Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wind was blowing, sweeping his hair out of the way, he could hear the birds beginning to chirp, the sun just beginning to rise. It was almost blissfully calm, yet all he could hear was the police sirens, he could make out someone else's voice, but it sounded so far away. It sounded like...
“Peter?”

He blinked up at him, maybe he would’ve have had that owlish look on his face he usually does. He faintly wonders what he must look like now, with powdered concrete and sand covering him, with a thick chalk-like layer of dust on his tongue.
“Peter? Listen I'm sorry kid, but there's just no way, th- the spell.... fractured something. This universe is unstable it's trying to do its job. It’s- The universe needs to remove instability. It needs to remove you, Peter.”
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Stephen tried desperately to explain this to a kid, someone just trying to go to college.
He liked to try and think of himself as a good man, but he knows that the time for that has long since passed. He knows Peter will blame this on himself, but it’s truly not, if anyone stands to blame it’s himself first and foremost.

So, when he called out to him to say what would haunt his dreams and all he could see was that face with the placid eyes. It shattered his heart, and it will only break his heart more as time goes on, but he needs to get it across. To say the thing he has to, because they don’t have any more time.

And he did, and he watched as his heart broke so much more, seeing his face go from utterly detached, to shocked and surprised. With an odd and grieving reluctance, it shouldn’t be a look seen upon anyone so young, he wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, least of all Peter. Who thinks that the only reason he got caught up in all of this was for his friends and family.

“Oh, Peter....”

“I’m so sorry.”
________________________________

After Peter heard those words, he wanted to cry, because he screwed everything up and now the universe was going to dust him out of existence. He wanted to cry about how unfair it was, he knew, he knew that he couldn’t prevent whatever was about to come next from happening.

He was so so scared, and he just couldn’t prevent himself from staggering backwards.

Suddenly finding a pair of hands on his shoulders, he shed a lone and single tear, his body too exhausted to cry any more.

‘His hands are grounding in a way’ that was his first clear thought.

‘Or they would have been, if they hadn’t pushed him the very next second’.
____________________________
“Goodbye Peter, with this abhorrent gift I have given you. I hope you can create a new beginning; may you forget with time.”
____________________________

Peter. The child this world had forgotten, with only a fallen tear as the last proof that he existed in this universe.

The very last thing he saw being the universe tearing itself apart in the reflection of a piece of glass that came from a window.

*

He watched as the world seemed to fade away, seemingly willed away by a flash of orange and green, coming to while sinking in a pool of green. He wished he had the pleasure of just watching the world fade away to the increasingly dark pool.

Unfortunately the need for air forcing him to swim to the surface, his body protesting with every move.

Scrambling to the surface in nothing but his suit and the clothes he must have underneath. Finally, being able to breathe in the damp but nonetheless fresh air, he did nothing for a few minutes, lying on the rocks. Listening to nothing more than his breathing and the sound of water dripping. Oh, how would he have liked to stay, with that faint yet omnipresent feeling of.... fading? Along with the all-encompassing faint flash of pain that seemed to go just as fast as it came.

Peter slowly lost consciousness listening to the water dripping down the stalagmites, wondering what was next. Why’s he fading away again? Why can’t he remember? It's all so blurry.

Spying on the emanating green light as it fades away.

Huh, he didn’t even realize it was there.

The next thing Peter would open his eyes too would be a beautiful sky, with the sun setting, with the light blending into the clouds across the sky, with a fog just barely covering the streets and the gleam of the sun on his suit.
__________________________

All of Gotham saw the green light that flashed over the sky, the procedure of running home as quickly as possible that seemed second nature to whoever was living in Gotham.

But none of them could explain the feeling of tranquility that rushed over them. The whole city stayed still with an eerie hush, deadly quiet.

For just a single moment, only moving when they came back to realization. There the whole city seemed to witness a single green flash, reminiscent of lightning, strike along the cloudy sky they’ve all come to associate with Gotham.

They all felt something in that one moment, a serene and placid calm washing over Gotham.

Something with endless patience, lying in wait.
_____________________________

He didn’t know where he was.

But the staticky orange and green electricity fizzing about was enough to alert him awake. Peter tried his best to get up.

Wincing as he hit his back against the wall in the alley he was in, holding his side. Instead of holding the broken rib on his right he favored the large gash bleeding out on his left. After wrangling for another couple minutes, moving so his body had proper support. “Karen?”

Forever seemed to pass by then another small eternity, he really was starting to fear for th- “Yes Peter?”

Letting out a small sigh of relief that came out as more of a painful gasp. “Can you tell me where we are?”

“I apologize Peter; however, it seems my systems were damaged during our transportation, I’m afraid I'll need some time before my systems are fully operational.”

Letting out a groan, unsure as to whether it was because of what he just heard or the large gashes seemingly everywhere. He should really attend to it; however, he was exhausted, yet luckily his healing factor was still somehow managing to do its job.

Luckily, he doesn’t think he’ll bleed out as the wound seems to be partially clotting. Leaning onto the wall to leverage himself up and put away the suit- Karen would alert him of the progress later after he did Something about the current ‘situation.’
________________________
Edward decided to enjoy the Gotham weather, he can’t deny that he was curious about that earlier flash of green lightning however, he was very busy. His upcoming meeting simply can’t wait, and he was ever so excited to plan his new idea with Batman.

That was his previous plan for the day until he just happened to stumble across the most curious thing.
________________________

Peter didn’t mean to stumble across the man he just really wanted to get home. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried walking so soon no doubt the gash was bleeding out even more, he might have felt bad for the man if he wasn’t so focused on staying upright.

“I’m sososo terribly sorry, sir-” his face scrunched up in annoyance, why won’t words come out right?, He decided to just stop speaking altogether. Although maybe he shouldn’t have because now the man was looking at his wounds. An awkward silence passed...... It’s not healing as fast as he thought it would, no doubt his exhaustion was simply slowing it down.

“Just...gonna take...a little nap, I'll be...just fine.” He couldn’t help but tentatively sit down.

“It’s blatantly clear that you anything other than fine. However-”
The rest of what else he might have said was drowned out by the prod in his head and ringing in his ears.

He thinks he said something, didn't he? Something about the suit? He’s always been proud of it. The man seemed to move but he couldn’t quite tell with the blinding pain and white spots that he kept seeing when he tried to think. He looked back up at the man he had a very familiar look, but he couldn’t seem to put his finger on it.
____________________________________
Edward knew that a kid walking around in a suit like that would have some oddities but imagine the surprise when that accent said he wasn’t even from Gotham. He was quite curious as to where that kid got his suit.

Even if he didn’t want to admit he was a little jealous of who managed to build such a suit, and he wasn’t expecting the kid to blatantly lie. People shouldn’t claim something that something theirs when they haven’t the means to prove it. So maybe kidnapping the kid wasn’t his best idea but it seemed to be a better idea than attempting to steal the suit that seemed to have nanotechnology. After it didn’t even seem to be unusable and proceeded to flow like water back to its presumed container.

No fellow engineer would pass up this opportunity, especially after seeing the kid’s ash covered clothes and the large gash he had just below his ribs. He was practically a saint. He had no doubt it was one of the newly trafficked kids being smuggled through town. It wasn’t because of any sympathy, purely for business.

Why would he ever save a literal child from what was likely a peril situation? Utter blasphemy, rubbish, idiocy, barely even a thought worth entertaining. Maybe it’d even help with up-coming plans.
_____________________
Peter wasn’t at all surprised when he woke up in a strange bedroom, maybe he should have been, but his consciousness was doing little more than fading in and out.

Honestly just another shitstorm that the universe deemed funny enough to call Peter’s life. He, however, was NOT expecting his wounds to be fully bandaged. (nicely at that) maybe this was a way of keeping his organs fresher for the black market? The fresher the better, he could already imagine the headlines his good old pal Jonas Jameson would write about.

“Spider-man destroys statue of Liberty.” “Spider-man working to sell organs on the black market!” It’s far more likely he’d read a report even more outlandish.
“Alleged reports of Peter Parker selling organs of orphaned children!”

.....Yeah... that just about fits the bill.

Either way an act of kindness or the more likely version of trafficking his organs, he was grateful. At least he didn’t have to worry about attending to his wounds, his concussion on the other hand...

He was getting tired merely thinking of it or maybe it was back-lash of fighting against several villains for several hours, huh who knew? Slowly blinking his eyes open he could make out a well-furnished room with dusty-layered machine parts although his eyesight is still too blurry to make out quite what. Eyes still scowering the place, he could see the moonlight rising from the window. He just stared for a moment at the beam of light cast by the moon with a wavering consciousness.

Being kidnapped wasn't even a level of inconvenience he would have guessed, although he really shouldn’t be surprised.
His friends have probably already forgotten who he is. Are they okay? Do they remember how they met? Where their memories of him with them entirely removed or just cut him out of the picture? He shouldn’t really be wondering how they’re doing, since it’s his fault that they don’t remember him. But he can’t help but wonder who’s going to remove his belongings from May’s apartment.

Will May remember him?

Maybe if he had been paying more attention, he would have heard his breathing had sped up. He couldn’t think. All his thoughts rushing past, what would he do? He couldn’t just return home and now that he had no home, maybe Karen would be able to put together a new identity, but under that, what was there? That was the most terrifying of all.

The moonlight seemed to have risen enough to cast the entire room in a hazy, cool, dim glow. He faintly registered what more there was. Unable to do anything else he was panicking about what to do because now there was nothing els-

“Peter, you’re having a panic attack. Can you try to follow my pattern?”

He focused on the slow glowing circle fading in and out, telling him when to inhale. Along with the cancellation of noise and slow chime Karen made every time to help focus on a sound when his senses were overwhelmed.

Within the next few minutes his breathing slowly returned back to normal, letting out one last shaky breath, but it was enough to ask what he’d been worrying about since.

“Karen? Why were you cut offline? Did the systems get damaged at all?”

“I apologize Peter. As I said my systems weren’t operational, my systems unfortunately took some time recalibrating to the information of this world.”

All he could do was breathe a sigh of relief, thank god Karen was oka-

… wait

What?

“Excuse me?”
__________________________________
He knows he…spaced out after that last explanation.
He was unfortunately still confused (extremely) but he knew the man going up the stairs to the room he was in now saw his suit before he passed out and looking back, he saw a glint in his eyes that could only be described as greed.

But as much as he was concussed, he was also aware any plan he made would be hatched in half compared to what he could’ve made. Not that he could tell up to down with the ringing in his ears and the concussion that currently made focusing give him a migraine out of hell.

Sitting in the middle of what could’ve once been a bedroom. Looking like it hadn’t been used in a decade.

As much as he wanted to ignore both his situation, and the adrenaline that was gone bringing with it soul deep exhaustion, pain and general aching.

He couldn’t fight, not when the idea of moving felt exhausting. But he has his brains and that’s one thing he’s always had, that will have to do for now.

He'll only need a couple more minutes.
He’ll just have to stall for time, easy enough right?
_________________________________

He’ll be the first one to admit he isn’t completely sure what he’s doing, kidnapping saving the kid was impulsive but deemed useful, nonetheless. When he walked into the room, he expected him to panic, but instead his eyes were hazy, out of focus. He checked him over when patching up his wounds and knew the kid had a concussion, but it must’ve been worse than he assumed if he was still confused.

He wondered if the suit could still function in that state, it had been when he first saw it, no doubt that the kid had heavily relied on it, and it was probably the only reason as to why he got out of whatever situation he was in. With the suit undoubtedly being damaged or even rendered unusable.

However, that didn’t mean he’d be negligent, he had a pair of meta cuffs in the drawer beside him, he decided against putting them on. He just didn’t want to freak the kid, the cognitive part of brain seems to stop working entirely when most people panic, call it mercy.

He’d just do some light interrogating and who knows maybe they can go their separate ways. Unfortunately, he knew if the kid had any increment of intelligence they would undoubtedly hold onto the suit. The kid must have had some sense of how much it was worth when he stole it. Even seeing its battered state, he can tell it’s practically priceless. So, he'll keep the kid around if he'll have to, the kids lucky if he was a grown man or woman, he might’ve gotten rid of him right there.

But the kid must’ve had some level of intelligence if he could’ve escaped from whatever traffickers that had him. It might be nice to have a mini him (if only he was smart enough.) To brag about to Bruce if simply to only keep him on his toes, maybe he’d even provide some entertainment.

If he isn’t smart enough for his preference. Well kids can learn now, can’t they? If he still can’t learn then he can get the suit that much sooner.

He cleared his throat. “I assumed you’d be up sooner, but you seemed to have been quite exhausted.”

The kid was visibly startled out his thoughts, eyes trailing over him in the doorway. Surely, he wasn’t in the best position, but he thought he would have noticed him earlier. Heard him? The floors aren’t necessarily quiet. He’ll really have to check whether it’s dissociation or a concussion. Regardless, he pulled out a chair and sat in front of him.

He took a deep breath, there was nothing else to do but get straight to the point. Unexpectedly the kid beat him to it.

“What do you want?”

He simply shook his head sighing “Isn’t it obvious? I want that suit you stole, the one that you were wearing while you were escaping, the one that flowed like liquid into a container that you have.”

He openly scoffed, “That suit is off-limits, you can’t get it. If you want it you’ll have to get it yourse-”

“Ah, Ah, Ah, let's not do this, all I want is a mutual outcome we can both agree with.” He was about to speak again until he beat him to it. “I can see why you won’t part with it, and as much as I would like the suit itself-”

Holding his hand up to explain to the already protesting boy. “I will settle with just studying the suit itself and learning what I can while you stay here while I help you get back on your feet.”

Before the boy could protest, he decided it would be best to be confronted with the cold hard truth.

“You are an orphan, aren’t you?” At the shocked, apprehensive look he simply plowed on.

“You see, I did some well-intended research, you have no home to speak of and no distant relatives. Of course this is all simply assumed, because if you don’t even have a solid identity, no passport or even birth certificate for or in this city. Then I highly doubt you have any family members you're willing to trust enough in this situation. And as far as the rest of world is aware you don't exist.”

Peter wanted to protest, but could he even? If he was really dumped in a whole new universe, he would have to create a whole new identity with nowhere to go. Not to mention he doesn’t even have anyone here; he could have Karen create a new identity fairly simply if he was lucky but there was still the issue of basic housing and food which he’d need a job to even dream of having enough money for.

Finding a new apartment had been hard enough after Ben’s death, jumping from and to dirty motels constantly had been exhausting while May tried to find a new job after some rather discriminatory views going on in the workplace and decided quitting would be better than being fired.

When he saw the kid contemplating, realizing the extent of the situation only pressed on. In a gentle voice “I’d consider myself lucky if you were old enough to get emancipated, with no one to rely on I'm offering you a place to stay and some proper papers in exchange for studying something I want to learn more about.”
Hearing a deep and steady inhale, he looked up with a fierce gaze.

“And I get to leave whenever I want?”

He frowns for a moment but tries to maintain his pleasant appearance “if I can make sure you can keep our deal.”
“We both know that you can’t travel in this state, so at least spend the night, then we’ll plan how to work together from there.”

The boy clearly wanted to talk more but saw reason and nodded. He was glad he did this when he had a concussion, always make them a little more.... persuasive
_________________________________

When the man left, he really should’ve gotten his name if he might have to stay here.

He looked around the room, it was a big house, if the size of room was to go by anything, it was obviously an old house but had light yellow walls and a light blue blanket. It was oddly comforting he might’ve chosen to spend more time looking around.

But he just wanted to sleep, to just go underneath the covers and curl up and pretend the last forty-eight hours never happened and just go to sleep.

He ignored the voice that whispered preferably forever.
.
.
.
.

Coming too was a slow and surprisingly easy process, the sun was still low not even enough to bother his likely sensitive eyes. They were always a little more sensitive in the early and late hours of the day.

He wanted to go back to sleep, the bed was still warm under the small and thin blanket and now that he was getting a second glance at the window the sun wasn’t up at all yet.

He made note that this wasn’t his room, the fact that he was hungry and still dirty, his senses slowly trickling back in. Until he remembered what really happened yesterday, falling into a dirty green pool.

Ending up on the streets and ending up in the house of his kidnapper who wanted nothing more than the technology behind his suit. He wanted to run.

Run and go away somewhere where it didn’t hurt, and he can hide from reality. And all of a sudden, he was breathing faster(again) but Karen wasn’t here and likely wouldn’t be and he felt so frozen and god why did this all happen?

And Peter just wanted to cry, because why is this all so unfair. But he couldn’t cry now, he stayed there for a moment before he realized he’d have to do something. Anything about the current situation.

Or maybe you just can’t cry anymore, not over the numbness, a quiet voice said. He ignored that one too.

He belatedly got up despite the fact that his bones seemed to groan a little bit every time he moved. He hadn’t registered just how off everything felt, he was cleaner than before, probably cleaning him up a bit so the wounds weren’t infected, and the wounds were now just starting with the aching, soreness and tell-tale sign of itchiness of his healing-factor.

Staying in the home of a kidnapper was much less than ideal, but he was right, wasn’t he?

He had no place; he wasn’t in just a new city without any ID he was in- He was in an entirely new universe. Now any other time figuring out the multiverse would be magnificent he could already imagine geeking about it with Ned and he knew MJ would be excited too, even if she didn't show it, he wonders i-

He caught himself right as he felt the beginnings of a smile. Right, they're not here right now, or rather he’s not there.
He shook his head to hopefully be enough to get rid of the thoughts, (he knew it wouldn’t be.)

First, he’ll have to find out where here is, he took his first tentative step towards the door. Everything seemed to ring in his ears from the creaking of the floorboards to the turning of the knob. He looked up and down the newly discovered hallway, it was a nice house, old and rickety but it had a lot of potential he could tell that much.

He could hear more than smell the bacon sizzling downstairs. It gave him headache with how strong it was but the pain in his stomach far outweighed it, God he probably hasn’t even eaten in a day or two. He was lucky it was only showing itself now.

He was now on the top of the steps but now he was afraid to go down, he wasn’t sure what to do. Sure, the man said they would.... cooperate. He, however, found that very dou-
An undisturbed voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You can come down now, I however would suggest taking a shower first, I left a basket of clothes and the like by your door. I can imagine you’re likely pretty hungry after the tiring day you had, but starting the day is always easiest after a shower.”

...Well, he wasn’t wrong and sure enough when he looked back towards his room there was a basket with towels, clothes and some shampoo.

“The bathroom is inside your room to the left.”

He paused at that; this was.... oddly.... domestic? Normal? He still knew his manners however and said thank you down the stairs.

He grabbed the basket of things and headed inside. Now did he mean to the left of the room or my left? He might as well check both rooms and headed to the right of the room and yep, those are overly large double doors, wow, he got kidnapped by a rich person of course just his luck. As if that isn’t going to cause more problems later on. Stepping inside, he decided not to even bother with the other door. Maybe later, it's best not to get too familiar with it.

Moving towards the shower past the bathtub and setting his things down and turning to the mirror to check how pitiful he looks today. And-wait, no. No, no, no wait why is he so much smaller?!

I mean sure he’s noticed things were a bit bigger, but he thought it was just because it was one of those weird rich people things?!

Now that he’s paying attention, he’s a lot shorter, with a rounder face and looking around- No. NO! Definitely not. A product of the concussion, he’s hallucinating.

Turning towards the shower hot enough to where he could see the steam rising from it. Sending the water cascading down his back. The bandages were luckily waterproof, but he should really replace them. First cleaning all the grime and dirt off and removing any of the concrete powder still stuck in his hair. The shampoo had the soft scent of roses. Quickly drying off and-

Why is he still short?

Nope.

Still hallucinating.

. 

. 

. 

He was starving anyways; he could really eat.

Heading downstairs trying to ignore.... that and thought about a more pressing concern.
It couldn’t be all bad, could it? I mean taking food from strangers is high on the Not to do list. But even if he does try to drug him his metabolism would burn right through it right? With that comforting thought he took his hesitantly stepped his way down.

Maybe if he didn’t have a concussion, he would have also noticed how unusually tall the stairs were.

Finally making his way down he makes eye contact with the man standing in the kitchen, just right of the stairs. His gaze sharpened, hiding any thought or emotion he might have had.
Just in case.

“I figured you may want to eat first, I made a little extra so feel free to eat as much as you want.”

He hesitantly heads towards the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the small two-person table that didn’t match the large kitchen.
There’s truly no point in dragging this out, is there? He lets out a slow and quite exhale.

“I’ll only stay until I can get back on my feet after I show you how the suit works. We’ll both go our separate ways.”

The man raises a neat eyebrow but didn’t have any other outward expression, the man (he'll have it get his name) in a rather judgmental tone “And how do you plan to get back on your feet? And I don’t believe that you’ll have to be the one to show me how the suit works, if anything it should be vice versa.”

“You asked me to show you the suit, it’s mine so there’s no way I'm letting you see it alone.”

The man scowled but said nothing waiting for him to finish.
“Secondly, of course I'm going to try to have a normal life, I don’t plan to stay here for long quite frankly. I already know that you're probably some kind of petty criminal as most people don’t see an unconscious kid and take him home” He practically growled the last part out and they both winced at how bad the last part sounded.

“But if we give each other what we need them I'm sure we can both go our respective ways.” It came out rather sarcastically and as much as he was getting on his nerves he knew when not to push. Besides maybe he hadn’t realized just how frustrating this could be for the kid. It was after all... a very troubling situation. To stay here or go homeless. He might as well make him feel more welcomed, and wow he was great at empathy.

He walked over from scrambling the eggs and flipping pancakes to standing opposite of where he was sitting.

“Of course, we’ll both like to get back to our.... respective lives, this is merely a trade-off now, isn’t it?”

“And I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself yet now, have I? I’m Edward.”

He merely nodded, “Peter.”
~

Peter would have liked to say after that little interaction that he was calm and civilized but to be holding steaming food in front of a starving man should probably be classified as torture.
Either the man didn’t notice it or he was pretending to ignore it, at least that’s what he would’ve hoped after trying to pace himself while eating. Until the man put the few leftover pancakes on his plate. He just looked towards him, mildly questioning. The man Edward just stared at him until he picked up the pan with the scrambled eggs and shoved the rest on his plate, giving him a deadpan stare.
He was reluctantly thankful, not that he’d ever say that.

After trying to ignore the tense awkward silence, (He’s a professional at this but even he has his limits, luckily the man spoke first.) Edward, finally speaking in his seemingly common inquisitive tone. “Since you claim to know a great deal about this suit why don’t we head to my lab? It’ll have plenty of the tools you’ll need, however if there's anything you think we’ll need. Then simply ask and I'll make sure I can get it.”

Peter pursed his lips, hoping that it wasn’t noticeable. He knew this part was coming, but that didn’t make showing him the suit any easier. Letting out an internal sigh, it’s probably better (key word: probably) than ending out on the streets.

He had no money, ID, or any clue of what to do. Just thinking about it gave him goosebumps. Guess you have to count your blessings, even if they do end up being a kidnapper after your technology.

“At least you have a lab. Once we get there you can show me what you know, and I'll show you what I know. Deal?”
___________________________

Peter, to be fair he’ll admit to underestimating. He’s also gained a new perspective of things, he wasn’t at all deterred once he led him to the basement, which meant he was either incredibly naive or confident in his abilities. From what he’s seen recently he’d like to assume the latter. He’s also made it obvious he’s familiar with the suit. Said suit he wasn’t allowed to get a full view quite yet; he didn’t comment no need to push the kid. This will do for now anyways.

The suit was magnificent, nanotechnology Peter had stated, unnecessary but albeit, grounding. He went through the different layers of material and the technology encoded underneath. Before Peter was claiming one of his computers, he was a little insulted that someone had touched his computer so freely, however no need to discourage the kid.

Instead, he’ll show his patience and heavenly-like virtue “What are you working on?” prodding the torn piece of the suit before getting The Box which holds every tool he should need for now.

“I’m setting up my identity, so I can go back to my life as quickly as possible.”

Ah, in quite a rush now, aren’t we?

“To go back to implies you left it. And an entirely new identity? Whatever did you lose your last one for?” Sarcasm leaking into the last part.

The kid stopped typing and clicking away to turn towards him. “Well, I guess we’re both criminals here, why don’t we go back to doing our respective criminal things? Don’t you have that suit to pry and prod at anyways?”

He was aware of his slip and what he said lacked manners to say the least. But he just felt so irritated. And he had no clue as to why, something just felt off and he couldn’t figure it out.
Not to mention how he had to work on creating an entirely new identity and figuring out where exactly he is. It seems close similar enough to earth since aliens aren’t trying to probe him or anything.

Trying to focus on hacking into the records system, which was.... worryingly simple, and maybe concerning. The world seemed to be a few decades behind his world. Which wouldn’t be a surprise if they had no Stark Industries for relatively cheap and efficient technology. By this time the man had walked around, behind him. “The Records Office? My, you certainly weren’t kidding about needing a new identity. For all you can do hacking into the records system you’ll need ancestry to certify your existence.”

Take a deep breath, don’t get irritated, you’re better than this Peter. Letting out a deep exhale. “I can register myself as an orphan then, it’ll at least be true.”

The man, Edward, put a hand on his shoulder. Only releasing when he felt him tense up, in an almost entirely different voice, this one was dark, and he might have been scared if he wasn’t so shocked.

“You don’t want to do that.” Now facing each other there wasn’t much more he could do other than stare, he really shouldn’t be so shocked. This was a stranger, a registered criminal no less. He was now wishing he’d gotten more information than that from Karen.

Edward sighed, belatedly. “What I mean is you’re being incredibly naive to think you can survive in Gotham while being an orphan. Whether or not you’re a foster child doesn’t matter because all they will see is an orphan, you clearly don’t know just how dangerous Gotham can be.”

Peter didn't interrupt, particularly with that new information. So, they’re in Gotham and he’s implying that Gotham is a particularly dangerous city. Which of course it was, that’s Parker Luck hard at work there.

He sighed again (They both seemed to be doing that a lot.) How often do people sigh? Cause that can’t be healthy, what was sighing too much a symptom of?

“Listen Peter, being an orphan is a dangerous game to play, being an orphan here means you can disappear easily. Meaning people can walk all over you, not to mention if you piss off the wrong person, you’re dead, I don’t believe I have to mention kidnappings and murder?”

He lost the tenseness in his shoulders and shook his head, resigned.

“Good cause that's not even half of it. Now what’s your name? Your full name.”

His resigned nature seemed to disappear immediately, replacing it with a sense of determination he hadn’t seen in a while. One that’s new and he could nurture, and with a sense of heavy suspicion.

“And why would I tell you that?”

He resisted the urge to sigh again, “You clearly need a guardian.” and glancing up and down at him. “And maybe more than just one on paper.” Rude.

“Now if you’ll give me your full name, please, so we can get this show on the road. I think I might even have a friend or two who are willing to take in a lonely orphan child such as yourself. And no don’t worry they aren’t criminals, reformed and completely legal in the eyes of the law.”

Peter didn’t have a good feeling about this, surely you don’t give your name to a man that basically kidnapped you but what did he have to lose? I mean his name literally means nothing, it’s not like he couldn’t change it later.

“Peter, Peter Benjamin Parker.”
_____________________________

He was planning to hand over the kid to Harely and Ivy, he truly was. They’re the nurturing type. Great with kids, no longer criminals other than some minor rule breaking.

But. Parker. Really? He's created a plethora of fake identities, but Patrick Parker will always be a fond memory, a well-used one. It needs some cleaning up but really when the kid was practically begging to stay with him how could he refuse?

He seems independent enough, maybe pick up a plant care book or two at Ivy’s it really can’t be all that difficult or different, can it? He can always drop the kid off if he gets too difficult anyways.
_____________________________
Peter watched as his face began to form a Cheshire smile, which wow, he really didn’t need that comparison.

“Hello Peter, how about instead you feel free to call me Patrick?”

*

Chapter Text

A part of him wanted nothing more than to turn in the criminal, go home and hug Aunt May.

But that isn’t here nor there and he instead got cast out of his universe like he was in ‘Sliders’

He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew that he was right, if he did turn him in there wouldn’t be someone to claim guardianship. There wouldn’t be any place to stay or any resources as basic as food and shelter.
What else was he supposed to do?

And while he wouldn’t ever admit it the way he portrayed the dangers of being an orphan in this city (Gotham?) It was mildly terrifying to say the least. He knew he could try to pass off as being emancipated but he needed a place to stay, food and most importantly technology. If he could just find a way to get back home.

He might’ve sighed if he had the energy to, the shock from finding out he was in a new world really numbed some things. Then seeing his kidnapper and eventually being led down to the basement (he really should’ve been more freaked out about that. He had at least one thing to thank his concussion for.)
Honestly for as old as the tech seems it’s clearly very well organized in a messy kind of way. It was large basement with the door being at the end side of the rectangle. Messy table with machine parts, and plans he wasn’t going to focus on for his own consciousness. Luckily there where two different groups of computers and headed towards the one at the end of the room. It was luckily far more convenient and started working on his getting his guardianship set up.

Patrick had helped with the new creating of the identity itself. Apparently knowing more about that specific area. He decided not to ask, while he was wordlessly assigned to the sewing together of Patrick Ridley Parker guardian of one Peter Benjamin Parker. He hated him knowing his middle name, sure just about everyone he knew well enough knew his middle name, but here? Here, having a criminal, the first person he’s met in this world knowing his name, it made it feel dirty.
He could change it, but he already knows that he’s been spying on over here every few minutes which he can’t really blame him for.

“How’s the court papers going kid?”

Sighing “I’m not sure how to appoint you as my guardian. I have the court papers pulled up but I'm not sure what the best way would be to make them temporary.”

“Well having you being pulled from the system would include more papers than wanted and I'm sure you don’t want me filed as your biological or adoptive parent."

He winced at that. If he noticed it, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“So, the best and easiest way would be for you to already have an alleged affiliation with me. Like a distant relative who claimed legal guardianship after your previous guardianship became null?”

It was phrased as a question, but it had an obvious statement in it.

He was right, he hated the thought of his (most likely sociopathic) kidnapper becoming a legal guardian.
He probably shouldn’t be this resistant to the idea. It was needed after all but his dread and hatred towards this situation was sitting heavy in his stomach. He hated this, having to feel so reliant on someone willing to do all this to get a piece of technology.

“A very distant relative, we can settle for uncle, but emancipation as soon as I'm able to.”
The man did what he assumed what was supposed to be a comforting and patient smile. (It wasn’t)

“I can allow that, in the meantime why don’t we figure out your living arrangements, this house has more than enough guestrooms for one to spare, we can focus on furnishing it.”
After seeing his nose scrunch in response, he placating added “However sparingly that may be, but there's no doubt that you’ll be here for a while. We might as well try to adjust now, shouldn’t we?”

“Later, for now we should try and finish filling these out.” Pointing towards the computer as if to extenuate his point further. “And then I'd just really like to take a break.”
The man gave a brief nod then went straight back to work. Taking that as his cue he proceeded to fill out what he could, occasionally giving each other thoughts, information and suggestions. He was mostly on the receiving end, but the man didn’t seem to be complaining about his work, so he took it as a good sign.

That was how the day went by, they didn’t get along per say. He was incredibly awkward and it was embarrassing to have to rely on an old man who kidnapped him to create an identity for him.
He hated every bit of it. Patrick on the other hand seemed cheerful, there was no chance he wasn’t faking that smile.
He subtly tried sneaking a glance at him from across the basement/lab. He was still working on creating a trail of general existence, who knew it could get so extensive?
Being younger was…. As stressing as it is confusing but it came with perks of not having to make this trail any longer. For now at least.

From the standard Social Security Number, Birth Certificate, medical records, dental records, education and ancestry to tie him to Patrick was just the main parts and all of it was so tedious.

He managed to still learn about Gotham and Patrick that way. Karen was unfortunately still down and he didn’t see any signs of her coming back on soon, which with some luck and some sneaking around he might be able to sneak down here later to take a look at the suit. However Karen still being down meant he didn’t know who Patrick or aka Edward is. There’s too many in One city alone. There’s a chance he’s not even from here or that’s even his real name.

He'll have to keep his guard up and just stick with the fact that he’s a criminal and likely not an enhanced.
Gotham however was the WORST city to be in because of the sheer crime rate, corruption, lax government and last but certainly not least.

It was located in… ugh, nEw JerSEy. Fucking bastards what else to expect from nEW jErsEYaNs?

Seriously if it wasn’t for the fact he’d be homeless he’d have left immediately once he found that out. Fucking NeW JErsEYaNs, can’t trust them to even take good care of their own damn city.
Not to mention every criminal in Gotham seems to end up in Arkham Asylum and walk out whenever they want like it’s a daycare. He honestly hopes he’ll never have to meet one of those. At least Patrick seems sensible.

Creepy, a mad genius and kidnaps minors. But not batshit insane, so he supposed it could be worse.

Despite the overall state of this city it can keep on spinning without Spider-Man. He’s gonna need to take a well-deserved breakdown break to get him Karen up and running.

And wow would you look at the wonders of zoning out so much you do your work absentmindedly.

“Er, um, Patrick? I think I’m just about finished. Maybe some touch ups here and there and since you’re the regular crimi- um…. Expert here.”

He gestured towards the computer letting the man walk over to the computer which looked as old as the burner phone.
Patrick looked over the computer and for all his genial smiles that seemed to be ever-present (it was really quite creepy) it made it difficult to tell what he was thinking.

“Hmm, well I guess it’s not bad for a kid, maybe even great by your standards.”

What is with all these biting comments? Like at least he only gets on the nerves of criminals.

Looking over the man’s shoulder (he had to get on his toes for that) The man started furiously clicking, getting rid of a lot, revising A LOT and even created entirely new documents.
The man suddenly turned around, now leaning against the plain wooden table and looked him up and down. Looking rather like a stern supervisor.

“Well, you’re not as dumb as I took you for and your intelligence is doable, and I’ll work with that much. However, you deliberately left out your age on almost all of these and really nobodies gonna buy the fact that your seventeen.”

Oh, oops he must have added that accidentally when he was arms deep in you know fabricating paperwork. Cut him some slack here, not that he’d ever say that to his ehemm *cough cough* kidnapper.

Seeing that Peter wasn’t doing any responding other than awkwardly shuffling his feet.

“Sigh, how old are you kid?”

“Um, well I a- Wait, did you just say sigh?”

Quirking an eyebrow and sending him a look that said “you’re being utterly stupid.”

“Seems your concussion must’ve done more damage than I thought.”

Proceeding to try (emphasis: try) to knock his knuckles on his head for further emphasis. He smoothly side-stepped. He may tolerate his behavior of ‘trying to get closer’ because he can recognize a manipulative bastard when he sees one. Thank you very much.

“You know I can tell you’re lying right?”

“Ah, Ah, Ah, don’t try changing the conversation on me now kid. Just answer the question. How old are you kid?”

“If anything, I think you’re the one trying to change the conversa-”

“What are you twelve, I mean you look scrawny, nothing more than a bag of bones. Jeez, were you starved or something kid.”

He wasn’t starved, it’s not his fault that his metabolism burns through everything, and he can never get an ounce of fat on him from having to patrol. Not to mention the fact that sometime May just didn’t have enough money. She still tried but the work was getting to her, so he’d recently been trying to eat less. At the reminder his face involuntarily scrunched. Looking back at Mr. Conversation changer and realizing that he might have been quiet for too long.

Oh, no now he’s gonna think of him as some poor, starved kid. Think quick! What did MJ say about lying? Shame and embarrassment makes it seem more believable?

Okay he’s got this. Just act like a cute, embarrassed kid, he held his hands behind his back and hung his head down in the perfect representation of shame. Tapping his socked foot against the cold concrete floor and looking up with pleading eyes he had to force on with unbelievable restraint.

“I’m just tiny.” A thick veil of shame coating every word.
_____________________

The kid knew what he was doing he’d give him that, playing into his innocence and naivety. Almost making his lie believable to most people but he can also tell when someone's lying.

And the truth isn’t painting a pretty picture. If Peter was receptive to negative emotions, it might explain why he claims to be so good at telling apart lies. Lying, however, not so much. He steadied himself, no reason to scare the kid off now is there?
“Sure, kid let's take that break and go get some lunch. Being tiny doesn’t excuse how skinny you are.” He might not have gotten his age but those were merely minor details.

Ushering him out of the basement, with both believing the other couldn’t tell apart their lie.

Only one of them was correct.

Patrick, for all his flaws, could surprisingly cook fairly well. Or well cook might be strong word considering that they're only making sandwiches. But he could tell from the amount of ingredients and the variety. Along with the long shelf of spices that he could probably cook nicely. Maybe he could even make the sandwich he usually gets at Delmar’s it won’t be the same but pretty darn close if he gets it right.

Extra pickles, cucumbers and squishing it down real flat~
“So....I have to ask, like what’s your job as a criminal? Cause like this is a nice house you got here, but I can’t imagine you obtained any of this legally. Or do you have like a day job?”
Picking up a pickle and mindlessly chewing while waiting for his answer. He wouldn’t lie, he’s a little tense but I bet I could take him in a fight, criminal or not, he’s fairly strong.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who was so vary when I first picked you up.”

Talking around the new pickle. “Well, It’s only just the one question really. And ‘picking me up’ is a little inaccurate. *cough* Kidnapped *cough*”

It was completely unexpected that pretending to cough while you were swallowing a pickle could lead to an actual coughing fit. He stood there bent over hacking his out brains while the man went on.

“It’s not technically a kidnapping if I'm not holding you captive.” very pointedly ignoring the choking minor in front of him. “The door is right there if you want to leave.” Pointing to the double door leading out of the kitchen on the right that led to a (very nice) barren foyer.

“Hey, come on you're the one who needs me to explain the suit to you. You want me to be here as much as I want to be here, which is very little. But still....”

Pointing back and forth between them and settling his hands above his heart. “We both need each other.”

“And I also know what you’re doing, no point avoiding the question. If I have to deal with being in the same house with a criminal, I at least wanna know what he’s doing.”

‘Patrick’ proceeds to raise an eyebrow. Ohh, so he’s old. He’s only known old people that could do that. He ends up doing the same trick which leads to both eyebrows being raised.
The man is pointedly both annoyed and exasperated at that. Heading back to his sandwich before he grabs a knife and cuts it down with a heavy chop. Then setting it down, looking up as if contemplating in thought while tapping his finger on the cutting board.

“I don’t see for any reason why you should know. You’re clearly the ‘I want to be a hero’ type kid who’s probably too naive for his own good. It’s best for us both if we know the minimum amount we have to. You want to ‘go back to your life as quickly as possible’ don't you?”

Smiling as he bites into a slice of a cucumber. He’s totally not a little bit cool for that, nope, nope, nope. Criminals don’t get to be cool, that ginger hair doesn’t look cool, and his smirk is totally completely evil. Probably plotting something devious.

“Fine, as long as you don’t get to ask questions either. I get to go where I want when I want to, no questions asked and I g-”
“If you want to use the lab you will need adult supervision for your own safety of course. Having a kid down there could be extremely dangerous, especially if any of the equipment was misused.” He said all this with a saccharine smile.
How exactly did he know he was going to ask that he won’t bother questioning.

“How about joint custody, you get workdays and I get weekends?” Now waving his own half cut sandwich in the air and holding his hands up to either side of him.

“I mean clearly we can both handle our own ends when it comes you technology and I get that it’s yours but I’m a minor with chronic insomnia in store for the future, so unless you want me to crawl onto your ceiling and wake you up at four AM then that’s on you pal but you’re gonna relent one way or another.”

“There will be set times on which you can access the basement, while I'm able to supervise if you don’t find that agreeable then we can find later terms for that later. For now, I’ve decided that getting your identity set u-”

“Pssh, unimportant the real thing we should be focused and worried on is where I'm going to be staying for these next few weeks. You can’t honestly expect me to stay here this house isn’t even properly furnished.” Once again gesturing his arms to the bare dining room, causing the sandwich he was currently gesturing with to drop a ranch covered cucumber fall onto the dark marble floor. The ranch making a rather loud squelch, immediately causing an awkward silence to fill the kitchen.
Edward starts to gain an understanding of the rather eccentric and idiotic pre-teen immediately says.

“No.”

Which had unfortunately overlapped with “Five second rule?”

The kid had just been starting to slowly motion towards grabbing said fallen cucumber when he immediately grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him upwards. “How about instead of eating contaminated food you go upstairs into the library?”
Thankfully that seemed to deter the child's attention. “You have a LIBRARY?!”

Unfortunately, his attention shift caused his continuously spilling sandwich to send another splat to be heard by deaf ears. Grabbing the boy's sandwich and wrapping it in a napkin and handing it back to the boy.

“Yes, now why don’t you go explore the upstairs rooms? Except for the locked one of course and don’t go up the spiral staircase. Go and study up while I finish on some work.”

It was very unfortunately this moment when the boy decided to send a look that clearly said, ‘I don’t trust you to keep your word and not do something nefarious.’

Although apparently had no issues when a stranger who could kill him in his sleep handled his food and instead only when he asks him to go upstairs.

He’ll definitely have to engrain some self-preservation skills into this practically suicidal pre-teen. But for now, he’ll have to use his last resort to get him to go. Inhaling a deep and steading breath and in a voice that was deadly serious.

“I’ll let you borrow the book of your choice if you head up there now.”

The boy squinted his eyes at that and in a hesitant and questioning voice. “Three?”

The man just sighed; he had a foreboding feeling that it would become increasingly common.

“Very well. We’ll speak about a properly furnished room tomorrow.”

While Peter did feel partially guilty about leaving all the ingredients up to him to clean up. His guilt was erased when he realized that he could use this chance to investigate the house. Or more precisely the upstairs at least.

Exiting the dining room, just behind the kitchen which was towards the front of the house. He really had some time to look around. Looking towards the stairs not more than thirty feet from the entrance, that had the door on the side of the staircase that led to the basement. Expertly well hidden.
Honestly, he thought about getting back the piece of nanotech, sure it was the scraps of his old suit.

With the beautiful system automatically switching out damaged nanobots with those in storage. Only being able to activate manually, he was lucky that part was still functioning.
He hadn’t felt it was safe enough to test it out much longer before heading to the lab for the first time for that bit of privacy he was allowed.

So, he’ll just have to deal with him having faulty tech, he’s upset about it but not too much of a loss.
Heading up the stairs he saw a long hallway that went from left to right. With light brown wooden floors and red walls with a floral pattern so dark you’d almost think it was black if it was any darker. He was greeted with the light coming from a floor to ceiling window on both sides. And yep, there it was, a spiral staircase to the right.

“What was that about not going up the spiral staircase? Who knows maybe I misheard; wouldn’t it be better after all to check?”

Making his way over and slowly stepping onto the staircase and looking up, there was unfortunately a trap door that was most likely locked if there’s anything being around paranoid criminals has taught him. He still couldn’t prevent his disappointment when he went up the stairs and the door didn’t budge.

“Have you found the library yet?”

He froze, turning his head down towards him, mouth agape and a face of absolute shock had taken over.
The man continued. “I thought this was going to be a ‘no questions asked’ kind of dynamic?” Obviously quoting his own words.

He merely harrumphed.

“For some reason I still feel like being kidnapped and wanting to make sure that there aren’t any dead bodies is a viable excuse.” By now his hands had moved away from the door and landed on his hips, he had no reason to feel guilty here.

“You’re only staying here temporarily, aren’t you? It seems quite willingly at that; I see no issue whatsoever on that end. However, it seems I may no longer be able to lend you those considering you didn’t uphold your end of the promise.”

At that he ran down the stairs checking each door in the hallway. Old bedroom, storage room for machine parts, lounge area (is that a fucking pool table?), his (for now) room.
Patrick, seeming to run out of patience, went right down the other end of the hallway and turned to the left where an archway led to a library. Standing to the side as if mockingly, Peter decided to willfully ignore it and rushed inside.

“See I'm here.”

He quirked an eyebrow (he should really learn to do that) “Your argument would be flimsy in court.”

He was the one to raise his eyebrow(s) this time. “Do you have any evidence? If anything, yours would be even flimsier.”
Patrick deciding to let out a smirk at this “Perhaps, the court can be lenient to endearing children after all.”

He didn’t bother being offended by that.

His attention completely wrapped up because wow was this library cool. There were so many books on everything, and it was all well-organized with a stack of books on the table. Which contained blueprints of a city, Gotham itself most likely and very advanced chemistry and biomedical engineering books laid about.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether the reverent wow was just in his head or not. It probably wasn’t with the chuckling he faintly registered behind him.

It was great, there was even a ladder for the bookshelves that reached towards the ceiling which has half a floor's height added on top of it. It looked like it had well over a thousand books in it, with a window in the middle of the opposite wall with a little bench for reading and a small table in the middle that held said stack of books.

“Can I read whatever's here?” Stepping inside the magnificent library setting the sandwich onto the table, likely to be long forgotten in the magnificence of knowledge and endless possibilities.

A deep chuckle was heard from behind him, along with the gentle tapping of his fingers on the archway. “Of course you can, as long as no more than your chosen three books leave this room.”

Peter wasn’t going to squeal, that would be childish. It's just that there were likely hundreds of books covering each wall in the rectangle shaped room. No room to see the wallpaper with the number of books and the tall and narrow window on the other side.

It was a messy kind of organized obviously being able to pick out the favored subjects. He might not think being taken in by a fellow science and engineering man might not be.... entirely dreadful?

“I can read whatever’s in here?” “Really?”

“I believe you’ve already asked that, but yes.”

Patrick came to stand directly at his side. “I can understand your stress considering certain, hmm, circumstances. Which is why I’ve decided to leave you here to study and read whatever you wish while I'm busy with my own work.”

Looking towards the library with undeniable pride and reminiscing, turning to him with a subtle smirk stretching across his face.

“Knowledge is the most important thing in the universe, so I hope you will use this time wisely.”

Looking back towards Peter with a clear threat and warning in his eyes. “I hope you do not misuse this time and are careful to manage the condition of these books.” Not at all subtly glancing towards the sandwich.

As if he would ever ruin or dirty a book, he’ll always respect them besides back at home if he ever damaged a book, he had a feeling he would be smacked upside the head. He shivered at the thought.

“Of course not, I would never. In the history of nevers that is the most never ever…. ever” Gasping and taking a step back in faux appall.

“Great, enjoy and spend your time wisely I'll be back when I'm finished with my work.” Stepping out of the library he waited until he finished, hearing the steps going down the steps till he ran towards the bookshelves. He had no idea when he’d be done with his work, so he had to make sure he used the most of his time.

He immediately ran towards the shelf with a machine programming book, there’s bound to be some computer science and programming books here, right? He’s pretty good at it but if there’s something wrong with Karen or the suit in general an overview would be good. He was just about to pick out a book when he stopped in his tracks, looking towards the shelf just a couple over and winced.

Of course, history. Dang it, he’s really avoiding the fact that history throughout this world could be completely different. That’s among other things like culture, social customs or general information. Just by the computers in the lab this place could be a few decades behind his world. There’s nothing wrong with them, they’re just.... clunky. Letting out a groan as he already starts picking out his three books and some more to read in the meantime.
_________________________________

He doesn’t feel bad about what he’s going to do and it’s very unlikely that he ever will. You can’t take a stranger into your house young or old with some precautionary measures.

Which is why when putting on the bandages he safely stored the amount of blood needed. He himself was surprised by the number of injuries. Most being bruises and a nearly broken rib. The gash on his side was the most severe among them.
Yet somehow, he had exceeded all expectations.

He had expected a kid from Gotham, jumpy, rightfully paranoid, utterly reckless and impulsive. And most of all in pain. The kid had moved so steadily and perfectly to avoid jostling his injuries it had to be pure subconscious at that point. Not even wincing in the time he’d been glancing at him in the ‘lab'.
It was not painting a pretty picture.

That’s why he was doing this, it’s always best to be prepared. For any possibility. When he got down to the lab as the kid had first called it, he took the blood out of the medical grade refrigerator. You never knew who could be a meta or not in this city.

If the kid’s grown up in an abusive home, he’ll be reliant on his intelligence. He'll just have to test his limits.

All this he thought while he inputted the DNA, waiting for the computer to finish analyzing the results.

When the results came out, he satisfied smile stretched across his face.

There is in fact ‘No meta gene’.

Which means he’ll have the limits of any normal kid. Rapping his fingers against the desk, yes, he’d know exactly what he’d do.

Chapter Text

The sunlight was just beginning to shine through the window, creating a soft gray. Peter had just finished the most important parts of the computer programming book. Having learned a few things and having a little review time. When he heard the tell-tale sign of Patrick coming up the stairs.

‘The loud creaking was unavoidable in such a quiet house after all.’

Patrick came back into the library he didn’t know what ‘work’ was. But he assumed that it was part of the ‘no questions asked rule’ and he didn’t particularly have it in him right now to care.

He was a little sad that he seemed to come back after what couldn’t have even been much more than an hour.

 His disappointment was quickly replaced with a sense of disbelief.

“Now don’t look so disappointed. How long did you think I would take? No matter, have you chosen out your three books yet? It’s time to go to bed now.”

The shiver that ran through his spine at that moment would never be replicated, a complete stranger was trying to send him to bed? He ignored that he clearly missed out on social norms and cues.

He quickly replied and ran to the room with his books in hand. It was truly a bizarre experience, being in a strange room with the only things in there being old bare blankets and the large nearing textbook sized history books in his arms.

Setting his books down on the worn-out desk by the four-poster bed, there was, however, one more door to open here. While the left side had the door to the bathroom the door to the left was currently unknown.

Probably a closet, he just likes to think that maybe this room has a little more interest to it.

Walking over and pushing open two very creaky doors that was of course a walk-in closet. Cruel bastard, not even a modicum of entertainment. Heading towards the bathroom, to get ready for bed, brushing his teeth and dressing in some comfy pajamas. (Which were just very oversized sweatpants and hoodie.)

He stared at the bed for a moment before internally sighing and taking the old blanket off the bed and laying it down inside the closet.

‘Not like he’s gonna be able to sleep tonight anyways, so what point was there in trying?”

Setting down his three books and straining himself forwards.

Time to revise history, with one being basic American history, mostly about World War one and two. The latter being quite different from his from what he’s observed. The second was the general history of Gotham itself. (thankfully a lot smaller than the others.) While the third was probably the one he was most apprehensive towards.

He’s known ever since Karen told him that he’d ended up in a new universe that they wouldn’t be here. That the Avengers aren’t here, and that even if they were they wouldn’t be his Avengers. Not the ones he knew, yet still, he held some hope.

 And when he finally searched up ‘Heros’ and realized that there was no Avengers page.

No article in sight.

 He thinks that’s when he finally realized that this wasn’t his world. That the closest thing that it shares with his own is geographical and historical similarities. And even those are much too different.

He can’t quite figure out what he felt at that moment, only that it flooded through every atom in his body. It was quiet, almost serene, and that he stilled for a second that felt like an eternity.

‘A feeling that he could get lost in for much longer’

He shook his head to clear out the thoughts, it’s better to drop it.

 The History and ages of Heroes. He swore it felt like it was glaring at him, it was almost mocking. He honestly hadn’t thought about how the heroes might be different. He might’ve pondered what kind of criminals wandered around Gotham for a few minutes but wondering about how different the heroes were here was surreal.

As much as he wanted to skip right towards what new heroes there might be he knew that the others probably came first. At the very least he can read it chronologically.

Ugh, he’s already tired just thinking about it.

Bruce Wayne wasn’t particularly enjoying this week. Bane had broken out once again, and he had a feeling he’d be playing the long game this time.

They were unable to get any news regarding the rogues, with rumors slimming down these past couple weeks. Which were causing the criminals to get bolder, knowing he wouldn’t be able to focus entirely on them.

It was only made it more difficult that the Riddler had escaped not too long ago and yet there was nothing that clued in to his tampering. He had Tim and Barbara along with Jim keeping an eye on the GCPD where he’d be more likely to attack next after his ‘rehabilitation'.

Isley and Harley had proved they did not know about what he was planning or where he was going.

And as if on cue Tim had entered his office at WE.

 “Tim, I want you to take care of this next meeting. You can handle it. I’ll be researching the rumors on Bane, he’s been spotted not far from Park Row. I don’t want him interfering with the newest vigilante running the streets. Send over any work to my office.”

~

Tim scrunched his nose at what B just said. Apparently he was unappreciative of this ‘opportunity to hone his skills and independence’.

Yea right, the inky thing he was ‘unappreciative' of were the number greedy investors once again debating if ‘all the charities are really necessary’. Of course trying to phrase in a more pertinent way.

“Fine, but next time you ground me I get a week off.”

Bruce turns over to him raising an eyebrow. From where he was already standing up, one hand still on the desk.

“You haven’t been to one of these meeting in over two months, you’re obviously avoiding them. I deserve some time off for dealing with your work.” Jabbing his finger towards Bruce to eventuate his point.

“Three”

“Six”

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

.

.

.

Tim clapping his hands together and put on a smile. “Great, time to deal with some pig bastards.”

Walking towards the door while calling out. “Thanks, B, I’ll make sure to tell Alfred I deserve an extra cookie for dealing with your meetings.”

They both knew that was wasn’t going to happen, Alfred rarely gave out extra cookies. More likely to withhold them as punishment. He couldn’t blame Tim for trying all these years, another example of his perseverance and the quality of Alfred’s cookies. He did the same when he was a child.

Simply with more. . . Persistent methods. Like waiting till Alfred was asleep so as not to bother him in his search for the cookie jar that was quite elusive even then.

Dropping the fondness of old memories before heading towards the Batcave. Bane was accounted to be in the Upper East Side most likely headed towards The Bowery. He’s not sure what this Red Hood’s motives are, however it’s always best to take down the rogues with the least interference possible.

Peter was actually enjoying his time, sure it was no chemistry or physics, and he thinks he’ll cry about the loss of technology in this world if he thinks about it too much. But history was probably more interesting than it’s ever been. Something about consciously realizing this is a whole other world really sets in that urgency to learn about it. Yet it was also interesting.

World War one and two seemed to overall have similar events, the former even more. Just like his world things didn’t really pick up till World War two. With Wonder Woman being this worlds Captain America, even having the shield, she also reminded him of Iron Man with the red and gold. It was nice some hero familiar, even if they wouldn’t really be the same.

Not to mention she’s a total boss kinda like the Black Widow and Wanda. MJ always really liked Black Widow saying, ‘peak woman representation’. He couldn’t disagree with her there. Not that he ever would, he likes breathing thank you very much.

There were a lot of theories of Wonder Woman being in World War two, with some official and approved quotes from herself. She seems really cool, he’d started to read more on her in the Ages of heroes after he finished skimmed through the last book. He read through the impact of Wonder Woman, then the appearance for Superman and the effect considering you know…. Aliens. He can’t blame them either the New York Invasion was entirely chaos afterwards.

An- wait a minute. . . .

B A T M A N

BATMAN

Batman.

There’s a Batman?! IN GOTHAM?!

He immediately scanned over the description.

'A vigilante who stalks the night, using ruthless methods of violence to stop crime. Never breaking is ‘no kill rule' however, often leaving them worse than death itself.’

He mourned the loss of his second identity as a vigilante with an animal kingdom based name.

 And figuring out that this city was being protected by an emo bat with what looks an awful lot like underage children as his ‘sidekicks’. (Really shouldn’t that be illegal? At least he was in High school at the time.)

He’s apparently been around for a surprisingly long time, maybe he should retire? He feels a little bad for him. Maybe he’s training his sidekicks to take over for him? He seems interesting enough but he’s getting just a little too impatient.

Oh my Thor, there’s an Aquaman.

“Atlantis…… ATLANTIS EXISTS?!!”

Surely the library will have more books on it? Who wouldn’t? Its ATLANTIS. Determining himself to get one more book, he can read it in the library. It’ll be allowed then, right?

Running out of his room in the middle of the hallway towards the library just on the end of the opposite side. Was this a dream? Having a library at the end of the hallway, oh, so close. Just as he was about to step foot into the library, he heard a clearing of the throat.

Slowly turning his head towards the cause of his increasing dread.

They did little during that moment, he took the time to realize that the spiral staircase that led to the third floor most likely led to his room. Which wow, of all the rooms you could’ve picked it had to be the attic. All of a sudden him being a kidnapper made a bit more sense.

Sensing his growing irritation at his silence he might as well say something.

“Er, Morning?” (Not off to a great start.)

He entirely ignored his words and instead dived right into would most likely end in a lecture.

“Have you by chance taken the time to look at the time before you start exclaiming over your excitement?”

He began to very pointedly look towards the wall now on his left, Peter taking to cue looks over and up. And while it is technically morning he winces at the numbers 4:43 registering in his brain.

“I hope you haven’t woken me up because of your need to grab another book despite the fact that there’s no possible way that you could’ve read the three you had picked already?” Sending him a knowing look.

Reflecting on his actions and yes, that was exactly what happened. So of course he says.

“No?”

Maybe it’s have been more convincing if it wasn’t so high pitched and questioning at the end. Especially now that the man was staring into his soul. It was actually quite scary. When he looks at him like that his eyes closely resemble that of a dead fish.

Now the man was groaning towards the ceiling and heading down the stairs, mumbling about killing God and acquiring coffee. Odd.

“Why are you following me now child?”

“Well I just naturally gravitated towards you when you mentioned coffee, I could real-”

“I’ll stop you right there. Minors don’t get coffee.”

“WHAT?! Why?!!”

He groaned again, now rubbing at his temples. “Please, no more screeching at this hour.” Now turning around and kneeling down as they had both had arrived downstairs and grabbing onto his shoulders

“You can have as much coffee as you want as long as you make it yourself from now on. Just save me a cup or two.” Walking downstairs into the basement with a very loud door slam for someone so avoidant of loud noises.

He stood there for a moment, mulling over what just happened.

Well.

At least this way he gets coffee. Heading towards the very nice 90’s themed kitchen, it was supplied nicely with a good coffee machine. Walking over to the fridge, is that the milk?

Bringing it over after squinting, nope, but he’d need the cream anyways. Getting out the cream, milk and coffee presser before realizing he doesn’t know how he likes his coffee. Heading towards the table and pulling out one of the three chairs, (he must have guests sometimes. Even if does seem like a lonely old man.) Before pushing it towards the fridge and perching himself on it. So, he’d be face to face with the camera that supplied a nice view of the kitchen.

“How do you like your coffee?”

There was a pause, probably being indecisive. Mentally nodding at himself before he spoke. “A dash of milk and cream, teaspoon of honey and a pinch of cinnamon.”

He tilts his head to the left. “No sugar?”

.

.

.

“No sugar.”

“Mk.”

Hopping down to grab the coffee beans he saw by the mugs. ‘Environmentally friendly ground coffee beans from Ethiopia.’ He’s noticed a lot of things like that being tagged on the foods.

“If you’re a criminal at least be an environmentally friendly one.” Nodding approvingly, he and May would try to be environmentally friendly when they could, unfortunately being environmentally friendly could get expensive in New York. Drowning out his thoughts with the loud noise of the coffee presser.

Milk, cream, a teaspoon of honey and an extra dash or five of cinnamon.

“Hey, hey go easy on the cinnamon kid. It isn’t your bedtime hot chocolate.”

That elicited wide eyed offense from Peter. “You can never have too much cinnamon.”

“Yeah, sure kid, why don’t you save some of that cinnamon for yourself there?”

~

Peter merely let out a scoff before turning away from the camera and making his own coffee. He wasn’t expecting him to find the camera and certainly not so soon. With time, perhaps, he wonders when he saw it with him being under five feet. He was expecting him to know how to make coffee even less, even if he did add horrendous amounts of cinnamon, he almost can’t see the cream underneath.

With equally (of not more) horrendous amounts of sugar.

“Cut down on the sugar too, I don’t need you bouncing off the walls.

That had once again been a great offence to the pre-diabetic child. With him looking at the camera with an intense glare and tilting his head up, as if trying to look down on the camera from his short height.

Muttering under his breath “Oh, I’m sorry if I don’t want bitter coffee because I’m not a bitter old man. Unlike, someone.”

He might now have heard it if he said it any quieter.

Promptly picking up the cups of coffee and getting out of sight of the camera. With the basement door opening came the smell of coffee, precious, precious coffee.

Eyes leaving his computer very briefly to reverently hold the lovely cup of coffee. He very blatantly ignored the look of judgement from the child. Children who still haven’t outgrown their sweet tooths don’t deserve an opinion.

“Not even a thank you? I just made your coffee.”

There was that look on his face again, he had a feeling he was going to have to familiarize himself with that look.

Glancing at him from his computer, relishing the taste of his almost perfect coffee and letting down a very audible gulp.

“You used to much cinnamon, not enough honey and a bit too much milk.”

The kid merely scoffed before heading towards the second set of computers.

“So, what are doing today?” Kid taking a sip of his own coffee.

He sighed, there’s really no peace or sense of quiet with this kid.

“You’re going to go out shopping, you’ll need to get some clothes and bedding, along with anything else you might need”

The kid to his credit only scrunched up his face.

“What? I assumed we we’re going to work on making sure I actually exist first not going shopping. How can I go out in public when there’s no proof of my existence?”

“Relax kid, nobody’s going to be asking for your ID while you’re picking out your socks. I’m also not going with you.”

“What?”

Patrick promptly takes one look at his face and starts laughing, now having one hand on his desk to balance himself upright. “Jesus, kid, did you think we were going shopping for your pajamas together?”

At this he starts chuckling again, Peter’s face turns red before clearing his throat. Before settling his face into something more serious.

“Well how can you expect me to not run away? To simply run off and never see the creepy kidnapper again? Not to mention the fact that letting a kid run around alone in the one of the most crime ridden cities isn’t safe. It’s almost like you’re trying to kill me.”

Both raising their eyebrow(s) at that last sentence.

“Relax kid, you’re not going alone. Two of my ‘acquaintance’s’ will help drag you around. But that’s not now, that’s in a few days when they’ll emotionally adopt you by that time. Of course for now I have an underl-‘friend’ that will drop off anything you need. I’m only telling you in case there’s anything you need immediately.”

Taking another sip of his coffee that was definitely not sweet enough.

He was about to say underling wasn’t he? Crap, of course he’d end up with a criminal that’s dangerous enough to have his own underlings.

That’s like miniature boss level.

“Right, sure mister. It sounds even worse than going alone, you’re asking me to trust some people I’ve never even met.” With no small amount of suspicion and trepidation in his voice.

“Don’t worry kid, while I know they won’t have the same trust you and I have.”

He definitely didn’t bother hiding his eye roll at that. ‘Talk about eccentric'.

“They are reformed criminals, don’t tell me you’ll still judge them based on that?”

With a distressed expression and ‘worried eyes’. He’s ninety-nine percent sure that if you looked close enough those eyes would have less empathy than a gerbil. (And those things would stab you of they could)

Huh, he can actually see the resemblance.

(That’s worse)

“I’m sure I'll be able to trust them the same amount as I trust you.” While they may be reformed fat chance he’ll trust them, if they’re even acquaintances there’s no guarantee they won’t be just as crazy as this guy is. Besides, if Patrick can use pretty words so can he, it’s not like he minds the dramatics. (Clearly)

And after a mild eye twitch from Patrick ‘he’ll have to watch that’ he says in the most saccharine voice.

“I’m sure you’ll all get along great, in the meantime we still have plenty of time till then. So are there any pressing concerns or things you’d like to have as soon as possible? I’ve already got the basics covered so you won’t have to worry about clothes.”

Taking a sip of coffee as he goes on, it’s a little cold now. Unconsciously having a small frown as he mulls over what he said.

 Luckily, he saved them both from an awkward conversation about needing underclothes. He’d forever be grateful for that.

(Not that he’d ever say that.)

“Not much, really, just blankets and the like I suppose? Towels, shoes.”

And after a hesitant pause. “I’ll need a phone too I suppose.”

A tenseness was pooling up in his stomach along with his face heating up. He felt guilty and awkward about asking him for things, adding up everything it was no doubt expensive. It seemed like he was well off but that doesn’t mean he wants to rely on a stranger to buy his clothes. Looking back towards him from where his eyes had drifted down to the floor, his hand clenched around the coffee mug miraculously still on the desk.

He was wearing that stupid face; he was getting joy about him feeling guilty. That Bastard.

“And some extra pillows, the ones still there are flat, Legos too, there's little else to do here. My own computer would also be nice, considering who has more experience with the Sp- tech.”

The man's eye twitched again at that, maybe in his (hopefully blinding) rage he missed his slip up. He should really watch what he calls it, suit might have been fine but if he calls it the iron spider, he might find it odd. Recycled tech or not it was still more advanced than what most people here had. Heck, it was prime technology back in his world and likely even more so here. Although the computers might just be part of the vibe. ‘He wouldn’t be surprised; the book had stated the Bat gang and the city had ‘an odd infatuation with the characteristics of what they find attractive usually ranging between forms of steampunk and gothic’.

Which was basically saying everyone here was an overly obsessed aesthetic girly, still computers this old was overplaying it right?

Sure, they look cool, (not that he’d ever tell him that) but efficiency is what truly wins in the end isn’t it?

“I’ll make sure you’ll get the things you’ll need, although I’m sure you won’t have to worry about the aspect of the suit once I'm able to study it properly. Hopefully I’ll be able to take care of it if you ever want it off your hands. Hypothetically of course.”

‘That Hamster, not even trying to hide it.’

‘Actually, is Hamster or Gerbil worse?’

Said hamster seemed to come to a conclusion.

“Well now that that’s taken care of why don’t we focus on where we left off? You do seem to know more about this suit, so why don’t you do the honor of showing me what you know.”

Pulling out a chair in front of the mattered and damaged pieces of technology, the suit in the form of a watch still on his wrist seemed that much heavier as he made his way to the chair as he forced himself no to glance at it.

“How much have to figured out about it already?”

Hearing the man shuffling behind him, grabbing off tools on a large rolling cart from the opposite wall.

“They’re nanotubes, designed to wearable, with layers of iron, fabric and microcomputers. They all blend very well together obviously designed to handle impact, with a level of shock resistance and possibly enhances strength, I see no reason why it shouldn’t. Considering the amount of care put into it.”

Audibly turning around now that his voice was sounding much clearer. “It makes one wonder how someone could have obtained it with the amount of protection it must’ve had.”

“You shouldn’t pry for an answer you know you won’t get.”

He tilted his head back a few inches and let out loud laugh, higher pitched than he would’ve assumed but it was still a deep laugh.

(This guy is overall insane.)

“I suppose some things can wait now, can’t they?”

He began walking over to stand behind his side, as he tried a futile attempt of not tensing his muscles.

“Why don’t you show me what you know of it so far?”

The silence ringing for a second before he had an answer.

“The same as you do, mostly, it’s durable and can increase strength. I wasn’t able to figure out much more than that.”

“So, tell me, if you were trying to find out the most you can about this. Where would you start?”

Peter took a steading breath; he shouldn’t get angry but no matter how much he seemed to try and calm down he kept pushing. He’ll go from acting as if none of this is odd then trying to pry information about the suit.

It’s fine really, as long as he can get an identity set up then technically, he can leave whenever he has too. Besides he needs to know more about it too, he might've helped program the Iron-Spider, but this one is newer, it looks like it has the same base idea. He can only hope that the programming is similar enough to his last suit.

A pang resounded through his chest at the thought of his suit and the memories it held, he likes this one all the same, it undoubtedly had different features that he was excited to try out when he could. But the iron-spider. . .it held the memories. It was the last thing. The last thing Tony gave him before he-

Stop 

“I’d start with the separation of the layers, deafferenting the nanotubes and looking into the programming language and style while figuring out how they attached the layers to the circuiting.

Most people see the nanobots and think that they’re all individual, he did too at first. Before Ned came up with another idea that was proven right when he got his internship. While there are plenty of nanobots smaller than a centimeter, what makes up most of the suits are nanotubes. Tiny individual strands larger than most people would assume that could break up and divide. The computer and programming were difficult, no doubt, but with electromagnetic induction the suit could be held firmly in place. Stark said he got the idea for that part from Shuri, just you know the PRINCESS OF WAKANDA, he totally didn’t freak out about that. The small amounts of Vibrainium is what made it so perfect.

It’s what allowed the suit to move smoother than water, always flowing with him and his movements, it also always managed to smell like a new car.

Yet all those thoughts washed away with the overwhelming sense of gratefulness. No one will ever be able to use the suit. Stark made sure of that, creating an entirely new programing language isn't something anyone can do. You could gather the top experts in this world, and he bets none of them would ever come close to cracking the whole thing.

The suit would be safe, it wouldn’t be taken from him, and suddenly once that realization hit him all at once breathing felt a little easier. As long as no one can take it from him-

“That’s easier said than done.”

A clatter and clang from metal tools hitting the desk rang into his ears.

“How exactly are you going to separate the layers? They seem to be fused quite nicely together.”

From the gesture towards the tools, he suspected that he didn’t really have to answer that. For the better really, but that didn’t explain why none of the tools were actually the ones- oh.

oh.

He gets it now, if that’s what he thinks of him, no harm in proving him wrong, Not like he’ll actually be able to figure out how the suit really works.

Placing both hands on the table and pushing himself off his chair, strolling over to the cart. And grabbing the tools that he needed. The man still standing off to the side simply raising an eyebrow, yet he also saw the minimal twitch of his mouth upwards.

(He ignored it.)

Going back towards the desk and starting on taking off the mixture of spandex and....Vibrainium. To eventually get to the most important pieces underneath. Once he gets Karen back, he might have to create a shrine. The watch luckily allowed him access to do whatever he wanted, he assumed if he didn’t have it, it would have notified.... well.... someone and probably use the Vibrainium to defend against any tinkerers.

He might have to stay around while Patrick messes with it himself too, if he hasn’t already figured it out. Which means he’d also need to find an excuse to contain it. Or would he? He could pass it off as a sensor gone off? It’d seem too sudden if it only switched off on him and not Peter. There should be a security function, he wants to hope that maybe there’s a manual off switch, to allow Patrick access.

‘He really should’ve thought of this before he started tinkering with it.,

Another small, quiet sigh causes him to lose the tenseness in his muscles.

‘PAtRiCk’ doesn’t seem to miss this, putting his hand on his shoulder. (ugh, ew)

“Don’t worry Peter, I’m surprised by the progress you’ve made. I’ll take it over from here on out.”

He tries to rein in his face of disbelief that’s slowly begun to morph his face. He quickly resets it as he suddenly remembers that there’s some coffee left in the pot that should really be emptied before he washes it.

“Uh, yea. Sure. Go ahead, I’m going to the um, library.”

Swiftly walking towards the door, the lingering feeling of his hand sending small shivers down his spine.

He pauses for a miniscule second, remembering his empty and forgotten coffee mug.

‘Eh, he doesn’t look THAT old yet. Besides he’s the one that made the coffee, the other who helped none whatsoever can clean it up.’

Closing the door a little bit louder than normal if one paid attention and heading towards the kitchenette still smelling of coffee. (heaven.)

Absentmindedly moving his hands toward his watch. Taking off the security procedure for the damaged scraps. As long as he keeps that off he shouldn’t notice anything off.

‘He’s just glad that Stark really did install a manual off switch.’

‘Oh my Thor, he’s tired. Maybe he shouldn’t have pulled that all nighter but it’s hearing towards seven AM right now and he’s not comfortable sleeping in broad daylight in a crazy maniacs house.’

‘He’ll just grab the coffee and catch up on anything he might not know. Since, apparently, the universe has lovingly screwed him over. “Again. For the millionth time.’

'As he drowns out his sorrows with the rumbling of the coffee pot he also can’t help but wonder. He should really look more closely at the mirror next time.’

'He knew he wasn’t a child, not really. Yet thought of looking in the mirror was terrifying. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to.’

‘He didn’t want to know that this is really real. He doesn’t want to know if he’ll even look the same, whether or not he’s as young as he thinks he is. Because since he was getting closer and closer to being a legal adult he felt like he had so many options and possibilities. And the idea of not-'

No

Listening to the boiling coffee pot to drown out his thoughts.

'Anyways he hadn’t been able to look closely due to… being distracted, but there was something off about everything. He just hasn’t put his finger on it.’

That was how the next few days passed, they fell into- well not normalcy. (You can’t get that when you’ve accidentally traveled to another dimension. Parker Luck am I right?) But it was a pattern, a schedule they were both getting okay with.

He made the coffee even if Patrick complained about too much milk the first couple times and too much cinnamon even now. 'He clearly just didn’t like making the coffee.’ While he’d be the one making lunch. It was usually one big meal and they eat the leftovers as dinner as by that point they’d both be too busy.

Both were figuring out more about the suit, even Peter needed to know more. You don’t just entrust your life to a miniature Iron Man suit without understanding it’s technology.

Patrick was clearly getting more than a little upset about only getting the ‘scraps' of said suit.

Personally he can suck a sock before he ever even thinks about touching my god damn suit. That greedy gerbil.

Which on a completely unrelated topic Peter noticed that when he got upset it was either in two ways.

A) He gets silent and stares directly into the makings of your soul.

Or

B) He looks a little sad and heartbroken and soften his eyes. Which only further extenuates the fact that if he didn’t kidnap him he’d assume he was a innocent and kind uncle.

(Not very kind and kidnappings a crime. So it works as well as bogus on him.)

He’s also ninety-nine percent sure that the second one is entirely a ploy to guilt-trip him and bring a sense of closeness and he wouldn’t have ever seen. In broad daylight if it wasn’t for the fact that ‘Patrick’ knew he’s ready to bolt on here the minute he touches the suit.

(Which he still hasn’t found. As it is sitting oh so comfortably on his wrist.)

And besides the suit he was busy with making sure he didn’t accidentally offend anyone due to whatever odd mannerisms people in this world have.

(He hopes kidnapping isn’t one of them. And yes, he will never get over that.)

Along with making sure that he legally exists in this world. Since he has no longer been receiving much help since. Quote ‘some things shouldn’t be rushed, it’s safer to take your time.’ Unqoute.

Shocker. Really.

While the childnapper seems to be busy with whatever crimes he gets into while he’s studying in the library.

However, unfortunately all of this passed through his mind now that he was currently changing to go to Patrick’s ‘acquaintances' place.

They were the ones who would be ‘taking care of him' for the day. He wishes he could explain that he’s older than he looks and not some twelve year old that definitly doesn’t need to be looked after or at least deserved a proper explanation. But what was he gonna tell them?

‘Oh yeah sorry but I’m actually not a twelve year old, I’m actually seventeen. I’m also from an alternate dimension where we don’t have Superman or Wonder woman and I accidentally got sent here because of a mAgiCaL spell gone wrong by my local wizard. You know how Tuesday’s are.’

Yeah right, they’d send him to Arkham Asylum Jr. Edition if he tried to explain his tragic life story right then and there.

So he’ll have to stick to being at least physically a middle schooler. He’s not quite sure how old he’s supposed to be.

Although maybe it’d be easier to tell if he actually looked in the mirror.

There’s just not enough time to figure things out.

So here he was having freshly changed into jeans that you almost couldn’t tell were just a bit too big and a plain red shirt. Cause apparently the person that brought over some clothes had only picked out childish graphic t-shirts.

He might’ve had more time to feel more embarrassed that an absolute stranger had to get him clothes. if his hands weren’t feeling so uncomfortably warm and his eyes kept unfocusing as he drifted off.

Letting out an exhale and untensing his muscles as he stood up straight.

“Might as well get this over with; how bad can it be?”

Chapter Text

Pamela likes to think herself a compassionate person, at least to the ones close to her. Yet what Edward’s trying to pull. It’s damn near insane and she’s this close to testing whatever backup plan he has in case they try to take the child out of his hands.   

Harley’s damn near restless and if he can’t prove himself to be a ‘somewhat' responsible guardian then she knows Harl's will never be able to get a decent night's rest till they’re safe.   

So, she’s willing to break the fragile companionship they had.   

She’d liked to think they were almost friends.  

If not for the sake of the kid, then at least for the sake of Harley.   

She’s not sure Harley could ever forgive her if she let him be mistreated.   

She’s not sure she could ever forgive herself either.   

It was the first time Peter ever got out of the house. Now that he thinks about it it’s the first time, he’s seen Gotham since he first arrived.   

He was currently looking out the window of the moving car they’re in. It was only a couple minutes after they got out that the car pulled up.   

A fancy one at that. It had a chauffeur, tell-tale sign by her suit, short responses and the overall seriousness surrounding her.   

He wasn’t sure whether or not she worked for Patrick but by fact that Patrick was. . . happy about it? He’s not sure but if he seems to be in a good mood then wouldn’t it be the best time to ask some questions?   

“Whose car is this?”  

“Are you friends?”  

Patrick turns around with both hands in front of him. He was wearing a dark green suit with a black cane that had a golden question mark at the top. It was an odd choice, but it still looked nice.   

The said man simply tilted his head as if in thought. In the tense silence between the three of them. (He noticed the chauffeur paying close attention to this too.)   

It's such a shame that he’d never notice what close attention she was also paying to Peter himself. Perhaps more so than the question.   

“We are companions, yes, although I do believe that business partners would be a much more fitting term.”  

He rolled the words companions and partners on his tongue as if it was physically thick. That’s when the words washed over him.   

‘Business partners? Did he just get in the car of a known criminal? One clearly rich in a city like Gotham? Who probably uses his money to commit crimes, or hell commits crimes to get money like this.’  

He once again for another moment feels utterly stupid. ‘What was he expecting? For his friends to be cops and lawyers? He should’ve known better than to assume they’d be law abiding citizens, from now wouldn’t it be safer to assume that everyone around him is a villain or criminal of some sort?’  

He feels like an idiot for having to make this promise to himself but no more getting in strangers' car and no getting in a car that you have no idea where it’s going.   

Speaking of all he said was that they were going to an acquaintance's house.   

He knows that they're reformed criminals and more than one. That part is worrying him, he- he knows he lost his powers. He hasn’t even noticed it at first, chalking it up to the still healing concussion and the overall confusion of traveling to another dimension.   

He noticed it when he had started squinting to look at things and how he’d have to put in actual effort when it came to heavier things. He’d even have to tug on the fridge door a second time before it came loose.  

~  

He finally went back to the room when he got a bit of time and when he set his foot on the wall it didn’t have that telltale sign of him trying to defy gravity. The feeling of your weight shifting onto something that wasn’t the floor.   

Yet he still tried and the second he did.  

He fell.  

His second foot didn’t even make it onto the wall before he fell back on his ass.  

From another’s perspective if they had walked in at that moment, they would have seen a boy staring at a wall with utter shock and disbelief.  

‘It was unnatural. The fact that for once he was so normal, only that it happened at the worst possible time. When he’s in a city like Gotham. When he’s in a whole new universe.’  

His gaze drifted down, simply gazing down at the floor when he suddenly felt...odd. He didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t matter, he didn’t have time for it. He rose to his feet as he pushed the feelings down.   

He breathed in a deep breath and let it out.   

~  

Right, there was no longer any relying on his powers. No sixth sense to tell him when danger was coming, he’d have to rely on himself. And his own judgement, even if it was without a part that had become just as human as the rest of him.   

“Who are they then? I haven’t heard much about your ‘acquaintances.’”   

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be more than… enthusiastic to meet you, and you’ll have plenty of time to get used to them.”  

With his hands still settled in front of him atop his cane he felt like someone who’d be sophisticated and not be tested. (Along with the feeling that he would sleep with socks on. The psychopath.)   

Peter just scowls. “That doesn’t tell. Me. Anything. I’m just asking, what point of is there of not telling me when we’re about to meet them?”  

“What point is there in me telling you when you’re about to see them?”  

Frustration and humiliation begin to bubble up.   

‘He can’t get angry. It’s not useful, it’ll do nothing but cloud his judgement.’  

He really thought he’d care?  

~  

It was officially three days since he (blipped?) came here.   

And it was currently giving him a kick in the face to remind him of how much the universe has decided to screw him. (Maybe a bit of underexaggerating)  

He was trying to take the bandages off, he really was. Yet it seemed so much more complicated (painful) here. Was it because he didn’t have his powers? But it never affected his pain tolerance. Or was it just the fact that now without his healing ability the cells were taking more damage than they were used to without being able to fix it so quickly?  

He made a grunt of pain, scrunching his eyes closed as he mentally prepared himself to take off the bandage. The cool air on a wound always stung and with this one it’d be even worse, a small gash with a large burn over it. He can thank the spread of the electrical fire for that one, not to mention the fact that it was on his fucking ribs. He’s lucky that his concussion seemed to be mostly healed up, he’s not quite sure why he’s aged backwards suddenly.  

Could this universe been trying to make him fit in by reversing his age? The timeline was different, so it wasn’t exactly that. Yet it wasn’t far off either, is this universe rewriting itself? Like editing a chapter to fit in the introduction of a new character?   

Chills shivered up his spine at that thought. (He felt like someone was very frustrated right now. Maybe Patrick? Well one can only hope.)  

 Then maybe his body does fit this current timeline, and he just doesn't know it? Either way, his concussion is pretty patched up, unfortunately this isn’t quite so. He wished that along with reversing his age it had reversed his injuries also. Good old ‘Parker Luck’.  

He inhaled slowly-  

“You know you could’ve just asked for some help.”  

His head snaps towards the door so fast he feels it tense for a second. There he is, in all his narcissism is him standing in the doorway.  

“I saw no reason too.”  

The man simply quirks his eyebrow.  

“Really? Cause from my point of view you look like a kid recklessly about to rip off his bandage and damage your wound even more.”  

“I had it handled.”  

Another irritated sigh echoes throughout the room.  

“Wait here.”  

It isn’t many more than a few minutes that he comes back up the stairs, walking through the door with a small bowl on a tray along with a couple of other things he couldn’t quite make out.  

“You know that I Ieft some tape over the edge of the wound to stop you from redressing it by yourself.”  

“You did that on purpose?”  

“Of course, although I can see that my efforts were futile.”  

“Isn’t that just destroying the point of ‘damaging my wound even more’?”  

“It was better than you just recklessly trying to redress a wound like this one.”  

Gesturing to the wound as if it needed anymore emphasizing. He scrunched his nose; he knew how to redress a wound properly. It wasn’t his fault that it hurt more than usual. He turned his attention back towards the wound.  

“If you put warm water and soap on the edges, you can reduce the chance of dirt getting in the wound, which also prevents infection. Not to mention the fact that it makes the edges easier to take off, they can stick easily.”  

He knows that . He was just trying to avoid the bathroom.  

Unaware of his mental and physical plight he kept rambling on. Talking him through dressing and redressing a wound. He’ll begrudgingly admit some of it was useful, since he was now realizing the fact that he’ll be prone to infections from now on.  

Still facing away from him with his arms crossed as he picked back up his tray. He still had manners however, so he couldn't prevent himself from muttering a small.  

“Thanks, I guess.”  

The man turned back towards him from where he was closing the door. And with a small smile stretching across his skin.  

“It was no issue, Peter.”  

~  

He pushes it down. As he turns to look out the window.   

‘He’s not going to tell him anything? Fine. That’s fine. He’s not going to be staying while he leaves him with two strangers? It’s not like he can’t leave whenever he wants. Oh wait. He can and personally, fuck kidnappers. MJ always said he had no sense of self preservation. And maybe she was right, cause he’s not gonna spend another second with this rat-like bastard.’  

“Maybe the point is to make sure you don’t have someone else finish off the job for you.”  

The man for the first time since they got in the car looked at him. (He might’ve said he looked surprised if he didn’t have only a set of facial expressions he actually bothered to show.)   

“Don’t worry kid, I’m certain they’d want no place in what you assume to be my intentions.”  

“How long will I have to stay there anyways?”  

Now moving his eyes from the window on his side to his eyes.   

“Hmm, I do believe I’ve failed to tell you, haven't I? Well, you’ll be staying for at least a couple of days, perhaps longer, while I get my activities done.  

“Although if you’re really that worried, I don’t mind staying to introduce you more. . .thoroughly.”  

He was currently doing his best to suppress his shock.   

‘He wasn’t going to be there? It was implied surely but he thought he’d do. More than a brief introduction. Especially after he said he was going to be there for days he thought he was going to be there for a few hours at most while he does whatever he’s involved in.’  

‘Forget it, you shouldn’t be surprised. You should’ve expected it. He’s not going to be there while he’s left with two (if not more) former criminals he isn’t even allowed to know the identity of.’  

‘Just push it down.’  

Mentally restraining what he currently wants to say. He decides to give up and not answer Patrick’s previous question, he’d get the message that it isn’t necessary.   

‘What kind of guy would bother to introduce a kid he knows nothing about? Definitely not kidnappers.’  

~  

When they finally get to the Upper east side, he looks through the window to find bright colorful buildings just shrouded entirely in greenery or plants that aren’t so green, ranging from so many different colors.  

He takes his first step outside the car, and when he looks around him his breath feels as if it has been stolen away.   

It was beautiful, ethereal. The air seemed cleaner, clearer here. The fresh air so crisp with the low gray clouds just waiting till it’s time to finally rain.   

It smelled strongly of petrichor he couldn’t help but cherish it.   

“it’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”  

He turns around.   

“Reformed criminals?” With no small hint of disbelief.   

“Hah, kid, if all it took for you to believe me was a few houseplants I would’ve told you.”  

Gesturing towards everything around him. “Well, duh, how does this scream I commit crimes ?”  

Quirking his eyebrows. “What crimes did they commit? Stealing old ladies' houseplants?”  

This time ‘Patrick’s' laugh sounds less high pitched, more like the wholehearted laugh he imagined that he apparently has to lean his head back for. (Still sounds like he’s cackling though.)   

The thought of that sent chills and shivers down his spine despite the relatively warm and humid (and cloudy) day.   

“Something like that kid. Come on, I already know you’re going to get along swellingly with them as long as you mind your manners. Oh, and do mind the plants.”  

He was now guiding him towards the obviously mostly evacuated condo.   

“Let’s drop you off before I have to walk back to the car in the rain.”  

It occurred to him a little too late that he now had a hand on his back. How did he not notice it? Just as he was about to say something, he once again interrupted him before he could say something.   

Turning back to the bodyguard. Who he totally didn’t forget was there.   

He definitely did, but honestly, he thinks he deserves to be a little distracted.   

“Oh, and Lark, while I know gossip can be a bit…unpreventable. I hope you’ll see to it that nothing won’t be heard by those we’re not. . .close to, correct?”  

'It sounded like a question, yet he once again made it abundantly clear that it was not . He felt the hand on his back become stiff, but not as if he was threatened rather as if h-'  

“Of course, not sir.”  

Glancing towards him from where he was now bowing towards Patrick.   

(Don’t react. Don’t react. You’ll be fine. You’ll leave soon.)  

“I know better than to let anything reach those we don’t already trust.”  

‘They’re lying. Did they think he was dumb? They clearly were lying about trusting them. However, that means that if they’re letting others hear about this. (Whatever this is. Is it the place?) It’s not out of trust. Business partners?’  

More like fellow criminals.   

‘It must be who they’re meeting. He’s sure that a kidnapper isn’t someone nice enough to just drop him off. He probably has some business with them. He shouldn’t have let the scenery distract him.’  

After Patrick gave a genial smile towards her and started pushing him to the building once again, he started to think things through a little more clearly.   

Don’t trust them apparently.   

As if he would ever be mentally prepared for that again.   

Expect them to be willing to commit crimes. And to fight if he needs to.   

They were both unexpectedly quiet while in the building. The elevator was. . .awkward to say the least. Patrik pushed the button; he really couldn’t help himself from saying.  

“Is that Ava Maria playing? Who uses that as elevator music? There’s not even enough time for it!”  

He only has a knowing smirk placed firmly on his face.   

“Unfortunately, it’s only the chorus.”  

‘He must come here often enough to know that.’  

The door pinged open before he could ask any more questions. Ava Maria was still playing while they walked towards the door, visibly his acquaintances.   

With vines flowing out from under the door and a small woven mat that read.   

‘ Harl's and Ivy’s turn back while you can .’  

With plenty of hearts surrounding the frame.   

He’s not sure whether or not that’s good or not. He’ll never take his Spidey-sense for granted ever again. Working to not clench his hand into a fist.   

“Why don’t you ring the doorbell kid?”  

(He also resisted glaring at the annoying man.)   

Just as he was about to ring the doorbell shaped as a leaf the door flew open.   

And before he could even think about what happened suddenly arms were wrapping around him.   

“MY GOODNESS! PAM! YOU SEEING THIS?! HE’S JUST SOOOOOOO CUTE! LOOK AT HIS BIG ROUND DOE EYES!!”  

Before she turned to Patrick glaring and pouting with her dark red lipstick.   

“YA BETTA NOT CORRUPT HIM YOU LITTLE. YOU LITTLE- PLANNING, SCHEMING GERBIL!”  

.  

.   

.   

Peter decided at that moment that she must be a goddess. She sees him for what this bastard truly is.   

A Gerbil.   

A mothertrucking gerbil.   

With her arms still loosely tied around him he was trying to gently shimmy out. She didn’t seem that bad. All things considered, till he saw someone cutting through them. Gently moving the very nice lady.   

With the one enveloping him from everyone's view they finally got their first view of each other.   

They both froze. He doesn’t know why she did. When he’s pretty sure he looked normal. But she had dark red hair. He wonders if it was dyed. Yet undeniably her green skin and eyes stood out the most.   

She seemed to regain the calmness she held earlier sooner than him. He felt like the whole exchange was barely even a few seconds. Yet he saw Patrick and the other lady freeze too. A look passed their faces he couldn’t decipher. If the others hadn’t let an odd look that he also couldn’t quite decipher pass their faces he’s not sure he would have thought, they hadn’t noticed the pause.   

Till finally the lady with the green skin spoke.   

“Let’s not overwhelm him. I’m sure he has been through a lot recently.”  

Taking both her hands off their shoulders and stepping in front of Patrick.   

“I think you and I have something discuss.”  

Walking away towards the adjacent condo.  

‘Is that where they do all their criminal activities?’  

A hand on his shoulder stopped his thoughts.  

“Hey kid, don’t worry about them. What’s ya name?”  

Before Peter could even think he said something different. It’s not that he didn’t like her, and if Patrick wanted to tell them the truth, he couldn’t stop him. But using the name Peter? It held something.   

Something he didn’t want to share she seemed nice but. . . It hurt. There’s no one to call him the same way they did anymore. So, no one here should have to.   

“Ben. My names Ben.”  

“Ben? Yea, ya look like a Ben. Now come here, I’m sure you’ve had a stressful time if you’re with dear old Eddie.”  

‘Is Edward his most common name?’  

Grabbing him by the arm and leading him away from the narrow hallway to a spacious living room.   

“Now you don’t have to tell. Me anything you don’t wanna Ben. But I just wanna make sure you’re okay. Is it okay if I ask ya a couple a’ questions?”  

That unsettled him, he hadn’t really been expecting this. What was she gonna ask?   

“Um, yea that’s okay.”  

“Ya need any help? I know that if ya ended up with Eddie, ya must’a been through a real tough time. I won’t ask about home if that’s not what ‘a want but if you need a place to stay, ya can always have stay here for as long as you need.”  

He tried his hardest to resist his muscles tensing, she seemed nice, she really did but he couldn’t bother them like that.  

“I think I'm okay.”  

“That’s alright, no need to take up the offer now. I know that’s a lot, but I don’t want ya to forget the offer’ll always be there. I only have one more question for ya that there’s no need for you to feel obligated to answer, okay?”  

He gave a small nod, trying not to make direct eye contact.  

“Are ya feeling, okay? Do ya think you can be happy while you’re there?”  

He’s pretty sure he wasn’t looking nice right now. She-she really asked. She was asking whether or not he was okay, whether he was happy . She could be manipulating him, like Mysterio did, but was she?   

He wanted to scream, no he wasn’t okay, because all of sudden all those thoughts, emotions that he tried push down came to surface like a flood. He wasn't okay. Because he lost everything , all he wanted to do was help people and they hated him. They humiliated him, he tried to help and now he doesn’t have a home. All because of what? Because he wanted to help them, and he fell for it?’  

“It. . .”  

Swallowing down the lump in his throat.   

And despite it being hypocritical he couldn’t answer anything else.  

“Th- There’s no where else to be for me.”  

She smiled at him, and for once he’s appreciating it. It wasn’t pity, it was understanding.   

He couldn’t help but marvel at it.   

“Ben, was it?”  

His head jolted to the left, where the other lady (he should learn their names) stood.   

‘How long has she been standing there?’  

“Just a while, I heard your name by the door. The doors here are thin.”  

He couldn’t help the flush. He should really stop muttering.   

The lady (the green one, he wants to ask about that but that’d be rude.) actually smiled lightly at that. Clearly everyone here enjoys seeing him suffer. She kinda remind him of Pepper with that seriousness, although it’s much more intimidating and less professional.   

“Sorry about that, but we’ve talked about it and you’ll be staying here for a few days while Edwards busy.”  

Said ‘Edward' was standing in the doorway as he always does. He tries not to glare, he does. But if his gaze looks like it soured then that’s not his fault.   

Luckily before they could stare into each other’s souls and plot the others’ murder for their resources the really really nice one (the one with the accent since both of them are really nice) jumped in.   

“Why don’t I show ya upstairs? We’ve heard a little bit about you, you like science, right? We’ve gotta pretty nice lab if I do say so myself.”  

He's not even sure he could hide the admiration in his eyes for her if he was held at gunpoint at this point. They have A LAB. A lab upstairs like a normal person and not behind a secret hidden door behind the stairs that go into a secret basement.   

With proper lighting like civilized people and not in some damp, dark basement where the only light is from computer screens and definitely doesn’t look like someone’s about to jump outta the shadows to stab you.  

The goddess, angel? Nice one took that as enough an answer with a chuckle and he was suddenly being dragged upstairs.   

Pamela wasn’t a good person, she knew this. Yet she still couldn’t suppress her rage at the man in front of her.   

As she closed it just after the kid had said his name. Ben, this suddenly felt more real. This wasn’t just one of Edwards’ schemes or plans to mess with the bats, this was a real, breathing child. And she’ll be damned if she for even one second thinks that he might not be safe, comfortable and happy there.  

“Where, when and how.”  

It wasn’t a question, it was demand and she hopes that he’s feeling pretty fucking intimidated, because he has good reason to be right now. For all his geniuses he’s fucking clueless when it comes to having any amount of emotional intelligence.  

“I suppose it all started when I was on my way to visit Cobblepot, I came across him just when Lark was supposed to arrive. He was in quite a dire situation. Gashes, bruising and scrapes all around him.”  

At this part his voice turns mystified.  

“Not even I can figure out where he came from, the cameras around that area had long been destroyed or too unkept. I, however, think he may have been trying to get out of a quite unavoidable circumstance due to his origins.”  

“Goddamnit, stop speaking in riddles for once in your god damn life!”  

Her voice was strained, clearly not wanting the neighboring party to hear her.  

“He has said and acted in a way that more than suggests that he is without a guardian and has more than implied that he was foster care. Unfortunately, it is not well hidden about that state it is in. And how easily such children can be exposed to certain crimes.”  

No  

No  

No  

If she’d been paying more attention maybe she’d have noticed how his voice had become uncharacteristically softer.  

“He’s shown no signs of something further happening, I know your opinion on my ‘emotional intelligence’ but with how recently it’s been he wouldn’t be able to hide that from me.”  

Her head snaps up with such distaste on her face withheld into a forming snarl.  

“And how would you know?! He could’ve repressed it! He could’ve suppressed it so you wouldn’t notice!”  

“Yes, he could have. Yet even then repressing memories takes time, time he did not have. And even if he had been trying to suppress the memories willingly so I would not have noticed, I would have.”  

This time he straightens up, holding his head high, voice losing the previous gentleness it came with.  

“You know I would have noticed if so, don’t you?”  

She could hear the question, a small modicum of trust, an olive branch. Yet she could also hear the statement. She knows he would’ve noticed if he had been hurt that way, because even if nothing had happened to him, he had grown up an orphan. A time where it was comparatively worse yet better for them. Where poverty overtook the city by a whole, in exchange that complex crimes would be more difficult to carry out.  

At this point she couldn’t help but sigh heavily and run a hand through her hair.  

“Yeah, I know, you would’ve.”  

Facing back towards the door, before turning around to give one last hard glare.  

“You do know that this conversation isn’t done yet.”  

Edward simply gives back a smile before pretending to take off a hat and giving a bow.  

“Yes, ma’am.”  

No longer bothering to hold the door open with the reminder so pointedly in the hallway. She's still pissed at him for messing with their elevator music, she can’t stand it now. It’s no time for jokes however, as now that she’s watching the kid and Harley talking there's been one thing that's been bothering her.  

Ever since she first opened the door, she couldn’t help but stare, because what by far suited the simple, dark red shirt were by far his vivid green eyes.  

Chapter Text

As he was dragged into the house, he realized that most of the house was filled with sunlight and plants. He wondered if it was the other ladies' powers, since she’s visibly a mutant and well... Green is the symbolic color for plants.

He’s also getting a good layout of this place. Patrick's was fairly larger, but he felt like any time he was looking around he’d pop outta nowhere. And he’s more than shown that the first two times.

The door opened to a small hallway which when you walked out you could see a nice living room where the front half of the ceiling was a glass sunroof. He’s willing to bet that even with Gotham's naturally foggy environment that the glass had a self-tint feature. Not only for the plants but also so nobody would melt like ice cream on the couch. While to the left the small glimpse he did showed a kitchen against the back wall with only a narrow window overlooking the counters. Clearly meant for the plants that don’t require as much sunlight. He was eventually led upstairs through the living room into a large hallway with a staircase in the wall, wrapping around the side of the house.

“Well?”

He realized that she was a lot taller than him (Although everyone seems tall now)

“It’s really nice, there’s a lot of sunlight and the plants are nice.”

“Not that silly! Which room do you wanna choose? Ya can pick just about any one just not the one at the very end.”

Pointing in the opposite direction, the hallways were split into fours or two if you wanted to look at it like a cross. He thinks the one to the right might lead outside like some rooftop terrace or garden. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were more plants outside. He wasn’t sure there seemed to be plenty of rooms, if you ignore the ones with the smaller doors that are most likely bathrooms and the one at the end with the double doors.

“Um, I’m not sure what room to choose from? I mean well, I’m really fine with whatever?”

She simply tilts her head in thought.

“Hmm, well it’s no fun that way but…”

She looks him up and down before whispering behind her hand conspiratorially.

“I know the best one.”

She simply latched onto his elbow (will he have to get used to that?) And walked him down the same hallway they were in down to a room just in front of the double doors at the end of the hall.

Slamming open the door in a flashy show of dramatics.

“TADAAA!!”

“I know that it’s kinda bare, but! There’s so much room for improvement! I was originally planning to make this an office or something, we haven’t really done much with these rooms though.”

He glanced around and true to her words it was bare. Yet he could already see what he’d do if he had a room like this. The room had a marble countertop, probably an old one from the lab. The room was also shaped so that despite the rectangle shape it had there weren’t any corners on the ceiling, instead the whole ceiling had been slightly rounded out, reminiscent of a, wait what was the word?

Ah right, a spherocube.

He thought about walking along the ceiling and filling the ceiling and walls with a million ideas and research projects before a pang rang through his chest.

‘He was never going to have that again. Wasn’t he?’

“So whatda think? I know it’s a little bare, but I think it’s the funniest room up here. The others look a little boring in comparison. Not to mention!”

Prancing over to the large curtains on the opposite end, and tossing them back.

“I think this view is the best part!”

She was right once again, the window looked out onto the streets in front of them. Sidewalks with abnormal amounts of grass growing in between the cracks even from the distance. And from where he’d usually prepare to draw back from the sudden bright daylight was instead a casting of light gray and dim lighting.

He'd also realized that in the short time it’s been a light patter of rain had started hitting the streets.

Despite the dullness of it all it has its own calming sense of beauty.

He still couldn’t help the shyness when he asked a stranger (No matter how nice she is)

“If you wouldn’t mind, I think I'd like to take this room.”

She beamed.

“Feel a little down that ya were already so decisive but glad I could’ve help!”

Perking up as if she had a sudden idea and inhaling a dramatic gasp.

“I can’t believe I’ve forgotten! I HAVE TO INTRODUCE YOU TO BUD AND LOU!! They’ll be so excited to meet ya!”

He couldn’t quite help but feel like every idea and thought he had was thrown off with her. She seemed to have the most unpredictable way of acting sometimes.

Yet he couldn’t find that he minded, he felt like she knew he needed a distraction. He can’t help but wonder if she did. It would make sense with how despite her outlandish character she seemed so attentive to everything.

“Who’s Bud and Lou?”

He sure as hell hoped it wasn’t anymore new people, he thinks he’s reached his quota for a while, thank you very much.

“Oh, don’t worry, ya don’t hafta go nowhere. They’re just right out here.”

This is an opportunity isn’t it?

“Oh, okay, thank you miss…?”

Trailing off as a desperate attempt of learning their names.

The embodiment of eccentricity (is that a real word?) paused in her hopping gait.

“Oh. my. Goodness. Have I really been dragging you around my home when I haven’t even introduced myself?”

The following ‘um' is quickly followed by the sound of a hand hitting against a forehead.

“I’m Harleen Quinzel. My partner downstairs is Pamela Isley. Just call us Harley and Pamela.”

She was no longer holding onto his hand and was just looking at him. As if she was expecting a very specific reaction. Staring quietly, it was such a sudden change he couldn’t say it didn’t startle him.

His hands were starting to feel warm. Where those names supposed to mean something? He wouldn’t assume so. (He hoped not) There's no point in thinking about it, and now that he has the opportunity for a proper introduction he'll take it.

“Nice to meet you, Harley. I’m Ben Parker”

She looked at his outstretched hand before having that same jovial smile on her face and shaking it up and down (excessively)

“Nice to meet ya too Ben!”

________________________________________

After she had led him to the door on the right that did in fact, as he suspected, lead to a terrace outside. Except it was less of a terrace and more of using the left-over rooftop space. And despite the already spacious and roomy apartment the rooftop had a little garden of herbs.

And if he were to look over the building, he’d see a small dome skylight. Over where the ‘lab’ seemed to be, it was such a shame that he didn’t as now we’d later see the butterfly effect in full force.

 Yet while he was faintly making all these observations in the back of his mind (except for the most noticeable one) Harley seemed to be moving towards the same direction that had a medium sized shed that had big, crooked lettering spelling ‘Bud and Lou’. That had definitely seemed to have fallen down more than a few times.

At this point he was wondering what it was and with Harley enthusiastically waving him over, well, he saw no reason to stay away. Now that it’s obvious that there is some pet or another, he wonders what animal it is? Maybe with the being on the rooftop they’re birds? Or maybe stray cats they’ve taken in over the years, they seemed to be willing to pick up stray things after all. OR they could be-

Right as he was thinking about his next idea Harley had flung open the shed door shouting.

“Bud! Lou! Come greet our new guest! He’ll be stayin’ a while!”

Suddenly he saw what looked like (hoped were) two big dogs bounding towards him. He was inevitably pushed to the ground with the two (very large) dogs licking him on every inch of his face.

He was left on the ground in shock for a minute or two, still with the unrelenting dogs licking his face before he heard a snort quickly followed by a loud bubbling laugh.

“I think they like ya!”

“I’d hope so, it’d make my new unwanted skincare routine worth it.”

“It seems they’re also quite set on giving you a new hairdo.” She teases as she eventually manages to shoo them away (what are definitely not dogs) long enough to pull him up.

“Sorry about that, at least they seemed to like ya! Always gotta trust dogs when it comes to people!” Now grabbing his hands. “So all’s forgiven then?”

“Um, yeah gotta trust animals. But are you sure those are really dogs?”

‘He feels like he could see them setting fire to something and cackling.’

He couldn’t quite stop the chill that ran up his spine when he realized they seemed to match Harley in that way.

Harley, very pointedly looked away, hands clasped behind her back and whistling. He wasn’t sure whether or not he should press. But hey, if he was gonna be living with them for a couple days than it’d be nice to know.

As he sighs mentally (goodness he’s been doing that a lot) and looks over at Bud and Lou who are now running in circles trying to bite each others ankles and tipping over at least three plant pots as they scatter around.

“Are they, uh, um, are those.... hyenas?”

As he briefly scrunched his eyes at the thought, he was surprised to open them to Harley sitting next to her hyenas both giving him the puppiest puppy dog eyes. Although who he guessed was Lou (He looked like a Lou) was having a particularly hard time with it. As both eyes were facing in opposite directions with his tongue lolled out.

“Ya don’t have to worry about them one bit, they’re both very good attack, I uh, I mean they’re very good cuddle dogs.”

Peter has no doubt that he doesn’t actually have a decision in this, but it’d be nice to show that he’s comfortable with them, or at least not uncomfortable. Right?

He crouches down and holds out his hand for Bud (allegedly) to sniff.

“Just a guess but is this one Bud?”

Harley perks up at that.

“Ya can tell? Pams always used to say that there's no difference. Yapping on about ‘how can an animal look like their name?’ but you can see it too can’t ya? I knew I wasn’t crazy when I was picking’ out their names!”

While Harley was making a very good point, he meanwhile also upgraded from greeting the dog to playing with the dogs (Hyenas) very stretchy cheeks. He couldn’t help pulling on them a bit (never enough to cause discomfort) and watched as the cheeks bounced back and Bud returned to having his tongue on the side

‘He’s very loveable. In the odd sort of way’

“Yeah, I can see it. Their names suit them nicely.”

He watched as she squealed with joy, swaying with Lou as he very obediently started licking her face, probably trying to reciprocate her joy.

‘Does she ever have to wear waterproof makeup? I mean it’d be bad if it got smudged, not to mention that it’d be bad for the dogs (Hyenas).’

“Knock, Knock”

He startled at the sudden voice; he was really missing his Spidey-Sense at moments like these.

‘Her name is Pamela, right?’

“Pam! Ben agrees with our little puppies looking like a Bud and Lou! I told you their names suit them perfectly! You just might be the odd one out ‘ere!”

He gave a small smile to her from where she was leaning against the doorway. She seemed nice; she definitely was. But Harley just managed to fill the silence and even if it continued on, she’d never let it bother her. Ms. Pamela seemed like the more serious type. (And a little intimidating) She turned her attention towards Harley.

“I don’t think that anyone here is qualified to decide what is and isn’t odd. And Ben? Patrick and I talked a bit more and we’ve decided that you’ll be staying here till Friday and on Wednesday we’ll be going shopping for anything you might need.”

Just as his forehead had begun creasing, and eyes widened she placated his worries. Giving him a light pat on his head.

“Don’t worry Ed’s paying for all of it.”

As quickly as relief flowed through him confusion likewise followed. He appreciated the pat, he really did, but it also felt a little bit weird. He had a feeling that it was more of a gesture made out of uncertainty, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with him. He knows that he’s . . .shorter now. But how young does he really look?

For now, he just gave a polite nod.

A terse moment of silence passed between them. With the sounds of panting Hyenas being the only noise on the rooftop, he was surprisingly content with just petting Bud.

‘He was. . . nightmare inducing towards small children. But once you get over the teeth that still have bits of red meat stuck between, he was. Maybe. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe. Perhaps. Just a little. . . cute?’

‘Just a little’

Maybe a bit more than a little.

Before being unwillingly willingly distracted from the sudden coolness on his hand currently on a certain hyena's head.

‘Huh, apparently the rain from earlier is back, and apparently stronger too.’

Pamela, catching his distraction, spoke.

“Perhaps we should go inside now?”

He stood, Harley followed with a little more reluctance, giving Lou a few more furious pets while the drizzle began to dampen their hair.

Once they were walking through the hallways once again with an extra person and two cute ferocious hyenas, they were suddenly asking about what he’d like to do. Whether or not he’d like to wash the dishes afterwards or help prep the meal. He’d gathered on pretty quickly that he’d be expected to help around while he was here. He appreciated the attempt on trying to show him independence, but he's cooked whole meals, anything they’d give him would be pretty minor in comparison. Patrick had been doing that too, although less to teach him independency and more because of the fact they’d lose a hand if either went into the others room. So it was just anice little divide of personal space and making sure one was responsible for the sanitation of their own respective spaces.

The only thing different is that the divide came with a little more consequences.

“I’d like to help prep the meal, please.”

Harley ruffled his hair, “Glad I'm not the only one who doesn’t like washing the dishes.”

Bright red hair turned towards her direction from where she watched him getting his hair messed up more than it had already been.

“You’re saying that as if you’ve forgotten it’s your turn to wash the dishes.”

She suddenly stopped in her tracks, by the look on her face she probably had.

“Are- Are you sure?”

“It’s a Tuesday isn’t it?”

“It’s a chewsday innit?”

He stopped in his tracks, did she just? He looked over to where he realized he wasn’t the only one surprised. Both he and Pamela both abruptly looked away, he could just make out from his peripheral that she was currently pinching her leg, although to be fair he was currently biting his lip.

“What? What is it?”

He could currently make out someone taking deep breaths to calm themselves, so he decided he’d be taking the fall for this one.

Be calm. CALM. Not that hard Peter.

“Nothing just didn’t realized it was already Tuesday. You know?”

She turned and gave him a once over with a face of confusion.

“Hmm... I guess so.”

“Anyways, time to go make some food, I could eat enough for a whole elephant right now!”

And with that very doubtful statement they headed their way downstairs, he was pretty hungry too. He was too nervous to keep down much more than cereal this morning. Which is a funny thought as now he feels surprisingly comfortable, mostly by the work of Harley she definitely seemed to know just what to say and when to say it.

For the hundredth time that day he once again thought ‘she’s very nice’.

Once he was gathering up the plates and dishes to put next to the sink where Harley was recoiling from every two minutes saying, ‘unpleasant sensations!’ Not that he could blame her, who likes whatever hellish things conjure up from the bottom of the sink?

No One

NO ONE

That's who.

Pamela came down the stairs, doing what he now wonders if it's a habit of knocking on the wall to announce her presence.

“I’ve put any furniture you may need in the room. You just tell me if you need anything arranged around, okay Ben?”

“Okay thank you Ms. Pamela.”

Another thing he had noticed, or rather what he couldn’t have not noticed. Harley seemed to give a completely not subtle look towards Pamela. He knows the formality can sometimes be unexpected, Probably is more in New Jersey Gotham but to hell if he wasn’t going to treat the nicest people he’s met here (Not that he’s met many) and who are currently housing him the damn respect they deserve.

(Not all New Jerseyans are bad Peter.)

They've yet to have said anything about it. He thinks they might just get some sense out joy out of it, for whatever odd reason.

“Go upstairs and wash up, Harley’s left some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t know quite why but he froze at that and hesitantly looked over to Harley. His blood froze, there in all her disgust she held for the sink she was suddenly grinning.

All of a sudden, he wanted to help a bit more, it was being polite right? He was a guest after all.

Ms. Pamela seeming to do the mind reading this time simply gave a brief pat to his head.

“Don’t worry I managed to tone it down, you’ll be fine.”

That did not in fact make him feel fine.

.

.

.

After she told him where the bathroom was in case, he wanted to wash up (he definitely did) he first walked to his guest room. Apparently before leaving Patrick decided to leave something. He wasn’t sure what it was, only that he left sometime after he went upstairs.

The room’s nice, you get to open with a bed to the left, a lab desk to the right and a big window right in the middle. Yet in the middle of the bed was a medium sized leather trunk, looking as old as everything he owned in his house. Maybe even as old as the man himself.

Maybe younger.

The clasps were a smooth shiny bronze, and clearly dulled with time, making a quiet click as he opened it. He doesn’t think he could’ve held back the bitter snark, there, right in the middle of the otherwise empty suitcase was a phone.

He honestly hadn’t expected him to get him one and even if he had, certainly not before he got his clothes. The oddities of an old man's priorities. However, while it did seem brand new (even if it seemed like an older model from decades ago, honestly. It looked like a normal phone except for the fact that it’s a lot thicker with the heavy-duty plastic and metal feeling) it did come without any packaging. Scrolling through his phone his contacts had an ‘Uncle Patrick’ with one new message.

“May you enjoy your time with your relatives.”

He tried to hold back a groan/sigh but to no avail. His crypticness seemed to come with no end. Rolling in petulance and annoyance until he realized. His previous statement was wrong, the trunk was accompanied by one more thing.

A card that he couldn’t help but laugh at, just a little.

CONGRATULATIONS! IT’S A BOY!

It also came with a few lines underneath that looked extremely similar to a puzzle and he decided that for the safety of everyone involved and a certain elder he’d patiently put it off to the side.

And for the sake of himself he decided to finally take his long awaited and relaxing shower. It was unfortunate that he forgot about the concern he did have earlier. Involving a certain mischievous hyena owning embodiment of chaos.

He didn’t even have the energy from just taking a shower for a proper sigh of exasperation right now.

He can respect the superman crop top, luckily it seemed she had it mind that it was too large for him to actually function as a crop top. So, he can respect that part.

The hello kitty pajama pants, however, were another thing. He could tolerate them even on bad days. And that says a lot, but did they really have to be so velvety soft? He almost wants to wear them. (Almost)

And last but not least. . .was the fact that instead of socks, he instead got a pair of duck slippers. While the right one made no noise (As most normal slippers should) the left one made what given the context one would say is a quack, however if you closed your eyes and forgot about it being a duck it sounded suspiciously like wheezing.

The tense silence rang throughout the car before there was an awkward clearing if the throat, yet the only other person in the car continued staring through the window as if he hadn’t noticed.

It wouldn’t have been a surprise if he hadn’t.

“If you would mind sir?”

After a few moments of waiting for an answer before realizing they weren’t going to get one, she continued.

“May I ask who he was?”

A noncommittal hum vibrated through the air, like this he seemed like the Riddler which may seem like an odd thing to say. But if one could see the way he acted around. . . the kid. One could see that he was less like the Riddler, the Enigma and more like Edward. Which even that is odd.

“I come in many shapes or sizes, I can be find any place you go. I could have many talents and uses, yet you may not know. You may hate me or love me. Yet It does not change that despite how often we’re regarded with potential the future most see for us is one that ends in gray.”

Lark, being far used to the seemingly random riddles figured it out quite quickly. She had no doubt that without the context it would’ve taken much longer.

A WARD

Once he’d seen the answer don upon Lark he stepped outside the limousine that finally stopped upon their destination.

Lark eventually realized that they had arrived and could get out now. Even if she had been the one driving. It was he liked her, she was a competent assistant, she can cause you to underestimate her with her frequency to forget certain things and temporarily get lost in her own head in thought. Yet she was by far one of the most adaptable individuals he’s ever met.

It was probably one of the reasons she was right on Penguins' side. Something most people wouldn’t be able to manage.

Heading into the Iceberg Lounge as Lark held the door open. Letting the dim lighting of the lights reflecting off the small puddles from the earlier short rainfall get left behind. Opening up to the lounge, as pristine as ever, however with many less people; not being quite late enough for the rush of people.

With one of the few people in the lounge approaching him. Something he’d never do unless the cameras weren’t up yet. They were never up before bar hours, and almost always after Cobblepot finished his meetings.

Scarecrow.

Without the gaudy costume this time.

“Riddler, what brings you here?”

“I think you’d have a guess.”

“Hmm, well a guess is only a guess. Yet I have the feeling that this time. It might be different.”

“Really, what could give you that impression? Since I thought you were the one who seems...quite different. I always knew you were a recluse but I haven’t seen in quite awhile since I've seen you in broad daylight.”

“Well I could say the same to you, although I do guess that is mostly due to the fact that you were in Arkham till just a while ago.”

“I suppose I was; it seems were both racking up our capture count, it’s such a shame that you seem to be winning though.” Letting out an exasperated sigh.

The other opening their mouth only to be interrupted by someone now standing on both their sides. One of the twins.

“The Penguin can see you now Mr. Riddler.”

Said man gave an idle smile to both men.

“Well, Mr. Crane, I suppose I'll see you again another time. Have a good day.”

Both gave a small nod of vague interest. With dear old Crane going back to whatever he was doing. Perhaps he should look into that. It wasn’t often he went out not as Scarecrow, especially when dear bats cracked it. He could feel the remininsce and glee at the old memories and thoughts.

“Edward, it’s nice to finally see you. Please, take a seat.” Gesturing towards the seat across the table.

“Penguin, I suppose it has been a while. I assume it’ll be the same precautions and concerns before?”

“It is.”

They had recently come to an arrangement, the Riddler would figure out ways on how to hide the real buisness from the GCPD and more importantly Batman. He knew the drug trade and smuggling had been dwindling down, after most of the rogues had disappeared leaving little to no distraction from pursuing the more subtle crimes. It was one of the reason Edward had decided to approach him when he did. In exchange he’d get some of the more smaller profits for the easier ‘transportation’ as well as easier access to any technology he’d need.

As they continued on their exchange and they had really reached the end of the exchange where they were simply exchanging ideas with each other. He decide now would be a good time to bring up any gossip on anything among the other villains and larger criminal organizations that they’ve heard of, as well of course the Bats.

The topic was mostly one sided as while Edward always made sure to be kept updated on his side of things. It was always best to keep in mind who could be allies and who would go against you after all, whereas Cobblepot always made sure to keep in mind not only competition but potential threats and when good distraction would and would not be present.

“Have you heard anything about any new interesting technology these days?”

“Has one piqued your interest?”

“Hmm, I suppose you could say something of the sort.”

“Oh? That's rare, any defining descriptions? There’s plenty of new types of technology running around these days.”

Setting down the wine glass that he’d been savoring since they’d finished with all the business affairs.

“It’s less of what the technology it is and more on who had it, it had seemed quite state-of-the-art. It’s gone missing recently and I’ve been wondering who could have made it.”

“I see, I’ll look at whether or not they’d be willing to share their technology, it’s been a while since I've updated the stock and it’s gotten rather stale.”

“I’ll wish you the best.”

“And I you.”

The Riddler getting up to leave, being led out by one of Penguins bodyguards. The Bar was now more noticeably full now that it was tilting into the early evening. With most avoiding looking in his direction at all.

He looks down at his phone, happy to see a message. With nothing other than a simple thank you for the phone. And of course, an explanation for the riddle, he can’t wait for the moment he’ll have to get caught up on everything. A child with so much potential with him as a teacher.

‘Don't think that’ll ever stop being so humorous, maybe next time I should tease them a little bit.’

Pausing his train of thought for a moment before having a sudden idea, a wonderful, evil idea.

‘No, I think it could wait a bit, after all there are better things to do. Once I can finally get it prepared, then maybe, perhaps I can tease them just a little bit. For now, I have a couple of bats to tease.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: The Envy of a Flightless Bird

“I trust that everything went well?”

“Yes, it did”

She didn’t want to make eye contact with the man still looking down at his papers. She knew she’d have to tell him if he asked...

“I can tell you are withholding something Lark. What is it?”

“While everything went well sir. There’s was a... peculiarity.”

“I assume this was the reason as to why the trip took longer than usual?”

She had been wondering why he didn’t ask his guest about the much longer than usual drive, she'd guessed he either wasn't paying attention to the time (Unlikely as it was) or he would ask the driver, who was unluckily in this case, her. it’s uncomfortable to know she was right.

“It was, Sir.”

“Out with it.”

Despite knowing she had permission to speak of it, of him. One of the last things she wanted to do was get caught up in whatever The Riddler has started planning, unfortunately angering her employer was much higher on that list. Something she was getting uncomfortably close to.

“Riddler had been accompanied by someone and proceeded to drop him off at what I assume is Poison Ivy’s and Harley Quinn’s place of residence.”

She pretended not to notice the papers that were once being attentively looked over being crushed in his hand, she also pretended not to notice his anger filled eyes.

“He had promptly told me a riddle once I asked about his role in his life, I had come to the conclusion that he was referring to a ward.”

“What was the riddle?”

She adamantly tried not to have a sigh of relief, he sounded calmer now. Whether or not he actually was, he was luckily less prone to violent outrages if he was at least collected in his rage, she'll likely have to ask about moving some of the guards away or closer. He may have terrifying outrages at times but even he knows not to let go of his most useful. The newer workers however, she shuddered to think about what would happen if an ill timed mistake and meeting both happened at the same time.

“I come in many shapes or sizes; I can be found any place you go. I could have many talents and uses, yet you may not know. You may hate me or love me. Yet it does not change that despite how often we’re regarded with potential the future most see for us is one that ends in gray.”

“An orphan.” He muttered while glancing at the window, before he gave out a considerate hum. After he seemed to be lost in his thoughts he suddenly turned, grabbing a cigar and cutting off the end.

“I want you to watch them when he calls for you.”

“Do you want me to look into who he is?”

“No, only monitor them for now.” Lighting up a cigar and taking in a drawl. “I also want you to give him the papers.”

If she had been moving in any way she would have stopped, she just looked at him for a moment. She narrowly avoided saying ‘excuse me’.

“Which papers sir?”

He gave her a significant look. “You’ll know which ones.”

She bowed, “Yes sir. Am I to assume you mean immediately?” He just gave a nod, taking another drawl of his cigar before paying attention to the other papers still on the table. “If you’ll excuse me then.” Cobblepot didn’t look up again and taking that as her cue to deliver the papers she thought she’d never have to touch again.

Chapter Text

“Oracle!”  

“How many hostages and bystanders?”  

“There seem to be less than sixteen bystanders with eleven of those being officers. There aren’t any hostages.”  

A falter went through Gotham’s local vigilantes' footsteps.   

Oracle was right, there weren’t any hostages, at least none that were left alive. There in the middle of the crime scene that had been moved over to the side of the road was a previous hostage, now killed in the back of a transportation truck. A visible trail of drops of blood were behind the truck.  

It was a particularly gruesome sight, with the man's hands tied around his back with a large manila rope. It had been clear that he didn’t go out gently, a large gash across the stomach, that was causing the floor of the truck to be covered in blood. And it seems the blood spilling out of the truck was what caused the attention and suspicion of a driver behind him. It was lucky, if she hadn’t seen the trail, especially with how dark it was. It could’ve been days before the transportation truck was opened.  

“Look into where the truck was going.”  

“ Already on it, B.”  

 The truck driver was currently off to the side being interrogated, vehemently refusing any sort of connection.  

He stepped into the truck, causing it to rock slightly. He could hear the increasing number of droplets hit the road; this had apparently caught the attention of Jim Gordon.  

“You know one of these days your amount of jumping out of the shadows is going to give me a heart attack.”  

“The report?”  

“We don’t have one we got called only fortyish minutes ago. However, it seems that he was nice enough to leave one of his own.” Handing over said packet. “Here. We suspect that the Riddler is back at it again.”  

Looking through the report there is very little evidence about what the victims crimes where this time. Apparently, an affluent business man, mainly dealing in alcoholic beverages. No previous crimes or even pending accusations.  

Time of death was suspected to be around thirteen hours ago, surprisingly didn’t die of blood loss but rather a fatal brain injury.  

Walking around to the opposite direction where his head was tilted there was circle indent.  

“Bringing back any memories?”  

It was, while there were there many different elements the Riddler didn’t like repeating any old ideas. So, it was odd for it to strikes much resemblance to his first crime. Yet he knew there must've been more for Jim to point it out.  

“Third Page.”  

It was page that debriefed his transactions in the past two years. His first lead. He could hear the soft shutter of Oracle taking her own pictures to compare and research.  

He wasn’t able to recognize most of it, yet he could recognize one thing a transaction taking place two months ago. It was taken shortly before his death, he remembers his name now, Thomas Elliot.  

He heard more than felt the paper crumbling in his hand.   

“Bats? You figured something out?”  

What he did feel was the emotions he once shared with his childhood friend.   

“I want you to look into the death of Maria Elliot from seven months ago. And any transaction and business men Thomas Elliot interacted with following.”  

“I’ll make sure to add Maria Elliot to the list, we already have our men working on Thomas Elliot. Yet something tells me there’s more to that.”  

“Nothing that I find is relevant to the investigation. You find his clue yet?”  

Before he could answer him, a voice shouted.  

“Hey! I think I found something!”  

The Bat stepped down from the truck, following Jim to who looked like a new officer. Pointing his flashlight towards the hood over the wheels.  

Jim leaning down and turning his flashlight towards the same spot.  

“I don’t see anything.”  

“It’s righ-”  

Turning a sheepish smile towards him.  

“You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of gl-”  

A squawk of surprise ran out as gloves were tossed towards his chest. “C’mon, I told you to start carrying more gloves.”  

The man's eyes kept running back and forth between his supervisor and the large hulking figure behind him that blended unnaturally well with the shadows. Mumbled out a soft ‘sorry’ before holding the flashlight in his mouth to put the gloves on, till he finally reached his hand up above the tires and pulled out a small chip tapped to the top. Handing it over to Gordon.  

“Got any clue what it is?” Turning it over. The man winced as if he said an insult.  

“It’s a sim card, you put it in phones and uploads anything saved in the previous phone. They’re all the rage right now.”  

“Got it, I'm old apparently.” The younger man very pointedly did not say anything.  

“You know I can still put you on the job during pizza Friday.”  

“You look as youthful as the day you were first born sir.”   

“Good, that's how I should always look isn’t it?”  

“Yes, sir!”  

“Now go to the photographer and let her know of our findings.”  

“Yes, Sir!”  

The Bat huffed; one would assume it’s a grunt but he knew Jim could see right through him.  

“Has a lot of potential.”  

“He does. Transferred over from a good university in California to here once his mother moved here to take care of his grandmother.”  

‘He’s protecting his mother and grandmother.’  

Jim heard the Batman give out a grunt, and coming from him? That’s a glowing review.  

Batman suddenly turned around to the woman that was standing behind them holding a camera who quickly introduced herself.  

“Jenny, Sir. We found a flip phone taped to the hubcap over here too.”  

“He’s getting real creative today, isn’t he?”  

“Hm.”   

“Shall we go see what's on this thing?  

Without waiting for a response Jim went back to where Jenny was now holding the phone. While Jim was retrieving the phone to put in the chip when Oracle had answered his previous question.  

~  

“ It seems that the truck was heading to one of the many pharmaceuticals the Elliots own.”  

Batman gave an almost imperceptible nod;   to show he had heard them.  

~  

For a second, they stood there doing nothing, as a terse moment of silence passed between them before Jim finally spoke.  

“Jefferey, get over here.”  

The man they had spoken to over faithfully walked over.   

“What is it sir?”  

Gordon let out a sigh. “How do we put the chip in?”  

He stood there for moment glancing back and forth between them, usually tending to look most at Batman. He though the eye contact was odd, it was Gordon who needed the help, he’s built better ones on his own.  

 “You don’t know how-.... oh, I'm totally going to needa tell my grandmama about this. She’s gonna be estatic!! HA!” Slapping a hand onto his knee.  

“Get your ass working on it kid, I’m sure your grandmother doesn’t even know what this chip does.”  

The kid detective suddenly turned serious. “Hey, don’t underestimate grandmama she’s a computer scientist from Yale.”  

Snatching the phone from him. “I bet she knows more about the departments computer software than you do.”  

They all had very little to say about that.  

“Okay, so there'll be this flat little part on the back, above the batteries, you’ll press down real hard on it, and... there! A little dish’ll pop out. And... you put that in right there and...”  

Their attention was however quickly shifted. The photographer, Jenny was surprisingly the first one in this situation to speak up about the singular image on the small screen.  

“A butterfly?”  

Even more surprisingly Jefferey was the second to speak. “It’s a monarch butterfly.” After a quiet moment of pause and what Batman was sure was a tick, he switched which foot he leaned on.  

 “He could be referring to Monarch Theater. But- well- I’ve heard rumors saying it’s practically the Joker’s.” More than one person pursed their lips at this, even if minuscule. “I thought they don’t interfere with each other?”  

 At the last part he looked up at Jim in questioning, giving a rough nod of assent with a look that was both vaguely disturbed and proud. It was an interesting combination, which Oracle had no hesitancy in pointing out while mumbling about when she’ll get to meet her new nephew.  

“They don’t usually, at least rare enough to not consider fact that they do occasionally pit themselves against each other individually or even rarer, team up.”  

Before any of them could say anything, the batman’s attention was quickly drawn to the phone, which now had something else appearing on the screen. Meanwhile Jeffery likewise had his attention drawn by a soft buzzing. All the current people present caught a glimpse of the email that had come buzzing in. After a slow, soft tap revealed nothing more than a letter and a number.  

“The seats.” The grumbling voice said, indistinguishably rougher than usual.  

“The Joker might’ve almost been thrown out by the new Scarecrow and Hush running around but that doesn’t mean he’d miss the Riddler sneaking into plant whatever clue he has next?” There was a moment of silence where both were in thought, while they both disregarded the new detective and slightly more experienced photographer slipping away before he spoke again.  

“Well, his next clue seems to be a lot easier to find than usual. I'm not sure if it’s just really fortunate or were about to have a new case to mull over.”  

Jim Gordon was pulled out of thoughts, by the crunching of gravel and a large cape fluttering nearby. That had to pause for just one moment.  

“I don’t know what exactly is going on here bats, and I don’t think we could ever figure out his puzzles without you. But I know were both getting that same feeling right now. I don’t know what, but something doesn’t seem right.”  

“It’s our job to look after the citizens, not to feel whether or not somethings going to go right.” Walking forwards he had to ask, whether or not he would hear him.  

“If you get hurt, then who’s job will it be?”  

He didn’t get an answer.  

________________________________________________________________  

When Peter woke up that morning it was safe to say he was having the worst migraine in well...a while. Which wasn’t actually that long but when you have to compare a migraine to the first few moments after you get a concussion, he’d say that’s well pretty bad.  

It wasn’t the worst part though, with him scrambling out of the bed. (That’d would never be his.) His throat hurt he just wanted it to go away. He couldn’t breathe.  

Why can’t he breathe?  

‘It’s like his asthma attacks all over again.’  

Is it?  

That after everything losing his powers did this too? He’s sure that if he were to see his reflection his lips just might be turning blue. ‘But it’s fine, isn’t it? It’s just asthma, he’s done this before.’  

Forcing himself to sit upright, try and- and take deep breathes. Slow breaths.  

‘Focusing on something else is the next step, right? He wishes right now more than any other moment he had his powers. Even if it was just to focus on his own heartbeat.’  

‘Focus Peter! Slow deep breathes, just like May told him.’  

~  

“Peter. You’re doing great hon, keep taking those breaths. Can you focus on the TV? Just- just listen to the noise hon.”  

~  

‘I remember that he needed his inhaler but he lost it at school, he had panicked and it turned into an asthma attack. He remembers the suffocating feeling he had. God, that was so long ago. May was trying her best to stay calm, he remembers how much she sounded like a nurse. Like a calm professional even as her hands were shaking. Maybe it was because it was also too scary for May that she seemed like a nurse at the time.’  

He was once again interrupted by something wet hitting his hand.  

‘Rain? Again? But he’s ins-’  

‘Oh, he’s crying.’  

One part of him said that it wasn’t healthy, for him to start crying so soon after an asthma attack.  

.  

.  

.  

.  

The other?  

The other part was just surprised he could still cry at all.  

The small part of him that could think enough said it’s be best to focus on something else. Without a thought he looked in front of him, where the curtains were still cracked open. If he squints, he could see the moonlight bouncing off the streetlight right across the street from him. The sun wasn’t even up yet.   

‘Is it really the same as before? Is he really the same as before?’   

Wet drops continued to drip onto his hand, he tried to ignore it yet he couldn’t. Why did it suddenly all feel so real now? He never to be here, he doesn’t want to be here. He just wants to go home. He can get home, right? He was teleported here, if he wasn’t sure how that still means if he got here, he can leave, he can go back, right?  

‘Does he even deserve too though?’  

As he crawled back into the bed that wasn’t his and covered himself in a blanket that was someone else’s and fell asleep in clothes that were borrowed.  

He briefly wondered ‘Did they deserve it?’     

He put on a slight smile as he headed out of the room, he hadn’t heard them coming up the stairs. And considering it was made of a metal grid he felt that if they had he would’ve heard it, the master bedroom was usually always on the main floor anyway. But still, caution. No point in showing them that he’s weak at the moment when he’s at his weakest. As he went into the bathroom, he blatantly forgot that he didn’t know how this bathroom was arranged.  

Therefore, the first time he looked up from opening the door he saw his now wide eyes glaring at him like no other. He could feel his sharp inhale but if anyone had asked if he had breathed after that he wouldn’t be able to answer them. The next time he could think rationally he was standing in front of the mirror, maybe if he could tell whether or not he was breathing he would've thought his breath would have been taken away.  

He looked exactly the same, yet so drastically different. He was shocked by the sudden coolness touched by his finger as he absentmindedly started tracing the differences in the mirror. His hair was impossibly darker than the light brown it used to be, now being much closer to a dark brown with just a hint of red. All his brain could supply was a soft ‘oh’, he looked familiar. He looked just like the woman that was always in his faintest memories, now could only been seen standing next to his father in a picture. He looked more like his mother than he ever had, gone were his father's brown eyes. Barely even a trace of brown in the bright green eyes, yet there was a trace of his father in the mirror, even if it was so much subtler.  

Trailing a finger across his jaw, it was less round than before, but it wasn’t strong or sharp either. It-it just- Just like his fathers. A moment passed, a moment that he couldn’t discern whether it was mere seconds or hours. Forever couldn’t have seem so long then, remembering every shadow and light on his face, every pore. The only thing snapping him out of his self-induced trance was the soft whispering of voices from down the stairs the bathroom was diagonal from.  

“Do you think he’s ‘wake?”  

“Ben will come down on his own sometime, it’s still early. Let’s give him another half hour of rest.”  

His reverie was broken from where he was listening not breaking eye contact with the reflection once as hate coiled up in his chest.  

‘Ben.’  

‘Right. Ben. ’  

Because it wasn’t enough to not only forget his plan of running away when he can, but also to sully the name of his uncle. The uncle he now no longer shared any resemblance to.  

Before despite the slightly tanner skin from his mother's side and the roundness his jaw had in contrast one could still look at him and think, know that they were related. He could remember the times when he was confused as his son. Now he looked like nothing more than a distant relative. 

He places his hand back firmly on either side of the small sink, as much as he’s been trying to avoid it this might be one of the reasons why he felt so... naive. Especially when it comes to emotions, it could help he suppose, in acting the age he looks like at least.  

It was what ensued of those consequential thoughts that would later be surprising.  

He smiled.  

It wasn’t something insane, not insane like in how he felt chuckling to himself. It was a small smile, and innocent one, one that matched his small laughter. Anyone that would’ve heard it would have recognized it as a child's and in sounding so genuine that anyone listening would have had a smile on their face. Simply from hearing it. He smiled like that for a while before deciding to head down to breakfast before they started to worry.  

 ____________________________________________________  

Harley had been careful the moment she met Ben he just seemed so fragile at the time. She never expected to get so worried over him, but how couldn’t she? It’s all because that fucking gerbil- that fucking rat decided that now would be the best time to suddenly adopt a clearly traumatized and injured child. Because he doesn’t even classify as a teenager, it hurt her worse to realize how long it took for her to realize he was injured.  

Pam was smart enough to catch onto her worries (like always) to actually say something. Several of her plants had caught onto the scent of blood, although it seemed to dried blood mostly. Not to mention that she didn’t notice even notice until she saw the way he’d sit down so carefully. She thought that she was simply coming to conclusions, although what hurt worse than the revelation was the fact that he seemed used to it. He didn’t ever even to seem to notice it.  

But they knew he could take care of any injuries; he wasn’t so stupid as to not know basic first aid with what he does. And as much as they wanted to interrogate him, they knew he’d just end up dragging out his answers or answering in riddles and cryptic answers.  

However, all of that led to where they are now.  

“Hey Jim, you there?”  

“Harley. I wasn’t expecting you, although I guess it's good timing considering I have a couple questions of my own.” She tried not to chew on her lip, she’d been getting out of that habit.  

“Well, what are they? Mine can wait a bit.”  

“I was wondering if you’d had any contact with Riddler recently?”  

She could feel her blood growing colder by the second.  

“No. I haven’t recently, why? Did- Did he do something again?”  

“I'm going to be honest Harley, it isn’t looking good, we had some hope that he’d maybe- well, change in some way after the rehabilitation. He did seem to cool down for a while. But either something’s triggered him to go back to usual or he never changed as much as we had hoped.”  

Ben.  

“What did he do Gordon?”  

A staticky sigh went through the phone. She noticed it was surprisingly nice day for Gotham, there were still plenty of clouds but the bright sun was fighting the chilly weather more than usual. Pam still jokes about days like this being the perfect time for a criminal to catch you off guard.  

“He’s started to get back to the self-righteous killing, I just got back not too long ago from his latest crime scene, gotten back to playing us with riddles as much as I don’t want to admit.”   

“You tell me if you ever hear anything from him, alright?”  

“Yeah, yeah no problem, we started drifting apart though so don’t expect much on this end.”  

Another sigh, this one sounding a lot more exhausted, a knot went through her stomach.  

“I figured that, anyways what was it you called me for?”  

She forced a chuckle to come out, hoping it sounded real enough.  

“Well, I feel kinda bad now, since Pam’s just figured it out. Sorry for bothering you.”  

“Nah, don’t feel bad about it, I was going to call you sometime anyways.” Sigh. “Better sooner than later, right?”  

“Yeah, I’ll call you if I hear anything, okay?”  

She didn’t wait for an answer before hanging up, looking over to Pamela she could see the same look of concern that was no doubtedly on her own face being mirrored. They got questions answered yet ended up with so much more.  

“What are we gonna do? Do we tell Bat’s? They could probably take care of him, can’t they?”  

Pam was now rubbing her arm up and down; she knew Harley could take care of herself but she hated cases like this. They both do, and the last thing they want to do is something that would hurt Ben.  

“As much as I want to be sure he’s safe...I’m not sure if he’s the right option.... He might’ve taken them in but that still doesn’t mean it was the right choice.”  

She let out an exhausted sigh of her own.  

“I know, I know, I don’t approve either, but then where do we take him, he’s been tossed around enough I don’t want the third time to be because of us.”  

“I don’t think taking him away from Edward is actually the best option right now.”  

Harley made a pained expression before looking away. “It’s because he’s starting his games again, isn’t it?”  

She never actually cared to much bout who he targeted; he wasn’t right in what he did, not quite. Even she had standards in who she killed, but that doesn’t mean he was wrong. She could sometimes respect Bat’s decision to not kill, but sometimes.... while it wasn’t always necessary, the world would be better off for it. A lot of people assume that what he did ever since the beginning of it all was just to play Batman, but being a psychologist could make you look at it through a different view.  

He started off killing those who had made his childhood horrible, and she wouldn’t ever be mad about that. She’s read into it, after so many articles came out about the renewal fund. She wasn’t an optimistic, not unless she needed to be. But even she felt like if it had all been used like it was supposed to, well then, maybe Gotham would’ve had a brighter future.  

So, while she wouldn’t support it, she wouldn’t oppose it either, however, that didn’t mean she wanted a murderer to be housing a kid. Especially not a kid from outta Gotham.  

“Yes, it is. I think taking the kid away from him now would only harm them both, like you said. The kid doesn’t need to tossed around anymore. While with Ed, he’s clearly formed some kind of attachment.”  

Harley couldn’t help letting out of scoff at that.  

“Maybe not a healthy one, but an attachment nonetheless. Besides, keeping Ben where we can keep an eye on him would be better.”  

Moving her hands away from the sides of her arms up, holding her face to gently redirect it to look at her.  

“Harley. We’ll keep an eye on him yeah? I know Ed wouldn’t hurt him; you know he wouldn’t. This probably won’t be the last time he’ll leave him with us, we can give him our phone numbers. Just in case.”  

She let out a shuddering sigh, bringing her hands to wrap around Pamela’s own. After a moment of silence, just standing there.  

“Yeah, okay, we’ll do that. Keep an eye on him and we’ll check in on him, make sure he has everything he needs. But Pam....”  

Pamela let out a questioning hum as she started rubbing Harleys back, a habit she’d always use. Harley doing the same for her whenever the other was anxious.  

“He’s lost some memories, hasn’t he?”  

The hand rubbing Harley’s back stilled for a second, then continued.  

“Pam.”  

She let out a sigh.  

“We're not sure, Ed was mentioning it over the phone, back after he had called us in the middle of the night muttering about tests and said a few cryptic words before hanging up.”  

“Hey I remember that! ‘Potential something, birds, cranes and... a lot of cinnamon?’”  

“Yes, and after that particularly odd phone call he started to mention ‘taking in a kid who has amnesia’ either that or he thought he was severely concussed.”  

“That’s not enough to go off of though!”  

“Harley. We both know he doesn’t know as much as he should, you saw him. He didn’t recognize either of us.” Continuing when she was about to protest. “And while that can be dismissed for various reasons, Edward had also reported finding his knowledge to be... impractical. He seems to have unrealistic expectations of where technology is in development. He was probably either raised in a home where he at least had plenty of resources, or he was taught by someone specialized in that field with a fair bit of isolation from what he’s been saying.”  

Seeing the face turned away from her, now looking out the window. She was glad that she felt safe enough to be vulnerable around her, but it didn’t mean she had to enjoy the moments when she had to be.  

“Not to mention how he barely knows of the current events, Edward was talking about how anytime they spoke of history-”  

A scoff interrupted her, “And it was probably exactly for that point, wasn’t it?” Turning back to face her “He might have...changed, but that doesn’t suddenly mean he’s a good man. He might not ever hurt him physically; we both know him well enough to know he wouldn’t do that, but he’ll always be testing him. Trying to find out where his limits are. And when he does....”  

Finishing for her. “He’ll test those too.” Harley just looked back at the window. “You and I know he can’t go anywhere else. The minute he walked in here he started looking at exits and windows. For whatever reason he hasn’t ran away from Ed, I don’t know, but the second we try to put him somewhere else you know he’s going to run. And Batman” A hesitant pause and nothing else being said is enough of an answer.  

“Promise me, we’ll keep an eye on ‘im yeah?” Her voice was quiet, and she knew she wasn’t here, she was somewhere else. A place she had gotten away from not too long ago. She always hated when they both felt like this; worried over something they can’t control.  

“I promise that I'll look out for him, as long as you can promise me not to get too attached.”  

“I promise.” A feeling of relief ran through Pamela as she paid with rapt attention as Harley was once again about to speak her answer however was cut off by said boy’s footsteps being heard coming down the stairs.  

 Pamela reluctantly pulled away from Harley, they’ll talk about it later. They both walked over to get out the breakfast they had made.   

As he was down the stairs he didn’t make a move until Harley, sounding nearly as happy on any other normal day called over to him  

_____________________________________________________  

Peter, no, Ben couldn’t help hesitating for a minute. He had heard small voices obviously coming from those two but now they were just silently putting breakfast together. He didn’t think much of it until he heard Ms. Harley’s voice, now he’s certain he’s interrupted something. The air felt like a taut chord or string and if he even taps it it’ll ring. But he knew better than to not listen to her.  

“Come over Ben, we only finished making breakfast a while ago,” Making a ‘come here’ gesture he walked over.   

‘Should I say something? If only I came down a few minutes later or earlier at least.’  

However, it seemed he didn’t have to say anything.  

“Sorry if you can’ eat much, we didn’t ask ya about your allergies yesterday. Ya don’t happen to have any urgent or even minor ones, do you?” As he shakes his head and gives a quiet ‘no’ Harley excuses herself. He can’t help but wonder if it was because of him, having a kid unceremoniously dropped on anyone would be frustrating.  

He was startled out of his thoughts where he was looking down the hallway she left when Pamela interjecting. “Why don’t you take a seat? It’s already kind of late for breakfast so I'd guess you have an appetite.” She gave him a small smile, his heart clenches as he can’t help but think it’s be a very Pepper thing to do. Pepper seemed the same way when he first met her.  

When Tony was still around.  

As he settles down, he digs his nails into his palm for the thought as he focuses on what she said and decides that he’s really not that hungry yet. Still, he pokes around his plate filled with scrambled eggs and sausage with pancakes still piled in the middle.   

‘I sincerely doubt I'll be able to eat all this.’   

“Do you know that we regularly take in kids like you?” Suddenly he’s looking into her eye’s, plate long forgotten.  

“We take in a couple to a few each year. Usually kids like you, ones that don’t have a place to go or one that’s not safe enough to stay. Sometimes ones who never really had a place to stay at all.”  

‘Oh’ He realizes, it suddenly makes all a little more sense. Why they had been treating him so nicely and why they had barely seemed surprised about his sudden drop off. Why there’s an easily moveable bedframe and mattress.  

But there’s another part that he felt he should’ve realized a long while ago. It’s the fact that now he’s one of those kids too. The ones that don’t have a safe place to go, belatedly he knows he should’ve recognized this a lot sooner. But he’s genuinely a kid now, one that looks like he could barely pass off as being into the double digits.  

(Although he’s just always had a pretty strong baby face.)  

“-on’t bother us with having you here, and it’s okay to tell us if you need anything.”  

His head looks back up from where it had drifted back down towards the plate. Her speech (Even if he hadn’t listened to all of it.)  must’ve done its job considering he was feeling marginally less bad. Knowing that he isn’t intruding, not entirely because they like to try and help kids like him helps. Maybe Patrick drops them off, although that’s unlikely considering the only reason he picked him up is because of the technology he won’t ever let him use.  

Still, there’s an icky feeling, one that spreads over him and drowns him in guilt.   

‘He’s not a kid not really. He hasn’t felt like one since he was thirteen. And even if he looks like one, he doesn’t feel like one almost as much as he knows he also isn’t Peter anymore. Not with what he did. Just Ben now, cause he thinks it’s the only sense of relation he can stand right now.”  

He doesn’t remember what he said but it seemed to satisfy both of them as they started eating the food that’s been cold for a while.  

Harley comes back too and from there they talk a little bit about the schedule for when they go shopping, getting shoes first and what his preferences are. He felt a little bit better when it somehow gets around to Star Wars, he feels pretty sure that Harley somehow nudged it that way by the small amount of (somewhat poorly hidden) glee on her face.  

________________________________________________________________  

He took every step hesitantly; once he was out the condo, he knew it might’ve been overkill but he couldn’t help feeling on edge. It’s been so long that he’s been without his powers. He knew he’d been getting reliant but at that time it’d felt justified, after all it’s not like they had any technology, or any know magic that could just get rid of his powers. Unfortunately, that same kind of logic doesn’t apply to interdimensional travel.  

So here he was, stiff as a board while his guides couldn’t have been more relaxed on a day in which he assumed was oddly clear and bright for here. Gotham, his brain supplied, still, thin and small clouds littered the sky.  

“The exciting part of today!” She announced “Or well more precisely the beginning of them.” Removing herself from where she was in between him and Ms. Pam. Revealing a somewhat pale person, it actually took him a few seconds to recognize the no longer green toned lady.  

“Oh, huh. Uhm. Wow, um. Okay. That makes this make more sense.” He’d been wondering how she’d go out; he didn’t want to be rude by asking but enhanced probably weren’t well accepted here either.  

“Yep! My super talented girlfriend is pretty no matter what!”  

“Is it like makeup? Or is it like a-”  

The red-haired woman looked stoically forward, seemingly oddly unfazed by Harley fawning over her while hugging her arm. Although if he looked really really closely, he could see that she was trying to suppress a smile. They’re a cute couple now that he’s thinking about it.  

“I have the ability to change the pigmentation of my skin, this was my skin tone before.”  

There was a moment pf silence. Where they just walked forward before he decided to risk it. He just REALLY had to ask.  

“So um,” With Pam’s eyes turning over quickly towards him he quickly looked down before he stuttered forward.  

“Can you like change it to whatever color? Like an octopus or a chameleon? Or is- is it just like a um, certain set of colors?”  

Wincing internally at that, surely, he could’ve phrased that better. As silence still followed, he glanced up only to be utterly surprised on her still pale face the tip of her nose was now red. With hints of blue on her cheek that holding a....Tear? He had to squint just the slightest bit; it looked a bit more like a squiggly oval. But STILL, that means she can not only change it to a wide variety of colors but that she could also focus it into certain shapes!  

Harley, looked over to the side where she could see Ben. Only to see his shell-shocked face filled with a little bit of excitement. It made her swell with pride, she was glad that he was getting along with Pam, but she now had to wonder what Pamela showed him. Looking up at the most beautiful face she had ever seen she saw-  

“Hey! Don’t start making fun of me now! Don’t look at her Ben. Avert your young eyes! And I don’t have a clown nose!”  

It actually made him smile a little, he gave a smile that even felt a little bit genuine. He could tell that they weren’t necessarily trying to cheer him up but they had been nice. More than he deserved. He listened to their bickering as they can began walking towards the ‘Fashion district’. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that it sounded expensive for one and while he knows Patrick or Edward is paying for it that doesn’t suddenly mean he’s comfortable with it. He might just use that in his favor, whether to make it feel like he owes him or makes sure he’ll owe him, just a little less figuratively.  

He was unfortunately knocked out of his thoughts quite literally as he ran into a lamp post. As he looked up, he found out it was nicely built really. It also had that nice style that's seen in all those old films with the carriages, right the Victorian era. He felt quite accomplished for figuring that out when he SUCKS at history. He can get along just fine in classes but once summer hits all that information gets tossed into a paper shredder, lit on fire, and shoved down a garbage disposal. A concern voice broke away his thoughts.  

“Does that happen often, Ben?”  

“Um, well-, I guess? Maybe not as often though once my- er, I lost my glasses a while ago.” He ended off with a shrug and interrupting his own sentence. Not like it mattered anyway, at least now he knew to watch out for streetlights like he did then.  

They shared a glance that they didn’t bother hiding from him and walked on.  

___________________________________________________  

The clothes he was in felt tighter every second, shifting around only seemed to make it worse. Drawing his eyes up he was met with a barely occupied train car, they had arrived at the subway only a few minutes ago and he had quickly grasped that it wasn’t a good place in Gotham, at least not at this time. Him and Harley were currently sitting down while Pam was standing in front of them, green skin back with no reservation. Harley was to his right, having an arm wrapped around the back of his seat. Glaring through the small window of the other car on her side at some guys with clown masks.   

He understood that they had a reputation, Patrick had said they were reformed criminals so he could guess that’s why they chose to come out later, but he just hadn’t thought of the criminals popping out of their dark crevices coming out this early either.   

Although with the crime rate of Gotham he shouldn’t be this surprised, he did a triple take once he saw it. ‘World's most dangerous city’ hadn’t exactly opposed that either. But it wasn’t an efficient excuse for just sitting here as Harley and Pamela were purposely blocking any view of him. Not entirely, he knew they could still see him, but it made every inch of skin feel stretched, like he shouldn’t be here. Like he shouldn’t be in this subway, but also as if he shouldn’t stand for them protecting him from a couple of petty criminals that he’s sure, even without his powers he could give a pretty good beating.  

‘No, don’t think like that, if one of them brought out a gun, or hell even a knife he’d be at a significant loss. Especially without a sixth sense to tell him when to dodge and when it’s safe to punch.’  

The train jolted, and from the shifting of the thugs in the next car they caught sight of him. Harley grabbed his hand, while Pamela trailed from behind, settling a hand on his shoulder as she guided him out. She made an evident point of not looking away from said thugs, out of the five, two looked cowed under her gaze while another two were currently looking one step from getting off the subway car. While the last was pointedly jeering at him, he made a very pointed gesture of dragging his finger across his throat while making direct eye contact with him.  

As the subway doors pulled close and drifted away, they started walking again. He had several questions most being pretty basic like ‘who were those guys’ ‘why were they looking at you two so intensely’ ‘why are they so scared of you Ms. Pamela?’   

(Does their grandmother with dementia apply their makeup? Cause that’s what it certainly looks like.)  

They continued walking in silence, Harley still having a hand on his shoulder. He glanced back and forth between them, he really wanted to ask. But it was more than being polite, it was mostly the fact that he recognized that look in Harley’s, because it was the same look he’s sure he had every time he remembered a particularly foul memory. So, he simply made the obvious choice of what anyone with manners would have done.  

“So, what are we going to have to buy first?”  

“I don’t know, which one would you want to do first?” Pamela responded  

A tenseness he couldn’t not notice deflated, whether out of relief for not having to explain things or out of a due distraction. He didn’t know.  

Pamela seemed to know where they were going, the passing scenery showing less and less of the flamboyant shops that had him worrying over if his shirt was sticking to his back and wanting to check his wallet.   

(Not that he had one now.)  

He looked back and forth between the two. ‘Oh, they’re asking me .’ Moving to hold his hands behind his back as he tried to subtly wipe off the clammy feeling of his hands on his sleeves.  

“Anything’s good really, don’t mind which.” Harley never one to seemed deterred was probably happier with choosing herself with the quickly rising glee in her voice. Looping her arm through his own and quickly dragging him off as he stumbled just a bit.  

(He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to not having perfect balance.)  

Although Pamela, walking beside them slowly raised her hand to hold her shoulder.  

“Why don’t we get him some shoes first? We’ll probably be walking a lot, and I can’t imagine he’s exactly comfortable in my old ones.”  

Looking down at said shoes, ‘huh, so these are hers.’ They were comfy, even if big. They’re fairly firm, which in his opinion is a lot better than if they were cheap enough to be the ones that flopped a little.  

Harley once again stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him. His brows were surely starting to accumulate sweat, ‘what if they said no?’ ‘What if they decided that shoes were too expensive, they were after all.’ Unaware to his inner turmoil, Harley just patted his hair.  

“Sorry kid, probably got too excited deciding what would look best on you, let’s go get you something better to walk around in. Got any favorite shops?”  

“Um, no- not really, you’ll probably know the shops here better, and since I'm new here....”  

Harley just gave a firm and understanding nod. “Well at that note, I've realized that I missed something else.” Seeming to have no intention to answer if he asked, he just let her drag her to one of the largest shops he could see around here until he got close enough to make out a blurry ‘Gotham’s Basics’ atop the shop. As Pamela opened the door for them, he looked around the shop with the horrible fluorescent lighting as he politely trying to ignore the whispering happening on his left till Pamela walked off into a different section of the store when they had arrived at the back where it was all an aisle of the same pair of shoes. With some varying in colors, sized and sometimes style. 
 

“They’re Gotham's basic shoes that basically everyone has just in case, they’re reliable and perfectly sturdy as long as you don’t step on any spikes.”  

His eyes definitely said, ‘how do you know that?’ but he decided to not bother. They both seemed to remind him of the sketchier people that had a long story of how exactly they ended up where they are now. Besides seems pretty rude to ask, he wouldn’t like anyone asking him after all. “So, I should get one of these? You know, just in case?”  

“Oh, definitely. Besides they make a pretty good pair of backup shoes. Not to mention they’re pretty strong after all! Not to mention they come in a lotta different colors!”  

He figured; the shoes weren’t much different from any good pair of ankle length boots. Although she was right, there was a lot of variety, construction yellow ‘for visibility’ some having laces and others with Velcro saying something along the lines of ‘perfect for when you need start running’. It was mildly disconcerting, reading about the crime-rate is surprising, seeing how the whole city has gotten used to adapting to it is another.  

While the whole experience was somewhat jarring, he’d just prefer to what he’d usually pick. Which was definitely the ones that are a dark blue. He would’ve gone with the red, he was however disappointed since all of them were either out of the right size or more bright orange than red.  

Harley came over to sit beside him as she put her own pair of shoes on. They were pretty similar except they were a dark mix between pink and purple and had metal toes and Velcro. His own were the shoelaces, and metal along the seams. After they were finished with the shoes, (although she hadn’t needed to tie hers) they well, they kinda just stay there. He was glad that she wasn’t saying anything, she always seemed to know when to fill the silence or leave it be.  

The whole day, hell the whole week, (or was it more) had seemed exhausting. He didn’t even want to remember the name Patrick, Pamela and Harley have been...nice. But it didn’t negate the fact that he’s felt like he could simultaneously take a nap for three years and never fall asleep again.  

That wasn’t even to mention the people, he wasn’t sure when it kicked in. Was it now? Or was it the moment he saw Lark? The fact that he’s no longer in an imaginary bubble where it was just him and his kidnapper staring at each other while he was on top of those stairs and him staring at him with a sense of glee that he still can't figure out whether or not was fake.  

The fact that he’s really and truly on a new world with no way back to the one he’s from.  

He let out a soft breath before realizing that all he could see now was the splotchy orange light coming from the back of his eyelids.  

‘He doesn’t want to get rid of it anytime soon, know I'll have to eventually, but he’ll just stay like this for a minute.’ Breathing in till he could feel the pressure of it in his chest, holding it in till he could feel himself calming down and letting it out.  

For a minute or maybe a few, that’s all it was. Him filling his lungs as much as he could and letting out soft breaths, opening his eyes he saw Pamela standing next to him, leaning against the shelf behind her. She turned towards him, they both made eye contact, he felt like he should’ve been scared or slightly intimidated but they both just looked . At least Ms. Pamela decided to break it by patting his head again.  

‘I wonder if she’s trying to comfort me, maybe it’d work on someone actually my age. Still, he really appreciated the gesture.’  

And in her heavy, calming voice “What should we go get next?” He still wasn’t sure; He was just glad that Edward is paying for it, but he doesn’t want anywhere too expensive. He tried to resist putting his hands behind his back considering it’d only draw attention now that Harley was behind him. “What if we- we went to the secondhand store? Since um- I think-”  

Harley however seemed to not be putting up with whatever he said ticked her off. “Kid, no, Ben. I get that you’re worried about a lot of things right now but one doesn’t have to be about money when it comes to either of us.”  

“But Patrick's al-” he tried to mumble.  

“And Edwards fine too, and definitely, definitely don’t worry ‘bout him, as long as ya aren’t trying to buy something that’s like a thousand dollars, I think he’ll be fine, he won’t even care ‘bout any of this. Okay?”  

“Besides” Pamela chimed in “I sincerely doubt you’d want to get socks at the secondhand store.”  

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought about that. “Right, okay.”  

“Don’t ya worry too much ‘bout it Ben, let’s go looki ng around for another pair of shoes ya can wear more often, yeah?”  

He didn’t say that he only really needed one pair, especially considering after this he probably won’t be getting out often. He could tell that it would’ve been a losing battle, much like his determination to ask what Pamela bought that was already in a bag.  

That’s how most of the lovely, clear evening went, uninterrupted by mysterious gang clowns like he had first feared. They had gone to another shop, one purely for shoes and alongside he had gotten a pair of red sneakers that had black outlining it. He’s pretty happy with just those two, the red ones reminded him of his old ones at home, it was the same reason he got the black and red socks. He almost looked around for Avengers merchandise, usually he could find a pair of Iron Man socks or maybe the Hulk and that one time he got Thor. A small smile and crease in his forehead disappeared as he remembered they had brought him over here and he’d ended up getting sentimental over socks . On impulse he grabbed the black shin length socks that had a dark red at the heel, maybe just a little bit of it was because it reminded him of those Black Widow socks he never could quite get.  

(It wasn’t his fault that they were all out when he got there.)  

“Really like the black and red theme don’tcha?” Harley said when he got to the counter. Looking down at his shoes and socks.  

“Um, yeah. I guess I do.” Even when he made it sound more like a question than a statement Pamela still gave an encouraging smile.  

________________________________________________________________  

“It suit’s you. Goes well with your eyes.”  

Pamela watched as they finally got something out of the kid, they hadn’t been expecting him to volunteer any information. They didn’t expect that, but they were still surprised by how tight lipped he could be. Even if it was only a color, she knew Harley would slowly begin to see this as a chance to make sure the kid was okay, and while she knew it was unlikely that either of them would get attached. (Gotham made sure of that after all.) It doesn’t mean they won’t be cautious; they’ll find out some time sometime to interrogate Edward.  

“Come on, we know a good place to figure out some good clothes for you.” Turning her head down to the messy mop of dark brown hair, almost black. That seems so common in Gotham but strikes her as familiar in a way she can’t place, just like those eyes.  

She watched as those green eyes turned to hers and were tilted in question. “It’s an old friend of ours.” Her lover's eyes lit up at that, the way they always did when it involved something cute and in need of decoration. Or in this case, styling, and their friend had always been willing.  

~  

In this case she could definitely admit to being wrong, Sasha had been more than just willing. The second they had walked she didn’t start pampering them with questions and odd side glances that would definitely communicate ‘who’s kid is this?’ mostly because she knew they weren’t above kidnapping a kid if they were in a bad situation.  

No all she did was squeal at quite frankly ears numbing volumes. Although to be fair, it wasn’t wise to assume, Sasha was an aspiring designer in college that had been caught in her father's debt to a loan shark who happened to be one of Jokers clowns. She’d mention twice or so that her dream was to design clothing for women and couples along with having a soft spot for kids that she could see doing side projects for. She's also pretty sure that she tuned out the second she brought out the fabrics, even if she wasn’t officially a designer that doesn’t stop her from being more motivated than anyone when it comes to anything fashion.  

And for all the serious, resolute and firmness that she knows she has, that didn’t stop her lips twitching upwards at his flailing. Just a little bit.  

______________________________________________________________  

He definitely felt uncomfortable with how many layers of fabric were piled on top of him. Both of his shoulders were covered in swatches of different fabrics and colors, along with different patterns.  

When he first walked into a small alley to a side door of a rundown little store, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Although he could safely say that it wasn’t this. The door had opened up to a clean, bright shop with plenty of fabrics everywhere, along with the black and dark purple checkered floor he thinks would match a hairdresser’s. Just with strings of fabric rather than swept up hair.  

“Oh, you are just SOOO~ CUTE! What's your name? I’m Sasha by the way!”  

“I’m P- B- Ben.” He hated the stutter, he really hoped no one noticed it or thought it was odd. “What’s um- what's all the fabrics for?”  

“It’s so I can make you as cute as possible of course~ This pallet of colors.” Pointing towards his right shoulder. “Is what colors suit your skin tone. Your skin is a lot more sun kissed than most peoples in Gotham, you from outta town?”  

“Yeah, New York, I guess.”  

She luckily didn’t acknowledge his questioning, meanwhile he could see his guides walking to the back of the store where a couple of chairs are. He probably wasn’t supposed to answer someone so readily about that but not like it’ll much for him. He doesn’t even have any (falsified) papers yet.  

“Mhm, they get a lot more sun than us, so many clouds. Startled me when I first came here.” Now pointing over to the pallet of colors on his left shoulder. “These are the colors that match your hair and eyes the most.” Leaning down and putting both hands on her kneecaps to make eye contact with him. His new shoes (the red ones) made an inaudible squeaking noise he doubted anyone else could hear.  

“You know your eyes are probably the best feature of your face. I’m sure I looka little creepy right now but your eyes are just so.... ethereal. I’ve never seen ones so vivid; I feel like I could put them in a jar and they’d glow at night.” He could feel his shoulders twitch as she snapped back up and put her finger back on his right shoulder. “You’re very warm toned with a bit of a neutral undertone, so gold jewelry’ recommended but luckily silver would look good on you anyways.”  

The information was interesting but now he’d much prefer to be out of here as soon as possible and he doesn’t wear jewelry anyways. He decided to just stay quiet.  

“Red and Purples suit you best, preferably on the dark side. But other colors on the warm and neutral side would suit you. Although...”  

The last part had set him on edge as she had drifted off and had started gazing down into his eyes again. “Reds and purples suit your eyes. Perfectly.”  

His sweating hands were clenched, digging his nails into the back of his legs as she turned around and started looking through the hangers of clothes. He absently wondered if it was organized in any way, some of them did, like through colors or styles with lace and leather.  

Of course, he was noticing this while looking for any other doors and windows. He knew it was dumb, he couldn’t really run anywhere and Harley and Pamela weren’t worried.  

Although he really shouldn’t be trusting people he only knew since yesterday.  

He watched with steady eyes as she walked over to him asking him to hold several different clothes.  

“No no no, nothing to fun or silly looking your ‘resting face wouldn’t suit it.”  

He couldn’t help his confused look at the acronym. “What’s a ‘resting face’?”  

Holding up more clothes to compare, “Oh, I mean ‘resting bitch face’.” After Pamela came over and gave her a brief talk to about swearing, (Really, he’s not a kid.) he felt the growing pile of clothes that he had to carry. It was surprisingly heavy for just clothes. Maybe because he could’ve lifted a motorcycle with the effort he’s using now.  

And knowing that won’t ever not irritate him. ‘Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. Breathe out.’ He’ll just need to find a way to get his powers back, there’s no way he’s going to run around in one of the most dangerous cities where serial killer walks out of asylums like it’s the fucking grocery store without his powers.  

Most of that visit passed by in a blur since the only thing he could think about was how to get his powers back. The composition of the spider he knows roughly but not near to the depths of what he’d need to replicate it. And he’d really prefer not to end up mutated with eight arms and eyes or something, he could still technically have the genes they could just be lost? Although going from the fact that he’s more underoos than he ever wanted to be the genes might just not exist .  

Whilst she was rushing different clothes and shirts, he would give a brief glance to make sure it wasn’t too bad, some he thinks he even actually liked eventually turned to outfits that Harley would occasionally help with, though he mostly noticed they were sitting to the somewhere along the back and looking lost in their own world where they’d compare clothes, they think would look good on the other.  

Without notice he was hearing the door shut behind him and Harley’s soothing voice. “Everything you got, okay? I did make sure she included some shirts you might like, and don’t worry I did add some colors other than red, purple, pink, and black.” As she listed each color off with the mark of a new finger dread pooled up, how many clothes were in these bags?  

“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.” He had been doomed the moment Sasha had asked Pamela and Harley how many clothes he had, unfortunately they replied with the honest truth, which was nothing.  

Harley was swaying along doing a quiet little hum, they didn’t talk for a while after that. There weren’t any people on the streets, earlier it had simply been the occasional group or person going home or grocery shopping. The sun was just starting to lower at that time; now however the sky was dark enough that it was only a gray canopy of clouds over the city tainted a light, sluggish purple. He didn’t know what time it was, there was still light in the sky. But really what city didn’t have a constant glow? And especially considering he thinks it’s still summer here.  

He still had his eyes skyward as Harley had started walking backwards. “You know she was right you know.” He couldn’t think of a response for that so he simply let his head tilt a little bit in confusion, even though he doubted either of them would really need it. “You can just say it’s your skin tone but it’s likely that some guys will mug you at some point. You’ll have to be careful with that at some point.”  

No one bothered with a response to that, not that he’d had one. He hadn’t exactly thought about it, New York could get plenty of rain but no one can deny the heat when you have to walk across the streets with no shade and cars honking at you on the black tar. Tourists always got pickpocketed back in New York, plenty could hold their own as long as you didn’t sound like a Kansas Cowboy.  

“Latino?” He heard Pamela ask, she sounded genuinely curious.  

“Italian”  

“You’ve ever been?” Harley asked. He gave a small smile, “Once, for the holidays.”  

As Harley had once again become comfortable with dragging him around his eye caught onto a strange looking person, he tried to not look directly at him, but he could still see him, albeit blurrily out of the corner of his eye. The man (Assumingly) was walking right alongside them across the street. He(?) was trying to rush past the little there was left of people after evening. Excluding the fact that the people in Gotham knew exceptionally well to avoid limping strangers looking extremely ominous.   

Said stranger was limping through the sidewalk with a concerning amount of speed and effort, wearing a mysterious cloak all the while. Occasionally using the wall as support.  

Then Peter’s eyes caught onto something that had fell out. It was a paper, a flyer more precisely. It flew its way down the narrow street, not catching much more than a glimpse before his eyes slipped towards said man who had dropped it. The man, moving between the wall and someone who had their hand inching worryingly close to their holster had dragged his eyes down the street until their eyes met.  

Both of their eyes had widened for some inexplicable reason, they held it for only second, yet it had lasted a small eternity. Enough for one to have realization dawn upon his face and the another to still be utterly confused, he felt something, it was entrancing... in a way. He wanted to reach out and ask if he was like him. Even if he didn’t know what like him meant. Yet something Pamela said had caught his attention and before he could even look back at where he barely even glanced from the man had disappeared. Yet he had an idea, something to start off on.  

“Ben?” Pamela was now looking at him with some concern and for someone so unexpressive that surprised him.  

“Yeah?”  

“You lost focus for a minute and rushed ahead.” She spoke slowly, as if she was afraid of spooking him off. For a minute he tilted his head as he pondered over her words. And true to her words he was now standing in front of them.  

‘How had that happened?’  

The silence of the street had caught up to him as he blinked a couple times. “Sorry, just- I thought I saw something. A rat.”  

He might’ve winced at his excuse, yet he still had to repress the urge to look towards where the man had been.  

“You don’t have rats in New York?” Harley in a jokingly way, although he couldn’t help but notice it was said much less flamboyantly than before, as his curiosity deflated, he felt pang in his heart. Putting on a slowly growing smile he said.  

“It was a weird rat.”  

A slight shift in their stance was displayed for an instance before Pamela gently started guiding his shoulder.  

“Yeah, Gotham is veracious to even the rats here.”  

“What was the weirdest one you saw? You know. Being a resident and all that.” He said, just to keep the conversation going.   

“Hm, probably the one with two heads and tails.”  

He visibly straightened up at that. “ What?”  

________________________________________________________________  

As the trio happily started back up chatter and turned the corner another person arrived at the street they were just at. This one being much bulkier and taller in physique, as he walked in the middle of the now empty street. Suddenly stopping in the middle of the street, staring at the ground with a creepily similar tilt to his head till he took off his helmet and leaned down to pick up a dirty flyer, now covered in tire tracks.  

A small cut out newspaper headline with the words of the story barely even there, faded with time and travel, reads:  

‘The Midnight Killers’  

Chapter Text

It had been a rather peaceful day. Simply doing some summer cleaning since now with the soil being dryer this time of year, it tracked in a quite obscene amount of dirt. He had just finished sweeping and had begun prepping for dinner when he heard an unexpected knock on the door.  

“Now who could that be?” Rolling down the sleeves he was rolling up to make dinner, making sure to straighten his suit.  

However, all he had found in question to his answer was a letter. A sense of dread a foreboding had accompanied it, as do all unexpected things concerning Master Bruce.  

He had quickly made up some tea as he had an astounding suspicion that they’d both need it, before walking down into the bat cave.  

“A letter has arrived for you, Sir.”  

“Alfred.”  

Was all he had gotten as a reply, in lieu of an answer. “I see that you’re working on both the new ‘ Red Hood’ as well as The Riddler's new case.” The unspoken question going unspoken.  

Master Bruce had let out a sigh and in a rare show of vulnerability, he rested his head atop of his clasped hands. “They’re not related, they’ve just been weighing heavily on my mind.”  

Alfred in this rare moment knew not to say anything, since for once he had more to say. Voluntarily.  

“Red Hood isn’t a vigilante I can figure, he’s a criminal that’s taking control of Black Mask’s forces and is either using extreme forms of violence or murder to stop crime.”  

Setting down the tea tray with the letter on it, just out of sight. “A vigilante sir? That’s quite the compliment coming from you.”  

Master Bruce let out another sigh, softer this time before looking back up at the Bat-computer, with a soft light, with tinted red. Where a blurry photo showed him turning down the small streets of the Bowery on his motorcycle.  

“I know there's something more to it, to him .”  

“And with Riddler, Sir?”  

“There’s something different about him, his crimes are just as brutal. Maybe even more so, yet his... puzzles; they’re more subdued, not the same obsession with riddles as they used to be, it’s anything that can be a puzzle he can lead me on.  

He had begun typing, to bring up the latest file on The Riddler no doubt. The screen showed him an image that had his hands clenching ever so slightly at his sides.  

“Monarch Theater, Sir?”  

“I’m surprised you recognize it from only this, although, I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”  

Alfred had no doubt that if Master Bruce wasn’t wearing any of the black makeup under that mask, he would’ve seen the tell-tale sign of exhaustion under his eyes.  

“I would always recognize it.” was said softly in the emptiness of the Batcave. The photo in front only had the red carpet and one of the seats in view, right in front of the steel rope  

“The murder weapon?”  

Bruce had given a nod before stating in an inexplicable tone. “However, these cables are rarely ever used unless for construction.”  

His eyes moved over the screen, opening another file and pulling up another photo before continuing on. “It’s definitely not something random.”  

Alfred in a mocking uninterested tone, “As if it ever is, always trying to find a meaning in objects rather than life.”  

“These ropes are only sold by manufacturing companies, and one’s this large it must’ve a private purchase.”  

“Meaning there could be little to no paper trail at all.”  

Bruce gave a huff, not even trying for words or for a nod.   

‘It seems Master Bruce has exhausted himself and ‘gone offline’ as Master Tim and Ms. Stephanie like to say these days.’  

And in way no one could quite figure out, Alfred knew exactly what Bruce had been thinking. “Do you fear who your childhood best friend might have become.”  

“Batman doesn’t fear anything, Alfred.”  

“Perhaps not, but Bruce Wayne is a man of many fears.”  

With a grunt being his only sort of reply he decided to bring up why he had come down here in the first place, “A letter has arrived for you Master Bruce.” The Wayne had paused for a second over his computer before he resumed typ ing, no doubt wondering why he had ch osen to deliver it immediately.  

“What kind of letter?”  

“Oh, just the usual kind for you, what was it again? Something about the fate of the world?”  

He immediately pushed himself off the table and out of the chair, circling around to wordlessly stand in front of Alfred. Who had also wordlessly handed said letter over. Settling his hands behind his back.   

“A younger gentleman had delivered it personally it seems. He had also delivered another message.”  

Bruce had looked at up at his father figure, wordlessly waiting for whatever message comes next with a surprisingly blank face for what the letter contained.   

“He adamantly added that we would have Lex Luthor to thank, as he had been the one to provide the way to ‘save the world’.”  

The Batman had edged his thumb between  the sealed letter before his butler had unexpectedly interrupted him.   

In a voice Bruce had ever rarely heard. Either as Bruce or Batman.  

“Although… he had provided all of this as an afterthought.”  

The Batman had opened his mouth to speak before deciding that anything Alfred wanted his to know beforehand would be contained in the letter.   

His blue eyes shrouded by black makeup trailed over the letter. Getting wider and impossibly wider with each line he read. His poker face slipping before letting out one single sentence.   

“Gather the family into the sunroom.”  

When they had gotten back Pamela hadn’t let him even go into his room to set down the clothes and had immediately dragged him towards the bathroom and insisted on changing the bandages. His face then was definitely pure shock, he didn’t know how she knew but he could sense a losing battle when he saw one.   

Her shoulders had relaxed just a bit once she saw the wound, he hadn’t even noticed how tense she was until then.  

“I’m glad it seems to be mostly healed. I honestly had expected it to be worse, or even have an infection.” Was all she said for a while as she sat him down in front of the vanity, he had seen this morning while opening the cupboards above it to grab the biggest med kit he’s ever seen.   

(He also didn’t mind keeping quiet about even he’s a little surprised it’s not infected. ‘Maybe wounds aren’t as prone to it as he thought?’)  

“I think this will be the last time it will need to be bandaged, after this I think it’ll do well on its own.”  

Although, even if he thinks he wanted to say something his throat closing up around a large block in his throat wouldn’t let him.  

The med kit was really quite surprising really, well it was less of one singular med kit and three Med kits stack on top of each other with their own designated purposed. And also happened to be a whole square foot.  

One had the classic cross on the front, one had a symbol of a fire on the other and the one Pamela was treating him with had a blood drop. (Surely it doesn’t get that bad here, right?)  

She was definitely good at it, cleaning the area around the wound and applying just a little ointment, mostly on the sides of the wound before she put a bandage on it. Although maybe not as good at it as Patrick, he seemed to be more experienced and moved like it was second nature. Something told him it was probably out a necessity and he’d probably had to bandage himself up a lot.  

He tried to feel bad about that, he couldn’t.  

Although unlike Patrick or Edward whatever the psychopaths called, she had actually begun bandaging up his smaller wounds, ones he didn’t even know he had. Like the scrape on his back.  

‘So that’s why it hurt to lay down, I just thought it was a bruise. Huh.’  

There was also a moment where he stopped breathing for a second, Pamela had glanced at him, probably sensing something off but as he continued breathing as normal she went on.  

He realizes he might’ve done something stupid, something just a little bit dumb.  

He had completely forgotten about the phone Patrick had left him....  

Oh, dear Thor I'm so fucking stupid. Am I still concussed? It wasn’t that bad, it healed in a few days after he ‘picked’ him up. Still sounds like a convenient excuse to escape the fact that even with such an old flip phone he could have used it to try and access any libraries. (Hopefully some free ones but hacking into one wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?)  

Ugh  

Ugh.  

Uuuuugh.  

The feeling of realizing you’ve been so stupid you could almost cry. Luckily, he still had a couple more days till he has to leave. Till then he’ll try to look into Gotham and see what's wrong with his suit.  

Stepping back into his the room he decided to open that card Patrick left him. It’d be rude to leave it unopened and he couldn’t see any reason why not too, so probably best to just get it over with.  

The recognizable words of congratulations were there, and for once looking at the whole thing his eyes read.   

CONGRATULATIONS! IT’S A BOY!  

‘Tell me your story and I'll tell you nine, for I can be the embodiment of none, one or of many. I am something passed down through blood and through name. I deliver a legacy and you shall bring it liberty, whichever it’s through wings, talons or fangs.’   

He gave a small sigh and set it back down, remembering to fold clothes later.  

Suddenly he was packing, since he now had more clothes than he could be bothered to count, he honestly just wanted some jeans, he didn’t realize how quickly it had all piled up. He shuddered at just thinking of the cost. He’ll pay back Ms. Pamela and Harley sometime. Even if Patrick paid for it maybe he can pay them back for the food it really was good, even just thinking back on the lamb kebabs made him start drooling.  

When he finally got everything packed into the hand-held trunk. (Well as best as he could, there were still so many clothes he still had to keep some in one of the bags.) He closed the comfy room with the large window and rounded ceiling corners and headed downstairs to where Pamela and Harley turned from where they were making their own dinner.  

They both gave him a small smile, Pamela interrupted hers with a soft question. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat before you go?”  

Ben gave a small smile and shake of his own, “No, I'm fine, really.” Then Harley walked up to him, “Then ya outta let us at least get your number first before you head out. Justa makes sure ya don’t get into any trouble out here in Gotham. And I know Edward gave you a phone so don’t lie to me mister.”  

His eyes widened in shock before he slowly got his phone out from his (very nicely) fitting hoodie. It had was red and had a lightning bolt symbol on it, which he’s certain is a hero, he just hasn’t quite gotten down all the names yet.  

Harley immediately snatched his phone from his hands and once he had gotten it back, he realized she’d typed in not just one but two numbers in.  

“You're sure?” Hastily adding on, “Well, I just can’t think of any reason for why you’d need it.”  

She gently grabbed his hands. Maybe in another world he could’ve been eye-level with her, but for now he was fine with looking up into her sincere, kind eyes. Even if his lungs feel a little bit heavier and a little bit guilty.  

She just patted his hair, looking at it in a way he knew said ‘I’m surprised it’s so soft.’  

“It’s more for you than for us. Remember that, Ben.”  

He opened his mouth just a little for a second, he thought he was going to say something. ‘Peter’ came across his mind more than once. Just to say ‘My names Peter.’ but he knew he couldn’t do that, because the name Peter has always never represented more than a burden. So instead, all he said was. “Thank you, Ms. Harley.” Turning over to look over at the table where Pamela was standing aside at. “Thank you, Ms. Pamela.” And just when he thought he was going to turn around she got up walking towards him with a bag in hand.  

It held the letters on the forefront saying ‘Gotham Basics’ he looked up at her in shock. She handed it over to him and if he didn’t know any better, he’d assumed there was amusement in her eyes.  

“Don’t be so flattered kid. There’s a why they’re called Gotham’s basics, don’t want you dying on me too soon. It’s just a gas mask and the filters, and the like. No thank you’s or anything like that, just go and make sure to answer Harley’s calls every now and then.”  

She gave a small smile of her own but seeing as she didn’t have anything more to say he gave a thankful smile and nod before opening the door and walking to the elevator. He let himself hold onto that feeling a lightness that soon was replaced with a tenseness when ‘Ave Maria’ started playing on the speakers.  

When the elevator doors opened to the deserted lobby, he faintly wondered who managed it. ‘It doesn’t seem that anyone else actually lives here but it always looks so sparkling clean.’  

Before he could think of it much longer a bright green suit not far from the clear glassed door outside was waiting for him. He took a slow and deep breath in before reaffirming his grip on his trunk and the large cardboard bag on his left shoulder.  

He stepped through the doors, the glass reaffirming him as a voice that’s he sure will always stick out greeted him. One with now that he's spent time with Ms. Pamela and Harley, he feels a little dull for not noticing. He had an accent; it wasn’t noticeable really but he seemed to have this elegant way of speaking, that also came with its own fair share of presumptuousness.  

“How was your vacation, Peter?”  

“It was fine.”  

The man gave a considerate hum, he stil l wasn’t looking at him, having his head turned slightly looking out his window. He didn’t know why it infuriated him, his hands clenched around the handle before deciding to set the trunk on his lap, holding it close with one hand and looking out the window. Not dissimilar to the man with the cane sitting next to him.  

Patrick didn’t talk through the whole ride, which suited him fine since he was suddenly occupied with looking around the streets. They had crossed a bridge not too long ago, it was pretty boring, with nothing to look except the empty waters and honking cars but he still made sure to take note just in case.   

However, since they came over the bridge, he decided to look around the completely new city he’s in. Why not right? Best to become familiar with it while he can especially since he can tell that the streets are looking kinda familiar? He thinks, Hard to tell when he’s only been down these roads onc-  

‘There!’ His eyes lit up.  

Not too far from the bridge he saw a sign. ‘The Bowery, that seems like a good place to start understanding where everything is right?’   

‘Maybe even help him get out of Gotham. Right? Maybe he could, he doesn’t feel very inclined to stay here with three different criminals looking after him. Even if two are reformed he won’t trust them, not now when its most dangerous.’  

The rest of the ride was just as quiet, although he was also watching carefully when he saw another sign that said ‘Park Row’, he saw some graffiti on the sign but he’s pretty sure that’s the name. His eyes were however driven away when the car seemed to be making more and more familiar turns, he could remember the abandoned looking houses around Patrick's. He couldn’t stop himself from looking out the windows and memorizing the area around it.  

A few minutes later of trying to remembering the streets and turns they arrived.  

He honestly only had one thought going through his head when he saw it. Well, two technically .  

One was ‘shit’ and the other one was ‘damn’.  

He knew aunt May would probably berate him for that one but for all that the inside of this house was comfortable and clean he couldn’t help but judge the house on the outside a bit.   

It wasn’t bad. For all intents and purposes, you can tell that it’s…. managed. But it really does look like a haunted house.   

It was a Victorian styled house (although that was really just a guess) with three visible floors and more rooms hinted at. The wood panels were all stained this greyish color with a roof that seemed to have a sheen of purple to the black tiles.  

When he walked in, he could immediately clock onto what the differences were. ‘Although that’s mostly because it’s hard to miss otherwise.’   

The floor had clearly been sanded and refurbished since it was no longer the splintery, dry wooded floor with visibly waning gloss. (Or whatever they put on the floor.)  

With eyes on his back as he headed up to the room, he closed the door.   

He paused for a moment, maybe two before his bags fell of his shoulders and he curled into himself.   

He couldn’t move if he wanted to, there was no sense of bone deep ache he just felt so hollow and he was to tired to think of any idea why.   

He’s Peter Parker. Spider-man. But he, Spider-man would never tolerate living in the same house as a criminal who he can’t help but get the feeling that he’s hurt people before.   

He would’ve ran the first chance he got.   

‘So why haven’t I?’  

He stayed there for a while, maybe for a bit too long, with his hands wrapped around his knees. Holding them as close as he could and watching as drop after drop joined the small puddle of tears on his jeans.  

After he had let the cold water drip off him, now wearing a thick baggy sweater that he’d never felt more grateful towards Harley for insisting on it, A dark blue and held the words ‘Most Gothic Gothamite’ on the back. And it was also the thickest, comfiest sweater he could’ve ever possibly imagined. It was definitely one of those moments where you feel all nice and squeaky clean and the clothes just fit right while bones are buzzing. He was trying to just think ‘bout the pure comfort, although the voice was currently grating on his nerves like it was cheese.  

“I attempted to create something quite similar once. I called it ‘The Box’.” Giving him a smirk that he could only possibly label as ‘indulgent’.”  

“Quite anti-climactic for a name don’t you think?” Peter answered in a clearly bored voice when he was suddenly hit with an idea. (One very bad idea. That unfortunate idea was to continue speaking.) Instead of smirking like Patrick he instead decided to copy what he seems to so cherish.  

That. Ungodly. Smirk.  

‘However, I'm not a copycat.’ So, he tilted his head and gave a saccharine smile.  

“Especially considering the name givers.... eccentricity .”   

The smirk lessened, just a bit and along came with it an eye twitch that Peter had prided himself for causing. He damn near understands why teasing is so fun now, if he could just see that inflated persona deflate.  

Just a bit.  

“Ah, yes, I see how I may seem eccentric to those who may be used to being humble. After all, not everyone feels comfortable acknowledging the fact they need to stay somewhere else so they can get on their feet.” Giving a nod and look of ‘understanding’  

He was almost left gaping at the sheer conceit of this old... thing. ‘Oh, it was on.’  

“ It was something I needed after all, although I could say the same to you about being so humble . Considering not everyone is daring enough to take someone in, even if they have to do it against their will.”  

The man was now sporting a bolding grin that displayed his teeth, having his own tilt of the head.  

“Yes, unfortunately its quite disconcerting how there was no one able to take in such a small child when he was clearly in need of assistance.”  

Peter was doing his best to make sure that grin plastered on his face wasn’t faltering one bit. “I suppose it was, considering most people able to notice were once people that needed help in their own lives.”  

Patrick, no, Edward and him were walking on increasingly thinner ice, and just when he had turned around toward the opposite side. Just when he thought he had actually won the verbal exchange Edward said something that he knew proved him wrong.  

“Everyone needs help in their life Ben .” Seeming to find what he was rummaging around for he held it up to the light and gave a light glance back. “Even if some need it for just a bit longer.”  

Peter didn’t bother stopping his nails from digging into his palms this time. Not like he was going to see it anyways. “I had assumed you preferred calling me Peter?”  

The man was turned away from him but he could sense the small smile he no doubt had spread upon his face. “I had assumed the same,” Turning around to face him and resting his hands on the table behind him. “Was I wrong in that assumption?”  

Both Ben and Peter had to admit that they had fallen right into his trap, it’s foolish really. Of course he’d find out about the name, that he most definitely knows Patrick saw as his middle name. Especially when they’ve obviously spoken to each other about him.  

“I think you were wrong in the assumption that I told anyone my first name.”  

A low and considering hum rang through the basement before he pushed himself of the table and slowly began to walk around him. He knew what he was trying to do and it wouldn’t work on him, but even somewhere deep down he felt a little bit nervous. “Was I?”  

After circling around him a couple more times, both seemingly in thought he abruptly stopped right behind him. “Would you like to change your name on the paper then?” His voice uncharacteristically soft.   

“Huh?”  

When it became clear he wasn’t going to repeat himself he thought about it, if he changed it when he still could he’d probably think that it’s real name after all (It was)  

Either way he’ll (correctly) assume which name is actually his, it doesn’t matter that none of them hold any power over him, what matters is no matter what decision he chooses Patrick will try to use that power over him and he cares too much to not prove him wrong.  

“Only switch Peter and Bejamin around.” After a moment’s thought where he could think about any cons he added. “And add another name.”  

He gave another small hum, this one being far more interested and curious. “Oh? And what name is that?”  

Peter has thought about this for a while, ever since Harley and Pamela had first started calling him Ben. It had been what made him lay awake at night as the beating of his heart gnawed away at him and his soul.  

He didn’t deserve any part of May’s name, not after he left her behind. He didn’t even know if she was okay, somewhere safe. And some small part of him thinks that he doesn’t deserve a name at all, with all of him being simply a face in the mirror that he can no longer recognize.  

But still, he may not need this name either but he wants it, because it might be the last part of his past that he can stand to bring here.  

“Benjamin-Richardson Peter Parker, that's my full name.”  

He could almost see the smirk on his face as he replied, “Is it really?” He didn’t really seem to be asking, more like mumbling to himself but he still decided it’d be easier on both of them if he ended the curiosity now when he could.  

He turned his head just barely over his shoulder to give him that same look. “It is now.”  

Cold hands slipped onto his shoulders, “Well then, Ben. As much as I am looking forward to... getting along in the future; I am afraid that I need a little help with that side-project I mentioned.”  

He wasn’t completely sure of why he stayed down here with him and he was even less sure of why he was letting him use his tools. No scratch that, he knew why he was staying down here. (Somewhat at least, he hoped.)  

A better way to phrase his questions would be that fact that he wasn’t sure why he’d let him do and build whatever he wanted while Edward had gone upstairs to make dinner. He’s seen the cameras, a point he made sure Edward knew to make sure he didn’t think he could try watching him without him noticing. Whether or not it was for better or for worse, but it was still a reminder for the both of them that he values his privacy.  

Maybe he was letting him use his tools and build...something because he thought he’d jump at the chance to do something to fix the suit. And if he wasn’t being watched by an eerie, lurking man then the universe would have to raise the dead to pry him off the suit. Screaming, kicking and biting all the while.  

While being able to do something with his hands felt calming his hands were still itching to grab his watch and take his suit out and do anything to fix it.  

And sure, he said he wanted help with the boring box project but that wasn’t until it was turning evening.   

And it’s only…  

He glanced sideways towards the (new?) clock.  

Four forty-three  

Wait. Peter’s head looked up. That gives him an idea.   

He might not be able to get out his suit and fix it but he can create something like ‘The Box’ and as stupid as the name sounds, he can’t deny the resemblance to B.A.R.F.  

The look that appeared on his face was a mix between a grimace and a face mixed with grief, regret and loss.  

‘It’d be useful in the end, right? He imagines he could program Karen to control it, maybe he could even hold it in his suit? Although the extra nanobots have to go somewhere, maybe not something so large then. A small holographic projector would be easier, maybe even make it so nothing like what Mysterio did can work on him.’  

Eyebrows loosening and hands tightening he does a decisive nod and heads to grab something from the abundance of shelves and boxes in the room, messily organized. He doesn’t quite get the way it is organized but he thinks he’s recognizing a small pattern.  

Really it only needs Micro-Leds and some glass that he could arrange to work similarly to optic glass, so he could focus the light into being sharp, clear and hopefully realistic. Maybe he could make it collapsable? Something small he could carry around. Maybe he could even connect it to the nanobots, if he were to replace the tech later on with nanobots it’d be easier to carry around and much more compact.  

‘But for now... the technology around here will do, it’s enough to give him a prototype and figure out how exactly he’ll program and create it before downloading and upgrading to the nanobots.’  

Peter, (Ben?) was giddy with the progress he’s made so far, sure he still had work to do, not only programing to bots themselves and eventually hooking it up to Karen that way it can react to voice-commands. Karen would also probably upgrade the programming itself; he always left that job to Ned but-  

A small, bitter smile grazed across his face. ‘Wherever he is and whatever he’s doing he’s sure he’s fine.’  

With them finally finishing up with their work today he couldn’t help but stare but shift his gaze to Patrick. He knew Patrick probably noticed him glancing at him occasionally but it was just so odd.  

He didn’t really notice to much at the time but looking back on it he could remember the way that the longer they were working he seemed to.... calm down?  

‘No, that’s not the right phrasing.’  

He was always calm but now. He can’t imagine the cold hands on his shoulders as well and he doesn’t get goosebumps when he comes near anymore.  

He still felt tense as he put a hand on the back of his shoulder and led him upstairs. But he was willing to pretend it wasn’t there, he might not have to eat as much as he used to.  

Something that made his muscles relax at knowing more that Patrick wouldn’t ever know he’s a mutant.   

Or well... he was. At some point.  

But he also if he didn’t have to eat as much it would help in case, he ever did need to go somewhere else.  

Although he thinks that even if he does have to leave, he’d even be a little sad. Even he could admit when someone was a good cook. Especially since the minute he stepped out of the basement to where he’s standing now his mouth started watering just a little bit the second, he could taste the air.  

He let down a small gulp to his own chagrin of the knowing smile beside him.  

“It’s Polish Czarnina.” Prouder than a peacock, leaning down conspiratorially. “Do you want to know the secret?”  

He decided that if staying quiet makes him one second quicker to quell his undying rage at the unfairness of the world and the universe (Multiverse) that he knew was hangryness then he’d swallow as many words possible.  

‘Even if that que is getting impossibly shorter.’  

“It’s the wild duck, not the ones on farms and freshly squeezed lemons. And just a hint of pear.”  

‘Peter is not a violent person. Peter is not a violent person. Ben is not a violent person. Violence is bad. Very very bad.’  

Luckily the very nice glance Peter gave him. (Not at all one that exuded pure exasperation at all.) Seemed to make him give up holding him back and lifted his hand and they moved around the table that did not suit the effortlessly elegant kitchen at all.  

 Still, he thinks it’s nice, or at least better than something else. It felt homey in a way. With the simple wooden table, it was smooth and made of a good, dark wood. Looked like it was just a few shades darker than oak but he wasn’t sure. He definitely knew more about the different species that exist in Star Wars than he does trees.   

(Although… that actually sounds kinda sad. Should he go touch grass? Or in this case trees?)   

As Patrick removed the lid from the Polish car- something he was created with the lovely sight of pasta in his favorite elbow shape with a light vinegar scent to it. His mouth was already watering.   

He also penitently waited for Patrick to finish ladling the soul, very pointedly leaned back in his char absentmindedly picking at his nails.   

Extremely dirty, short and blackened nails. Only highlighted by the bruises and marks around his hand with his less than cautious way of acting catching up to him in the lab with longer lasting consequences.   

After what sounded like the wheezing of someone trying to hold in a sigh and fail spectacularly Patrick made him wash his hands. Which… yeah. Fair.   

And when he finally, finally say down and was able to take a heavenly, (bite? Slurp?) of soup. He decided that Patrick isn’t that bad.   

Bruce Wayne walked into the Batcave to find who he’s been looking for. Said person heard him coming, even if he had been making sure to begin walking quieter around him. He tried to shove down the pride he felt as Tim glanced over.  

‘It’s not the time for it.’  

“Oh, Hey B!”  

Bruce immediately grew suspicious, he was definitely sounding a little bit too energetic, especially for someone who’s air is always scented in the smell of steaming coffee nearby.  

“Alfred, when was the last time Tim had slept?”  

He didn’t know where Alfred was, for all his perception and detective skills no one ever could. Except occasionally Cass. But he knew Alfred was more Omnipresent than should be possible, even when magic’s involved.  

Alfred adjacent to his assumption stepped off the elevator. “Seventeen hours, Sir.”  

Tim grumbled. “Seventeen hours ain’t that bad I haven’t even seen anything yet.”  

“You should not acquaint a proficient amount of sleep to whether or not you’ve had hallucinations, Master Tim.”  

Bruce pinched his nose bridge, “We’ll have a meeting at 3:30 in the sunroom, the whole family. And I refuse to have you there barely conscious, go to sleep. NOW, if you don’t, I'll make sure we get rid of all sources of caffeine in this house.”  

His eyes widened, he wanted to ask what happened but he knew better than to start questioning him now. Especially when his coffee was at risk.  

“Fine, but I want to know what's gotten you so pissy in this meeting.”  

He lowered his hand and let out a heavy sigh.  

It was later than he expected or wanted, he’s surprised that he lost track of time so heavily but it will do. It was early evening, ten minutes past four to be precise. and he had just gathered everyone to the sunroom. The school year was just ending he could see Tim and Steph already working out different patrol schedules. He was glad they knew to not make their schedule suddenly increase in hours most people could make a good guess at their age but certain rumors could help combat that.  

The late spring weather blending into summer was blissful wind brushing off the windows but other than that it’s another rare, clear and sunny day.  

“Father” Damian said as Alfred delivered the tea. “What does this meeting call for?”  

Tim was also giving him that same questioning look but it became clear that he had at least a couple of assumptions. He was correct, there were simply other matters that were far more important.  

“You’re here today to talk about our list of priorities when it comes to the Riddler and the new vigilante Red Hood, as well as a letter I have received.” He paused for any questions by taking a sip of his own tea. Everyone had been offered a cup of either tea or hot chocolate by Alfred, long knowing everyone’s preferred drink by now.  

Some were visibly confused, apparently not everyone had heard of the Riddler’s newest case, especially the younger ones, like Damian and the newest guest. Cassandra Cain.  

Barbara had replied with a questioning look. “We’ve all heard about him getting out but I thought it was mostly radio silence so he could prepare whatever for surprise he had planned next.”  

Stephanie finished with chugging her hot chocolate turned upside down on the couch, propping her feet on the back. “Yeah, I was already writing down some kick-ass responses and burns for Mister ‘I think this green looks good on me’.”  

Cassandra who was sitting next to her just gave a seldom nod to which Steph had replied with “I know right? A darker green would’ve suited him so much better!”  

The youngest had seemed to grow tired of the banter of colors had interjected. “He hasn’t started any ‘new ways’ like you were expecting father?”  

He only let out a grunt in reply. Which had been quickly followed by another question. “So, The Riddler’s started playing a new game and this ‘Red Hood’ been taking control of Black Mask, along with Crime Alley?”  

All heads turned over. They’re head ducked down with realization, “Okay, so I might have read the very accessible files.”  

He lets out a very exhausted sigh. ‘Perhaps it's his own thought for not seeing the sketchy actions earlier.’ he pinched his nose bridge, “Those files were encrypted, Tim.”  

Tim, setting down his mug down quite harshly then folded his arms and stared back. “Yeah, well maybe you should’ve told us about the new pseudo-vigilante serial killer taking control of Black Mask and soon moving onto crime alley itself.”  

Dick, now had the exact same face he had when he found out. Only this one laced more openly with a sense of grief and broken trust.   

“B; Why didn’t you tell me?”  

“I didn’t tell you- I didn’t tell anyone about this because this is exactly what I wanted to avoid.” Taking special care to look at both Tim and Stephanie, along with a couples other. “I don’t want anyone going after someone they’re not equipped to handle. We still don’t know his motives, h-”  

“But this is one of the things we talk about. To make sure that everyone knows the dangers of it.”  

“No one knew enough, I didn’t know enough to even properly educate you and warn you of those dangers. I had to be prepared”  

Dick’s hands were clenched around the back of the sofa, where Barbara was looking up at him. Sympathy in her eyes as she puts a gentle hand on top of his. “Dick...We should talk about this later.”  

Damian having already figured what this was about but looking like he was finally about to say something he spoke up before anyone could continue on.  

“It’s not only this ‘Red Hood’ that’s dangerous. Riddler seems to also changed, and not for the better; He’s become crueler and isn’t disposed to the same riddles he used to leave. Meaning that this is a sign that he’s being unpredictable. It’s most likely that he reacted harshly towards the newer attempts to rehabilitation.”  

Cassandra had raised her eyebrow in silent question.  

He cursed himself, she might not tell anyone of his suspicions if she thought that there was no harm in doing so but someone would figure out the hard way if he didn’t heed caution now.  

“Although...there also seems to be a different kind of...trigger to his new actions, now however it’s nothing more than a suspicion.”  

Tim and Damian just scoff, seemingly agreeing with each other on something for once. Tim glances past the glare Damian sends him while gesturing his hand in the air. “Now that’s dandy and all but you haven’t said anything about what he’s done to elicit these suspicions.”  

Bruce Wayne once again pinching the top of his nose bridge lets out a tired sigh, “I. Will. Give. You. The case file. When. I’m. Done with it.”  

“Then those are just precautionary remarks for the utter fools and the letter is what you’ve really brought us here for.”  

Breezing past the word choice he gave a stern nod. Not bothering with hiding his observations he notes that every mug or tea cup is a least half-empty by now.   

Just about everyone does a tick or tell about their silent enquiry.   

‘One he does not know quite yet.’  

As he ponders over how exactly to tell them everything, -as he knows that there’s no other option- he guides all of them into the Bat-cave. Making sure that each and every one has run through the tests, ending with the handing out of crucifixes and wooden stakes. By now he knows everyone has figured it out.  

With Barbara, no. Oracle. Always searching for every scrap of information she can store, figuring out something in an instant. Something T- Red Robin can only do when he's concentrated his full attention on something.  

“The Midnight Killers- or ‘Late Night’. They appeared not long ago, and a letter. No doubt helpful information, or a threat? a way to defeat them? Since you’ve tested all of us so thoroughly- no the wooden stakes, -more widespread perhaps? A way to stun or paralyze then? Didn’t appear until ‘Hush’ drew out most of the rogues.”  

At the last part however, she looks away from the floor where she directed her muttering. “Do you think it’s a coincidence or are they aiming for Gotham?”  

Dick finally interjecting, “Most of the attacks were in Blüdhaven, Three so far. Two were called in after someone caught sight of the victims, both nearly died of blood loss. Slit wrists, though remarkably little blood for the amount lost”  

“And the third?” An ever-impatient Damian is to the pauses and ‘dramatics’ the family uses. Even if he has the ability to more dramatic than any of them.  

Dick grimaces and a look of shame passes by his face. One they’re all familiar with, having worn the exact same one many times themselves. “Slit throat, I went after them afterwards but they were fast, on the level of an enhanced or a low-level metahuman.”  

Batman finally deciding it’d be easier to just read the letter rather than answer all their questions.  

“Alfred, had heard a knock on the main manor door at approximately two-thirty AM. Upon opening it was a man claiming that the syringe he held was the world's last hope and that we had Lex Luthor to thank for it.”  

He already saw some preparing to question in the short brief pause he held, silenced when a hand and simply shake of his head interrupted the not yet spoken words.  

“Afterwards he gifted this letter, being extremely adamant about reading the third page.”  

He once again unfolds the pages from the already unsealed letter and thumbing open the pages and beginning to recite from the pages.  

“My name is Andrew Bennet and mostly likely as much as I'll try to prevent it, by now a former vampire hunter. The vampires have always been ruled under Queen Mary who sought a peaceful relationship with humanity. However, Queen Mary has been killed, being succeeded by her defeater who is now the new King or Queen. With your renowned abilities I've only heard of-”  

The letter is interrupted by a scoff, which is quickly followed by a rather inconspicuous cough. He felt no need to look past the pages held afront of him as he already had a strong suspicion where the noises originated from.  

“I can imagine you’ve already figured out with your detective abili-”  

Two (loud) simultaneous clearing of the throats occur. “Got something in your throat Drake?” predictably ignoring the fact that Stephanie had also participated in the same action.   

Bruce Wayne took careful care not to start bickering himself and continued reading, even if he happened to raise his voice to be heard.  

(As a precautionary measure, you never know when someone might have a hard time hearing a certain word.)  

“That this new ruler isn’t as willing to maintain a peaceful relationship.” - The rest of the letter went along the same lines, describing his journey and how's he’s had to escape vampires with injuries that got more lethal the longer they were left unattended. However, when they came to the third page is when things took a change.  

[For the better or for the worst, no one will ever quite know.]  

“However unfortunate as it may be I have not been honest with you thus far. While I fear this may make you doubt towards what I say I must reveal that I myself am a vampire. I have made it my life's mission to rid ourselves of the bloodthirsty monsters that I myself have become. I have never consumed blood unless from animals or humans as bad as the vampires I kill, and while this has led to my powers and enhancements becoming severely dampened, I can assure you of one thing.”  

At this part, batman looks up no longer needing the paper to recite the words he has etched into his mind.   

“That while my powers are weakened us vampires share a bond that assures our hierarchy in place.”   

“I’ve realized as humans you may be wondering why it might be something considered dangerous but as I've already said there is a hierarchy in place. This hierarchy was how I was able to identify him in the first place. However, this hierarchy goes deeper than you could imagine, it’s the reason why all obeyed the queen. The Queen or King is able to ‘sugge st’ something with no opposition and control the hierarchy, from who shalt be the commons and barons, to the Duke’s or Duchesses. And any who maintain their roles pass whatever powers and authorities to their named heir. And regardless of whether or not the Queen or Kings successor is blood or named they will also share these traits, many of which are rarely even rumored upon.”  

As he takes in a careful deep breath to allow them to digest that information, he prepares for what he’s about to say next. Hands clenching onto the letter behind his back.  

“Which is why I utter caution as this new King or Queen is much more dangerous than even, I, previously thought. As this new ruler has already borne an heir.”  

Chapter Text

At this part, Batman looks up no longer needing the paper to recite the words he has etched into his mind.  

“That while my powers are weakened us vampires share a bond that assures our hierarchy in place.”  

“I’ve realized as humans you may be wondering why it might be something considered dangerous. However, this hierarchy was how I was able to identify him in the first place. This hierarchy goes deeper than you could imagine, it’s the reason why all obeyed the Queen. The Queen or King is able to ‘suggest’ something with no opposition and control the hierarchy, from who shalt be the commons and barons, to the Duke’s and Duchesses. And any who maintain their roles pass whatever powers and authorities to their named heir. And regardless of whether or not the successor is blood or named they will also share these traits, many of which are rarely even rumored upon.” 

As he takes in a careful deep breath to allow them to digest that information, he prepares for what he’s about to say next. Hands clenching onto the letter behind his back. 

“Which is why I utter caution as this new King or Queen is much more dangerous than even, I, previously thought. As this new ruler has already borne an heir.” 

Tim was currently pulling at his hair; him and Bruce were currently going over the letter and following up on any clues and rumors there might be while the rest were out on patrol. Babs was currently sleeping after gathering said clues and documenting said rumors he and Bruce were examining. Bruce had increased the checkups during patrol, he was going to go on patrol with them. Especially after everything but Dick has offered to stay a couple more days before heading back to Bludhaven to give them time to catch up.  

(And make sure Damian didn’t try to sneak out.) 

He would complain every sixteen minutes about not having enough coffee for this, but he was also grateful Bruce was here. Even when he wanted to be out, it made him feel slightly better when he or rather ‘they’ were running around in circles. 

“You think that for a guy as dramatic as the letter leads on, he would’ve given us a name or description. Maybe the kid would look a lot like an aged-down Ozzy Osborn and then we’d know to go looking for his corpse or some secret twin.” arms gesturing wildly in the air eventually coming back down to rub the tension in his eyes away. 

“The man was clearly sleep deprived, paranoid, malnourished and barely even had enough coherency to write the letter. He must’ve added the heir part later on; we still do however, have enough information to start a profile.” 

 Bruce continued on, even when Tim could tell that even he was frustrated.  

“it’s so dangerous that he or she has an heir in the first place because it could lead with the possibility that they have significant power and a settled position. They might have been in play before we even knew there was a board. It could also come with the consequence of this heir having power that we don’t have enough time to occupy ourselves with.” 

“And with the added one that if we take out the King or Queen another one will be there to takes its place?” Tim added on knowingly. 

He gave a soft nod with a rumbling grunt no longer deciding to waste his time on so many words.  

“Well.... we could be lucky, for once I mean, and not that it’s likely but he might not have reached his ‘majority’ yet.” Creating air quotes for what was likely the reason of mocking the man's odd mix of modern and old English. Which unfortunately went without a response. 

(Not sure what he was expecting. Optimism, a fool's mistake.) 

Knowing that he doesn’t have a whole lot more time before he decides to stop talking altogether he continues on. Even if Bruce likely won’t want to talk much after this.  

“I’m just saying ‘knowing beyond all reason’ to describe his eyes would’ve been more useful if he had included the color afterwards.” With his hands on his head again, tugging at his hair. He was probably going to go bald at this point. 

“He never directly wrote or insinuated that the heir isn’t related to the previous Ruler. With her dead now information about her will likely spread. We can use that to our advantage. And if it’s the new ruler we can use the heir to trace back to the new Queen or King.” 

Bruce, no, Batman gave a sharp nod. Staring at the information piled on the screen. 

“We’ll just have to find him first.” 

He woke up jolting, covered in sweat, panic set in his eyes. His vision flitted around the darkened room, the room that wasn’t his and the one that was too large and far too bare. The one that had his gut coiling up with disgust and hatred every time he opened that stupid door. Pushing his back up against the backboard and curling his arms around his legs as he tried to breathe, to calm down so he wouldn’t end up trying to reach for an inhaler that wasn’t there. 

The window had its curtains pulled tight, so the yellow mixed with blue light didn’t quite reach the room, except for the stretches of light fanning across the ceiling. Eyelids and lashes flickered every few minutes, sometimes tired, other times shutting closed for a few seconds of thought. 

The whole world seemed to swim down and away as everything became just a little bit foggier, the noise of the occasional car and gunshot fuzzed out in the glorious picture of grey and white. Looking back at abrupt memories, that precious time where once he managed to get Mr. Stark to watch Star Wars. Pepper had even sat down halfway through as her pen graced across the pages. He smiled at the fond memories; eyes lost in the yellow-blue light of the morning. Small smiles and larger frowns pointed down looking at a spot of light that spread oblong across the floor. That was until he heard the creaking floorboards above him, his heart calmed down as his eyes drifted back to the light that was no longer tinted by the early morning. 

‘It still seems to be pretty early.’ As he let his arms curl around him just a little tighter, trying to forget about everything that wasn’t those soft, and bright memories. Those memories of building another Star Wars set with Ned as May and Ben were setting up for Hanukkah. The smell of Latkes being fried with Peter and Ned not so sneakily planning how they could sneak one away. That not so small glint in his uncle’s eyes that were no longer there.  

The never-ending brightness and kindness in Aunt Mays eyes that he wanted so desperately to see again. 

His nails digging into his arms, he hated feeling like this, looking over to that growing shine of light on the floor he watched as it flickered for a moment. For what was undoubtedly a bird passing as he let himself float in that foggy heavy place. Eyes not really seeing anything and face expressionless. And if, as he set his head to rest on his knees a tear shed from those unseeing eyes. Then at least no one would know that part of his story. 

When he stepped out his the room his eyes slide over to the clock on the same length of wall. 

 ‘Almost ten.’ 

He’s not sure when he even woke up, time feels like it’s moving so much faster and yet so impossibly slow. Ever since the moment he saw that flash of green and became something that didn’t fit in. His eyes were moved away from where they were still looking at the clock to the hatch remotely sliding back into itself to the attic and a man in a green suit coming down as gracefully as one could. 

Once their eyes met both faces held no emotion, although maybe some would call that facsimile of a smile an emotion. (Even if it held nothing) 

“You can head to the library while I make something, I never did ask; You don’t have any allergies, do you?” Giving a small tilt to his head. 

His eyes narrowed, just a little bit, it felt like the only reason he asked was because Pamela and Harley did first.  

After a small shake of his head, and watching his back until the man was out of sight, he was alone to roam about the library. 

He’s learned through all his wandering throughout the library that while it may be twenty by thirty-five feet, or at least that's his best guess. It has plenty of hidden pockets, compartments and he even found a book hidden underneath one of the tables and another in a drawer of another desk. There are only two tables, both thin, narrow and simple wooden table. Although they both have plenty of drawers, some visible and others not so much. 

He was just leaning a hand against the bookcase as he was looking everywhere trying to figure out how he organized all of this. (There IS a pattern, he just has to find it.) 

Until a paragraph suddenly popped into his mind.  

‘CONGRATULATIONS! IT’S A BOY!’ 

‘Tell me your story and I'll tell you nine, for I can be the embodiment of none, one or of many. I am something passed down through blood and through name. I deliver a legacy and you shall bring it liberty, whichever it’s through wings, talons or fangs.’  

He might not be able to find the pattern of either this indiscernible library or the riddle/poem. But he can find another clue that tells him who Patrick (or Edward) is. The collection of books says something in itself but he really hopes he can get Karen up and running as soon as possible. Maybe then a can run a diagnostic on who Patrick Parker and Edward... well something. 

‘Maybe he can figure out his last name or at least which one is his real one and what he really does. He’s hoping to every mythological being out there that he's at a level of crookedness that he can deal with. Hopefully not some psycho crazed killing maniac, maybe the universe will give him something that's not horribly concerning for once?’ 

Stephanie was practically vibrating in her seat; he usually favors Tim when it comes to detective work. Which she can’t entirely blame, she’s better at figuring out the puzzle behind the scene, the motive. What the bad guy wanted, obviously.  

‘And wasn’t just because of her character lore either! Or, well, at least not entirely.’ 

 Tim on the other hand loves the how, what and all that and is always picking it apart. Which eventually leads to the peeling back of the wallpaper covering said motive. 

‘Boring days, honestly.’ 

However, that exact reason is why she’s so excited.  

‘Finally! It’s finally my turn again!’ 

“Give me everything you got on the puzzle, B!” She declared to the ‘yeesh’ very... not well rested shadow. 

Meanwhile, Tim was doing what Damian would declare as ‘A blob fishes sulky face.” 

“It’s not fair. I can get the reason but that doesn’t mean I like it. I wanted to figure this out, B. I’m making so much progress!” 

From where he’s looking, he can see the Batmans head turn up to look up at the ceiling before pinching his nose bridge. 

“Make sure to share the files with Spoiler.” In a voice that was sounding even more exhausted than usual. 

Tim just looked up at the ceiling and let out a groan. It bounced off the walls and the ceiling, letting it echo throughout the Batcave. It sent the bats squeaking and fluttering for a half minute. Before the newest Robin, appearing out of seemingly nowhere slapped Red Robin upside the head.  

“Don’t disturb them, Aisha and Farah are both raising children so now Farah has to take care of Aisha’s children while she’s out hun-” 

“Did he really name the bats?” Looking over to Batman. “Did you really let him name them?! You know he’s gonna get attached to them and take them back and away to whatever demon hole he crawled out of!” 

Tim jolted from surprise to look at his left shoulder where Spoiler was leaning against him conspiratorially. “I know that everyone has named at least a couple, even you.” 

Whispering quietly while watching Damian out of the corner of his eye who was looking up at the ceiling. “You can’t prove that.” 

Spoiler smiled so wide it just had to hurt. And whispering even more quietly, “You shouldn’t have put that glitter in Oracle’s hairdryer.” 

Red Robins eyes widened in horror. “That wasn’t me! That was Dick!” 

Batman just gave a soft murmur over the computer. “No names in the cave.” 

“-Or maybe it was the devil child!” Gesturing toward Damian as if it further explains his point. “He’s trying to blame it on me or something!” 

“I have no reason to do such a thing, when Oracle has proved herself to be a respectable resource.” 

“Robin, why don’t you help set the dinner plates? Spoiler, I have something I believe I’ll… need your help on.” 

“Of course~” 

Practically skipping over. (definitely skipping) At the Batman asking for her help, even after all this time he still thinks the reverence that comes with the knowing the Batman needs their help has barely even faded.  

“What is it?” 

He wordlessly handed over a file to which she smiled and pulled over a chair to a Bat-computer. Using whatever space there was left in between the scatters of paper and coffee cups. 

Over those seven minutes where she rushes through the file and reads it extensively at the same time, he actually takes a little bit of joy (To hide the dread) watching as her expression shifts countless times. 

He can’t help the heavy feeling that settled in his chest every time he read it. He still remembers it with startling clarity, even if it was a case. 

A truck pulled over to the side of the road. A dead body that was killed in a way so unlike The Riddler, clues far too easy to find, mockingly easy. It doesn’t bode well with him. 

The cruel murder of Thomas Elliot, with no message except an old burner phone with the picture of a monarch butterfly on it. So obviously referencing the Monarch Theater with a cable rope different than the one used to tie him up, the friend of Bruce Wayne. Not that many know about it, it was just a childhood friend, more political more than anything else most people would assume. But he saw something in his eyes whenever they were working on the case. 

 Cassandra had seen it too and he wanted to ask to know what it was but he wasn’t even sure he wanted to find out. Although he imagines it was something like mourning over something that you felt you could’ve had. And sure, wishing to have friends be there for you and you for them is a lot different than a boy wondering what he could to get his parents attention when they weren’t busy at another meeting. 

He just couldn’t bare too, it hurt to breach his privacy like that. Especially with the letter that came with it. He closed his eyes for a second as he saw that Spoiler had reached that exact same part.  

With the cover containing a single green question mark above red and white stripes stretching outwards reading, 

~ 

‘To: My Secret Friend’ 

‘My dear secretive friend. -The one that soars through the night, trying to catch me unaware. With unstoppable grace as the heir of the night, the one the night could have. The one the night wishes she had. - As you try to escape me. 

With my only comfort being that I know time will erase every face and every name, everyone’s except yours. As limb by limb, you’ll take back everything time took from you. 

Blue fleeting hours of the turning dawn. With a grace as you struggle every nightfall, taking back more than ever belonged to you. With thirsty eyes that hide behind a sinister history. 

Among with another story that sings a beautiful Ballad. One that takes us to a particular night. 

One turning away from the luxury of another life. Frightened by those taking a fluttering flight, lead your parents out of sight as the next cruel story reaches its height. 

Belonging to the night, you change my history from my life to my death.’ 

~ 

Red Robin let out a sigh, the Riddler was becoming more and more confusing. It wasn’t the riddles they had to decipher the answer of and react as quickly as possible to stop whatever plan he had next.  

It was these harmless riddles that they now had to decipher the meaning of, the why, no longer the where and when. 

(More like poems they had to figure out anyways) 

He almost misses it, he doesn’t need another sudden case to look, worry and ponder over on top of everything else. No one does. 

Giving a small shake of his head and another sigh he focused on the steel cable rope, the one used to choke Thomas Elliot to death. And the fact of how it was stuffed underneath a Monarch Theater seat. The one Thomas Alan Wayne had sat in once upon a time, oh so long ago.  

With that card to accompany it of all things and a music box that opened up to play a meaningless lullaby and an empty spinning platform. The poem/riddle was obviously implying that he now knows who Bruce Wayne really is. While he doesn’t know why Thomas Elliot had done to piss off the Riddler so much, why he was killed that way and what the stupid, broken music box means. 

“Anything Spoiler?” it came out through gritted teeth.  

Seemingly ignoring him as she looked at the items beside her, the steel cable and the music box. Rewinding the music box, he’s listened to plenty of times and still can’t understand. 

Spoiler looked up at the ceiling for a minute, maybe two. Before she looked back towards him with that eerie look that sometimes consumed her eyes when she just figured out the answer to a puzzle. 

“I think The Riddler is going to kill the Mad Hatter.” 

Batman and Red Robin had both snapped their heads over from their own form of pacing, his being quite literal and Batmans being doubling down on work with his infuriatingly quick and perfect typing. 

Both pair of eyes wide with disbelief and curiosity but with no trace of doubt.  

‘This is why B tries to avoid using her to help figure out any puzzles.’ He can’t help but think as he shivers. She has a near prophetic look in her eye as she looks at them with an expectant smile.

Wondering which one of them will ask, how or why first. He wonders how she doesn’t even notice the small, satisfied smile on her lips. 

Peter’s chest was puffing up with pride, he felt a little silly doing it but after days of activating the watch and only for the suit to appear in work mode, off of him. (Convenient if he could work on it.) or only being able to send the nanobots alongside his back before the reaching slowed and it retreated once again. 

However now he was finally starting to figure out how the watch worked and oh so conveniently, there it was. ‘TSWM’ The Selective Work Mode, aka ‘Tony Stark Was Maternal’ claimed by pepper herself. He could’ve started jumping up and down from that alone. And as unfortunate as it was, he could only work on one separate part at a time. (Or more of he had any ounce of subtlety) And so, he had been carefully balancing the two projects. Hidden almost entirely by the shadows and darkness of the basement. 

Until for one moment he heard silence more than there should be. As if he had stopped fixing and putting up together... whatever he was. When he finally sneaked a glance, he saw the eerily green eyes staring back at him, he nearly froze for a second in shock. He wasn’t scared, not quite, but there was a feeling that came with that brief second. As if he was trying to see through him, like he was the one who actions and words sometimes didn't make sense. 

“You’ll tire your eyes out like that Ben.” 

He turned his eyes back to the table, hands fidgeting with the round glass top that showed through to miniscule lights that would act as lasers beams through the glass. (Much more colorful and tinier laser beams) There’re a couple downsides, like it has to be used in close proximity of walls on the side since the angling of the beams get less and less accurate the farther out the become. 

“ Peter .” 

His hands tightened around the small rectangle of glass he was holding, experimenting with what general angling change the perimeter light would need. It hurts, the edges digging into his skin, He can tell that it will leave a red mark for a few hours or maybe even a day or two. So incredibly slow for something so small; Something he doesn’t want to get used to. 

“And? What do you want to do about it?” 

“Optometrist appointment, Thursday ten AM. Or I’m afraid I’ll have to cut down when you can access this lab to when I can supervise.” 

Chewing on his lip harshly enough for it to bruise, it was more than enough to jolt him back to reality. “ Fine .” And if it came out more harshly than he meant it too than it clearly wasn’t a surprise to either one as they both went back to work, respectively. 

Peter had just gotten back from the appointment; he was still a little upset at Patrick realizing his glasses problem. He doesn’t know what exactly in the world he did but now here he was holding his glasses two days after the appointment. It also miffed him a bit, here he was reflecting back on that one time he broke his glasses because they had fallen off and gotten stepped on while he was running late to school, even worse, it had taken two weeks for the replacement pair to be made.  

He knows why he mad; he wants to get back to May but he doesn’t know why every single small thing seems to either worry him too much or make him want to yell at Patrick (Or Edward) 

And even if he was a bit miffed at a clear unfair abuse of power (Those two weeks were very annoying.) He still appreciated the effort, even if it got him to where he is now. 

He was currently trying very hard not to glare at the man in front of him who was smiling oh so gleefully. He was even currently beaming; his smile was practically glowing but he still couldn’t quite find it in himself to regret his decision. 

“How are you liking the test, Peter? You can quit whenever you want if you feel uncomfortable or if the test is too difficult for you.” 

He knew for the life of him what he was trying to do but by Thor he wanted to prove him wrong. “I’m fine.” was said simultaneously as his hand flew over the pages scribbling furiously, barely even legible, but hey, he’s seen Edwards writing and when he’s not trying to make it look all fancy like in that letter his is even worse than his. 

Edward just gave an exasperated sigh before shaking his head, as if he wasn’t the one to set this up. As if he wasn’t the one to seemingly bring it up abruptly before bringing him to library where the pencil and paper were already ready. 

Besides, he’s been at this for over an hour and as annoying as the small history section was it was also strangely enlightening, there was everything from major American wars. Such as World War one and two, along with much more recent events, apparently when Batman and Superman came into play, along with the ‘Justice League’ is a very important fact. He supposes he can get it, but even on his world when the Avengers banded was a fairly well-known fact but not one talked about much. 

He already knew some of their suspicions, the fact that history books had been lying around a little too inconspicuously probably means it’s not really all that inconspicuous. And this time with all the potential books and high shelves if there’s a camera, he won’t be able to see it by chance in the reflection of a mug he had to get a chair to get to the first time. He was pretty lucky with that one in the kitchen, he still found it pretty funny. 

He could also see Edwards increasing curiosity, he might not be glancing over at him but he could see the way his hand slowly inched towards his bookmark, ready to set aside his book. 

And not that anyone would ask but he did not in fact drag out his answers on the last few sections when it came to science and of course one should do a quick double check, heck he’d even triple check like he did at Midtown if the packet wasn’t fifty pages thick. 

Most of it was science and history, along with its share of a bit of math, usually related to the science throughout. Honestly its far too easy with it simply being chemistry, calculus and defining nano-technology. Along with some of the applications and theories when it came to the particle accelerator. 

Which he unfortunately knew little about, even back home there wasn’t a particle accelerator that powerful to cause such a large aftereffect! It seemed like over a hundred ‘meta-humans' were created then. 

His pen pushing on the paper a little too hard, ink bleeding across the few scatter papers on the library table. 

He was superbly lucky one of the questions just happened to be ‘What impression did Harrison Well’s Particle Accelerator leave on the scientific community?’ 

Because at least he knew that they had enough technology on this world that they could create a particle accelerator and even if from the size it probably wasn’t as quick or as powerful as anything Mr. Stark could have created it still proved that there was enough technology here to get home. 

After that point his vague interest crashed into him ten times harder, he thought with Dr. Strange gone there wouldn’t be a way through with magic again so he’ll have to force his way through with science. Even if he still wasn’t even sure where he could start, but the world still being comparable with his in technology would definitely have to help. 

And even if he was quietly questioning to himself about why this test thing was assigned the small history section at the top had been convincing enough for him to not ask any questions this time. He was too busy to ask question about a man he hopes he doesn’t have enough time to fully understand. 

[Perhaps he’ll regret that decision in the future but perhaps that's a question for the future.]  

A disgusting feeling crawled all over him when he was cooped up like a dog on a leash in his room. He was nervous or even afraid to go out and too desperate to get back home to stay in his room all the time. 

He's been reading constantly. He’ll always like and love reading but his eyes were tired from staring at pages with small tiny words. Sometimes getting the nagging feeling to pick up a certain book, even ones that didn’t have the titles on the spine. Only getting more infuriating the longer he ignored it. 

And his head aching of just thinking about spending another night in the no longer empty closet or on top of the warm bed that isn’t his with him pinching himself every time he just about fell asleep.  

He felt like he couldn’t breathe and it for more of a reason than having asthma again, his chest sometimes felt like it was being held in stasis, neither to let out a breath nor to take one. 

He can only hope that he caught Patrick unaware tonight. 

He threw back one last guilty look before jumping out the window, suit just barely managing to enclose his feet on time. 

‘Should probably really work on that reaction time.’ 

Giving his hands a little push he levered himself off the ground, shaking his ankles out as he looked around. Until he found what he was looking for, sending one last look up to the window he set his first step forward, away from the decades old set of houses. Towards where he could see the narrow and bare streets of the factories of Park Row. 

He saw the bare streets of the Narrows blur into one another as he could hear the wind rushing past. Drowned out by the roaring engine behind him, the person trailing behind him knew these streets far better than just about anyone, but definitely not him. He made a sharp turn left, watching as the Batmobile followed after, only slightly slowed for the moment of the turn. And he needed all the seconds he could get. Which was why he making another sudden turn right in front of Monarch Theater, the Batmobile slowed down. Perhaps even more than he expected. 

As a victorious smile crept upon his face he made another sharp turn, down an alley just small enough for him to brush the walls underneath the tips of his fingers. (He’d have to find a way around, and with the Narrows it’ll take longer than he’d like.) Relishing the feeling, if he continues at this pace the Batmobile won’t be able to catch up, making another turn are his smile faded from his face. Feeling as the motorcycle grazed above the ground, most likely catching on a bump on what could barely be called roads. His hands loss their grip and his legs the reverse. He felt as his thighs bruised from the landing and as the handlebars of his motorcycle began to shake. Hands flying away as if he was burned by fire, not able to do anything that wouldn’t make it worse as he waited for the motorcycle to fix itself. 

The trajectory was far off, too far off and he had no choice but to slow down out of fear as the Batmobile became louder and nearer. Head jolting up and down frantically, looking at the road ahead and the handlebars that he wishes will just STOP SHAKING. Until the roaring got louder and he could imagine the shaking of the pebbles of the dirt road getting stronger and higher until the handlebars stopped shaking as much, he risked it and grabbed on. Leaning forward and speeding up as much as he could. Turning further south into The Alley as he sent a glance back and he saw the machine that caused the loud rumble of the streets. Head twisting back forwards fast enough to feel a small tensing in his neck, as if it was even possible with how every muscle was pulled together. 

Making every twist, tight turn and even a sudden change in direction once as many times as possible. The looming shadow never fell far behind, his jaw tight and just barely a few centimeters from chafing his teeth he made one last (desperate) attempt. Having turned onto a street that had become far too familiar in these fleeting and far too slow moments, he circled around. Through another alleyway that had his wheels skidding onto a road that had the Batmobile racing. Towards him. 

He crouched down low, legs tightening around his motorcycle and sped up until those lights in the dark were almost blinding him. Until the opposite vehicle gave out a large click signaling the net coming out to capture him the second after he raised his front wheel and rode atop the machine, lifting a middle finger behind him. 

The charade continued on as he took every back alley he could while being as quiet as possible, losing the bat for a dozen minutes at most before he tracked him down. Again. And again. And again. 

They were both wearing thin, every too big bump in the road jostled his ribs he was long guessing were broken. While the Bats was probably getting foggy headed with that first hit with the crowbar, he sent him long before this whole thing began. He’s pretty sure he broke the visor he was wearing at the time to track him down. Most likely had heat and night vision, so one point in the basket for him. 

However, the fact that they were wearing thin he knew the moment he saw those headlights light up the side of his motorcycle that this would be the chase that they both knew would end the night. 

‘And it sure ain’t gonna end with me.’ 

Speeding up as much as he could, no longer bothering to quiet the sound of the engine. But his motorcycle was clearly on the verge of breaking down, so many things could be wrong with it, he didn’t even know if he could pinpoint it. He hadn’t expected to use the motorcycle he was still working on so soon. And trying to deftly defy any attempt Batman made to corner him, using alleys, broken down roads that he knew haven’t been put on any map.  

He let out a breath of relief, well as much as one could in this stuffy mask. He could barely hear the rumbling of the vehicle now, although part of it is no doubt him putting on stealth mode as it slowly quiets down. Eyes were searching inattentively as he thought about a place to hide until Bat’s gave up. Speeding down another quiet alley until his hand dashed back as his eyes widened. 

“FUCK!” 

The sheen of a spike strip could just barely be seen through the stale moonlit night. Once again deciding the raise his front wheel off the ground and yelling countless obscenities the moment he knew the back wheel was pierced. 

However, this time neither he or his beloved vehicle could handle the stress as the tires skidded across the asphalt, sending him sliding off alongside it. His eyes were held tight as his nose scrunched as he finally stopped sliding and tumbling ever so ungracefully. His leg was stinging like hell; He could feel the fluid run down his leg. And he didn’t have to look to know that his gear had a gaping hole as he set the motorcycle right. 

He must’ve set it as a precaution and caught him by surprise because it was a good handful of seconds before he could hear the skidding of tires. Taking the stealthier route, he slowed down, turned off the lights and drove to the closest place he could use as a safehouse. While he was going as quietly and as unnoticeable as he could looked to, the sky and groaned. 

‘This is not what I was expecting from this night at all.’ 

And apparently the rumbling that came behind him wasn’t either. He bit down on his lip as blood and tears fell as the same time. Hitting his hands onto the handlebars and ignoring the feeling that came with putting his leg up. 

There he was teeth biting a mark into his lip that he just knew was gonna scar. As he heard the light steps of footsteps above the rooftop across from him coming closer and closer. He couldn’t even move his arms as they twitched helplessly as the Batman would tear his helmet off. Although that wasn’t as true as he thought as he once again heard the tell-tale rumbling of the Batmobile from the end of what must be this street, his eyes quickly shifted to who was crouching at the edge of the rooftop looking down at him. 

The engine was getting closer, with the pebbles that occasionally got flown away and the bumps in the road occasionally being heard. And whoever was standing over him was so quiet but he wasn’t sure whether or not he wasn’t imagining it. Some sort of placebo but he’s sure he can hear him breathing. The cacophony of noise sounding like a mocking orchestra.  

‘It’s odd timing to get sentimental.’ A scoff and shake of his head weren’t the only thing moving in that alley. ‘Or maybe it’s the best timing, not like there was ever much time to do anything but run from place to place.’ 

He looked back up to the leaning figure on the rooftop as he heard the engine in the distance. ‘Huh, that's odd.’ 

It also didn’t escape his attention that the figure was much shorter and slimmer, looking out the entrance out the alleyway as the bat mobile became closer and closer than he ever wanted it to be. He belatedly realized he had a concussion (He felt far to confused and foggy.) and at least three broken ribs. As he faced back forwards, he was met with a very short.... kid. Who was crouched in front of him, tilting his head sightly before putting a small hand over his mask, where his mouth would be. He watched the alleyway entrance are he fumbled something out of his pocket and tossing a small...rock? In front of them, he could feel the ground vibrating like an earthquake was coming before the rock shot up a picture. 

‘Oh, so it wasn’t a rock, figures.’ 

The small device scanned the alleyway, the kid putting up his index over his mouth as if to talk to the device. Miraculously projecting a hologram, right? Without either of them in it. They watched tentatively as the vehicle slowed down, the moment it drove in front of alleyway feeling like eternity. If he looked through the window the alley would be right in front of him. 

A small flashlight was suddenly looking down the alley, searching. Before the mobile drove off. They both let out a sigh, one barely loud enough to be heard by the other, too afraid of making too much noise to bring him back. 

However, his sigh of relief was immediately followed by a grimace and grunt of pain along with a pair of worried, concerned eyes following every breath he made. 

The kid seemed to fret and fidget, looking out the alley way and then back and messing with his hands above his lap where he was just sitting. 

He just looked at his, an arm held over the motorcycle that he really didn’t want to move. Whether it's because it might be the reason, he helped him the first place. He thought it was ironic and would’ve scoffed if even the thought of doing so stopped him. Besides, Kid'll probably run off, and probably learn some profound life lesson about not messing with criminals and night stalking vigilante and leave without either of them saying a word. 

“Do you have a med kit?” 

He resisted the profound urge to sigh.  

“Scram kid, now.”  

That only seemed to strengthen the kids resolve further as he started rummaging around the different satchels, he had hanging around the motorcycle. 

“Get outta here kid, before I make you.” It was an empty threat but he really hoped that this kid finally learned a lesson. He instead stopped immediately and looked over at him. Green eyes so vivid he wondered how many bloodlines added up just to the eyes. Before he walked over and crouched down again and pretty freakin fast (or maybe it was just the concussion) pressed onto his ribs. He bit down the grunt of pain but couldn’t stop himself from flinching away slightly. 

“Oh, wow, those are pretty bad. I mean you can usually just wrap it but you might actually have to see someone for this.” mumbling to no one in particular. 

“I got no interest in calling someone. However, you seem to know your fair share of bruised ribs.” He couldn’t stop the slip of questioning curiosity. 

While the kid grabbed the med kit and his face temporarily lit up at the small feat as he opened the now well-used first aid case. He flitted through it with practiced ease as he grabbed a cooling packet and a large roll of wrap. 

“Do have any pain killers?” 

He didn’t know if it was everything else but he let out a soft sob. Just from thinking knowing his actions feel so practiced and all far too familiar. The kid however took that as a no to the painkillers, which didn’t matter as he finished using them up over a week ago. Maybe two. 

He got the clue to sit up from the gesturing hand as he tried to read the cooling packets instructions in the dark, where the only light was the moon that shined, only mildly obscured by the clouds. Along with the ‘starlight’ which in Gotham was basically just the BatSignal which was much more commonly seen. 

“It’s a cooling packet. Just squeeze it a bit, and wait till you hear a crack. Like a glowstick.” 

“I know it’s a cooling packet. Obviously but I need to make sure I didn’t grab the hot one. Plus, you should always read the instructions on anything first.” 

‘He wasn’t entirely lying; he did want to make sure it was the cooling packet. But him? Reading the instructions of something that wasn’t for school or in Mr. Stark lab? Doubtful. He might’ve also been contemplating his life choices, once again.’ 

‘Was it really ‘the Bat man’ who was a hero of some sorts?’ Thinking back on the car rushing over and the terrifying description of a man in all black with a cape and a cowl and beat up people so bad it was legendary?’ 

Shaking and squeezing the packet before handing over to the guy sitting in front of him, as he grabs it carefully and gently. Almost as if he’s worried of scaring him off, and empty threats to get him to go back ‘home’. 

‘Well.... can anyone blame him for getting a little confused? Besides, maybe it was a misunderstanding? With the whole Teddy Bear act he’s got going on. He finds it doubtful he’s ever gotten into anything much bigger than a bar fight.’ 

Chapter Text

*

He must’ve mumbled that last part out as next thing he knew he was getting an answering response.

“Trust me kid. I’m definitely no teddy bear.”

For a second, he was just about to blush and apologize and explain himself. But he didn’t know what exactly it was but maybe the darkness felt like a mask in its own way. (He really hopes he doesn’t get too used to that association. Especially not in Gotham.)

“Really~, Cause you sure seem like a giant teddy bear right now?”

Prodding at his ribs like an old granny would a cheek. Resulting in a small grunt of pain and very mean glare being sent his way.

‘Really, I should ask him for tips on how to look so mean without even saying anything. Especially since Patrick sometimes asks if he’s fine or okay when he was before he walked in. He looks in the mirror sometimes and can’t help but wonder if everyone’s just supposed to be constantly smiling for someone else’s convenience.’

(He doesn’t think about the fact that he really only does it when his arms goes slack and he feels like he should start wondering if this is really his body.)

When he finished doing a compression wrap he figured he didn’t have to run him through how to take care of it, he seemed to be used to it too.

‘The vigilante lifestyle, one of broken ribs and crying in your Iron Man pajamas over a sad movie and long cold pizza.’

“Seriously, kid, scram why are you helping me anyways? Cause I ain’t got much to steal anyways. How about I pay you for patching me up, I only got thirty bucks on me right now so you’ll have to settle for that.”

He was about to interrupt, he felt vaguely offended, even if he knew that, yeah sure, it’s pretty stupid to be here helping a.... hero? Villian? Possible criminal? Or maybe a vigilante? Anti-hero?

(Okay, its very stupid.)

Although whatever he was about to say to protest was cut off before he could even get out a sound that would form some semblance of a word.

“I’ll give you all the money you want kid. As long as you promise to not to go helping whoever Batman tries chasing down.”

Something about that gives him pause, head tilting a little as he takes a moment to think about where he’s heard that name, while looking at the sky. It really is pretty, it held no stars, although the moon was glowing brightly from the clouds, it felt calming.

The guy’s knee bumped into him from where he was kneeling beside him, trying to get back some semblance of attention.

“Deal kid?”

He looked back down at the grip he had on the man's compression bandages, it loosened at little at his lack of attention he put the double-sided tape on and pressed on it carefully to make sure he didn’t hurt the man’s most likely broken ribs.

Taking in a slow deep breath as he gave himself a little push off the ground as he stood. Looking down he looked at the masked man with a motorcycle that had clearly had some personal work done on it and almost absentmindedly gave a firm,

“No.”

The man gave him an incredulous, disbelieving look.

“What?”

He tried to remember the look Edward, not Patrick, but Edward had given him when he gave an answer or said a question that was said with a certain tone. One with the most absentminded confidence, a type of certainty that Mr. Stark differed from, with the new one having a sense of grace and a smirk.

He might not have his grace or his self-surety smirk, but if there’s one thing he did have, even without his powers? It was his ability to adapt, like any true good arachnid vigilante.

Walking over to the entrance of the alley and grabbing his little project and swiping off any (imaginary) dust.

“I don’t make deals with desperate men in a back alley, nor do I need any of your money. And if you want me to stop patching up injured people in alleyways?”

Stopping to pause and look up, copying Patrick’s fake consideration look before look back down at the helmet glinting softly in the near consuming dark.

“Well... I suppose you’ll have no luck there.”

Walking away as he silently hoped to all the stars in the universe (Which apparently still liked to ruin his life.) that the red helmeted guy would be fine. Sending a glance towards his watch as he started speedwalking. As that odd feeling felt like it was encroaching on him. Like a stalker in the night, he kept turning around and glancing around, even if he didn’t have his Spidey-sense he’d truly forgotten what it’s like to have that chill up your back and spine, to feel the hairs on your head as he jogged further up ahead.

It didn’t feel like a person or some monster, not quite. It felt like something familiar; it felt like home but cold empty and hollowed out. Like he wasn’t supposed to see it or it wasn’t supposed to even be there.

He dug his nails into his hands and looked down as if it’d get rid of that feeling as he let his memory and intuition walk him back. To the house, not to a home, because how could it ever be home?

Shaking his head he glanced back down because apparently his brain wasn’t logical enough to read the time the first time instead of spiraling.

‘Crap. He knew it was late but not that late. He’s sure that the guy can take care of himself, he seemed to be no stranger to broken bones; and concussions wouldn’t be worse than having a headache while you try to go to sleep after silently crying about how the universe continuously likes to screw you over and how you wish that you really got those Black Widow themed socks.’

“I also really hope that I can get back before Patrick expects me to brush my teeth.” He stated to no one in particular, with only the calm, timeless night to listen.

He’s been paying a creepily close amount of attention to my schedule; he didn’t creep out about it until he commented about ‘You should wash your clothes an hour or two earlier, the pipes here in Gotham tend to have a few... problems so better get them done while you can.’ Which wasn’t that weird knowing he washed his clothes on Wednesday at 2:30 was...odd. Sure, maybe he just noticed and figured or remembered but also knowing his order of sock was weird. Like if he choses to wear his Thursday socks on a Tuesday (like any logical person would) that was his own business thank you very much. He definitely gave him a weird look after that. Probably a look that somehow communicated ‘Why the fuck are you, an old ashy man paying such close attention to my schedule?’

They also had a staring contest afterwards to prove….well…Something. The specifics are lost on him.

[And if in a couple day when he woke up from a restless night to read into who Batman and that masked guy was and perhaps was oddly quiet after once again finding the page on the members of the Justice League, and he once again decided the multiverse hated him then surely no one could blame him in those circumstances. However, that’s neither here nor now.]

Eyes trailed over the papers, not a single word yet visible. Caressing the still closed envelope, they walked up an old, wooden staircase, its beauty lost and worn over time. He turned right from coming up the stairs, and right again into the library which was the most recovered and, in his eyes, beautiful room. As a fondness went through at the memories. A fireplace on the right, slightly on the large side. The cool, marble stone brightened by the cold, gray light coming through the windows opposite. Walking around the accent table, crouching down in front of the fireplace. Stacking the logs before opening a small, narrow drawer underneath and pulling out a lighter and some boxed kindling. As he watched as the fire slowly licked away at the logs, feeling the goosebumps slowly fading away, being replaced with a heat, a warm light canvasing his legs, chest and illuminating the pensive look he was wearing.

Carefully opening the envelope and reading the last message that had been left. As from his skin, grief left and an apathetic sneer and sense of disgrace took over his body. Standing up and discarding the letter upon the table with a near hateful look as he glanced at the fireplace considering before he turned with a click of the tongue and left, sneer still on his face.

Standing in front of the doors where he got one last look at the library, he heard a soft sliding and a particularly loud thump that halted his hands hovering over the not quite closed doors. He looked up and breathed out a soft exhale before turning down the hallway and heading to the infuriating child's room.

All rustling noises stop the moment he knocked on the door, before opening the door. Very pointedly not turning to face him before he sat down on the bed. Green meeting green as they stared back at each other. Hand adjusting the glove around his wrist as he spoke.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me about your outing?”

Peter, or Ben, to his credit stood straight and looked out the window.

“Not particularly.”

He resisted letting out a small smile at that before it turned into a small frown instead.

“Have you seen what Gotham is like now?”

His lips pressed together at that before his face still turned towards the window, looked like he was about to say something before he interjected. With a small exhale.

“All that matters is that you know it’s dangerous now.” Head tilting a little. “And I suppose you have been rather cooped up in here.” Looking back at the nameless child. “We’ll be going to visit a... an acquaintance of mine. Tomorrow. He’ll help with your papers and then maybe I can get Pamela and Harley to take you to the library and you can sign up for a library card. And some ice cream or whatever you’d prefer.”

The smile that spread across his face also made him feel the urge to squint, it was quite odd actually, he shouldn’t be needing or wishing for sunglasses indoors.

He gave him a nod before standing up, “Rest well for tomorrow, it’ll certainly be a busy day.”

All Peter, or Ben gave him was an enthusiastic nod before he walked over and closed the door behind him and gave a small smile to the halls before he headed off to bed himself. He was mostly satisfied that he simply hadn’t thrown himself out the window. And no injuries had been gained. He was grateful that the weather was still warm and there was no jacket at least for that reason.

“I think the Riddler is going after the Mad Hatter; but who knows for what reason?” She left off with a shrug

The only two people in the cave straightened at the near prophetic statement. Batman staying silent, probably (correctly) assuming Red Robin would ask most of the questions for him.

“What? How? What clues did he leave behind and when and where? Could he already be dead?”

She stood out of her chair, leaning forwards on it while leaning and gesturing as she spoke.

“Relax! Don’t you have a little trust in me?” As she began splaying out the different items.

She pointed towards the music box first. “this is one if the things you found first at the theatre. If you listen to the music there isn’t some kind if hidden message in it or anything. The music, just as it is. Is the message.”

She proceeded to crank the music box and let the song play out. Meanwhile Tim was slowly getting agitated. He was about to open his mouth to speak when Bruce put a hand in front of him to silence him. His quiet voice carrying through the cave instead.

“It’s a lullaby, Hush little babe. It’s a song meant to appease children by promising a gift.”

They knew this although Spoiler clearly already knew they did. “But it’s not the meaning of the song it’s the title. Hush. And of course the lid has a mirror, and the figure of a little girl reaching out.”

The figurine was stretching out her arm. As if reaching for something out of reach, just barely on the tips of her toes. Looking oddly like a ballerina in her light pink dress. The very words that ran through Red Robins head before shutting his eyes and letting out a tired exhale through his nose.

“It’s depicting Alice in Wonderland.”

To which Spoiler gives a quick nod. “Through the Looking Glass.” She added as a peripheral thought.

“And of course Hush is the newest villain.”
“So, what exactly are you saying? That Riddler's going on a vigilante mission?”

“To be honest after what B's cameras showed at the crime scene and this clue tying it to the next one….I’m not sure. I mean, if that’s the case starting by small fries first and working his way up feels…..unlikely.”

Red Robin scoffed, “You mean not dramatic enough for him?”

Batman finally interjecting into the conversation, “Look into any possible ties Elliot may have had to Mad Hatter and if he was doing anything behind the scenes in his company.”

With those short brisk words Batman left hopefully to get a little bit of rest. (And yet he still side eyes and huffs whenever he drinks too much coffee.)
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They had arrived at the old abandoned amusement attraction. They could hear the laughter and roller coasters in the distance but this one was a fair ways off. They were at Gotham's amusement park and in the singular empty attraction.

The Hall of Mirrors.

And he deigned to think about how he got here. It had started out as a jibe here and there with Spoiler a snarky comment or two and then maybe another. And sure, he did put a whoopie cushion on her favorite (designated) chair while she was sitting down for a tea break (And sure maybe Alfred made it and she looked like she wanted a calm moment) but she was the one to instigate the challenge of who could solve the case first. Some slight sabotage and back stabbing like tripping and a tossed whoopie cushion and she got to the puzzle station first and Alfred came back down and tossed the area where he was sprawled on a ‘I shall not deal with anymore further barbarity Mr. Drake’ look. And really Spoiler was lucky she decided to use the black light (It was standard protocol) and saw the message written in what Damian had quickly cut in was willemite which he really didn’t get. He just naturally appeared out of the shadows, so he wasn’t exactly able to do much investigating with Spoiler and Robin stealing all the fun from an interesting case. Although...maybe he should be glad he didn’t have to see Batman’s brooding.

However, the green message that simply glowed ‘Theme park' and a time certainly left room open for more possibilities. Alfred was running the standard tests and would notify immediately if anything pointed towards something else. Although the circus was already closed down with help of the GPD and Gordon organizing teams to look through the main park.

He’d taken the role as lookout, apparently deciding Spoiler would be best since she’s the one with the most insight and in the case if they needed some ‘on the case' quick thinking.

He was currently watching from afar with one of the few places that offered stealth this far out. Behind some old and degraded restrooms. It wasn’t that bad, with it being better since it clearly hasn’t been used often and if so quite rarely. Not to mention the whole thing wasn’t that far from the shore so the scent of the oceans salty breeze was easier to smell compared to the damp, moldy wood.

‘… who am I kidding?’ hands rubbing his face perhaps a little too harshly.

“Why do I feel so out of it?” it was desperate plea to nothing but the flowing wind. He bumped his head against the wooden shack he couldn’t muster up enough to care. He knew they both noticed and how could they not? When studying people is so essential to staying safe?

‘truthfully, I’m a little tired. Not even sure of what maybe I should take a break. But then someone would have to fill in and I’d just feel worse. And the whole thing about the fucking vampires, that part, that part scared him. Another potential global catastrophe, fine. Average Tuesday and lack of sleep for two months but why does it feel so foreboding this time? Like it’s going to get worse? Like it’ll hurt-’

A small breeze sent a small chill down his nape, with goosebumps on his skin. Focusing would be better right now. They need him, he can’t be so out of it.

“Have you found anything yet?”

Spoiler had been the one to reply first. “No, so far everything’s cl- oh, wait. I think I see something!”

A shocked gasp rang through his ear, “It’s my reflection! What a surprise, especially in a place called Hall of Mirrors.” The tone hand incredibly dry he started feeling parched. “You have to admire his dedication for sticking to a theme at least, lullabies and childhood stories.” He could practically hear her shrug at that.

Batman had decidedly cut in, which was just as well considering he was pretty sure he was going to regret asking soon and banging his head anymore won’t do him any favors.

“The mirrors are clearing up to form a pathway rather than a maze, it's likely that they’re already here.”
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Spoiler wasn’t a sensitive person, quite opposite in fact, one gets used to seeing and even inflicting violence. In its own sad and grotesque sense, but her eyes weren’t moving and that only part that was were the shaking of her hands. Steeling herself and tightening her fists as she looks over to B, who was obviously going to take this harder on himself then he should, hand reaching up to the com, more of a habit than necessity.

‘Distressed? Upset? She’s simultaneously glad and upset Cass isn’t here.’

“You can come in, Riddler seems to have cleared the area.”

The image Red Robin saw when he walked in was nothing short of impressive. Beautifully confusing just as much as it was terrifying.

His eyes widened as much as his face paled and his blood chilled. The amount of blood spilt seemed impossible for one person, the theatrical display of beams of light. Reflecting the moon light from the small window with the angled mirrors.

This crime scene was just as fascinating as it was horrific. At a moment’s glance he could tell that he had taken everything into account. From the weather and lighting to a placement of that shining pebble. And perhaps most deliberately the monarch butterfly so crudely yet precisely tied into the clear, thin strings strung to the light bulb.

It was all so dramatically laughably but it was breathtaking. ‘The part that said it hated it but it didn’t make it any less true.’

The blue, grey and monotone sky was the only thing lighting room, just passably so but enough to make out the sharp jaw and cheekbone that is the Mad Hatter. Tim didn’t understand for all he knew he still couldn’t logically make sense of it but it felt devoted. Methodical and hatred for something he must have done.

The scene opened to the end of the maze, a empty circular room, the walls lined with mirror, infinitely reflecting the scene in front of them. Laid across a lone chair was the Mad Hatter head rolled back, shoulders gently resting across the back of the chair. With a bending arch from his sternum, following the body’s leaning from below his ribs, into the organs leaning out, stretching to lean on the floor where he was sure the floor was more red than gritty cement. But the sudden pain in his hand where nails were digging into his skin jolted him out of his trance where he looked over towards Spoiler and B.

Spoiler’s arms on the other hand went slack and was staring at the blood still straining to let out slow drips with eyes wide with shock before looking over to him and giving a meaningful glance towards Batman.

The time they had stood frozen couldn’t have been more than a few minutes but it felt like a slow forever when they started moving again.

Tim had begun walking over to the pile of blood to take samples while Steph had walked over to the crudely left behind metal cart with the scalpels, surgeon scissors, forceps and a large bone saw that had chills running down his neck and back.

‘I’m just glad it doesn’t look like it was used.’

He turned his eyes back down towards the blood with a small purse of his lips.

“I think there’s more than just one person’s blood here.”

And quite honestly the thought freaked him out because Elliot or who could possibly be Hush seemed to bleed enough to warrant, he had at least most of his. And the circular room was quite large so just who else’s blood was here besides the Mad Hatter’s?

“I’ve also noticed something similar here.” Said Spoiler giving a light gesture towards the cart. “The rib cutters here look used.” looking over towards steeled display. “But I don’t think they were used here.”

They both glanced towards B whose hand gave a small twitch that said he was curious about something as he slowly walked forwards. Boots sounding both soft and heavy as he raised his hand towards the lightbulb, now standing in the blood and looking over the figure. Fingertips almost brushing the metal, hand-built butterfly as there was a soft click and a florescent glow behind them. Red Robin and Spoiler spun around at the message revealed in the black light.

The chills down to their very bones was unpreventable. As this time instead of a riddle for them to figure out and learn the answer he had relayed a poem. They knew that meaning was not the best misunderstood.

“As power rises the sky goes ash and rose as something forgotten returns. Crows and like omens descend as humanity questions. Wind being the only answer. While few will have hidden breaths of anticipation, people protest with hatred, fear, and hold pity for the shadow. While the shadow will be a marionette, even unwilling. As placed upon a pedestal and be asked nothing but its existence. And distracted will parliaments steal and grab for the false sense of power.”

They glanced worryingly towards each other before looking at the clenched fist and jaw in front of them, still staring at the message even minutes later. The question of what to come wasn’t known but they feared the moment it would be.

When he went downstairs the next morning he paused for a minute on the stairs at the sight, or rather smell of scrambled eggs and the slight doughy and cinnamon scent of waffles in the air. There was also the slight rhythmic music that surrounded the entirety of downstairs.

‘Moments like these he feels more like Patrick instead of Edward. Asking light questions rather than reciting riddles and poems. Calm and near teasing instead of the cold taunting feeling and look he sometimes had. Like he knew something you didn’t.’ Shaking his head. All that matters now is that he can relax a bit more around him.

Now standing on the first floor as he stood in front of the stairs as Patrick turned around a small smile as he gestured towards the wonderfully set table. “I hope you like waffles, homemade.” Adding the last word as an afterthought. And now that he was feeling more awake, he wondered how to ask about what kind of acquaintance they were going to meet. He figured that if they were able to actually give him an identity it's probably... not through the most legal methods.

He could feel the tenseness his shoulder muscles still had, regardless if he seemed happy as of now while he let out a sarcastic reply as he walked down the stairs. “I don’t know anyone who dislikes waffles, if so, they’re probably a murderer with that cold-blooded heart.”

‘Who knows? Maybe he should ask the next one he comes across. Considering yesterday certainly doesn’t bode well for his future.’

Patrick's head and eyebrow tilted as he let his lips quirk up with a small smile. Thinking as he took a seat across and looked at the plum jam (that he will go to another multiverse before he admits it’s his favorite.) and fruits that he secretly hope he can sneak into the lab to eat later.

Making a section have butter and powdered sugar, another with plum jam, then peanut butter, and syrup. As he shoved as forkful of waffles into his mouth, no doubt much less graceful than the small graceful bites with a rim rod back and calm face Patrick had. Although he couldn’t help adding onto that last observation.

‘It must be eradicated. He looks much too calm and that simply just won’t do.’

He could also count out the amount of eye twitches he could get from Patrick, he wasn’t even eating that ugly.

Eventually when he was over halfway done, he decided to end the intentionally over-slouching to lean back against the chair that hit just below his shoulders as he crossed his legs and tightened in on himself to avoid the creeping and ever-present chill the house held. While he slowly tapped his fork on his mouth as he thought what he’d work on today, along with what to study because despite him finding out its still summer here Edward still likes to hand him books in the library.

Especially since whatever book he reads and picks up there’s eventually questions that follow. Even if it was a random one with the title ‘The history and rise of villainy and heroism’ which was fun and interesting but he only got twenty pages in through the narrow, thin rectangular book before he went to another one back and stretch his legs before he, oh so, kindly started nagging him on it.

“Oh how do you like it so far Peter?”
'Not very much with you stalking me now Patrick.’

He had no doubt that he had cameras in the library since then if he didn’t already think so before.

And that last part was probably supposed to come with its own background music like in a movie with the dramatics he was obviously expecting to pop into his head simultaneously.

‘Probably trying to display his dominance like Squidwards BDSM play on Dr. Strange with his needles.’

‘At least that was before he got sucked into space like the little bitch he was. In all honesty he kind of deserved that.’

“-EN”

He startled a little to look over at the soft-spoken Patrick with his questioning glance.

“Ah, oh, um sorry I guess.” Taking his fork off his lip and leaning forwards. “I guess I was just wondering what we were going to do today.”

“Today likely won’t be any different except for in the evening. Although I’d appreciate you not trying to hide your projects from me by ‘resting or reading in your room’. At least until you’ve learned some subtlety.”

“In all honesty…I wasn’t expecting you to notice so soon.”

He received a deadpan look in return.

“How relieving.”

The stiff air was awkward. At least for him so he moved the chair as he stood up”

“Anyways, you can start without me. I’m gonna change into proper clothes. I’ll also return the stuff I borrowed later.”
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When Ben-no when Pete- when the annoying and somewhat frustrating child ran back up the stairs he decidedly started working on his new and latest project. A smile spread across his face. ‘He couldn’t wait to show Peter.’

Of course, to make sure that actually happened he occasionally looked and glanced over towards the cameras set to look down on the alley outside his bedroom, ‘nothing too privy just making sure he didn’t run away and cause another mysterious scuffle that even he didn’t quite know entirely about, just that a new vigilante appeared along with Batman. Teens am I right?’ Giving a small sigh he finished the newest part of the newest contraption, the blue reflecting and turning around to the left to grab a tool from the table next to him while still keeping one hand on the contraption before seeing the door down the basement opening, spreading light down the staircase. He quickly pulled a cloth over before dusting of his hands as he looked forwards with visible distaste.

“What are you wearing?”

Peter look affronted a look of what he seemed to be trying to turn into hurt but was clearly equal distaste for him.

“What? I like it and It’s comfy?”

“You just had to change out of perfectly fine jeans and hoodie into...that?”

Peter pulled out his T-shirt to look down on it, he hoped desperately he’d realize what was wrong with it, the utter... Brightness, the scruffiness, although he supposed that suited the untamable child’s hair. But the bright pink hello kitty pajamas most certainly did not match his beautifully kept lab where everything was perfect. Except- except... whatever this is.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’ll survive I promise you won’t get cardiac arrest from me ruining your ‘aesthetic villain lair'.” He waved it off before looking back and running his eyes over and smirking. “Or well… at least not quite yet.”
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Edward or Patrick whatever his name is now Peter always seems to be changing them is no less than infuriating. His hands were lax as his eyes bore into the wall with the overwhelming sense of helplessness in his own lab. As he turned towards the kid.
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[Meanwhile…]
Peter was quite frankly letting loose and having the time of his life. There he was in his ‘horrendous' pajamas that he knew made Patrick’s eyes sore every time he so much as glanced at it.

And he was for once playing his own music. Lady Gaga of course, to his relief she somehow still exists here and her music was almost exactly the same. He also with an urge to experiment set the lights to rotate according to their analysis of the songs.

It was only logical of course. To test the holographic projectors light spectrum and waves to make they worked properly and the lasers didn’t need any modifications.

‘So what if it suits the song perfectly? I gotta make sure the intensity of the wavelengths suit the environment to make sure it looks as realistic as possible anyways. The rave lights were a necessity and was perfect for the mu- the setting.’

(And of course singing along to ‘Bad Romance' peak song of course and made Edwards cringe every time he got a bit too off-key)

Peter was tinkering with hologram projector again. After Patrick had forcibly turned the music off. The lights were still going, much to his delight. As Patrick seemed hesitant to even touch them and without the music had just mimicked the environment, mostly green and a few hints of blue.

Which he guess the quite tinkering was actually really calming and nice and sure he could daydream. But it’s only because the music’s gone.

‘Yep. Definitely.’

Although the blue made him feel comfy and at home. The morning light was always a similar shade of blue, even at night really. They were some of his calmest moments and not from the adrenaline or clarity from fighting.

This time typing away on the computer to modify the code again a bit, he hoped this time it’d work a little bit better. But despite how fun it was he was fidgeting. He turned to look over at Patrick before he beat him and abruptly said.

“No.”

It with said with such firmness that he couldn’t help but be a bit surprised, he brushed it off, shaking his head a bit as if hoping that’d dispel the weird feeling, he felt hearing that.

“You didn’t even know what I was gonna say?” A teasing tilt to his tone.

“It’s about me not calling you Ben, isn’t it?”

‘…Well if that hasn’t dampened the mood he doesn’t know what has.’

He was about to open his mouth before he was spoken over. “I’m not going to call you something that isn’t you.”

He wasn’t sure whether to feel confused or offended. So he just stood tall and stared at him waiting for an answer.

As Patrick turned and he walked across from the other side of room and towered over him, cane still in his hand. They must’ve made quite the picture a bitter part of his head whispered. As an overwhelmingly familiar feeling overtook him.

“Simply for the fact that I know for whatever reason that isn’t a name that’s yours, I won’t prevent you from putting it on your papers but I refuse you to call you something that causes you to close off so quickly.”

At this point Peter’s eyes went wide and he wasn’t sure whether or not to feel relieved.

But nostalgia overtook him as he realized why it felt so familiar. Because he remembers something far too similar to this, back when he and Tony were close and he remembered talking about how much he wanted to be like Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers. Someone better, stronger, kinder a small smile at the reminder as he let out a soft,

“Okay.” He didn’t notice whether or not he saw the smile (But he could guess he could, he was nothing if not observant.)

‘He was just glad to he called Peter their names still felt heavy anytime he heard them but now hopefully he can carry their memories with him.’

Then before either of them could have moved from their spot he turned up his head in thought. (And isn’t that always a dangerous thing.)

He thought briefly for second, he knew that he probably wasn’t thinking before he spoke as much but for once he couldn’t seem to mind it. Pat also seemed to speak whatever came to his mind too after all.

“Why did you take me in? You could’ve had the suit, I was unconscious after all, not to mention blackmail or threats. You’re creating my identity after all yet you’re not even bothering to try to get a deal.”

Finally bothering to look properly at the man who had an impassive expression except for an amused smirk and a faint curiosity in his eyes for where this was going to go.

He decided to continue, mainly just to spite that annoying in his eyes.

“I know you want the suit and I think that you could at least attempt to get it, even if you have to steal it, but you haven’t. You want the suit, yet you seem unbothered to. As if it’s not a priority?”

The general feeling of the words ‘as if its not important’ went unspoken yet heard and felt regardless.

Patrick only seems to let out a hum and let his head tilt the other way as he said in a teasing yet not all that unserious tone, “Hm, perhaps you’re right?”

Whatever Peter had expected it hadn’t been that as a face of utter confusion and bewilderment passed.

“What?”

“Oh, please Peter you know as well as I do I’m not obligated to help. I do it cause it’s the most interesting thing around to do these days. Not that the thought of that technology doesn’t excite me it’ll pale compared to you Peter.”

And as if some kind of inside joke or sentence only he’d understand he smirked.

“You’re quite the enigma Peter Parker.”

For a moment they just stared at each other and he got a familiar feeling. Again. But this time it was the wonderment of how coincidental life really seemed. He was keenly reminded of when they first met and how sharp of a contrast it all seemed and how neither of them seemed to change regardless.

For once he didn’t feel as sad thinking about the loss. It was only a feeling of small smiles at better times and nostalgia.

His eyes turned back to Patrick where he immediately rolled his eyes. Distracting from how quiet it had gotten.

“Sure sure, of course. I’m the enigma here Mr. I kidnap children and give them enough tools to make explosives.”

“Well luckily the kid I decided to so graciously take care of has enough talent to become a prodigy.”

“Well obviously, otherwise this house would’ve ended up in smoke and flames the second I stepped in here and touched the wrong thing.”

“I’ll have you know, I keep my lab perfectly and entirely safe enough due to a child running around.”

Peter just looked at him. And looked and pointed towards the literal box of moldable blocks of c4.

“That…” Said situationally not aware man. “Are meant for fireworks. And a little background lighting.” He shrugged.

Peter breathed in praying to Thor and the universe and hell even Loki for some sliver of patience. He mentally prepared himself to give him a lecture worthy of Tony and his safety rules. Maybe even rivaling Happy's, said a naïve part of him. Instead.

“I give up.”

“What do you mean you give up?”

“Exactly that. I. Give. Up.”

“Oh, so I’m really just that insufferable now aren’t I?”

“I never said you wer-“

“You clearly meant it.”

“I DIDN’T SAY THAT I NEVER SAID THAT IF ANYTHING I SHOULD BE SAYING FOR A GUY THAT LIKES TO PICK UP ORPHANS ON THE STREET YOU SURE DON’T KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF A BASKET OF C-FOUR!”

He looked affronted, perplexed.

“I’m an excellent criminal that all should aspire to be at the level of.”

Peter crossed his arms

“I think I just haven’t heard any mentions of your name!”
His posture at this completely closed off as said unlikable, unpopular man stalked over to the computers and pointed to the question marks all over the screens.

Pointedly refusing to utter a single word.

He tilted his head to Patrick’s growing frustration. Before his eyes widened, the tilt was no longer and he’s pretty sure a light bulb flicked on over his head.

“Oh!”

Patrick started nodding somberly and straightening up.

“Question man?”

Something wasn’t right and his eye started twitching. Or rather eyes as it looked like he was about to have a stroke and his eyes would roll into the back of his head. Sigh, if only Peter was really that lucky. Instead. He took one step back. And the man across from him one step forward. And then he started running. The green blur slowly raising a hand to his temple in exhaustion as he stalked out the door to follow, ironically the battiest child he had ever had the deign to meet.
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“LISTEN I SAID I’M SORRY!”

“Sorry implies you knew otherwise and risks your chance of having a rational, comprehendible conversation. Try again.”

“But you’re the adult here! You shouldn’t be chasing be around that’s not how it works!”

“The books state that’s exactly how it goes. I should also proceed with teaching you some proper manners.”

“I CAn't tell.” At this point he had given up running how he missed having his super powers now more than ever. “whether to be concerned *huff* you read parenting books or that you’ve prepared for this kind of situation *huff*before.

Patrick with his Edward vibes huffed and straightened up, and fixed the green tie he had. Always dressing in semi-casual put shivers down his bones he doesn’t know how he does it.

“If you really want to know-“

“I really don’t.”

“It mostly spoke about how to make sure they don’t delve into delinquent tendencies.”

‘Well that was just rude' he was tempted to throw back a snark but then he suddenly had the urge to eat waffles.

‘Maybe I’ll make some mean comments until he gets me waffles if we don’t have any.’

It was a miracle for both their sakes sanity that they did.

He was looking over his shoulder as he pulled out the frozen waffles onto the counter and could practically feel the oncoming tease.

“Ah, I see. Feed the beast to tame it.”

“Funny you’re calling me the beast but you’re the one clinging and hovering like a cat.”

Patrick the kidnapper, person who child protective services would deign to meet, local scoundrel no doubt simply gave a huff as he opened the fridge.

“Now, before you riddle your tiny, malnourished body with that utter garbage. What do you wish to eat?”

“Your version of malnourished seems to be that I’ve yet to break a couch.” He muttered, he remembered seeing the baby fat on his cheeks in the mirror yesterday. And he’s determined that he’s twelve. (Again) or at least around there and sure he may have been (is) small for his age. But he’s still getting used to the feeling of being full consistently and not having to ignore the grumbling of his stomach.

“I’ll deem you healthy when I can’t see your bones.”

“Well teeth are bones so if you want me to stop talking….that’s child abuse.”

Patrick with Edward mode on as he looked towards the ceiling with muttered words on his lips. He could barely recognize the words ‘toss…orphan collector' ‘he'd have siblings’ ‘too tired to do thi-' ‘Exhaustion' and some more murmured words all said in rapid succession like a prayer.

‘Or a cult.’

His head suddenly snapped back to him quicker than a demon could achieve in a horror movie and pointed towards the fridge. ‘And by golly wasn’t that creating a terrifying picture'

“Food, child. What do you wish to eat or I shall shove asparagus and kale down your skinny little neck.”

Peter, the child with the apparently skinny neck. Stared with wide eyes as the man was still pointing towards the fridge.

“Wow, okay. That was weirdly intense.”

A pause as the pointer finger goes slack and Peter eyes the kale and broccoli and celery and- ugh. So many green things.

“But like. You were kidding about the kale thing right?”

A hand started moving and he shouted hands waving frantically in front of him.

“THE SOUP THE SOUP! Toscana soup!” I really really liked it and I’ve kinda had a recipe similar sometimes and I really liked it.”

Seemingly enjoying repeating everything about Toscana soup.

He gave another huff but one with an endearingly fond look he wasn’t sure he could handle. Almost fidgeting with his hands as Patrick turned around.

“Toscana soup it is.”

“Oh! And add those extra pieces of lettuce! Like my aunt does with those leafy green parts!”

The hand reaching into fridge froze and Pat turned around with a smile on his face and mirth shining in his eyes.

“Sure, of course.”

The smile shined so bright in his eyes that for a second he was surprised before he smiled too, it still felt a bit harder, heavier but also felt like the most genuine, freeing thing he’s done since coming here. It made him think that his time here wouldn’t be so bad.

He didn’t know quite know why he was here, no, he definitely knew why but he wondered why he wasn’t protesting more Patrick was kind but that doesn’t exactly mean he wouldn’t have protested if it was something or anyone else.

There was a particular tone to his voice, an accent. As he spoke, one that amplified the fact that this wasn’t his city. That this wasn’t his world. There was a certain tone to his voice, one he’s not even sure he would hear in the New Jersey of his world. There was feeling of regality that came with it, he wondered if his own stuck out. If he could examine the differences between his and Edwards as he figures out what the differences might be?

He’s wearing the fancy suit that is illogically tight and restricting. Well, it wasn’t exactly a suit it was a dress shirt with a pair of trousers and he swore that when they were getting out the door, he heard him mumbling about something ‘looking better with a tie’ and he decided to hurry it on outta there.

Before he remembered Patrick’s words, that his identity would be more realistic and looking more truthful if they got it from whoever his ‘friend’ is. More detailed and accurate if so, although, he had a feeling that it was for another reason but looking at the just as elegantly dressed man and decided for once to let it go. But if this turned out badly…

'He's not sure he could deal with it if it did.’

The same woman from before was waiting for them and based on her clothes that also seemed a little more professional (Right when he was wondering if that was even possible) than last time he saw her. She looked even more intimidating in the shadows of a cold evening breeze. The sky clear as the sun fell down showing the illusions of purple and orange of the setting sun.

He might’ve not have to wear a tie but that definitely didn’t stop Patrick from handing the silvery outlined black box to him.

He already had a guess to what they were, a box that seemed familiar in his memory and a sense of Deja vu covered him like a blanket. As if it was the wind blowing around him, carefully opening the box he found what conjured his sense of nostalgia.

“They’re collar tips. Do you need help putting them on?”

He could hear the words but they fell near silent as he gestured for Edward to hold the box as he carefully took them out. It was odd, the weather, even for a place like Gotham still managed to almost always have a slight breeze to it. And today was no different, it was apparently near the middle of June, a fact that felt so odd when not long ago he was floundering to try and get into college. He could feel the wind blowing onto his face, a small reddening to it as he studied the collar pins, the cold metal brushing across his finger tips as he took a moment to admire them. He had no doubt that they’d stand out, although perhaps that was the point. They were intricately unique, made of blue glass that splayed into a small delicate spider web with shining specks on the lines to resembling water droplets.

He glared at him for that, if he could remember the suit pattern he’s certainly not hiding that’s he’s thought of it.

He just knew that it’ll stand out against his otherwise all black outfit he mused for a second as he watched Edward go round the car and take a seat inside. He took a deep breath, filled with the scent of rain and the plenty damp and moist soil, creating an almost sweet scent before he took a seat aside Edward.

He had assumed that it’s be like last time, where they ignored each other, except now it’d maybe be a bit more politely and awkward. He was surprised however as with nothing more than a heavy implying glance towards the driver she pulled on a pair of headphones and scrolled on her phone as she raised the barrier.

(Which was definitely a proper cellphone and not a crappy flip phone. Fudge you Ed)

As he heard the gap between them roll up until the front couldn’t he seen. Edward’s back was facing the side of the car. It’s a different model, rather than the small, shorter one from last time the seats were arranged in a ‘U’ shape. Both their backs were facing the opposite sides of the car.

'Mirroring each other actually. Same destination and similar clothing'

(And behaviors now.) A small part of his mind whispered that was getting increasingly hard to ignore.

‘I just can’t help it. It’s so easy, his snarking and joking too similar to Tony and Ben his kitchen that smells of cinnamon rather than May's.’

Which was why his next words hadn’t surprised as much. “I refuse to be associated with any criminals.” Giving him an admittedly dirty glare as his jaw was slightly clenched and stiffness in the ‘almost’ tensing in his hands was what he undoubtedly felt the most.

A breath went by as Edward released what was a surprising mixture between a sigh and a huff.

“It’s a much more private event, besides we’ll only be passing by long enough to blend in, and perhaps you’ll even learn something useful. Then we’ll meet my little friend, do a little chatting and be out before the moons up too high.”

He simultaneously wanted to relax and tense on the slightly more thorough explanation that was also far too vague for his own comfort.

“And what useful thing could I learn?” He said only hoping his raised eyebrow was as on point as it felt.

He simply smirked as he took a hand off his cane as he slowly and deliberately set it softly on a box he hadn’t even noticed was there. It was likely only four inches tall and nine inches in length. The sleek wooden box felt like as if it had always been there, as Edwards fingertips rested on the case. He hadn’t even noticed it was there with how dark it was.

“Rule number one.” He said as he lifted open the box and held it in front of him. “Never leave without a disguise.”

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The car came to slowing stop in front of the club where Pa- ‘Uncle Ed’ is. He couldn’t but stare at it in disbelief, the first time that he entering a bar or club of any kind it was some snoozy ‘private’ event to get papers so he could walk around as a real and existing person. He had never even really thought about going to one anyways but it was still a slightly disappointing thought.

Neon blue, white and purple lights seeming to glare down at him in mockery, ‘The Iceberg’ was a stupid name for a bar or club anyways. Where P- Uncle Ed’s acquaintance apparently is, he admittedly felt a little sketched out about it all. If they’re really familiar at all why did both of them have to wear these masks? Or bring them when it’s looking a little less like one of Mr. Stark’s fancy schmoozy events?

He adjusted the mask at the reminder, it was dark blue masquerade mask with gold detailing around the border and the eyes, but most noticeably had an almost transparent black fabric hanging from the bottom.

‘Not that I’m going to complain about that part, after getting so used to a full-face mask anything else would be uncomfortable and most importantly stupid if it’s really something this confidential.’

He stepped into the club with low and hazy lights and sharp classical music playing not far away in the background.

He felt a little dizzy, the air was cool, it likely would’ve left a chill on his arms of he wasn’t wearing the long sleeves dress shirt.

But even so it did nothing to get rid of the sick feeling, not even the even colder air as they stepped inside. People with wine glasses and eyes hidden behind masquerade masks glanced towards the door. They didn’t bother properly turning towards them but still he could feel and sometimes even see their surprise.

He wondered if he was wrong about Pat- Edwards abilities when it came too being a criminal. Glancing towards the men and women in the club who were dressing in fine, beautiful clothing with all sorts of jewelry and ornaments.

And staring at both of them.

He remembered what Patrick had said about caution of the people here and he didn’t want to know what people with this level of wealth and power might do if they saw him as a threat or worse. And easy target.

He laid out his hand on the side of his pants as he took a deep breath as he relaxed his muscles. Leaning on one leg in an effort to feel casual.

‘Well, I guess it doesn’t matter as much now considering what CAN they do? He has nothing, sure. But he’s also no one, he reckons it’s much harder to track down someone who has less presence than a ghost.’

Glancing towards the eyes, gleaming with a level of green that he was convinced that if it could, it’d speak its own words. He could understand the cue as in synchronicity a black leather gloved hand stayed on his shoulder as Ben slipped into a slight nod and bow at the people who had stared at him once they came in.

Those who had glanced or out right stared jolted back and pretended like they never had in the first place. A part of him felt peeved although, if he has to be a little formal and fancier and showier than Edward to get anyone off his back… well he wouldn’t take any chances.

‘I definitely won’t let anyone think I’m a easy target if I can help it. Even if he has to associate with whoever Patrick really is.”

(Unless he’s really Question man.)

His lips almost twitched at that.

He could feel the gaze on his side, feeling heavy with pressure and pride, he should hope so considering the never-ending lecture he had given him about how to act, think, and say if anyone tried to talk to him. Ever. In general. He just feels exhausted and hopes this gets over soon.

‘Thor, I hope that I don’t have to speak to anyone at all.’ He feels his lips purse with an irked feeling, he doesn’t even need his super-senses to recognize the smell of drugs, alcohol and the cloying smell of too many different kinds of perfumes and cologne.

By the time he looks back up the eyes look away with some side glances of mild interest and curiosity but it was luckily pretty easy to ignore with Edward once again guiding him by his shoulder. They got a few more quick glances but he felt it had more to do with the guards they were passing in a hall until they all flickered out as they come to a stop in front of who they were supposed to meet.

The men in front of the doors gave him a look over which considering, definitely couldn’t blame ‘em.

As the doors opened, he squinted the large window back curtains were closed to a point where the only light was peeking through the middle. It had a beautiful view he’ll admit, it was however, unfortunately backfired by the fact that Patrick's, so called ‘acquaintance’. Was leaning backwards with one hand holding onto a cane as the other held onto a cigar the smoke just barely noticeable when it floated in front of the light. His eyes were about to look around before movements and voices interrupted his thoughts.

The assumed mob boss was leaning against the desk one hand also stabling him with a cane; Giving him a curious and sly look. “Why and his eyes look just like yours Ed, who am I to assume you aren’t related?”

He felt like by the tone of voice they’ve had this conversation before as it seemed like Edward was the one trying right to the point instead of dawdling on dramatics.

‘Quite frankly, unusual.’ So was the sudden change of topic.

“Why would I have any reason to do you or the squirt any favors?” Stubbing his cigar on the ash tray.

‘Which is curiously ice, it’s already melting into the tray underneath. Where’s the efficiency in that? Or is he just showier than even Tony Stark? An remarkable feat.’

And before Peter could stop it cause curse his lack of self-preservation, he couldn’t help but let out a remark at that.

“How about the fact that you can’t even seem to afford proper lighting and that you can’t keep an ash tray from melting. Which you do know that they're not supposed to do right?”

The air seemed to pause and he glanced at a vase to the side for hopes of distraction only to see the guards' gaping mouths and shocked eyes in the reflection. Glancing at the gold border surrounding his eyes. Seeing no escape from the hole he dug he looked forwards only to see the previously impassable man with a smirk.

“He’s just like you Ed.”

Looking over to Patrick to see him with the same smirk was just as, if not even more disconcerting.

“I’m well aware, it’s quite annoying”

The man (he really needs to get names) walked forward with his cane before sending a sharp glance at his doormen who prompt shut it. Which luckily triggered some light sensor.

‘Which was for drama as he clearly just wanted a dramatic revealing.’

“What’s with evil masterminds and dramatic tendencies?” Once he finished whispering to himself, he looked to Patrick, or ed, Eddie, Edward, potato potahto at this point what's gonna be next? He flamboyantly takes off a mask and reveals he's Squidward from the flying donut?

Letting out a tired sigh he tuned into what they were saying.

“Doesn’t have papers? Was there an attack I didn’t know about or was he a child someone didn’t want registered?”

His eye twitched he swore he almost commented on that but Patrick would clear it up-

“it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

The ceiling was now having the pain of very piercing green eyes staring holes into it while being able to make out the mouthing of the words.

“Oh Thor… sanity….. Idiot… what’d I do to deserve.... kidnappers… the multiverse shall know-…” and of course several soul deep sighs that seemed impossible for such a young lad in such a short time.

Peter wasn’t really listening, no, not even when Patrick mentioned and said something about inventions. That did admittedly catch his interest for a second but then he blabbered and went on about… efficiency? Effectiveness? And more businessly like words.

So, Peter may or may not have inched back towards the door.

‘Super discreetly of course him and the monocle guy totally didn’t make eye contact during. And he totally also didn’t squeak his shoes against the floor.’

‘Lies, I tell you. Lies.’

Thus began his trek back, the doormen tried not to glance.

‘Keyword. Tried.’

So there Peter sat. Dejectedly. Dreaming about eating chocolate ice cream and petting puppies and pondering over if he could convince Patrick to let him get a kitten. Or at least that’s what he wished he could’ve done.

No. Instead while he was overlooking the party that smelled to strongly of perfume and cologne with colorful lights that seemed to brighten yet too dim at the same time. That have him a headache as a shadow came up to him and a chill ran up his spine he felt it. It was exactly like one of those moments in a fight and his senses blared off. For a moment he could see the rubble in front of him, the dripping red coming cold from May’s dead body. Suddenly he noticed his fingers had wrapped around so tight around the handle bar in from of him his nails dug into his palm, he quickly shook his head.

May’s not dead, she’s probably at home- [There’s not even one left, Peter.] waiting for him. He straightened his back as he turned around face calm and body coiled.

And perhaps what he hadn’t been expecting was to see an utterly calm man who only walked to the railing and held just like he had less a couple seconds ago. He was overlooking the people just like he had. He spared a glance towards where he was looking but could only see a bartender pouring drinks and small snacks before he looked back as he saw his outline turning towards him.

He didn’t bother trying to hide he was staring at him, purposefully standing this close, he wanted something.

[And did he want something indeed.]

He took one leaning step forwards and Peter was tempted to take a step back but something said it’s not the best choice.

(What’s the difference between intuition and an extra sense anyways?)

Besides he might not have his super-strength or even enhanced reflexes and speed.

(This was a terrible decision)

So all he did as he leaned down to almost whisper in his ear was make eye contact and something resembling a snark he hoped got through the mask regardless.

He lent down, whispering right beside his ear.

“You see you wouldn’t know it, and neither would Edward. For as smart as he is he lacks behind in the…”

A small click of the tongue that sounded particularly annoying right next to his ear.

“He lacks in the emotional department; he can’t see people quite the way that I do… He visited a while ago.”

He turned to the stage where a band was just setting up and the old vinyl music was fading out. It gave him a better view of the own mask he was wearing, a gas mask of his own that also strangely resembled a plague mask at the same time. He also looked to see if there a was any visible weapons on him. But he wasn’t a fool. Even if he can’t see anything he’s not going to let his guard down.

“And on that day, do you want to know what I saw?”

Seeming to wait for no answer.

“On that day that I’ve narrowed down to your arrival, I saw something I haven’t seen in quite the long time. He was excited, so of course I had to see for myself what the fuss was about. And I can tell you. It. Did. Not. Disappoint.”

Peter had had enough and stepped back not bothering to hide he was looking him up and down. And tilted his head and added that sarcastic tone he hated to hear.

“Oh, really? And you’ve figure that all out on the minute you’ve known me?”

He laced his voice with doubt and a patronizing tone strong enough he cringed internally.

The masked guy looked shocked and reared his head back a little bit.

He wondered, ‘Did I take it too far? Maybe I should have toned it down a little bit and if he causes a scene which is the last thing he wants t-' Before he realized there was another gleam in his eyes that only told and said to him he was only amused. Suddenly Peter or Richard as he didn’t want to use his own name or Ben’s and ugh- maybe he shouldn’t have bothered? Kept it the same and removed himself from Ben and the Parkers completely. He bit his tongue. Not the time. He barely rushed into his mind before he started talking again.

“Maybe I have, considering the effect I usually have on people has been known to make grown men cry.”

“From what? Your fashion sense?”

‘Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Was this payback for all the times he bad mouthed criminals and villains? Maybe it was a mask effect? What would he even call that. Shit.’

He didn’t seem too deterred just annoyed and a grip on the handrail that said he had anger issues.

“Typically from fear toxin. I notice it tends to linger.”

He didn’t know what eithers reaction would be to that but was glad he didn’t have to find out. As now Patr- Uncle Ed was standing almost in between them and put a hand on his shoulder.

No one said anything and he was actually shocked by how quiet he was being. The two were just staring at each other. Before the voice behind the gas mask spoke almost… tentatively.

“I think that’s my cue to go.” Was all he said before he started walking away before stopping in the middle in the hallway and turning his head to the side and he could feel more than see the eyes turning towards him.

“Also, your accent. New York isn’t it?”

He didn’t seem to wait for an answer as he continued walking Ed didn’t say anything until a tense, quiet few seconds after he fell from sight.

And it was the first time he felt him this angry, a little part of him was afraid it was him. The hand still in his shoulder felt heavy and he had a feeling it wasn’t just because of the pressure from it.

He didn’t say anything and still didn’t say anything as he grabbed his arm and led him through the crowd and into the car.

And despite everything he felt like this was the first time he realized just how out of place he was here. None of these people in his old world and no clue what ‘Fear toxin' was but going by the title he could hazard the guess he didn’t want to experience it.

When Edward finally came to take him away from the strange man, he’d felt strangely relieved but now it feels perhaps even worse than before. It seemed like he didn’t even want to look at him and the usual tapping of his fingers were uncannily still a top of his cane.

He hated the sense of guilt and wrongness when he hadn’t even technically done anything wrong. And even if he had no one had told him. So he did what he always did he took a deep breath until his lungs shook and and he imagined the cold of snow which wasn’t hard. The car still hasn’t warmed up and he could feel the cold on the tip of his nose.

“Was he someone I should’ve avoided?” The ‘you didn’t tell me to' part hung through the air. For a moment he thought he had made a mistake as Pa- he closed his eyes and finally turned towards him and looked him in the eyes in what felt like forever.

“No, well yes. I would’ve preferred it but it wasn’t your fault. I admit I hadn’t expected to see him there.”

“Wow, guy giving off evil mastermind vibes didn’t know something beforehand. This must be a revolutionary, life changing even, moment for you.”

He gave a scoff and then a slight smirk that felt like this moment would come to bite away at his pop-tart in the future. But as always future Peter problems are future Peter problems. No reason to worry about that foreboding smirk now.

Patrick, Edward, he should really ask at this point. Slumped and leaned against the seat, he realized that this is the first time he’s seen him so… exhausted? Tired? Exasperated?

‘Vulnerable' was the thought that rang in his head for quite a long time.

The atmosphere was still a little tense. He’s not even completely sure why.

(Probably seeing someone you thought impenetrable, even subconsciously, vulnerable is a shocking moment to say the least. He knew that from Mr. Stark it takes away the fog in your eyes.)

Maybe.... he could... try to make it light?

“Well at least we didn’t stay long. I don’t know very many dance moves.”

He quirked his eyebrow before looking over from the window.

“Oh? And what dances do you know?”

Peter just shook his head along with his pointer finger. ‘Just to get the point across'

“No, no no. I said dance moves.”

At the aimless look he got he carried on. “You know? Like the sprinkler?”

“What's?.. I have a feeling I'm going to regret asking this. But what's the sprinkler?”
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What ensued thoroughly exceeded yet diminished the Riddler’s expectations by numbers and amounts he didn’t think possible.

*

Chapter Text

No one ever told him what happens when you lose your soul. And how could they?

There has never been someone who has lost their home, world. like Peter; and what use is a soul when it's lost? He wishes someone could describe all these indescribable emotions, to understand how he wishes to tear his skin from his body with his own hands; to feel so undeserving of the life he has.

Perhaps that’s the reason he didn’t know why Uncle Ben was dying again. And not by a mugger this time. This time it’s because the gun held against Ben’s head was held there by Uncle Ben himself.

There is a fogginess that feels like a slow haze, barely able to think around, that wonders why Ben’s the one dying, if he’s the one feeling like this. Knees crumpled to the floor, as Ben’s head hit the kitchen counter behind him.

May’s kitchen counter.

'Wasn’t the house destroyed?’ a question Peter could barely hear through the fog.

The blood was trickling down his temple where the skin start to blur. It was changing into a pigment he felt like he’s seen before, after Uncle Ben died. When he wasn’t quick enough in that quiet alley. His mind whispered, ‘not fast enough' and the lingering guilt and questions about what life did they have to make them hold the gun themselves?

The gun slid out of Ben’s hand and Peter could hear the clatter of a gun hitting the alleyway pavement onto the kitchen floor.

All too quickly he felt a jolt, not dissimilar to the sensation of falling that startled people out of their almost, slumber. The jolt upwards revealed a bedroom. Looking familiar and almost recognizable to eyes that refused to understand.

Before he himself even noticed, he looked to the left. Where a figure was sitting patiently. The words hadn’t even registered in his head before they came out of his mouth.

“Patrick.”

There's a glass held in his hands before, suddenly, it was filled and held in front of him. He stared for a second, maybe two, wondering how it had water now. The unmoving hand, waited patiently before Peter grabbed it.

The cold water misting the glass from the outside touched his hand, startling him with the cold. Shocking him from the fog, with his eyes, and letting the water, not moving fast enough down his throat. Placing down the glass, now only half full, before he looked towards Patrick again.

The man was standing there just like he had when Peter had first ended up in this bed. Looking just as he had the first time as well. A face that felt familiar, but closed off in a way that wasn’t. A small part felt awkward so he talked before he could think too much.

“Wa- a nightmare?” His voice was too hoarse to do more than speak the last, most prominent word, barely mouthing the others. Patrick understood nonetheless, and gave a small nod.

“I wasn’t sure whether or not you would’ve wanted to be woken up.” His hand, now taking the glass from him, as it made a small clinking sound were it bumped into a pitcher.

‘That was how'

“It lasted a while.” He started tapping the cane in front of him, that’s when Peter realized and he couldn’t help laughing. Patrick’s face quickly turned distressed but still he couldn’t help laughing, even harder at this point. But at the hand on his arm as if to stabilize him. He managed to choke out.

“You’re- you’re still in your pajamas.” A finger pointing weakly toward were Patrick was now standing. In his striped pajamas that manage to make him look even lankier than he already was.

Patrick’s eyes widened in shock. Unmoving and so clearly confused.

“But you- still- had time to g-grab your cane.” He was wheezing at this point and Patrick sat back down with a small huff. And (another) sigh.

“Should I take this to mean you won’t be going to sleep?”

He quickly sobered up as an image of Ben stood, he was falling aga-

A hand grabbed his arm, “My apologizes, likely not the-“ he cleared his throat before standing up hand still on his arm. “I have a project in the lab I figured- you might like.”

Peter stared, upwards this time. A slow second passed before he let the small smile from the last remnants of laughter spread across his face and slipped to the side of the askew blankets.

“But maybe don’t change outta your pajamas. They’re too funny to lose.”

Patrick just gave a sigh as he walked down the stairs. Still with his cane. He wondered. ‘If it’s purely decoration then surely he’d installment some super secret techy weapon? Or maybe just have it be a sword and the cane the sheath. That’d be cool.’ He was sure he’d figure it out later.

The walk down to the lab was only a little bit awkward, mostly because he could tell Pat wasn’t used to someone walking behind him and he looked a bit uncomfy with it but he couldn’t blame him.

When they had reached the lab he could only looking in curiosity as he flitted about, tinkering with something steadfastly under a cloth. He tried to peek but only got a glare in return. So he relented and decided to look over his little projects. Sure the holographic projector had been the main one but the other ones either reminded him of home or he felt genuinely excited about another project.

‘Actually I think maybe… if I were to change it a little bit here and maybe make it look a little different…’ A smile spread across his face before he was distracted by a glimmer in the corner of his eye. He walked away from the holder of his new idea and waited as Patrick walked over towards him.

The way he walked over to him he could tell he was satisfied, his walk held a little more sway and grace that Peter wished he still had.

‘I’m not sure even if I had my powers back I’d have that grace or poise.’ The cavern of his powers felt like a hole was inside him.

He held the project with both hands, covered in cloth. He saw a glimmer of blue. His hands were just a few inches from his chest before when looked up wordlessly asking for permission. At (Edwards?) nod he scooped it up before nudging onto his left hand as he pulled the cloth off.

It was cold. And he’s sure that’d always remain his first impression. Even the way the blue glinted was cold, that metal legs being a light pressure on his palm. A small, and beautiful butterfly stood in his hand. It was so obviously made with his hands that he didn’t. Couldn’t. Have a single doubt. It was incredibly realistic with little antenna and the wing veins painstakingly created by wires connecting to the blue glass, cradling it in it’s little frame.

It was only around three inches tall, with the had being as big as his thumb although considering his current size likely just a tip of a small pointer finger.

He was gently moving the wings up and down which he was initially surprised they could even do before he was taken out of his stupor.

“The eyes can also function as a camera. Mostly due to recent… incidents that can connect to one of the computer monitors.” He gestured towards the plethora of computers that he suspected was mostly for aesthetic purposes.

‘And sure he does use most of them at certain times. But no one can deny the supervillain vibes.’

He continued to explain on, he felt like it was likely one of the only times he’s felt the need for filling in the silence.

“It’s mostly designed for stealth purposes and of course is automatically sends the feed to the monitors and records, saves and files all that’s captured.”

Peter, yes Peter. Not any one else gave a small chuckle before looking at the no longer rambling man.

“You know you could’ve just asked what he talked about with me? He was just a little creepy, nothing I won’t get over.”

He was still smiling at Patrick’s worried frown. Who gave a particularly strong sigh and shook his head.

He felt a familiar motion as he gently pushed his shoulder.

“It may be early but why don’t we eat some breakfast? Unless you’d prefer not to?” The question wasn’t spoken but loudly heard regardless. And he didn’t like the thought of trying to go back to sleep. Hand still cradling the butterfly.

‘who I’ll most definitely find a name for.’ With a small shake of his head. Breakfast it was.

.

.

.

Although Peter was more than grateful for the butterfly he still couldn’t take his mind off of the nightmare he had. A finger was gently caressing the butterflies back and wings. Even though his mind still keep jumping back to what happened.

‘Why do dreams never make sense?’ He wishes. He could at least find out WHY he had that dream.

He looked to the side where the small window above the sink was letting through a steady stream of light, a light blue-grey due to the early hours of morning. Gotham’s always a little bit grey but it seems like the day might be a little clearer he got a text yesterday when he came back to see Harley had gave him a rambling message about all the things they’d do.

He apparently just has to try the Gotham specialty flavors of ice cream and of course get a whole bunch of books. He likes Patrick’s library of course. But most of it is chemistry, weird riddles and puns and different companies here. Apparently, Wayne Enterprises controls everything here and he has learned enough about Gotham to pass by he hopes. When he researched Fear Toxin before he went to sleep last night he was surprised and glad he dodged a bullet there with Pat who looked more like Ed at the moment, he wonders how he can do that. Push something down and pretend to be someone else on the front.

He almost hates that he wants to know how to do it too. At least Spider-man has always been him. Maybe even more so than Peter himself sometimes.

(He still deliberately skipped over 'The Riddler’s' chapter in the book.)

The small flattering of plates had him raising his head. He learned quickly that he likes to cook and apparently he’s a convenient test subject. He’s also learned that despite all the manners May had drilled into him not to help with the food itself

‘He’s also very particular about where he sets everything.’

He still helps with the plates and bowls and some of the side dishes.

He was definitely on the verge of drooling, mostly because while he doesn’t know whatever spices he puts on the sausages he’s definitely not going to complain.

He was grabbing a cup of yogurt and grabbing a couple fruit bowls already wanting to sink his teeth in what wouldn’t no doubt be a delicious parfait. Had just out the bowl of blueberries back as he glanced at Patrick’s hands hooded over his own glass bowl.

He grabbed the bowl of strawberries next. And put it back with tense shoulders as he tried not to look up. Soon enough the bowl was decorated with fruits. And he spent a few seconds just staring at the bowl before looking up.

“You’re going to spoil my appetite Patrick.” A small questioning tilt. He was sure whatever he would hear he wouldn’t particularly enjoy.

The look he gave him, with his sharp stare that reminded that made him unsure as to whether or not he regretted not reading the chapter about him. And purposefully ignoring those moments where he sometimes stared at the computer too long.

“Do you know how long you’ve been here Peter?”

Something heavy and empty settled it’s way into chest. (He tried to ignore it, he really did)

“A few weeks.” He forced his voice to be smooth while his hands were clenched on his lap, trying not to wrinkle his relatively new clothes.

‘At least I have these.’ A small part of his mind whisperer a little too cold. A little too harsh. ‘And maybe a little bit too lonely.’

Edward continued, his own hands coming to rest on his lap, still entwined together. He couldn’t help but notice. For some reason he liked that habit of Patrick’s, it reminded him of Mr. Stark.

‘At least I can stop pretending it’s all going to be normal.’ He pinched his leg. ‘No, he’s not gonna kick me out. Right? Otherwise the butterfly doesn’t make sense.’

The man still wearing the same green tie from yesterday leaned back and ran his hand through his hair. 'The same tie he had worn to the outing that had apparently decided he didn’t need to keep him around.’

‘At least he could have those papers.’

Peter was now looking at Patrick, his head uncomfortable looking towards the ceiling. His hair falling down straight as his mouth began to mouth words to himself before some of them finally came with a sound.

“The only thing I regret…”

The white on his knuckles only became more apparent as they tightened on his blue trousers. ‘Isley and Harley did say they had taken care of some kids before.’

“Is pretending something like this wasn’t going to happened sometime or another.”

Peter had to forcibly relax his shoulders as he looked towards the door, his hair always did cover up the right side of his face easier. His eyes felt like they weren’t far from the sting that’d cause tears to pool up.

“I’m sorry.” For a second Peter thought that voice was his. “For not making sure you were safer sooner.” His eyes snapped over as they raced over his resigned form.

‘Even so, that doesn’t look like someone…’

He let out a dry chuckle as he realized, it also had Patrick looking towards him. “It's fine.” A light smile on his face as he added the teasing tone. “After all, isn’t that why you put a tracker in Reilly?”

Patrick just raised an eyebrow at where he was petting his butterfly. “Reilly?”

Peter raised one back before he got a resigned sigh and he watched a Patrick do a small shake of his head.

“You really are too smart for your own good Peter.”

Peter gave a wiry smile. “I know.” There was hint of tiredness and exhaustion in it that surprised the both of them. Though they certainly didn’t let it show.

“But don’t worry, at least I’m dumb in all the right places.”

His chest gave a jolt. “I don’t think that helps anything.” He gave him a look before leaning over the table just to give his knuckles a tap on the head. “You’re still pretty smart kid. Don’t get that wrong. And make sure to take advantage of it when you can.” His time had taken a colder, lonelier quality at the last sentence. Peter gently moved the hand off where it was resting on his head before giving a grin that was a fair bit teeth as his hands were still encasing the others own.

“Don’t worry I will.”

Edward or Patrick, saw that glint in his eyes and a small smile of his own came across his face as he shook his head as he sat back down. He couldn’t help thinking, ‘The glint in his eyes, it’d only prove Oz even more right about the similarities.’

“Eat your food Peter, you’re lucky it can’t go cold.”

“Weren't you the one giving the monologue here?”

“…..Appreciate your breakfast Pete.”

‘He’s just lucky I’m hungry… and that the fruits all look delicious.’

Both of them watched as Peter very slowly edged his way out the door. Oz surely didn’t mind not hiding the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing. He watched as the doors closed behind him, when he looked back forwards Oz was leaning against the back of the chair.

He put a dampener on the smile he wanted to show. Oz folded his hands together as he so often did and looked in his eyes. His own finally slipping into that comfortable disguise he so often wears.

“What did you really want to talk about? More than just the kids papers. I could do that easily and thoroughly… but I have no doubt you could do better if you really wished.”

“You’re right. I could.”

The Penguin, only let out a scoff and leaned his head back, smirking at his unashamed confidence.

He couldn’t resist anymore, his legs moved him forwards until he was standing in front of the right corner of the desk. In another fluid motion he had one hand move aside the papers as he sat on the clear part of the desk. “Well, Oz” his head having a small tilt as he looked at him through the corner of his eye. His hands were just a little tighter, the leather gloves pulling taut and wrinkling.

Like this he felt younger but he opted for ignoring the feeling for making sure he could see every tinge of expression that crossed his face.

“it’s not the only reason I came, of course.”

He straightened up, looking towards the door as he crossed his leg over the other. The moment gone all too quickly. As he continued.

“I came to warn you about a couple events.” He could more feel the tensing than hear or see it behind him.

“Nothing you have to get involved with besides this too much. Unless you want to of course.”

A scoff was behind him as he could only imagine the unamused look on his face.

The tapping into his thigh stopped as he admitted something a little unexpected, even to himself. “I have to admit what I have planned… well, maybe even I’m in over my head.”

A quick glance at where a hand was now on the armrest and the other holding up the lean of his head by his jaw.

“The Riddler in over his head? My, I’m beginning to wonder what’s going to released upon the world?”

“Well let’s just say that it will put on quite the show.”

He could already tell his eyebrows were raised without looking. It usually deigned him to give clues to Oz about something that hasn’t even started. But he was feeling a little generous and perhaps… a little giddy by the whole prospect.

“The amount of words you can say without telling me anything will always truly astound me, Edward.”

For the first time since he got in the desk he made eye contact. “I’m beginning to think I have a charm for it, Oz. Besides, I always visit when you most need it. And always…”

He continued for Edward just like he knew he would. “And as always, I need it more than yesterday.” It wasn’t the first time either of them had said it and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

With a grin he slid off the desk and was pulling on his tie before he even completely knew what he was doing. His blood was pumping as he heard his heart beating. He spoke into his ear but he couldn’t help looking into his eyes all the while. That shade of blue had always captivated him. So light but with a level of determination and intelligence he had seen on so few.

“Gotham won’t be the same afterwards Oz. It’s going to be beautiful and even I can’t predict the outcome but its going to change everything. It’ll be a work of art I can only hope goes down in history. And I hope. Maybe just maybe-“

His voice had taken a soft turn, “You can be there too Oz.”

He pulled backwards, hand still holding onto the tie and the other holding him up on the other side of the chair. He was covering him like this. And he could look into his eyes, clearer and knowing more than anything. And he just couldn’t help leaning in. They both knew he could push away if he wanted to but at the small kiss he gave he sent one back, barely there but one that gave him a smile nonetheless.

He eventually pulled back even though it felt like a dull pain before he was fixing up the tie and creases on his suit. When he glanced at his face mostly covered by confusion and shock he let out a small chuckle.

Once he finished fixing up the collar of the suit he pulled back entirely as he once again standing straight.

“I’ll likely be back if the kid keeps making inventions like he has, might be able to make a reputation for himself.” He started walking towards the door waving his hand up a bit, certainly not to say farewell however as ‘The Penguins’ gloves were now in hand. He almost let out another chuckle as he looked at his hands still on the rests from when he pulled him forward.

“It’s a shame that I accidentally held onto your gloves, I can only suppose I’ll eventually be here to return them.”

As he placed the gloves in his pocket. The audible sigh had him casting another sharp grin. ‘Not a refusal’

The hand reaching for the door paused before he placated a microscopic worry.

“Don’t worry Cobblepot, he won’t bite.”

“His eyes say quite the opposite.”

‘And they had similar eyes now didn’t they?’ he mused.

As the doors closed behind him his grin was washed off his face. The Scarecrows eyes paying too much rapt attention to his apprentice. He stalked forward as he placed his hand on his shoulder, waiting to see if he should shove him behind him. The creature straightening up and he couldn’t even quite feel satisfied as he took a step back from shock.

The conversation and veiled threats washed over him as he watched the guards behind him through the mirror at the end of the hall. He knew Oswald would be watching but he didn’t plan to have him interfere.

‘Not yet.’

 His eyes narrowed as ire burned up in his chest as he mentioned his accent. They both knew he was singling him out. Practically saying he’d keep an eye on him. His straight face was a few seconds from crumbling when he walked away as he tried not to tighten the hand on Peter’s shoulder.

He was foolish then, he recognized it now. To think that he’d get so distracted that’d he forget all about the proper measures that need to be put into place.

He won’t make the same mistake again.

He’d snuck out again, the roof was harder to get on, he had subconsciously put his hand to the building before he felt the lack of. . . Everything. And with a slight grimace he did a little jog and grabbed onto the ladder a few feet of the ground. The motion of muscles might not have been as smooth but he found it with relative ease as he climbed as his mind drifted.

'The nanobots in the suit had been a lucky shot. Honestly I was lucky that it managed to protect his feet for that singular jump. Having Karen back would be. . . It’d be nice to say the least. I don’t know if I can ever get it all back to the way it was, the coding, the nanobots that had been damaged and Karen’s system being damaged.’

His hand was on the last rung as he was looking towards the stars, he’s always felt a little odd about saying he’s looking ‘up’s at the stars. Especially since there wasn’t really an up or down in the universe was there? He tried to ignore the part that always questioned whether or not this universe is slanted compared to his.

Yet here he was, making his way onto the scarce, desolate roof. It felt like for once in a long time no one was truly looking at him, that there were no expectations of the kid with no home. It’s quite hard to look at something that doesn’t even exist after all.

A cold breeze rushed through his hair and over his scalp, he leaned back, willing to see more of the stars. The coldness of the sharp air run over him, it’s probably the most he's ever been at ease here. Ironically so considering he could hear the gunshots around.

‘None to close luckily.’ He considered mindlessly as he tried to map more of the stars through the clouds, or pollution.

His head looking from side to side as he tried to see more, somewhat uselessly he recognized. But his palms still sweated whenever he thought about figuring out if the constellations are the same here.

“I figure this’ll be the closest I’ll get.”

The rushing wind painfully stinging his eyes. finally made him look around rather than up. He wasn’t sure how he got here, in the sense that Gotham seemed to have a lot of abandoned buildings, hitting his foot against the concrete building behind it.

He considered it with slight confuse about how calm it seemed as he walked through a place called Crime Alley. Before an image of Patrick flashed in his mind as his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him.

As the already hulking figure only got larger and closer he felt himself relax until the heavy and quiet thud and the shifting of metal came from where he was now sitting next to him. He let himself take over a face of confusion.

“Teddy bear man?”

Huffing, he turned to look up at the stars. “Just call me, J, kid.” And even quieter and somewhat mumbled, “And I ain’t no teddy bear.”

He gave out a tired huff of laughter at that. A couple more breezes passed by after that before the man spoke again. And Peter decided he both hated and didn’t mind the hesitancy in his voice.

“It’s a cold night tonight.”

Peter could only give a hum. A warmer wind brought a haze of sleep and calm serenity that had his eyes closing for just a little bit.

As his eyes flickered open he could see Te- J's arm much closer to his own. He could also see the unspoken tension in him. He felt marginally bad at the worry he’s causing and he didn’t really mind laying down too much. He pretended not to notice the tension disappearing in his muscles.

But that didn’t mean he could stop his wind-bitten self from saying something stupid.

“I made a dumb mistake.”

That garnered an exhausted sigh, and wow everyone’s doing that a lot lately. And a ‘supportive'

“don’t we all kid.”

“I thought maybe I could fix it.”

The teddy bear man leaned back on his arms as he resisted the intrusive thought to move closer to the warmth. He gave Peter a distinct feeling he’s experienced plenty in all that life’s cruel fate has had to offer.

“And let me guess, it wasn’t something a good screwdriver could fix?”

A tired exhale was the only thing he felt he could tribute at that. “No. It wasn’t. It was more the assumption than the action itself.”

The clouds swirled. Made barely visible by the moon as the started to drift away. Revealing a stronger, greater cold grey-blue light.

The man in red now looked like it was made of a dark blue or purple. He couldn’t help as his eyes drifted towards his face. Even if it was covered by a mask, he'd like to think he could feel an emotion if he looked hard enough. ‘Because maybe then, he’d at least feel one himself.’

“I thought if I pretended that I carried a part of them with me I could feel like I did.”

It was a silence Peter wasn’t sure he could figure out. He’d like to think, imagine, that maybe it was understanding, even if it was cruel. Even if they hurt too. Maybe he’d feel less alone. He doubted it would anyways.

“You don’t have to pretend. Those memories, both bad and good. The ones you created with them. No one can take that away.”

His ear brushed against the concrete as he looked the other way. He couldn’t deal with the feeling of looking.

The sound, not unlike one from crushed gravel sounded as J, presumably, laid down beside him. His voice deep yet soothing as it flowed in the air.

“It felt like someone dug out my heart and filled it up with an emptiness I can’t replace. It felt like mine was any minute or second from collapsing. Sometimes I still wonder whether it’d hurt less if I could just forget or that emptiness would just become more irreplaceable.”

Peter’s eyes stung. “H-how did you. How did you still…”

Red Hood couldn’t handle the breaking voice. Feeling something so eerily familiar about all this that reminded him of something that felt like not so long ago.

“Live? Move on?” for a moment contemplated telling the truth but he doubted there was any better option. Even if it hurt. “I’m not sure I ever did.”

Peter couldn’t stop the choked out gasp. As he put the heels of his palms to his eyes. He couldn’t imagine feeling like this forever. He wasn’t sure he could survive it.

“A part of me will always stay with them even if it makes now hurt more. But I slowly tried to heal. Just a little bit. By holding onto the things and people I… I still love.”

“And if you don’t have that?”

Guilt and regret washed over him the moment he asked. Both for the similar pain he must have caused and for fear of the answer.

For a moment it was silent and was imagining all the different things he’d do. Get mad? Tell him he’s being stupid and he should get over. Get up and leave without another word?

He pressed his face harder into the concrete. He didn’t know which but he desperately hoped he wouldn’t have to see his face or him walking away.

A slow and hesitant hand pressed his back.

“Then you hold onto your heart, you hold onto that thread of hope. That things will turn out better the next day and the next. And you carry your soul with you every step of the way so you never forget. So you never forget who you were before. And the person you wanted yourself to be then.”

He couldn’t hold back the cry, the gasp after another and another as the tears fell. And a soft hand encouraged him to sit up like the man was now. He followed because the tears were harder to wipe away otherwise.

“I don’t even know if I can be that person when them dying took all I ever wanted to be away from me. How am I supposed to be the same person when everything feels wrong without them here?”

The slight yelling he had at the end hurt because no matter what he’d do that part would always be true. “I barely even feel like a person anymore.”

Soft gentle hands were now pulling away his arms that were wiping and pressing what he knew was too harshly into his eyes.

His hands being pulled away as he leaned forward and couldn’t stop himself from leaning on his chest. And tears and gasps were harsher as he let go of his arms to bring his own around him.

He cried for the loss of parents he can’t remember. Seeing the light fading from Ben's eyes. His loss of a childhood gone too quickly and for the loss of Tony the minute things felt like everything would be okay. And the loss of a world he considered his own but didn’t considered him the same. The friends he might never see again and the memories they have that’s he now burdened with. And the uncertainty of whether or not he’ll ever get back to his home.

They stayed there longer than Peter could guess with hands still wrapped around his back as he still let out shivering gasps. And he didn’t say anything if those arms sometimes wrapped a little tighter and he heard and felt a few shivers and sniffles that weren’t his own.

He lightly pushed off where his arms were braced against his- J's chest. He hadn’t wrapped his arms around he didn’t think he or his arms were big enough for that. Even if it also might have been a little something more.

He wiped his eyes, a little more gently this time. Another shivering sigh before he gently asked.

“You live in Crime Alley don’t you?”

He nodded. He wasn’t sure he could speak.

“I could walk you back in a bit. A couple streets away, of course.”

He found himself nodding readily even though he kinda thought he shouldn’t trust someone he hand only met on one other occasion.

‘What other way of bonding than crying on each other is best?’

“What street would be best kid?”

“I-Not kid. Parker.”

He gave a nod “Parker.”

He had to think a bit he hadn’t really explored the streets of a place called Crime Alley. But he probably should get a map and know some street names.

“A little bit north from the alley last time.”

“So it was just convenient timing wasn’t it.”

He gave a chuckle at that but it mostly came out as a scoff.

“What can I say? I’m a magnet for crazy and we’re in Gotham.” He gave a teasing smile before continuing. “Guess that explains why I came across you.”

His hair was patted as he stood up and wow Peter realized just how tall he was. Harder to do when last time he was curled like shrimp. Even standing up he couldn’t take his eyes away from him.

‘How does one even get so tall?’

Suddenly he could feel the smirk as he looked back to the helmet and J raised his arms, flexing.

“This is what happens when you eat your greens Parker.”

He wasn’t sure what he scowled more at. The flaunting or a vigilante trying to be an advertiser for vegetables. He gave a smirk at the idea.

“Maybe you should do a lettuce commercial. Eat your greens kid, otherwise the Red Hood’s gonna be under your bed if-“

“I don’t talk like that.”

“You definitely do. Voice all deep and sounding like you’ve smoked since you were my age.”

He gave a grunt and put his hands in some pockets that weren’t there. He couldn’t help the deadpan stare.

“Wow, an underage smoker telling me to eat my veggies. A bit hypocritical if you ask me.”

“Watch it squirt.” Head turning towards him and trying to give an intimidating stare. “Otherwise the Red Hood might just be under your bed at night.”

He tried that glare he got from Patrick when he suggested something particularly stupid as well as the dry tone. ‘It’s fun.’

“I’m terrified. I wonder how I’ll ever survive this frightening encounter.”

At the end he thoroughly surprised and proud of how well he had got it down.

Meanwhile the Red Hood only rolled his eyes and resisted from patting the kids hair again.

‘Not my fault it resembles a dog’s.'

“Sure kid, just don’t forget your pocketknife under the pillow.”

He started walking towards the ladder going down so he couldn’t see the look he got for that.

“I’m not sure whether or not you were serious about that.”

“It’s Crime Alley kid, you can bet your fluffy hair I am. He- eeck, ehem, it’s Gotham I expect most do, or at least should.”

“I know what swear words are. You trying to avoid them just makes them stand out more.”

He simply gave out a sigh. “Come on squirt. Let’s get you back home.”

He was embarrassed that for a second he was confused because it wasn’t home. It was always just ‘the House’ he walked towards the ladder. Where J was testing every step. Which it was a lot more apparent how creaky and rickety it was with a two hundred pound something man than a twelve year old who looks like he doesn’t weigh seventy pounds.

After the quite frankly almost worrying descent as a step did in fact break. He felt better when it was the only one. But he did start wondering.

‘Do tetanus shots hold up through the multi verse and age regression?’ The thought almost made him laugh. ‘Well, I certainly haven’t died yet.’ He was still a little extra passing that one.

 They came to a pretty open alley when Peter was walking toward the street before he was pulled back by his sweater.

“Whoa, hey now kid. I don’t know how in the world you made it back last time. But there’s this thing called discretion when walking through the streets in one of the most crime ridden cities in the most crime ridden alley.”

He certainly didn’t think about that. Actually now that he’s thinking back to it. The feeling he felt last time either kept other people away or was a person. Oh. Oh. Still it didn’t feel human.

“The universe refuses to kill me to carry on the plot that is my life. Must’ve been a lucky day.”

Red Hood, J, stayed quiet. Hand still on his hood before his slow uttered words. “Somehow I almost believe you. Mostly because my life is so odd that why did I even think I’d meet one normal kid in Crime Alley?”

A crunching of gravel was heard as both their eyes shot towards the front of the alleyway. Suddenly J was in front of him but he didn’t mind too much when the man peered at them. Well, more precisely, J with his red eyes before promptly running (scampering) away.

Peter stared in awe, it was so nice to see someone sketchy just running away for once instead of trying to pick a fight or worse. Taunting him with his identity once his name was over all screens in New York.

“Can I make a holographic projection of you to keep sketchy people away?” He rambled out. He already felt like running to the lab and had a million and one thoughts and ideas running through his head.

He got a scoff in return. “Sure kid. Just make me one too when you’re done with that.” Before he turned towards the other end of the alley were there were exits, crevices and streets even he hadn't noticed in the creeping darkness of Gotham. Head turned away from him he didn’t see the fervent nod he gave.

What ensued was also a very entertaining and educational tour of street names, which ones to completely avoid at all costs and ones with a ‘higher survivability rate' Peter was starting to realize, once again. He had been very stupid. And very very idiotic and impulsive.

It almost would've sounded like a lecture if Peter didn't think he’d be a good teacher. He said so.

“Good. Because I’m gonna give you the lesson of your nightmares and you better remember it.”

It would indeed be in his nightmares.

He was told how to dress. Always in something you can run and fight easily in. Although his tone and wording implied he didn’t think he was capable of the latter. He kept his mouth shut to spite him. The boots he had were good ones ‘yay' but he should get a belt with a clip and a gas mask. ‘doable, I have one' his was also in the list of 'Gotham approved gas masks, certified by Red Hood.’

To always dress warm, he looked down at his clothes, jeans, shirt and thin but big hoodie on top.

‘Not too bad right?’ before he got a pointed looked, ‘At least I think so his mask isn’t very expressive'.

“And most definitely don’t wear something that someone could grapple onto.”

“Right, anything else professor? Your guidance is ever so enlightening.” The tilting voice and emphasis on a clear and 'fancy' accent.

“Tell whoever taught you that that I hate them.”

He gave a snort thinking of the face Patrick would make. “Will do.”

“Always carry a weapon of some sort. A pocket knife at the very least. And remember these alleyways, these are all the less dangerous ones but that doesn’t mean safe.”

They had arrived at the street where they had met and as promised a little bit more north.

“And don’t even think about exploring alleys on your own, and the maps and GPS's are all inaccurate with everything being built over something and new streets being made in the cracks that follow.”

‘So that’s why there were so many changes in concrete, road and dirt in the alleys. Also a major bummer.’

They just mostly stared at each other for a bit, well J was the one doing most of the staring. And eventually he felt a miniscule breeze run across one eye that he blinked, or winked before the other quickly followed.

Red Hood seemed to look towards the sky contemplating something. He didn’t know, he just knew that it definitely held some feelings akin to regret by the way he was looking at the depressing gray sky.

“Okay, fine leave kid. The streets here are pretty clear. Luckily you live near Burnley, with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn being… Rehabilitated mostly only petty thieves even dare.”

A part of him blanked at that. ‘Huh, so they’re like mini celebrities here?’

He also heard mumblings of terribly costumed green themed villains and reflecting on Patrick’s… reoccurring color scheme decided to move away at that. He should get going anyways.

A gun shot startled both of them from where it sounded not to far away and Peter saw that Red Hood was just barely holding himself back before giving a glance to Peter.

“I’ll write all your tips and advice on my notes before I turn in the homework.” Before he gave a firm thumbs up. “Go get'em professor.”

And without the exasperated scoff being heard he carried off. ‘But it was most definitely there. I can feel it. I can sense it.’ As he walked through the straightforward street, still going through a couple of alleys he had taken before when he just needed a breath of fresh air. He also didn’t mention his suspicions that it wasn’t only Ms. Isley or Harley. He still remembered when he had been helping to set out dinner when a gunshot rang much closer than he had heard since coming to Gotham. Both their eyes glanced towards the direction it came, only meeting wall before Patrick gave a small, considerate hum before he went back to serve the bowls of soup.

The gunshots he heard the next night were few and all sounding far away. That week was an awfully quiet one.

As the ‘neighborhood’ came into sight he saw old, yet large and generally nice houses. Barely with any graffiti and most in an almost normal condition. He figured neither would be appreciative of the new information.

He gave a light shrug. ‘Nothing’s gone wrong so far and looking a gift horse in the mouth is something stupid that even he wouldn’t do.’

.

.

.

What Peter hadn’t been expecting, admittedly was for Patrick to already be there. The look he had made him…

It made Peter feel terrified. Because that look wasn’t anything like the cold but fair neutrality like when he first met him. Nor was it the patience, exhaustion and exasperation just earlier that day.

He finished climbing up through the window, he may not have his stickiness, nor his super strength but Peter wouldn’t let his experience go to waste.

Peter sat on the window, hesitant to completely enter the room and letting the air against his back make him feel marginally safer.

Patrick gestured towards his desk chair regardless, he found it hard to not comply.

Peter stared at his hands before he realized what he was doing and looked up where Patrick was still standing and gathered all the courage he could muster. He felt pathetic when it was so little. But he still met his stare.

Patrick’s eyes seemed to recognize something as he sat on the bed and he began massaging his forehead and letting a hand rest over his eyes. As he slowly let it down and met his gaze once again as it slowly hardened into a semblance of what it was previously.

“What you did today was unimaginably stupid, and I can’t have it happen again.”

“I was ju-“

“No Peter. This is not a matter of ‘just'. This is Gotham and I will not-” Patrick cuts himself off, exhaling strongly through his nose. “You cannot be wandering around one of the most dangerous parts of this city while being naïve to what it’s like here.”

Peter couldn’t help the scowl. “I am not that naïve, next time-“

The cane banged against the floor and he couldn’t the stop himself from jumping at the sudden noise. “There shouldn’t be a next time Peter! You don’t know just how dangerous it is-“

“But I can learn! I can do all the proper and safe things but you can’t just expect to lock me up in here!”

“It’s too dangerous without-“

“What you? Pamela or Harley?! I’M NOT GOING TO BE CONFINDED TO A HOUSE WHERE ADULTS HAVE TO WATCH MY EVERY MOVE!”

“YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HURT!”

He stalked forward as he towered over him as he left his cane behind to fall on the floor hands clenched to the side.

“You could have been killed.”

“But I don’t even have a scratch and I’ll be careful! You can’t just expect me to-“

“I can. I most absolutely can. And I had assumed that after last time you most certainly would’ve learned your lesson.”

“What lesson?! To stay in my room or be watched at all times by you?! That I can’t have any freedom that extends beyond this house without you!

“THAT STUPID DECISIONS AND ARROGANCE CAN GET YOU KILLED! HAVEN’T YOU SEEN IT FOR YOURSELF WHEN YOU’RE SCREAMING FOR BEN AT NIGHT WHO YOU KNOW WELL ENOUGH WON’T BE COMING BACK?!”

The silence was all encompassing as the last of the noise seemed to ring off the walls. Peter himself seemed to have gone slack before his muscles tensed and rage filled his eyes. He didn’t care that he had seen a flash of regret in Patrick’s eyes.

“YOU DON’T GET TO USE HIS NAME AGAINST ME! YOU HOLD NO RIGHT TO USE HIM AGAINST ME FOR YOUR OWN PURPOSES! YOU DON’T DESERVE THE KNOWLEDGE OF HIS NAME! AND YOU SURE AS HELL DON’T GET TO USE IT USE TO MANIPULATE ME!”

The last sentence had come off desperate and almost resembling a plead as harsh breaths were the only sound left behind. They both knew they had taken the whole thing too far. Peter felt only a little remorse as he said ‘get out' all the quiet hesitancy he held in his words evaporated. As Patrick strides towards the window, pushing it down that Peter saw the lock on it. Picking up his cane and leaving the room. The bedroom door had no lock but the statement had already been made.

He wouldn’t be leaving.

With a few futile struggles of trying to move the latch, hoping it’d slide back or that the password hadn’t been set in. After a few minutes he slammed the side of his fist into the window. He hadn’t even wanted to bother going outside again. He pulled on a fistful of hair. ‘Can’t he see how unfair he’s being?’

He found the attempt useless, as well as any further attempts as he opened his closet just to see the small stash of tools he had hoped Patrick wouldn’t have been noticed, missing. Only a few left behind and knowing how smart Patrick was he was sure it was useless regardless.

After a few minutes of just staring at the wall and window he grabbed a couple blankets and pillows and tossed them into the closet. It’s not like this wasn’t comfortable and it’s not like the bed was his anyways.

Chapter Text

Edward, Patrick, was currently resisting pacing his room and only just barely out of… trepidation; out of the fear of worrying, upsetting Peter any further if he were to hear his footsteps. The strands of his hair were pulled near taut, hand entangled in his hair. The other hand was frozen with his thumb hovering over the call button.

The name, almost accusingly read ‘Isley’. Moments passed as he listened to the soft wind outside and the occasional gunshot. He couldn’t bring himself to move until I a quick press finally got the name off his screen. With a heavy sigh that emptied his lungs he resigned himself to an even greater fate.

The ringing phone in his hands eventually gave way to the ever chipper voice of one Harley Quinn.

.

.

.

He was rubbing his forehead even though by this point part of it had been rubbed red. His ears were ringing and the yelling from the phone sounded with the fury of a goddess yelling at her wayward puppet for corrupting her favorite pen-pal.

“Yes. Yes, I know Harley I’ll go say sorry. And he’ll know it was a mistake. And I was. . .irrational.” He had to force the last part out but it was better than having her fury on him. Not to mention possibly both at the same time.

“Do ya know what you just did? You’ve been so unbelievably foolishly I’m actually surprised that ya have a single brain cell up ‘ere.” He is interrupted with a sigh which he’s simultaneously both worried and relieved to hear. “I thought you genuinely cared about the kid.”

The shock of the words as he felt a twinge in his chest and couldn’t help the jolt back he took. His mouth was moving before he closed it but not before “I d-“ suddenly he was once again massaging his forehead.

“And you call me the manipulator here Harley.”

“Wasn’t that hard to figure out, ya care for ‘im don’t ya? Other’ise it wouldn’t have gone that far.”

The thumb on the side of his forehead pressed in harder. He wasn’t even sure he could fix it. He’d have to be forgiven and he’s starting to realize just how little experience he has on either sides of that.

He wishes he could forget all about it and pretend that it never happened but he knew it would only make things worse. ‘Would saying sorry even be enough?’

“Eddie, you still there?”

He gave a sigh and carried on “Should I wait until morning when everything… is- cools off?” He might’ve grimaced at the flounder if he wasn’t so tired.

“Didn’t ya slam the window with a new lock installed on your way out?”

The hand in his hair got tighter, he closed his eyes, and felt as air filled his lungs. “I did. I’m going to take that as saying it’s best to apologize as soon as possible.”

“Only if it’s genuine, Ed. And it’s no use of you’re still angry. Ya need to make sure what ya gonna be saying is from the heart and all that sappiness.”

“And what am I gonna say?” He couldn’t even bother with the fact that he was lamenting to Harley Quinn. Who’s questionable taste in partners never ceased to amaze him.

“What do ya think you should say?”

With great effort he restrained from pointing out the slight formal and ‘therapist’ tone she had taken to him. There was a pause in the air until he realized she actually wanted him to say something.

“That I. . . was childish in. How I. Handled the situation? That we- I took things a little far and shouldn’t have. . . Been so upset and I shouldn’t have gone to those measures. And maybe there should be- boundaries?”

The silence on the other side of the phone was deafening and Patrick felt like all hope was lost.

“Ya know you’re not that bad.”

He could only be puzzled by that confusing sentence but she continued on.

“Ya- Well you don’t tend to deal with things in the best way but you also did it out of carin’. And you shouldn’t mistake that for anything else, it was misplaced. And ya should’ve handled it better but anyone can tell ya were worried. An’ at least you recognized the way you handled it wasn’t… the best. The point is that you didn’t handle the situation well. But the purpose is still the same, you were trying to protect him. So as long as you can make that clear. Without using excuses for your behavior, I think you two could come to an agreement.” After a moments hesitation she added. “Or a compromise, that might be better.”

He opted for ignoring the pause on that last part. inhaling as he straightened himself. “I probably shouldn’t have inconvenienced you so late at night. Although I can’t find myself regretting it. Have a good night Harley.”

“Good luck Ed. Hope it all goes well.”

He gave a small smile, even if he knew she wouldn’t be able to see it and hung up. He should probably send her a gift basket. If all goes well that is, and if not he’d likely need to garner her favor and patience regardless.

His steps down the small spiral staircase were slightly slower and he might’ve stepped on the extra creakier parts. ‘No need to startle him as well. Again.’ Although his steps might’ve been slower for a reason that wasn’t entirely for Peter’s benefit. His knuckles tapped against the door only twice. But at the soft rapping the door opened almost immediately.

Peter was standing strong, straight with his head held high. He felt vaguely reminded of when he had first met him. His arms were crossed in front of him and by all means looked slightly indifferent if he couldn’t see the nails digging into his arm in the corner of his eye.

He thought back to when Harley first began berating him, ‘you’re supposed to be the adult in the room’ in various words and formats was something he quickly got used to hearing.

“I came here to apologize.”

Peter’s eyes momentarily shifted through emotions, he cleared it all off his face before he used his foot to swing the door open and gestured to the desk chair. ‘Cheeky little brat’ passed through him like an intrusive thought before he had to concede this was gonna be what he got. ‘Not that I can even entirely blame him.’

Sitting down on the chair he wasn’t sure how to start. The time for planning a speech wasn’t there.

“I admit my actions weren’t the best. And I. . . I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I’m sincerely sorry for my behavior.”

Peter started tapping his arm. “And the window? That isn’t something as impulsive as a few words.”

Patrick’s gaze slid downwards to the floor. Contemplating. Thinking and Peter thinks he already knows the answer.

“I can’t regret it entirely. Perhaps the way I went about it. But I don’t regret doing something to ensure your safety.”

Peter wasn’t sure how he felt. He was spent and very much tired. But he’s also not sure he could stay angry at Patrick for much longer. A sigh that seemed to hold resignation seemed to flow from the younger of the two. Peter raised his head back up as Patrick followed.

“I’m not gonna forgive you.”

“I don’t expect you too.”

“You did a shitty move there. Especially for someone who’s supposed to be smart.”

“I know, I sincerely regret it.”

“Then what do you want if not my forgiveness?”

“Maybe…” He couldn’t seem to find the words and seemed to be running through all the words in his head. Before he looked up hesitantly. It reminded that for all his extravagance and… quirks. He had faults and flaws too.

‘Even if that doesn’t excuse it.’

“Maybe, a pardon?”

For a moment he was incredulous and couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow. “You mean you want my mercy?” For some reason he couldn’t stop the surprise. And he knew that it shouldn’t have been so unexpected. But for a moment there was a picture in his mind of him. Not as he knows him now but of maybe how other people saw him. Edward Nygma.

He'd admit to reading the page on The Riddler he could barely through the first page as it went through the riddles and puzzles he’s fond of. Which to be honest he has a penchant for them but he had frown at the page ‘but not nearly as much as the book describes.’

The next one was basic information. Edward Nygma also known as Enigma and The Riddler.

He’s decided he likes It anyways. The Enigma part and his name is cool enough too. The Riddler however sounds stupid and boring, not that he’d ever say that.

The thought had the heavy feeling he’s been carrying since he left lift a little.

“I’m not going to forgive you now, but maybe eventually. If next time we can actually talk about it? And maybe one that doesn’t involve locked windows?”

Patrick gave a smile. Not a smirk or a grin but a smile that seemed so genuine and disarming Peter could have stopped himself from staring.

“I think I would like that.”

The smile paired with the words were almost uncharacteristically sweet for the image in had in mind.

‘Patrick seems far more like an ‘Enigma' than Edward or The Riddler.’

“However, for the love of all things keeping me sane. Keep safe, we’ll set some rules and use. . . Randy?”

Peter snorted at that. “Reilly. The name means clearing and meadow. I thought it’d be fitting.” He doesn’t pout. No he doesn’t, because Peter Parker, and all other associated names, does. Not. Pout.

A nod, “At least keep him wi-“

“Her.”

“Keep her with you. Preferably when you’re keen on wandering around. And you should also have a weapon on-“

“I shanked one of your knives”

A pause, “I- excuse me?”

“I keep it under my pillow, just'n case.” He lifts up the pillow to show. It’s comfy there through the pillows it just adds a few more centimeters to prop it up.

There was another, shorter pause and then Patrick continued. “That’s a good dagger.”

“Mhm”

“Good choice. But you need a gun.”

Peter quirked his head. Something was considered odd about this conversation, he just couldn’t figure out what quite yet.

“I’d prefer a taser.”

“Gun. I can educate you how to use them.”

“I know how to use it. But taser. Less, bloody bloody. I’d be sad.”

“You can’t, or won’t be sad if you’re the one who's ‘bloody bloody'.”

Peter had a slight frown. His eyes glistened with pleading and looked up, he knew his hair was framing his eyes, it had gotten longer and the curling of his hair was always compared to a dogs.

‘Honestly, wouldn’t it be even more of a crime to not use what he’s been given?’

Patrick let out a bone deep exhale. He tried not to smirk at that.

“Peter-“

He cut him off before he could continue. “Okay, okay I get it. No need to go on a tangent. I get it.”

A pause seeped through the air as they both sighed at the same time. Their glares met each others before Patrick’s eyes softened.

“Gotham is very much a dog eat dog world. It’s the way the world works kid and if you, unfortunately, can always use your puppy dog pleasantries, you’re gonna get killed. So, I’d very much prefer that you stay prepared, this is Gotham and I’d like for you to start treating it like it.”

His hands were holding the adjacent elbows as he listened to Edward. Peters hands were rubbing against the fabric. The awkward and anger filled memories coming back unwanted.

For a minute there was a tense silence that drew out. “I’ll admit I’m not the most patient person but also want you to be careful. You take your gas mask, wear ambiguous clothing, Reilly and carry a gun.”

Peter was slightly miffed about the compromise, although he knew it had less to do with any of the rules and more that Patrick thought he had to watch over him.

“I’ll take the taser, putting it in a holster, no one will be able to tell the difference.”

The nose scrunching at that, ironically, felt a little disarming.

“And a pocket knife. Just in case.” He added

The sigh he got at that had become it’s own version of a consenting nod.

Peter was sitting while leaning back against the couch arm chair. He has to admit he wishes he had entered this room sooner, he hadn’t dared to enter the other room on the other side of the stairs. ‘My assumption that it was his… evil lair for planning his evil plans wasn’t entirely unnecessary.’ Anyway, the couch was comfy and while he had a really good science book in his lap his mind was drifting off before he could even read a couple sentences.

“What is it Peter? You haven’t turned a page for ten minutes.”

‘Huh, was it really that long?’ He was somewhat affronted by the rush on time. He took a deep breath, now was as good a time as ever.

“I’ve researched into the ‘Night killers' around here, but nothing says anything. Not even the computers brought anything up.”

 Which even he has to admit the usefulness of the. . . questionable legality. Whether it’s more articles, tabloids, what the media and people are saying about it and even looking into police reports. Some of those were acquired inside the departments own database. He continued on.

“For something quickly becoming more concerning and the increase in reports there’s certainly a lack of leads. Not even a general motivation or idea for who their targets are.”

Despite the statement the question at the end was made clear. Patrick looked up from his book onto the ceiling, tilting his head before looking at him.

“I can guarantee you that it’s mostly exaggerated accounts. And the rest are likely just victims of another person we haven’t found yet. This is Gotham Peter, people’s accounts of faux vampires are the least of the people’s concerns.”

Peter pursed his lips, he knew that, yet still he couldn’t help the curiosity and the time he’s spent staring at the moonlight covered ceiling in wonder.

‘I felt something there. I know I did, but I just can’t figure out what.’ He gave a terse nod and looked back to his book. As he read with satisfaction for a better plan.

‘After all whenever you have a question the best person to ask is a professor.”

He nestled back into the couch as he mused over future plans and cherishing the time until he’d be going to the library with Ms. Isley and Harley.

A figure in the shadows of an alleyway, deep in the crevices of The Narrows was kneeling at the end. As a shadow sat leisurely at the top of the wall above. Even an average person could have seen or heard the shaking of the subsidiary.

At the top of the canopy a figure uncrossed their legs and leaned over to stare down.

“I’ve heard you’ve had a sighting?”

The man nodding his head as opened his mouth to speak until he was cut off.

“Look up. You’re not addressing the rats. It’s only respectful.”

His mumbled apologies were dismissed with a wave of a hand and he slowly raised his head onto the figure barely lighted, even by the moon light. The crimson eyes couldn’t help widening in wonder at meeting and seeing them in person before they quickly began speaking.

“I was patrolling my quadrant when I came across a boy. His eyes were unnaturally bright green but his eyes flashed red when our eyes met. The new rising crime lord, Red Hood was there, standing in front of the boy. I believe they are familiar by the stance they had taken. Afterwards I decided not to cause a commotion and went to alert my commanding officer immediately.”

Suddenly the feeling of a heavy weight came upon them. Gravity seeming to oppose and deny their existence, as peril and dread filled the alleyway.

“You mean to tell me that you didn’t even try to follow them? Or that you didn’t notify someone else to try and stake out where they were heading?”

Saliva ran down their throat as their head lowered to the lower wall.

“The- few others were also placed in Crime Al-“

There was a flash of darkness as his head was pulled upwards by the sharp edge digging into his jaw. As the eyes above flashed from their usual color into a red that glowed more vivid than any of their own could.

“Look. At. Me.”

They felt every muscle in their body tense and their head raised, not entirely of their own volition. They couldn’t have looked away even if they tried.

“And I-I figured it’d be best to- to notify you immediately, sir.”

The sharp edge caressed his jaw line as their Lord closed their eyes and let out a small hum. Before his muscles tensed even further as the Misericord styled dagger nicked his jawline before reappearing on the other side.

“What did he look like? Age, everything.”

The dagger pushed further.

“He was a child, he looked- Perhaps eleven years old. He was short and skinny in stature, fair skin, dark brown or black hair that was thick. And green eyes I’m convinced can’t be like any other’s. His clothes suggested he either wasn’t familiar to Crime Alley or trusting of Red Hood. He was dressed casually, jeans and a hoodie.” A halt as their eyes looked back up. “And if I may my lord?”

He received a nod in return. And carefully considered his words to be perceived as more than just flattery.

“I think if none of those events had got my attention. He looks. . . Startling like you. Enough that I imagine some would even glance twice.”

The steadily alleviating energy had dissipated as all attention was once again weighing him down. Raising his head as he only wanted to lower it. His words rushed forward.

“The only odd thing I can think of are the uncontrolled flashing of his eyes and the fact that he seemed to have glasses.”

“Glasses. The ones you wear to see?”

He gave a stilted nod, more up than down.

The hum seemed to echo in his ears and the walls reverberating. Showing the dangerous consideration of his fate once more.

“Go back to your commanding officer, narrow it down to lower Gotham. And lower the crime rate. Imped the more petty criminals, just enough to strike fear. But no matter what, don’t involve yourselves with any vigilantes. And stay. Away. From. Red Hood. That one’s mine.”

Peter was currently giving Patrick a scowl with questioning in his eyes.

“You can’t honestly expect me to wear all that?”

“You are going on an outing with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. What were you expecting?”

“Still. . . Isn’t that all a little excessive?” gesturing up and down to the all black outfit he had chosen for him, as well as his gas mask. He would look like a fugitive.

“The only reason you didn’t need it last time was that it was pretty soon after a joker attack and we knew he wouldn’t be out again. Not to mention it was a weekday. However this time there will be more people and I’d prefer for you not to be immediately seen with them.”

He saw the face Peter made at that and clarified, “I mean I’d prefer if people couldn’t immediately recognize you later on if you go out with them.”

Peter gave out a groan as his hands were now on his sides. “Fine. I’ll wear a disguise but I’d prefer to not look like a criminal while going out.” He gave a ‘gimme' gesture as he took the clothes and shooed Patrick out. Much to his amusement. Tossing the clothes on his bed and rushing over to the closet. There was a small, wooden vanity at the end of the twelve feet closet. He liked how comfy it was underneath but this time there were different dyes and contact lenses. Whether it was Patrick or Edward, both were very dramatic.

And if he’s going out he’d prefer to be comfy. Not to mention the whole entirely black clothing would only draw more attention.

‘I should at least look like I didn’t step outta an apocalyptic world. Although it is Gotham. . .he could still look normal.’

When Peter came out of his room to a waiting Patrick and did a slow spin.

“Helicopter, Helicopter”

Patrick seemed unfazed by the fantastic reference which he simultaneously wanted to smirk and frown at. ‘Time to up my game' The outfit was fitting, the same black jeans and boots but this time with a dark red hoodie, mint green shirt underneath. The laces on his shoes had also been changed prior to a red that almost matched perfectly. Peter made sure to clip a gas mask to his jeans like a true Gothamite. Although the most noticeable change was the brown contact lenses, darker than even how his eyes originally were. Peter couldn’t help but think that they looked like the bark of a tree, moist and damp from rain and humid air. He still wore his glasses, the metal lower half matching his hair which was hair sprayed even darker for today and had a blue sheen to it when the light hit it just right.

Peter was now poking Patrick’s upper arm. “Hey, Hey, Hey. What’s with you? Come on. Look. Admit it. I look adorable. Runway ready.”

The wide eyed and frozen in surprise look shifted to a deadpan look by the time Peter looked.

“I’ll. . . Admit. This is more likely to not have anyone recognizing you.”

His chest swelled with pride and placed both hands on his hips as he scrunched his nose to have the glasses lifted more comfortably. He didn’t see it but there was a grin and softening of the his eyes that disappeared just as quickly.

“Now, if you will Peter, I believe they’re waiting for you outside. And do note that perhaps you should refrain from your. . . Impressionable grin, it’s distinct and isn’t often done on the streets in Gotham.”

Peter gave a nod. Gotham seemed rather dreary even his clothes, while dark and colorful also had this look of the color being washed out. Some how suiting the cloudy weather naturally. And smiling would probably make people look at you as if insane. He did wonder about the ‘distinct' smile.

‘I have no clue what he meant by that.’ Was the only thing he had decided on as the car Pamela and Harley drove in, appearing with perfect timing.

His jaw dropped and he saw a very amused Patrick slowly lifting his chin up. Harley must’ve seen it too as she had a glint in her eyes and smirk set firmly in place.

“Cool ride isn’t it, Jelly-Ben?”

He said nothing only walked up to the pale teal-green convertible and touched it reverently before his eyes glanced over to Isley.

“Electric powered?”

She had a smirk of her as she gave a small nod. It was modeled to match old fashioned convertibles but still had modern features and Peter was pretty sure he was falling in love.

“An' it’s even charged by solar, took a lot to get this bad gal to do that. Wit' how picky we’d been we fell in love with her at first sight.”

His head slowly turned to Patrick as his face settled into a deadpan expression.

“You’re not cool anymore, Patrick.”

He got a cackle and soft honey-like laugh and one disgruntled expression for his honesty. He slowly looked away from an expression he’d gladly etch into his memory and asked.

“You name her?”

Pamela had been the one to answer with a graceful pride.

“Nympha, as in the Greek nymphs.”

He hadn’t noticed his mutterings nor did he particularly care. “So cool.”

Perhaps Peter should have been paying more attention at the picture the three adults made. One with a ferocious smirk another coming from the person behind them on the other side of the car. While the last had his hands overlapped in his cane, head held high and a considering look. Mind running through ideas as quickly as he was perfecting them. There was one thing all threes eyes communicated.

‘It’s a challenge now.’

A smirk lengthened. “Come on, B-man. Don’t ya wanna go get that library card?”

With a mixture of excitement, reflexes and ingrained speed and ease Peter was suddenly sitting patiently in the passenger row. Momentary faces of surprise shifted to grins as Harley got into the driver seat.

‘For some reason I hadn’t expected that? Maybe it’s because Pamela seemed more likely to be the calm driver?’ he’d learn very quickly why Pamela much preferred the passenger seat.

He waved goodbye to Patrick as he heading back inside. As a small frown came over.

‘I didn’t ask why he wasn’t coming, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.’ The chatter in front carried him out of his stupor as he let himself relax to the wind rushing past him.

Tim was fidgeting with his long gone empty coffee cup. Looking at the ring on the kid back up to Bruce. He was switching between leaning on the desk to typing furiously and scribbling down notes.

“B, listen, I know it’s. . . Hectic with everything going on but even you need rest.” He walked forward as he nudged his shoulder.

He only got a huff in return, the part that sounded on the verge of pleading was shut down. He grabbed the crammed chair to his right over to his left as he set aside the cup. “Fine, what case are you working on now?”

The eyes, slowly and finally looked over to him as sat with his head held high, back straight and hands in his lap. It felt familiar. This dynamic, even though something flickered saying this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. He ignored it anyways, and felt relieved as Bruce gave a heavy look towards the watch and said on his slightly heavier voice.

“Seven. And we can both get some rest before patrol.”

He glanced at the bat computer. Half past four, he could deal with that and it was as good as he was gonna get.

Tim’s eyes digested the information. “The ‘Midnight Killers' rumors and sightings huh?” As he took a deep inhale, cracked his knuckles as he promptly worked on gathering through the calls made to the police, separating the audio files by length and opened the files about the rumors any of them encountered while kicking ass, taking names and snooping before the audio finished downloading. They could all joke about the dramatics but none could doubt the efficiency the computer system held.

His glanced at the next file of audio hastily sent over by O already set in the watchtower. Some of the notes lessened his faith to prioritize and whoever the obvious newbie named Jeffery was he had a bone to pick with.

Offense: Harassment, lurking and potential kidnapping and/or murder charges

Caller: Unknown

Location: Central, South Sprang

Time and date: July, 16, 17:53

Dispatcher: Thomas ‘Tommy’ Burke

By all means the description wasn’t that much different from the others one’s he’s read. But the notes caught his attention. The notes, sloppy and slightly disorganized. Showed the call was brief but gave them an appearance before being interrupted by shuffling and ultimately being disconnected.

There were likely a few other ones similar but Red Robin had his gut instinct. Even if it turns out to be nothing it’s another one to cross off the list. He fumbled with the tangled headphone wires, he wasn’t going to distract B if it was nothing important, after all.

Frightened mumblings were the for at thing he heard. A passing wish for the bats and the rambling of the streets she was on was the first thing he could make out. The flicker of a gun out of its holster was another. With how close he made the assumption it was from her. Two shots went off and a quiet, bewildered, “What?” Followed. He held his breath. A gasp was all he could hear until the clatter of the phone and the breaking of bone.

His throat felt like it was both choking and running dry simultaneously. The whisperings he heard, quiet. But there nonetheless, he rushed as he downloaded the file and modified it until the mutterings became clear and concise. He glanced over at B, still investigating the cross between locations, times and remnants Gordon had brought from some of the cases. Red Robin couldn’t have felt bad about distracting Batman. Not when they could finally get an idea of how to gain an advantage and the knowledge alone. . .

.

.

.

B had the headphones over his ears, matching his own, as he nodded to Red Robin and he clicked. The rustling was heard all the same, as was the snapping of what he was sure was the neck. Until the mumblings started, much clearer this time.

“Food is getting hard to sneak in. All because of that new leader.” A scoff till the sound of breathing turned into a rushing sound. Not one dissimilar to the rushing of blood in ones ears. The chills ran him cold once again. “And it’s all because they can’t keep their wits together. Heir this. Heir that. Hunting some random kid down. I’m not a fucking search dog!”

The returning bite was harsher and his stomach felt sick every time he heard the forcing of muscles and veins, the pressure put upon them as he drained human life as if it was nothing more than food.

He could practically feel the eyes focus on the no longer forgotten phone. A rush of wind and the voice was closer “oops, this should get rid of it, right?” the crunching and crushing of glass and plastic only existed for less than a second before it cut off.

Bruce’s eyes were set, a hard and determined look as he said. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who the heir is.”

Tim gave a brisk nod. His mind was running through ideas and he had no doubt Bruce’s was too. They could use this, the information. . .this was enough to make a plan.

Peter finally understood why they decided on only going out after four p.m, at first he was sure it was unnecessary. Surely with Ms. Isley's, Harley's reputation, they’d be safe. And most of Gotham would be indoor by that time. In the corner of his eyes he saw Pamela glance towards the rear view mirror. He did the same and their gazes met. And almost as if reading his mind.

“As long as it’s light out Gothamites generally consider it safe. The criminals here are mostly nocturnal.”

Haley let out a cackle “An' not to mention Bats. Him and his crew of hyperactive birds and bats.”

“How many are there anyways? The number or robins and bat girls always seems to be constantly changing.”

Pamela was the one to answer. “Probably around Five to seven, excluding Batman himself.”

“Yowzers. How in the world does he organize all of that?”

“Yeesh, probably a whole lotta Caffeine, Jelly-Ben.”

The nickname felt almost like when May would tease him with her own nicknames. He did feel marginally guilty that they still called him Ben. But he figured he should get used to it.

He was interrupted by a swerve to his left and watched as Harley dodged it like it was easier than breathing. Although someone came to a stop much to quickly for anyone’s preference. The woman with a brown bob stuck her head out.

“Oh my gosh, I like, love your car. Honestly so cool. Love the painted vines on the car doors by the way.”

Harley gave a quick compliment on her haircut and the bumper sticker which promptly read. ‘The Joker can suck my balls.’

Which was of course, very ballsy. So was the way they were carrying on a conversation like the light in front wasn’t green and like that quick stop wasn’t possibly dangerous. His eyes and head followed when a car in a lane; perpendicular and to the right didn’t just make a turn that was decidedly, not legal.

Looking at the cars around all doing various things he couldn’t help the lengthy sigh.

When they started moving after two enthusiastic waves, on a red light of course. Peter jumped to the most important question right now.

“So, what’s the best thing on the Bat burger menu? Or are we doing the library first?”

“Food after books always tastes best. An' getting grease on library books is a world class crime.”

He nodded sagely, running red lights is worrisome but okay. But getting greasy fingers on books? Now that was where he had to draw the line. He said so. They all agreed with solemn nods.

They pulled up to the library and he didn’t notice that half the car was practically on the sidewalk.

‘No I didn’t. Nope.’

And he was to focused on resisting the urge to be jumping up and down. Not that he was doing a very good job.

His eyes trailed upwards. It felt like his eyes were just going up and up until he looked around and realized the architecture of Gotham City. He knew he realized it before but there was something beautiful about seeing so much of it for yourself. The cream color buildings, the cracked sidewalks, paired with the eighteenth century street lamps. The gargoyles that looked down at you. The inconceivable character it held.

He was distracted by the figures moving ahead of him as he followed his guides into the library.

He struggled not to marvel at the insides. The ceiling seemed to go on as floors filled with bookshelves repeated until you reached the ceiling decorated with chandeliers. Miss Isley seemed to look back with an understanding expression so did Harley after she noticed their pause.

He wasn’t sure what Harley’s favourite topic is but he hopes that Isley could show him around the science sections. Biology and Chemistry have many ties and from their finding a section about nanotechnology and engineering here shouldn’t be too hard.

His feet were going to start bouncing until he decided to walk forwards.

Beautiful, green soft skin touched his upper back as she leaned down. “I’ll show you around the different sections.”

His nod could only be described as earnest. He followed them to the reception desk.

‘Oh right, I have to get a library card first.’

Harley rung the now gently ringing bell as a few seconds passed by and a amiable woman with soft brown hair came out of the back room. He saw a glance of someone else in there. With long red hair and a wheelchair.

The lady with brown hair ‘Drusilla' her name tag read. Gave a polite “What can I do for you?” to both Isley and Harley. Seeing the unsurprised reaction he imagined they visited often enough.

Isley grabbed the sides of his shoulders and pushed him forwards. He gave an stilted smile. “We’re here to get a library card for this guy.”

She gave a tense smile back. ‘Yeah, they definitely didn’t do common greetings here.’

“Great, I’ll just need his and a guardians ID card and then I can get the consent forms out.”

Peter tried not to show the fact that he froze. Or that he glanced between the two. After what felt like forever but couldn’t have been more than a second Harley stamped down two passport ID's onto the desk. And all over Peter was cursing Patrick.

‘He really does just conveniently forget to mention anything about my papers.’

Drusilla took the passports and glanced at them far shorter while doing it a hundred times more critically. ‘Would it really matter if it was faked or not here?’

A half signed form was pushed in front of him. Reaching for the pen his thoughts were rushing a mile a minute. ‘What name do I put on? Ugh, giving a fake name is really coming to bite me.’

All too quickly Benjamin Parker was written in the margins and with the line in the middle being left for last. What should he even write there? Was Peter too telling? Was he being paranoid it’s a library card. The pen scraped across the paper with a mind of its own and ‘Richardson' was what filled the empty space. The papers were taken to the back as she went to assumedly finish whatever was needed.

Harley passed him his passport and with a faux calmness the glanced at the card still there before putting it in his pocket.

‘Benjamin Richardson Peter Parker. Nonetheless I’m still ripping Patrick a new one when I get home.’

Internally letting out a sigh of relief he couldn’t have noticed the glance Pamela and Harley shared. The one that spoke of promises of future conversations.

.

.

.

Peter now felt like a bouncing ball following Isley. Harley had opted to staying on the first floor where most of the tables were are she brought out her own book. She guided him up to the third floor.

“I heard from Patrick about your ability to keep up with him. The ones on the first and second floor are all well but I have a feeling that you’ll like the ones on the third floor as well.”

“Thanks Miss. Isley, Hope I can prove both of you right.”

He was particularly curious for when he brought books that for once Patrick won’t know all about.

“Call me Pamela, I haven’t heard the words ‘Ms. Isley' since I was in school.”

He figured she meant University, but nonetheless he nodded.

“So, Ms. Pamela. What kinda topics does it have?”

Mostly out of necessity but also curious for something else. A slight eye roll was what made him show a sly smile.

“Pamela, Ben.”

In the next minute he was glad she had never answered his question. There was no hiding his gaze, wanting to absorb every title, every book and already contemplating which ones to take home.

He absently heard Ms- Pamela talking about being at that table over there and he managed to turn around to give her some nods. The moment Pamela’s back was turned he descended like a creature on the books.

[Which is quite humorous, considering no one knew all the creatures that ravaged the night, especially the ones that lurked in Gotham.]

Pamela, as he would from now on feel honored to call her dropped him right off in the engineering aisle. He saw a glimpse of her through the shelves that she was sitting at a table some twenty feet away with her own book.

He suddenly felt like he was teleporting from row to row with a new book. He already had five, one on advanced mathematics, system engineering, modern nanotechnology (at least here), physical chemistry and thermodynamics and last but not least a book on AI engineering. It’d be difficult but he’s sure paired with his own knowledge he can recreate Karen.

The suit was broken and her servers along with it, not even mentioning how being transported to another world away from any of the former networks to access all gone and stripped away. Still, sometimes the suit can cover a hand or two for a few seconds before sputtering out.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and steeled himself. ‘I can do this.’ Looking down at his bundle of books in admittedly arms that was struggling to hold the size and weight of all of them, he wondered.

“How many books can I even borrow?”

“You can borrow up to six, although it can depend on the worth of the book and if you need authorization from the head librarian.”

He turned around before she had even finished saying ‘borrow' it was a quite honestly, pretty woman, with long red hair. She was the one from the room in the back he realized. Confused he looked around. Seeming to pluck his thoughts from his brain.

“There’s an elevator on the other side. I happen to like greeting new customers.”

His face grew hot as he ducked his head down. “Sorry, I was just wondering-“

“How I got up here?” She tilted her own head, he noticed it seemed purposeful and. . . Kinder in a way. The hair brushing her shoulder made it noting like his or Patrick’s teasing. Her calm persona broke as a small smile came.

“Do you like giving new guests heart attacks?”

The smile turned into a smirk. “Perhaps.”

The tenseness from the initial surprise faded even as he saw her smirk widen. She rolled back her wheelchair so he could exit the aisle.

“I’m Barbara, by the way. Those are some heavy books you got there.”

It wasn’t likely she was talking about the weight.

The snicker that followed made Peter feel a sense of mortification that was entirely his own. Mumbling out a small ‘sorry' before he oh so swiftly changed the one sided conversation.

“Um, uh yeah, me and Patrick, uh, kinda like my uncle are kinda- um well we’re nerds I guess?”

He cringed, 'way to go Ben. Kinda like my uncle? Way to sound suspicious. My Thor, talk to the first normal person after all that crazy life-altering shit and way to go mess it up.’

Predictably she raised a brow. “Kind of like your uncle? Are you related?”

He nodded “Same last name and everything.” That wasn’t even a lie. “Just. . . I didn’t really know about him before.”

Her head lifted up for a bit in that understanding ‘ah' expression that for some reason old dads were particularly fond of. Peter couldn’t help the weird thought that passed through his head. ‘She must have a stable father figure.’ You can’t blame him though, even he hadn’t expected that.

“Erm, sorry. That was a lot. But I am hoping I can check out all these books?” he tried to raise up his arms cradling them to his chest but it only made some of them slip out. He pulled them tighter as he shifted them with a hand as quickly as he could before cradling them again.

“Yes, of course you can. Is this your first time here? That’s a New York accent isn’t it?”

He was back standing in the Iceberg lounge as the man in the gas mask turned around and walked away as he commented on it. 'Threatened' He smiled again.

“Yeah, it is. To both questions.”

“Well, I can check out those books for you.”

He followed her to the elevator and looked at the table Pamela had been sitting at, she wasn’t here anymore. But he figured he’d see her back downstairs.

As the elevator doors opened onto the first floor he saw Harley and Pamela reading at the same table. Peter glanced back over to- Barbara. Perhaps he should have thought this through some more. But even now he couldn’t see any other option. He just hoped either way this went it wouldn’t cause trouble. Neither for him or for Pamela and Harley.

He knew of their reputation, and of their crimes. The first librarian couldn’t have been avoided if he actually wanted to visit the library again. And besides. . . It could bring unwanted attention to all three of them.

‘Considering it’s Gotham and everything that’s happened before and since. I’d very much prefer to stick to the shadows.’

“Benjamin right? I saw it on your library card in the back. Sorry, just realizing how-“

“Creepy that can sound? It’s fine, it makes sense. And yeah, sorry for not introducing myself. And Benjamin is kind of a mouthful, you can just call me Ben.” Readjusting the books in his arm once again, his arms feeling tired from carrying something that used to be so light was messing with his head. He settled the books on the counter as Barbara rolled behind the desk.

“How you getting used to Gotham?” With perfect timing a car sped down the road, honks, horns and angry shouts following. A police car chasing not far behind. He turned back with an appeasing grin.

“She’s a real beaut.”

A scoff rang out “You don’t know the half of it.” As she finished setting up the computer and the scanner ready she held her hand out. He pulled his brand new library card out of his only slightly older hoodie.

She set to scanning, “By the way, considering you’re in Gotham now you need to have a favourite bat.” Pausing dramatically and leaning forward in her chair. “It’s a legal obligation, Ben.”

A sly grin spread across his face, “A legal obligation you say? Well considering it’s Gotham I think I can get away with it just this once.”

Shaking her head solemnly, “Nope, this is the one rule all mostly legal abiding citizens follow. You’d either be committing or admitting to a crime otherwise.”

He gave a weary sigh “Well, I don’t plan on admitting to any crimes now. Especially since I haven’t even started my mastermind plot yet, but I’m so new. Surely I can get an extended due date tIll the next time I visit? Just this once?” He clasped his hands together and conveyed, pleading, begging puppy as much as he could.

He practically clung onto every word she said. She breathed a sigh. “Well. . . I’d usually say no dice. But I suppose. . .” seemingly giving him a considering glance. “Well, I suppose since you’re new I can wait until the next time you visit.”

She finished stacking his books to the side, his library card on top. Hands still on the sides of the stack she leaned forward diagonally to appear behind the books and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“If, of course, you tell me what your mastermind plan is?”

He looked to the side as he tapped on his lower lip, eyebrows lightly furrowed. “Well. . . I hear the bats don’t give out autographs. And well I obviously can't pick an absolute favorite until I at least see one. . .”

He looked back to her. “So maybe stealing a batarang from as many bats as I can?”

She gasped and leaned back letting out a hushed, “Scandalous. How ever will you manage it?”

He crossed his arms and nodded. “Yes, very much so. And I’m afraid I must not tell you. Wouldn’t that take away the surprise after all?” While he dragged the books to the edge, putting the card in his pocket she nodded woefully.

“I do fear it would. I suppose I shall have to wait till the day if so.”

He hefted the books into his arms, “Well, goodbye Miss. Barbara, I’ll make sure to have an answer for my then favourite next time I visit.”

Another solemn nod as he walked slowly backwards towards the doors. “I shall wait till the day, Mr. Ben.”

With a grin he turned and walked the rest of the way, pushing the door open. And when he had turned his head to the side during their little chat he saw Harley give him an animated thumbs up as she made various gestures. Predictably, parked not too far from the library and still on the ‘probably should not be parked on side of the curb'.

.

.

Some number of yelling at terrible Gotham drivers that quite frankly took his mind off. . . most things. It was also about as relaxing as one could get while out in Gotham. Even Pamela joined in on yelling at a particularly obnoxious man. He was red from yelling and was viciously pointing and gesturing with a hand that held a beer can. Until of course, Harley dealt it back tenfold. 

“WHY DONTCHA FUCK OFF PAL! OTHERWISE I’LL FIND A WAY TO MAKE SURE YOU CAN'T DRINK AND DRIVE PERMANENTLY!”

Which wow. He spared a few seconds to clap mentally.

“NOT DRINKING AND DRIVING I’M JUST SIPPIN' -THEM COPS AIN’T EVER-“

A tense few seconds pass by he can see Harley straightening herself, she took a deep breath-

“AREN’T YA THAT CLOWN CHICK? YA KNOW I THOUGHT SHE WAS ONE FINE PIECE-“

“THAT’S IT!”

He scurried out of the way as she walked across the back seat and tossed something into his car even he didn’t see. Less than two seconds later his car was covered in pink glitter. Inside and out.

“DON’T YA DRINK AND DRIVE YA BASTARD. OTHERWISE THE NEXT ONES GOING UP YOUR FAT CREASED ASS!”

Peter slowly panned to the other side of the street. Gothamites weren’t stopping to watch. Not exactly, but the slow walking and subtly, (blatantly) staring didn’t help.

Pamela gave two quick, awkward knee pats.

He also looked away when Harley pulled out batarangs. From who knows where but he decided questioning Harley can be done at a later time as she flung them into his tires.

‘Plausible denyability.’ His brain whispered.

“YA COULD GET SOMEONE KILLED! SIT IN YOUR TIME OUT CORNER LIKE A GOOD DOG!”

Surprisingly that seemed to subdue him. He glanced through the car window down at his tires before his eyes blearily blinked and laid back his head. Peter felt a little bad when what was clearly a mugger was already making their way toward the car. Just a little.

.

.

.

He had a little skip to his step as they wandered into Bat Burger. He pretended to not see Pamela and Harley’s amused glances, nor the glances of the customers as they glanced over at the power couple in front of him.

After that eventful incident, that of course evidently didn’t happen. The fun and interesting event although he didn’t remember it well.

Harley skipped forwards and started listing off her order to the slightly wide eyed worker with eye bags that could warrant a visit to the hospital. The worker with the pixie cut with a strand of purple running through it eventually retreated back to her unamused stare.

For some inexplicable reason Peter related.

When Harley finished ordering her BatBurger and fries. ‘Also shaped like bats, wow they’re really going into it.’ And when asked of she would like to jokerize her fries she replied with.

“Drown them with it.” With a glare that made Peter feel a little nervous.

Meanwhile Pamela turned her head to look down at him. ‘And my Thor, I’m really short now aren’t I? At least Patrick’s couldn’t be classified as tall. Wait? Could he? Does him looking like a stick combat the tallness?’

“We figured eating at Robinson Park would have a nicer view. And it’s on the way.”

He gave a nod. That sounded nice and he glances outside. The sun was still out but he figures slowly making there would be safer. The sunset was pretty but in Gotham it also felt ominous.

“Whatcha want kid?”

“The Night-wings and fries.” He leaned over to Harley. “Is the Jokerized fries any good?”

She gave a cheeky smile. “Tastes delicious and like vengeance.”

He turned back to the worker. “With the Jokerized seasoning, please and thanks.”

Harley turned back and holding two fingers up said “Oh! And two medium sized sodas.”

He caught onto her bright red hair, wondering, she’s not going to order anything? Catching his gaze she leaned down and whispered not so quietly conspiratorially. “I’m not a fan of their salad.”

His eyes went over to their salad and caught on to the salad. He had caught onto it before but now he could enjoy the humor came with it.

He looked at her and with the most serious face he could muster. “Maybe you should take up a complaint.” He nodded his head regretfully as he began his 'mustering' pose with a lean on a leg and a tapping rhythm on his chin.

She patted his hair. “Be careful there we don’t need another person trying to take control of Gotham because of a salad.”

He glared back to the menu item and narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”

She ruffled his hair, drawing her hand back before setting it down again. Ruffling it more as Harley came back with a big bag as Pamela looked towards Harley.

“Are you seeing this? It’s so fluffy.”

Peter who previously had a confused face glanced to the customers not so subtly watching the whole thing.

At seeing Harley inquisitive look with a hand now free and reaching, he turned towards the door. Sliding through as fast as he could and walked over to the car and set himself down in the back seat.

Pamela and Harley followed out afterwards with smirks on their faces. And yes, he had his arms crossed but he most definitely wasn’t pouting. And the weather’s still warm, that’s why his ears feel like they’re running hot.

Bruce and Tim had worked through the time when they were supposed to rest. Not even glancing at the time until the rest came down to get ready for Patrol.

Cass and Stephanie had taken a look at them and nodded. Stephanie seemingly speaking for the both of them.

“We’ll can both cover you so you two can get off early. After that you both have to fill us in when Dick visits tomorrow. Oracle said something about him having new information too.”

Red Robin and Batman started getting ready for patrol along with the others, leaving the Batcave. Even as their minds and thoughts were left behind with the work and hastily scrawled plans and ideas with the reports on that desk.

Signal entered the Batcave as he came back from his own patrol, taking his helmet off and shoulders sagging. Batman’s asking for report seemed second nature to all of them. Even Signal was getting used to it. They all made logs with audio and cameras but there were things not everyone could quite see.

Take Spoilers skill at puzzles, Orphan's ability to read people. And for an even better example, now.

Duke turned serious, “My ability activated on its own. I thought some crook was going to pop out but there dozens of shadows moving along the streets. It was something that hasn’t happened yet.”

His explanation was awkward and they all knew he didn’t need to fill in the gaps. He continued with a hand rubbing at his nape. “I didn’t want to bother Oracle with her being so busy.”

B gave a nod and a hand on his shoulder. “Leave a report on the desk. We’ll talk about time tomorrow. Rest, and next time if you don’t want to bother Oracle the comms leave a message on the batcomputer.”

His slightly clenched jaw relaxed as he gave a nod and walked to the Batcomputer and Batman’s eyes met Orphans and Spoilers, by far the most encouraging of the group.

But the statement only bore even more questions and even though his patrol hadn’t even started he was already thinking about what to do afterwards. The gloves settled against his skin as he placed on the mask. Suddenly his eyes caught onto the two batgirls. One had a very obvious smirk and he had a feeling Orphan did too as they all lined up behind the weathered duct tape. Despite all the stress and worry he felt he couldn’t stop the small smile that spread across.

They all felt the rush from the tips of their hair to their blood and bones, even before they ran.

It was another nightmare.

He had woken up gasping and sweating with Patrick sitting there just last time. His throat itched and crescents were Imbedded into his lower palms. Eyes staring unmoving from his hands as he was filled with helplessness. Flashes of wounds deeper and larger healing faster than the unchanging wound in front of him.

A cup of water came into view. He forced his eyes over. It wasn’t just water he realized. The tea bag sticking out had a tab scrawled ‘chamomile'.

His hands reached out for the mug only for his hand to shoot back. His fingertips burned hot he caught onto the gloved hand that held the mug. He was wearing them with gray trousers a dark green collared shirt and an awry black vest.

Fluttered blinks as he took a deep breath and another and another before he felt, ironically lighter at realizing what Patrick had done.

“Did it really have to be so hot?”

“In my defense, I was worried about it growing cold.”

He had to admit that it had shocked him from his daze. He pulled his hoodie over his hand as he grasped the mug handle first. It was an Aquaman themed one, something he’d realized a little slowly. It’s still one of his favourites. He held onto the cup as the heat filtered through the hoodie as neither said anything.

‘There really isn’t much to say.’ It wasn’t something to feel angry or awkward about. It was just a matter of fact.

The cup slowly turning warm in his hands and Patrick occasionally switched from thinking to picking at non-existent lint off his clothes. He pushed the mug to his chest, a practiced routine. Patrick watched the motion and the silence was waiting to be broken.

“I don’t know why it’s bothering me now of all times.”

His witness seemed to hesitate, contrary to his ever-calming voice.

“I think its likely because your- because you feel safer and have time to relax.”

Peter has heard this before. Something along the lines as he gave a small nod. It was perhaps a bit more of a rhetorical question but he rarely let’s a question go unanswered and Peter appreciated the attempt at comfort nonetheless.

He brought the tea to his lips and poured it down his throat even though it was still hot. The scowl on his face from the lack of sugar or honey gave him something to do.

Patrick sighed at his antics, he seemed to study him for a moment, contemplating. Peter looked to the side, he didn’t want to go downstairs. He felt to tired to do anything.

“Would you prefer sugar or honey?”

The smile Peter gave a tense, pitiful attempt but he said ‘honey' all the same. The cup was gently taken from his hands and he left the door open as he left. Looking towards the window, he still hasn’t asked for the numbers to unlock it and he doesn’t think Patrick would say anything if he took a screw driver from the lab.

He still found he didn’t want to. The sky outside was beautiful, if it held that quiet loneliness that early morning seem to hold a specific brand of.

It was feather light gray and blue dusting the sky with the yellow rays not yet able to warm the window sill.

Lonely moments passed where he watched the sunlight slowly spread across the sill until it caused the floor to glow golden. He heard the steady creaking of Patrick’s footsteps.

He held out his hands for the now reheated cup that tasted sweeter. He took a couple swallows as he rested it back against his lap.

As the smell of Chamomile and the taste of honey brought him a memory ingrained into his heart.

Dragging him into that warm home, not house, but home. Where brewing tea with honey and cinnamon stood on the counter.

“You know I’m not particularly religious Peter. But I can’t let go of the idea of souls. That it isn’t just our brains and experiences who dictate who we are but maybe a tiny glowing light inside each of us.”

He couldn’t help the wide eyed look he had after, or the welling up of tears, it hadn’t been long after Ben had died or when he donned that crappy spider-man suit. And since then…

Since then Peter thought he had believed in souls too, now he’s not even sure he wants to. He’s afraid of the answer.

‘Because what if I don’t even have the same one?’

“Hey Patrick?”

He got a soft, questioning hum in response.

“What’s that theory? The one where the parts are all switched out and people wonder if it’s still the same thing?”

“The Ship of Theseus.”

“Do you still think it’s still the same? Even after everything’s changed?”

Patrick stopped the peeling of an orange Peter pushed from his mind as he waiting for an answer. Patrick’s tilted head as the orange was forgotten in his own hands. “Not everything has changed in that theory.”

The world felt just a bit calmer as he spoke. The voice sounding familiar and smooth as he continued his words with the elegant truthfulness he had.

“The memories still there, the history and stories it’s seen, that no one can take away are the things that create the past, present and eventually, future. And as much as one can lie about the past and hide it one can change it.” His gaze bore into him. “No one can take away the history it shares Peter.”

‘Patrick seems to know just what to say. I just wish I knew what to believe.’ There was a flash of green in the corner of his eye as he turned to look into Patrick’s eyes as he slowly let a smile across his face. It was small and it was heavy, but there was a sort of ease in the action. ‘Maybe, just this time I can believe more of what Patrick says than what I would.’

And as an afterthought as he was handed an orange slice, he decided.

‘It’s not so hard to believe in him.’

*

He held a hand out, offering the orange slice. As it was gently pried from his hand he froze. Stilling in mid air as he withheld showing any reaction.

 ‘Looking back, would I have even been able to?’

Peter’s eyes flashed, oh so brightly as his fingers brushed against his own. His eyes flicked upwards as they locked onto the random pulsing of green in his eyes.

Admittedly, when he first came face to face with those eyes, he thought they were brighter, more vivid than most shades of green.

But then as they had brushed hands and the motion of offering another piece was muddled in the back of his mind. He thought, then, just then, they glowed.

Chapter Text

Edward waved goodbye and was watching as the car turned away and eventually fell out of sight as the colors grew dimmer in Gotham's everlasting fog.

He could imagine going to the library with Peter. Or simply someplace smaller, a place where he’d still be recognized. But wasn’t that what threats and blackmail were for? Walking into a small bookshop with the smell of old paper around them as he made suggestions. Maybe even vice-versa, or walking to a tech pawn shop and seeing who made the grander ideas for what they’d gotten.

The small smile faded, cane turning slightly in his grip before turning back into the house.

He could forgive himself, it’s beneficial for both of them. The door closing with a light push and he slid his hand up the door frame as his gaze rested heavy on the locks.

They were all standard, ordinary, essential. To everyone living in Gotham especially. The microscopic cameras, motion sensors, thermal imaging, and hidden gas canisters less so. As well as few other. . . Knick knacks.

‘It has less of that cold, abandoned and empty sensation I hadn’t even realized I assumed would always be there until it wasn’t.’

Ringing in his head was the sticks soft click every time it hit the floor. Walking down into his office or ‘lab' as it was now called. turning away from the computers on the wall across the stairs, he slid a small part of the wall to the left.

Absentmindedly removing the gloves as scanners were followed by the sliding open of the wall. The door opened a room even larger than the previous one, with the door being off-center, making an ‘L' shape.

Before what this room held was assurance. Of plans and ideas that all fell behind. Now its anticipation, curiosity and perhaps a shred of impatience. Energy seemed to flow in his blood, he feels it thrumming under his skin. To create, to build something anew and make it stronger and improved until it was impassable.

Much like the little bird he’s taken under his wing.

Peter seems to affy him now. However little and he would deign to bemoil that trust.

‘I can make him a part of it, show him parts of it, slivers at first of course.’ A smile stretched across his skin at the soft velvet of his gloves brushing against his hands. As the door closed behind him he propped his cane against it. He readjusted his gloves as the lights turned on automatically.

The yellow light lit up the almost hall shaped room. The main computers and monitors at the end of the elongated room. The others with scrawled paper, books and ink. Underneath the tables held even more pages and scrolls of blueprints. However for all the pride and recognition those accomplishments and plans brought him he turned to the small table to his right against the wall of which he entered.

He stood in front of it as he glided his fingers gently across the small cluttered desk. The one written in unintelligible scrawls but Peter can deal with trying to imitate that perfect calligraphy he uses outside.

It was written on cream colored pages of a leather bound journal, for when he'd like to share this journal. When Peter is ready, and safe enough to keep it.

He moved away from the table as he walked to the computers at the end of the room. The papers neatly tucked beside it were the police reports for both the up and quickly downed ‘Hush' and ‘Mad Hatter'. With, of course his current guess on how far the big bad bat has gotten in his own research.

He left only the clues to decipher, being careful about not leaving even a stray hair behind. He’s not even sure how many question marks he’s left about.

His eye twitching. ‘If I even think about Question Man one more time, or hear another mention of him he’s dead. I’ve left him alone but if he steals even a scrap of my schtick-'

Pushing himself off from leaning against the table.

“I’m fairly certain they can’t legally pin on it me. As long as I didn’t leave my trademark anywhere? Did I?”

He couldn’t bother to think about it further. ‘Not when things would be coming together for the Bat. Or that smart robin. Or is it ‘Rogue Robin'? There’s a purple one too, what was her name again? Susan? Sasha? It had an ‘S' and her last name starts with a ‘B’. And I distinctly remember it being a color. Black? No, Brown. Susan Brown.’

Shaking his head and exhaling.

The second display was far better than ‘Hush' he’ll admit. He’s new to the whole ‘justice crusade' theme and he has a fair share of ideas and experiments he’d like to try out.

Mad Hatter was far more fulfilling. Pouring the blood of several others in the Hatters own was both satisfying and calming. It spread akin to that of pouring paint. The red glistening lightly in the moonlight.

The smile slipped off his face.

‘The way he died, however; I’ll always take joy in how it was much like the way they did. It made it all the more joyous when the light faded from his eyes. Killed with disregard, useless, worthless and helpless. I hope that’s all he felt in the last moments. It had been difficult to arrange. I can admit that, but the execution was simple. Inviting him to tea came as a surprise to him but when he offered knowledge on certain shadows moving through the night.’

He enjoyed it, the dressing up as night arose. The fixing of the suit as he headed to the hovel he called a home. The small apartment door creaking open as he glanced at all the tea cups, hats, rabbit images, clocks and mirrors. He had smiled at that the location already planned out. The Bats would arrive at the right time, the chemical reaction for the Willemite to glow would be setting in around the block of time he needed.

He stepped into the home at the near cowering figure. ‘It was a good act even then, I could’ve been convinced if I hadn’t know.’ Mad Hatter rushing forth to the table, hat teetering. As he poured the tea The Riddler pulled out his chair. The silver-blue moon light filtering in from the window over the side of the table set the scene perfectly. His eyes were sensitive to light so he really didn’t mind. But it was late and most wouldn’t be able to see much at all.

Sitting down finally as the tea cup was set in front of him, steaming pleasantly. ‘Still to call attention to it would imply distrust and break the balance. Luckily, he’ll find I’m more than willing to play along.’

A gloved hand holding the fragile handle, turning the cup this way and that he thinks he can make out the outline of a rabbit. Faintly shimmering in the center was a silver sugar bowl. The tongs and spoons the same material. He doesn’t bother taking off his gloves as he stirs the dredges.

‘Sugar simply just ruins it, honey makes it smoother. Less saccharine in taste.’

He sipped as he waiting for-

“Y- ehem. You’re worried about the rumors as well?”

‘Ah, it seems we'll be taking this the long way around.’ He paused the amused smile trying to stretch. A clink sounded, teacup on the saucer as he looked at the hesitant man before him.

“I’d hardly call it rumors, when Crime Alley itself has seen a massive drop in crime. Petty crooks disappearing without a trace. And perhaps I’d say less worried. Curious, maybe.”

This part wasn’t his strong suit, adding to the tone of ones voice. He didn’t put much in his voice, the suggestiveness. The one that made one think without any other words that they held this secret thought together.

He saw as Mad Hatters shoulders straightened, just barely and still hunched over the table but held himself firmer.

Riddler raised the teacup back up. ‘It was enough.’

His opposite began adding sugar cubes to his tea, the smell of Earl Grey softly permeating the room. The other didn’t seem inclined to speak so he went on.

“It’s interesting truly, how for once Crime Alley has reached- a lull it seems. And not one of the citizens has gone missing as long as they’re not getting up to trouble on the streets.”

“It could make one question their motives.”

He looked up from his gloves into the opposing eyes.

“Yes, it does.”

How he hates that green.

“I’m hearing about a possible recruitment plan.”

He resisted tilting his head, he thought they were being rather tight-knit in that regard. Less people more food to go around. Mad Hatter could be lying.

He slipped the small disc from his pocket.

“Seems like a risky move, especially if becomes more widespread.”

The hat teetered forward, a light shake as he nodded.

“I imagine they’ll find a careful balance between the two, whoever is in charge seems competent.”

The tea was growing colder, the moonlight fading as it was almost over the brim of the window. He slipped the disc on the table.

“Inexperience can be dangerous thing, especially for one I’ve heard is far younger than usual.”

Mad Hatter didn’t care much for his words.

‘Always too assured and certain in his own safety and plans. It would be his downfall.’

He resisted the urge to smile at the last thought. He did feel bad about borrowing Peter’s project. But it’s a precaution, if he were to find out he’s sure he’d forgive him.

Mad Hatter seemed to finish contemplating his words, setting the cup back into the saucer. “He has those to make up for his lack of it.”

“A threat on both sides, one to abuse power and the other familiar with the patterns of it.”

The words he spoke fell into the background as he slipped the sphere into the luckily- refilled cup. Although the table looked undisturbed, it was a bizarre effect. Seeing nothing there while knowing there is. Mad Hatter simply hummed as he took a sip of the tea, almost uttering something before a slight falter.

Edward took a sip of his own tea, frowning. He disliked the milk, it ruined the taste. But the notes underneath it seemed like good tea leaves.

“Is this some kind of revenge? I heard about your little lover, but I’m pretty sure we didn’t trafficking her. Yet I can’t imagine why you’d spike my drink with the same drug we use.”

He adjusted his collar and tie before standing up. Looking over the figure on the opposite side if the table.

“You didn’t, no. I did it mostly because of the other people you’ve done it to. And I was curious as to how quickly you’d recognize it.”

“Then your plan failed, Edward.”

He set his hand on the disc, the small, almost inaudible click drawing his attention as it flickered out. Mad Hatter turning his head towards him, before he jumped out of his chair. Around them, with the particles just barely catching the light was a gas moving though the room. It was a light blue, although Mad Hatter would likely never see it clearly enough.

“The drink wasn’t a distraction per day, although it was a convenient side. I mostly wanted you to become familiar with it, as you’ll die much like they did.”

Tetch's hat fell as he continued to glare, he saw the shaking of legs as he shifted from side to side. His arms were still as they held himself on the table. Likely not want to make it run faster through his bloodstream by moving them.

“Although, I’m not doing this just for ‘turning over a new leaf’. No, I'll admit killing you, it’ll nudge the bats in the right direction.”

Jervis Tetch’s hand inched back, reaching for his hatchet.

As his disguise as cowering and inquisitive Mad Hatter turned into violent and infuriated. His eyes glowed red and swung it towards his neck.

Riddler noticed from perhaps the first moment he had opened the door the color of those eyes. Despite Mad Hatter’s ugly face, seemingly too small for the already large teeth he had. The ugliest thing by far what bore with the pretense it knew more than The Riddler himself.

Those eyes weren’t just green, no they were muddled, with brown and blue. A remarkable feature, and yet they were beady. At the narrowing of them they were too small. Yet now, contorted with rage and futile struggles they were too large. His musings came to a decisions.

‘Yes I know what it is now. They’re rather like a rat’s.’

As Mad Hatter's swing came to an end he couldn’t help the smirk, regardless to if he could even see it. The hatchet blade shaking with force as Edward had his thumb and index finger precariously holding the blade.

At the stupor he received he assured. “Don’t worry, I’m not a vampire like you. Although the insinuation I could join was nothing short of amusing. You see-“

The black glove tensing minutely as pieces of the silver blade fell to the ground. A soft chime as he stepped forward to the barely upright figure.

“My gloves? Well they’re rather something special, made by small pieces I was given. Something my -well let’s call him my apprentice-, had.”

The gas had continued to surround the cheaply clothes figure, this canister almost empty. The sight reminded him.

“Oh, and this smoke you see?” The air weaving through his fingers as it was softly held for a moment his hand. “You inspired it truly, as well as the concentrated version. It’s just a couple of paralytic drugs and a quick sedative. You’ll wake soon enough. With a switch to only the paralytics.”

The snarl from the kneeling figure from below him was truly worthy of being remembered. And as both a knife he held in his boot and his now uncovered fangs came for both of his legs. One hand went to encompass the knife in his hand while the other grabbed the face by the sides of his mouth.

“Ah, none of that now.”

He ignored the thin but long cut the knife was making on his leg. As the blade burst in the tensing of his hand. The handle being dropped on instinct by the cowering man, no longer pretending. He set both of his hand on the disgracing face, pushing up the upper lip.

“Admittedly when I first started hearing of the vampires I was prepared to have my expectations destroyed. The fangs, drinking blood and enhancements all seemed far too much like a children’s story for me.”

Tilted the head to and fro as he idly put pressure here and there. Finally on the gums behind the canines the even shorter than normal pair of teeth lengthened. And the front buck shaped teeth had sharpening points on them.

“But what do you know. Now I know for certain instead of mere speculation.”

The empty words ran through the room, possibly directed to the already unconscious man.

Patrick shook his head as he gripped the table, grounding himself from out the memory. He was smiling perhaps a bit too sweetly than normal for what his memory was. Although he can’t regret it.

He devoured the deep inhale of the calm night. Even more so with the Vampires still stalking Crime Alley, spreading it’s grip a bit farther into the other districts. Even without taking a step outside the still air seemed to perverse every corner regardless. ‘I have precautions in place of course, even while I doubt I’ll need them.’ Leaning his head back with the blue prints on the ceiling in view. It was where he started to ponder the most and would eventually remember the ideas.

He did away with some of the blood but the pouring of two other men’s blood the accomplices was just as well.

Tugging on the gloves, the leather stretching taut over. He looked over the sketch of the butterfly, Reilly. The kid seemed to have developed a hobby, although it always seemed to take a photographer standpoint.

“That’s an idea.”

The kid seemed to like arachnids especially but he’s seen a variety of bugs being drawn and stuck around. Black widows, are most common and a variation of ants and wasps, occasionally paired together. Plants, the empire state building and one of a sandwich deli with a nice emphasis on lighting.

Well, if it reminds him of home and he likes the theme. Well it’d be rude not to build on that. Besides he seems to be fond of Reilly, why wouldn’t he like others?

Although there is the question of what species. . .

He hates the feeling of being powerless. He’s gotten so used to his strength. The speed, the knowing of when danger would about. The helping and saving, he always needed Spider-Man as much as they did. Perhaps more, Jonas Jameson would certainly say so.

‘I haven’t even thought much about it. Spider-Man, always there for the little guys. Until it turned into fighting an enlarged grape and now I can’t catch a break. First stitched up in red and blue spandex, saving buses like I was Superman. And wow that merging of thought was somewhat unfitting. Black Widow, Wonder Woman. Captain America, Superman. Thor, Aquaman. Okay yeah no, not getting used to that train of thought yet.’

“You know I really hate how even my thought can get off track. Like what else are they there for?”

Clearing his desk too harsh with a few pointed shoves. Teeth aching at the pressure he was clenching his jaw, he sighed.

‘Now I don’t have anything. The suit needs more Vibrainium. That I don’t have and no powers whatsoever. Karen is still dead broken. I’ve gotten more of the suit working. Or what’s left at this point.’

It's likely the reason he's here now. He has always enjoyed the feeling of creating, something, anything. And with the books he had now the ideas he has for both the suit, Patrick or Red Hood.

'Although, Pat’s has definitely been postponed, just for a little bit. It might be petty, but I think it’s well deserved.’

And thinking back to Red Hood. . .

He undoubtedly and entirely embarrassed. And he’s going to decidedly not dwell in that further, except for the advice he gave. The advice on safety he means of course. Peter should create a memory removal thing and we can both forget everything.

His head thumped on the table, the light blue-green glow flickering with the consequent motion of his hands that decidedly nudged the wires.

He let out an exasperated and tired groan. His head turning around the room.

He found it somewhat odd to not have Patrick around while he was in the lab. At the beginning he had watched and seemingly, catalogued every move. Now, he had the whole lab to himself.

‘Well, supposedly, I can still work on their projects, just not give Patrick’s his until he’s better.’ He gave himself an approving nod. Patrick was in ‘leniency time out' it’s not petty.

‘I’m not questioning why he’s been so busy and disappearing so often these past couple days.’

He worries over what he’s doing sometimes, he knows the whole Justice League, could probably name most of them. Even the not as popular ones. And as a recurring Rogue against Batman, one of the most popular hero’s on this planet.

‘I really have to question if fate or some omnipresent ruler exists. What other excuse is there for his life? They’re laughing. That evil, cruel, fate or destiny takes joy in watching. . . Whatever this is.’

‘At least Patrick, or Edward isn’t too bad of an option. He likes to think they’re getting closer.’

Looking back down at his project he was glad that Patrick doesn’t pry. It’s one of the nice things about him, he doesn’t ask questions something he decidedly doesn’t want or need right now. Maybe he feels. . . Bad. Over not doing anything about what he’s learned about The Riddler.

‘And as much as the name is. . . Intriguing? Hilarious. It’s also done a lot of bad. What am I supposed to do though? It’s not like I can actually convince him, hell even as Spider-Man. Especially not when Patri- Edward? Has seen him in his pajamas with Hello Kitty and Flash print. Looking like a twelve year old also doesn’t make things easier. How do you make one agree to your conditions where they lose more than benefit?’

Typing on the keyboard only emphasized the silence in the house. Glancing between his projects and the computer.

‘What would Tony- actually no. What would Pepper do? In a business-like sense of course because she either wouldn’t be in this situation or magically fixed everything.’

The coding came naturally for what he had planned as it fell into the background. Which was likely part of the reason he didn’t notice his hands leaving the keyboard. Or him picking at the skin hanging around the nail.

When the prodding and thoughts were interrupted by a registering of the brain. Staring down at the blood pooling around the edges his arms sagging.

He’d figure it out later.

Still he waited, watching the nail and the blood pooling. Wiping the red away every couple seconds, the warm but cooling sludge returning.

Lips pressing together as he stared on with a tightening in his chest. His glasses slid down his nose, pushing them back up.

‘I wish it’d go away.’

“Let’s get this thing down now, shall we?”

He joked in the hypocrisy of how tired he was.

B, Robin and him came back from patrol. With Spoiler and Orphan covering the relatively calm night for the duo’s early exit. Tim plopped on his bed, he wasn’t even sure he could change into pajamas out of the jeans and T-shirt he had when exiting the Bat-cave.

'Bruce’s extensive paranoia and thoroughness will be the end of me one day.’

Light slowly fading as he sunk into a heavy sleep. Getting in one last thought before he was engulfed.

‘Hopefully tomorrow won’t be too tiring.’

.

.

.

Squeezing through the dining room door he looked at the family gathered and prepared himself for how exhausted he’ll be after this. It was contradictory to a hope he had yesterday. He mused over it as he pulled out his chair.

‘Past Tim is always an idiot whenever it comes to his hopes and dreams. Not that anyone could pry that out of me.’

Surveying the table until they stuck onto Dick Grayson. It’s felt like forever since he’s seen him with him being so busy. Not to mention Blüdhaven hasn’t been showing him any mercy with the vampires. He was talking animatedly with Duke. Personally he thinks it’s great with him being seemingly designed for the ‘Older brother role model’.

He takes a big gulp of his coffee. Damian was two seats down, same side and very obviously happy to talk to Dick. (Well as obvious as an assassin raised child can be.) He’s always considered it ironic how Dick could never read the emotions of those closest to him on the regular.

Noting Cass next who was whispering to Steph before turning to gaze at the door, she was closest and he knew it was only two people. Alfred and Bruce walked through, the chatter disappeared as the air grew stifling.

Tim knew it did. And he regretted that whenever a new threat ever appears, especially one as dangerous, powerful and unknown as this one. He seems like- well he isn’t the same as he was then. The loss of the begrudging grunts and small upticks on his lips. Dick managed to stay mostly the same. Damian grew more irritable, Steph tried to lift the mood around them. Barbara became absorbed in the work as well. Cassandra seemed to be handling it well, although Duke seemed more nervous around everyone. A bout of sympathy went out to Duke, being the newest addition and already having to deal with too large of threats.

And Tim? Time didn’t have any clue as to how he felt.

There was the soft settling of Alfred putting down the last dish, an arrangement of fresh fruits in the middle. As well as Batman settling down at the head of the table.

He simultaneously tensed and relaxed at the assortment of fruit. By all means something light and fitting for breakfast, he found it somewhat unfortunate it was dinnertime. He had the impression that this was going to be a heavier conversation than even he thought.

As Batman used his hands on the table to settle down in his chair Tim wondered of it was purposeful.

‘It could be an excellent show of his age, that he’s getting older. But the motion also feels like power ripples just underneath. Although who am I to think I could psychoanalyze The Batman?’ He couldn’t even quite internally scoff.

B gave a nod to all the occupants at the table, taking the cue to grab their dinner. Predictably they all went for the fruit and the light salads, some just opted for tea.

He shoved a lemon butter tart into his mouth. As the words washed over him.

“By Thursday we will have started preparing against the Vampires in Gotham city. We have a plan set in motion that I need everyone to verify it can get done.”

The head of the table had his judgement settling on everyone. “You can all look through the files, it gives an overview of the information we have. As well as how we plan to proceed.”

Tim’s vision following the rest's. ‘Huh. He missed that.’

Sitting in between the tart and the fruit platter was a set of files, Dick seeming to take pity. Gave an amused smile and held it out for him. He couldn’t bother to give anything other than a nod. Opening the file, it wasn’t too much different than what he’d known or at least guessed.

He saw the overview of their believed motives, sightings through Gotham and some incidents in New York that sounded similar. He saw a dialogue of the phone call Tim had found. He some notable mentions to the letter they got from. The syringe Lex Luthor sent along with, that Andrew Bennet had passed along. And the message- warning about the hierarchy and the heir. As well as Duke’s written telling of what he had seen.

“-Robin and I were on the tail of a gun thief through South to North Sprang. Nearing Monolith Square, pathways of light moved through. Approximately a dozen figures moving South, with the joining police force in pursuit I followed them into the Narrows where they separated. I followed one into Burnley, where the energy faded out entirely upon reaching into the freight yard.”

Glancing over he saw a twitch as he likely settled on that part too. ‘Written, allows for less mistakes and more details in contrast. Although he can’t blame him for having difficulty settling in. He’d likely need to be questioned if he had recounted it now. Which wouldn’t help anything.’

Suspected vulnerabilities they could have, the instability. Not everyone was happy about the new King. Nor the tasks they were assigned. It was restated analyzed and something he wordlessly wanted them to take note of.

“-Potential vulnerabilities to keep in mind:

Puncturing of the heart

Puncturing of the brain

Silver

Iron

Sunlight

Sensitivity to fire

Sensitive to radiation

Blood loss

Damage to canines

Blood-transmitted pathogens

Silver or Iron backed mirrors

Crosses

Certain types of wood-“

Tim could see that some were meant to be tested to further prove whether or not its effective. He’s simultaneously disappointed and glad that ‘garlic' isn’t something listed.

There was a forewarning about whatever powers they might have. He wasn’t quite sure how much he believed Bennet on that part.

‘Maybe I just don’t want to believe it, the playing field already seems unbalanced.’

He was reading the next line three times, partly for the absurdity and also that he had to squint to make out the blurry words. Raising his eyes to meet Batman’s, currently posing as Bruce Wayne. His brain slowly processed that others had done the same.

He knew the plan they had come up with in the cave. The ideas they had. The weaknesses they’d exploit, the strengths they’d watch out for. He knew B already had the buildings of a plan and so he built on top of that. But even he has to acknowledge, he wasn’t quite expecting it to be implemented this quickly. The plan was solid, but risky if they fail.

‘Although, has there ever been a moment when there wasn’t a risk?’

He looked back to the pages, noticing his hands had curled, a mimicry of a fist. The nails just barely brushing against his palms, he belatedly wondered when that had happened.

He unfurled his fists as he looked over to Batman. “It’s a risk, for both teams. Any chance for reconnaissance is practically useless in the face of anything fatal.”

A concise nod was all his jaw needed to tighten.

“If you’re wrong about this and the assumptions. We could be putting ev-“

“Do you not trust father, Tim? I assumed better of you.”

His sigh was getting somewhat frustrated as he looked over to Damian.

“It’s not that I don’t trust him. But there are safer ways to go about this. Less efficient yes, but it could be-“

“We’ll be fine Tim, I promise I’ll be watching over everyone. You and B, can do your thing without worrying about us.” Dick interrupting wasn’t what he was expecting. Even if he still wished to argue and say otherwise his shoulder slumped. He knows a losing battle when he sees one. That doesn’t mean he agrees, and that certainly doesn’t mean he’s not worried.

Bruce, having declared it over continued on. “We will be taking advantage of them not having found the heir. Whether or not they belong to the new ruler or the last, not all of them are happy with the changes being made. I want you to extract as much information as you can, safely. As well as using the supplies I’ve s-“

A clearing of the throat sounded clearly from behind the head.

“That Alfred and I have set out for you. Report what works immediately.”

Damian was observing on the top part of that page. “Non-lethally, of course. If you can incapacitate one long enough to question that would be ideal.” B didn’t look at him but they all knew the answer was aimed towards him. Before his scrutiny settled elsewhere.

“Duke. We don’t know how your powers will affect them, it will however, make it easier to identify them if they do. I’d also like to offer small changes to your schedule.”

A small clink of a chamomile filled tea cup meeting the saucer. “In case my powers work and I can see anything else?” The question that wasn’t much of a question received a nod.

Tim sympathized, he was supposed to be present in daylight hours to provide reassurance, already having to change things up.

“Thank god it’s still summer.”

Tim took a long slurp of his coffee, much too Alfred and Damian's chagrin. He hated that he was agreeing with all three of them. Cass seemed like she was going to say something before deciding against it. She leaned in over to Stephanie as she lit up. Before repeating her sentiment.

“What about The Riddler and Scarecrow running around? Honestly if Joker gets out anytime soon we’ll have too much on our hands.”

Bruce did about the closest thing he could to a ‘lip pursing' Tim’s own did the same as he looked down into the empty coffee cup.

‘Ah yes, The Riddler. The one who isn’t riddling about. Instead he’s gone on his own vigilante crusade.’

“There’s been some new developments in the case.”

‘That’s definitely not boding anything good.’ He looked at Dick, while Dick was staring steadily at B.

‘Comes back from Blüdhaven for what was supposed to be family dinner. Instead the city’s being terrorized by vampires. With The Riddler and Scarecrow more ominous than ever. Hopefully it’s all a ruse and they go back to normal. Or well, as normal as a regular asylum patient can be.’

Tim is wonders how his life became so convoluted.

“Our on scene arrival only showed the. . . Surface of things.”

Tim is betting on some clue on the tools again, or the clothes. Steph bet on something inside the body, morbid. He regretted not choosing on that. It was a day after and Cass signed ‘it’s a gift for someone' he wasn’t sure where she had gotten that from. But he made a note of it just in case. If there was anyone who knew humans better than Cass without the use of superpowers he’d eat his sock.

“I believe his victims have a connection beyond just his sense of justice. I believe Thomas Elliot and Mad Hatter were sharing resources to a third party. Whether or not they were aware of it I’m unsure.” He left the rest unspoken waiting for them to decipher the clues.

His back straightening as he saw Steph doing the same.

‘Third Party most definitely. Too reckless and ambitious on either side to work together efficiently. Thomas Elliot meant they had money and connections to make contacts? Who reached out first? Mad Hatter meant they could get him under control. Again, money. But why move them together? Mad Hatter, human trafficker. Thomas Elliot, Hush. No, it’s not about Hush. It was his businesses, they likely didn’t need the money.’

The picture of the truck flashed through his mind. ‘It wasn’t money or power-' his train of thought was cut off by Stephanie.

“It was the Court of Owls. They wanted the resources they provided to experiment for their immortality scheme. Although, let me guess, it’s ramped down recently? Likely because they want to find some way to contact and please the vampires.”

Tim let out a defeated huff. But his own thought came to him- until Spoiler did exactly what her name suggested.

“Although, The Riddler didn’t know about it, that or he simply doesn’t care. He went after them as individuals. Mad Hatter he could kill with justification and relative ease. But Hush was new in the game, there’s another reason he went after him. And for if he does know about their connection to the Court? He’s either picking a fight or should be ready for one coming to him. They’ll think the same and kill him before he becomes anymore of a threat.”

Suddenly his attention was brought once more to Dick, who was picking at the last piece of watermelon on his plate. By the time Spoiler finished her explanation he crossed his arms and added his own input.

“If it’s not the Court then I’d still like to know what connects them beyond that. Sense of justice aside he doesn’t do things by halves. And the clue he leVes are either completely obvious in their meaning, to us at least. Or something so utterly obscure one would start contemplating whether or not he’s just messing with us at this point.”

Everyone disliked the idea, some showing it more than others. Albeit as much as one can in a grouping such as this. Dick started to drum his fingers on his arm.

‘His thinking tap'

Before he spoke again. “I’d like to see the reports, I know I’m busy in Blüdhaven but it’d still like to be kept in the loop.”

Maybe if he wasn’t taking Blüdhaven on alone, and maybe if he hadn’t seen a lady kill herself because of fear toxin. Some gang members thought soaking bullets and knives in it would get them up the ranks for their idea. Then mugged her and gave her a long vertical gash down her arm. It was more potent that they thought it’d be. Nightwing wrote and submitted a report, mostly because he still didn’t know where they had gotten the fear toxin and a warning of the new methods.

He hopes she had a quick and painless death. Since no one could grant her anything else.

It’s ironic in a way. How many times there’s been an argument about being kept in the loop. How they still play this game. With an ending that seems predetermined. Predictably, B pulls out a folder from. . . Somewhere. A couple glancing, mostly for the reminder of what was on the pages.

He could almost smell, taste the blood just looking at the new and old folder in front of him. One was the full obituary for Hush, Thomas Elliot. And the new one for the Mad Hatter. His stomach twisting as he straightened his back.

‘I won’t overlook something of importance just because I’m squeamish.’

Hands opening the folder as photographs of the scene stood in contrast to the strawberry in the corner of his sight.

Thomas Elliot’s head laid back, eyes long faded and clouded over as they gazed at the trucks ceiling. The overly large steel cable welded over his wrists as smaller wires cut into his ankles. Pale and clammy in the light pointed to it in the dark of night.

Tearing his attention away as he overviewed the description. Truck came straight from the company, traffic cameras showing there were no stops in between. Nygma must’ve set it up by entering the building. The time frame for the preliminary checks was short but doable. What confused was why he’d take some of the material in the truck when he’d already erased the footage both outside and inside the company for almost two hours.

‘Now it’s much clearer, it wasn’t for ease nor to make a statement. At least, it wasn’t just that. He was transporting something for the Court. Considering their history, it was likely something f to aid their quest of immortality or to become vampires.’

The steel cable was brand new, but manufacturing companies aren’t exactly inclined to share private purchases. Especially in Gotham where it’d be so easy not to leave a trail. But it’s message is clear, it’s supposed to mean something. Another elaborate clue, the effort put into the careful welding deems it so.

The intoxication screening was expected. That was, overall nothing other a short term tranquilizer. With silence achieved by chipped teeth and stretched maw. Showing he likely had the cable to muffle his screams with.

The autopsy however, was what caught his interest still. The logs for transportation were rolled, tied and put into a bag.

‘Where they were stuffed down his throat for safekeeping. Well, I suppose that’s another way to keep him quiet.’

They were detailed as all medical transportation papers were. And yet they couldn’t be sure what he stole. Thomas didn’t mind smuggling or lying, why wouldn’t he switch things up for his and The Courts benefit?

‘And yet what unsettled me most is that he wanted us to know. To guess and never be entirely sure, except that he knows our identities of course. The butterfly at Monarch Theater was. . . Symbolic to say the least.’ Eyelids closing and lifting, weighted more than they should be.

The incision from his sternum to lower stomach was large and certainly bloody enough to justify the trail left behind. However-

Sockets roaming over to the other photographs. It wasn’t half as violent or vengeful as Mad Hatter’s seemed to be. 'Their eyes like a cruel mirror of my own.’ A stretching yawn and the thought was already fuzzy.

Duct tape, mouth, hands and legs. Like his victims.

Abrasion to the vocal cords, likely small amounts of blood tearing through. The amount of blood loss and setting in of Rigor Mortis showing he was alive during it.

Intoxication screening showed small doses of Vecuronium and Pancuronium. Both paralytic drugs, but no anesthesia.

His heartbeat came into focus as did the fabric on his skin, almost gritty. Brushing against his skin just barely, frustratingly so.

His spine straightening at the new information. Or rather, the new photograph appearing in his line of sight. Flicking the photographs behind as he canvassed it.

It's an image of his heart laid out on an autopsy table. Stark white background showing clear the wooded, silver and iron needles imbedded into it.

Inquiringly turning towards Steph, Spoiler. As the simple nod of acknowledgement at the photograph in his hand confirmed his suspicions.

‘He knows more than just our identities, he knows about the Vampires too. Does he know they just exist or who they are? Is- was Mad Hatter one? If he was they can extract the fangs, figure out the science behind them. Maybe even those so called powers they might have. Though they’d need more than just the teeth for that. And I doubt Batman would want to deal with a rotting corpse in the cave.’

He wanted to ask but plenty were still reading and looking over the photos. Duke, Damian and Barbara barely glanced at them. Though likely all for different reasons. First with a light grimace, second out of familiarity with gruesome scenes and trained nonchalance. And Barbara because she’s already seen them or has them digitally.

She probably appeared with a stealth to envy as she wasn’t here when he first entered. Finally feeling the entirety of his family he disliked B's plan even more.

‘It’s simple really, Batman, Cass and I head to the freight yard and lie in wait. While Duke stands in Middle Gotham. While Nightwing, Spoiler and Robin canvas Crime Alley, leaning more towards the Bowery. The lack of activity, as crime slows down is suspicious. That he can agree with, but having Signal as the only backup and with no idea as to how his powers will affect them it’s-'

Untensing his jaw and relaxing his muscles as he breathes in the scent on tea. Chamomile and honey scented air caressing him.

‘I know what Batman thinks, that the Vampires heading to the Freight yard might be moving simultaneously with one heading towards upper Gotham. And is why the crime rate is dropping down.’

It's not that he thinks it’s a trap. Even if it is they’ve already prepared countermeasures. Flash grenades, stunning even if they aren’t sensitive to light. Silver coated weapons and Batarangs. With brass- or well, iron knuckles. In case it isn’t just silver. Not to mention the packages of iron-silver shards and holy water they’ll have by then.

‘Everyone is even able to be here because they’re capable. I’m not even sure why I’m so worried. Was Damian right? I do trust B. I just-'

The cold hand massaging his forehead woke him up a bit more and almost relaxed him. ‘I do trust B. I trust Bruce, I trust Batman. I’m just not sure who I trust more.’

Tim reaffirms himself that it will all go well. There’s nothing they’re overlooking. It’ll all go well. It has to.

Patrick couldn’t always be there. He’s realized that for quite some time now. Peter knew, with May who always came running he learned to be quiet during nightmares, even if he learned by accident.

He'll always feel a mixture of relieved, guilty, sad and regretting because of that. Now he was the first and the last. As his legs curled up, pressing against his chest. And the aching grip he had as his fear darted to the corners opposite. He put his eyes where his knees should be as his hair grazed the tips of his ears and nape. The crushing guilt and want tightening around his heart like chains before he set his sight barely over his arms.

There, standing to his left of the door was a calm and relaxed figure, hands tucked into his pockets. His own hair seeming to impossibly flow in the still air. A hand coming up to readjust his glasses as he spoke, words deceptively calm to the harsh truth.

“It hurt, dying for you when I thought you would save me. You killed me Peter. You could’ve saved me, all of us. If you had tried a little harder, you held the gauntlet in your hands. And yet you let it go.”

He pulled the blanket tighter. “I’m sorry. I know. I should’ve-“

A ghost of a hand brushed his hair back as he focused to the right, this one much closer. The arm withdrew as the moonlight revealed the face of May, no smile on her face but held the calmness, serenity and reassurance that she always had. A flash of confusion went through his eyes.

‘It’s not quite May.’ Curiosity dulled from confusion lacing his thoughts. The nose was smaller, softer and a flutter of wind went through her hair as well. The cold blue light reflecting off the now red hair.

‘Or was it always?’

It gave her the appearance of falling. And she disappeared. He glanced to Stark, surprised he was still there.

“Hopefully here you won’t fail everyone. Although if you do, the rest of us will be waiting for you.”

His apologetic grimace fading as horror and numbness merged with his empty, blank skin.

Peter doesn’t know what to think, and wasn’t sure if he could remember how. Especially when as he finished his statement a flash of May appeared in his mind.

His flaking lips parted as he took in shallow breaths.

He didn’t remember her at home or her comforting words, and no warm hug was present.

Blood was dripping down her temple as she laid on the lifeless, gray concrete. He could see as the tear fell down to the side as she let out one last shuddering exhale. Her eyes clouding over and her pupils no longer registered anything to focus on.

He heard his own voice, older yet in the past as he screamed and cried, giving reassuring platitudes to someone who’d no longer hear it. He stood not far away watching as his hands fluttered about, unsure what to do. Before his own sobs wrecked out and the hands stilled.

He watched on with numbness a sense of familiarity and knowing at the nightmare.

“But this isn’t what happened?”

He didn’t succeed in ignoring the words that rang through his head.

“But how you be so sure?”

Peter wished he didn’t have a name. Not when all those he could’ve once tied it to are dead.

He watched as the grief on a past self turned into hatred and rage and things began to make a small amount of sense.

‘This is why Dr. Strange sent me away isn’t it?’

He watched as rage was written on a broken, grief-stricken face and despite being so numb. Smaller sobs rang from somewhere that wasn’t this red and gray illusion and he idly wondered if he was crying in his sleep.

He came to at the slow rising of his chest as he sat up. The blankets reflecting a cold blue morning he wondered when he fell asleep. The texture of the linen duvet sat at his fingertips as he looked around his room for once noticing all the small differences.

The clock he made on the nightstand ticking, signaling the seconds on the Roman numerals. The square shaped metal a cold reminder. The cold storage hidden in for the web-fluid he still had left.

The butterfly reflecting the light in front of it.

Paper, blueprints and ink spread across his desk as the schematics for fixing his suit lie atop of his theorized formula for Vibrainium. It made larger amounts than what was just required for the suit.

‘Just in case.’ He always seemed to tell himself.

To the right his suit lay on top of the dresser, an impromptu worktop. As he tried to rebuild the suits programming pathways with a laptop he fixed up.

‘Stole from Patrick, Ed, Riddler. It’s not like I actually knows him.’

Books and clothes laid strewn about and he wonders for how long it’s looked lived in. The frantic motions he had seen just before burned in his skin as he looks around and wondered where the guilt was. And where the regret should be. Green eyes reflecting the blue light coming in, it was a fitting scene. The calm and cold suiting the numbness he felt as he laid back down under the covers and tried to return to the lulls of sleep.

[To no one’s avail]

Staring from the stairs he watched as movement went through the kitchen. He was making a late breakfast, glancing at the oven clock. Late enough to be brunch or an early lunch. When Peter got back yesterday, what awaited was a door that opened with no key but locked after him. As well as a note on the other side, saying he’d be back in the morning.

‘I figure it’s a light lunch then.’

Patrick, or Edward. Was lightly humming as he assembled the sandwiches for the oven, with a heavy pasta dish already wafting with flavor and steam. And with a weighing guilt as his stomach felt heavy. Eating anything sounds disgusting. Even though his stomach is empty and the food smells delicious. The thought still had his throat tightening.

He couldn’t bother to lie to himself, he’s been anticipating throwing up since he woke up.

‘If it can even be called that. When all I did was lie and stare at the walls until I forced myself out of bed.’

The smell of warm bread flowed through the kitchen. He took them out of the oven and onto the plates, Peter couldn’t have felt sicker. A memory encroaching on his mind.

-

“The best lies are the ones that almost come off as true. Part of the truth, whether it was for the past, present or future.”

When he had made the mistake of looking too curiously at the book he was reading. That somehow diverged to put on a 'convincing act'.

Patrick waving his finger throughout, back when he didn’t want to listen to a word he said.

-

‘It wasn’t that long after the- Scarecrow. When Patrick started and still is explaining some at least mildly illegal things up again.’

Patrick looked over to him, a beckoning motion of his head. ‘Maybe I could at least try?’

A stilted step down the stairs and it creaked, the shine of red and gold. Even as the metal creaked and shouted reassurances and panic as he ran around, trying to help as much as he could. Even when he was so useless.

His chest tightened as it was closing in on him, and the red and gold was still there. Even in the warm, home-like scene. He rushed down the stairs and went down to the lab. Even as the eyes followed him with confusion.

The door closed with a quiet thud with desperate breaths following. His eyes stinging, with a watery film shifting and blurring the lights. His hands, still holding him up back on the door, were piercing his nails underneath that first layer of skin. A deep breathe quietly went through the room, and let out with a shaky exhale.

‘It wasn’t all bad.’

He tried to remember the happy memories- he should’ve known it'd only make it worse.

A shaking exhale wracking through his lungs and his eyes became warmer with the growing pool of tears. The worn t-shirts, that always somehow smelled of motor oil and grease. The deep, calming voice he had whenever he comforted someone. Calloused fingertips running through his hair, the warm laugh that made you smile just from hearing it. The always warm, perfect cookies, except for the slightly hardened bottom. The thoughts of Pepper, Rhodey and Tony all with soft smiles and fond loving eyes. Shuddering gasps for air, stalling as he caught a memory. One of his favorites.

He could remember- hear the three voices. One of Tony’s records playing on the old Gramophone he always swore didn’t need fixing.

‘It belonged to my mother, Pete. So I’ll fix it, back to the way it just was, but never anything more. There’s no need to fix something perfect.’

He knew he could understand when he looked at Morgan Stark and Harley Keener. Family he wished he had met so much sooner. But then with smiles so wide it hurt and listening to their terrible singing and laughs.

 Harley and him glanced at each other with mirth and he wondered if his eyes reflected Harley’s own. With his eyes shining with happiness and sunlight, Peter was all the happier to see them. Then he was so sure his eyes were the same. Now it was back then. Back then, when his eyes were still brown. Not the green that only reminds him of his forced departure.

They both glanced down at Morgan at the same time. Before, Pepper, with a light smile and adoring eyes. Asked what movie they’d like to watch.

Hot tears ran down his face as his lungs shook and gasped for air. His legs gave out as he out his hands over his ears to stop the noise.

 The whirring sounding under the vinyl ‘Because Tony isn’t here anymore and how can you try to fix something that was perfect?’ Playing behind the laughs that were so happy it was only mocking now.

The sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing, biting his lip to stay quiet as the guilt came back.

‘He’s putting it all away. Just because-'

The quiet knock startling him more than it should.

‘I’ve been on different planets godammit.’

The sliding of fabric down the wall, until it ended with the settling creak of the floorboards.

Now muffling the shuddering gasps into his arm and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted him here or not. Movement flickering in the corner of his vision as he buried his head into the crook of his arms.

‘I’m being paranoid, I know I am. I just don’t want to see anything.’

A miniscule shift of fabric and he wished he could hear Tony’s, May's, just someone’s heartbeat. He moved his crossed arms to hold towards his wrists, settling for his own. He pushed his eyes deeper into his arms as he let the tears wash over. He couldn’t stop it when they sped up for no apparent reason and some of the cries and gasps were embarrassingly loud. He almost thought he wasn’t there, except for the shadow on the floor giving him away.

The hiccups shook him and a flowing of tears would start randomly. Too tired and hollowed out to be annoyed as he just wiped them away with the sweater that felt courser each time he did.

 Although the vivid flashes of home, the buildings, the people and their voices. Their smiles audible in the joy they could all say such simple things.

‘Or at least they were once able to, not so much anymore.’

He laid his head someday on his arm as he gazed unfocused on the walls.

-

“They’d be proud of you, you know that right? You should always remember that.”

It was a couple months before the end of high school. Before it all turned into a nightmare even he hadn’t expected. Her hands rested on his shoulders, before they rose to gentle cradle his face.

He leaned into the warmth, he knew what- who she was talking about. Mary, Richard, Ben and Tony, who’s death still stung whenever he thought about it too much.

‘Or at all.’

“I know May. I know, I promise I’ll make you proud too.”

She lowered her arms as she enveloped him in hug. Her hugs had been gentle and cradling, and always warmer and safer than anywhere else. She whispered reassurances that she already was and always would be for who he was.

And like an utter fool he believed her.

Half of him protested. ‘May would never lie. She’s always honest.’

Bitterness seeped out as he lifts his head and peered around the room. ‘But how could she be proud of what he is now? Stealing Ben’s name in hopes of feeling like he was here.’ He focused on the blueprints on his table, 'It’s supposed to represent something. Spider-Man. Instead it felt like it used too. He didn’t have the suit down here, except for the small moments when Patrick left the house or he was sure he was asleep. After he got the watch function working permanently he switched it back and set to working on what he needed most. He already had a plethora of projects. Although the main one was the synthesizer for the Vibrainium. The problem was he didn’t have Howard Stark’s particle accelerator blueprints, Tony had said they were different. In a way that was important but that he just can’t remember. His hands came up as pushed them into his eyes until he started to see black spots.

The pain he is supposed to feel from it’s muted, and he hates it. Even if he’s guilty all the more for it. In a rash act he stood up from his crouch, a sting of pain as he wipes his eyes with the fabric of his arm. He didn’t turn around as his hand unlocked the door and tugged it open before he paced to the blueprints. He grabbed seemingly stray prints on top of a crate of machine parts underneath his table. He grabbed other prints among the more displayed. Even grabbing a couple from Patrick’s own stack. He could feel the presence behind, standing patiently and unmoving. He eventually got the substantial stack to a cleared part of the table as he set the papers out. He tried to ignore the wiping at his face he still did every couple minutes. Nor did Patrick say anything about the small hiccups as he moved closer.

“You used parts of both your own blueprints but also mine to be assembled. If I suspected I wouldn’t think about my own immediately.”

He gave a nod as he continued assembling the blueprints. He had gotten the idea from Mr. Stark from his time in Afghanistan, he slowly divulged. When he had known him for only a few months then.

‘Although, in retrospect, I didn’t know him long at all. Not compared to how long he had lived or eventually my own.’ The thought was like the biting of his tongue in the pain it brought to his mind.

Eventually the blueprint and the ideas scrawled out, along with the formulas. He stuck his finger on the paper, even as he stepped to the side to give Patrick the whole perspective.

Posture slipping between standing proud, demanding, unrelenting. And so terribly frightened, uncertain and so hopeful, desperate he wasn’t how he was still breathing with it all crushing onto his every cell.

So he stood straight and tall, as his eyes dug into the others, and with shoulders hunched. Internal adamancy slipping through his voice. “Tell me how to fix it. How to make it possible, and I know it is.”

Trying desperately not to start begging. As the shaking in his hands became stronger. Saying ‘please' a million times until he’ll hopefully relent. For now he just hopes. He hopes with every cell in his body that this wasn’t a lost cause.

‘That I’m not a lost cause.’

Seconds weren’t a proper word for how long and quickly the time he spent staring at the prints seemed. Patrick, fidgeting with his glove as he looked back up.

“A particle accelerator designed for the purpose of making a-“

Switching from analyzing the creases and lines on the leather gloves and the green eyes that were lighter near the pupil.

‘Is it my fault I’m too afraid of what I’ll see there?’

Only noticing from the edge of his vision that Patrick’s lips were slightly parted when he closed them. The tension felt like a drop of water slowly gravitating downwards, falling and starting anew as another formed. The puddle of water gathered at the bottom promising something. Patrick continuing was the puddle having collecting enough of whatever it’s needed.

“For the purpose of synthesizing an element? Creating. . . a new one?”

He wasn’t sure whether to nod hurriedly or tiredly so he stayed still. Something seemed to be decided as the taller body became unbending.

“This would be incredibly expensive and demanding.” He already held out a finger to let himself finish. “As well as needing utmost precision lest we want to be impaled by the circulating energy.” He could only get out a breath to interrupt before a hand was lightly holding his chin closed. “Nonetheless, I fear there’s no possible way to stop you and I do have to admit I’m rather curious-“

He didn’t finish as Peter barreled into his chest and held on tight as a relieved gasp left him. He heard the light grunt Patrick made because of it and just as quickly let go. Already shuffling on his feet, face burning up.

A small smile that Peter didn’t see that was equal parts fond and amused.

A couple seconds after what Peter was sure he’ll regret. The ‘mentor?’ lightly wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Squeezing tight for a few seconds before letting go.

“I’ll help you on your reckless suicide mission that is this machine, but I have to expect you to be a little more transparent on things.” Turning his cane a quarters worth before turning it back.

‘It’s a habit. Thinking.’

Dark brown hair lifting up and falling back down rapidly.

“And I suppose I should be ashamed of needing the help of a twelve year old when it comes to engineering but I can settle.”

A harsh scoff, “Well thanks for ruining the amicable atmosphere.”

Patrick’s lips lifting upwards at that, although it disappeared not a few seconds later. He seemed to contemplate something before a wicked smirk overtook his face. He could see his teeth and it somehow amplified the all black suit, with of course, black oxfords and green tie. Peter hated to admit it suited him well. He scrunched his nose at the thought.

‘Although, if he’s clearly going to tease me-'

Patrick’s lips looking they were about to part he butted in before he get in a single syllable.

“You know, if you’re wearing a suit that nice. You clearly know what does and doesn’t suit you.”

Poor Patrick was already preening, Peter continued.

“Then what justification did you have for that bowler hat costume?”

He got a glare and his own front seat view to the childish nose scrunch in front of him. ‘At least I have an excuse when I do it.’

“I could change your design a bit. Although I mean a complete revamp, as it obviously needs that. I’m sure you haven’t had the time to consider it but Vibrainium is great for a suit. Light and can put a stop to bullets.” Starting to sway halfway through.

'Make sure to pause the conversation to give enough time for them to want to interject but not enough time to say anything. It’s a hard thing to do, but I have enough experience after watching for so long.’

 Peter almost frowned at the memories of having to watch as Patrick did his practiced routine.

“Although the only downside- for yourself of course, not for my eyes. Is that it has a black tint, sometimes shining silver or a dark purple.”

‘In it’s natural state, of course it’s simple to infuse metals with tints to change the color easily. Or even just give it a coating. Not that I’ll ever tell him that. He can figure it out.’

“So why not save me another trip to the Ophthalmologist? And allow me to see better, for you to look better and be less likely to those bruises the Bat likes to leave you. And let’s be honest, he leaves you plenty. I remember seeing one in the paper, large bruise on the-“

A hand pushing his chin up, almost making him bite his tongue. He glared at Patrick, he merely smirked that evil grin of his. “Make me a new suit? When your own is a onesie and has more holes than a whole lifetime of socks? I don’t think your concern should be lying with me, Peter.”

Peter waved a hand dismissively, something he promptly ignored right afterwards. ‘It was far too much Patrick for my comfort. Ugh, even he looks shocked.’

“Well that’ll all be fixed once I have the Vibrainium now won’t it? After that you’ll be the most defenseless of us. Of the Rogues even, no powers, no bodyguards, just him and his little riddles.”

He found he’s rather enjoying this game as a gleeful grin spread across the too young face. He walked around the taller, lankier man. The almost shoulder-length ginger hair making him seem almost fragile. And they both knew it was slightly purposeful.

“Poor Edward, part of the rogues. Oh so clever, but the show ends once the puzzle is solved. He just might break. After all who knows what could happen. Gotham is a dangerous place.”

A bark of laughter rang through the air.

“I’m pretty sure the convincing is supposed to go the other way around, Peter.”

Without missing a beat as he perched himself on the edge of Pat’s table. “Convince me then.”

Fluttering on surprised and confused, they could carry on this charade throughout the whole day. Pat didn’t seem to care about that though.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Peter Parker.”

A polite smile stretched across his face, the innocence it was supposed to represent twisted by the gleam on his eyes. Determination.

“Who knows? I might just be what saves you.”

Chapter Text

“Poor Edward, managing to become part of the rogues. He’s oh so smart, but what ever will he do if he actually gets into danger? The small thing just might break. After all, who knows what could happen, Gotham is a dangerous place.”

A bark of laughter rang through the air.

“I’m pretty sure the convincing is supposed to go the other way around, Peter.”

Without missing a beat as he perched himself on the edge of Pat’s table. “Convince me then.”

Fluttering on surprised and confused, they could carry on this charade throughout the whole day. Pat didn’t seem to care about that though.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Peter Parker.”

A polite smile stretched across his face, the innocence it was supposed to represent twisted by the gleam on his eyes. Determination. And knowing. 

“Who knows? I might just be what saves you.”

Edward was watching Peter standing over the kitchen sink, body expressionless and lit only by the glow of the fire in front of him.

“Good morning, Peter.”

“It’s two thirty-four. I know.”

Edward glanced to the oven clock just as it the minutes flicked to two thirty-five AM.

“Hungry?”

He received a light hum for his efforts before Peter grabbed a paper on the counter. Tossing it into the dying yet greedy flame. He ventured that was no. He took a step down, the creak of the last step announcing they were now on the same floor.

Walking into the kitchen and opening the cupboard as looked into the flaming sink to his right. He made an experimenting move, rotating the robinet closer to him. At the lack of movement he put his hand on the handle. Lowering his other hand, still raised near the cupboard he filled up his glass.

“Fires can still be quite dangerous, even surrounded by water.”

Turning the water off as another paper was tossed into the fire. He took a deliberate swallow of his glass, wishing to get something stronger soon. Sauntering to the other side, glancing at the pages laid out.

A voice started up, calm and melodic in a way he can’t recall ever hearing. “I draw them and then burn them, hoping it’ll take the nightmares away. When all it does is engrain them in my mind all the more.”

‘All the more. Not a very Peter-like thing to say.’

He’d most likely pick it up from him, the mirth, pride? The contemplative frown took over as he examined the pages in front of him. There were all gauntlets, some gold with embedded jewels. The drawing style extenuating the brash, gaudy glove. Others were a lighter, softer gold. It shined, not just the gold but the red as well. He is staring at two remarkably similar objects. Glancing to Peter, with the too long hair, lit by the warm glow of the fire and with shadows under his eyes.

‘And yet the story the two tell is entirely different.’

He put a hand on the small upper back, even if it made his skin crawl. The muscles there jolted, although calling it a flinch would be misfitting. Peter’s face remained impassive, there wasn’t any discomfort, no fear.

‘Is the reaction more so because he’s simply unused to it, like I? Or was it trained into him? Tell me one day, Peter. Who here will be doing the saving?’

He tentatively rubbed small circles with his palm, before decided to just rest it on his shoulder. And even as he leaned to look at the sketches in the fire the unfurling of the muscles was all he noticed. As Peter relaxed over the fire, and made no move to add more to the slowly dying fire of blackened paper and ash he lifted the small stack of pages left behind. Fingertips running over a loose corner of a page he tossed the rest of the stack into the fire. As the heat and glow intensified again he pocketed the loose corner.

It was small, held no value and only blemish was a stray line of red. He’d keep it all the same.

“Do you think you can try going to sleep, for me?”

As he was leading him to the stairs away from the fading flames he felt the trembles of Peter’s body. It was obvious he was tired, he could barely stand on his own. He noticed the problem and solution when Peter’s eyes flicked once or twice to the dark corners of the house.

Tugging the arm closer, then tilting him to look at Patrick.

“I can stay. Until you fall asleep.”

Peter’s lips parting, hesitating to say something before stopping. Giving a slow, timid nod.

Pushing the door open, the room was dark as Peter crawled into bed. Edward left the door slightly open, the light going to the side without the window. Setting the glass of water on the nightstand, and fetching the desk chair. Not offering the sketches and blueprints more than the knowing of its existence.

Putting the chair down as softly as he could.

“Aren’t you gonna get bored?” In a hushed voice that sometimes broke off on the quieter syllables. He was almost surprised, reflecting, it’s the only thing he’s spoken. Other than the announcement of what time it was. Sitting down, “No, I’ll keep busy.” And with a wry smile he isn’t sure Peter can see he tapped his temple. Peter huffed.

“Nerd.”

The plan is going well, Batman, Bat-girl and Red Robin trailing is successful and going undetected.

‘Let’s hope we can keep it that way.’

They had already entered the train freight yard. The rows of mostly empty train boxes sending a shiver down his spine. The terrain was both advantageous and a weakness.

‘There’s so many place to hide with the endless train carriages. Yet, if this is a trap somehow, we could be easily separated and locked in. Their inability to spot us among the tracks could easily be turned against us. Well, I should just be glad all the Gotham rain, dirt and grime has shoved most of the gravel into the mud.’

Batman was covering the left side of the group, moving through, between and around the carriages. The newest Bat-girl taking to the roofs and insides of the boxes, trailing them in an efficiency Tim feared and admired. Who is currently following them from the right.

The group of vampires seemed amicable, relaxed yet also serious. And currently they were a wealth of information, their simple chatter a fountain of information. ‘. . . Well, I certainly hope so.’

“Are you sure it’s around here? Are you still counting the rows?”

“I’ve lived during Queen Elizabeth's coronation. I know how to count. Now, be quiet if you don’t wish for me to drag us back and start over.”

The one Red Robin was currently suspecting of being the leader of the group of three crossing his arms and looking around. The simply cloaked figure, holding a small object he couldn’t yet make out in one hand.

“It doesn’t matter much anyways, the graffiti.” He says in lieu of an answer Tim would prefer. Practically every train and cart has graffiti, yet the other two ahead nod.

'Meaning there’s a specific marker.’

Cassandra, not three tracks behind the Vampires seems to pick up on something. She begins to veer off course, closer to him. Slightly slowing down and moving a bit closer, he’s just a row in front. Bat-girl picks up something. He’s trying to stay between safely trailing the vampires and being close enough to interfere with both the group and her. He pauses in moving forward as she picks it up, the glass shining.

Glass shining like a small star and apparently just bright enough to catch the attention of one of the vampires ahead of them. One at the front left of the group whipping around. Scanning just a couple containers away from Cassandra. She didn’t seem to mind too much.

‘Was it intentional? Well, we know one has enhanced senses at the very least.’

The group now standing still until the leader nods to the right. The softly spoken one turns around taking a long breath in before turning to his left, towards Red Robin. And letting out a large click of his tongue, loud and efficient, practiced. He moved behind a wheel, holding his breath. It rang through the silence and he almost sighed in relief when the click rang again. Not as loud directed away. With his back now towards the group he saw what might be Cassandra. Laying flat down under a train and looking-

‘Calm? Unbothered at least. I think she would’ve been a better fit for trailing the right. Being closer and near unnoticeable when she doesn’t want to be. She’d be more efficient in getting the drop on them.’

Come round Batman’s turn kneeling down besides the wheels of a hopper car.

“Nothing. Likely just a rat, don’t tell me you’re that hungry?”

Shifting of rocks and a click of the tongue. “Sorry, for the. . .”

The mumblings cut off with the quiet voice he could barely hear. “Precautions are the difference between a dead man and a living one.” He quoted indifferently.

The crushing of gravel signaling their continuance, at Bat-girl's nod it was safe.

‘What was the vial, if she went out of her way to get it has to be somewhat relevant? The was a tint of purple, like the glass was stained. A vial with staining purple liquid?’

His head snapped toward B so fast it almost made him dizzy, he couldn’t have been sure it was even glass from that far away. And he’s incredibly grateful he decided to learn emotions in sign language first.

With the close call he knew Bruce was keeping a close eye on them, even if his sight never drifted. Three rows forward, and the shifting of rocks was more felt than heard but it still seemed too loud. The vampires were getting closer and so were they, when B was just two rows down he started waving his hand, careful to keep it behind the train car.

‘Most people, even without using sign language can still get plenty across.’

Making the universal sign for small and then bring his hands near to pressing together. He didn’t need to be the world’s greatest detective to figure out he meant ‘small object'. His head turned slightly, keeping Red Robin in the rear of his vision.

Moving his hands in front of his chest. ‘Fear' and spelling out the five letter words that came afterwards. ‘Toxin'

A firm nod, one he was certain came with the small huff through the nose.

They made up for the few seconds they lost and he felt coiled up like a spring. Waiting to pounce or avoid being pounced on. They’re opening the door, metal scraping loudly when all especially is quiet. Watching while they’re bustling about in the cart, finally although whatever’s in there they can’t see yet. Pulling out the flashbang as he glances towards B, lifting his head incrementally, about to give a bid before his hand raises, a halt. Hand moving to his comms, habit and a signal of what was up. He wanted to ask what it was, luckily basic signal language can get plenty across before his hand lowered and he gave a firm nod.

He shoved down the questions pulled the pin and tossed it into the train cart and closed his eyes.

Duke Signal is currently listening to Oracle mutterings and orders and arguably the ones he’s gotten most comfortable and familiar with. Besides Steph and maybe Cass.

‘Although, it’s more like comradery.’

He felt somewhat useless, he understood why. That didn’t mean that standing around while they tracked Vampires felt productive. So he had pressed his comm.

“Hey, I know that Batman sa-“

“Thief six streets back.”

Eyebrows rising with doubt falling. “Really that easy?” Running up to jump to the next building.

“This way I’ll keep track of you. Frequent breaks and kept close to that building. Dance around it like a pole, I’ll get less grief when B looks at the activity later.”

“He knows past activity too?”

“He fights clowns and now vampires as his nightly hobby in a bat suit and has a Batman Cologne ‘to hide my natural musk. Meta-humans, Oracle.’ And joined the Justice League as a reward to justify his already then unhealthy paranoia.” In a deadpan voice to a sheepish vigilante. Clearing his throat.

“So um, what’s the guy stealing?”

“A couple streets Southeast. Car batteries mostly.”

“Ah yes, because stealing car batteries is totally worth a guy in a cape hopping out an alley and going ‘I vant to suck your blood!’ nowadays.”

Running a top the roofs a bit faster before jumping down in front of the scrawny and apparently easily spooked man.

Lowering his voice, to be the calm and hint of threatening pitch he has as Signal. “Hey, if you put those car batteries back you might be able to just walk away.”

The eyes warily flashed around before recognizing which bat it was. His nose scrunching up as his face morphed into something ugly and filled with hatred.

“You ain’t got a clue how hard it is to grab some cash nowadays, freak. Some of us are just out here to make a living. Not that you and your kind know about that.”

He felt heavier as he covered the robbers eyes and quickly flashed some light. Dropping the car batteries in shock as his hands raised to grasp his eyes. Signal turned him around, hands cuffing him and dragging the struggling man to the pole and locking a cuff onto the lamppost. 

Lifting the batteries in his arm as he gazed at the soft colored sky. A stark contrast between the Gotham streets and the swear and occasional slurs being tossed at him as he laddered back up to the roofs.

“Now, what cars did he steal these from?”

“Signal-“

“Oracle, it’s. . .”

‘Fine? Normal? That just sounds worse.’ Leaning towards optimism.

“There are worse things than words. With words the sound will fade.”

'Or at least some of them.'

The sun is golden, warm against what little skin he has showing. The kind he used to admire with his mom.

-

“Honey, it’s been two hours. You should come inside, it’s getting late.”

“Just a little longer?”

“You said that thirty minutes ago. And your dinners getting cold.”

“Can I eat it out here?”

She seemed to sigh, momentarily joining him in his staring at the sky.

“Your father used to do the same thing.”

By the wistful and sorrowful gaze she had he didn’t think she was talking about the one currently late from work.

“You don’t talk about him much.”

‘Or at all.’ He remembered thinking with light irritation.

Her eyes joining his, reaching to hold his cheek softly. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t think about him at all.” Hand brushing away. “We’ll eat dinner on the porch.” Stepping away to grab his dish. Calling lightly from inside the house. “You know, you used to do the exact same thing when you were a boy. Tiny in your pajamas and insisting you’d stay.”

A light smile and furrow of his forehead. “Really? I never heard about that.”

Humming her affirmative as she sat down gracefully next to him.

-

The warm colors of the memory fading. He wish he understood then, what she meant about wishing she could forget him.

‘If I get them back I’d like for us to forget the bad behind too.’

“So how about it?”

“Huh? Sorry, um. I kinda-“

“Dozed?”

“Sorry.” With that same sheepish smile.

“Well, I was thinking we could wrap up everyone into a Vampire movie marathon. Say it’s for research purposes.”

“That sounds great! I really want a bucket of popcorn right now.” Hushed and yearning near the end.

A shocked laugh sounded through his ear, and even as he winced at the sudden noise he grinned. She began to exclaim something, likely starting with a vowel before his comm crackled. Waiting for a voice to sound through the static he frowned when none came.

“Oracle?”

The wind rushed against his suit as petals and loose green leaves ran through the wind. Index holding on the comm. “Oracle? Are you there? Batman?”

“I wouldn’t be expecting to hear from them now.” Asserted a voice from behind.

Turning around with a jolt, hands swiftly grabbing his escrima sticks.

“And you’re causing this, how?”

The cloaked figure staying silent as they sauntered forward, harder to see against the darker half of the sky.

Gripping his weapons harder and setting into stance as his mind stalled.

‘He’s cut my comms somehow? Technology or meta? I can see it, the body heat circulating slower. The blood pumping sluggishly. Should I test my powers on them or fight as long as I can? No, there’ll be no backup, of there is it’ll be too late, I’ll have to hold out as long as I can and escape once I get an opening.’

The wind beaten cloak stopping not twelve, fourteen feet away. Embroidery small and detailed, is two stalks of flowers on the front of the robe. Dark purple thread having the flowers leaning against the dark green stalks as they hung like bells.

The Vampire straightening, causing his own crouch and forced relaxation of his muscles. They out their hands up placatingly.

“Relax, I’m under no orders to attack. Just a chat, surely the Bat is smart enough to- Hm, make you look for. . . Information.”

He was feeling far too much out of his depth, it was intentional. This meeting, that much was obvious. It could be the man in front of him who’s cut his communication. Or it could be someone lying on wait, observing how this goes. So he stands tall and holds the weapons to his side.

Their animated hands are brought down to their side.

“Very Good!”

“What do you have to offer?”

“We want to maybe come to an. . . Agree?”

Nodding while finishing for them. “Agreement.”

“To assume all are violent is very rude.”

‘I have contemplated it, they’re a community. Essentially their own sub-species of human. It’d be hypocritical to think all of them relent to murder.’

That doesn’t mean he lacks situational awareness, he’s cut off, stranded.

“Then what are your goals? If it doesn’t involve violence?”

“We wish to improve the way which people live. And kill those who commit severe crimes and are never addressed by the court.”

Their hands layering each other as they were folded in front of them. He couldn’t see body heat, or traces of light from anyone who wasn’t himself and the figure in front of him.

“Those are much like opposites. Killing anyone perceived to commit a crime would only bring fear. And what if we learned they were innocent later on?”

He only paid half of his attention to the conversation. Behind the helmet eyes we’re darting around, looking for something. Someone.

‘I’ll keep it conversational, placating. If we can lessen deaths involved in this all the better. I can’t make any decisions, especially not for Batman.’

“We’re well aware of that. But the Batman leads with fear himself now, no? We could come to terms of agreement-“

“What about all the civilian casualties? And the people in upper Gotham going missing?”

It had been held in an understanding moment so far but the lack of movement or words from either side seemed to make the air go cold. While the flowing wind stood in stark contrast to the atmosphere. Looking at the robes, with expensive thread and perhaps real stones imbedded into it he wondered.

‘Looks expensive, likely cause of their abilities. Someone higher up in the chain. No interrupting and mild manners, okay.’

“I can almost agree with your ‘no killers' rule. But our as well as mine own beliefs are not justice. But the lives of civilians. That will continues to die unless one of those changes. We bring that change, we’re not asking you to kill. Only to. . . Pay little mind to what we do.”

A slow soft inhale. “It’s not my decision. You also didn’t answer my question. What about the people killed and those going missing? Innocents, too.”

Both were getting slightly frustrated but neither wanted to miss this chance, albeit for slightly different reasons. Yet, especially Signal.

So he relaxed himself, slumping his shoulders. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, in, out, in, out. And like he thought the one across from him noticed and did similarly. Even if they both continued with wariness.

The presence moving their hands to fold in front of them, as Signal watched with held breath.

“With us who wish to cause minimal harm there are those who don’t have such restraints.”

“And what are you going to do to stop them?” He almost thought he imagined the shifting that lasted for no more than a second. But he knows better than to doubt his own eyes like that. Behind the cowl his eyebrows furrowed. “You are going to do something about it, won’t you?” A light tap on his helmet surprised him as he saw the gray skies.

“We shall, it is a difficult thing to do.”

He sucked his teeth, “It’s been a few minutes, and like I said. I can’t make a decision for either of us.”

His counterpart straightened at that, seeming to look back up underneath the black shadow the cloak provided. “I see, we should finish this.” And they bowed at the shoulders, a hand over their heart and the other stretched out.

‘Beckoningly.’ His mind supplied. Back muscles tensing as he reminded himself of the Escrima sticks still in his hands. He’d been switching from X-ray to heat vision throughout the conversation, even a couple others. Yet it still didn’t explain how the hand crushing into the side of the building appeared there.

His hands tightening, stancing himself until the still bowed head made eye contact with him.

‘There’s a warning in those eyes. And both the X-ray and heat vision are working. It doesn’t make sense unless they appeared magically? Or they have extremely enhanced speed? Or were they hidden behind lead.’

Forcing his shoulders to relax, even while the weight of his cowl and Escrima sticks assure him.

The hand gripped harder, painted nails gripping the concrete. The arm fluidly lifting tossing the umber haired woman into the air. She landed on the roof as she had always been there in heels that made Duke envious of the movement.

She had no hood, simply a cape with even more embroidery, it also had a clasp. A Pyrope stone for each side, both surrounded by entwining knots.

Yet he still couldn’t tell you what she looks like.

‘Really what the use of getting rid of the hood when you still cover yourself?’

The cape had a small collar, not even reaching her nape. But above that a thin white fabric covered everything passed the tip of her nose.

Tilting her head “I know, the mask is kind of funny.” Cheeks rising as the lines beside her eyes became more apparent. “It is however, integral to our decorum. So I hope you understand.”

Her eyes closing while she smiled, but as she raised her head and the eyelashes simultaneously he wonders how he could have missed the stark red. From a minute ago to behind the hood, glancing over. Expecting to see the cloaked figure he couldn’t help but step back when there was no one there.

Eyes trailing his, “They had other business to attend to.”

The red from her eyes was gone and an imprudent thought suggests he might be imagining this whole affair. A clearing of the throat on the quiet roof top.

“I can’t make decisions for-“

“I’m aware. I heard most of the conversation-“

'That just gives me more questions? Why couldn’t I see her?’

“-what I’m here for isn’t the Bat, but rather un ofertă pentru ține.”

Pursing his lips, 'It was similar to Spanish enough but an offer here and now would definitely be a bad idea. I say no this could turn bloody, say yes and- well that’s out of the question. Ask to contemplate over it I’d guarantee meeting them again.’

The breath stilled in his throat, ‘maybe that last ones not a bad idea, B did say to get as much information as possible.’

She took his silence as something else. “Excuse me, an offer for you. Is what I meant.”

“Any teaming up right now seems more than dangerous, perhaps for both sides.”

He felt there was a wry smile across her face, not that he could tell even now. It was dark enough that without his vision the sliver of setting sun would only bring out her outline.

“Hmm, I think I should be more direct. I don’t mean a team up. This is an invitation. To join.”

The added clarification fading into the background as his mind halted. A white screen, resembling the state of shock he was in passed through his head. He knows it’s a weird affect of his powers and he currently doesn’t mind.

“Why m- You want a spy, is that it?”

“We’re both aware of Batman’s no meta rule. And no, if you don’t want to be one. We’d respect your wishes. Although consider what’s going to happen after this.”

Readjusting his stance subtly as he's contemplating ighting, just leaving or waiting to hear things out amicably. ‘Don’t ruin the chances, think of the civilians Duke.’ Clenching his teeth.

“And what exactly do you think is going to happen after this?”

“Your walkie talkies are disabled, you’ve been here for almost twenty minutes. Yet no backup has come, likely busy or they haven’t noticed. But eventually you’ll get back and they’ll ask you what happened. So? What will you say?”

The scoff left without thought. “I’ll be honest. Tell them what happened.”

“That we offered you to join us? That your powers both as a vampire and your own powers could render you invincible? That we seek cooperation with them that they’ll likely refuse? You’re a new addition Signal, and ultimately their level of trust for you is lower. We need not a spy who after this will already be deemed so. We are offering this for you, specifically Signal.”

He reared back and with a snarl on both his face and one in his voice. “You’ve already tried deeming my fate, trying to limit my choices the second you cut off my comms.”

“You could lie. Although I have no doubt Batman, World’s Greatest Detective. Will figure it out quickly, in fact I think he knew from the moment he assigned you here as backup.”

Too many things were swirling through his head so he focused on the last and most recent one. “You knew, about the backup and likely what they’re doing right now. Tell me-“

“It’s not a trap, although I doubt you’ll believe me. You will once you see them safe and sound later.”

“I’m contemplating fighting you right now.”

“Honest. Still, you wouldn’t, you’re too afraid of starting one you can’t end. Especially if it comes raining down on those around you. We do want peace. We weren’t lying earlier, about that offer either. But we both doubt Batman could ever accept.”

He started away the scowl as he wanted to sneer, he half hopes the hate he thinks he might just feel clears away come morning. The other half wishes it doesn’t leave.

“Am I allowed to leave, I think I’m done hearing you out about anything other than the first offer. And if you really want to leave a civilians alone I suggest making sure they don’t suck anymore of them dry.”

Turning around as his legs pushed off the concrete roof faster and faster. It didn’t matter that his back was turned, because as much as he hated it he was near certain they wouldn’t do anything. With it being a neighborhood type street he styled for grappling onto a glowing gas station sign before shoot out to another. The train yard just wasn’t an option, whether to avoid asking or being asked questions he’s bit quite sure which he hates the idea more of. He'll go help out in Crime Alley, being here is practically useless.