again. They hadn’t been in his life for long, but they both fit in like they were always there. The trio. The troupe. The three musketeers. 

They know each other better than anyone else.

“I missed this…” Kaine admits quietly.

“Yeah, me too.” Peter agrees.

“You know what I've missed?” Ben blurts out. “Food! Delmar, what's taking so long?!”

“Dude be patient.” Peter laughs as the old swinging door to the kitchens open up. “See he’s done.”

“Finally!” Ben says as Delmar places the food onto the counter behind the one where the customers sit. He just stands there. Hands hanging loosely by his side.

…

Kinda creepy.

…

“Uh…”

“Dude?” Ben tilts his head.

“Delmar, you alright?” Kaine asks. 

…

“I’m so sorry...” He says as he turns around- wait… Peter knows that voice.

“...Doctor Strange...?” Peter asks, his mouth agape. The other two spiders in similar states of shock. 

“It is time to wake up.”

…

…

…

Peter wakes to the gray Gotham morning with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Chapter Text

That morning, Peter flat out refused to leave his soft and warm bed. He woke up at two or maybe three-ish am, but he’s not moving out of bed. It’s eleven thirty now, or so his traitorous alarm clock glares at him with superiority. Nearly all of the Waynes tried to get him up but he would either refuse or go floppy when they physically tried to pull him out of bed. That dream he had was just… too much. Why would Doctor Strange make him relive that memory?

That morning Ben refuses to leave his web hammock, even as Kaine rushes out way too early to start his day. His limbs feel heavy, nearly as heavy as his mind. That dream was… no… don’t think about it. Just evict it. Work to do today, laws of physics to break like pasta. Just work. Later though, he can’t sleep but there’s no way in hell Ben is getting up from his web.

Kaine awoke alert and sweating, despite it being a good dream, him being thrust into the waking world was horrible. He couldn’t stay in that room, he needed to move, he has to do something . Back in New York if his dreams haunted him he would go on patrol, swing around and punch people who need a punchin’. He can’t do that here though, so he went for a walk instead, popping a pill before he goes.

It’s strange… ever since he started taking those pills. Everything started to hurt less. Also, the random spots on his body that would start to decay as if he were dead… aren’t appearing as often anymore. Also how his bones would hurt with a stabbing pain all the way down to his marrow, and the way he way he dreaded even moving when he first woke up every morning, but those first few seconds where he wasn’t quite awake but not asleep neither was pain free . No one understood what it was like, they tried sure, but they just didn’t get it .

Strange that in this hellhole known as Gotham he has more relief from that burden than ever before.

That dream though… maybe it was a side effect of those pills? It was so vivid, and he remembers that day, how they helped Peter trap Venom before they could do any real damage. It wasn’t particularly eventful, in the moment of course, but dreaming it was surreal. Things were so simple back then, nabbing bad guys, the villain of the week, Peter being alive, and Ben actually willing to talk to them. In fact it was rare when Ben didn’t shut up… he was like Peter in that way.

They don’t have an alarm clock yet so Kaine can only guess what time it is, and from the place the moon is in the sky, the level the smog clouds are hanging, the amount of criminals and drug addicts, and with the use of several equations in his head he can calculate that it’s… too fucking early. So early the bats should still be making their rounds through the city.

Speaking of the bats, Ben is still researching them. So far, the first impression of them implies they should give them a wide berth for as long as possible. Death seems to follow them around even though they have an apparently famous no killing rule. They however have no problem however with punching criminals around to the point of crippling them so… ok.

Killing was always such a political thing for the heroes back in their home universe. At what point do you need to toss aside your code and honor for the sake of stopping the death tolls from rising higher? Peter would’ve said there is no point where you have to make that type of decision, that if you’re careful and swift enough, it wouldn’t come to that. Reality is rarely that simple though. Villains can be careful and swift too, but they have the boost of not giving a fuck about doing whats right or much less honor. 

Then there's the avengers, all of them have killed before. No one talks about it but it’s true. Captain America has killed way back in the day, they were Nazis though so it’s chill. Barnes too, before the whole winter soldier thing. Black Widow was an assassin, and so was Hawkeye. Stark built and sold weapons before he pulled his head out of his ass, basically a merchant of death, so he’s definitely got blood on his hands. Kaine isn’t certain about the Falcon or the War machine, if they had ever killed, but that’s not the core of the debate.

The core of the argument is what hero can truly condemn another, when they have to make a high stakes decision like death. Especially if they have their own bloody past. Sure, Peter would say that death shouldn’t be the first choice, but he knew as well as anybody else how chaotic the hero gig can be.

Sometimes there’s no choice.

That thought weighs heavily in Kaines skull as he walks through the dark and dingy Crime Alley streets. Sure… he’s killed before… not because it was necessary though… because he was a fucked up cloned who knew who he wasn’t, that his very DNA was decomposing so pathetically quick, and he was so… angry. Angry that he was nothing more than a failed lab grown weapon.

As he sits down on a questionably old bench across from a playground, he huffs as he tries to stifle the sounds of the homeless people chatting nearby over a barrel of warming fire. It’s not snowing tonight, thankfully, but the ice and residual snow on the streets stick to the city stubbornly. He and Ben were right, all the good safe spots for the homeless were taken up, and the shelters despite their Wayne family funding are still shady. Everything about this city is shady. Even that playground across the street, gosh he could imagine Pennywise hanging out there. Gotham… such a fitting name for such a horrible place.

As if on cue, a few white vans turn onto the street and his spidey senses start buzzing louder and louder as they go up the road. He notices that none of the vans have license plates, and that the homeless people around him start shifting nervously. Slinking away quietly and quickly, as if they all have their own versions of a six sense. Kaine doesn’t move from the bench though, still leaning back and with his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, fending off the cold.

They park in front of the playground, which is something that any normal person would have alarm bells and tornado sirens through their heads. Kaine however is relieved that it is nighttime, that there's no kids whatsoever at this playground. The only reason that Kaine hasn’t dipped is because of the sheer curiosity and hoping to shake off that dream from his mind.

People fallout from the vans and of course it’s the creepy ass clown gang. Who else would it ever be but clowns. As they pile out, he can see that they’re all wearing clown makeup, the red lips and what not, and all are carrying various tools. Sledgehammers, saws, crow bars, except for one guy who is carrying a couple cases of beer.

Kaine sighs, already knowing where this is going. Is this how gangers party in this world? Back in his own universe they just got drunk first then they would destroy stuff, the idiots here are doing destruction of property out of order. Where is the class?

Kaine watches idly as they begin to soak themselves up in cheap booze and start destroying the playground. One goon takes a sledgehammer to the old metal slide, putting a deep dent in it. Another brings a saw to the seesaw and starts cutting through the old but newly painted red planks. One, a huge guy wearing a clown mask instead of just the face paint yanks on the chains of the swing set. The metal pulling and snapping off. Holy shit that actually a bit impressive, the guy is nowhere near as strong as Kaine is, judging on his struggle against each chain he breaks, but no normal civilian should be this strong, even body builders. So, this guy must have some low-level form of super strength.

The rest of the jerks are thoroughly getting themselves drunk and smashing the glass bottles onto the rubber turf of the playground, thankfully none of them smashing into glass shards… doesn’t matter anyways. Kids aren’t likely to play there after this.

“Great power comes with great responsibility…”

Get off your high horse, Peter.

Different world, different game, different heroes, villains, and most importantly different rules . Some things just go unsaid in all groups, like how the avengers get really pissed at one of their own members if they decide to go on a mission alone. Or how the villains in New York never once targeted shelters for mutant youths. There are rules, and if you don’t abide by them one would be entitled to a beating swift and cruel. 

The scum drunkenly cheer as they manage to push over the slide to ground with metallic clang and thump.

He's not standing by… he’s not.

…

I’m not sure if I want to be a hero anymore.

…

Heroes don’t seem to be that successful in Gotham anyways, how long have the bats been here? At least ten years from what he could tell, and it seems that they’re not having any effect. If Peter was here though… he’d clean the whole alley without any issue.

Out of the blue, his spidey senses roar at the tallest spider. Screeching danger, danger, get out, leave now, now . Kaine jerks and tenses, sensing the danger across the street but… above? It’s so dark though he can’t see anything but the inky void like Gotham night sky, but the danger is up there, on the rooftops and-

A gunshot blares out, and Kaines jolts in shock. The shot wasn’t directed at him his super spider senses would let him know, but it’s an unwelcome bucket of icy water. One of the goons drops down with a pained cry, clutching his leg which is already bleeding furiously. His buddies around him shout in drunken surprise and anger, looking around. Kaine however remains stone still, paralyzed in a weave of surprise and interest.

The source of the bullets soon reveals themselves, from the direction of the scrambling spidey senses a figure jumps down roughly to the ground. Landing on his feet, using his left palm to the earth to brace himself. From Kaines angle, all he can see of the man is a dark brown leather jacket and a splash of red, looking straight down to the ground.

Slowly, the stranger raises his head almost shakingly, revealing an odd red helmet with white electronically glowing lenses, not un-similar to iron man's helmet design but obviously not the same. 

There’s a beat of silence. No one moves, except for the wounded man who groans in pain, writhing. The tension is so heavy, Kaine can feel its pressure in his eardrums.

“You fuckers…try to destroy this place to make his work here pointless.” Mystery dude growls, standing up slowly and menacingly. “But I’ll make sure you know the fucking point… when I beat it your skulls.”

Damn is this the alternate version of me?

“Fuck, it’s Red Hood!” 

“Shit shit shit!”

What follows is that this, ‘Red Hood’ individual, lays out a beating he so rarely sees from a civilian point of view. The guy has guns, lots of guns, but he only used one bullet (currently in the leg of that one criminal) to announce his presence, for he seems to have settled for the good old-fashioned fist to face method of an ass kicking. Savagel y too, from Kaine’s professional eye he could tell plainly that Red Hood is not pulling any punches. The guy is absolutely pissed. Every blow comes with an enraged shout or growl. 

The criminals try to put up a fight, they attempt to swarm the (who he could guess) vigilante and take advantage of their numbers against their attacker. They’re not half bad either, no official training obviously from their forms, but they’ve been in scraps before. Not surprising, this is Gotham after all.

Too bad for them that this guy obviously had some expert tutelage in combat, he picks them off, one by one. Knocking out one after them next while keeping out of their friends reach, absolutely pissed the entire time. The guy manages his anger well, Kaine could give him that much, normally if he saw anyone this angry in a fight every attack of theirs would be blind with rage and sloppy.

All the drunken smaller goons are down, leaving just one left.

The leader of the clown troupe, the big guy, roars almost animalistically before picking up one of the ripped chains from the swing set and rushes to the vigilante, intending to use the chain as a weapon no doubt. With a shout he whips the chain toward Red Hood, who turns in time to dodge it with a mere swivel of his torso. 

The huge guy then lunges at Hood in an attempt to grab him but once again the hero dodges him, and then kicks the delinquent in the back, sending him tumbling into the ground. Red Hood jumps onto the lawbreaker, using his left left to brace the ground, and the right on his back so he could have enough leverage to grab the hair of the guy and slam his face into the ground. Again, and again.

And again.

And again…

And… hmmm…

The cheap plastic clown face mask is breaking into shards now, breaking and cracking further as his face hits the ground repeatedly.

…

This is getting too far now, hero brutality even. The destroyer of public property's face is bleeding profusely and seems to be unconscious too. That doesn’t stop Red Hood though, he shouts and swears every time he slams the guys face down, the shouts sounding more and more… anguished.

…

“Great power comes with great responsibility…”

…

Fuck, fine . You win, Peter.

With an exhale he stands from the bench and crosses the street leisurely, weaving through the parked vans, keeping his hands in his pocket. Probably should have them where the stupid helmet guy could see him, judging how his spidey sense screeches louder and louder as he approaches the questionably heroic hero. 

“Hey... that’s enough.” Kaine says as he approaches the scene.

The hero pays him no mind continuing the savage beatdown.

“I mean it, that’s enough.” Kaine demands and grabs the hero’s shoulder.

Danger.

As quick as a flash, the hero stands and pushes Kaine back roughly, out of surprise on how quick this guy is, he could brace himself and he actually stumbles back a few steps. Looking up his eyes met with the sight of the barrel on a gun pressed to his forehead.

Shit.

The guy is hair-raisingly still as he keeps his gun and eyes trained on the homeless ex-spider hero. The helmet allows no room for emotion to slip through, so Kaine has no idea how to get this guy to calm down, on how his state of mind is. Hopefully he could manage to get him to converse, just a little. 

“...you…” Kaine breathes deeply, trying to ignore how his spidey senses wail like a siren in his head. “Are having a rough morning… aren’t you?”

The hero doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.

“I’m not one of these creeps by the way.” Kaine doesn’t gesture with his hands, but he does flick his eye to one of the beaten ne'er do wells. “If you couldn't tell… I know I’m built like a mammoth but trust me… I don't use my strength to destroy playgrounds.”

He is still met with silence, the vigilante must be sizing him up, but more alarmingly the spidey sense doesn't quiet. Not even a little, not an inch of room to work with. He could kick this guy's ass easily but it’ll throw a wrench in the whole staying low and find a way back home goal. Ben would be pissed. 

“...please… I got family…” Kaine decides to play the scared civilian card. “I have a little brother… I’m all he’s got; I can't leave him like this .” 

The danger quiets by one tiny increment but Kaine could sing to the heavens with joy. At least he’s got a foothold now, something to use. 

“Hood!” 

God fucking damnit.

A dark figure jumps down from one of the towering old buildings swiftly, a dark cape billowing intimidatingly as it buffers his fall to the earth. Holy shit. He’s heard of this guy, the Dark Knight.

Batman. It is almost difficult to see which part of him is the hero, and which part is just shadows. Standing like an unmoving statue, the entire tense air about them turns to an odd stillness. Not a good one either. Not a calmness, more like that first few seconds where you drop something, and it falls in slow motion.

The danger screams louder than it ever has before in this interaction, Red Hood’s arm, the one with the gun aimed at Kaine’s forehead actually begins to tremble with rage. The original Gotham vigilante’s appearance here was not a welcome sight.

One step forward, fifteen and a half back.

“I am going to give you one chance to make the right decision here.” Batman growls, actually growls. There’s no way his actual voice is like that, got to be some kind of a voice modulator. 

“ He rebuilt this place!” Red Hood jerks his head to a brick wall, on one of the buildings. “And on the one night… the one fucking night …”

Kaine looks at the wall the anti-hero (that much he can see now) jerked his head at and beholds a newly painted mural. Cold and dread and shock as assesses the details of the artistry. With actual fear dripping down his face, he takes this time to understand it, and slowly looks back at Red Hood.

“He wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Red Hood snaps his head to look at the Dark Knight and Kaine’s spidey senses roars with terror, no he needs to do something, or this guy might actually take the shot now. His heart is beating fast, but the air is so still, too calm and too fast he-

“Don’t look at him, look at me.” Kaine finally snaps, deciding that he is not going the calm route anymore. “You look at a man when you point a gun at him.” 

Red Hood snaps his head back and prepares the gun with a click and Kaine ignores how his sixth sense is louder than a jet engine right now.

“Don’t-”

“Shut it, furry.” Kaine snaps at the Knight but keeps his eyes on Red Hood. “Listen… I don't give two shits if you’re gonna kill me… or if you have killed before, so long as it was necessary .” 

Red Hood is once again silent.

“You kill to staunch the fucking bleeding, when there is no choice left you do what needs to be fucking done.” Kain e informs through gritted teeth and a steely glare. “So… do you have a choice here? Or are you pointing that at me because you’re angry?”

Red Hood doesn’t say anything, but the six sense of danger slowly recedes as he lowers his weapon, before putting the pistol back in its holster. He’s quiet, just staring at Kaine before turning away, not even sparing Batman a glance before he walks off before grappling to the rooftops. 

It’s just about dawn now.

Kaine sighs in relief and slumps his shoulders and looks at the mural that towers on the brick walls above the playground. Kaine tacks a step towards it, looking at the artistic visage. Though he doesn’t hear Batman approach behind him.

“That was idiotic, I believe you have a death wish,” Batman confronts. “Do not ever engage Red Hood when he is dispatching the Joker’s gang members, understand?”

“...” Kaine doesn’t speak for a few empty moments. “Just… doing what he would’ve done.” 

Batman doesn’t respond, perhaps he already left, who knows. Kaine heard the vigilante just leaves in the middle of conversations, kind of rude but who cares. That’s not his concern right now. The feeling of danger is gone now, but freezing dread and shock drips into his belly and raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

The spray-painted mural depicts Spider-Man, in his classic spider crouch pose on top of a webbed up and precariously hanging crane on a cold snowy night. The cool colours of the majority of the painting clashes with the red suit, and the even grayer only dulls out all other colour and vividness around Kaine. The red is all he can see in the Gotham gray, for the center of that mural, a Spider-Man made of acrylic and the artist's intentions. 

Wearing the Iron-Spider suit.

Chapter Text

Crime Alley

Kaine couldn’t go back to the sewers after that whole fiasco, he needed fresh air, and to… mull everything over. Like that mural. The fucking mural.

Only a headache forms as he tries to wrack his mind around it all. The Iron-Spider suit. The implications of it all is too much to bear and make Kaine actually growl in frustration, making a few passerbys shy away in fear.  The street all blended together as he drifted into his mind. Mostly thinking, sometimes remembering the happier times. His legs were sore from overuse and the decay pain sometimes surfaced, sometimes from stress. Which makes him more stressed. 

Other than that, it’s a bone deep tiredness that follows every step and breath, his original theory of peter somehow ending up here seems more likely now and it’s… a lot. Every block he walked was like a thousand miles to him but that didn’t stop himself from moving. Not for a minute. Eyes dry and itchy, tongue dry and heavy, the only action he commits too is a scathing glare shot to anyone who comes too close. The ache is coming back too. 

Ok ok ok ok ok… let's just… look at what we do know. 

The Snap, or the blip, or whatever people call it happened on Titan. Peter was on Titan … without Kaine and Ben. The thing that caused the snap was Than-ass and the infinity stones, a jerkwad with artifacts of near incomprehensible power. Then… a solid half of everyone died. Turned into dust. Or ash. Whatever.

From what Ben's research has revealed there are no Avengers, or X-Men, or Guardians of the Galaxy here. In this universe there are different ones, the Justice League, the Justice League Dark, the Teen Titans, and the Green lantern corp. and etc. The Iron-Spider suit was Iron Man’s design. Shield is quiet but the Avengers are not. If they existed in this universe they’d be just as much of a hot topic as the JLA. So that all means… what? 

Hours of walking and pondering that nugget proved fruitless to the hero who is far from home. Realistically this would be better discussed with Ben, but he doesn’t want to talk and Kaine can’t make him.

So instead of going home, he walked, walked, and walked some more around the alley until it was around time to go to work. His medicine is back in the room and he should really figure out a way to hide the glowing pills efficiently so he would be able to take them when he should. That damn ache, every step, every breath, and every blink. First clone to survive his ‘birth’ and all he gets is pain.

How lucky am I?

His inner spider nearly chitters out loud in frustration as he fills the large beer mug with its watered down namesake. Wasn’t expecting a dingy criminal underworld bar to be so busy but it is. At least most of the major players drink at equilibrium, their haunt is at a different and swankier place known as the ‘Iceberg Lounge’ , run by a local rogue known as the ‘The Penguin’. 

Stupid fucking villain name. Bet he’s got an ugly ass beak of a nose too. 

The local goons seem to enjoy here the most, but looks can be deceiving. Anyone can be a rogue in Gotham City. If they’re smart enough and of course insane too. The common criminal is usually easier to spot though, they got loose lips. Even looser with alcohol passing through them.

“New cargo moving through.”

“Boss wants all of us on this job.”

“My kid's scholarship was denied, I don't know how she’ll…”

“Not a lot of opportunities…”

“Bastard cheated on me , there's no way I’m paying alimony…”

“Oi! More beer pleeeeeeaaaassss- bergh!”

“Trying to find more recruits with powers…”

“Another funeral this friday, it was Sam this time…”

“New mercenary on the scene…”

“Outages are still happening.”

This place is a damn gold mine of intel that he would’ve frothed over back in New York. Give him an afternoon and an energy drink he would’ve completed New York’s largest supervillain crime bust of the year. Not even J. Jonah Jameson would be able to put a nefarious spin on such a feat, well, maybe he would. He’d write something like ‘Eviler spider clone beats up innocent villains’ or ‘Turns out Spiders were half-assing heroics this whole time’ and blah blah blah. Prick.

Kaine grunts as he grabs the mug away from the fountain and picks up the other two nearby, grumbling over to the bar and placing the drinks in front of a group of chatting criminals. Then grabbing a rag to sop up what he can of the vomit on the bar top that a drunk so graciously donated. 

It’s a shame that all this intel is going to waste here, I could help a lot of people with it all.

Kaine shakes his head then drops the rag in a dirty bucket of water behind the bar. Bad idea. Bad bad bad that is, no heroics, not here in this universe. Horrible idea; banish it, banish it now. Not his city, his universe, his game, nor his problem. Different priorities come first, like survival, and food. Also maybe… saving up enough money to buy a cheap guitar. Maybe. Street busking might be more profitable than serving drinks.

“Great power comes with great responsibility…”

Oh fuck off, Peter, I’m working.

“So, then I just started stabbin’ and- and-.... Blaaaaargh !”

“Ugh what the fuck, Bernard!?”

Kaine sighs and went to find a mop, yeah what the fuck Bernard?

As the night went on Kaine slowly incremented from serving the drinks to tossing out the drunks, which was much more fun. They were strong though, which was surprising, the goons back in nyc weren’t this strong but hey it’s nothing his super strength and overall build can handle. He bites down a chuckle every time they flail at him when he picks them up and away from their drinks. 

Unfortunately as time went on, fewer and fewer people remained at the bar and the clock began ticking slower and slower. 

“Get this to the woman over the table over there, please.” Victoria orders as she hands Kaine a whole bottle of bourbon.

“The whole bottle?” Kaine raises an eyebrow.

“She’s good for it, and er… goodluck.” Victoria then turns away and goes to the few patrons left sitting at the bar.

“Okay…?”

Kaine analyzed the woman before walking over, his spider senses don’t seem to be murmuring so that’s good enough for him. She looks normal, blond hair that fades into pink on one side and blue on the other. Her jacket seems to be made of soda can tabs which is unique and seems to be engrossed in a gripping game of candy crush on her phone. Loudly chewing gum which is totally not grating on his super hearing. Just an eccentric looking woman in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. Kaine has seen new yorkers wear much crazier stuff.

“Here you go…” Kaine says awkwardly as he places the bottle on the table and hopes to walk away quickly, Vicky wishing him good luck on the forefront of his concerns at the moment. 

“ Ooooooooo you’re new!” She gasps at him and drops her phone on the table. “Come come come sit sit sit sit!”

Ugh that is the fakest new york accent I've ever heard.

Kaine attempts an escape, “Sorry, got to work thank you-”

“Nuhuh you ain’t gettin’ away that quick, sugar!” She smiles and stands, and with a surprising amount of strength she pushes him into the chair across from hers. “Names Harley!”

“Fucking hell!” Kaine gapes in surprise as he nearly ragdolls in the chair to adjust his posture. “You are way too strong for your build!”

“Aw shucks you sure know how to make a girl feel special!” 

“Listen I really do need to get back to work here I’m not being paid to listen so this might come out of my money so-”

“Nuhuh!” She grins and places her arms on the table. “This is my favorite spot, and I like vettin’ Victory’s new employees but I’m sure excited about you! I know a fellow yorker when I see one! That’s a Queen’s accent if I ever heard one.”

“Yeah and you’re from Staten I can tell listen I really-”

“Brooklyn!”

“...What?”

“I’m actually from Brooklyn.” 

“Why's your accent so heavy cause I'm from New York and…”

“It’s part of my gimmick here, started when I was new to the game.” Harley leans back in her seat.

Fuck I think I might’ve heard about this lady…

“Then why..?”

“Why? Why haven't you introduced yourself yet? It’s borderline rude!”

“...Kaine.”

“Why hello Kainey!”

“...hello.”

“Damn, I can tell you got a stick up the ass.” Harley frowns and shakes her head before leaning over to her left to holler that Victoria at the bar. “Ey Icky Vicky! The fuck is up with this one!?”

“He's just blunt, and those are his words!” Victoria calls back, not looking up from a glass she's cleaning behind the bar top.

Harley then turns her head back to look at Kaine, a deft look in her eyes that he is already disliking, “Nah… I don’t think that’s it.”

“You don’t know me.” Kaine shakes his head at her, settling for his usual steely glare. It shoos most people away but not he clearly isn’t that lucky this time. Harley only smiles like she's in on something Kaine isn't. 

“I’m a licensed psychologist hun.”

“ Oh god… ” Kaine sighs and looks away looking for an escape or perhaps even a rescue but his boss doesn’t seem to want to help him out from his peril. Wait… is she? That bitch is smiling. Toxic work environment. Call human resources.

“Oh come on don’t be like that!” Harley laughs and crosses her arms.

“Listen lady, the last thing I need right now is to be psycho-analyzed at my work.”

“And why is that?”

“Ah! No! That’s a psychologist type question, not falling for it. You got your booze so please let me get back to work please.”

“You know what I think?”

“No and I don’t want-”

“You have issues going on,” Harley tilts her head at him and puckers her lips. 

“Same as anyone else in this city.” Kaine rubs his temples. “Please just let me go back to work.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“C’mon let's just talk hun, I can tell you need it.” 

“ Why do you want me to tell you about my shit?”

“‘Cause I’m boooooooored, and I ain’t lettin’ up!” 

“...if I tell you about one… one of my problems. ” Kaine quickly emphasizes when her face lights up like Times square. “Will you let me go back to work?”

“Yup!” She smiles as if she won the lottery and instant regret pours into Kaine’s head.

“...ok… so maybe… I have some issues with chronic pain...”

Here’s hoping that this isn’t the worst idea ever. 

Meanwhile at Wayne manor, north of Gotham City

Grabbing a midnight snack shouldn’t be a grave thing, in fact it’s normal for Peter with his enhanced metabolism and all. Alfred has begun leaving high calorie snacks in one of the fridge drawers for him to which the others are expressly banished from even looking at. It’s… actually kind of endearing how they worry about him. Alfred has been experimenting a lot with the dinners and breakfasts to accommodate Peter, and Dick has been randomly bringing oreos and stuff too. It’s nice.

He’s not worried about his weight though, he’s been a lot more healthy since coming to live with the Waynes. Admittedly… he should’ve come with Tim and Duke to the manor earlier but in his defense he was going through a lot of stuff back then. 

Tonight the Peter drawer has been restocked with blueberry muffins (they go in the fridge?) to which he picks one out happily before closing the fridge. Nearly skipping over to the huge kitchen counter and sitting on one of the stools and unwrapping the little liner on it.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Peter.” Strange says kingly.

Go away.

Silence.

“... did you just banish Stephen?” Sam asks with suppressed chuckle.

I’m not happy with him for that dream incident.

The other ghosts chuckle and laugh, well, Loki only snickers and it’s hard to hear them all over Drax’s roaring laughter. Though faintly he can even hear T’challa chuckle, so that’s a win. Dr.Strange's plight should bring others joy. 

Then the kitchen door slammed shut with a bang and the lights went off.

“The hell?!” Peter jolts in surprise and drops his precious muffin.

The ghosts of heroes past all also vocalize their surprise as well, but Peter isn’t focused on them. His spidey senses aren’t singing to him right now so what gives? The, distantly he can hear just barely… a bell? The doorbell . Who makes a housecall at this 

His phone buzzes.

Timmy: Peter, the manor's motion detectors went off.

Motion?

Grand-Duke: Stay where you are, we’re on our way home.

“They’re not home right now?” Peter Q. murmurs while leaning over Peter’s shoulder to see the text messages.

Peter: Guys I heard the doorbell

Peter: Imma get it hol on

Tim: NO.

Stephers: PETER NO.

Angyandtiny: Hide you fool.

Legalgawdian: Peter, hide, now. I’m not asking I’m telling

Peter: it’s fine gut feeling says I’m safe

Tim: NONO

Grand-Duke: PETER

Angyandtiny: We are almost home, just hide.

Legalgawdian: Peter if you open that door I WILL ground you!

“Eh.” Peter shrugs as he clicks off his phone that still buzzes away. Starlord and Loki snicker at him or perhaps Dick. Turning to the kitchen door he attempts to open it but finds some resistance. 

Frowning he pushes a little more and hears something crack in the doorframe. An uneasy dread poor into his stomach, he’ll definitely be grounded for that. Alfred will be… well he won’t be pissed… but aggressively displeased.

Wandering out of the kitchen with ease he’s more so alarmed that his spidey aren’t acting up. There’s no way he’d be sensitized by the newfound safety he’s been in, his powers don’t work like that.

Another ding-dong reverberates through the foyer as Peter approaches the door by increments.

Ding-dong.

Ding-dong.

Peter finally opens the door, mentally preparing himself for the worst, to see… a raggedy looking homeless man leaning on the stone pillar outside it. Peter can’t see him, he’s keeping his head down and the porch lights are casting odd shadows on him.

“...Hello?” Peter asks nervously.

He’s silent.

“...sir?”

((Blood, gore, and not attached limb starts here!))

“Oh heya… ngh…” The man lifts his head in surprise and a head with a smile, showing his bruised face, broken teeth, and a matted mop of red hair. “You’re a new one! Ow… ow… hey listen… c-can you get your Dad?”

“Oh my god…” Sam gasps.

“Get him inside,” T’challa orders immediately. “His arm…”

Is holding his leg.

His severed leg. The right one from what Peter can tell from the bleeding stump he has left leading from his hip. Not a clean cut either… the femur sticks out at a jagged angle, ripped muscle and tendon hang from the stump and sometimes they… twitch, and blood periodically spurts out with each heartbeat. Way too fast of a heartbeat. 

His leg, which seems to be cut midway on the thigh, is nestled under the man's armpit tightly and in a similar state of horror. Unlike the stump the twitches and spurts ever more crimson, it’s limp. Only moving when its detached owner makes a particularly deep and quaking breath, causing it the swish in a dangly way. Other than the leg, he’s got cuts and bruises everywhere, his sweatshirt soaked in its namesake and the drying scarlet liquid.

Adrenaline sets in as Peter approaches, intent on helping him inside, grabbing his arm that rests on the pillar and putting it around the back of his neck, bearing his weight, “ C’mon… in… in we go…”

“Aw y-you're a good one... the short one w-wouldn't of… wouldn’t of..” The red head slurs and drops his head back down as they shamble inside, pockets of blood being left behind them.

((Icky blood and gore stuff ends here!))

“Save your strength mister…” 

Hurried footsteps sound through one of the connecting hallways to the dark foyer, but again his spidey sense doesn't react so Peter remains calm. His cargo though, tenses immediately and lifts his head again with an… odd determination in his eyes. Attempting to hobble forward in front of Peter but the meta teen doesn’t let him.

It’s Alfred who rounds the corner into the foyer, with his shotgun in hand. Peter saw him use that when the manor was attacked, seems he’s well enough prepared to do it again. He halts and points the double barrel at the stranger but Peter quickly shakes his head. 

“...Mr. West?” Alfred relaxes his posture as he lowers the gun.

“...Alfred?” Peter asks with a soft and shaky voice as Alfreds eyes widen as he takes in the grim scene.

Alfred places down the gun and quickly walks to them, “Hand him here master Parker… yes… that’s it.” 

Wordlessly hand over the mess that is Mr. West as a numbness settles into Peter’s mind, fuck, his hands are shaking but he’s seen worse. He’s seen much worse than this. Yet… why is he…?

“Master Parker… go to your room and clean yourself up and go to bed.” Alfred calmly orders, helping West along.

I have blood on me don’t I, “But… don’t you need…?”

“I have things in good order master Parker.”

As Alfred shuffles off, Peter stays firmly in place. Hands still shaking but to fight the shakes off, he firmly clenches hands into fists. Barely finding the fortitude to restrain his superstrength to prevent injury. Only allowing himself the barest of his spidery instincts to surface, a distressed chitter.

Then bolts into the dark halls of the manor.

Chapter Text

“They’re staring at you.” Loki helpfully mentions.

Yes Loki I know that shut up.

Breakfast at the Wayne manor usually isn’t so… crowded. Not one of the Waynes, not even Dick, are morning people. Mr. Bruce and Tim being the most grouchy of the lot lost, bags beneath the eyes, pallid skin, clutching their cups of coffee like their lives depend on them. Yet, this morning they’re wide awake. All of them are. Almost everyone is here for breakfast, except, of course, Jason. Peter sure envies him right at the moment.

They’re all staring at him, they’re damn good at hiding it but Peter feels the eyes upon him like flies landing on his skin. 

“They’re worried about you.” Sam points out the obvious as well.

I know. 

They expect him to be traumatized, to be in shock, to be wailing and crying over the gorefest he was witness to in the night. The thing is… he isn’t. Sure it wasn’t easy to see that’s why he ran to his room as Alfred ordered him to do, but the initial shock of seeing dismemberment affects all people, even those who befriend the Infamous Deadpool. Yet, Peter can only think about how that guy got here. Wayne manor isn’t far from the city with a car drive, but on foot? On one foot?

“...Is Mr. West ok?” Peter finally speaks up for the first time this morning.

Many of the others drop the fake staring and look up at him for real, Dick sits across from him with a look on his face. Oh Peter knows that face. It’s the face he’s seen social workers wear around kids he’s rescued from abusive homes and other dangerous situations. The ‘ you’re young and have been traumatized so I wear this face to make you think I’m an understanding and trustworthy adult’ face.

“Wally’s fine, Peter.” Dick smiles gently, but holds a slight unsteadiness in his eyes. “His… injury was fresh. Despite its…image…  it was reattached fairly easily by medical personnel.”

“That’s good, he was brought to a hospital?”

“Yes he was, and he’s gonna be ok.”

“Did he say anything of note to you, Peter?” Mr. Bruce places his fork down on the cloth napkin before looking up with a calculative regard. Dick snaps his head towards his father with a sinister glare, but the billionaire pays him no mind.

“Nothing much…”

“Anything is something, please Peter.”

“Bruce.” Dick warns while straightening his posture, and the others at the table send the head of the table their own disapproving looks. Excluding Alfred, who is the visage of neutrality. 

“He said that I’m a new one… and asked me to get my dad?” Peter answers while carefully remembering the night, biting his lip. “I think he was talking about you.”

“Anything else? Anything at all.”

“C’mon Peter let’s go.” Dick stands up tossing his napkin on the table, shoulders shaking as he rises. 

“He said the small one wouldn't have helped him in? I think?”

Tim chokes on his french toast trying to staunch the immediate laughter, Duke bites his lip, Steph covers her mouth, and Cassandra only raises an eyebrow. Damian however, casts his own steely glare at his pancakes which Alfred has carefully designed a smiley face (made of blueberries and raspberries) upon. 

Yet Dick doesn’t crack a smile nor suppress a laugh, he only strides around the table to Peter’s side before gently grabbing his elbow and guiding him up and out of his seat. Before that, Peter hurriedly grabs a biscuit because he’s still hungry damnit and there’s no way he’s not taking a snack for the road. 

“Um, bye guys?” Peter says as he’s guided away, but now that he’s leaving the others dropped their masks. Some look at him pityingly, and the others glare at Bruce who doesn’t even seem to notice. In fact, his expression is set in a deep scowl and directed at Peter, who shifts uncomfortably before it.

As Dick ushers him away from breakfast, that familiar feeling of dread fills Peter's mind once again. In the night he heard lots of people talking and walking by his room, Dick among them and he didn’t sound happy. He did tell Peter to stay in the kitchen… which he pointedly ignored, so this must be the grounding he threatened. 

They walk on down the grey morning halls of the manor; Dick is leading him to the library from what Peter can guess. He’s quiet, his mouth pressed into a thin stressed line but besides that his expression is carefully neutral. No longer bearing that pitying face but it’ll be back. 

As they enter the library Peter only rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, looking for dark corners to skitter away and hide in. Dick only paces back and forth slightly, with his arms crossed, he doesn’t seem… angry, but he certainly is something right now.

“...am I in trouble?” Peter finally asks.

“No… maybe… I don’t know.” Dick sits down in one of the old dark brown leather chairs with fancy carpentering on the legs and arms gesturing to Peter to sit down on one too. So he does.

“First things first… how are you feeling?” Dick looks at Peter with that pity face again.

“Fine… why?”

“... you saw something quite grotesque in the night Peter.”

“Nah Mr. West isn’t ugly, could do to shave that patchy beard though-’.”

“Peter.”

“Look, Dick, foster-dad, I dunno.” Peter looks away and out the window, the sun’s warm light shines on the snow outside causing just a bit of melt. “I’ve seen worse? A lot worse, I’m kind of used to things like that.”

“... Peter.” When the meta teen looks back at him, he is shocked with the sight of Dick’s pained expression. His face is tight, his eyes are wide and alarmed, he’s wringing his hands too.

“Normal people and their normal kids aren’t used to seeing severed limbs, kid.” Director Fury helpfully reminds.

“Crap… I mean I’m not bothered with it anymore!” Dick’s expression turns only more pained.

“I mean I’m used to that sort of thing!” Dick brings up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I mean that-”

“Peter, stop.” Dick begs, and so Peter does.

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Peter tries to assuage his rising panic, he doesn’t know how well he can hide things from the Waynes. It helps that they respect his boundaries and don’t ask too many questions, but they’re smart. Any detail he drops they pick up. Nor do they don’t forget, it’s like he’s a mystery to them and it’s only because they’re so polite that they haven’t figured him out yet. Also, they have their own secrets. That much is obvious, perhaps it’s a mutual thing they got going on. You don’t go looking for any of my skeletons and I won’t go looking for yours. 

“I… am going to hire you a therapist.” Dick removes his hand from his face, looking exhausted. “Saying that… you’re used to seeing things like that isn’t ok. Isn’t normal to hear nor say.”

Normal?

“I’m meta, I don’t think I can do normal.”

“Mental health isn’t exclusive from your genetic capabilities, Peter.” Dick shakes his head. “In fact, I should have hired you one earlier, and set up a normal doctor physical too, and a dentist appointment.”

Oh god no. 

“That isn’t necessary…”

“Peter.”

“Dental healthcare is very important, Peter.” Dr. Strange gently admonishes.

I literally have venomous fangs. I could kill my dentist; and I thought I told you to go away? Go away.

Thus Dr. Strange is banished again.

“...and as far as you not staying in the kitchen last night.” Dick finally mentions the elephant in the room.

“...am I in trouble?” 

“... well, if you hid, then Alfred would’ve stayed hidden as well.” Dick slumps slightly back in the chair. “His priority has always been our safety, but… well, if you both stayed where you were then Wally would’ve likely bled out on our door. We wouldn’t have arrived in time.”

“...so, I’m not in trouble?”

“Slow down… Wally’s my friend, he’s a loveable guy and we’re all glad he’s ok.” 

“Here comes the ‘but’.” Star lord snickers.

“But… I’m your legal guardian, so your safety is my priority.” Dick leans back forward, his expression firm and unyielding. “This isn’t the first time you disregarded me when I questioned your safety, remember movie night? That column of light that appeared in the city?”

Oh yeah…

“...I remember.”

“I wanted you away from the windows.”

“I know...”

“That same column of light destroyed the fire station you were staying in.”

“I told you I don’t know anything about-”

“I know, I believe you about that, but this is about your safety, ok?” Dick shakes his head. “So yes, you’re in trouble. You’re grounded, no tv nor video games for a month.”

OK what the fuck?

Dick basically admitted to Peter that he saved the dude's life, he made the right decision, why is he being punished for doing what was right? It’s very… teenager… to say but this is completely unfair.

“Ah c’mon the guy lived because of me, that's not fair!” Peter protests, sitting up.

“This isn’t about that, Peter!” Dick stands up. “When you’re in danger and I tell you to do something, you do it.”

“I don’t have to listen to you.” Peter shakes his head. “You’re barely around anyways, I can take care of myself!”

“This isn’t about you taking care of yourself niether.” Dick’s gaze turns unrelenting. “This is about you not listening to me, I am your legal guardian and when you are in danger you must-” 

“You’re not my dad-!”

“Ooooooo!” Starlord snickers as the situation escalates while the other ghosts gasp at the teens' behavior.

“Spider child that man took you off the streets!” Drax scolds him “Show the due respect to your elders!”

“I trusted my gut and your friend is alive because of it!” Peter continues on as he stands up to shout. “You don’t get to tell me what to do in things like this!” 

“I have several legal documents that say that I can, Peter!” Dick matches his volume with a heavy glare and with… something else behind his eyes, something heartbroken. “Two months now for talking back, and… and n-no more social media, no tictacs!”

“It’s Tiktok you boomer!” Peter corrects savagely, taking great pleasure at the incredibly offended gasp Dick makes. “Unbelievable!”

Peter begins to feel that boiling green rage rises within him, shaking his head and trying to dim the verde in his eyes. Deciding to storm off before he socks his legal guardian in the jaw.

“I-I am a millennial how dare-” Dick seethes behind him and oh Peter wishes he can see his face. “Go to your room!”

“Oh, and here I was about to leave for the mall!” 

The personal Batchat:

Dick: Everyone Peter is grounded from tv, social media, and video games for two months

RedR: 👀

Dick: Do not smuggle him any sort of the aforementioned banned activities I WILL know. 

Dick: Robin will also help in surveillance for contraband.

Trueheir: Nothing will get past me. 

Emergancysignal: Bro what did he do???

Trueheir: Our nephew did not comply with his safety instructions.

Casslass: Two months is rather extreme.

Dick: He called me a ‘boomer’ 😡

RedR: HJFKDGHAHGGFJHF 💀

Dick: I am a MILLENNIAL

Emergancysignal: BRUH

Casslass: is he not correct?

Mcdaddyissues: HA! kid’s alright

Mcdaddyissues: wait

Mcdaddyissues: WTF WHO CHANGED MY USERNAME?!

RedR: 😈

Crime Alley

He and Kaine argued when he finally came back home during the night. Ben was out of the sewer room (he’s gonna start calling it an apartment now) after eleven a.m. and on the streets looking for Kaine. It wasn’t like him to be gone with no message, well, except when he left for the U.K, with the Fantastic Four, all Ben got was a text.

He was on the streets for hours, talking to anyone who wouldn’t punch him and punching anyone who wouldn’t talk. Only to find nothing. Nothing at all and damn it was so hard to fight off the panic attack so eventually he had to go back to the room and think of a plan so he wouldn’t lose another brother and he couldn’t breathe, and he was about to cry and-

The bastard was lounging on his web.

They argued, a lot of words said. Ben demanded to know where he’s been, but Kaine just said that was just walking around the city. That he needed to think and they’ll ‘have a talk later when he’s ready’. 

What the fuck, ‘have a fucking talk’, when you’re ready? The fucking fuck.

Darting into another alley Ben struggles to reign in his breathing and leans against a dirty brick wall; he can’t show fear nor panic, not here, not on the streets of Gotham. He’d be mugged at best, and the only thing of value he’s got on him is his own life. 

Sliding down the wall he ends up in a crouched position, resting his elbows on his knees as stares at the dirt of the alley. A syringe here, boxes there, a used contraceptive over there, and the tears running down his nose as he grimaces. A broken and desperate gasp for air is all that he lets escape from his throat and even that causes a spike of fear to drip into his spine. 

Press it down, Benjamin, there’s no time for this. You can’t afford to have a panic attack now, not in this economy.

Instead, he settles on trying to calm himself down by examining the alley he’s in, the arrays of garbage, the typical dumpsters, boxes that are mostly cardboard, used syringes scattered hazardously, and the odd empty beer bottle. Next he begins to determine what he can smell… burning. The alleyway smells so terrible his enhanced olfactory senses are overwhelmed and painful. Lovely. For what he can touch, the cold disgusting ground beneath his shoes and he won’t be touching anything more than that.

Lastly, as his breathing finally begins to even out, he tries to establish what he can hear. People walking by some laughing at him, some calling him a drug addict, the occasional car rumbling only changed by the doppler effect, soft mewing in a box nearby, a helicopter overhead-... wait.

Mewing in a box?

Standing up with some painful crackling of knees, Ben slowly shifts to the mentioned box. It’s one of those large cardboard boxes that usually holds over twenty cans of beer. The mewing grows a little louder but just barely as he gets closer, if he hadn’t focused on what he could hear, he would never have heard it over the drone of the city and his earlier rising panic.

With the topmost care, he gently opens the flaps of the box to reveal…

A tiny kitten.

Emphasis on tiny. It, no wait, he or she couldn't be older than a few days judging by their size. Their coat is a is of a tortoiseshell variety from the slim knowledge he has over cat fur pattern types and colors. They got fleas, but thankfully not too many, he’ll have to find a way to get those parasites off of the dear, but first their mother. 

“Heeey sweetie … oh good mooorning.” Ben coos as he gently picks up the mewing mess of wriggly and underweight kitten. “Where’s your momma? Oh you’re so cold…” 

Ben looks around then sniffs, usually the mom is nearby, and stray cats can be… pungent. Usually due to underlying issues that affect their skin, like from infected wounds or a form of kitty eczema. Yet he can’t smell anything. Just the filth of the alley.

“Someone leave you here sweetie?” Ben holds the little thing close. “Lost family too? I’ve been there… it’s ok… you’ll be okay.”

The sky is still gray from winter and the little thing is so small, Ben holds them close to his chest and snuggled in his hands as he finally walks out of the dingy freezing alley. His panic from earlier is already forgotten, but still there are little pricks of pain in his eyes as he looks down at the slightly crunchy floof. Despite it… he smiles.

As he lifts the little ball of fur, he is able to determine that she is a girl. Who is quite displeased with her current situation mind you. Mewing as loud of a storm as she possibly could with her tiny lil’ lungs. Her tiny paws slightly waving through the air as if she’s trying to escape and complaining the whole way. It’s a relief to Ben, at the very least she is healthy enough to voice her concerns. 

“Yeah… you’ll be ok, I’m Ben, and I suppose you’re someone too?” Ben hushes them as he walks easily to the nearest pet store. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you… we’ll figure it out, someone. You’ll be ok…”

We’ll be ok.

Chapter Text

In a familiar universe, but in a galaxy far away…

Scott Lang could only pass the time by whistling in this strange ship, venturing out into the cold vacuum filled void of space. His captors don’t seem to care what he does in his cell so long as he doesn’t… you know… try to escape. So the time gets past by him whistling, trying to talk to other pows, and attempting to ignore the pain in the back of his neck from when they collected his spinal fluid. For the millionth time. 

The experiments they do are always the worst. Well, not quite experiments. More like, harvesting things from people. Skin grafts, blood, plasma, the works. That’s what he knows what happens on this ship. Can’t say what happens anywhere else. Oh, and the occasional interrogation or two. Lovely things happen at the interrogations. That totally doesn't cause him to break out into a sweat and lose control of his breathing. Nope. Oh… who is he kidding? Who does he have to save face for here?

There are others here as well, but they get cycled through other ships or prisons, he isn’t exactly sure where they go to, but they always come back in time. He seems to be one of the only permanent residents here on this particular space craft. Lucky him. No really, being forced to different locations against your will isn’t a peach. Well, since he’s in a space he kinda already is? Eh, details details. The longest resident here, besides Scott, was Storm, but that was only for a week. Huuuge chunk of time in this hellscape of a spaceship.

His cell is like… a living being. Everything on this ship is. Flesh and sinew above and below him. Instead of a red and pink color tones that are earthly human, it is of greens and yellows and so obviously alien. Three of his cell walls are like that, except that one has this flesh… shelf… thing that is basically his bed. Next to it is a flesh bowl thing.

For all your flesh bowl needs.

The last wall isn’t quiet meat, but a yellowish clear membrane that only yields and opens for the guards and scientists. It’s thin, bendy, and disgustingly slimey too, but yet deceptively strong. The first thing new prisoners… mostly heroes… do here is try to break through it. Failing every time. Even if they have superstrength. Freedom held insultingly close but unattainable. 

God… how did this become my life? 

Earth seems like a memory that belongs to someone else. Now it’s just waiting for food, try to talk through the fleshy walls, remember, whistle, think about his kid, eat, utilize the flesh bowl, sleep, and repeat. It’s not a lot. Not a lot of anything, and when he’s brought out of his cell… that doesn’t count. It never counts. Not that.

The ship rumbles again. A common result of another failed experiment of Thanos with the infinity stones. The spider kid, apparently, managed to nick away the Soul stone before turning to ash. Causing him and the stone itself to disappear into ash, but Thanos isn’t… content with that. Scott isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing with the stones now, but what he does know is that sometimes after the ship rumbles and shakes. A new prisoner appears shortly after. They usually fight and kick and try to escape, but almost all of them know how to fight. Expertly so. Though, they’re never anyone he knows personally or even heard of.

Some of them get surprised at that, when he says he’s never heard of them. They have strange things to say too, speaking of places and things he’s never heard of. Pitying him when he makes it clear that he has no idea what they’re talking about, but then slightly panicking when other prisoners that eavesdropped inform that they also have no idea what they’re talking about. 

 Outside the membrane of a cell door, Scott can hear a muffled racket down the disgusting flesh halls of the ship. That’s got to be a new prisoner. He stops whistling and eagerly stands near the membrane to look at the new unfortunate they’re dragging into this space hell. It’s the closest thing he’s got to entertainment around here, he makes sure to cheer on the hapless soul as they fight. Always hoping that they land a blow on one of the guards, makes him laugh. 

Of course… there is little hope of escape here. With this being the ship Thanos resides on, freedom seems like a distant dream. Or like a fond childhood memory that reality has pushed and crowded away from the forefront of one's mind by worries and problems. 

Finally, the dark armored guards come into his field of vision. There’s always three of them, two dragging and restraining the sometimes-unconscious individual, and one leading the way. Their little group leader is always the one who opens the membrane door thing. 

The person they drag through this time is a woman, earth-born by the looks of her. Human looking and very very angry too. Cursing them in a language that he should probably know but can’t quite place. She fights wildly, but purposefully, like most that are brought here, she has fists and knows exactly how to use them. 

“Haha! Aim for the noids!” Scott encourages her as they pass by his cell.

They stop.

The woman doesn’t stop fighting, but the group leader turns to face Scott's cell, unseen eyes staring from behind a dark helmet.

“Crap…” Scott murmurs as the guard flicks his wrist, the cuff glowing, signifying the opening of a door.

The membrane shivers, and then convulses rapidly before contracting back into the walls in a revoltingly discoidal way. Scott tries to jump backward as his heart rate spikes but it’s too late, the guard at the door flicks his cuff again and it glows a different colour.

The back of his neck explodes in electrical fire. Quickly spreading to the nerve endings in his fingers, his toes, and behind his eyes. The air gets knocked out of his lungs as he falls to the ‘floor’ near writhing in agony.

Finally, it stops. His muscles relax and he whimpers in relief. His muscles are still thrumming in pain but at least it’s not as bad as it was a few seconds before. They toss the woman in his cell, and the membrane closes again quickly. Scott watches from the floor as the woman attempts to punch the membrane and scratch at it with her long fingernails. Only succeeding at getting slime all over herself. She fights with anger, no, with absolute rage. Like she was personally insulted by them.

“...shoulda..” Scott wheezes weakly as he watches her. “... shoulda aimed for the noids.” 

The woman finally stops her assault on the wall when it proves fruitless, fists clenched at her side. The glands of the hall glowing a harrowing green colour, silhouetting the woman as she slowly turns her head to him. Long black hair barely swishes as she analyzes him.

“You fell easily.” She raises a single sharp eyebrow at him. “They did not even touch you. Explain.”

“You ever heard of those electric dog collars?”

She only tilts her head as a response.

“Well, they put something like that in the back of my neck.”

“I see.”

The woman begins to walk around the cell, searching for anything that could be means of escape. A crack or crevice, a fault, or something that could be of any hope. She stops and looks at the flesh bowl with a revolted look on her face.

“I’ll look away if you need to use it.”

“What?”

“It’s for-”

“I know what it is for.”

Scotts sits up and leans back on the gross wall, no longer repelled by his environment. His leg splayed out and his forearms and hands rest between them, he watches the woman in exhaustion but with a dash of curiosity too.

They never gave him a roommate before. Though, he must admit, he isn’t certain how many other cells there are on the ship, so it might be getting crowded.

“I’m Scott.” he decides to introduce himself.

“I did not ask for your name,” She finally stops her investigation of his humble abode. “But you will give me information.”

Scott assesses her. The green eyes that examine him are filled with nothing but determination and calculation, it’s clear she has a cunning mind. Or a restless one. It’s refreshing, most people panic after their situation here has set in, not her though. She immediately goes about trying to solve it. 

“Oh, I got lots.” Scott smiles tiredly at her. “But it won’t do you any good.”

“Why.”

“This is Thanos’s favorite ship.”

“Who is Thanos?”

Scott tilts his head, and snorts, “Oh… so you’re one of the newbies.”

“Who is Thanos? ” She slams her hand on the wall above him, a clear attempt of intimidation. 

“That’s a loaded question, on a cosmic scale.” Scott sighs and rubs his forehead. “He has the infinity stones.”

“What are-?”

“Fancy primordial rocks that came from the big bang.” Scott interrupts her, not liking that she still has her hand on the wall above. “Or that’s the leading theory.”

“What can they-”

“Who are you.” Scott weakly glares at her. “I can answer all the questions you have, but I’m not going to be talking to a nameless face here.”

“My name is of no concern of yours.”  She removes her hand from the wall and steps back, crossing her arms to glare down at him. 

“Well, I disagree, since we’re roomies now.” 

“Answer my questions or I will inflict more pain than they have ever driven into you.” She clenches her fists again, and Scott can tell it’s no weak threat. He’s just too exhausted to take it at its true gravity.

Sure, he’s in danger… but he’s always in danger. Scott hasn’t felt or have been safe in a long long time now. The days he was are his most precious dreams and memories. Who knows, he might be staring at death herself, but he hasn’t been that unlucky before. Thanos is obsessed with death; he wouldn’t put her in a cell with little old Scottie here. So maybe this is death’s angrier younger sister.

“Is it so hard to introduce yourself?” Scott huffs. “You’ll get your information, but I want to know who I am talking to.”

“No.”

Man,  her personality is just sparkling. Reminds me of Maggie.

“Well, they’re not gonna let us fight or whatever.” Scott shakes his head with a smile. “So, your threats of beating me up aren’t really hitting home lady.”

That is one hundred percent a grade A bluff. I have no idea if they give a damn. Or hoot. Much less a fuck.

She shakes her head and looks away with a scowl on her face. She won’t settle down, her eyes scan everything around them but mostly focus on their cell ‘door’. Maybe waiting for the guards to return so she could strike and make her escape. Determined. That’s all he can say about this first impression, he’d be scared of her if they were in a different time. She’s dressed in armor, from her shoulders to her toes. They’ll take that away from her eventually though, dressing her in the same bright purple rags Scott is in.

“...I’m just gonna give you a nickname if you’re gonna be like that, ya know.” Scott laughs and crosses his leg before closing his eyes, the pain from earlier always makes him tired after. “Gonna be something I know you’d be annoyed with, got a feeling you’re one of the prim and proper types, would grind your gears especially.”

  “Enough.”

“Madam stick-up-the-ass? No…” Scott shakes his head, now frowning in deep concentration. “God, I don’t know you well enough to think of something punny and clever, maybe... oh! Maybe Scowlet? Cause you’re scowling and stuff?”

“Tt.”

Chapter Text

Gotham University Library

“ Please be quiet…” Ben whispers to the weight in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. Smiling awkwardly at the student librarian as he walks into the library of the Gotham University campus. 

The kitten is way too small to be left alone for a few hours, plus Ben is trying to minimize how much time she spends in the sewer apartment. If it smells bad to him, then it definitely smells bad to her. Though since he has a super sense of smell he can’t tell if he or the kitten has it worse. Most likely not Ben, must be rough to have a new nose and everything (literally) smells like shit. Also, he might be avoiding Kaine.

“Tch… we’ll have a talk when I’m ready, fuck you.” Ben mutters as he sits down at one of the more hidden study tables and places his ethically resourced bag - which does not mean he shopshifted how dare you - beneath it. 

The kitten in his pocket mews irritably and Ben is quick to shush her, checking his surroundings subtly before removing her from his pocket. Quickly kissing her on her lil’ forehead before quickly reloading her into the pocket. Then, setting about his business in the library.

He’s basically confirmed that physics still does indeed physics in this world, but he would’ve been ok with one little law not existing in this one. Would make finding a way back to his own universe a bit easier, but he’s got a slew of problems to sort through to do that. 

Problem One: No materials. Sure, he can make a generator out of scrap and old computers in a pinch, an alarm clock too, and a rudimentary heating device. Designing some kind of… portal will demand the intake of slightly more expensive materials. Materials way outside Kaine’s off the book's income.

Problem Two: No lab. One does not simply fuck with the laws of physics in a sewer. It’s just not a thing.

Problem Three: The Bats. Ben… has no clue how to avoid their radar. Sure, he and Kaine can minimize their presences around Gotham but they’re already pushing it. Well… Kaine is pushing it, because of course he is. Somehow snagging a job at a criminal underworld bar and running across Red Hood is Parker luck at play. No. Can’t sully the Parker name on this one. It’s all Kaine’s fault. 

The kitten meows in disagreement with him.

Oh shush, what do you know?

He hasn’t dared to name her yet. She’s so little, anything can kill her even with Ben taking care of her to the best of his abilities in this circumstance. Sometimes, he thinks it’s just better to give her up to a good animal shelter that wouldn’t give up on her. Every time though, his eyes begin to burn, and he ends up hugging her close to her chest. The shelters here would probably put her down anyway, there’s no mercy in Gotham. Not for the weak.

“Great power comes with great responsibility...”

“Shut the fuck up Peter…” Ben whispers as he whips his head away. An intrusive thought in the form of his brother’s voice, lovely. Just perfect really. 

Ben sighs as he looks at all the books around him in slight frustration. He’s in a stalemate with this hellhole of a city and universe. Trying to maintain subterfuge is getting difficult and plus he has a cat now. How do you keep a fucking cat safe when crossing through to a different universe? How does he even locate their universe? They might as well be trying to find a needle in a haystack, except the stack is made up of needles instead of hay and they’re trying to find a silver one.

The fuck am I doing here?

Ben groans as he looks around, the windows showing a surprisingly warm gotham day out cascades an orange light on him and all the books around them. Trying to find something, a magic tome to solve all of his problems.

He only finds gum on the floor and an orchid in the window.

Ben sighs as he heads to the window, carefully walking over the wad of gum on the floor that he has likely stepped on in his slightly panicked pacings. Gently picking up the the pot with a light huff, he moves out of the bookcase isle and and into the inner of the library, finding a table a suitable distance away from the windows but still gets plenty of-

“What are you doing?” 

That voice causes Ben to freeze midway through putting the plant down on the table, looking as if he’s doing the robot with quite an alarmed expression as well. Slowly looking up to see a green mean, not hulk, but still a killing machine.

Doctor Isley, otherwise known as Poison Ivy.

“Putting the plant on the table…?”

“This was not the table she was on before.”

Crap.

Spidey senses. They’re doing something, tingling, screaming, buzzing, and harrumphing at Ben that he’s in danger, but he can’t tell if he should bolt or stay frozen. How does a guy run from a lady who is pretty much Gaia?

Mega crap. Their cover is blown now, she’s gonna kill him and then turn him into fertilizer for her plant children. Grow basil out of his sockets, turn his ribcage into a herb drying rack, his pelvis well.. He doesn’t have to worry about anything with that. Word on the street is that she is in a relationship with Harley Quinn

Damn he regrets going to the city university instead of the public library to gather intel, then he would’ve known that this woman is sort of a newly reformed villain. More of an antihero nowadays, her and Harley both, so she’s either gonna kill him or do something worse. Make him into plant zombie or something creepy like that- oh fuck what if she turns him into a clicker.

“Um it- she… she was in the window over there,” Ben hurriedly corrects from it to she. “My aunt liked orchids and while she worked overtime at the hospital, she told me how to take of hers and I know that windows facing east so that means full morning sun and orchids can’t have that cause they’re tropical plants and-”

Ivy walks forward with purposeful clicks of her heels, placing her palms flat on the table. Regarding the plant with the best poker face Ben has seen in his life.

“Did he move you from the window?” 

…

The plant moves. It shivers. Its leaves wave a little.

…

…

Are… are plants sapient? 

“Well, thank you for moving Teresa from the window.” Doctor Isley fixes her posture.

“She… T-Teresa told you that?” 

“She did.” Ivy pauses, then tilts her head just slightly. “...Your aunt liked orchids?”

…

I don’t want to talk about her… but this is Poison Ivy here…  

“She did, well, she liked all plants really.” Ben rubs the back of his neck. “Didn’t really have enough room for a garden in New York, so her coworkers always got her orchids and cacti.”

“Every holiday party, every time.” Aunt May huffs as she walks into the little townhouse that they call home, carrying a large orchid, swishing precariously as she kicks the snow off her boots. “How do they even get theses this time of year?”

“None of your coworkers ever had an original idea, we got so many orchids,” Ben takes the orchid from her, so she could place down her purse. “If they had to get you a plant, I wish it would be something a lil’ easier to take care of.”

“Taking care of something isn’t supposed to be easy, Ben.”

He blinks away the memory, looking around, and Poison Ivy is already gone.

Later that night, at Equilibrium

“So, then I find out my brother didn’t actually die, but died later?” Kaine shakes his head as he refills Harley’s beer for the third time so far this night. “And it’s in the back of my mind like all the time… I mean he drowned . He was in pain, and scared, so far from home, then dead, and I wasn’t there for him. He was alone.”

“That’s horrible Kaine-brain,” Harley says as she takes the large beer mug in her hand. “The circumstance of a loved one’s death affects the grieving process immensely.”

“I’m not even sure how to grieve.” Kaine then grabs a rag from beneath the bar and a spritz bottle full of a blue liquid. “I mean, when my aunt died I didn’t have time to do it?”

“There’s no guideline to grieve kiddo, I mean there’s stages of it, but no to-do list.” Harley takes in a deep swig of the booze. “So far I think you’re in the like… the bargaining stage? Trying to make sense of it all. Your brother is between the denial and anger stages.”

“I… haven’t told him yet, about me finding out what happened to Peter.” 

“He’s got a right to know, Kaine, I know you don’t like confrontation-”

“Hey-”

“With your family, but that Band-Aid gots to be ripped off.” Harley pauses to gulp down the entirety of the mug, before sighing. “Communication is important in literally all relationships.”

“He doesn’t communicate…”

“Try not to be confrontational then.” Harley slides the mug away, before crossing her arms on the barhop. “You won’t believe how many arguments can be prevented if people would actually just change their tone of voice.”

“Gotcha…”

Harley's watch beeps, she frowns as she looks at it. Then taps it a few times, her long pink acrylic nails making a clicking sound.

“Uuuuuuuuuuuughh!” She groans and rolls her eyes, flicking her head to the city.

“...you ok?” 

“I swear they only call me for help when I’m havin’ fun!” Harley grabs her duck shaped purse, taking out a few twenties and slamming them onto the bartop.

“The… the ba-?”

“Yeah them! Howsit’ I’m gonna maintain my psychiatrist degree without my traumatized bartender for practice?”

…I’m not going to respond to that.

Harley zips her purse back up and quickly stands, anger on her face as clear as day… but something else too. Something heavy in her eyes, and the way she grinds her jaw. So different from her usual jovial and playful personality. 

“Sorry that we’re cuttin’ our sesh short Kainey,” Harley grimaces but turns away quickly. “See ya!”

Harley bolts out of the bar, doesn’t even skip. That’s… not like her.

Kaine bites his lip and spritz the bar top with the bottle before bringing the rag down on it. The bar is super busy tonight, maybe if he keeps cleaning Victoria won’t get on his ass. Part of him is worried about Harley, no one actually wants to be called into hero work. The whole thing about being a hero is working so you ultimately wouldn’t be needed. 

Bad days when you are.

“Kaine that spots clean.” Victoria snaps from further down the bar, who was just arguing with a patron a few moments before. “Get some drinks to that table over there- no I’m not serving you Owen cause you shat on my floor, not cause you’re vegan.”

Kaine hurriedly grabs a plastic platter and a few tall beer glasses and starts filling them. The bar is abuzz , no one can keep in one place, not even the customers and most of them don’t seem to be in a partying mood.

“Vet bills gettin’ high…”

“My kid’s on the honor roll! Might actually get out of this…”

“If my neighbors don’t turn down their fucking music, I swear to god… ”

“That new merc is the fucking worst I swear he just doesn’t…”

Victoria seems stressed this week as well, at first it was just the kegs of beers from the breweries being getting more expensive, then she had to bribe the health inspector, then Owen took a deuce on the floor, thus clearing out the entire bar that particular night. Tonight though… tonight she seems… alarmed.

“Your drinks.” Kaine places down the platter on the table, before putting each glass of watered down addiction in front of the patrons.

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

There’s no way Vicky’s letting me take an early night this time.

The mournful thoughts only sours his mood a little, at least he can delay talking to Ben for another night. He’s busy nowadays too, taking in that kitten that may or may not make it, taking up most of his time. All convenient for him, but Kaine was the one who said they needed to talk. He can’t just say something like that and not do it, that’d be fucked.

Kaine’ll have to make time then, eventually. 

“We’re hitting all of them.”

“All of them?”

“Every shelter in the city.”

Kaine’s blood freezes as he walks back to the bar, his ears trained on the table he just served drinks to. To seem busy, he grabs another platter and begins to fill more drinks. The bar is loud, but with Kaine’s super hearing he can hear those three patrons at the table as if it were happening right next to him.

“I don’t know man…”

“You knew this could happen; you'd joined up with the Joker's gang.”

“He pays man, he pays.”

"When will we...?"

"Maybe a few weeks? Probably less..."

“But I hear the new gas isn’t totally tested yet?”

“Shuddup, we’ll be set after this, leave town after this last gig…”

“Where’d you go?”

“Back home to Metropolis, you?”

Kaine's blood boils as he gazes at his reflection on the beer glass. Slightly distorted from the shape of the easily breakable stein, but it’s him. Brown conflicted eyes stare back at him. This… this feeling… he’s felt it before . There’s no name he could put on it, but it makes home in his heart, mind, and shoulders as if it never left. It feel like an ice bath and a fire, anxiety and bravery, an amalgamation of already complicated emotions with a burst of exuberance. 

“Great power comes with great responsibility…”

Yeah… you’re right, Peter.

I know what this feeling is.

“Great power comes with great responsibility.”

Chapter Text

The thing that is the most tedious about your sibling working at a criminal underworld dive bar, is that you really don’t know what hours they’ll finish at. Sure, he's expected to work into the night, and into the a.m. as well, but sometimes he comes back in the afternoon too. Not ever quite happy when he does, well, who is ever happy in Gotham city?

“Quit that, Rueben,” Ben orders the kitten as she tries to crawl out of the little box he has on the desk, lined with the cleanest blankets he could find.

 Reuben… her name came to him while he was thinking about their old dog, Sandwich. He was named that because he had a certain love for his namesake. He especially loved Delmar’s as any self-respecting Parker would… he got snapped with Aunt May though. 

He must have been so scared…

Ben shakes his head and turns his eyes back to Rueben; it's been a week or so now and she’s growing strong and dangerously adventurous. All those nights where he had an alarm set for every feeding time waking him and Kaine both up so she might live. Ben nearly jumped for joy when he felt safe enough to name her. She’s earned it.

“Need to find you a bigger box,” Ben sighs as Reuben tumbles out of her tiny prison with a victorious mew, before picking her up and placing her back into it. “You don’t need to be fed for another ten minutes, be patient.”

Reuben lets out a long and enraged battle cry of a meow before making her treacherous climb once again. Ben only gets half a minute of writing done before she spills onto his papers and pens once again. Demanding her feast.

“That’s it you lil’ menace,” Ben picks her up and kisses her head. “Villains get webbed in the Parker household.”

Slowly and gently, Ben uses his natural spinnerets to weave a little cocoon around the tiny ball of anger, chittering softly as he allows a bit more spider to shine though. Before long, only her head sticks out of the fine silk cocoon. Filled with unbridled rage that promises a vengeance.

“Ohhh you’re just the cutest lil’ snack!” Ben gushes at her, standing up from the desk and walking towards his web. “I could just eat you right up!”

 To emphasize such an understandable statement, he lovingly noms and kisses her little ears, ignoring her tiny hisses at him. There’s nothing she could do that wouldn’t be adorable to him. He attaches a silk tether from the back of the cocoon to the edge of his web, thus, sending the escapee to a maximum-security prison.

Reuben sings the song of her people, one that promises a brutal retribution.

“You’re not gonna eat her, are you?” A voice suddenly inquires behind him, but Ben doesn’t jolt.

“Nope,” Ben smiles slightly at Kaine who just came in through the door, before sitting down at the desk. “Criminals get webbed though.”

“Let my girl go she didn’t do nothin’,” Kaine chuckles as he steps to Ben’s web, giving Rueben a solid poke on her cocoon, causing her to sway slightly like a pendulum.

“She kept on trying to escape from her box.”

“Unlawful incarceration.”

Ben laughs a little too as he returns to his equations, a symphony of numbers and letters that most people hate, “You were out for awhile, did you try job hunting again?”

“Nah, besides I think people on the street know I’m the new booze slinger at Equilibrium,” Kaine scratches the back of his neck. “People started asking me stuff a while ago.”

“You don’t tell them anything I hope?”

“Course not.” Kaine shakes his head as he approaches Ben at the desk. “Though… I got some intel to give you though.”

“Uhuh?”

“Remember that night where I encountered Red Hood?”

“The night where you compromised our lives to the bats by intelligently stepping in front of the barrel of a gun that belongs to a mentally unstable anti-hero?”

“Well, I didn’t step in front of it-”

“What about it?”

Kaine takes a deep breath, and Ben only raises an eyebrow, “I noticed something else, happened that night. Well, it didn't happen, more of a slight detail that I sort of omitted.”

“ Great… what is it?” Ben rubs his forehead and slightly glares at Kaine.

“I saw this… mural thing, at the playground those assholes were destroying,” Kaine lowers his hand back down from his neck and begins to pace around slightly. “It… had Spider-Man on it.”

Ben rolls his eyes and turns back to his equations, “We talked about this, different Spider-Man here.”

“ No, he isn’t . ” Kaine insists, stopping his pacing. “That mural he… he was wearing the Iron-Spider suit, Ben.”

Ben freezes, cold fear and pain dripping into his chest, before slowly shaking his head. No, it can’t be. Not him. Impossible. The implications alone…

“So, Stark exists here, so what?” Ben picks up a pen and begins writing again. 

“Oh, come on, that's crap and you know it, there’s no way Tony Stark exists in this universe and manages to stay off the front page of every tabloid for more than a week.”

“Shut it…”

“Captain America would exist too,” Kaine begins to list things off. “The winter soldier would exist, Shield would exist, you know I’m right.” 

“ Or Steve Rogers and James Barnes both died in World War two, Shield is a failed government project in the sixties, and Tony Stark is currently a dentist in New Jersey,” Ben flicks his free hand into the air as he scribbles frustratedly in the margins of the notebook. “You really don’t understand how the multiverse works, huh?”

“You realize you just proved my point, right? That Peter, our Peter- ”

“ Stop- ”

“Came to this universe right after the battle of Titan!” Kaine starts tapping his foot. “He was here- ”

“So, what, Kaine?!” Ben shakes his head, now stabbing at his equations on the paper. “So, what if he did?! That changes nothing. He was tossed to this universe and ended up dead anyways. Is that what you want to hear me say?!”

“No!”

 “God , what is it that you- ”

“I want us to talk again, Ben!” Kaine slams his hand down onto the desk. “I don’t want to talk about shelter, or tech, or survival, I just want to talk! It doesn’t have to be about Peter or Aunt May or Uncle Ben, but I need you Benny-”

Ben clenches his fist around the pen.

“I need my brother-”

The cold fear from earlier boils down to undiluted rage and anger.

“And you’re right here, but you’re not being there for me.”

…

Oh,  this fucking asshole

…

A month earlier, the Marvel Universe

No one looked at snow the same way since the Snap. The freshly powdered water descending mockingly from the sky, mocking everyone's equally fresh mental wounds. The winter time used to be so idyllic and at times inconvenient too, especially in New York city. 

Now Ben turns his head away from the white fluffy puffs falling from the sky, keeping his eyes trained on the sidewalk, same as anyone else on the streets. There’s no tourists this year, no traffic, no Snowmen or snowball fights in central park, only just memorials that are routinely swept the snow off of. 

It’s just snow. Only… just snow, but who would want to enjoy something that looks too much like ash?

The cold seeps into his bones as he walks down the slushy sidewalk, occasionally a car passing by on the road, passerbys keeping their heads down from the sky, same as Ben. The cold seems like absolute zero this year, despite him covered from head to toe in many many layers of clothing. Two shirts, pajamas beneath his pants, extra fluffy socks, a puffy coat, hat knitted with love, mittens made an equal amount of love, same with a red wool scarf, and a pair of boots that for a normal person would be better suited in Antarctica.

Barely tolerable for a spider.

Ben huffs as he moves the scarf coiled around his face and neck up over his mouth again, conserving what warmth he has left. It’s cold, everything is cold, even if he is warm and cozy and working on that one project with Stark, he’s just cold and numb. Everything’s numb nowadays. 

“Spare some change…?” A voice calls from his right.

Looking down, stopping his trudge. Ben sees one of the many homeless individuals of New York city. There’s been a lot more since the snap, you'd think with such a tragedy lawmakers and landlords would learn a little empathy and lower rent and provide affordable housing, but no.

He’s holding a cardboard sign.

Veteran

Kids dusted

Anything helps, God bless

Ben puffs out a visible breath as he fishes for his wallet out of his messenger bag, finding that his mittens opening the clasps slightly difficult. The heavy weight in the bag doesn’t lessen when he removes the wallet, and that numb feeling in his head and heart doesn’t go away. Through, some semblance of frustration boils up when he tries to grab a bill and fails because of the mittens.

Giving up, Ben ends up handing over a fifty-dollar bill.

“Oh, oh thank you, thank you man…”

“Sure, stay warm, yeah?”

“I will, I will, thank you, and merry Christmas to you man.”

“...Merry Christmas…” 

Thus, Ben makes his dirge of a journey down the cold snowy streets, hoping that he’ll never ever reach his destination. Despite it being his own feet carrying him to his goal. He doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t , but his feet seem to be moving on their own accord.

Snuggled in many layers of warmth, but the coldness and the numbness creep in further and further. His bones and old scars hurt too, but he only blinks away the flakes that fall on his lashes and keeps his eyes off of the sky. 

Till he passes iron fences and stone markers. Finding his family.

There’s lots of families around, some wearing all black. Some were wearing their normal winter gear. Others in normal clothes, only having stepped out of their cars to say hello and goodbye to their dearly departed.

There are children around, all dressed in their little snowsuits, some playing in the snow, no one really caring if it is disrespectful or not, some are crying from the cold or genuine mourning, and the last are too young to understand the significance of the place they are in.

Ben turns off the sidewalks and down a pathway up the row and rows of stones, careful not to step over anyone. Though, along his pathway he sees a bucket held up by one of those metal garden sign things, walking over to it, he spots dozens of stones and pebbles within, slightly covered by snow. After a moment's hesitation he grabs a couple, before walking along once more.

To three gravestones.

Ben Parker

Beloved Husband and Uncle

1962 - 2013 

Maybelle ‘May’ Parker

When you help someone, you help  everyone.

1963 - 2017

Peter Parker

Great power comes with great  responsibility.

2001 - 2017

“...hey guys.” Ben sits down on the snow, finding his bones too numb holding him up anymore. “...merry Christmas.”

Tears already begin to burn Ben’s eyes, but it can also be the wind, or so he tells himself. 

“Um, here Uncle Ben,” Ben gently places the stone on top of the grey granite grave, deciding not to sweep off the snow less he accidentally knocks off the other stones beneath. “I um… I’m glad you and Aunt May got plots here in a public cemetery, together. Would have been um, a little tedious I guess, to travel from a Jewish one to a Catholic one in the same day. You guys loved each other though and wanted to be together… and um… I’m glad you guys didn’t let religion get in the way of that.”

Ben looks at Aunt May’s grave, it’s a morning rose granite, “I’m… I didn’t go to the Christmas Eve mass yesterday. I know you wouldn’t mind… that you want me to explore religion on my own time… but it feels… bad here. Without you. I’m… I’m sorry? I don’t know…”

Ben finally looks at Peter’s grave, a twilight red granite, “I’m sorry… you didn’t get enough time to explore religion, Peter. I think you might have ended up atheist if you had more time, cause, you liked science much more than I ever did. Just in case though…”

Gently he places a stone on Peter’s grave too.

The snow has stopped falling, but the grey doesn’t budge from the sky, only a slight wind rustles the setting snow. The sound occasionally interrupted by chatting and mourning families. It’s all strangely… distant right now.

“Sorry it’s just me, Kaine’s got some… important things to do,” Ben takes off a mitten to search for his phone. “There’s this international hero coalition thing to deal with the chaos after the… after the thing. He’s working with the Fantastic Four in the U.K., but he sent a postcard. I’ll call him too… I don’t think the stretchy guy would have him working on Christmas, so he’ll pick up.”

Ben presses the contact named Cloned Bro, then presses the green telephone button afterwards.

Ring… Ring…

Ring… Ring…

Ring… Ring…

“It's ringing… um… maybe Kaine would like to say something to you guys?”

 Ring… Ring…

Ring… Ri-

Click.

“Hello, Kaine Parker here um, sorry I couldn’t answer the phone right now.” Kaine’s automated voicemail message answers. “Leave a message and I’ll answer as soon as I can, unless I died. Then I won’t.”

Beeep.

Ben doesn’t leave a message. Only pressing the red telephone shaped button and turning off his phone. Letting out a deep sigh.

“He um… he’s busy,” Ben chokes out, the burning feeling returning to his eyes.

The gravestones stones don’t respond, silent as those who lay beneath them the bodies close, their spirits so… so far. 

“He um… he left with the Four soon after the… event,” Ben puts his mitten back on. “Well… after most of the fires in New York were put out. Didn’t want to leave me with a flaming pile of shit…”

Ben laughs a little, “And yes, I say shit now, Aunt May. Should’ve stuck around if you wanted to enforce the swear jar.”

Snow begins to fall again, the earlier pause only being a gap in the storm, the wind gently picks up a little, all while some of the families disperse slowly. Faintly, in the back of Ben's mind, he chides himself over speaking so freely over Kaine’s work with the Fantastic Four. Perhaps luckily, that numbness smothers it down.

“But... I’m not totally alone here,” Ben fishes through his bag again. “Someone else wanted to visit too!”

He pulls out a small urn, a blue metal with a red engraved sandwich on the front of it, its main ingredients being bacon and bones. 

“I got Sandwich here with me!” Ben smiles as he gently places the urn on top of the snow in front of Peter’s grave, it slightly sinks. “He’s still the best boy, hasn’t thrown up or had an a-accident in a long time. I’m very proud of him…”

The incoming tears defeat Ben’s blinking, “I… I still take him on walks, Peter. ”

Ben at last lets the tears loose, he picks up the small urn and hugs it close as he did many times before. Sobbing into the snow, hot tears melting it away as he leans forward into a little snowball on Christmas day. Not quite caring if he’s making a scene in a cemetery currently.

“I’m… I-I’m sorry,” Ben’s spider vocally chitters in distress, only wanting to crawl into a web and stay there forever. “I-It’s selfish… b-but I wish I-I-I wasn’t alone. ”

Ben’s sobs are louder than the wind, the families are all gone now, a common theme across the world and galaxy.

“I-I wish one of you stayed …”

Kaine’s jaw dropped well before the end of Ben’s tirade, tears of guilt and shame welled over in his eyes. Ben blinks in confusion, for a moment it felt like… relieving a memory. With startling clarity, tinted orange, but with a familiar and horrible numbness. He’s standing up from the desk now, papers and pens strewn across the floor, Reuben still in the silk cocoon, voicing her displeasure. 

Did I do this?

Ben shakes his head, “... I needed you, Kaine. I needed my brother. ”

“Ben…”

“And you weren’t there…”

“I-I’m so-”

“I mourned, I moved on,” Ben shakily sits back down into the old, rusted chair. “And I did it alone. You’ll have to figure out how to do that by yourself, you do not to get to ask that of me. Not anymore…”

“Please, Ben…”

“Fuck off Kaine… it’s what you do best.”

Chapter Text

Therefore, Kaine fucked off.

Just as Ben demanded.

Shock was making their home in a tight little ball in his chest, and shame burrows in with a fire behind his rapidly blinking eyes. He shakes his head as he presses on through the streets of Gotham, the night quickly being vanquished by the morning early morning sun. Gentle red and purple clouds herald the sun's golden rays shining over the decaying city. It’s not right. Why is it so bright?

Why is it a beautiful day?

“Move,” Kaine pushes past a man on the street, not caring if he’s being rude.

“Easy man,” The stranger ends up being shoved against a wall and Kaine continues his march.

Where am I even going?

No direction. No purpose. Far from home and he… he fucked up his relationship with his soul surviving family member. He’s alone in Gotham city. Like how Ben was alone in New York.

And it’s all my fault.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid fucking selfish idiot. Ben didn’t say one wrong thing about his slightly manic tirade. Kaine left with the Fantastic Four, Kaine skipped out on Thanksgiving and Christmas, Kaine sent those measly fucking postcards, Kaine ignored the phonecalls, Kaine didn’t bother visiting their graves since the funeral, and Ben… Ben was alone.

With an angered spider-like growl, Kaine pulls his hoodie over the top of his head to fight the wind coldly biting at his ears. How does this work? How does any of this work?

Nothing that has ever happened to Kaine has ever been normal, he’s a clone for fucks sake. How does he fix this? Can he even fix this? It’s like everyone else in the world was born with a neat little stamp on their forehead that proudly declares ‘ Normal ’, but he and Ben weren’t technically born so Jackal scribbled on their foreheads with a thick red sharpie ‘ Weird’. Which isn’t fair.

It’s not.

Peter would be so angry at him right now. He’d kick his ass. Punching, kicking, the works he’d usually save for villains. Kaine deserves it. He does. Aunt May... she’d be so disappointed in Kaine. The thought brings nothing but cold shame and an odd amount of terror into his heart. Uncle Ben… he doesn’t even know.

It’s an oddly gorgeous morning in Gotham city. It’s bright. It’s dangerous. It’s colorful. It’s beautiful, and Kaine doesn’t fit in with it. 

And Ben hates me.

His breath doesn’t quite reach his lungs and blood rushes loudly through his ears. His walk turns into a stride, and then into a run, not caring if he was being suspicious, or pushing people away from him with barely held back shoves. What does it matter? What can he do? How can he fix this?

How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I fix this? How can I-

“Whoa whoa whoa!” A voice shouts at Kaine, stopping him in his panicked run, but his eyes remain locked onto the ground. “What’s the rush, asshole?”

Kaine looks up, his brown eyes jumping onto and away from all sight in this… alleyway. Of course it’s an alley. Frozen, with gentle hues of red and purple from the bright morning sky, a few trash cans here, a dumpster there, and False Facers everywhere, at least judging from the darkened masks they’re all wearing. Seems Kaine stumbled in on something he wasn’t supposed to.

“In a hurry… sorry,” Kaine mumbles, whilst backing up slowly. “I’ll head another way…”

“Nah… no I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” The leader of the pack stalks forward, and his spidey senses chitter louder in kind. Oh, Kaine’s heard this song before.

“... I’m having one of the worst days of my life, leave me alone.”

The various gangers chuckle at Kaine’s warning. Some of them crack their knuckles as they push themselves off the dirty brick walls. Others toss their burning cigarettes onto the snow as they follow their little leader.

Danger.

Kaine doesn’t know a lot about life. He’s technically as old as a toddler. Most of his memories came from Peter, then after his ‘birth’ only memories of abuse from Jackal, then abandonment, then loneliness, and then anger. Oh god the anger. He killed people. He remembers it. Kaine was a villain, then he heard about Ben, another clone, tried to protect him from Jackal. Then Peter broke through their confusion and pain and helped them both.

Now Kaine is alone again.

Alone and angry.

So angry.

And all he knows about life is how to throw a solid punch.

The ganger doesn’t have a millisecond to react before Kaine’s fist high fives his face. Slamming so hard his noise makes an audible crack. The False facers immediately surround him, but they have no idea how absolutely fucked they are right now now. It takes every amount of his restraint to now crush their skulls between his hands or maybe just snap their necks. Plain and simple. Instead, he settles for knocking them out. 

Swarming like flies around the spider, Kaine punches and dodges viciously. Jumping out of the way of a punch before bringing the back of his elbow down on the assaulter’s, snapping it into the wrong direction. 

Fucking Gotham…

Fucking New York…

“Fucking ASSHOLES!” Kaine roars as he lifts one of the goons over his head and tosses him at his criminal buddies. “Fuuuuck you!”

“All your fault! ” Kaine cries out as he punches another away from him.

Vision tinted as red as his old super suit, Kaine lays a beatdown upon the gangers that he rarely gets to indulge in nowadays. Not since coming back to New York, since being thrown across the multiverse.

One by one, they stop attacking him, but that hardly means that Kaine lets up. Relentless as a storm, he pummels the face of their leader again and again and again. Keeping a white knuckled grip on his shirt so that he doesn’t run. Or collapse. His spidey senses have been long silenced, unfortunately for the criminal his foe is only listening to the blood roaring in his ears. 

“HEY!” A new voice shouts from the entrance of the alley and Kaine stops, frozen mid punch down.

Kaine doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, still breathing heavily as he stares down the weakly whimpering criminal he’s holding up. Whose face currently looks like a pizza pie. Heels crunch through the ice and snow, but he doesn’t hear them slip once.

A gentle hand falls onto his shoulder.

“Let’im go, Kaine Brain,” Harley commands with a warm tone.

Kaine drops the goon, and slowly backs up with a shuddering breath. His eyes are burning from the cold morning, and his unshed tears doesn’t help him whatsoever either. Harley immediately puts her pointer and middle finger to the unconscious man’s neck. Looking for a pulse, whilst frowning then sighing in relief.

Kaine backs up to the frozen red bricked wall of the alley, leaning back on it loosely. A frustratingly numb feeling settles into his skull as Harley checks over each criminal. Biting his lips then wetting them a few times, Kaine looks up to the sky again. Still catching his breath.

It’s a beautiful morning.

…Why is it a beautiful morning?

“...Kaine?”

“...mgh?”

“What happened here, Kaine?”

“They jumped me.”

“Uhuh?”

“...I jumped back.”

“Hey… look at me.”

Kaine looks down from the sky and at Harley, she’s not in her usual get up. Her hair is up in a loose and messy bun, doesn’t have her makeup on yet, wearing an old Gotham University sweatshirt, and a ratty pair of jeans, faded and near the end of its life. Sporting a black eye too.

“You look quieter today…” 

“...What’s going on Kaine Brain? I don’t like seeing my favorite bartender like this.”

“I don’t know…”

“I think you do.”

“Mgh…”

“Did something happen with your brother?”

“...”

“Kaine?”

“...I don’t know how to be a person.” Kaine sighs and drags his hand down his face, a familiar chronic pain shoots up his spine too. Great. He forgot to take his meds this morning too. Just perfect.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I just… don’t know how, I… everything I did I-I did for my brothers,” Kaine breathes deeply and unsteadily. “But I fucked up… I fucked up without even realizing it and now and Ben hates me he hates me …”

“Why do you think so?”

“...” Kaine grips his hair tightly and shakes his head. “God I can’t even tell you I don’t know what’s too much or too little-”

“Man, they jumped you on the wrong day Kaine-”

“My life is such and a fucking shit-show who do I have to blame for it? Me-”

“ Kaine- ”

“I fucking abandoned him and here I was demanding him to talk to me like I have the fucking right- ”

“Kaine!” Harley shouts, breaking him out of the downward spiral, gripping his shoulder tight. “ Breathe , queens. You’re having a breakdown…”

“Don’t deserve to, I don’t get to be the one to feel bad about-”

“Shut up and breathe, asshole,” Harley lightly shakes his shoulders, a worried glint in her eyes. “C’mon, in four out four.”

Harley lifts her fingers slowly counting to four, breathing with Kaine, holding for one second and then slowly lowering her finger back down to a fist when they exhale. One, two, three, four. Repeat. She guides him through breathing for a few minutes, as if they’re not still standing in an alleyway filled with concussed ne'er do wells. Just a psychiatrist and a bartender. Just two friends.

“Better now…?” Harley asks as she lets go of his shoulders, offering up a small half smile.

“Yeah…”

“Ready to talk to mama Harls?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know where to start…”

“I’ll start then, why do you think your brother hates you?”

“...I… I’m the one who abandoned him.”

“Yeah?”

“After we… buried them, I fucked off to the u.k.,” Kaine clenches his eyes closed, and tightly so. “I only just got back just to New York for maybe… a few hours before we were forced to-... before we had to leave.”

“Oh Kainezey…”

“He spent Thanksgiving and Christmas alone and I never bothered to call him, or text him, or call him back, or text him back either. And here I was demanding him to talk to me and be there for me and I’m such a piece of shit what a fucking monster-”

“Hey, stop that.” Harley gently slaps his face, pushing herself away from Kaine with a comicall shrug and tilt of her head. “You fucked up, but you’re not a monster. Not enough teeth for that.”

I got fangs.

“How do I fix this?” Kaine asks as he opens his eyes again, looking at her with a mighty bit of desperation. “This stuff… this stuff is hard for me. I don't know how to… my memories... I don’t have the equipment for this. What should I say? What should I do?”

“Did you apologize?”

“I tried to but things were-”

“Heated, I get that, hun.”

Kaine looks down again, not knowing what else to say.

“Listen to me… you fucked up.”

“I know…”

“When things calm down, try to give him a proper apology.”

“That won’t be enough, how do I fix -”

“Relationships don’t work like that, and it uh… won’t be enough really- now hold on before you get all sad n’ stuff,” Harley snaps her fingers in front of Kaine’s face, leaning back when he lifts his head.

“Sometimes we fuck up! Sometimes we’re the assholes! The cheaters! The liars! The fuckin’ jerks who hurt the people we love the most,” Harley begins to pace a little in the alley, gently walking over and around Kaine’s sleeping victims. “We never think that we’re gonna be that fucking guy but then we are. The bullets that people brag about dodging. Do you know what you can do now?”

Kaine shakes his head.

“Apologize, and then you learn, and then you move on that’s it-”

“But that’s not enough I fucking abandoned him-”

“Are you gonna do that again?”

“ No. Never.”

“See? Already learning,” Harley steps forward. “...and I don't think he hates you. Maybe right now he does, but stick by your brother. Neither of you will be keen on losing the other after your family’s passing, codependency and all that. Show that you’re not gonna be an asshole anymore. This isn’t the end all be all. Not unless he wants you out of his life.”

“...ok… ok I think I understand…”

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah, but the guilt is crushing me…” Kaine takes in a deep breath and lets his shoulders fall as he exhales.

“Good, means that you have a conscience.”

“Inconvenient.”

“Deal with it, fucker,” Harley laughs, and punches him on the upper arm. “It’s a damn burden here in Gotham but we gotta live with-”

“ Uuuuuuuuugh .” One of the false facers groans by their feet as they slowly wake up.

Kaine looks down at the in the slightest amusement, and Harley rolls her eyes. Thence, she kicks the already agonized criminal.

“We. Were. Having. A. Fucking. Moment!” Harley snarls with each kick of her sharp heels. “Have. Some. Fucking. Respect. Doctor and patient. Confidentiality!”

Kaine slowly begins to laugh as she kicks the guy while he’s down. Rubbing his face. Surprised to find it wet.

When did I cry during all that?

Harley spins around, grinning, while swinging arms a bit at her sides, “Hehehe, we’re friends now.”

“What?”

“We’re besties. ”

“ No… ”

“Yes we are! Helping a friend through a breakdown in an alley is a landmark of bestiedom.” Harley tosses her arm around his shoulder guiding him out of there.

“I don’t think that's true.”

“It is in Gotham! C’mon I gotta introduce you to the rest of my crew, they’ll love you oh just you wait. Nanaue is gonna be so excited! ”

“Hold on…”

“We’re gonna make friendship bracelets, and get mani-pedis, and talk shit about other people, and binge watch our favorite shows, and talk about our crushes, my crush is my wife by the way. Have I ever told ya about her? Oh my god she’s so hot lemme tell you…”

Kaine sighs and shakes his head, barely hiding a smile.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor…

“We’re going out to the city tomorrow,” Dick informs Peter at lunch, idly chewing his cereal and reading a recent edition of the Gotham Gazette. Peter peers closely at the front page of the paper, reading the headline. “Make sure you have some clean laundry ready.”

Terror at Blackgate and Arkham!

Gotham residents are urged to keep their doors locked and stay off the streets, as the maximum-security prison Blackgate and mental asylum Arkham both endured through mass prisoner escapes in an oddly organized disaster in the night. The Bat clan and anti-hero Harley Quinn failed to make a prompt response to the facilities. GCPD informs all telephone and internet connections were cut, therefore causing the delayed response from Batclan and police. Over five hundred prisoners escaped from Blackgate, and over one hundred from Arkham asylum. All major rogues are out on the streets. Citizens are urged to invest in gas masks, anti-fear/laughing gas inhalers, and personal armaments such as…

“...Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Peter sets down his sandwich.

Dick raises an eyebrow, lowering his spoon back into the bowl, “I thought you wanted to get out of the manor?”

“I do but the news…” Peter gestures to the newspaper.

Dick turns the paper around, and huffs angrily at it. With a roll of his eyes, he sets the newspaper down on the table, a little roughly too. Glaring at the thing as if it's contents have personally wronged him.

“Don’t worry too much about that,” Dick then continues eating the cereal, which seems to be the leprechaun kind. “The rogues tend to lay low after they escape from their sentences. As for the rest of the lot, well they usually stick to the alley or to the docks. We’ll only be at downtown with a security team, don’t worry. You’ll be safe.”

“Security team?”

“You won’t see them,” Dick polishes off his cereal, and then pushes his bowl to the side. “In fact, I should uh… tell you how this’ll work.”

“How will what work?”

“Well, rich people get kidnapped a lot here in Gotham, money can provide a lotta security here, but we always have to be careful,” Dick begins his explanation. “The security team should look like normal people, a strict itinerary, I’ve rented out some stores I know you’d like-”

“Wait… rented out?”

Dick smirks, “Rented out, yes.”

Peter shakes his head, “How… How rich are you again?”

“Peter!” Wanda admonishes, slightly aghast. 

What?

“You can’t just ask a person how rich they are!” Wanda chides.

Oh,  come on, he my foster Dad don’t I get to know?

“I’m not rich, Bruce is, he just gives me a… hefty allowance,” Dick chuckles, picking up the newspaper again. “In fact, I need to do an interview and other things while you, Duke, and Tim are off and about.”

“What job are you applying for? Oh, wait, was that rude to ask?” Peter frowns as he picks his sandwich back up.

“No, it wasn’t.” Dick shakes his head. “I’m applying for a PR job at Waynetech.”

“Wait… can’t Mr. Wayne just give you the job?”

“Oh, he totally can, he just wants to make sure I still know how to do an interview,” Dick smiles, “And you don’t have to keep calling him Mr. Wayne.”

“Is it annoying him? I can’t tell.”

“It is.”

“Then I’ll keep doing it, someone’s gotta keep him humble.”

Dick’s shoulders shakes lightly as he laughs, and Peter smiles as he bites into his sandwich. It’s a beautiful day out. It’s not snowing, not raining, bright and clear skies shine through the old Gothic windows. It’s like the city is choosing to put on makeup today, it’s still a horrible place, but at least it’s pretty.

“I’m also uh, trying to hire you a dentist and a therapist too,” Dick scratches the back of his neck. “Having some… difficulties on that end. I think I got someone who would be more than ok to be your therapist, but she doesn’t live in Gotham so those meeting might take place online.”

“Cool, cool, you don’t need to hire her though I really don’t want to talk to anyone about the stuff in my head.”

“I think it would really help you, Peter.”

“Hire her if you want, I just won’t talk, and it would be a waste of money and her time.”

“If you say so, Pete.”

“A therapist might be beneficial to you, Peter,” Doctor Strange advises.

Oh, you’re back huh? You’re on parole here so don’t pull anymore of the dream stuff or I’ll put you in time out again.

“What’s with the issue with the dentist?” Peter asks curiously but is immensely pleased that it might be put off.

Dick shifts, looking away while biting his lip, then back at Peter. An odd glint in his eyes that is slightly troubled and a little of something else as well. Anger perhaps? At least it’s not directed at Peter.

“...Let me worry about that.”

“...well now I am worried about that. What’s going on?”

“It’s complicated, um, how much did you keep up on the news while you were…?”

“Homeless?”

“Yes…”

“To be honest, I only tried to listen to the stuff about the heroes and rogues,” Peter admits, taking another bite out of his sandwich. “Mph… have to… y’know? In crime alley.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, but I get your reasoning.” Dick places his elbows on his table, glaring at his empty bowl. “There was a… event. Regarding a meta child and a dentist. She had super strength like you.”

“Uhuh?”

“She… accidentally crushed the dentist’s finger with her jaw, the phalanges were smashed into dust. It was a… quite a lawsuit, but the news didn’t report on it at all.” Dick taps the table, choosing his words carefully to keep his opinion on the matter neutral. 

“The mayor passed a new law, all metas and parents of meta children have to tell their medical professionals about their powers, that's when word of what happened reached the public” Dick clenches his fist tightly on the table. “Now families are having trouble getting medical aid because of-”

“Meta hate…”

“Yeah…” 

Peter sighs and rests his forehead on his fist, tapping the table angrily. This universe is a shithole. Well, this particular part of the universe is. Gotham. Peter would kill for the X-Men to come here; they’d fix all of this up no problem. Yet an aching worry drives into his shoulders, if Gotham is the first city to do this, will other cities follow? Or states? Would this lead to the Supreme Court? Whose even on the court again? Or perhaps his opinion is... wrong? He can't tell, it's a grim reality that people are having troubles getting medical support but do medical professionals have the right to know who they're working with? It seems so political; he'll have to think on it before he forms a concrete opinion.

“Hey, it’s ok, I’ll find a dentist for you,” Dick softly interrupts his thoughts. “Dr. Thompkins is looking through her contacts and recommendations list for us, we’ll find you one-”

“I… I don’t think you will-”

“Peter, I promise as your guardian that-”

“I got another power… that has to deal with my teeth, specifically,” Peter blurts, putting his fist away and tilting his head down as if he’s ashamed. “They’ll…notice it on the x-rays.”

“Another?” Dick tilts his head in confusion and mild surprise.

“It’s a scary one actually, you wouldn’t see a member of the justice league with it.”

“That doesn’t matter, Peter.”

“It does…”

“Well, what is it?” 

“Just, promise you won’t tell Mr. Wayne? Or anyone else? Not even Alfred?” Peter asks softly.

“Peter… I don’t know if I-”

“Please?”

“...I promise.”

Peter takes in a deep breath, before lifting his hand to his face. Gently pressing his thumb and pointer finger onto key points on the maxilla. Tilting his head just so, wincing uncomfortably as he feels the teeth shift and move within the bone. Then, he jerks his fingers away quickly and his long fang pops out of the maxilla and protrudes through his lips, with a wet squelch and crack that reverberates through his skull.

Dick’s jaw drops in shock, and Peter’s shoulder’s slump.

“I go’ ‘angs…” Peter struggles to speak through the pointy bones.

Dick leans back in surprise, “You got fangs…”

“...‘orry.”

“No, no don’t apologize, not over this,” Dick shakes his head hurriedly, leaning back up. “I’m glad you told me… this might affect you getting a dentist.”

“I ‘on’t ‘ink I ‘ill-”

“Huh?” 

“I ‘on’t ‘ink I-”

“No, no you will,” Dick runs his fingers through his hair, frowning. “Just… damn we might have to fly someone out.”

“‘Ey’re eno’ous…” 

“Huh?”

“Eh - nom- ous.”

“I-I’m sorry I don’t-”

Peter lets a growl of frustration that’s borderline inhuman before he grabs the sandwich, he was noshing on a few minutes ago and pierces his fangs through it. Feeling an odd pressure and release through the too long bones. It’s slightly uncomfortable, like forcing slush through a straw, but his venom eventually seeps through. Coming out faster if Peter bites down further and jerks his head animalistically. Dick stares in fascination and perhaps a little disgust.

When he releases the sandwich from his fangs with a gasp, he gently wraps the bottom of it in the nearby cloth napkin. The snack is dented, the two pierced holes in it have a black liquid bubbling in them. Tinting the area around each hollow a dark gray. It smells slightly of gasoline and lilacs. He hands the bundle over to Dick, who examines it with a critical eye. Realization blooming in his face.

“Venom,” Dick shakes his head, gawking at the fangs. “That… ok… yeah. Um.”

“‘O en’isst.”

The day passed and Peter’s fangs slowly retracted back into his skull, he spent most of his time in his bedroom because of that which sucked completely because he wanted to spend some time in the lab. He just couldn’t risk anyone seeing him, sure with school underway Duke, Steph, Tim, and Damian aren’t in the manor as often but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Alfred would clutch his pearls.

Yet he was excited! Finally leaving the manor! They are only doing it for his mental health and are incredibly paranoid about his physical safety but he’s going out. In rich peoples disguises too, sunglasses, baseball caps, outfits with no logos on them. The works. Duke and Tim are tagging along too, they’re gonna show Peter their favorite spots in the city. For Duke it’s an arcade and then a Thai place, for Tim it’s an observatory. 

If they have time for that of course, they made it clear that today is for Peter, and he’s practically vibrating in excitement in the car seat while Dick drives a nondescript sedan. Four other cars are driving along too, all different colours and makes and models but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who's in them. The security team, Dick was right, they’re really stealthy. Kind of cool, like a police escort.

“I’ll meet you three at the Thai place, ok?” Dick informs with one hand on the top of the wheel. “You’re free to walk around downtown, just stick to the itinerary so the security team doesn't panic.”

“Why would they panic?” Peter curiously asks.

“Cass keeps on giving them the slip and they’re always afraid they’ll lose their jobs,” Duke smiles while scrolling through his phone.

Peter inwardly chuckles, well aware of how sneaky Cass is, and her sense of humor too. Doesn’t outwardly make jokes of course, but a small prank or two is her style. Damian’s style too, well, he wouldn’t call it a prank, he’d call it something fancy like ‘comical sabotage’. 

“Cass is cool,” Is Peter’s only response. 

“She is.”

As they approach the city, all of the cars join the freeway that wrap around the north to the northwest side, avoiding crime alley altogether. Peter frowns a little, it was a long shot but he was hoping they’d atleast drive through it. He’s heard how the alley has degraded since spider-man ‘died’ and was counting on assessing the damage himself. 

How the heck am I supposed to get back to being Spider-man now?

Wayne manor is at least fifteen miles out from Gotham, and sure, Peter can run fast. Like his top speed is nearly two hundred miles an hour, but his shoes would clearly show wear and tear. Also the manor has an extensive security system in place. Seventy five percent certain he saw a garden gnome with a camera for an eye.

“How’s the city been since I went off the radar?” Peter might as well ask.

“Fine, well, as fine as it ever could be,” Tim messes with the radio on the dashboard. 

“Even considering last night?”

“ Especially considering last night.”

Peter frowns and looks at the city, and it is looking pretty today. He faintly wonders if it always looks like this during the daytime. Did he only ever see the night? He spent a lot of time at school, travel took up some time, and then the library.

What makes daytime Gotham worth the nighttime one?

“How often do the rogues escape?” Peter shifts. “That mass breakout…”

“They uh… usually only do it individually?” Tim looks at Dick nervously. “Mass breakouts aren’t common.”

“Might be a new thing now, considering how easily they overwhelmed the bats last night…” Duke growls, glaring at his phone.

“Let’s drop that topic,” Dick taps the wheel, looking slightly tense. “Where almost at city center, I’ll drop you three at the park ok?”

“Sure.”

The three teens put on their little disguises, sunglasses and baseball cap. It’s ridiculous that they even work, especially the glasses. With all reasonable sense they shouldn’t work, people should be able to discern Tim and Duke, but as they step out of the vehicle, no one gives them a second glance. 

“Have fun!” Dick calls from the car.

As Dick drove off the other vehicles parked in random places, some individuals left their cars, and some stayed in. One of the vehicles is blasting I’m just Ken from the Barbie movie. It makes Peter smile, funny to imagine a rough and tough security team listening to that as they drove into Gotham. Wait no, it's not the security team's car that's playing, it's Dick's. Figures. 

“Sooo…” Peter claps his hands together as he takes in his surroundings. “Are we actually gonna follow the itinerary?”

“Fuck no,” Tim laughs, and Peter sighs in relief.

Yeah, today might actually be fun.

Chapter Text

It became a game how quickly they could lose the security team and then jump back into their view before they could call Dick. Also, they found a particularly filthy alley with lots of empty beer bottles and took turns throwing them at a wall to watch them explode and shatter into sharp little shards. In all honesty, Peter’s having a blast.

Normal teenager shit. Poking around, making mistakes, insulting one and another occasionally. He’s never had that before. Not even before the spider bite, he was too much of a social outcast, plus when he had asthma, they couldn’t always afford his medications. It was hard to find a pediatrician in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s refreshing, being out and about with no worries overhead. No villains, no crises, and no medical debts.

Right now, they’re walking down some sidewalk, checking out some various shops. It is strange how much you could buy in Gotham, like things that shouldn’t be for sale to the public. He saw store windows with things as simple clothes while one a single door down sells chemicals, metals, and various alloys.

“How is that legal?” Peter asks, surprised. “Selling all that stuff, how is that legal?”

“I don’t know man, it’s Gotham,” Duke sighs and shakes his head.

Man,  if I knew about these stores I could’ve repaired the Iron-Spider suit to peak efficiency. Even repair Karen, her crime and evidence evaluation systems were really out of whack.

“No kidding, remember when she told you when that kitten you saved from a house fire was guilty of public indecency?” Sam laughs.

“Feel bad for the bats, it's like pushing a boulder up a hill, like, look at that!” Peter gestures to a store front with various futuristic weapons and swords in the window, its sign only says ‘Inators’ . “Could be a comic and collectible store but there’s also a forty five percent chance it sells space weapons in bulk.”

“Nah I've been in that one before actually, it’s both.” Tim helpfully informs with a cheeky smile.

“Fuck, right, of course it’s both,” Peter’s shoulders slump as he tries not to slip on the ice. “Man, I miss New York.”

“You don’t talk about New York often.”

“What’s there to say?”

Peter bites back every word about New York he can, he isn’t sure how different his New is to this one. If he acts heartbroken enough, they might even take him there, asking him to show them around his city like how Duke and Tim are doing with Peter right now. Believe the spider teen, he wants to go back to New York he really really does.

Just not this one.

“I’m sorry Peter,” Mantis apologies, sensing his longing.

“You guys lived in Gotham for a while, right?”

“Born and bred, the both of us,” Tim smirks.

Peter thinks back to his previous musings, from on the drive here. Gotham is such a terrible place, why do people live here? Sure New York is terrible too but it has charm, a ritzy old and new enticement that keeps on sucking people in. Sure in the day to day he was tired, or annoyed, or angry because of all of the villains, but every now and then a burst of elation would take his heart over walking down a city street. Naturally of course, because it’s New York.

“Not to uh... insult your hometown, but why do people stay here?” 

“What do you mean?” Duke starts to kick a random can down the sidewalk.

“I mean, what makes Gotham worth it?” Peter asks as they approach a city bikeshare rack. “Why do people live here? Why do the bats fight for it? Everything good here turns to shit. Sometimes… I don’t know, I feel bad for saying this, but sometimes I feel like they should just let the next fire blaze on. Start something new from the ashes.”

Duke and Tims faces turn angry, and Peter shuts his mouth, feeling guilty for talking like that to them. This is their hometown, not his. Of course, he wouldn’t know the answer.

“That’s a messed-up thing to say, Peter,” Tim responds in a soft voice. 

“I’m just trying to understand…”

“You don’t understand,” Tim growls. “You don’t know anything about this city, in fact you and I know two very different Gotham's’. What the bats do matters a lot, they wouldn’t abandon it now.”

“I don’t think I did-”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t because you were-”

“What, homeless ?”  Now that sparks some anger in Peter’s head, a green tint covering Peter’s eyes, as Mantis struggles to contain his verde rage from the Lazarus waters. “Like that’s something to be ashamed of? Or is Gotham the version you know just that golden sippy cup you sipped from your whole life? The one I lived through isn’t valid because I didn’t have three meals a day?” 

“Peter, that’s not what he meant,” Duke tries to defend Tim.

“No . Cause he’s right. I don’t understand Gotham. I don’t understand how the Bats abandoned the alley for months on end, I don’t understand why Spiderman did more there in a couple of months than they did in years-”

“Peter-” 

“Gosh I wish things had changed in the alley sooner, I didn’t have money or influence or a rich dad that looked out for me,” Peter poked Tim’s chest. “I don’t understand. I experienced a different Gotham. You’re soooo right. Or maybe, maybe your Gotham doesn’t exist anymore huh? Newsflash by the way! The bats have already abandoned Gotham! The Gotham I know sent fucking pedophiles after me almost every day to which I had to fight off by myself. Fuck knows the bats wouldn’t of saved me if I called for help, not worth it to them, they don’t patrol crime alley remember?”

“ Peter… ” Tim’s angry and pinched face falls in horror, instantly paling. Duke covers his mouth in shock.

“So yeah, this place could use a nice fire, and I hope to  God or Satan or someone the bats don’t put it out. It’s all just one city Timtam, the only thing that changes in it is who gets to prosper. Soooo glad it was you.”

“Peter, we didn’t…” Duke shakes his head.

“Don’t let’s just… let’s just get to the Thai restaurant, ok?” Peter digs through his pockets to find a few coins to slot into the bike's lock and intake. “Today's done. I’m done. Screw you guys. Let's go home.”

Duke and Tim silently pay for their bike rentals before removing them from the rack, Peter’s already sitting on his. They turn the bikes off the sidewalk and begin riding down the bike lane of the road, Tim and Duke leading the way, whispering to each other.

“I didn't mean...” Tim whispers to Duke.

“Of course you didn’t, but how else would he hear it?” Duke whispers back, his voice thin and taut. “Rich trust fund baby telling a street rat he doesn’t know the city that burned him? You’re lucky he didn’t have a pit reaction.”

“I know I know…”

“Hell, I’m mad at you now.”

Peter shakes his head, trying to block out the conversation ahead of him. Little stupid that Duke is siding with Peter now but when he was ranting, he defended Tim, pick a side man. In situations like this, he wishes he could turn off his super hearing. It was convenient when he went out on patrol, but now he’s in the civilian way. Everything is hell.

“Maybe you should talk to that therapist Grayson offered to hire you,” Sam suggests with a light voice. “Despite them not succeeding they still tried to… hurt you in a bad way.”

Enough. I don’t want to talk about it. Not today, not ever.

The security detail follows them slowly, seeming more organized now that they're heading to the restaurant. Tim and Duke are blessedly silent, as are the ghosts. Peter shakes his head, it’s not fair he can’t even have a single thought to himself, the ghosts of his past riding along with his train of thought. Knowing him better than he ever cared for anyone knowing him.

I’m banishing all of you for the rest of the day, come back in the morning.

“Wait what, why?” Peter Quill squawks.

Cause this is my head that’s why! Consider yourselves lucky that I don’t charge rent.

Silence. There is no sweeter a sound.

When they arrive at the Thai restaurant they abandon the bikes on the sidewalk, Duke ushers them inside and Tim avoids meeting Peter’s eyes. As the door dings announcing their presence, he notices the restaurant is totally empty, but it seems it’s built for a lot more people. Ah, right, Dick had mentioned earlier that he rented out some storefronts from them. Including the Thai place, waste of money for the other stores as they kind of fucked about all day. 

A waitress guides them to a table, and they sit down, Peter immediately starts scrolling on his phone. Tim and Duke sit about on the other side of the table, awkwardly. Well, maybe not Duke. Tim at least looks out of place and guilty. Peter is too angry at him to allow guilt in, sometimes a person needs a good slice of guilt. Plus, Tim should practice humility, it’d be good for him considering his tax bracket. 

The waitress returns with a couple of menus and glasses of water, Peter doesn’t spare a second a second glance at any of the aforementioned. He’s too pissed right now; he’s got the right to not understand damnit. Tim only knows bougie Gotham city, made up of the people with the most money and power. Who also turns a blind eye to the city’s sufferings (excluding Mr. Wayne of course), of course Tim would say he didn’t know this city.

Asshole.

The door chimes again Peter looks up, Dick walks into the restaurant. Looking slightly haggard despite the fancy suit he’s wearing. His expression a half hearted glare at Peter as he trudges in. Sitting on the chair next to Peter’s with a huff.

“Nearly didn’t get the job because the security team kept messaging me,” Dick relays with a tight voice, his disappointed gaze not just falling on Peter but also Duke and Tim.

“Wasn’t your interview with Bruce?” Duke asks.

“Yes, but you know how… prudent he can be, why didn't you stick with the itinerary?” 

“Did you expect us too?”

“I suppose not,” Dick sighs, then looks at Peter. “Well hope you had fun anyways.”

“...”

Dick raises an eyebrow at Peter’s silence, then looks at Duke and Tim, jerking his head at the melancholic meta silently asking ’ whats this ’. Tim avoids looking at Dick, and Duke just mouths ‘later’ . Dick huffs and shifts awkwardly as a tense and awkward weight hefts through the air, Peter would be empathetic if he wasn’t so upset. Walking in after your friends and family have an argument is a really specific and bad feeling.

“Well… don’t let whatever happened ruin the day,” Dick tries to salvage the situation. “We’re um… at the best Thai restaurant in Gotham! It’s probably your empty stomachs souring your moods, let's get some food.” 

“You order for me, I’ll be in the restroom,” Peter stands up from the table and storms away.

“What happened? ” 

“I fucked up…” Tim mumbles.

“How?”

“He… we… he told us something,” Duke tries to find the correct words.

Of course,  they’ll tell Dick about what I mentioned. Ugh.

Peter enters the restroom; he doesn’t even need to use it. Only beginning to pace back and forth, shoes squeaking annoyingly as he attempts to cool his jets. Wouldn’t do him any good to have a pit reaction out in public, he doesn’t know much about the Lazarus waters. The Waynes knows more than him, which is weird on how tight lipped they are about it, but that also begs the question. How many others know about it as well? Is this a one percenter conspiracy? That the elite have the means to defy death?

No, that can’t be right, Mr. Wayne would’ve brought back his parents by now if he could.

Peter walks to the sinks, turning the cold-water tap, running icy and questionably clean water through the pipes. He splashes the water on his face, attempting to cast his thoughts and problems away. Today was supposed to be fun. It mostly was until Tim…

Did I overreact?

Yes, what Tim said was out of line, but he feels a bit guilty about his reaction. Was it proportional? Should he stand his ground? The psychology of arguments is completely lost on him, but what he does know is this, what happens in the argument can sometimes shift the blame. Bringing up one past experience, one accusatory statement, one manipulative ploy, or sometimes in even more grim scenarios one physical strike against the other.

“Maybe I should listen to Dick, not let this ruin my day,” Peter sighs as he grips the sides of the sink, looking down at the still running tap.

Yeah, maybe today can still be fun. 

That hope is dashed away when he feels the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head, “...Not a chance Pete.”

Chapter Text

“Wade!?” Peter gasps as he turns around, shock and amazement pushing the previous emotion of anger out the window.

There he is, in all his red glory. Deadpool. In his classic red and black combat suit, a dark leather bandolier full of bullets across his chest, holsters on his hips, each one having a gun within of course, and naturally Bea and Arthur. His prized katanas. He waves with his free hand, the other still pointing the gun.

“Hey Petey-poo, Petey-pie!” Wade greets happily. “Peter rabbit! Pete-von-Pete, Peter… okay I ran out of nicknames gimme a minute-”

“How are you here!?” Peter whispers, lowering his voice to a strained whisper.

“Oh, I hop scotched across universes, duh.” Wade shrugs as he lowers his pistol, “Everyone seems to forget that I can teleport, well, er canonly only the Deadpool from Earth-10005 can do that cause John Wraith allowed him to? Or wait, did he yoink that ability away? Oh whatever, this is a fic afterall, if the author wanted to turn me into a god she totally could. Canon’s our bitch. ”

“...uhuh?” Peter didn’t understand any of that.

“Sorry it took so long, I spent waaay too much time on Earth-928B,” Deadpool laughs and rubs the back of his head with the gun. “But I had too! Have you ever seen Miguel O’hara’s ass? Dayum! Bro is dummy thicc, and yes readers, my adoring audience, that is indeed spelt with two motherfucking C’s.”

Readers? What?

As Wade prattles on Peter only shakes his head in awe. All of the words are in English, the very language he grew up with, but somehow Wade uses them in such a way it sounds as if he’s using a dialect from galaxies away. Wade however, is here. Here, in this questionably clean bathroom, is a person from his past, his universe. An ally, a friend.

Wade’s inane ranting halts with an ‘oof’ as Peter slams in for a hug, the teen immediately begins crying into the kevlar against his cheek, he’s trying to be as quiet as he can, but he can’t help the tears. It’s not Aunt May, not Uncle Ben, not Mr. Stark, but it hardly matters, still someone. A friend from before, from the simpler times.

“Oh, aw c’mon kiddo…” Wade hugs him back. “I’m sorry, you’ve been through hell huh? If only you ended up in Metropolis…”

“You asshooole!” Peter wails.

“There there…”  Wade pats the back of Peter’s head, gun still held in that very hand. “Comedic relief is here.” 

Peter is ugly crying now, snot and tears smeared all over his red face. He half wants to un-banish the ghosts to show them that it’s possible to go back home. If Deadpool can strut across the multiverse on a mere whim, then Peter can totally find his way home as well. Without accidentally blowing up the multiverse along the way.

“Hey Peter, are you alright, I hear you crying, and I-” Dick suddenly walks in looking at the floor, then raises his head and therefore he freezes.

He looks at Peter.

He looks at Peter’s snot and tears.

He looks at Wade.

He looks at the hug.

He looks at the gun.

Oh, shit wait oh my god.

With a furious roar, Dick lunges forward, “Get away from my kid! ”

“Ah ah ah!” Deadpool shakes his head and then points the barrel at Peter’s head again, though the teen does not feel any danger rise. He twists Peter around, still holding him close but now no longer hugging. Dick freezes.

“Let him go, now. ”

“Y’alls security team is shit by the way I literally walked in through the back.”

Duke and Tim rush in, and freeze as well, Duke looking as furious as Dick, Tim’s face holding horror and that same fury.

“I know what this looks like, but I assure you, I don’t hurt kids,” Deadpool promises, but doesn’t remove the gun. “Rent though, is shockingly expensive here. Which is what? Weird. All of the memes say oooo rent’s gotta be so cheap in Gotham but here I am paying two grand a month for what? A shitty studio apartment! I’m pretty sure that diddler Riddler lives a few doors down from me!”

“Let-!”

“Gimme money and I’ll give him back!”

The grip on his shoulders tightens and the world falls out beneath them, crap, he’s forgotten that this was one of his powers. Here it comes, yup, the world turns pink and bright. Almost hazy as well. As they float, or perhaps fly, the world shifts weirdly as if they are in a Lisa Frank painting. Herds of neon Pegasus's fly through the hot pink sky, neon green dolphins swim through cotton candy oceans below, the whole world they’re in is a trip. They’re in hell, they are traveling through hell itself.

The sun has a face, smiling at hero and anti-hero both. It winks at them.

Then, they fall out of that reality. Their surroundings turn grey and brown, dingy, they are back in their correct reality. Peter jerks his shoulder away and then falls to his hands and knees and vomits, a hand pats his back as he empties his stomach, not much comes out, he didn’t have lunch yet, but the puddle on the floor is glowing pink with sparkles in it.

“Oooh sorry about that I forgot that peeps hate that part, sorry Petey…”

“The huueearhghhh…  fuck Wade!?” Peter gasps and gags.

“Sorry, aw man the floor I just steamed vacuumed- shit I mean sorry-” He helps Peter up and procures a fine lacy handkerchief from somewhere, and hands it to Peter.

“The fuck was that Wade!?”

“Again, sorry about the teleporting thing-”

“No, the ‘ gimme money and I’ll give him back’ part!”

“Oh yeeeeah… rent’s expensive,” Dead pool tosses his gun away, it falls onto a couch chocked full of garbage and weapons. He helps Peter up.

“God why did you show up?”

“Well, there’s no way I was going all the way up to that fancy mansion, Wayney got like… soundwave guns? Like weird guns that cause tooo much noise, I think it’d pass out,” Wade goes over to a small kitchenette table and pulls out a couple of chairs, walking back with them to only lift Peter by the arm and place him down in one.

“Why did you show up then?” 

“Huh?”

“I just told them that pedos tried to assault me while I was on the streets and then you show up in the bathroom? With a gun!?”

“Oh thaaaaat ,” Wade sits on his own chair but sits the wrong way. “Yeah, the author really didn’t intend that, totally just wanted me to show up and take you here. But then! Then the comments were all like ‘damn wade showed up in the bathroom with a gun right after peter told them about the pedos’ and she was all like ‘oh shit Wade did show up in the bathroom right after that huh’ and then went with it which sucks-”

“I-”

“Didn’t help me with the hug either by the way!”

“Shit I’m sorry…”

“Eeeh don’t sweat it.” 

“But um… how will they get to pay you? You didn’t say how much… or where to send it?”

“...”

Peter waits.

“...Ok, I didn't think that far ahead.”

“Goddamnit Wade,” Peter groans, facepalming.

“Hey, don’t worry about it!” Wade slaps his knees. “How about pancakes? Want pancakes? I know you do, because I read this chapter already and you didn’t get lunch yet.”

“Ah?”

Wade stands and skips over to the small kitchen area, a pink frilly apron poofs onto his body, same with a pink and tall chef's hat appearing upon his head. Peter shakes his head as he begins to work, taking some time to take in his surroundings. The carpet is at least clean, it’s true what Wade said he just steam vacuumed. Everything else though is… well it’s got to be an acquired taste.

The couch is red and there's a bump in it that moves, with his super hearing the teen determines that it is a rat. The walls are yellow with peeling wallpaper. The ceiling is a similar colour. The chair he sits upon doesn’t match the other. Garbage and weapons everywhere. The four windows that he sees have the grand view of dark brick walls. A small cot in the corner with a few blankets

Two thousand a month for this place? His landlord is worse than any of the rogues.

With a sigh, he fishes out his phone, opening the Wayne family group chat, and beginning to write to them.

Peter: idiot didn’t even take my phone.

Stephers: :0!!!!!!!

Grand-Duke: HOLY SHIT

Timmy: PETER

Angyandtiny: Do not panic, observe your location for possible escape routes.

BruceWayne: Hide the phone, don’t turn it off. -Bruce Wayne

Angyandtiny: You took all that time to sign your texts in a hostage situation?

Timmy: R U OK

Stephers: WHER R U

Uncleangerissues: Hide the phone.

Legalgawdian: EVERYONE STOP TEXTING

Legalgawdian: We don’t know if his phone is on silent

Peter: of course its silent, think this is my first time being nabbed? 

Peter: professional hostage here

Stephers: dick hired you that therapist yet?

Legalgawdian: enough

Legalgawdian: Jason is right. Hide the phone. GCPD can ping it then someone will rescue you.

BruceWayne: That is what I said. -BruceWayne

“Whatchu doing over there?” Deadpool hollering as he furiously mixed the pancake batter in a hello kitty bowl.

“Texting my foster family.”

“Cool, can you tell your foster dad I want uuuuh… two million? In exchange for giving you back?”

“...three million,” Peter decides, a tad offended. “You’re asking for three million. ”

“Peter… be honest…”

“...”

“Peter.”

“One point five million.”

“There you go buddy.”

Peter: Uh

Peter: development 

Legalgawdian: What’s wrong

Peter: He wants a million and a half and he’ll give me back

Uncleangerissues: He knows about the phone

Peter: Apparently?

Peter: but hey guys?

Peter: I’m worth more than a million and a half right?

Stephers: HAHAHADHHGGHJGCDRYTUIBM

Peter: Like a solid three mil at least?

BruceWayne: What are you still doing on the phone, hide it. -Bruce Wayne

Peter: He’s busy making pancakes, it’s fine. Back to the three million thing

Timmy: Pancakes?

Peter: he’s wearing a frilly apron too but stay on track the three mill

Uncleangerissues: THAT SICK FUCK

Peter: whats wrong with pancakes?

Grand-Duke: i might actually puke

Angyandtiny: I will kill him

Legalgawdian: Not b4 me

Peter: omg guys wait no it’s a normal cooking apron

Peter: On top of his clothes nothing saucy or spicy (pun intended)

Peter: damn you guys are protective 🫤

Stephers: its how we love

Peter: well love less or express it like normal people do

Peter: i got pancakes to eat

Angyandtiny: Do not eat the food you moron!

Peter laughs as he clicks off his phone, looking up at Wade as he carries two plates stacked high with the disks of bread, Peter balances the plate in his lap, but sighs in frustration when he sees no fork or knife on the plate. Wade digs in with his hands paying no mind to the maple syrup, Peter sets the plate down on the floor next to him. 

“...why are you here, Wade?”

“Toldja, rent.”

“No, not that, but here?” Peter attempts to clarify. “In this universe?”

“Oh that, yeah well, I’m here cause uh… you lost the plot.”

“What?”

“Your drive.”

“I-”

“Your mojo.”

“Wade-”

“Grew soft.”

"Now you’re just insulting me.”

“But don’t worry!” Deadpool fishes through a nearby pile of trash. “Cause I got the plot! Right here.”

Deadpool pulls out a stapled stack of papers, holding up high almost reverently. It’s sticky in maple syrup and there pink glitter caked over it. Though it is filthy, Peter can just barely make out the words on the front page. ‘Ignorance is Death.’

“See ummmm… you haven’t been you lately, man,” Wade tosses his own pancakes onto the carpet, flipping through the papers. “Remember your og quote? Your sorta oath? Great power comes with great responsibility? Remember that?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well you got power, and a responsibility, why are you sitting on your ass man?”

“I’m grounded-”

“Hahahahaha- oh wait you’re serious?” Wade jerks his head in shock. “The amazing spider-man who can hack through the avengers tower just to avoid his bedtime so he could go patrol, but not sneak out of Wayne manor? To which its impressive security systems is shit when compared to Starks?”

“That’s not fair…”

“Fairness got nothing to do with it, you’re running out of time here man ,” Wade shakes his head, his mask turning serious. “Really thought Thanos was gonna sit on his laurels while you got the soul stone fused with your soul? Really think he hasn’t moved pawns across the board? Puh-lease. He’s already been capturing a lot of this team's pieces.”

Capturing? Wait…

“The super speedsters?” Peter gasps in growing realization. 

Batman, from what he remembered from the snippets he and the others revealed during their patrols together, was spending a lot of time with the justice league. Members were going missing , are still missing,Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Superboy, Kid Flash, the only one who has reappeared is Superman. Nightwing though, told him that Superman was out of sorts when he came back from… allegedly Thanos.

Oh my god… they’re either dead or in his clutches…

“Not just them, but yeah,” Wade nods grimly. “There’s a particular broad he’s got his hands on that is gonna be a reeeaaal nightmare in later chapters, but it'll be a while yet. We’ve yet to get to the thing that’ll happen to poor Rueben. You’ve got to get off your ass here buddy, the whole multiverse is at stake now and I like the multiverse, I live here. Think I’ll move out into the irl? Feeeeeeeeeck no. Not in that housing crisis.”

“Multi… housing…?”

“Besides, you got a personal stake in this again, more than just an old vendetta against that dried grape Thanos,” Wade procures a lighter from… Peter doesn’t want to know where, and lights the stack of papers aflame, tossing it into the garbage. “Yours brothers, Kaine and Ben for that matter. They’re alive, here .”

…

…

What.

“What!?” Peter shouts as he stands up, backing away from the quickly spreading fire. “They’re… what?! Here in Gotham!?”

“Yup!” Deadpool slaps his knees again as he stands up.

“Where, how… why the fuck did start a fire!?” Peter backs away from the quickly spreading flames, feasting upon plastic, paper, and pancakes.

“I had too, I just read to this part!” Deadpool grabs Peter’s shoulder, and guides him roughly. “Gotta cover my tracks here, but don’t worry I’ll be around. Next time the audience will see me is when Kaine starts his search for your corpse.”

“What?!”

“What, did you think they think you’re alive? You died basically twice to them; it’s really fucking with their heads.”  Deadpool then lightly shakes Peter’s shoulder. “Kaines is starting to get off his ass, which means you need to do so as well. Which means, I need you to trust me here.”

“Over what?”

“Just trust me, Peter.”

“...no.”

“Pete!”

“Fuck you, you dragged me through a nightmare hell Lisa Frank dimension and then set your apartment on fire!”

“Ughhh fine then!” Wade groans. “I was gonna throw you out the window anyways.”

“What-”

Thence, Wade hoists Peter by the back of the shirt and throws him through the window. He had barely a second to cover his eyes, to shield away the shattering glass. The Gotham daylight pierces his eyes as he free falls.

Crap crap crap! 

He doesn’t have his web cartridges; he isn’t anywhere near the building he was so rudely thrown out of, nor is he anywhere close to the other building across the street. So, it seems this is it. Somewhere deep down, Peter always knew it would be Wade who’d kill him. It tracks. Wade may be silly and eccentric, but he could kill all of the avengers if he had wanted to. Like how he just killed Peter here.

Something slams into him, knocking him out of the free fall in a swing.

Chapter Text

Nightwing had saved him. Caught him mid fall by swinging from a grappling hook, landing them on a nearby rooftop. Away from the currently burning building. 

Or at least he thought it was Nightwing, next thing he knew he turned into a mother hen, hurriedly fussing over Peter like there’s no tomorrow. Peter allowed it, answering a few questions here and there too. ‘Are you hurt?’ ‘Did he touch you?’ ‘Do you need to go to the hospital for anything?’ ‘Any other types of wounds?’ ‘You don’t have to say anything, just tell me if you need the hospital, it’s ok.’

“Can barely hear myself think here,” Peter mumbles, in shock over all the bombs Wade just dropped on him. 

Nightwing frowns, looking at Peter, then over his shoulder at the inferno, Peter frowns at that too, “Shouldn’t you uh… go do your hero thing? Save the people in that building?”

“It’s being handled by the others.”

“Others? You mean Signal?”

“Him, also Batman, Spoiler, and Red Robin.”

“So, including yourself, five heroes?” Peter shakes his head in confusion. “Four of which are not even daytime heroes. Why’d you show up?”

Nightwing purses his lips, probably assessing how much he should reveal, “We’ve been attempting to track down a new mercenary on the rogue scene for a while now, him showing up out in the open was a… impromptu opportunity.”

“Yeah, sure I could believe that for two seconds,” Peter rolls his eyes.

“If you’re not hurt, then I’m going to bring you to the police so you can give a statement,” Nightwing informs, looking over the rooftop’s edge at the emergency service vehicles down below. “After that, they’ll hand you back to your foster family, alright?”

“Cool, but I’m not going to do that, the police statement thing,” Peter clarifies. “I’m uh, gonna check out here.”

“Check out?” Nightwing blinks.

“Yeah, like, disassociate, new trauma and all that,” Peter shrugs, with an easy but heavy smile. “I can basically do it on command now.”

“That’s not healthy-”

“Didn’t say it was, but uh see ya.” With that, Peter unfocuses his gaze and then… he’s gone. 

His hearing is muffled, and he is slightly aware that Nightwing is saying something probably urgent. Faintly aware of being shaken, then being picked up, but he’s gone. People have weaponized his traumas against him in the past, so he might as well weaponize his coping mechanisms to his benefit as well. So, what if it's worrying, if he has a card then he's going to play it.

In the recesses of his mind, he turns everything to focus on what Wade had just thrown onto him. His brothers being alive, Thanos behind the disappearances of the heroes in the justice league, and where Peter with the soulstone fits in all of it.

Which begs the question, why now? If Thanos is doing all of this just because Peter has the fancy primordial rock, what could he possibly stand to gain from it? His greatest ambition, from what Peter was able to discern, was to cause as much death as possible. He already won back in his universe; he can’t even imagine how many people died after the battle of Titan. Wade had said that the multiverse was at stake, so is that what Thanos wants? To destroy the multiverse? That doesn’t seem right, the infinity stones are powerful on a cosmic level, but not multiversal destruction level. So, if it’s not about Peter, or the soul stone, then it’s something about this universe that interests Thanos.

What could that be?

It’s apparently so important and or powerful he’s preemptively taking out the entire justice league to make things easier, but why hasn’t he shown up yet then? They’re effectively crippled, their heaviest hitters are captured. Not dead. Captured. That’s not Than-ass’s style, taking them alive, so what could he gain from that? Information Possibly, could enslave one with the mind stone. Just one at a time though, that’s what happened to Hawkeye, Clint, back in the start of the avengers. So who could he possibly play that card on?

Superman.

Icey cold fear froze Peter’s shoulders and spine, threatening to shatter him beneath his own weight. That’s why Superman is back, he didn’t escape at all, he’s some kind of… sleeper agent who was already deeply woven into the Justice League. 

Fuck.

Okay. Okay okay okay.

That takes priority. How does one fix mind control? Wasn’t it Loki who mind controlled Clint with the fancy space rock last time? I’ll have to ask him how to fix that. Tomorrow. Fuck. I banished my ghosties till tomorrow oh god regret, I got the regrets.

His brothers, Kaine and Ben, where do they fit into this puzzle, that whole light column from forever ago was them apparently arriving here. Which leads to the how, and the why, and where the fuck are his brothers now? How could they fall into this, if they believe Peter dead? He needs to deal with the superman situation first, but the next priority should be contacting his brothers, no wait- warning the justice league about Thanos.  

How can I warn them? Maybe I should just come clean to Nightwing right now, that I’m Spider-Man. Identities be damned. 

“Um, hey I-” Peter mumbles, looking down, not sure where to start.

“You alright kid?” Jason asks.

“Yeah, wait huh?!” Peter jolts in surprise, looking to his left. Seeing Jason there.

“What?” Jason raises an eyebrow.

Peter looked around, he’s… in a car. Driving through Gotham suburbs, on their way out of the city. His vision tilts this and that, he can’t hang onto the sights outside the car, his stomach doing backflips. Queasily looking to his left, Jason is behind the steering wheel, keeping his eyes on the road, but occasionally looking over at Peter.

“We’re in the car…?”

“You uh… checked out remember?” Jason frowns.

“Oh yeah… I can do that on command,” Peter chuckles, rubbing his tired eyes before closing them. “Checking out, very convenient.”

“That sounds like dissociation, kid,” Jason chuckles a little, but there’s no joy in it.

“It’s convenient!” Peter laughs, opening his eyes and running a stressed hand down the side of his face. “It’s like a skip button for a video game but irl, no long flights, no awkwardly ignoring weirdos on the subway, no memory of getting tortured-”

“That bastard tortured you?” Jason growls, his eyes somehow even greener as he grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white.

“What? No, that was the politest kidnapping I’ve gone through in my life.”

"But you've been tortured in the past?" 

"I mean... maybe?"

Jason sighs, loudly, “Dick really needs to hire you that therapist.”

Peter groans, covering his face with his hand. Dick. Nightwing. Deadpool. He should’ve said something back there. Some little tidbits of information that Nightwing could pass along to Batman.

“You alright?” Jason asks again, seemingly awkward about checking up on people.

“Just… something Deadpool said back there, should’ve told Nightwing,” Peter scratches his forehead. “Something… bad.”

“His name is Deadpool?” Jason asks, face turning pinched in seriousness. “What did he say?”

Should I tell him?

…

Fuck it.

“He said that someone named… Thanos has the missing heroes,” Peter mumbles, playing with the hem of the shirt.

“What? Who? And why would he tell you that?” Jason’s brows shoot up in surprise, looking at Peter, then quickly looking back at the road.

“I don’t know, and he didn’t strike me as… sane?” Peter shifts uncomfortably. “His apartment was a whole osha violation, he made me pancakes, then he asked me to text dad- Dick for the money to give me back! Not a lot of sense in my opinion.”

“Hngh…” He grunts in a very batman-esque way.

“...today sucked.”

At last, they arrive at the manor, and Peter’s bones might as well be full of sand with how he stumbles out of the car. Jason says something about Alfred, and Peter nods along but in reality, he’s exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally, all the things someone could be exhausted from, Peter currently is, and he’s still hungry too.

Didn’t get any Thai food, couldn’t eat pancakes because Wade besmirched cutlery. He would immediately go fall into his bed if not for his enhanced metabolism. Seriously, he could lose pounds he doesn’t have if he skips only a few meals. It’s an issue.

The large old doors to the manor open, revealing Alfred, whom immediately ushers Peter and Jason inside, “Master Parker, Master Todd, welcome home.”

“Hi Mister Alfred.”

“Hey Alf.”

“Master Parker, you have been through quite an ordeal,” Alfred closes the door, “Is there anything you need at all, young sir?”

“I need some food, I’ll stop by the kitchen-”

“I’ll prepare something for you master Parker, you shall go rest.”

When Tim, Duke, and Dick came home they immediately smothered him in a dogpile hug. Well, it didn’t start as a dogpile, they ambushed him after he left the art room. It started with Duke pulling him into a hug, then Dick joining in as well. Then finally Tim slammed into the three which caused them to go tumbling to the fancy floor. Duke cusses at Tim, Dick wheezes, and Peter coughs in surprise.

“Peter I’m so sorry I-I didn’t mean-!” 

“Tim, I promise I’m not angry anymore please get up-” Peter rasps.

“Oh, right sorry I-”

Another force slams onto them, causing the four wheeze and cough brokenly. Peter is coughing the most, the air being shoved out of his lungs as he is at the bottom of the pile.

“Peteeeeeey!” Stephanie cries out in joy, squeezing a hug around them as tightly as she could. “Oh my god I’m so glad you’re okaaay!”

“Stephanie!”

“Can’t breaaaathe!”

“Oh my god I’m dying, Kon… Konnor I see you; I’m coming honey hold on wait for me.”

“Guys wait we’re crushing Peter-”

Crime Alley, Harleen Quinzel’s apartment

“Whoa whoa whoa sugarplum, back it up a bit,” Harley relaxes on the center of her couch, her two hyenas lounging on both her left and right side. “You want what?”

Kaine sighs, taking a moment to look around the apartment. Sitting across from her on a blow-up gummy bear shaped chair, a coffee table shaped the wonder woman crest between them, the apartment matches Harley's personality perfectly. The curtains are cow print, the ceramic coffee cup he drinks from has boobs on it, the couch is a refined red leather but torn apart with scratches from her pets, and nearly every surface in the apartment is covered in potted plants. The large bay windows have many hanging glass prisms and stained-glass art, the evening sun casting down rainbows of colours upon them.

“Chemicals, metals, tech, I know what you’re thinking,” Kaine shakes his head. “I am not joining the darkside, quite the opposite actually.”

“Kainey-Wainey this… is pretty stupid,” Harley frowns, scratching her hyena’s ear. “It’s hypocritical of me to say but the hero's game is a fool’s game, you don’t want to be dragged into it.”

“That ship’s sailed.”

“Sailed, as in your mysterious past that you’re incredibly sparse on details about other than the few things you revealed to me like your daddy issues, your odd complex to protect your brother, failing to be there for said brother, a near constant identity crisis, and unjustly blaming yourself for your other brother’s death?”

“Yeah that.”

“Fuck me that does sound like the bones of a hero origin story,” Harley groans and looks to the side, closing her eyes and puffing out a breath before looking back at Kaine. “Bestie I need proof here, I ain’t just giving you superhero resources without proof you ain’t in over your head here.”

“I got proof, but I’m not sure you’d go nark on me to Batman,” Kaine raises an eyebrow.

“M-me?! A nark?!” Harley gasps, completely aghast, her hyenas growl at Kaine a little. “I'm your psychiatrist! How dare you! I thought we was friends…”

“Exactly, we’re friends-” Kaine agrees and Harley lights up like a christmas tree. “ Which is why I have to be careful. This city really… tests all relationships y’know? I’d rather be stabbed in the front than the back.”

“Yeah yeah, I get that hun, but I ain’t going to snitch unless you go all bad guy,” She leans forward, with a small smile and nod. “I’m your psychiatrist rememba’?”

Kaine sighs, looking down at his lap, nodding. Of course, this is Harley he's talking to. If he can't trust her, then he can't trust anyone in this city, not even Ben. Then suddenly, he flicks his right hand, slinging a web. It hits the hanging glass prisms in the window. Shadows of spider webs fall onto them, enwrapping the room in dark webs like his brother’s namesake.

Harley’s jaw drops, and her hyena's cackle.

Kaine sits patiently, looking at the cat clock on the wall, “I’m gonna give you say, thirty seconds, to lose your shit about this.”

Harley nods, shaking her while taking a deep breath.

Three, two, one…

“The FUUUUCK?!” Harley screeches as she stands. “Webs!? Webs?! The whole time!? The plot can’t get any thicker , Kaine! It was soup, then it was slop, now it’s grits! It. Is. Grits! You are… I thought you’d be smaller! I saw the videos! I thought you’d be built like a toothpick, how the hell?!”

“Five, four, three, two, one… and times up,” Kaine places the coffee cup down. “You good?”

“No,” Harley mumbles as she sits back down.

“Ok, firstly, I’m not Spider-Man,” Kaine informs. “You’re right, he’s a lot smaller than me but we’re still-”

“Oh, oh, the dead brother…”

“Yeah him, but I’m more like… a clone of him?” Kaine informs with a grimace. 

She gasps, the hyenas tilt their head, “Oh my god the identity issues make sense now… wait… I thought he was a teen?”

“He is… was… sixteen, me and our other brother were made from his DNA by one of his first enemies a couple of years ago,” Kaine rubs the back of his neck. “You know that basic bitch villain thing? Making a hero fight their equal, which is themselves?”

“Ok, yeah, I think I… wait…” Harley's face pinches as she realizes something. “That means you’re just two years old!”

“I mean technically…” 

“You’re just a baby!” 

“I-”

“ Oh my god a baby is working as a bartender.”

“I got all of his memories up to a certain point so do not think I’m incapable of anything.”

“...”

“...?”

“Oh my god the identity issues make so much sense now, dayum.”

“Harley-”

“Oh, my goood, your breakdown in the alleyway! When you said you don’t know how to be a person, oh Kainez…”

“Harley please, back to the topic at hand,” Kaine begs, he rests his elbows on his knees. The gummy bear chair squeaks as he shifts his weight.

“Why do this?” Harley asks. “If you’re capable then that’s one thing, but there's got to be more reason hat.”

“...why?”

…

‘Great power comes with great responsibility’, god Peter, get out of my head.

“Something about his death stinks to high heaven, he should've been able to handle everything that happened that night,” Kaine shakes his head. “Back before all… he would have kicked Batman’s ass while using Superman’s spleen as a coaster, and I don’t say that lightly.”

“Gross imagery.”

“The villains here started acting weird around the same time he debuted in Gotham too,” Kaine leans backwards again. “It’s connected, I know it. I need to… I need to figure out what happened… and maybe… find him too. If he’s truly in the harbour, frozen, I don’t think, well, he deserves better than that, I deserve to say goodbye too. ”

“Oh Kaines…” Harley slightly pouts, her eyes sparkling and sad.

“I can manage without you Harley, I’ve bitten off bigger on my own, but I’d rather have help from a friend. Please, help me?”

Harley smiles, slaps her knees as she stands up, walking to Kaine in the totally not goofy chair before leaning down and giving him a hug. Kaines sighs, before hugging her back. For once, he doesn’t deny that an embrace is comforting to him. She’s like an annoying older sister, but in her own Harleen type of way.

“I got a feeling you’re still telling me nothing but crumbs, but that’s ok,” Harley pats his head. “I’ll help you Kaine, but only if you promise you’ll keep letting me help you. No going solo here in Gotham, not even batsy has managed that.”

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

Ben holds on to the metal pole tightly as the bus lurches to a stop, then wiping his hand on his pant leg as he clumbers off the bus. Huffing and glaring occasionally at people who don’t move out of the way fast enough, someone pushes him forward, but he doesn’t care to look back. Pushing past people until he finally steps out of the bus, finding the ‘fresh’ Gotham air as vile smelling as its public transportation.

The kitten in his pocket meows with annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah I know you hate this plan,” Ben mumbles as he darts into a nearby alleyway. “Trust me I don’t like it either, but we don’t have anything else at this point.” 

Today they become villains.

If one could call robbing a tech store a villain, by the very least he’ll be a small-time criminal. 

Rueben mewls sadly.

“Oh hush, we- I… just have to do this.”

Too much time’s been wasted, they’ve settled into Gotham, learned the city, its heroes, its villains, its culture, and taboos. The next step is science, assessing the laws of physics then breaking them over a pool table. Find a way home. To do that he needs computers, hardware, beakers, metals, all the science stuff he could scrounge and steal. Even if this world's scientific era is a generation behind his own, reinventing the Stark Age of science should be simple for the likes of Ben Parker.

First though…

Ben pulls the hoodie over his head, walks to the corner of the alley, the store across the street shines brightly. Lextech™. There’s no way in hell’s kitchen he’s robbing a Waynetech storefront in the billionaire's own city, his rival though, reasonably that is fair game. Though the location isn’t ideal, there’s no computer stores in crime alley, small and big businesses both have enough sense to stick in the fancier parts of the city.

Exhibit A; downtown.

The location was chosen purely based on its distance from the nearest GCPD station, so if he fucks up, he only has a couple of minutes to run and evade any prison time. The plan is simple: walk in casually, knock out the clerks before they could react, get to their store computer to clean out the camera footage, indulge in some humble shopping, place his purchases in some shopping bags, and then leave the store just as cool and collected as he did when he walked in.

“Simple.”

Great power comes great- 

“Shut the fuck up, Peter!” Ben smacks the side of his head, then groans in pain.

Okay ow , super strength.

Reuben meows worryingly, the shifting weight in his pocket reminding him of his new charge. Sighing, then leans back on the greyish brick wall, then whips out the cat. She’s still small enough to hold in a single hand, but she’s gained lots of weight and her coat has lengthened substantially. The grating white light from across the street reflects softly on her fur, the tortoiseshell pattern becoming a mix of a chocolate brown and a honeyed gold. Her little green eyes blink slowly at him, sparkling peridots who hold cosmic secrets. Reuben makes a small attempt to bat at his nose.

Ben sniffles, squeezing his eyes closed tight, “ I can’t get him out of my head.”

The meta clone presses his forehead against the kitten’s, fighting the tears that are forming in his eyes, “Ever since we got here… those words, those exact words. What they meant to him but never to me.”

Reuben bites at his hair, and Ben lets out some spider-like chitters. It’s not often he lets his inner spider out, he hasn’t woven nearly as many webs as he likes (needs) to, nor is he content with his current abode. Sure the sewer apartment has all the things a spider could enjoy dark, closed off, safe, and practically impossible to find. Though it’s not up high, he likes his webs up high, and the running ‘water’ outside their door. It grates his ears and bounces off the walls in a constant echo that builds, builds, and builds. 

Reuben meows and bats his forehead, needing the forehead hug to end. Ben pulls his forehead away, only to give her a little kiss on her head. 

“Maybe Kaine is right, I dunno,” Ben declares weakly, looking up at the sky, it is morning now. Pink and purple clouds gently cascade across the sky.

“I don’t know anything anymore-” Ben murmurs softly to the cottony warmth, then a crash suddenly assaults his ears. 

Gasping as he stumbles away from the wall, Ben looks across the street then groans when he spots various punks robbing the place. The glass floor to ceiling windows shattered, a getaway car parked haphazardly on the street, the robbers running from the car and then back into the store carrying their ill-gotten boons. 

Reuben meows smugly.

“Hush.”

Perhaps this changing tide waved into his favor, if he had gone through with his plan he could have been seen as an accomplice to the tactless thugs. Ben would has escaped easily from the police, though that would put damper on staying on the oblivious side of the Gotham Bat, and then on top of that Kaine could lose his job at Equilibrium. The older clone told Ben of that weird speech that this ‘Victoria’ had given him, it’s best if their meal ticket isn’t lost over a small-time crime. Big time crime would be better.

“Guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

Traveling back to the sewer apartment was akin to a walk of shame; the day could have been dedicated to something else, something better, but now he is trudging home empty handed. No closer to finding a way back to their universe than the day they first arrived here. They have no possible way of knowing what’s happened while they were away, and they wasted so much time.

How long have we been here? Must be a month and a half now.

The metal stairway clanged loudly as he climbed upward, the foul-smelling river below burning his nose and eyes. At least the air in the apartment is stagnant, making it less odorous. There are some things people just don’t go ‘nose blind’ to and one of those things is sewage; however, rather unfortunately for Ben and Kaine Parker their enhanced genetics keeps senses -including smell- extremely aware of everything. 

Thanks Peter.

Great power comes with great-

Oh shuddup, fuck you. Stop haunting me.

The kitten in his pocket starts wriggling, and likely so because the smells and sounds indicate she is soon to be freed from her pocket prison. Her eager meowing makes Ben smile, at least someone is eager to be home. Ah. That reminds him he’ll need to figure out a way to also safely transport Rueben across the multiverse. Shouldn’t be too difficult, mayhaps he needs to build her a kitty space suit or cage.

“Would you like that, Rueby?” Ben asks as he opens the door. “A little space sui-”

Ben pauses as he walks into their apartment, almost every surface is covered in bags and boxes of all sorts of… tech. There are  raw materials sitting about, surrounded by various small and large machines, computers, motherboards, and dark monitors are already installed on the right wall of the room. It’s chaos. It’s like a tech company threw up in their abode.

Kaine stands in the middle of it all, mid placing down an open box. The older clone blinking at his sibling in surprise, he quickly drops the box and straightens his posture while rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tick. His brown eyes flit around the room searching for answers, but only finds chaos as their orbit; and a great distance between them.

“...”

“Listen I know what this looks like,” Kaine instantly attempts damage control, taking a step away from the box. 

Ben recognizes the contents from the glint of the light and the smell his nose can barely pick up over the metal wires about; twaron, technora, alkex, and kevlar. Defensive fabrics. Used in swat police utilities, military personnel, and… heroics.

…

Oh.

“I know you’re pissed, I would be too,” Kaine huffs helplessly as he watches Ben climb over the mess towards his web. “Especially how careful we’ve been to stay hidden, and I will continue being careful I promise you that.”

Ben calmly removes Rueben from his pocket, the kitten goggles at the new changed space with a mild alarm.

“I just need to do this, Ben,” Kaine continues to argue as Ben walks back. “I’m asking you to put your mask back on, I’m not asking for help, I can do this by myself.”

“Bullshit.” 

“What?”

“I’m not putting my mask back on though, you’re right about that,” Ben says as he finds where his chair is and moves a couple bags off and then sits down.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

Ben begins to putter about the contents of the table, removing things from bags, organizing them, and then moving onto the other techy chotskies strewn about the old rusting metal table. A flurry of movement that is just a tad too fast for the average person, the faintest of hums and chitters that are distinctly not human. 

“Uh, Ben?” 

Ben hisses.

“Fuck fine okay!”

Kaine steps over the concerning amount of technobobbles to the wall; he climbs up it in a nigh horror movie way before settling onto his own web. Ben was attacking the boxes of tech like he was half starved and every container had a few cheeseburgers and calzones in them. In truth Kaine shouldn’t be surprised; the younger clone's curiosity and aptitude for engineering was one of the attributes he had in common with Peter. Kaine never had the same partialness to the sciences and such, but has the inherited knowledge. It was actually a comfort to both, that Peter was a part of them but did not define them.

“Fuck you.”

“I can’t tell what you’re angry about anymore,” Kaine responds in sheer confusion from his perch on his web.

The room was converted into a laboratory at an astounding speed, the empty boxes were scattered about haphazardly. Kaine couldn’t even tell what time it is now, the only clock they have seems to be buried in plastic wrappings. Ben is still at the table, seemingly done unpacking and building the bulk of the packages and is now attempting to recreate Stark tech out of what remains.

The Sewer Room has been transformed into an Ops center.

“Again, fuck you.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You were right and fuck you.”

“Right?” Kaine raises an eyebrow, then looks at Rueben who is settled on Ben’s web and looks as confused as a kitten could possibly be. “What could I be right about?”

“Peter.”

Kaine freezes, looking down at Ben in shock. Ben always gets pissed when Kaine brings up the topic of Peter. The younger clone’s back is turned against him, but he seems to have stopped working on his current project. 

“You don’t like talking about him,” Kaine mumbles.

“I don’t but that doesn’t change that you were right.”

“...yeah?”

“This city… and Peter, ugh fuck this is hard!” Suddenly Ben slams his fist down onto the table, denting an enraged imprint into the metal

The reverberating metal clang echoed around the room painfully, loud enough to ring outside the room as well. Kaine made no visible reaction, only letting out a soft sigh before climbing out of his web. He hops down to the floor with an ‘oomph’, dust picking up where his feet land.

“...lately I’ve been scared that I, uh, don’t know how to be a person,” Kaine reveals. “With Peter gone I guess, I dunno, it reminded me that I’m here because of him. Now, with him gone I’m scared of what that leaves me with.”

Ben doesn’t respond.

“And he won’t leave my head either. I hear his voice, all the fucking time. Weird dreams too. It’s like he’s haunting me or something.”

“...”

“I wish Mary Parker was our mom, I wish Richard Parker was our dad, and I wish uncle Ben was our uncle too. I wish we both got a childhood, something real, more than Peter and his memories. I thought I was over this clone stuff, and I hate that I’m not.”

“...Kaine.”

“I guess the reason why I left in the first place was to find something that belonged to me, and me alone, nothing that had to do with him, but all I did was abandon my only family.”

“...”

“I’m so sorry Ben.”

Ben stands up, his chair falling to the with a clang, turning to face Kaine with a pinched face. He immediately hugs Kaine with a spidery trill. The hug is tight, way too tight for human capabilities, but luckily for Kaine, he isn’t completely human. The hug is painful and would crush the flesh and bones of a normal person, but Kaine hugs just as strongly, chittering as well.

A lifetime ago, along came a spider.

Then two more.

Chapter Text

If Peter wasn’t coddled before, he sure is now.

On the night he was ‘rescued’ from his mercenary friend Deadpool, lots of things happened in the manor. He had someone with him constantly, whether it be Tim, Stephanie, Duke, or even Alfred he was not alone unless he was in the bathroom. And even then they would knock on the door every five minutes with the equivalent of a ‘you good champ?’ Peter could recognize the whole routine; him revealing a major trauma only for them seeing him cornered in a bathroom by gunpoint (which wasn’t actually what happened) and then getting kidnapped, they believe an old trauma was reopened then smothered with a new one. They are afraid he’ll hurt himself.

Mister Wayne started a phone call and then disappeared deep in the manor, and to his surprise, Peter could no longer hear what he was saying. Dick made a phone call though, one that the spider could hear loud and clear. The entire security team that accompanied him was fired, not before Dick insulted them, their friends, their families, and their ancestors too. 

The following morning, when the ghosts were unbanished, was absolute hell.

Peter held nothing back, every ghost got all the details and none of them reacted well. Except for Strange. He made no audible response. 

Time passed strangely after that.

Peter hoarded himself into the lab that he never really questioned the existence of. Wade's words pinging around in his skull over and over again. Thanos. Superman. The Justice League. He needs to warn them all, raise the alarms, all hands on deck. 

“It’ll be foolish to go out as Spider-Man again Peter,” T’challa informs while the teen was in the middle of designing a new super suit .

Wait what why?

“The Batclan is the only hero organization that has not suffered any ‘disappearances’ thus far. Thanos knows you. Dawning the mask again will bring unwanted attention to them.”

I wonder why he hasn’t hurt them yet.

“He underestimates them. A mistake that we will make certain he pays for.”

Peter looks at his already half filled graph paper journal, he can’t just do nothing. Deadpool himself told him sitting on his ass is a multiverse level threat, if he can’t go out as Spider-Man then he’ll have to do something else. Plus his brothers.

They’re alive.

Peter slams his notebook closed with a shout, and in an instant begins ripping it apart. Green rage tinted his vision, which was already cloudy with tears. His super strength pays no mind to the thickness of the notebook. Quickly being torn into shreds.

I don’t understand. They’re alive. I’m happy I’m happy-

“Mantis what are you-” Sam asks.

“He needs to have a breakdown, I can’t keep blocking his heart,” Mantis snaps. “It’s not healthy.”

“Mantis please-”

Peter sobs, slamming his fist against the table again and again. His eyes burn, his lungs catch hold a single breath. He stops punching the table and grips his hair tightly as he sobs and wheezes for air. The weight of his situation finally comes crashing down on top of him and- holy mother of god what the what the fuck.

Thanos, Superman, The Justice League, and his brothers. Thanos, Superman, The Justice League, and his brothers. The entire multiverse is at risk here and Peter is sixteen years old. There should be older and more competent people out there to handle this so Peter doesn’t have to but he’s practically haunted by those theoretical people. He’s sixteen.

“Peter!” A worried voice cries out, and then the teenager is being hugged..

“No no I don’t know what to do I- hic,” Peter sobs as he pulls his hair.

“Hey no, let’s not do that c’mon,” It’s Dick’s voice, who is also trying to slowly pry Peter’s steel grip off his skull, struggling against the super strength. “Easy, breathe c’mon try to breathe please -”

“”I-I don’t know what-what to do,” Peter cries, shaking his head; nearly thrashing. “What he said- and-and the league I-I-”

“IknowIknowIknow-” Dick says hurriedly, still trying to stop Peter from hurting himself. 

He can’t know though. Dick Grayson can’t possibly ever know. Peter is the hero here, not his newest pseudo father figure. Peter is alone in dealing with this. His head hurts as his grip tightens further, and Dcik shouts something with worry and shock. God his head hurts now, and now his ghosts are shouting too.

Wait, ow… what?

“So, you’re my therapist?” Peter asks in disbelief.

“Yes, I am, Peter,” Dinah Lance greets with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Just to be clear, Dick wouldn't let me go back in the lab unless I agree to this therapy thing,” Peter reveals, sitting cross legged on the leather seat in the library. “I do not want to be doing this.”

“We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” Miss Lance assures. “And this is our first session, so let's start with icebreaker questions first.”

“Ok…”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Do you have any hobbies?”

“I code.”

“That sounds cool,” Dinah looks at her clipboard. “What sort of thing? Do you make websites?”

“More like… programs?”

The Batcave is as cold and damp as it ever was, the faint chittering of their chiropteran brethren above was symphony that prodigal son tuned out years ago. Dick soldiered down the stone stairs, faintly seeing the batcomputer around the computer. His father sitting in front of the technological wonder, typing away. Sections of the cave are lit up a faint blue from the computers’ light, if it disturbed the cauldron of bats above, they’ll never know. Undoubtedly though, the Bat is investigating this new enigma of ‘Deadpool’ and this ‘Thanos’.

Wally, when he made his official report to the justice league, relayed that he only remembers darkness and then occasionally a large purple alien. The details are incredibly sparse, Dick will have to call him again soon, he'll need to know everything he possibly can. Especially now that Peter was dragged into this mess.

Dick walks forward, standing only a few behind Bruce. Not bothering to hide his footfalls, the old man would know he was coming anyways. The typing stops, but Dick doesn’t speak for a few moments. Letting the old man stew.

“...If I find a single recording device planted in that room,” Dick warns.

“Unnecessary, Lance has been instructed to inform us if Peter becomes a danger-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Dick interrupts, glaring at the back of the chair which hides his father. “Dinah will inform me of anything concerning about his behavior. Not you.”

Bruce paused assessing his next words carefully, “His breakdown the other day-”

“He needs love, care, support, not Batman,” Dick stresses. “I know what you’re thinking, he’s not a danger to others.”

“...he ripped off a part of his scalp, chum.”

Dick squeezes his eyes shut, wincing at the memory that flashes before his eyes. Peter in the middle of a panic attack, crying, wheezing, the room covered in notes ripped beyond comprehension. Still too thin hands gripping his hair; pulling, ripping, and red.

“It… it healed; he’s got healing powers it was gone in an hour.”

“Di-”

“And it was a pit reaction which he normally has great control over, he didn’t mean to hurt himself.”

“What will you do if he does want to hurt himself?” Bruce spins around to face his prodigal son. “What then? How would you stop him?”

Dick glares at his father, whose expression is neutral but also accusing, “That’s why I put him in therapy. So it doesn’t come to that.”

“There are professionals out there who work with metas and are-”

“Like who? Tell me and I’ll contact them.”

“At Arkham asylum they could help P-”

“Don’t you dare say his name on that same breath,” Dick orders, pointing an accusing finger at Bruce. “He’s a child. You might like the idea of pushing your children away until they sort out their problems, but I don’t.”

“I have never-”

“You sent Jason to Arkham three times.”

“He needed help.”

“From you!” Dick shouts clutching the air exasperatedly. “All he ever wanted was for you to be there for him! For you to say sorry for all your fuckups! For his dad to hug him and to say it was alright! You think it was just about revenge? He was fifteen when he died, Bruce! Consider the notion, the idea, that he might’ve just been a teen in a man's body, confused and hurt that his death changed nothing? Not even his father?”

Bruce doesn’t counter that, but something indiscernible shifts in his eyes. 

Dick stomps forward, leaning down to Bruce's level, blue eyes meeting blue with anger and unaddressed resentment, “Bruce. I’m not like you, I’ll never be like you and by god I am so fucking proud of that.”

Dick is aware that he might be being cruel at this point but can’t find it in himself to care. His father has been treading a certain line in the sand that he set years ago when he first became Nightwing, but now it seems a new one needs to be drawn in the sand. For Peter.

“All through these years, I’ve watched, and I’ve learned from your mistakes. I’m not letting this cycle start again. Peter won’t have to fear for his life, because unlike you I won’t involve him in this. Peter won’t ever have to think he’s alone, because unlike you I will be there for him. I won’t shove him away when he’s hurt and alone, you hear me? Peter will never have to face death again, because unlike you I will kill to protect my kid. Do you understand me, Bruce?”

Bruce glares.

“He’s my son,” Dick backs away, straightening his posture. “My responsibility. Don’t cross me on this.”

Peter slams his door closed in front of Duke's pleading face. Then in frustration, he punches and kicks the air. Peter is very well aware of the fact that he’s acting childishly, but he can’t care about that at the moment.

“Something wrong champ?” Sam asks.

They won’t leave me alone!

“And whose fault is that? ” Sam asks pointedly.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Mantis apologizes with an unsteady voice.

Peter pinches his brows and then flops backwards onto his bed, covering his face with both his hands. The exhaustion that sets in his eyes follows him even when he’s awake, and it’s almost annoying at this point. 

That was messed up of you Mantis, you can’t just spring that on me.

“I’m sorry, Peter, I really-”

“Now they think I’m traumatized and a danger to myself,” Peter pulls the bed’s covers over him. “They won’t leave me alone! This will really put a damper on the whole saving my brothers and defeating Thanos thing!”

“I’m really-”

If you weren’t the only thing managing this pit stuff, I’d put you in timeout like Dr. Strange.

Peter tosses himself off his bed and goes to his desk, sitting down in front of his laptop with a deep sigh. Then he looks out the window, the grey Gotham day stares through the old glass, beckoning the spider to the city. Peter stands up roughly, his plush office desk rolling away with a shutter. 

He unlatches the window.

The Marvel Universe…

The guards were making a fuss somewhere down the hall again, and Scott can easily guess why. His new mystery roommate made constant escape attempts, which were sort of exciting at first. All the newbies bring a breath of fresh ideas and hope, but unfortunately the ideas are all sort of the same. Find the escape pods? Nope, there are none, everyone goes down with the ship. Take control of the vessel? The ship’s alive and it doesn’t care for mutinies. Cozy up to one of the guards to draw out their humanity? Laughable, they’re not even human. Fake obedience with a dash of stockholm syndrome to gain more privileges from Thanos and then make a quick escape? Didn’t seem to work out for that redheaded kid.

The membrane of the prison cell opens from the center as the guards come into view with the thrashing woman. Scott immediately backs up, away from the opening, knowing well if he stands too close they could just activate the device on the back of his neck and paralyze him for the next few hours. 

They toss her onto the floor and Scott leans on the back wall, watching her as she crumples with a pained cry. Scott shakes his head unsympathetically as he waits for the guards to leave and return to their usual rotations. 

“You know they’ll stop putting you under the knife if you stop making escape attempts,” Scott points out as he takes in the mystery lady’s newest batch of mods.

She’s really rocking the Nebula look, though it is very unfortunate that her ‘upgrades’ were not anything she consented to. Both arms were replaced with weird space sci-fi cybernetic ones, not overtly robotic looking, flush to the skin of her shoulders and oddly enough it even flexes naturally, but the green metal doesn’t exactly compliment her complexion. Both her eyes were replaced but at least those look natural, and her calves seem to look similar to her arms but seemed to have a new bulky hydraulic piston starting where the achilles tendon should be.

“...you ok?” Scott asks when mystery lady didn’t immediately stand up and insult him.

“... b-back.”

“Shit,” Scott crosses the small distance and kneels next to her, examining her prone form. Murder-lady never complains, not even fresh from surgery.

They didn’t zip up the back of her prison jumpsuit, the unclean clothes being supported only by her shoulders. With a murmured apology Scott moves the flap of the clothes just an inch trying to protect her modesty but also assessing the damage.

“Oh no…”

They removed her entire spinal column, or so it seems, as a cybernetic juts out from the base of her skull, down her neck and then further down her back. The skin where it meets cold steel is red and inflamed. The new column itself matches the dark green of her arms and calves, it seems to follow the natural shape of human vertebrae, the spinous process still extending outwards while the transverse processes extend to the sides, but who knows what else has changed beyond cosmetics.

With a grimace Scott zips up the jumper and moves back away from her, “They really did a number on you, murderzilla… why do you always got to fight back?”

She doesn’t respond but makes an attempt to move, struggling with a pained wheeze before slumping back down.

“I don’t recommend that, I remember when they fucked with my spine,” Scott advises. “Not moving helps, try to go to sleep as fast as you can. It’ll be better after that.”

“...I … won’t give up like… y- you.”

“God that’s my honest hope,” Scott replies as he sits crisscrossed near her head, watching her as she wheezes, her hair slick with sweat and stuck to her forehead.

“Do you… can I move the hair out of your face?” Scott asks. “I don’t… I don’t know how to help other than that.”

“...”

“...?”

“Tt… do what you want,” Killzilla acquiesces.

“I need a yes or no.”

“...”

“Well?”

“I… order you to fix my hair.”

Well, I suppose that’s close enough.

Scott allows his thoughts to float away as he detangles the unwashed strands and cards the offending locks away from her face. He can’t help but wonder who she is, her incarceration here must’ve been at least a couple of weeks by now but it feels longer than that, time has been… especially muddy to Scott. The woman has to be some kind of warrior, he wonders if she is in relation to the lady they once brought in tied in golden ropes. Strange as she is, she has been his roommate the longest, and Scott has been imprisoned on the ship the longest. 

Her new cybernetics poke out from the hem of her shirt, and Scott holds back a sympathetic flinch. There’s a solid chance now that Thanos might start modding her now just for the hell of it, and sure, they’ve all gone under the knife -none more than Reed’s- but now... He just doesn’t know. Mystery murder madam has major Gamora vibes, and who knows how her father, their captor, is connecting those dots. Scott can take a guess though. She’s already a fearsome fighter, but Thanos isn’t interested in fighters. He prefers weapons, inanimate and cold.

“What are you doing?” She asks, pulling him out of his train of thought.

“Hm? Oh wait-” Scott groans when he looks down at the half-completed braid on her head.

“What did you do?” 

“Sorry, sorry old habit,” Scott apologizes as he begins to undo the braid. “I used to… I used to braid my daughter’s hair a lot. Especially when she had rough days at school.”

“...you have a daughter?”

“...had,” Scott’s voice croaks slightly when he corrects her.

“...” Initially the woman is silent at the correction, but then, her voice comes back barely above a whisper. “...I have a son.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

“I will not tell you.”

“Fair enough…”

Scott finishes disentwining the braid, her hair still looks unclean but at least it's out of her face. She stares straight on, her cheek still pressed to the fleshy floor, cybernetic eyes irises that mimic her originals don’t show any emotions beyond something undaunted.

“My name is Talia.”

Chapter Text

Alfred knew instantly that something was amiss when the newest member of the family didn’t show up for lunch. That boy is a ravenous one, never having missed a single meal since moving in. A gut feeling as some would call it, and though Master Wayne would rather follow irrefutable evidence than a ‘feeling’ such premonitions have never steered the loyal butler to doom.

So when he opened the door of young master Parker’s bedroom only to see the space empty with an open window, he sighed, then sprinted (yes, sprint, or as much as his weary bones could allow) back down the halls to locate anyone of the family.

Legalgawdian: Where are you. Get back home.

Timmy: is this another panic attack?

Grand-Duke: peter we’re not mad just please come back

Angyandtiny: that is a lie we’re furious

Stephers: omg shuttup damian that is not helpful

Timmy: Breathe Peter, we’re not mad, it’s ok. It’s just another panic attac we understand but pls come back

Peter: sorry guys. I have to go

Legalgawdian: No you do not, get back home NOW

BruceWayne: …Peter this is very hurtful to the rest of the family. -Bruce Wayne

Barbie: We know you’ve been through a lot its ok we can help

Grand-Duke: we’re sorry that we’ve been smothering you lately if you need space we understand just don’t leave

Uncleangerissues: can yall stop blowing up the chat

Uncleangerissues: wait whats going on?

Peter: I’m really sorry guys, i have to go. I have a responsibility now, deadpool told me something that needs to handled. I have to do this.

Legalgawdian: oh god that fucking creep got into your head

Grand-Duke: im gonna puke please tell me you're not searching for him

Stephers: I fucking knew it ill kill him

Angyandtiny: his days are numbered

Bruce Wayne: …Peter… whatever that rogue told you cannot let it compromise your life.... -Bruce Wayne

 Uncleangerissues: oh he running isn’t he?

Peter: Thanks for taking me in guys, you saved me when I was going through the worst time of my life. Now I gotta return the favor, goodbye.

Legalgawdian: if this is about the grounding im sorry you’re ungrounded im not mad please come back

The phone crumbles like unfired clay as Peter clenches his fist, then tosses the ruined technology onto the thawing forest floor. The ghosts encircle him, at a respectable distance away, some shifting nervously, the others looking resolute and determined. The winds rustle through the pines fitfully, the skyline of Gotham city, just peeking through the conifers. The air is cold, winter just barely clinging on, but the spider pays the weather no mind as he walks down the forestry hills. Eyes locked onto his goal.

“You’ll be homeless again,” Mantis protests weakly.

Yeah.

“You will be alone again,” Drax warns.

Peter halts, looking down at his bare feet, he hadn’t even bothered to put on shoes before making his great escape. His toes are numb against the slowly thawing earth, and though spring is on its way, it can’t arrive early enough for those who cannot thermoregulate. He nervously clenches his fists, but he couldn’t deny the spark of hope blooming in his heart. Kaine and Ben. Alive. Alive alive alive.

Except I was never alone.

“You had us,” T’challa responds with warmth.

And now?

“We’re with you,” Bucky responds softly, “Till the end of the line.”

Hours passed since the last text sent by Peter and the manor was a flurry of movement, they tried to track the phone, tried to keep his texting so they could ping his location, but when they caught up to his location they only found the crushed remains of a phone, and no Peter.

Jason immediately went to the firestation, as he was the closest, he hadn't spotted Peter there yet. If he does, he’ll immediately inform Babs. Blackbat, Spoiler, and Robin are scouting the nearest city districts to the manor, keeping eyes on the streets, sidewalks and bridges. All the while Barbara and Bruce comb the city CCTV network, looking for a mop of brown hair and science themed pajamas.

Dick, already dressed in his gear, paces behind Bruce, as his father types away on the batcomputer. The prodigal occasionally halts and looks up at the screen with desperation, then hope, and then despair. Resuming the pacings and occasionally running a hand through his hair, while Tim and Duke lean on a gear-ridden table near the ledge overlooking the whole cave.

“This is all my fault,” Dick mournfully declares.

“Yeah, it is.” Duke easily agrees.

“Dude!” Tim gasps.

“What? I’m right.”

“But-”

“But nothing!” Duke slams his fist on the table behind him, glaring down at his feet. “Dick you didn’t let him leave the manor for months. Not even for school , he felt trapped here and I don’t blame him.”

Dick stops pacing and clenches his eyes closed in tightened shame.

“Because of you he didn’t trust us enough to share his traumas, and the moment some fucking asshole cornered him in a bathroom he-” Duke heaves angrily, eyes darting around the floor. “God he… he felt safer with some creep than with us.”

Duke covers his face with both of his as his shoulders begin to shake, panic rising through his heart and bile climbing up his throat. Tim wraps an arm around his shoulders and begins to lead him away from the batcomputer. Heading upstairs, with whispered false promises that their bestfriend is safe and he’ll be back home soon.

Dick shakes his head and storms off deeper into the cave, to where the vehicles are docked. Bruce doesn’t budge from the chair; he waits until he hears the roar of the Wingcycle peeling out of the Batcave. With a weary sigh, he clicks away from the CCTV images and opens the files tab. Opening the one labeled ‘contingency plans’, and then with a resigned shake of his head he creates a new document.

Crime Alley, in the sewer room…

Ben attacked the technology and raw materials like a starved man at a buffet. Flitting from boxes to random science-y doodads, and then destroying those very same pieces to make more sci-fi whatchamacallits, it was all very confusing to Kaine and Rueben. Now the room had been transformed into a secret base worthy of spiders. Along the desk that Ben has made has several monitors hooked up to a Nasa level computer, several more gadgets spread on the desk itself, and the rest of the small space they have is barely organized through the raw materials tossed about.

The older clone could see that Ben was remaking Starktech to the best of his abilities, as he too has the memories of their dead brother. Fortunately, though he does not have the same scientific ambitions, unlike Ben of course. Their personalities were so… well… Kaine has always supposed there was a reason why Jackal determined Ben to be the superior clone. Besides the small detail that Kaine is built like a tank and his chromosomes randomly turn into soup causing his body to -for lack of a better word- decay; Ben has been the most similar to Peter in terms of personality.  They both preferred sci-fi movies, science, magic the gathering cards, and just general nerd stuff; Ben was afraid that he didn’t count as a person since he had the same interests as Peter. For Kaine though, well, he was afraid since he had no interests that meant he is nothing but an empty shell.

Then he picked up music, learned guitar, he wasn’t even sure why he learned. It might’ve been a bet, but he just kept at it. 

It was… soothing?

From then on all of Kaine's family and heroic friends' allies rejoiced that he finally liked something that wasn’t punching people. Not that most of them actually knew him well enough to care about his mental health, they were mostly concerned about what to get him as gifts for holidays and his “birthday”. Back home he’s got at least five different guitars, three amps, seven pedals, two ukuleles, dozens of picks (they are on every single surface), and so many packets of spare guitar strings he piled them into a little tower that he sometimes put his water bottle on top of. 

Reuben meowed insistently next to Ben’s chair, Kaine raised an eyebrow while lounging from his web. 

“Not now Rueby,” Ben mutters, totally focused on his latest project. “It’s not time for food yet.”

“I think this whole time you were just hangry for tech to fiddle with,” Kaine muses.

“Shuddup.”

“What are you working on anyways?” 

“Your new suit.”

“Oooo straight to the fun stuff,” Kaine grins as he hops off his hammock, ignoring Rueben as she turns her demands to him. “What do you have for me, Q?”

“...Q?”

“You know… Q?”

“Uhhh…?”

“From the James Bond movies? The guy who designs all of his oddly specific tech for every mission he goes on?”

“Oh.”

“That just flew over you? Seriously?”

“We’re clones of a gen Z teen there’s no reason either of us should know that refere-”

  “Ugh whatever, just tell me about the suit, Ben.”

Ben scooches his chair over to his right and Kaine fills in the open space, looking at the various parts on the desk. The design isn’t reminiscent of the flexible fabrics they’re used to, the mask is already finished. Helm would be a better suited word, it’s a dark black metal, with red lenses for the eyes, and -cosmetically- an embossed red spiderweb stretching from the face to the back of the helm. 

“Like the Iron-Spider armor…”

“I plagiarized some of Stark’s ideas into this thing,” Ben picks up the piece of armor and flips it side to side, examining it. “You’ll have a HUD display that talks to the rest of the suit, when it’s finished it'll uh… ‘highlight’ and track key things in your environment it picks up, but you weren’t focused on like weapons, people, allies, enemies, things like that. You can toggle and fine tune it in the field to your preference.”

“Oh, that’s badass.”

“It gets better,” Ben grins the brightest smile Kaine has seen in months. “I’m developing a Neural Optical Hacking Interface, or the NOHI, the name’s still a work in progress. You see, the human brain's processing power is far stronger than any computer’s, so with multiple sensors in the frontal areas of the helm can pick up the electrical waves of the frontal lobe while the suits lenses can recognize, say, a computer, therefore if you keep the tech in sight the HUD will display an intellectual stratagem while the neural sensors track, translate, and relay back to-”

“Ben. English please.”

Ben groans and rubs his face, “Look at techy stuff or anything computery, a Tetris game will show up on your HUD, play it for a spell, boom, you’ve hacked into a computer.”

“Tetris?”

“Yeah.”

“...I hate Tetris.”

“Well next time you can pick the games in the newly invented technology that will save your life,” Ben huffs.

“Thanks though Ben, it’s cool stuff.”

“You’re welcome, I’ve also built our own comms line and network of information with a coding language of my own design,” Ben gestures to the various computer towers connected together. “It's a bit of an amalgamation between Starktech and Oscorp respective scripts, but with a dash of my genius. Actually, I have had that one in my back pocket for a while now.”  

“That’s really impressive Ben, we’re near unhackable .”

“Yup. We’re an island here, all the better too.”

Kaine picks up an empty webbing cartridge, examining it closely.

“ Oooo those I’m excited about too, you see I’m thinking of a way to design a new web fluid that could carry electrical currents and-”

“I need a plan, we need a plan,” Kaine sets the tube back down. “I can’t just show up and start killing the villains that killed him, the bat would have me locked up in a week.”

“...you plan on killing them?”

“Depends on if they were just goons or not.”

“Let’s keep the kill count at a minimum,” Ben taps the desk, and stretches his arms with a groan. “I don’t have nearly as much intel as I would like on the rogues, and with that mass breakout last week every piece is on the Gotham chess board.”

“...the bats have that kind of intel.”

“They’re overwhelmed too, they’ll need all the help they can get.”

“...they’ll be suspicious of me.”

“True.”

“They’ll think I want to avenge Peter.”

“Also true.”

“They’ll try to stop me.”

“No, they’ll underestimate you,” Ben declares as he stands up. “Our enemies and allies always thought you were the dumb one, which you’re not. If they end up thinking you’re a bull in a china shop, let them think they corralled you.”

“While we spin our webs,” Kaine grins savagely.

“Exactly, and when they trust you enough to give you one of their comm pieces?” Ben crosses his arms. “Hit it with the NOHI and we’ll have full access to their database.”

“Gain their trust, hit it with the new-y, comb their records, find Peter’s corpse, avenge him, and then get the hell out of this universe. Solid enough.”

“Bingo- wait… find his corpse?”

“Karen can still have valuable data,” Kaine turns away. “And I uh… I don’t want to leave him here… in this universe. Y’know?”

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Crime Alley...

Bernard Mcneil was a lot of things in his long long life, though it’s only been twenty-five years. He’s been a son, a student, an orphan, a dropout, a goon, a thief, a murderer, and a father too. Yet if anyone on his block were to ask the question, ‘who is Bernard Mcneil?’ Everyone and the bats would answer the same. An idiot.

He’s accepted that, he's done a lot of idiotic things. He was on the honor roll back in high school, but he let his ma’s death turn him into a dropout. He still could have gotten a decent job, something above board and maybe later get his g.e.d, but everyone in Gotham knows that gang work is easier to apply for. Pays more too.

From then on Bernard smuggled, stole, lied, bribed, and killed ( no don’t think about them boss don’t imagine their eyes no no no) . Another foolish thing he did was forgoing a condom, a dumb mistake. A classic stupid idiotic Bernard mistake.

But it was the best mistake Bernard has ever made.

He’s a lot of things, but for his little girl there is one thing that he refuses to be. To be a fool, no, never. That’s a death sentence in Gotham, and unfortunately for the rest of the population is that, well, they’re all fools.  

But how may one ask, how is it that Bernard Mc-fucking-neil, the biggest idiot in the entire city get to say that he isn’t one? Simply put he has one thing they all lack, even the bats. It’s why he survived for this long, it’s why he’ll survive for even longer. Or at least until his little girl is grown up and able to protect herself without her old man to protect her.

Common-fucking-sense.

Gotham is a horror film and Bernard refuses to be an actor. Guarding a dark warehouse with suspiciously dark rafters that could hold, say, a 230 lb man and a 150 lb preteen? He’ll just guard the front door, outside . Selling substances? Sure, why not, what city district? Crime alley and to who? No. No way. Not on your life pal. Helping the boss with classic supervillain business? Eh, why not, it’s not like he’ll be the main target. Burning what down? A park? No thanks, he’ll just… yeah just no. The plants remember, ok?

Probably why he changes employers so often, surprisingly they don’t like it when their subordinates are insubordinate. He started off with Two-Face’s crew, then the Penguin’s, Black Mask’s, Falcone, and for a while he moved fancy goods for these owl mask wearing people. Things like wine and stuff. He quit after a while; the pay was good decent enough but those masks… ugh so creepy. Which is why he’s in the joker’s gang today, there are not a lot of gangs he can join up with left. Joker's crew was his last choice. After he leaves this one, he’ll have to… he doesn’t quite know. If there are signs of danger he’ll have to leave, but then what? 

Tonight though, there are no signs. The ground is thawing, sirens off in the distance, the occasional helicopter, and another ‘abandoned’ warehouse to guard. The air is biting at his fingertips, and the shadows stretch harrowingly, in other words it is a normal Gotham night. So far, Knightless.  

As he makes his forward march to the side door, with the occasional slip on a stubborn patch of ice, a great weight drops into his stomach. To which causes him to freeze like his own pale breath in the air, his hand is outstretched towards the rusted handle, and though he’s still certain that he has all control of his body, something has frozen him into a statue.

“...um..” Bernard sniffs, taking a step back. Looking at the building, the bricks seem as grimy as the million other warehouses he’s been paid to stand about in.

“Nah…” Bernard shakes his head and turns around, walking away.

Maybe it's about time I get that  g.e.d thing…

Inside the very same warehouse…

“Ah man, I missed this.” Kaine sighs, balancing on the top edge of the web, with various gangoons wrapped up neatly in biodegradable silk below him. “Any more nearby, Webs?”

“Webs?” Over comms, Ben’s amused voice crackles.

“Well, you need a code name too,” Kaine huffs.

“Tch, shouldn’t I get to pick my own code name?”

“C’mon, Webs is clever, isn’t it?” Kaine defends. “I’m the spider, you’re like the network-”

“Ugh, fine.”

Kaine chuckles with his small victory, but peers down at the criminals coldly, “Anymore of these idiots nearby?”

“Hmmm, no, there was someone nearby but…” Ben clicks his teeth. “Think they were just a squatter.”

“What now?”

“Interrogate them, your intel is soaked in booze,” Ben informs. “See what these gangoons have to say when they’re sober. Let me activate your voice modulator first… and… ok you’re set.”

“Got it.” 

Kaine then tips forward, falling onto the vertically placed web chest first, clawing his way down the webbing slowly. The goons around him struggled against their binding, he could hear their panicked hearts beat faster and faster. Kaine is well aware as to why, could even imagine what they’re seeing now. A dark moving figure, their heads restrained, only catching a glimpse of black and crimson metal in their peripheral vision. For the one that can see him clearly though, is his his target. The criminal at the center of the webs, Kaine immediately pinned him to be the leader of this group. He was the most opinionated one, and the only one who wasn't shaking in their boots. 

“Which shelters?” Kaine demands as he draws close. “Which shelters and when. ”

The thug's eyes narrow, “How do you-”

“That right there was you losing your first chance,” Kaine warns. “I don’t like repeating myself, it’s safer for you to spill your secrets from the start.” 

“I ain’t got nothin’ to fear from you, Spider-Man,” The nameless fool spits. “I don’t care if you come back from the dead, you don’t kill. All I’d get from you is a night in jail, and then I’d be back on the streets.”

Kaine suddenly grabs the goons throat, half pulling him up and off the web, “Spider-Man, is dead.”

Kaine moves to a kneeling position, ignoring how gravity gently pulls at him, “I am not him; the bay is where he’s at. Gone and cold, and he can’t protect you from me.”

The moonlight harshly falls through the broken windows of the warehouse. The faintest sounds of shuttering metal as the wind gently glides through the catwalks, five or six hearts going faster and faster. The metal metal of his suit reflecting strangely in this light, making the spider seem like a slice of the void.

“Villains like the joker, they wouldn’t be a threat if they didn’t have people following them, so I got no issue with trimming the ranks. Unless of course, they’re of use to me.”

Kaine tilts his head slowly, “Are you of use to me?”

They nod just as slowly, their heartbeat finally reaching the tempo of the others around the two. Kaine smiles sadistically.

“What’s your name?”

“...c… craig,” Craig stutters.

“Last name?”

“Dunce…”

“Snrk… dunce?” Kaine chuckles a little. “Well then, Craig Dunce. Are you going to answer my question from earlier?”

“What… what was the-”

“I think I said something about repeating myself earlier too.”

“Now I-I don’t know which shelters!” Craig yells in a panic. “I just got a date when it’ll-it’ll-”

“When?” 

“A week!”

“A week then,” Kaine nods, yanking a phone out of Craig’s pocket. “Well, it’s best to tell the police that, right? Wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt, right?”

Kaine doesn’t bother interrogating Craig further, instead calling the police and having him inform them of everything he knows to the rather confused dispatcher. Ben mutters something about developing patrol routes and the older clone takes that as a cue to jump from the web and through the moonlight windows above.

Rolling onto the rooftop, Kaine sniffs as he stands up and walks to the corner of the roof, “Got a route ready for me, Webs? The bats will be here soon I think.”

“Mhmm, you’re gonna head to the bowery.”

“Got it.”

"Keep in mind my surveillance system isn't totally set up yet," Ben warns. "The GCPD's networks are remarkably well fortified, but that'll be my homework." 

Kaine looks over the edge, heart beating faster in anticipation as looks at the between himself and the pavement. The buildings were bigger in New York, everything was bigger in New York, and naturally better as well. 

He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, and for a second, he could pretend. Pretend that he is home, standing on the edge of Stark Tower, or maybe on one of the huge led billboards in Times square. Yes that’s right, it’s midnight at Times square, he could hear the crowds of tourists and street performers below him, the neon sign all around lit up like it’s new years eve all night, every night. Peter and Ben standing next to him, both in their suits, excitement pooling in the air around them. His breath caught in a stutter as he stared down the night, a dangerous unknown before them, but they’re ready.

I’m ready.

He jumps into the darkness.

Crime Alley, a few blocks away

Peter rubs his hands together and breathes into them, hiding beneath an old blue tarp at the end of an alley. He’d shiver if he could, but unfortunately that bit of thermoregulation was snuffed by the spider bite years ago. The cold is biting, but luckily Peter has found discarded supplies but were in shockingly good condition.

“Tomorrow you’ll have to get out of here quickly,” Mr. Director Fury advises. “As soon as the sun rises the Waynes will be looking for you.”

“It might be best if you start moving now,” Bucky suggests. “If you could find a rich neighborhood, find a bunch of tossed stuff that are perfectly fine, you could get some blankets, more clothes-”

“No way he could do that; the bats are out,” Shuri blurts. “They know Peter if they see him, they’ll bring him straight back to the Wayne clan.”

“He needs supplies-”

“If he’s spotted digging in trash bins during the daylight the police-”

“It’s still too cold-”

Guys, enough.

The ghosts of heroes past quiet down, and Peter could practically feel their eyes on him, and though Peter can’t see them. If he quiets his thoughts and just feel, he could sense where they are in a way. Like a ghost radar.

I need a plan; we need a plan.

“Maybe trying to find your family isn’t the best course of action, at least not immediately,” Doctor Strange suggests.

Strange, you’re banished for a week.

“HA!” Drax barks.

“Unfortunate for Dr. Strange, well anyways…” Wanda trails off.

“Wait, what about Superman?” Peter Quill asks.

What about him?

“I mean, he hasn’t been in the news lately, hasn’t he?” Starlord points out. “And we all know he’s under Thanos's thumb.”

“I don’t think Peter could warn anyone about him,” Shuri murmurs. “They say he could hear a call for help on the other side of the planet, or a pin drop on mars.”

“Faster than a speeding bullet as well,” T’challa adds.

“I hate to be the wizards advocate here,” Bucky sighs with a false tiredness. “But if Superman finds out that you know he’s compromised then you’re done. Won’t even have a second to stop him.”

“If that's all true, then why hasn’t he killed Peter yet?” Fury demands. “Faster than a speeding bullet, could hear a pin drop blah blah blah, he’s got to know that Peter’s here. His brothers too.”

This whole thing stinks worse than the stock exchange.

Peter shivers and pulls his legs close to his chest, resting on his side in a fetal position. It’s still so cold, and dawn is no where near to breaking. Perhaps he should’ve spent more time preparing and planning. Or at least put on a pair of shoes, damn impulse decisions.

I wonder if they got shoes too.

Peter is aware that they can take care of themselves, it’s not like they were wholly dependent on him when they first were… ‘born’. It’s just, he’s been gone for so long , and Wade said that they still think that he’s dead. They have enhanced appetites, are they getting enough food? How do they make money, finding work in Gotham is difficult enough if you aren’t a meta. Kaine’s degeneration factor. Fuck. This city is filthy on a good day, one infected cut could- could-

A swift swish noise echoes outside the tarp familiarly; Peter gasps and crawls out quickly looking above with a shivering breath.

There’s no one and nothing above him, except for a loose strand of webbing waving gently from the walls overhead.

Chapter Text

Marvel Universe

They came for Scott this time.

They were holding each other close, as he and Talia did a lot these days. Nothing sexual about it, but the intimacy felt almost sacred. So much can happen to them them, anything in this place can mean harm, torture, and pain but not from her. Not from him . Soft and safe touches are rare as diamonds, even if Scott doesn’t quite know what they mean together. It is just… good? The only good thing they have, and it is together

 When the flesh membrane opens revealing a few alien soldiers, Scott whispers to the woman huddled against his side, “You’re going to be strong again, right? Don’t let them break you like they broke me. They can’t have that, not from you-”

They descend on them quickly, prying them apart, Talia tightens her arms around tight almost too tight- but no only soft safe touches from her no pain no harm. If she fought back, maybe she could have held them off, but it would be pointless. He would be hurt in the process, that would break what they have. When two out of the three guards begin to take Scott away, that is when Talia begins to thrash and fight.

“NO!” Talia screams as the third guard restrains her. “Release him!”

Scott goes slack in shock and dread as he is dragged out of the cell, his hands already beginning to shake, “Don’t break,” he whispers, hoping that she could hear him beyond her own screams of outrage.

“Fight back!” Talia screams. “Damn you fight back!”

He doesn’t.

They drag him out of the cell easily: he could hear her fight and thrash though he could not see it. They drag him through the strange Lovecraftian cell block, sinew and bone all around him. Halfheartedly he wonders how a spaceship made of flesh can withstand the vacuum of space without being ripped apart. Might’ve been something he could have exploited if he hadn’t given up already.

He could see other prisoners through the membranes of their respective cells as he is dragged by. There goes… nightcrawler, Murdock, green goblin, wolverine (naturally in a vat of acid), and- is that Johnny Storm too? Must be new on the ship, but it seems they’ve already figured out how to contain him. His flames, snuffed.

They’re dragging him to the only section of the ship that is made up of sinew and bone, Scott doesn’t need to look up to know where they are. A metallic shing rings as the metal doors automatically open for them and a cool puff of air releases from the pressurized room as they enter.

 “Place him there,” Oh, there is the voice that Scott has grown to hate.

The aliens struggle to walk on the clean floor, clearly used to walking on the uneven squishy floors of the rest of the ship. They toss him roughly onto a gurney, and do not bother to restrain him. It seems even the grunts of Thanos’s force know that he’s lost his fight. 

But not his curiosity, Scott takes him time to look around, it’s like an amalgamation between an operating room and a disorganized office. On one wall there's a large sink haloed by many shelves chock full of papers, vials, and vessels full of wet preservations of organs. The wall opposite of that has nothing but surgical equipment, some of human design, most not, and all of which Scott has faced before. The fair wall has a few tables, desk, and a chair. Completely and totally cluttered. He sits there.

And in the center of the room are two gurneys, one of which is holding Scott and the other… he doesn’t know who. Lang has seen him around before though, a young man sporting jet black hair and a defiant gaze. His arms have these strange tattoos, bands around his biceps, forearms, and even his fingers. The ex-hero isn’t sure what they are, but the younger endures through these tattoos being freshened up occasionally and always seems… sluggish afterwards. As it seems so today. Or night. Hard to tell in space.

“Mr. Lang,” An annoying entitled voice greets.

“Doc,” Scott sighs, hearing the doctor stand and walk over to him. Slow precise steps clicking towards the two gurneys. Scott tiredly looks at the ceiling, only having the faintest hope that today's surgery won’t be too invasive.

  The clicks stop in the middle between the two gurneys, his leering face looks down on Scott as he steps close. He never learned his name, never bothered to ask either, but it wouldn’t matter anyways. Everything about the man (as in hu man) seemed like a measured response. Nothing genuine.

A sharp angular, even handsome face, short soft blond hair combed backwards, and those eyes… blue and empty. Scott could only wish he knew how to articulate exactly how unnerving those irises are. They say eyes are windows to the soul, and this doctor is effectively soulless. There is no light, no joy, and not even disgust. Look into a corpse's eyes, and know those are the eyes of Thanos’s leading doctor and surgeon.

“You know, you might be my least favorite patient, you used to put up such a fight. ”

He did.

“The days have grown so repetitive, and I am sure you can agree,”

He can.

“I know it will pay off in the end, Thanos wants the same as I do,”

He doesn’t.

“Planning is half of the battle of course, and your cellmate Talia has a key role-”

No…

Scott squeezes his eyes tight, the writing on the wall is clear, but acknowledging it might just break him for the second time. Whatever is to come, Talia will be a part of it, hopefully she’ll survive long enough to escape. Scott won’t though; he has no use. Not anymore.

“You’re all heart, doc.”

“Heheheh, oh I simply must disagree Mr. Lang,” The doctor stalks off to his medical supplies, sorting through vials and syringes until he at last finds the correct bottle and a questionably clean syringe.

As he returns, he does so while drawing the liquid medicine into the syringe, “I am Heartless.”

DC Universe

When Jason told Oracle that he wouldn’t respond to the 911 call in one of his neighborhoods, he did so under the assumption that just some random goon cracked under pressure and was squealing to the cops. He doesn’t need to be there for that, especially considering all of the other horrors that happen in the alley nightly. It was when Oracle quietly breathed a sigh of relief that he decided to go to the scene anyway.

Gut feelings. 

The hoodcycle rumbled down the streets with no small amount of noise until he reached the warehouse district. The cops were already there, their vehicles blinking red and blue, police men and women standing around talking to one another, one walking into the building with bolt cutters, and… huh… the batmobile is here too.

Good ‘ol gut feelings. Never steered him wrong, except for that one time he was searching for his mom. In that case then yeah, gut feelings are the worst.

“Ey’ you’re not supposed to be here!” A cop protests as Redhood parks and climbs off his motorcycle.

He punches out a car’s headlight as he walks by.

“Never mind then!”

Gotham’s finest everybody, they never disappoint, except for when they do. Jason knows he should be a little nicer to them, his own older brother used to be on the police force in Bludhaven. Before he took that Waynetech job for Peter. His first nephew. Missing nephew. With the entire family panicking while trying to find him, he didn’t think Batman himself would have the time to come here and interrogate small-time snitches.

“What the fuuuck? ” Redhood mumbles as he walks into the building, lines of shadows passing over his helmet.

His stomach freezes and his hands begin to sweat, he clenches them into fists as a hot green boiling rage and joy climbs up his arms and back. Stretched from the ceiling and to the walls and floor, is a massive spider web. The stark light casting down from the old, shattered skylights cast the room into black and white. The only pops of color is Redhood himself and Redrobin who stands before the web, examining. Batman’s dark silhouette stands on the other side of the web, looking up at the various people en-webbed on it. The light reflecting oddly off of his mask, making his eyes seem to be replaced by twin voids.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Batman turns only his head in the direction of his second son; Redrobin turns around completely with a surprised look on his face. He is also holding various sample vials.

“It’s my neighborhood.”

“Hn.”

Jason takes a moment to look at the unfortunates trapped on the web, still writhing trying to unstick themselves. The one closest to the ground was trying to be freed by a police officer with a set of bolt cutters, which seems to be going poorly, as the officer quietly cusses as the metal gets gummed up quickly.

“What happened?” Jason asks Tim.

“He, apparently, uncovered an upcoming rogue attack. Forced these guys to confess over a nine one-one call.”

Jason glares at their attire, noticing the clown markings, “...fucking idiot. These are joker’s guys, he’ll just move up the attack before we could get his ass.”

“Tomorrow then,” Batman estimates. “ Will be a long night.”

“I am so fucking relieved he’s alive though,” Jason shakes his head.

“He should have stayed gone.”

Batman catches the punch as quickly as Jason threw it; he didn’t even register the sudden burst of anger. How dare he? How dare he? They find out that the web slinger is alive for a whole of two minutes and he says that? It’s unacceptable, it’s insulting, it hits way too close to home, and it makes his vision boil in a viscous green.

“Is that what you thought when I first came back?” Jason’s fist trembles before he rips it away. 

“...I meant that if he came back just to-”

“Mess up? Not meet expectations? Make mistakes?”

“People will die tomorrow night.”

“People die every night!”

“He should have been better.”

On the edge of Jason’s peripheral he can just barely spot Tim slowly backing away, nervously. He should stay. This involves him too. The cop nearby desperately tries to pull the bolt cutters away from the web, then with a frustrated grunt gives up, and lets go. Only to realize that his gloves are also now stuck to the web. He continues to try and pull and snap away, only getting more stuck, and forced -in a rather awkward position- to watch a familial confrontation.

“You just can’t handle the fact that sometimes we make decisions that get people hurt,” Jason shakes his head slowly, still unable to see past the shadows covering his father’s eyes. “Despite you making the most mistakes out of all of us.” 

“...”

It’s like talking to a statue, or perhaps more fittingly, a gargoyle. Screaming won’t change the fact that it is stone. The bitter realization ebbs away the green from his eyes and pounding blood and the familiar weight of disappointment pulls his shoulders down slowly.

“Why do I even bother, why do I even care?” Redhood steps away and begins to carefully walk through the web. “ Just stay out of the alley. ”

Batman stays on the other side of the web, watching as crime alley’s own marches away in his fury. He should follow, he should apologize, to make him understand that he didn’t mean it like that. That he only meant that the spider could have tried to communicate with them, or at least planned better. The words didn’t come out right, they never did.

Under the cold beams of moonlight casted down from above, flicks and tufts of dust gently float around the shadowed web, and the silhouette of a bat. Caught within its silks.

Chapter Text

I AM SO SORRY GUYS.

I genuinely thought was updating this! I really was! I don't know what went wrong, I think it must've been my laptop. It's a suuuper old chromebook that I kinda murdered back in high school because I may have sort of kind of possibly downloaded Minecraft and then some mods onto it. I thought I was uploading shit regularly. I will now be updating the fics from my family's computer so this situation will not repeat. Again. My bad. So so so sorry my bebes I have failed you.

So, I used to upload one chapter per month for Ignorance is Death, so I got like six chapters ready to reveal to you guys! Yay! So instead of waiting for the next chapter every month I'm going to dish out the ones I've already written every Monday before returning to our usual schedule.

As for Lightless Lantern! I got I think four or five chapters for that ready to upload? So, expect those to be dished out on every Friday for a while. Not every monday, gotta spice things up and give me some time to fix any grammatical errors.

Again. So sorry. 

This isn't the AO3 curse, the author is just a dumbass.

Delmar’s Deli and Bodega was always Peter’s favorite spot to go too, even before becoming Spider-Man. Uncle Ben would take him early in the mornings so they’d have the best choices of foods just before the shop would be swamped by the morning rush. After he passed, Peter would stop in on occasion as Spider-Man, and even further after that when he adopted his clones as his siblings the three of them would eat there together. Bonding, learning, exploring what it meant to be brothers.

This time though, Peter sat at the counter alone. Staring at his squished-down real flat sandwich knowing full well that he can’t eat it. That is because this time, this time Peter knows this is a dream.

“You’re asking to be put in timeout again, Strange,” Peter grips his fist tightly, wrinkling the metal of his suit in his enhanced grip.

Wait. A Suit. A super suit. The Iron- Spider super suit, and he’s wearing it. Odd and weird. If he weren’t so angry at Strange right now, he’d consider the symbolism of wearing the destroyed article of weaponized clothing. 

“Why is it you push me away when I try to help you?” Doctor Strange sighs from the other side of the counter.

It’s a comical sight to see the world-famous Doctor Strange in a deli’s apron and uniform. The bleach proof oil stains on his cuffs, the grimed-up apron and shirt, the hairnet, the beard net. If Peter just leans over just a bit, he could just barely spot Strange’s Cape banging pots and pans in the back kitchen.

“Help me?” Peter tilts his head with a steel glare. “You’ve been annoying me this whole time! Making me relive my memories, commenting on every little thing I do-”

“The others do that as well.”

“Not the memory thing! Not even Loki does that.”

“What, exactly , do you think this place is here?” Strange gestures to the whole area around them.

“No. No, I’m not doing this, you’re playing your long game mind tricks again!”

“Humor me.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “A bodega.”

“What more than that.”

Peter looks at the other side of the counter, where the tabletop shifts into a deli case showing off, meats, breads, and other prepared eats. “A deli?”

“A meeting spot, Peter, this place is more than just a memory to you,” Doctor Strange places his hands down onto the counter. “It’s holds just as much significance to Kaine and Benjamin.”

“...just a much,” Peter thinks for a moment. Blinking as he looks at his brother’s usual seat, currently empty. 

“Wait so that dream?”

“They were really there, Peter,” Strange informs. “I established a connection from you, to them, using this place as spot of connection for the lack of a better word, but when you put me in ‘timeout’ as you say-”

“I cut them off too…”

Peter groans and buries the palms of his hands into his eyes and leans back. He could have been speaking to them this entire time!

“Fix it then.”

“Fix it how-”

“Don’t start with me, fix the connection hoo-ha doohickey thing.”

“This connection is between you and them, I cannot fix your relationships for you,” Doctor Strange shakes his head as the dreamworld begins to crumble around them. “This is all on you now, you were the one that left them behind, not me, and I did try to help. You pushed me away too.”

“But- Wait!” Peter gasps as he wakes up, a plea on his lips. 

The place he wakes in is not like his room in stark tower, or his room in Aunt May’s home, or his room in Wayne manor that became surprisingly cozy after his few months stay. No, it’s yet another dark, cold, and disgusting alley. It did nothing to fix his increasingly sour mood. 

This isn’t his fault! It totally isn’t! He didn’t leave his brothers behind to hurt them; it was to protect them. If they stood on that battlefield with Peter, they would’ve got snapped too and there would’ve been no saving them with magic green waters. Their DNA wouldn't be able to handle it, especially Kaine. 

Fine, you guys want me to listen more?

“Uh, ideally yes, but-” Bucky starts, but Peter is already standing up.

He isn’t sure set it off, but last night crime alley practically turned into a warzone. Neighborhoods were either cutoff with police barricades, or burning cars set up by gangs. The Spidey senses just won’t shut up. He can’t leave the alley; the Waynes might find him in any other part of the city that way and then he’d never be left out of their sight again. As he is now, he’s stuck, finding Ben and Kaine is practically impossible, Thanos is making moves again, and Peter hasn’t done a damn thing about it. He needs to find a way to stop him, this is why he left earth without even telling his siblings in the first place. He needs to protect them.

There is only one solution to this, I’m leaving Gotham.

“Where are you going?” T’challa asks.

Metropolis.