Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter parker always had a sixth sense for trouble. Whether it was the low hum of danger radiating through his head or the way the hair on the back of his neck stood up, he could usually tell when something was wrong. So, when a massive surge of energy hit—when a tear in the fabric of reality made everything around him twist and fold like a bad dream—he could feel it throughout his entire sense of being. And now he was… here.

He groaned as he pushed himself up, wincing. He didn’t actually know where “here” was, but he was sure of one thing—it wasn’t New York.

“Why does this stuff always happen to me?” he muttered, rubbing his aching ribs.

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. The sky above was a dull, overcast gray, and the lights from the city flickered in a way that made everything look like it was caught in perpetual twilight. The buildings loomed tall and oppressive, all sharp edges and cold concrete, as though they were built to keep out the sun.

Not Queens, Peter thought. Definitely not Queens.

He scrambled to his feet, pulling out his phone.

There was no signal. Great.

He should’ve figured that, being in an entirely different universe, but he was still trying to ignore and deny that reality for as long as he could.

Peter sighed and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Guess he’d have to figure this out the old-fashioned way, and if he recalled correctly, he had his Spider-Suit^TM conveniently stuffed in the bottom of his bag, along with his wallet and a load of notebooks.
First things first. Where the hell am I.

Peter wanders the streets as he tries to take in any hints that could help him. He eventually comes to the conclusion that he’s somewhere in New Jersey. Gross… But it’s a city that he’s never seen or heard of so it most likely doesn’t exist in his universe.

He grabs a newspaper out of a stand he passes.

| Saturday, August 3, 2016 |

The Gotham Gazette
------------------
Superman Departs Gotham!

Gotham Knights drop Preseason Opener to Star City Stags, 30-10

Gotham Prep Awards Over 350,000 in Scholarships for Upcoming School Year

Park Row Shooting Leaves 3 Dead, 4 Injured GCPD Reports

11 Best Towns in New Jersey To Retire Comfortably

2016. That’s…. going to make getting home a lot more inconvenient.

Peters’ thoughts are interrupted as his stomach sounds an aggressive growl, resulting in a side eye from the lady standing next to him. A little snack wouldn’t hurt. Peter stuffs his newspaper into him bag as he makes his way to the burger place he spotted across the street.

“Bat Burger? Who in their right mind would theme a restaurant around bats? Is it because the burgers are made out of bat meat?”

The cashier stared at him with a bewildered expression, “its themed after… Batman...? y’know… one of Earth’s greatest defenders…?”

“Right, I knew that.” He did not know that.

“I’ll take the… Bat-Mite Meal with an extra order of Robin Nuggets—no make that two extra orders of Nuggets and can you… Jokerize? The fries?”

“11.49 is your total.”

“…Thanks”

Ok, so there’s Batman, Superman, Robin, and… Joker? That’s all Peter could gather from the themed names of the food he ordered, but it seems like he has some studying up to do. This world had its own avengers, but Peter hasn’t noticed any overlapping heroes that are the same as his world yet.

Some of them are pretty close, Peter connected to the Bat Burger’s free Wi-Fi while he waited for his food and started looking up the resident superheroes of this world. Superman is pretty similar to Cap, Green Arrow was obviously Hawkeye, Wonder Woman’s Greek schtick was like Thor and his… everything. That’s mostly where the similarities end as far as he can tell, Peter is sure he could pick out more, but his food has just arrived. That means he has better things to attend to.

He opens up his Bat-Mite Meal as he stuffs nuggets into his mouth, hoping it comes with a toy. Low and behold, he digs out a little bat themed blind bag, Score! He immediately rips into it and a small figure falls out, along with a card.

Peter picks both up after wiping the ketchup from his fingers. He examined the figure; it had a kind of grey outfit with a brown jacket over top, as well as some sort of red helmet. Peter takes a look at the card that goes along with it. Its got an illustration of the superhero the figure is based off of, along with the hero’s name; Red Hood. Huh. He kinda resembles Wade with his red mask.

Why is his name Red Hood, he clearly isn’t wearing a hood?

After Peter finished stuffing his face, he has a sort of post-meal clarity.

He is stuck in a universe he knows virtually nothing about, with a limited amount of money, and he doesn’t know anyone around. Zero connections.

Man.

Maybe buying fast food first thing wasn’t the best use of his money but sue him. He’s allowed to treat himself, especially in desperate times. It’s a moral boost.

He’s not quite sure what he should do from here. He could head to a nearby F.E.A.S.T. shelter and see what they have to offer, but to him that just feels like taking from the people who really need it. Spider-Man shouldn’t be taking resources from the homeless. Then again, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Before he leaves the safe haven that is Bat Burgers free Wi-Fi he googles where the closest FEAST shelter is.

…

They don’t have F.E.A.S.T. here.

Peter finds the next best thing, which is a homeless shelter set up by the Wayne Foundation. It basically the same thing as a F.E.A.S.T. just without a handsome unofficial-semi-official-poster-boy… and if you count Bruce Wayne, they actually have that covered too.

When Peter walks in, he feels a small tug at his heart strings. In the back of his mind, he has been thinking about the fact that being in this universe results in the possibility that he won’t be able to return to his. He likes to think he will find a way back, through a magic user and some crystal balls or a machine he engineers himself, he will return home. But he is also realistic, and if walking into the shelter just reminded him of his time with Aunt May around, when she was almost single handedly running the Chinatown F.E.A.S.T., so be it.

The shelter was pretty busy, but they still had the space to offer him a bed, so he gratefully accepted it. It was getting dark out so he counted himself lucky, especially when he discovered the shelter had its own free Wi-Fi he could connect to. He needed to figure out a game plan.

Shelter? Check, though he needs a more permanent solution…

Food? The shelter he is in also serves as a food pantry, but that really feels like taking from the people who need it, so he’ll figure out a way to make money and buy his own.

Clothes? The only clothing he has is what’s on his back… as well as the Spider-Suit^TM sitting in his bag. He’ll need to get some clothes before he starts stinking… and a way to wash them... and somewhere to put them because he can’t fit them all in his bag…

So that means he needs to get a job.

How is he supposed to get a job with no record of him existing though? No birth certificate, no social security number, no diploma, the only thing he has with him is the driver’s license in his wallet. He can’t even use that though; it’s got the wrong year on it. Pretty sure people will start asking questions if his ID says he is supposed to be like 14. He couldn’t possibly explain that away.

Being homeless is hard.

He looks at job listings on his phone, he can’t get too fancy with where he applies. He might be qualified for a plethora of jobs, but he’s gonna need to find one that is not going to question his lack of identification. Maybe he could forge some documents? It can’t be that hard.. if anything, he could hire a guy. If swarms of high schoolers can get their hands on a good fake ID, Peter should be able to.

Peter takes time to fill out a couple online applications because, well, he has nothing better to do. He figures he’ll have more luck in person, but whatever. Afterwards, he studies more on the local heroes, because apparently there’s quite a few of them. If he plans on swinging around in the dead of night himself, he should probably figure out what type of people the vigilantes around here are.

Many of the heroes in Gotham seem to be somewhat bat themed, which he had already began to pick up on. Duh. But some were also.. bird themed… He wasn’t sure how bats and birds had anything to do with each other but there wasn’t any rule anywhere saying that all vigilantes in Gotham had to match or something, so it doesn’t really matter.

The two that stuck out to him the most were Batman and Red Hood. Those two seemed to have an intimidating reputation. He knew that all the vigilantes had to be skilled, precise and deadly, but from what he was gathering Batman seems to have been the first. That would explain why so many of the vigilantes were bat themed, they were honoring the oldest and presumably most skilled of the… group? Where they a group?

Definitely not a group group, not like the Avengers or the Justice League, or the Fantastic Four. More like… the X-Men maybe…

Anyways. Peter might have been calling them all vigilantes and heroes, but Red Hood seemed much more of an.. anti hero? Everything that Peter saw online just pointed to more and more criminal activity from Red Hood. He killed people, stole, was involved in gangs, sold narcotics. The list goes on. Peter isn’t one to judge, after all he does associate himself with people like Wade, Frank, and Marc. So, he knows not to judge a book by its cover or whatever, especially if all of the other bats seem to be okay with Red Hoods’ presence.

He'll still keep an eye out for Red Hood… just to be careful.

---

Peter had fallen asleep on his phone, which, in hindsight, was stupid. Peter didn’t have a charger with him, and he didn’t stop to consider that this universe might have different technology than his. Or he could be overthinking it, either way he needs a phone charger because his phone is now completely and utterly dead. He begrudgingly rolled out of bed and threw his hoodie back on. He scooped up his backpack from under his cot and headed for the door.

He made his way to a nearby convenience store and with luck unusually on his side, he found the phone charger he needed. On the way to the checkout Peter picked up a premade sandwich, some chips, and a drink.

He’s gonna need to figure out a way to budget better.

Food is just so good. He can’t help it.

As Peter is walking down the street, he suddenly feels a small hum in the back of his mind.

Danger

As soon as he feels it, He jerks himself harshly to the left, skillfully avoiding a man barreling towards him. And as soon as Peter even registers that the man was there--Thwip--he was gone.

Peter looked up to where the man now resides.

He is dangling by his feet from the roof of a building, flailing around and throwing curses at someone unseen by Peter.

After a beat, a guy in a black eye mask leans over the edge of the roof that the man is hanging off. “Are you alright? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

Peter blinks

“No, I’m fine.”

“Awesome!”

And just like that, the masked man is gone.

Robin. That had to have been Robin. Nightwing totally wears blue, this guy was in red and yellow, maybe even a bit of green.

Peter continues his walk, moments later he hears sirens coming from down the street presumably to come and get the man Robin had tied up and hung on the side of a building.

I think I read that there are two robins, how am I supposed to know which is which?

Eating while he walks, peter spots a few help wanted signs, mentally keeping note of them. One in particular caught his eye.

HighTech Electronic Repairs
!!HELP WANTED!!

Stuffing the rest of his food in his face, he walks through the door and looks around the shop. It’s fairly small, the front desk taking up half of the room, but Peter can see a door in the back cracked open just enough to reveal a reasonably spacious back room. The walls were covered in shelves stacked to the ceiling with various phones, computers, consoles, and miscellaneous parts. Awesome.

As he’s gazing at all the store has to offer, thinking of all the things he could build, someone interrupts his train of thought. “Do you need help with anything, sir?” A woman eyed him from behind the counter warily.

“Ah, I saw your help wanted sign outside? I was just wondering if—”

She immediately perked up, “Perfect! Follow me!”

That was… Quick.

Peter was swiftly led behind the front desk and into the back room, which is a hundred times more cluttered than the front, where he sees an older woman sitting at a desk.

The younger girl informs her that Peter is here for an interview, and then she excuses herself.

He reaches out to shake her hand (uncle ben had always said the way to an employer’s heart was a good, firm handshake, though, Peter thinks that advice is a bit out of date, he would never say that out loud of course).

She gives him a look but accepts and introduces herself. “My name is Samantha Jordan, I am the manager here.”
“Peter. Parker. My name is Peter Parker.”

Samantha moves to sit back down at her desk as she motions for him to do the same. “Are you good with computers Peter Parker?”

Peter inwardly cringes at himself as he sits down across from her. “I would consider myself very proficient with technology ma’am”

She chuckles lightly, “What hours would you be available to work?

“I can do whenever.”

“Perfect! Would you be able to fix something for me? I just want to ensure you have the skillset for the job.”

Peter grins, “Of course!” Samantha opens a drawer in her desk and digs around for something, eventually pulling out a cellphone. She slides it across her desk to Peter, and she hands him a small case of tools. Peter glances at her, and she is staring at him expectantly, so he gets to work.

He examines the phone, trying to figure out what the issue is, “The customer said he dropped it on concrete.” Peter hummed in acknowledgement.

He removed the back, messing around inside the phone for a few minutes. He noticed that Samantha had set some of the parts he would need on the desk as well. After about 15 minutes, he was done inside and carefully put the phone back together, replacing the busted screen in the process.
He clicked the power button and flipped the phone towards Samantha to show her that it had turned on. “Wonderful! That’s so much less training we’ll have to put you through!” She smiled at him as she spoke, “Could you start tomorrow?”

Peter couldn’t help but be giddy, just one day in this universe and he already had a job! Parker luck be damned. “Yes Ma’am!”

Samantha led him back towards the front, and he departed with a small “Thank you.”

…

Now what…

Peter sighed. This is going to be a long process. He couldn’t even remember how he had gotten here, let alone how to leave!

Maybe getting into the superhero scene could be of use…

Not yet.

While perusing online Peter had discovered that Batman wasn’t too fond of mutants. He had read that the Bat had an unofficial-official “No-Mutants-In-Gotham” rule and Peter had just gotten a job, he didn’t wanna be kicked out yet.

It is still early in the day, peter needed to find something to do.

With the remainder of his funds, he walked into a couple nearby stores. He bought a pack of plain t-shirts, a pack of plain boxers, a pair of sweatpants, and a hoodie. That was about all he could afford at the moment, but with him starting his new job so soon, he wasn’t too worried about spending his money, especially on things he needed. According to the newspaper he had gotten yesterday, it was august, so that meant it would be getting chilly soon.

What he has now should do for a while, but if it begins to get too cold, he is screwed. Especially if he can’t find a warm place to stay.

Peter spent a while just wandering around, but with his shopping bags in hand he was getting quite a few stares. And not the kind he liked.

With it getting later in the day he knew he needed to go somewhere before it started to get dark. He wasn’t too worried about his own safety, but he would prefer it if he didn’t out himself as a mutate to the public. Who knows how many Gothamites share the same sentiment as Batman.

After a little while longer of walking, Peter stumbled upon a run-down looking neighborhood.

Great. It looks like I’ll be squatting then.

Peter really didn’t like this whole homeless thing he had going on right now.

He scoped out an apartment building with a bunch of boarded up windows, and once he decided the coast was clear, he scaled the wall to an open window. He assessed the room after he—gracefully—climbed through the window.

The apartment wasn’t in too bad condition, if he had to guess they probably closed it up for something tame like asbestos or black mold. Nothing serious.

There were obvious signs it had been left alone for an extended amount of time, many of the non-boarded up windows broken. He carefully made his way to the ground level and caught sight of some graffiti that littered the walls.

This place was clearly a hangout spot for delinquents.

He wondered around looking at the graffiti for a while, some of it was pretty good, you just had to excuse the tiny penises drawn over top of most of it.

He may have taken a pen out of his backpack and added a few himself.

He wandered around the building until he decided he had seen all there was to see, so he picked out the room he considered to be in the best condition and settled down. He should’ve invested in some blankets, or a sleeping bag, a tarp even.

All he had now what the jacket he was wearing, and his new hoodie he bought today. Both together were moderately warm, but they did not help him make a comfortable bed.

All he had at the moment was a backpack for a pillow,

He dug through said backpack, getting out his notebooks. He stared longingly at the Spider Suit^TM in the bottom of the bag before he zipped it back shut.

---

Peter spent the next few hours drawing, coming up with suit upgrades, and talking to himself before he got bored and restless.

He groaned as he slammed shut his notebook.

Who knew being on the streets would be so boring.

Peter stood up, stiff from laying on the floor. He made his way to the window, sliding it open. He looked around and made sure there weren’t any lurkers, then he made his way out, crawling up the wall inhumanly.

He climbed all the way to the roof, flipping over the ledge and landing on top. He went to the side of the building with the best view of the city. He plopped down, throwing his legs ever the edge so that they dangled there.

The sun was just beginning to set, and it was quite beautiful.

The skyline was nothing like New York's, which he has grown very accustomed to. He had seen that skyline and those sunsets from nearly every angle humanly possible, and then some.

It was his favorite thing to do. Admire the city, see it in ways no one else could. He wanted to truly understand it.

Most people would consider New York a harsh place, but Peter didn’t. he saw the gentleness engraved in everything that was built there, all of the care and thought put behind it. All of the lives that it has lived.

He liked to appreciate the small things. The minute details in buildings that you would never have the opportunity to see under normal circumstances. The minuscule ways that nature would reclaim the city, slowly wrapping itself around the manmade structures in an extremely delicate way. The personal touches people would add to try and memorialize themselves or their art in various ways (peter wondered how some of them got to the places they did without his superpowers).

He thinks that’s why he likes photography so much, he could capture the world in the way he saw it, especially the city.

He should really invest in another camera, with his being across the multiverse.

He sat there for a while, watching the sun sink behind the skyline. It wasn’t New York, but he still appreciated and admired it.

He sat for hours studying the way the light bounced off the structures, and all the people going through their day to day lives, the occasional “wildlife” that would scurry along the streets or fly across the sky.

Man, he really really wished he had a camera.

That’s gonna be the first thing he does when he gets his paycheck.

Chapter Text

Peter woke up with a monstrous kink in his neck.

Sleeping on the floor sucks.

Today he starts his job at the repair shop. He almost couldn’t sleep last night with how excited he was about it, or maybe it was the floor he was sleeping on. He’s in a good mood regardless.

He changes into the limited clean clothes he has and heads off.

The repair shop is only about a 15-minute walk from where he’s holed up. On the way he stops by a small sandwich shop and orders himself the fattest breakfast sandwich he has ever seen.

Totally worth his money in his opinion.

When he finally makes it to work, the girl from yesterday is at the desk again, Peter soon discovers that her name is Josie.

Peter briefly thinks of the many times he and Matt sat down for a meal at Restaurant-Josie’s before he is quickly snapped back into reality by Coworker-Josie leading him to the back room.

She brings him to a table, which he learns will be his main workstation, and explains to him how they run the store. She walks him through a brief tour of the place, showing him where which part for what is.

It doesn’t take long for him to get into the groove of things, fixing a phone, then maybe a controller, a laptop, then a tablet. Eventually he runs out of things to fix, so he starts wandering around.

As he is examining the piles and piles of junk they have, he finds a large carboard box by the door that leads outside. It doesn’t look out of place, matching everything else in the room, but Peter notices among the heap of metal and electronic sits a camera.

He digs it out of the box and examines it. There wasn’t much noteworthy damage, a few scratches and scrapers here and there, and it could probably use a new lens from not having a cap. Other than that, the camera was in perfect working condition.

He turns towards Samantha, “How much would you charge me for this thing Boss? Do I get an employee discount?”

Samantha looks up from her desk and it takes her a moment to register what Peter is holding up towards her. “That old thing? Psh, take it Pete. That box is full of junk that has either been sitting on the store shelves for way too long or garbage we can’t use.”

Peter Beams at this.

“So… could I take the whole box?”

Samantha raises her eyebrow as she looks at him, “take all of it, it was just going to get tossed anyways.”

Peter just keeps getting luckier and luckier.

The last couple hours of his shift go by quickly, but he is eager to leave. He practically sprints out the door.

He needs to try out his new camera.

It’s pretty nice for one made in 2016, the scrapes and scuffs most likely warded away anyone looking to buy a camera. That’s why you never judge a book by its cover.

Peter may or may not have also snagged an SD card from the shop, but he’s sure no one will notice so it doesn’t actually matter. He hopes at least, as he shoves the card into the slot. He powers the camera on, already plotting what he’s gonna shoot.

He takes pictures of everything. And, he must admit, some of the photos aren’t exactly what he would call quality, but getting the chance to document a different reality from your own doesn’t come often. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he crouches down to snap a photo of a bug on the sidewalk.

As the sun sets lower and lower in the sky, peter makes his way back towards his makeshift home. On the way he continues to snap shots—graffiti on cracked brick, a man smoking under a crooked streetlamp, the flicker of neon signs reflecting off rain-slick pavement. Gotham is ugly, but in a kind of fascinating, magnetic way. Like a bruise you can’t help but poke at or something.

He stops at the edge of an alley when he spots a cat perched on a dumpster, its yellow eyes glinting at him.

Click.

He smiles faintly to himself and keeps moving, the chill of the evening starting to creep into his jacket.

By the time Peter makes it to his apartment, he can see that the sun is beginning to obscure itself behind the tall buildings of Gotham once again. He quickly scurries up the wall and onto the roof, setting his bag down as he plopped onto the ledge once again.

He takes in the sight for a few moments before angling the camera and snapping a photo.

Listening to the subtle sounds of the city, he flips through all the photos he had taken throughout the day.

Peter hears someone approach him from behind, but he doesn’t sense any danger—no tension in the air, no warning in the back of his skull. Still, he turns slowly, camera still in hand.

“What are you doing up here? Nothing stupid, I hope.”

The voice is calm but firm. Low, almost lazy, but with a weight behind it. Peter looks up and sees him standing a few feet away, leather jacket, armored vest, dual pistols holstered at his sides. The helmet is what catches the light first: red, sleek, and blank-eyed.

Red Hood.

Peter stiffens for a second, not from fear, but from recognition.

He studies Red Hood for a brief moment, following the direction of his gaze.

Peter is currently sitting on the edge of the rooftop, feet dangling over the side. A brooding skyline behind him.

Oh.

“Uh,” Peter says, raising a hand sheepishly. “Not what it looks like.”

Red Hood doesn’t move. “Right. Because rooftop sightseeing is just your thing.”

Peter holds up the camera. “I’m a photographer, honest!”

Red Hood nods slowly, still not entirely convinced.

After a pause he steps closer. Not aggressive, not threatening--just assessing. “What’s your name?”

Peter crosses his arms, “I’m not too sure I should be speaking to tall, dark, and mysterious men in the dead of night, let alone giving them my name.”

Red Hood sighs and mutters something under his breath —something Peter can’t quite make out, but it sounds suspiciously like, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“Look,” Red Hood says, straightening up a bit, “I don’t care what your name is, I just need to make sure I’m not walking out of here with a body bag behind me.”

Peter chuckles trying to lighten the air, “Yeah, definitely not in the mood to swan dive off a nine-story building tonight. You’ll be happy to know I’m just here to shoot.”

There’s a pause.

“With the camera,” he adds quickly, waving it for emphasis.

Red Hood doesn’t respond right away. Then he walks over and sits on the ledge beside Peter, just close enough to make a point, but not enough to crowd.

They sit in silence for a moment, both of them staring out at the city.

“My name’s Peter, by the way,” he says finally and Red Hood hums in acknowledgement.

his gaze seemingly drifts to the camera in Peter’s hands. “What are you even photographing? Half the city’s a landfill and the other half’s actively on fire.”

Peter shrugs, his voice softening a bit. “I dunno. There’s something about it, the city feels alive. Even the grime has character.”

Red Hood’s silent for a beat, “You’re not from around here,” he says not like a question, but a statement.

Peter smiles. “Was it the lack of bulletproof gear or the fact that I still have hope in my eyes?”

Red Hood lets out a small, dry laugh. “A little of both.”

Peter can hear sirens wail in the distance.

“Stay off the ledges, Peter. Or at least don’t look so damn tragic doing it.”

Peter smirks. “You make it a habit to check in on sad guys with cameras?”

“No,” Red Hood says, turning away. “Just the cute vulnerable looking ones.”

With that, he steps off the edge—and vanishes into the night, the sound of his grappling line the only thing left behind.

Peter lets out a breath.

“Okay,” he mutters

He glances down at the camera in his hand and powers it on, then turns the lens toward the horizon.

Click.

The night air bites at his cheeks gently. His stomach growls, reminding him that a breakfast sandwich can only carry a man so far. He packs up the camera and slings the strap around his neck before climbing down from the roof and back into the hollow shell of his borrowed apartment.

It’s not much. No running water, exposed wiring in the ceiling, and a mattress he hasn’t worked up the courage to touch. But for now, it’s enough.

Peter collapses onto the floor and pulls his hoodie tighter around him. The camera rests beside him, its red light blinking idly as it charges through a janky wall adapter.

He drifts off sometime past midnight, the sound of sirens and creaking pipes forming a lullaby only Gotham could write.

---

Peter continues on the same way for the next few days.

He goes to work, wanders the city trying to memorize the layout while he snaps photos of anything he considered vaguely intriguing, and then he goes home.

In his time adventuring through the city, Peter catches a few sights of the local vigilantes.

Usually, he doesn’t catch them too close and personal, maybe just a distant silhouette on a rooftop, or a blur of color out of the corner of his eye. One day though, he did get the chance to see Robin again. He was standing on the hood of a getaway car, cape whipping in the wind, staff resting casually on his shoulder.

Peter was half a block away, camera already in hand when he started vigorously snapping photos.

After quick review, he would consider it his best work so far, on par with his late-night rooftop landscapes.

Peter had also finally gotten his first paycheck, meaning he could buy himself a few necessities like shampoo, blankets, and a Bat-Mite meal.

When he very eagerly ripped open the bag that he had come here for, he was greeted with a figurine different from the first one he had. This figure had an all-black suit with some blue accents, and when he read the card, he discovered that it was Nightwing.
“Not as cool looking as Red Hood,” Peter thought, but he slips the Nightwing figure into his pocket anyway.

By the time Saturday rolls around, Peter finds himself with a little money left over and an itch to do something outside his new routine because he was getting a little lonely. He could only talk to himself and the rats for so long before somebody started calling him crazy. And even then, the rats weren’t exactly great conversationalists. One of them tried to run off with his granola bar the night before.

Absolutely no respect for personal boundaries.

So, after a brief internal debate, and a firm "yes" from the part of his brain that remembered what human connection felt like, he heads out.

He’s crossing a busy street near one of Gotham’s older neighborhoods lost in thought, when a loud engine tears through the afternoon calm.

A sleek motorcycle comes flying around the corner, way too fast, weaving dangerously between cars.

Peter barely jumps out of the way as the bike zooms past him, missing him by inches.

“Hey! Watch it!” Peter shouts.

The bike screeches to a stop a few feet ahead. The rider pulls off his helmet, revealing sharp blue eyes and messy black hair.

“You okay?” the guy asks, voice casual, but with a hint of concern.

Peter runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah, but I’d be better if lunatics on motorcycles would abide by traffic laws,” he deadpans.

The man smirks, like it’s no big deal. “Jaywalking is also illegal y’know.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Maybe slow down if you don’t wanna turn the next guy into a pancake.”

The man shrugs, “What’s the fun in that? The entire point of owning a motorcycle is to drive fast and make life hell for other drivers.”

Peter snorts a laugh, despite himself. “Not everyone wants to live life on the edge like you do.”

The man steps off the bike, extending a hand. “Jason.”

He looks at the man skeptically before accepting, “Peter.”

Jason looks Peter over, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “You want to grab a coffee? My treat for almost turning you into roadkill.”

Peter grins back. “Well, it is the least you could do to make it up to me.”

Jason hops back on his bike, and revs the engine, “Hop on, I know a place”

Peter thinks up a small silent prayer to anyone who might be listening as he hops on the back of Jason’s bike. Hopefully he will drive with more sense, harboring a passenger.

He did not.

With a squeal of the tires, Jason took off with just as much speed as when he had almost run Peter over.

As the bike jolted forward Peter had no choice but to grab onto Jason to secure himself on the seat. Thankful for his stickiness, he didn’t have to get too close and personal.

He wasn’t too obvious about it though; he could still feel the heat radiating off the other man. Especially when they unexpectedly jerked around a few turns and Peter instinctually grabbed on tighter.

The bike slowed to a stop as they pulled in front of a coffee shop.

Jason twisted the key and the engine cut off with a low rumble. The sudden silence was almost jarring after the whirlwind ride through Gotham’s cracked streets.

Peter’s legs felt like Jell-O as he climbed off the bike. “You drive like you’ve got a death wish,” he said, shaking out his limbs.

Jason grinned, not the least bit apologetic.

Peter grumbled, trying to ignore how his heart was still hammering from the ride and—okay, maybe a little from the guy standing in front of him that he has been latched onto like superglue for the past 10 minutes. Jason was attractive, sue him.

They made their way inside, Jason holding the door for Peter. “What a gentleman,” Peter remarks sarcastically.

Peter stepped inside, the smell of roasted coffee beans and something cinnamon-sweet instantly hitting him. The café was cozy in a way that felt slightly out of place in Gotham. Like it had been lifted from some small town in the Midwest and plopped down right here in Crime Alley’s shadow.

Warm lights. Faded wallpaper. Mismatched furniture that felt more curated than accidental.

Peter took it in with a small, appreciative breath. “Alright… I’ll give you this much. You’ve got good taste in coffee shops.”

“I know,” Jason said, already heading toward the counter.

Jason ordered something simple, black coffee with a splash of cream, then turned to Peter. “You?”

Peter raised a brow. “You almost killed me. I think that earns me a fancy drink.”

Jason smirked, “Pick your poison.”

Peter ordered the largest size chocolate milkshake they had, with extra chocolate syrup and whipped cream as per his request. He could see Jason shaking his head out of the corner of his eye as he handed the cashier what they owed.

After getting their drinks, Peter followed Jason as he led them to a booth next to the front window.

Peter slid into the booth, cradling his milkshake. He took one long sip through the straw, then sighed dramatically. “Totally worth the near-death experience.”
Jason sat across from him, blowing on his coffee. “I think that’s the most sugar I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Peter smirked around his straw. “It’s how I’m coping with my recently acquired trauma. Near death and all that.”

Jason snorts into his coffee. “You’re being dramatic.”

Peter leaned back, faux offended. “Excuse you. I think I’m handling my brush with death with remarkable grace. Some might even say I’m thriving.”

Jason rolled his eyes and Peter took another long sip of his milkshake, eyes drifting briefly out the window. The streets outside were quiet. Still Gotham, of course—nothing ever truly stopped moving—but there was a lull to the afternoon now. That brief window between the chaos of morning and the madness of night.

“So…” Jason’s voice cut through the quiet between them. “What are you doing here in Gotham?”

“Why do you figure I’m not from here?”

Jason smirked over the rim of his coffee cup. “You don’t walk like a Gothamite. You still look both ways before crossing the street.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “Oh, whatever. That was just a lucky guess from your end.”

Jason tilted his head. “You’re avoiding the question. You running from something?”
Peter let out a breath through his nose, fingers tapping against the side of his glass. “Sorry I’m not jumping the gun to spill my life story to every man that buys me a milkshake. I’m not running, exactly. It was more of a... forceful relocation.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie, that was the best way he could spin the truth without sounding like a lunatic.

Peter waved his camera at Jason “Needed a change of scenery, something new to take photos of.”

Jason watched him closely. “Change of scenery, huh? Usually people go to, like, Vermont for that.”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a snort. “Well, Vermont doesn’t come with brooding vigilantes or Bat-Mite toys.”

Jason chuckled lightly, but quickly sobered when he his phone dinged, reading whatever popped up on the screen. “Ah, I’ve gotta head out. You don’t need a ride home or anything do you?”

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you,” Peter said as he crossed his arms, “I’ll be fine.”

Jason stood to leave, but before he did, he snagged a napkin out of the holder and gestured for Peter to hand him a pen. He quickly jotted down a few digits and slid the napkin to Peter, silently making his way out the door.

Peter quickly snags the napkin up from the table, reading what Jason had written.

just in case u miss me
XXX-XXX-XXXX

Peter may have set out today looking to make friends, but he wasn’t anticipating it happening so quickly.

Chapter Text

After being left alone in the coffee shop by Jason, Peter makes his way back to his apartment.

In a couple of weeks' time, he’s sure he’ll have enough to rent himself an actual apartment, preferably one with kinder rats. Or no rats, but he’s not choosy.

While he walks, he brainstorms ideas to get him home, and he is somewhat at a dead end. All he has is a box of scraps and a camera to his name. He’s starting to make money, but that won’t help him if he doesn’t even know where to begin.

He gives himself a headache trying to rack his brain for how he even got here in the first place. There was nothing. His life was normal, swinging through the streets, fighting crime, hanging out with his friends, going to work for Jameson, and then--

Boom.

He was here.

He couldn’t quite lie to himself and pretend the massive gap in his memory wasn’t worrying the shit out of him. He had no idea what was going on back home. Had he got sent here during a fight? Was New York in danger? Why couldn’t he remember it in the first place?

He had zero answers, and he was getting ahead of himself.

There was no point in worrying when he couldn’t do anything about it at this exact moment. That’s what the logical part of him said at least. He definitely needed to figure out something.

Peter approached his humble abode and once again scurried up the wall, heading inside.
The creaky old window was a familiar sight by now. Peter pushed it open with one hand, bracing himself as he swung his legs inside. The apartment greeted him with the usual blend of peeling wallpaper, dust, and the smell of something that might have once been food but was now more of an idea of food. He landed on the floor with a soft thud, shaking his head as he looked around. The rats had left him alone for the time being, though he could hear their little feet scurrying behind the walls, always watching.

He shuttered at the thought of a hoard of rats watching him at all hours of the day. It was one thing to deal with the occasional skittering sound or the faint rustling behind the walls. It was another thing entirely to feel like he was being watched by a dozen tiny, beady eyes in the dark.

As long as they stay away from his food.

He dropped his backpack on the floor, feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion pulling at him. He was getting used to the discomfort of his new home, but that didn’t make it feel any less like a prison.

Sure, this universe seemed like a fine place to live, not much different than his with its strange vigilantes and bi-monthly supervillain attack. But it wasn’t his universe. And that fact lightly gnawed at him like the rats behind the walls.

Gotham was a twisted reflection of New York, one that seemed to exist in a constant state of waiting for something terrible to happen. The shadows here felt deeper, more oppressive. He could feel that the streets were alive, it was like the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next disaster to strike.

With his headache growing, Peter momentarily closed his eyes.

He knows what he wants to do.

His suit is sitting just a few feet from him. Waiting.

He directed a glare at it, “Ugh.” He groans as he rolls over. He still isn’t sure if the city will take kindly to a new masked face, but after such a boring week he was much more willing to give it a shot.

This would also probably be a much more efficient way of getting home, at least. As a superhero Peter could hopefully snag some sort of a lead on whatever bizarre twist of fate had landed him here.

He slunk over to his backpack and dug out his Spider Suit^TM. This was the first time he had even looked at it since he got to this universe. He quickly stripped off his clothes and slipped into the spandex.

The fabric felt familiar against his skin. This was probably the longest he had gone without Spider-Manning in the past two years or so, and that’s only because he had gotten such bad food poisoning, he couldn’t get out of bed without throwing up, otherwise he would’ve just powered through the illness like he usually does.

He climbed out of the window again, taking a deep breath as the chill Gotham evening hit him. The skyline stretched before him—dark and looming. His eyes scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of trouble.

Peter swung off the side of the building, his webs snapping into place as he raced through the cold night air, his mind buzzing with the things he had to figure out.

As he passed over the streets, the glow from the neon signs flickered beneath him. The shadows, darker than anything he was used to, seemed to stretch and coil, wrapping around corners, watching. Gotham's streets were just as dangerous as they were alive. A low hum of danger pulsed from them, like the city itself was barely holding back a flood of chaos.
Peter reveled in this feeling; He had missed swinging through the sky every night. This week had dragged on and felt like a month to him.

He might be a little dramatic.

His webbing snapped across a streetlight, pulling him to a stop on a rooftop. He crouched down, taking a moment to breathe as the cold Gotham air bit into his skin.

It would be smart not to draw attention to himself, so he didn’t stray far from Park Row—the name for the area in which he recently discovered his apartment was in. If the vigilantes around here were anything like the ones back in New York, they most likely had their own unofficial territories. He wasn’t exactly sure who covered where though.

Peters’ thoughts were cut short as he hears a noise in the distance.

The sound was a faint shout, his body tensing as he scanned the darkened streets below. The shout wasn’t loud—more like a strangled cry that barely carried through the thick Gotham air. But there was no mistaking the tone. It was desperate.

He didn’t waste another second. With a quick flick of his wrist, he fired a web toward the opposite rooftop, swinging through the air and narrowing his eyes as he homed in on the source of the noise.

As he neared the alley, the sound came again. A woman’s voice, but this time it was much louder.

“Help! Someone, please!”

Within moments, he landed softly on the roof of a building just a few yards away from the alley. He crouched low, peering down to get a better look at what was happening.

The scene below him was one that wasn’t foreign to him. A woman was being dragged into the alley by a man—a hulking figure with a coat that was too big for him, his face obscured by shadows. She was struggling against him, kicking and shouting, but it was clear she didn’t have the strength to break free.

Peter didn’t waste another second before he was swinging into action.

Flinging himself off the building he was perched on, he shot out a web aimed directly at the mans face. As the web collided with the man, he dropped down into the alley and watched as the man was instantly stunned. In the time it took for him to try and rip the webbing off of his face, Peter made eye contact with the woman and as gently as he could, jerked her away and out of reach from him.

As he got free of the webs grasp the man shouted, “What the fuck!” as he looked back up.

Peter was standing with his hands on his hips, blocking the woman from the thug’s view. “What do you think you’re doing here man? You should know better than this.” Peter remarked, tapping his foot like a disappointed parent.

The guy snarled at Peter, “Who the hell are you? You aren’t one of the regular bats… Must be my lucky night.”

Peter made a show to roll his eyes in a way you could see through the mask, moving his entire head. Peter shoots a web on the side of the building in front of him, using it to propel himself into the air, “Quick to jump to conclusions…” Before the man even had a moment to register what Peter had said, he was met with a strong kick to his face.

And just like that, the man was out cold. Peter made quick work of wrapping him up in a webby cocoon, easy pickings for the police. Once he was sure that the man wouldn’t be able to escape had he woken up, he turned towards the woman who was still lingering, watching Peter. “Are you alright, miss?”

She eyes him like she’s unsure of whether or not she should answer. “Yeah… only thanks to you.”

Peter smiles warmly under the mask, “You should head home, I’ll stay here with this douchebag until the police arrive.” He says as he sticks his thumb over his shoulder towards the man he is currently holding captive.

She seems relieved as her shoulders sag and she lets a breath out, “I think I’ll do that, might even call off work tomorrow.”

Peter chuckles and waves to her as she walks out of the alley, making a point to stay in the streetlights. He whips out his phone and dials the non-emergency line and walks himself back up to the rooftops. He gives his anonymous tip to the police, and not too long after, he watches them come and pick up the man he left waiting for them.

Once he sees the guy in in custody, he discretely swings in the direction the woman had left walking in. He quickly caught up to her but didn’t make himself known. After just a couple minutes she arrives at where peter assumes she lives and walks through the door.

Satisfied that she made it home safely, Peter was on his way, swinging back into the night. It was fairly late now, and not wanting to push his luck, he heads towards home

Just a few minutes back into swinging, peter feels a strange sensation in the back of his head. He felt like he was being watched. Damnit. He thought he had gotten lucky and hadn’t drawn the attention of the bats just yet.

He kept swinging, but he quickly diverged from his route. It may have been a shitty excuse for a home, but he still didn’t want to lead the bats straight to it. He kept going for a while, stopping to rest on a roof here and there.

But they never got any closer.

He had been anticipating them to jump out of the shadows and interrogate him or something, but that didn’t happen.

He came to the conclusion that they were just observing him, probably making sure this new masked weirdo wasn’t causing any trouble.

Peter kept his senses on high alert just in case.

He wasn’t sure what to do, he couldn’t go home with someone trailing him. He would either have to confront them or keep on acting like he had no idea they were there.

He was not confronting them.

No way in hell, they were an intimidating group! Who knows what kind of anti-spider gadgets they had in this world.

He internally sighed to himself, flipping from another building, definitely not showing off.

“A few more hours of patrol wouldn’t hurt I guess.”

Peter still made sure to keep close to Park Row.

Tonight was a pretty calm night, and from what he’s heard that’s unusual for this city. He did end up stopping one mugging, which went just as quickly as the first crime he stopped of the night.

Not long after that, the sense of being watched faded, and once he was sure no one was following him he finally went home. Crawling through the window, he felt exhaustion tugging at his limbs. He had been out later than he had originally anticipated to be, and that paired with his entire week of horrendous sleeping conditions, he was starting to feel it.

He didn’t even bother changing out of his suit before collapsing on the floor and falling asleep.

---

Peter groggily rubbed his eyes, his back aching from the rough sleep on the hard floor. His suit stuck to him like a second skin. A quick glance at his phone told him it was already nearing noon, he groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

The small apartment seemed quieter than usual, a stillness hanging in the air. The rats were silent today, which either meant they were plotting something, or more likely, taking the day off. Who knew? Either way, it was a win in his book.

Peter stretched and stood, letting out a yawn as he walked over to his stash of clothes. When he reached down to grab a pair of his jeans, a folded-up piece of paper fell onto the floor. Peter, briefly confused, picked it up and read it.

It was Jasons note, he completely forgot about it!

He clumsily gets dressed before getting out his phone and adding Jason’s number to his contacts. He goes to send him a message before he pauses.

What should he say…

He gnaws on his lip as he thinks for a moment.

What’s up! It’s Peter

Ugh, no.

Hiiii, this is Pete

What the fuck is wrong with him? It should not be this hard to type out a text message. He’s overthinking it way too much.

Peter
Hey
It’s the guy you tried to kill yesterday

That’s good enough. He clicks the send button and quickly shuts off his phone, afraid to look at the screen. His face heats up as he rubs his hands down it.

He is pathetic.

Almost immediately, his phone buzzes again.

Jason
which one?

He blinks at his screen. He’s totally joking, that shouldn’t even condone a second thought.

Peter
The one you took out to coffee, remember?

Jason
of course, how could I forget.
want 2 hang? im bored

Peter can’t help but grin.

Peter
Only if you pick me up

Jason
wya

---

“You’re only hanging out with me so you can ride on my motorcycle,” Jason says as he pulls off his helmet.

Peter rolled his eyes as he approached, “Please. If I never had to see that death trap again, it wouldn’t be soon enough.”

Jason huffed a quiet laugh, “Just get on.” Peter obliges, and Jason hands him a spare helmet.

Peter huffs and climbs on behind him. “I feel like I should at least get hazard pay for this.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll die quick if we crash.”

“Comforting.”

The engine rumbles to life beneath them, loud and guttural. Peter tightens his grip slightly as they peel out into the street, Gotham’s decaying skyline blurring past in streaks of rusted steel and flickering streetlamps.

It doesn’t take long for Peter to shout over the wind, “So, where are we going exactly?”

Jason doesn’t answer right away. He shifts lanes with ease, weaving through traffic like it’s a game. Then, with the casual confidence of someone who absolutely enjoys causing minor panic, he calls back, “You’ll see.”

Peter’s stomach did a small, traitorous flip.

They rode for another fifteen minutes, Jason cutting through Gotham’s cityscape with the kind of reckless precision that made Peter feel like they were dodging death with every turn. Eventually, the dense buildings gave way to something quieter, more open. Warehouses. Old docks. A part of the city that didn’t see much foot traffic anymore.

Jason slowed the bike to a crawl and then parked behind a rusted shipping container, killing the engine with a flick of his wrist. The sudden silence left Peter's ears ringing, the echo of the city’s chaos muffled out here near the waterfront.
Jason swung his leg off the bike and pulled off his helmet, ruffling his hair as he looked back at Peter. “Come on.”

Peter removed his own helmet and followed Jason. “Only our second time hanging out and I feel like you’re dragging me out here to dispose of me.”

Jason scoffed, “Relax, I don’t throw people I like into the harbor.”

Peter quirked a brow, “Oh, you like me, do you?”

Jason rolled his eyes, but Peter caught the faint smirk that tugged at the edge of his mouth. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Jason led him along a narrow path between the rusted containers until they reached the edge of the dock. The water lapped quietly against the posts, murky and still under the grey skies. Peter half-expected a giant crocodile monster to leap out at them. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised. It was Gotham, after all.

Jason sat down at the very edge of the dock, legs dangling over the side. Peter hesitated for a second, then joined him, careful not to sit too close, but close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed when they both leaned forward.

“You said you like to take pictures, right? I come to this spot when I wanna get away from annoying shitheads. Not to get too corny or anything, but I think its nice.”

Jason was right, it was nice. It was a very quiet part of the city, tucked away behind the industrial skeleton of the docks, it felt… still. Peaceful. Even the air smelled cleaner, faintly metallic with a trace of saltwater instead of the usual grime and smog of the city.

It was an interesting view too. The skyline was a jagged line of decaying buildings, cranes frozen mid-motion, and smokestacks rising like ancient tombstones into the Gotham haze. But somehow, framed by the lazy slosh of the water and the overcast sky, it looked less like a hellscape and more like a tired city just trying to rest. Peter lifted his camera and snapped a picture.

He glanced over at Jason, who had leaned back on his palms, face tipped toward the cloudy sky.

“So, is this your idea of a date?”

Jason snorted. “You wish.”

Peter clicked his tongue, dramatic. “Damn. And here I thought we had something special.”

He lifted his camera and quickly snapped another photo before Jason could notice.

Click.

Jason didn’t move. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

“No,” Peter said, far too quickly.

Jason turned to look at him with a curious expression.

Peters face grew into a lopsided grin, “You did bring me here to take photos, didn’t you?”

Jason scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “Yeah, of the view.”

Peter shrugged, unbothered. “Can’t help it if the scenery includes a beautiful brooding man in leather,” Peter finished, grinning as he peeked through his camera lens again, framing the shot like it was casual.

Jason huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re lucky I don’t actually toss you into the harbor.”

Peter clicked the photo and lowered the camera. “You say that, and yet, I remain suspiciously dry.”

Jason turned his head just enough to glance at Peter. “It’s still early.”

They let the silence settle again. It wasn’t awkward, surprisingly. Peter found himself fiddling with the camera in his hands, aimlessly adjusting the focus. He let his legs swing gently over the edge of the dock, boots just skimming the salty air.

“You always bring people here?” he asked after a moment, curious. “Or am I just that lucky?”

Jason glanced sideways at him, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “I don’t bring people anywhere. Most of them suck.”

Peter smirked. “And I don’t?”

“You seem… tolerable. Your face helps too, not too bad to look at.”

Peter chuckled, nudging Jason lightly with his shoulder. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as glowing praise.”

They sat there for a while longer, enjoying each other’s presence.

Peter made some small conversation, trying to get to know Jason, and Jason would in turn banter back and forth with him.

Peter only met this man yesterday, but it feels like they have known each other for years.

Finally, Jason groans as he stands up, “You ready to get outta here? Personally, I’m starving” Before Peter could answer, he was tragically cut off by his own stomach growling.

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah I might go for something to eat.”

Jason laughed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless. Come on, I know a place not far from here--greasy and cheap.”

Peter stands and follows Jason back to where he parked, stopping along the way to snap a few more photos. “If it’s not Bat Burger I’m jumping off the back of your motorcycle.”

Jason snorted as he slipped on his helmet, the sound slightly muffled through the visor, and he revved up his engine. “That’s exactly where we’ll be going.” Peter threw a leg over the bike, settling behind him with a grin Jason couldn’t see—but probably felt.

---

Another short ride latched onto Jason, and they were once again at their destination.

The two of them walked into the Bat Burger building, and before Jason had a chance to speak, Peter started. “Two Bat-Mite meals, and an extra order of large fries.” But as Peter twists to pull out his wallet, it was his turn to be cut off. This time by Jason handing the cashier what they owed once again.

“Are you going to make a habit of that? Cause, I mean, I’m not one to complain about free food.”

Jason looked to Peter with a sly smirk, “We’re gonna have to do this more often for me to make a habit out of it,” Then he walked off to find them a table, leaving Peter to stand and wait for their food.

Holy shit this guy is hot.

Peter couldn’t help but be giddy as he sat down with his Bat-Mite meal. “If you get anyone cool you have to give it to me, though, I’m not sure which one of them could be cooler than Red Hood. I’ve already got that one.” He spat out crumbs as he spoke, shoveling fries into his mouth.

“Deal. I think they’re all lame.”

Peter slip Jason’s box towards him and began digging through his own, “What? That can’t be true. You must have at least one favorite.”

Jason contemplates that for a moment. “Hmm, I guess the short Robin isn’t too bad. Who’s your favorite?”

Peter doesn’t need to think of his answer, especially not having met any of the others. “Red Hood.” He says it simply.

Jason shoots him some sort of look he cand quite decipher. “You say that like it’s obvious.”

Peter shrugs, “He looks the coolest.”

“I don’t think you should be talking about other guys looks to the one that just bought your lunch.”

Peter grinned around a mouthful of fries. “You’re right. Very inconsiderate of me.” He dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “I promise to only talk about your looks from now on.” Then he kicked at Jason’s boot under the table.

They finished their meals with light conversation and a few more sarcastic jabs at each other. Peter ended up getting another Nightwing figure, groaning and grumbling about it, much to Jason’s amusement. Jason got a Batman figure, which he immediately handed over to Peter.

As they walked back outside, Peter stretched his arms overhead with a groan. “Okay, it’s official. I’m never eating anything but Bat Burgers again.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Jason said, slipping his helmet back on. “You’ll be dead before thirty.”

Peter grinned. “Then I’ll die happy.”

Jason climbed back onto the bike and patted the seat behind him. “Come on, drama queen. I’ll drop you off.”

Ah. Right.

Peter wasn’t looking forward to their time together ending, but he was even less enthusiastic about Jason taking him home. He wasn’t ready for the “Hey, yeah I’m homeless just leave me here in this dingey little abandon building with the rats, no big deal” talk.

“I can just walk, it’s alright.”

Jason’s brows furrowed as he looked at Peter, “I can’t just take you out and then leave you on the side on the street. It would be easier for me to just drive you.”

Peter wanted to punch himself.

He reluctantly climbed back onto Jason’s bike for the third time that day. He shouted directions over the roar of the engine, and with Jasons driving they were there in no time.

“You’re joking right? You don’t live here,” He dead panned toward Peter.

“That’s rude. Do you hate poor people or something? Maybe I’m insecure of my money situation right now.”

Jason rolled his head back dramatically with an annoyed groan, knocking his helmet against Peters. “Go get your stuff. I’m not leaving you to stay here.”
Peter lightly taps his own helmet on Jasons, then he slinks off the bike. “You don’t have to do that, I’m fine here.”

Jason was already halfway off the bike himself when Peter started talking, “If I left you here, I would be considered a bad person.”

Well… Was Peter really going to pass this opportunity up?

“I didn’t realize you cared so much about how people perceived you.” Just as Peter finished his sentence, Jason had stuck his boot out in Peters path, subsequently tripping him.

Peter muttered under his breath, “Asshole…”

He begrudgingly led Jason to the fire escape closest to his window. Jason didn’t even bat an eye.

Peter did make sure to climb up somewhat quickly, shooting across the room and shoving the Spider Suit^TM into his bag before Jason could notice it.

As Jason climbed through the window himself, Peter shoved his box of scraps into his arms, taking full advantage of having him there. Peter then swiftly gathered all his clothes and notebooks and haphazardly shoved them into his backpack, which was now bulging with the unusually large load. Once Peter was done, he stood and looked back to Jason, ready to head out.

Jason shook the box he had in his hands, “You want me to haul this on my bike?”

Peter blinked. “Obviously.”

Jason groaned dramatically again-- Peter though he was supposed to be the dramatic one—and dropped the box onto the floor. “I’ll buy you a different box of garbage, or at least come back for it when I’m not already hauling your ass on the back.”

Peter whined but complied. “I had plans for that box of garbage.”

“I think you’ll live.”

They both made their way out the window, and back down to Jason’s bike.

Jason revved the engine as Peter slid onto the back of the bike again, he felt a weird mix of excitement that seemed to come with being around this guy. He barely had time to adjust his bag before Jason shot him a quick glance, his helmet obscuring most of his expression but the edge of a smirk still visible.

“You okay back there, princess?” Jason called over the engine noise.

Peter grinned. "Never better. This whole thing is basically my dream, being swept away out of my castle by my very own prince charming."

Jason snorted, but he didn’t respond, just kicked the bike into gear and sped down the streets. They zipped through Gotham’s twisted streets, the chaotic blur of neon signs and shadows rather familiar now. Peter still couldn't stop the way his pulse raced every time they swerved through traffic, he knows for certain Jason does it on purpose.

Jason turned onto a quieter street, pulling up to a small apartment building tucked in between a couple of run-down shops. It looked… well, sketchy. They were still in Park Row after all…

Jason killed the engine and hopped off the bike. "Home sweet home," he said, pulling off his helmet with one hand, his gaze scanning the area like he was expecting trouble.

Peter followed Jason inside, and up the stairs. The interior of the building was much nicer than the outside, Peter could smell something akin to apple pie wafting through the air as well as quiet laughter radiating through the walls. It was a very cozy environment; it reminded him of the apartment he used to share with Aunt May and Uncle Ben.

Jason spoke as he unlocked his door, “I uh, don’t have a spare room or anything, so you’re gonna have to take the couch.”

What a tragedy.

Peters’ ears turned pink at the thought of him and Jason sharing a bed for the night. Maybe it was better this way.

“The couch is better than sleeping on the floor.”

Peter threw his belongings down on the couch, and he followed suit. He leaned back into Jason’s couch, studying his apartment. Jason didn’t seem to be big on décor; the only notable things hung on his wall were a few shelves containing books. The room itself was moderately cluttered, a few takeout boxes here and there, one or two stray articles of clothing, and a lot of knives.

Peter narrowed his eyes in Jason’s direction, who was now digging through the fridge. “Are you a supervillain or something? Cool motorcycle, affinity for knives, slick leather jacket. Totally supervillain behavior.”

Jason looked over his shoulder, “Would I tell you if I was?”

“Touche.”

Once Jason found whatever he was looking for, he made his way to the couch, sitting next to Peter. He handed him a beer, which Peter happily accepted. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Jason took a sip of his beer, “As long as you don’t have garbage taste.”

Peter cracked open the beer, the coldness of it a nice contrast to the warm apartment. He shot Jason a sideways glance, catching a glimpse of his smirk as he reclined further into the couch.

“Garbage taste, huh?” Peter grinned. “I have excellent taste in movies, thank you very much. You’re the one who’s about to be exposed to cinematic greatness.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, “Sure.”

He smirked, tapping the TV remote. “You ever seen Alien?”

Peters face hurt from smiling all day.

Chapter Text

Jason was a massive idiot.

Peter had fallen asleep about halfway through the movie, which gave Jason his opening to leave without questions. Just in case he woke up; he left a note stuck straight to Pete’s forehead.

went out
-Jason

He’s gone on a total of one date-but-not-quite-a-date with him, and the guy was already living in his apartment.

He was hopeless. None of his brothers would ever let him live this down.

He made his way out the window quietly. Peter seemed like the type to sleep like a rock, but he didn’t want to risk it. He held up a finger to his earpiece, “Oracle? It’s Hood, heading out for the night.”

“Copy that. Signal and Red Robin are already out. I’m keeping an eye open for the guy we spotted last night; I had Spoiler trailing him but nothing of note came up.”

Jason hopped onto his bike, taking off without bothering to put on his helmet. “I’ll let you know if I bump into him.” He pulled into his nearest safehouse and got changed into his whole getup. He was going to have to make sure he kept his gear here from now on, he didn’t know if Peter was the kind of guy to have sticky fingers or not and he would rather keep his secret identity, well, secret.

Oracle’s voice filtered back through the comms, low and thoughtful. “I’ve got chatter on local encrypted bands. Something about a drop at the docks, Pier 39. Sounds like they’re trying to keep it quiet.”
Jason adjusted course without a word, gunning the engine as he swerved down a side street.

“I’ll check it out.”

“Be careful,” Oracle added. “We still don’t know who we’re dealing with. They’re off-grid, good at it, and not afraid to make things messy.”

“I’m not exactly known for my subtlety either,” Jason muttered, cutting through an alley. “We’ll get along great.”

The docks were bathed in sickly yellow light and fog rolled low across the water. Jason parked a block out and went in on foot, sticking to the shadows. There were three men at the warehouse entrance, armed but distracted, their postures too casual for a high-level op.

He crouched low behind a rusted shipping container, watching them with sharp eyes. They weren’t pros. No tight formation, no comms, and one of them kept checking his phone like he was waiting for a pizza delivery, not a weapons shipment.

Jason exhaled slowly, he could take all three down without breaking a sweat.

Still, something didn’t sit right.

He reached for the suppressed pistol at his thigh and tapped his comm again. “Oracle, I’m at the docks. Three guys at the entrance. Looks sloppy.”

“Could be intentional,” she replied. “Like bait.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He smirked. “Means I get to hit them harder.”

He ghosted forward, quiet and smooth, just another shadow in the fog. The first guy went down with a blow to the back of the head. The second turned and opened his mouth to shout—Jason grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall before a sound could escape.

The third had time to lift his weapon, but not time to fire. A single shot from Jason’s pistol took him out at the knees.

Three down. Still no sign of a drop, or who was organizing it.

He stepped inside the warehouse.

It was dark and quiet.

He edged forward through the wide, empty loading bay, boots soft on concrete. Rows of crates stacked to the ceiling. Dust everywhere. No fresh tire tracks. No footprints in the fine layer of grime.

It wasn’t just quiet.

It was empty.

Jason switched on the thermal filter in his visor.

Nothing.

“Oracle,” he muttered, turning slowly in a circle, “there’s no one here. The whole place is clear.”

A pause. Then: “That doesn’t make sense--My source should’ve been reliable. Keep your guard up.”

Jason’s jaw clenched beneath the helmet. “Copy.”

He moved deeper into the warehouse, sweeping the area with practiced efficiency. “Do you think this could have anything to do with the guy from last night?”

Oracle hummed, “Unlikely, from what I’ve observed he doesn’t been to be doing much but helping kittens out of trees, I don’t have enough information to be sure though.”

He pushed past another row of crates—still nothing. No sounds. No heat signatures. The whole place smelled like damp wood and metal and... something faint. Too faint.

He stopped.

Gasoline?

His visor beeped once—low proximity warning, not movement.

Pressure sensor.

“Oracle,” he hissed. “It’s a trap, floor sensor just ticked.”

“Shit--!”

The warehouse exploded.

The blast wave lifted him clean off his feet, slammed him into a stack of crates, and dropped them all in a rain of splintered wood and fire. The sound tore through his skull even with the dampeners in place. He hit the ground hard, ears ringing, vision swimming.

“—ood?! Red Hood! Report!”

He groaned, dragging himself behind the smoking husk of what used to be a forklift. “Still alive,” he croaked. “Ten out of ten on the fireworks, though. I think I’m building an immunity to this sort of thing.”

“Satellite confirms the building just went up. I’m rerouting Red Robin to your location now.”

Jason coughed once—smoke, dust, maybe a cracked rib or two—and slumped harder against the forklift frame. He tapped his helmet’s side, cycling his HUD manually to recalibrate. “Backup might be a good idea.”

“Wow,” Oracle deadpanned. “That’s personal growth. I’m proud of you.”

Jason let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or maybe just a wheeze. “Don’t get used to it.”

He pushed himself up with a grunt, boots crunching over scorched debris. The fire was already eating its way through the warehouse, but Jason had eyes on something at the far end. It’s shape untouched by flame, tucked in the crook of a collapsed support beam.

A case.

Black, heavy-duty, and conspicuously not exploded.

His ribs screamed in protest as he made his way toward it, but pain was familiar, easy to tune out. He crouched and pried the case open.

Inside: two vials. One glowing faintly blue, the other a dull, sickly red. Unlabeled and nestled in custom foam like they were priceless.

“Oracle,” he said. “Got something. Bio-agents maybe? Definitely not your run-of-the-mill black market trade.”

“I’ve got Red Robin on comms now—he’s pulling up chemical markers from your feed.”

There was a pause, and then Tim’s voice came through, crisp and sharp.

“Jay, that red vial is bad news. Trace markers line up with a banned ARGUS formula—part of their mind-control research division. It was supposed to be destroyed.”

Jason clicked the case shut, sliding it into his belt pack. “Guess someone missed a few in the spring cleaning.”

“And the blue?” Oracle asked.

“No match,” Tim said. “But if it’s paired with that, I don’t like it.”

Jason stood. “Join the club.”

Jason turned slowly, eyes scanning the smoke-thick air for movement, for anything. The warehouse groaned again, metal warping above like a warning shot. It wouldn’t hold for much longer.

“Got what I need,” he said, already moving toward the exit. “Tell Red Robin to stay out—this place is a ticking deathtrap. If I don’t make it out in five, you’ve got my last ping and my dramatic final words.”

“Which are?” Oracle asked dryly.

Jason smirked behind the helmet. “Tell Dick he still owes me twenty bucks.”

“I’ll write that on your tombstone myself,” Oracle muttered. “Just get out.”

Jason broke into a run, leaping over splintered pallets and half-melted crates. Fire licked along the rafters now, raining sparks, the smoke clawing at his lungs. The case thumped heavily against his hip with each step.

He vaulted through a shattered side door just as the roof collapsed in a shriek of metal behind him.

Outside, Jason met Tim just as he was parking his own bike. Once he saw Jason, he hopped off and ran over to him, “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been worse,” he rasped, waving Tim off with one hand as he leaned heavily against the nearby brick wall. “Warehouse is toast, so are my lungs. But I’ve got the case.”

Tim's eyes narrowed as he took in the state of him—scorch marks across his armor, one arm hanging just a little too stiffly, and a grimace that said, ‘everything hurts and I’m pretending it doesn’t.’ Classic Red Hood.

“You look like someone lit you on fire and tossed you into a blender.”

Jason handed off the case. “I prefer to think of it as field exfoliation.”

Tim opened the case just enough to glance at the vials, then sealed it again and locked it under his arm.

“I’ll get this back to the roost and start a full chemical workup. You sure no one else was on-site?”

“No. If they were, they’re damn good at keeping out of sight.”

Tim nodded, eyes scanning the smoldering ruin behind them. “You think it was a dead drop?”

Jason shook his head, grimacing. “Too elaborate for that. They let the intel slip, let us walk into it.”

Tim frowned, thumbing a comm switch. “Oracle, you get all that?”

“Got it,” she said. “Running facial rec on the three guards now. One of them matches a known associate of the White Mask Syndicate. Low-level drug traffickers turned mercenaries. If they’re playing with ARGUS leftovers, it’s a major escalation.”

“Great,” Jason muttered. “Love when street trash gets ambitious.”

“Keep that case close, Red Robin,” Oracle continued. “And Jason, you need medical.”

Jason was already heading toward his bike. “I need a shower and about three gallons of coffee.”

“You also need stitches.”

“I’ll settle for coffee.”

Tim didn’t even try to argue. “Text me if you start coughing up blood.”

“I make no promises.”

By the time Jason dragged himself through the window of his apartment, the sun was beginning to rise.

He had almost forgotten about the beautiful man he had on his couch, who was now flipped completely around in a way that looked like he was wrestling his blanket.

Jason crept his way into his bedroom, dropped his gear as quietly as he could and limped toward the bathroom. Hopefully Peter wouldn’t notice if the apartment smelled like fire and despair.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He was sure it was Tim or Barbra trying to make sure he hadn’t passed out from his injuries—so he ignored it

Every inch of him hurt, his ribs screamed with every breath, and there was ash in his hair, blood dried under one glove.

He peeled off the armor, wincing, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Yup. Definitely blender-fire chic.

He turned on the water, let it run hot, and stepped under the stream like it could wash away the kind of night he’d just had.

Fifteen minutes later, bruised but marginally less flammable, Jason padded barefoot back into the living room in sweats and a clean shirt. Peter had stirred, blinking blearily at him from the couch.

Peter’s eyes widened as they focused on Jason. “Dude, what the hell happed to you?”

Jason paused, caught mid-step in the kitchen as he reached for the coffee pot. He gave Peter a faint, lopsided smile, like it hurt just to lift the corners of his mouth.

“Ran into some trouble,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “A uh, bar fight spilled into the street. I didn’t exactly walk away clean.”

Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. Are you okay? Did you go to the hospital?”

Jason shrugged, wincing when the movement pulled at his ribs. “Didn’t need to. Nothing broken.”

That was probably a lie. At least one cracked rib. Maybe two.

Peter narrowed his eyes. “You sure? You’re walking like you got hit by a semi.”

Jason handed him a mug of coffee, effectively ending the interrogation with caffeine. “I’ll live. Besides, I’ve had worse.”

Peter took the mug but didn’t look away. He scanned Jason’s face like he was trying to read between the lines. “You’ve had worse? That’s not comforting at all. You get into bar fights often?”

“Not on purpose,” Jason said lightly.

Peter hummed, unconvinced. “You really don’t want to go to a clinic?”

“Last time I did, a nurse tried to flirt with me while sewing my arm shut.” Jason gave him a crooked grin. “I’m better off with a strong cup of coffee and some Neosporin.”

Peter barked a laugh despite himself, clearly still half-asleep but slowly easing out of the worry zone. “God, you're ridiculous.”

Jason took that as a win and eased himself down onto the couch with a barely-audible groan. He sipped his coffee, careful not to let the hot liquid hit the cut on his lip.

Peter watched him a moment longer, then shook his head, stretching out beside him and stealing half the blanket.

“You’re a mess,” he muttered. “But at least you’re a warm mess.”

Jason glanced sideways at him. “You’re not gonna yell at me about being reckless?”

Peter shrugged. “Not my place. You’re a grown man. If you want to pick fights with flaming idiots, that’s your problem.”

Jason smirked. “Appreciate the support.”

A beat passed.

“…But if you die, I’m stealing your record collection.”

Jason laughed—then winced and coughed, holding his side. “That’s cold, Parker.”

Jason leaned his head back, letting the heat of the coffee soak into his hands, the quiet hum of the city bleeding in through the half-open window. The apartment smelled faintly like smoke—but only if you were looking for it.

He was infinitely grateful Peter didn’t pry for more answers. If he was gonna reveal his nighttime alter ego, they were going to have to go on a lot more dates.

Jason stared at the steam rising from his mug, his ribs throbbing steadily underneath the bruises, his shoulder stiff from being bounced off an exploding forklift.

He should have been asleep. Or at the very least, bandaging his arm. But instead, he was sitting on the couch next to Peter, pretending to be just some guy who got into one bar fight too many.

He was a massive idiot. This was so going to backfire on him.

“You sure you’re okay?” Peter asked again.

Jason gave him a sideways look. “You’re going to keep asking until I lie convincingly, aren’t you?”

Peter smiled slightly. “I’m just saying, if you’re secretly a supervillain or something, I promise not to tell anyone.”

---

Jason had fallen asleep on the couch.

Almost getting blown up for a second time was very tiring.

Jason woke to the soft buzz of his phone vibrating against the coffee table. The room was dim, the city’s morning light creeping through the blinds. His ribs ached like hell.

He squinted at the screen. A message from Oracle.

Oracle
Got the results on those vials, Tims going to bring you the report, see if you’ve got any input.

Jason glanced over at Peter, who was now in the kitchen making an omelet.

Well, attempting to. Judging by the smell and the panicked look on his face, it wasn’t going very well.

Jason smiled to himself.

Before he had a chance to type a message back, he heard a quick knock at his door.

Fuck.

Tim didn’t bother for Jason to answer, he just stormed right in. He began waving a stack of papers in the air as he spoke, “Did you get Babs’ message? Here, look at this. I want you to--”

Tim cut himself off as he made eye contact with Peter, his brows furrowing.

Jason stood from the couch and made his way over to the kitchen, sitting down at the bar. “Hey, Tim. This is Peter. Peter, this is my brother Tim.”

Peter dropped the spatula he was using to scrape what probably used to be eggs off of Jasons frying pan and smiled sheepishly. “Oh, hello! I didn’t know Jason had brothers.”

Tim looked back and forth between Jason and Peter.

Then from Peter to Jason.

“Oh. My. God.” As soon as he opened his mouth, Tim was whipping out his phone to snap a photo of the two currently sitting in the kitchen.

Jason shot out of his chair—too fast for his ribs, if the sharp stab of pain was any indication—and lunged across the counter. “Tim. Put the phone down.”

Click.

Too late.

Tim beamed like he’d just caught Bigfoot doing yoga. “I knew something was up when you didn’t pick up last night. But this? Wow. You have a boyfriend. Oh my God, does Bruce know?”

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For the love of-- He’s not my-- can you not be a disaster for five seconds?” his brain was locked in a cycle of abort mission, kill Tim, move to another country.

“This is amazing. I’m telling Dick.” he sing-songed, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe.

Jason turned back to Peter with an exhausted sigh. “This is why I don’t bring people over.”

Peter smiled, amused and only slightly shell-shocked. “It’s alright, I think me and Tim will get along great.”

A sinister grin spread across Tims face, “I agree.” He slid into the seat between Jason, and the now-smoking remains of Peter’s omelet.

Peter frowned down at the pan. “Okay, this is officially toast. Literally. You guys want me to order something before whatever this is spontaneously combusts?”

Tim whipped his head toward Jason, “Do you have waffles?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You’re raiding my kitchen now?”

“Only because I’m emotionally compromised,” Tim replied flatly.

Jason let out a long, soul-weary sigh. “You’re emotionally compromised because I have a houseguest?”

Tim, already rifling through one of the cabinets like he lived there, replied, “Yes.”

Jason turned to him, eyes narrowed. “You’re lucky I don’t keep my taser in the kitchen.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “You have a taser?”

“Jason has two, actually. That I know of.” Tim said, popping a cabinet closed and returning to the kitchen island with a box of lucky charms.

Peter eyed Jason. “Two? Why do you need two tasers? Isn’t one enough?”

Jason shrugged, grabbing a carton of orange juice from the fridge before being intercepted by Tim. “Different voltage settings? Depends on the guy. I like to stay prepared.”

“Or the mood,” Tim added helpfully, sipping orange juice straight from the bottle before Jason smacked it out of his hand, taking it back.

“Use a glass. You disgust me.”
Peter was laughing again.

His life was about to get much more annoying. He shouldn’t have ever let these two meet, he was never going to keep Tim out of his apartment now.

“Okay, there are no waffles,” Tim announced with a mouthful of dry lucky charms, snapping Jason out of his thoughts. “But you have a suspicious amount of protein bars and Pop-Tarts. I feel like that says a lot about you.”

Peter glanced over, grabbing his mug. “To be fair, that’s exactly what I expected. He seems like the kind of guy to only eat takeout and gas station food.”’

“I’m right here,” Jason said dryly.

Peter smiled over his coffee.

Tim turned to Jason, smirking. “He’s funny. You should keep him.”

Jason shot him a glare. “You’re still not allowed to be here.”

Tim grinned like that meant absolutely nothing to him and took another handful of cereal straight from the box.

Chapter Text

Two weeks in Gotham, and Peter was already in a situationship.

What the fuck.

Tim left after completely decimating Jason’s stash of luck charms, so Peter decided it would be a good idea to go grocery shopping. The idea of living off Jason’s protein bars was not one Peter was fond of.

He pulled on a hoodie that still smelled faintly of Queens—laundry detergent and burnt toast—and tucked his hands into the front pocket like that would protect him from Gotham’s ever-present chill. The kind of cold that seeped into your spine, no matter how many layers you wore.

In his short time here, Peter was starting to learn what a strange city this was. At first, he had brushed it off like it was any other city, a little dirty and dark and depressing, sure, but it was New Jersey after all. But, in the silent moment, the time he had to truly look at the city the way he did New York, he could feel that it was different.

He was almost certain that his enhanced senses had made him more attuned to nature and stuff, but being here put that theory into overdrive. He couldn’t explain with words what this grand difference was as it was more of a feeling than anything else. It was like he could feel the city breathe.

Peter snapped himself out of his thoughts when he approached the corner store he had been headed to. It looked like it had survived a small war. Bullet holes were patched with duct tape on one of the windows, and the neon "OPEN" sign buzzed like it might short-circuit if you breathed too hard.

He would be lucky if he didn’t get mugged in this neighborhood.

Despite it’s rough exterior—and interior to be honest—it had what he was looking for; real food. He grabbed a basket and made his way through the narrow aisles sidestepping a knocked-over display of canned beans and what might’ve been a very questionable puddle. The flickering fluorescent lights above made everything feel ten degrees grimmer, casting shadows that moved even when he didn’t.

He rounded a corner and paused in front of the freezer, eyeing the options like they were trying to scam him. Reaching for a box of frozen waffles, Peter jumped mid-grab when he heard a voice behind him.

“I wouldn’t get those, Jason prefers pancakes.”

With a very undignified scream, Peter turned around arm flailing slightly as the box of waffles slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a soft thud. He spun around to face whoever had snuck up on him.

The guy standing behind him raised his hands in immediate surrender, eyes wide and clearly amused. “Whoa—hey! Didn’t mean to freak you out, man.

Peter blinked, heartbeat trying to crawl out of his chest. “Jesus. Dude. Warn a guy before you sneak up on him.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” the guy said, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Peter narrowed his eyes but bent to grab the waffles anyway. “Yeah, well, I’m not used to people popping up behind me and talking about my roommate’s breakfast habits.”

The guy gave a little laugh and stepped forward, grabbing a box of pancake mix from the shelf, handing it to Peter. “Tim told me Jason had a guy staying over at his place and I just had to see it for myself. I was just on my way over, didn’t expect to run into you so soon.”

This kid was lying. Jason has a stalker family.

“I’m Peter,” he offered, because the social contract required at least that much.

“Duke,” the guy replied, offering a casual nod. “Friend of Jason’s. Not one of the questionable ones.”

Peter raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That feels like something only a very questionable person would say.”

Duke gave an easy grin, clearly unbothered. “Fair. But if I were one of the really shady ones, would I be giving you pancake mix recommendations?” He gestured dramatically at the box now tucked under Peter’s arm like it was a peace offering.

Peter considered that. “I mean, you could be trying to lull me into a false sense of security before you stuff me in a van.”

“Tempting,” Duke said, without missing a beat, “But that’s more of Jason’s thing.

Peter laughed despite himself, and Duke grinned wider, pleased.

“So, how do you know Jason?” Peter asked as they walked together down the aisle toward the register.

Through mutual chaos,” Duke said cryptically, then shrugged. “I’m kind of like a pseudo-brother or something.”

Peter snorted and shook his head, shifting the basket on his hip. “Are there any more pseudo-stalker-siblings that are going to pop up that I should know about?”

“You haven’t even met half of them,” Duke said with a grin, holding the door open as they stepped out into the cold.

Peter meant that as a joke, how many siblings does this guy have again? Peter wasn’t sure, he never asked.

Outside, Gotham felt even more oppressive. The sun was technically out, but you’d never know it—the sky was that permanent bruised-grey color, like it had forgotten how to be blue. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed, a car backfired, and Peter was pretty sure he heard someone yelling about a bat in their laundry room. Standard Gotham ambiance.

“So, you go to school around here or is grocery store lurking your full-time gig?” Peter asked, shooting a sideways glance at him.

“Gotham U,” Duke replied. “Lit major.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” Duke said with mock offense.

Peter chuckled, “Do you write tortured poetry, too?”

“Only during midterms.” Duke stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and gave Peter a sideways grin. “And finals. Can’t forget finals.”

Peter shook his head, smiling as they walked past a graffiti-covered mailbox that looked like someone had tried to turn it into a shrine for some Gotham-themed cryptid. Probably not even the weirdest thing he’d see today.

“Gotta say,” Peter said, “you don’t really give off tortured poet vibes.”

“Thanks?” Duke said, amused. “I think?”

Peter lifted a shoulder. “I mean, you’re just a little too… chill? Normal? Not, like, brooding in an alleyway with a black notebook and a cigarette.”

Duke let out a laugh. “Oh, I do my brooding indoors. Like a civilized person.”

Peter grinned and nodded. “Respect.”

They were nearing Jason’s building now, the old brick monstrosity that somehow managed to look both abandoned and aggressively occupied at the same time. Peter found that funny—how Gotham’s housing looked like it was one gust of wind away from collapsing, and yet the moment you stepped inside, you were immediately greeted by the faint smell of cleaning chemicals and industrial-strength security measures.

Duke paused just outside the stoop, eyeing Peter for a moment with an expression that was somewhere between curious and vaguely suspicious.

“So,” Duke said slowly, “what’s your deal, Peter? You a college guy too? Or are you just crashing in Gotham for the aesthetic?”

Peter laughed, even though his brain immediately scrambled for a lie. “Gap year. Kind of. I used to do some freelance work back in New York, now I’m just… trying to not get eaten alive.”

Not technically a lie. Spider-Man was freelance. And Gotham was trying to eat him alive.

Duke tilted his head. “Freelance what?”

“Photography,” Peter said smoothly.

“Oh man, you told Tim about that right? That guys’ big on taking pictures.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, “No, I’ll have to mention it next time he stops by. Maybe he and I can bond over something other than making fun of Jason.”

Duke laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Yeah, Tim’s always been obsessed with capturing the city’s uglier side. Says it’s art or something.”

Peter nodded and stepped inside, “I’m back! I made a friend while I was out.”

“Oh god, which one is it now,” Jason turned around to face his guest with a grimace already plastered on his face.

Peter grinned, holding up the pancake mix like a trophy. “Duke. He’s apparently one of the ‘not questionable’ ones.”

Jason raised an eyebrow as he looked at Duke, who merely gave him a small wave. “Not questionable, huh? That’s what they all say.”
Duke just smirked and shrugged, completely unbothered. Peter set the pancake mix on the counter, along with a few other things he had grabbed, mainly junk food.

Jason flopped down onto the threadbare couch, eyeing Peter’s haul like it was a secret weapon. “This looks like a seven-year-old got ahold of my credit card. How have you survived this long on your own?”

Peter shrugged, “Hey, sometimes you just need a little sugar rush to keep you sane. The amount of fiber and protein you have in your cabinets makes it look like a 70-year-old lives here. Or a sociopath. It balances out.”

Duke leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms and nodding along like Peter was saying something profoundly genius.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, some of us like to not die of heart failure at thirty.” He reached for a bag of off-brand cheese puffs Peter had grabbed and ripped it open with all the elegance of a starving raccoon. “You realize if you keep bringing home strays, I’m gonna start charging rent, right?”

Peter raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I didn’t bring him home, he followed me.”

“Not true,” Duke chimed in. “I was here first. You’re the one squatting in Jason’s house.”

“Touché,” Peter said, flopping into the worn armchair across from the couch. It gave an alarming creak but held. “Guess that makes me the stray.”

Jason smirked. “More like a rescue. But now I gotta feed you and take you on walks.”

Peter shot him a look. “I walk myself, thanks.”

Duke snorted and tossed a stray candy bar from the grocery bag onto Jason’s lap. “Look at you. A whole domestic situation.”

Jason groaned and let his head fall back against the couch cushions. “Not you too. Don’t start.”

But it was too late. Duke had the look of someone who had just found his next favorite bit to run into the ground. “You guys got a whole thing going. Grocery runs. Inside jokes. You argue like a married couple—”

Peter pointed a dramatic finger at Duke. “I swear I will launch this bag of marshmallows directly at your head.”

Duke raised both hands like he was under arrest, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Hey, hey—no need for violence in the domestic sphere.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and lobbed the marshmallows anyway. Duke caught the bag one-handed with irritating ease and immediately opened it to pop one in his mouth. “Why, thank you.”

Jason made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan, rubbing his face like the mere presence of his friends physically exhausted him. “I liked it better when you people didn’t know where I lived.”

“No you didn’t,” Duke said through a mouthful of marshmallow. “You were brooding alone and living off protein bars. It was tragic.”

“it’s not tragic—”

“It’s absolutely tragic,” Peter cut in, kicking his feet up on the coffee table like he’d been living there for years. “You eat like you’re training for a post-apocalyptic survival scenario.”

Jason huffed, looking infinitely tired. “Why don’t you two go live together with Tim or something and leave me to my devices.”

Duke didn’t miss a beat. “Tempting. But Tim has zero boundaries. Even for one of us.”

---

Eventually Duke got tired of harassing Jason and left, but not before giving Peter his number and making him promise to hang out with him and Tim, minus Jason. Peter happily agreed, much to Jason’s displeasure.

Jason closed the door behind Duke with a sigh, turning the lock in an attempt to keep anyone else out.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, forehead resting briefly against the door like it had personally wronged him, “but your social life is exhausting.”

Peter raised an eyebrow from where he was still comfortably sprawled across the armchair. “My social life? It’s your family that keeps wandering in.”

“I don’t see you complaining.”

Peter grinned, “What can I say? I’m a friendly guy.”

Jason snorted, trudging back toward the kitchen like Peter’s friendliness physically weighed on him. “Yeah, friendly. That’s one word for it.”

Jason yanked open a cabinet with unnecessary force and pulled down a mug, muttering under his breath about “invading dickheads.” He poured himself coffee that had definitely been sitting on the burner for hours, took a sip, and visibly regretted it. Still drank it, though.

Peter watched him over the back of the chair, amused. “You keep drinking that sludge like it’s going to magically develop flavor.”

“It has flavor,” Jason grumbled, blowing on the coffee like it might taste better if it were just slightly cooler

“You know you don’t have to live like an edgelord, right?” Peter said. “They have cold brew now. Oat milk. Hope.”

Jason gave him a dry look. “I’m getting tired of you and your sarcastic-ass remarks.”

Peter chuckled, “You’d be surprised at how many people have said that to me…”

Jason opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by his phone ringing. He listened for a minute, glancing at Peter before hanging up. “I gotta head to work, are you fine here?”

Peter waved him off. “I’ll be fine.”

Jason hesitated for a second, like he was debating whether or not to give a speech about not touching his stuff, not answering the door, and not burning the place down. In the end, he just muttered, “Don’t break anything,” grabbed his jacket off the hook, and headed for the door.

Peter called after him, “No promises…”

The door shut behind Jason with a soft click.

Peter let the silence settle for a second before sighing and flopping fully onto the couch, arms stretched over the back like a king claiming his throne.

A beat.

Then, he sat up, glancing around the room. Time to be nosy.

He didn’t really start snooping—just a casual stroll around the apartment. There wasn’t much to dig through anyway; Jason’s place was about as minimalist as it got. A couple of books, some half-empty drawers, and weapons hidden in places Peter was almost impressed by. Almost.

Peter would almost think he was crazy paranoid or some type of gangster with how many weapons the guy had stashed around, but the neighborhood certainly warranted it. The entirety of Gotham warrants it, maybe even all of Jersey. This place was rough, and he had watched New York get overrun by criminals. Several times.

Peter paused at one of the shelves, running his finger along the spine of a worn paperback. It was The Count of Monte Cristo, dog-eared and well-loved. Most of the books on Jasons shelves were classics, actually. Of course Jason was secretly a massive nerd. He wasn’t the type to keep stuff lying around for the aesthetics, so Peter knew he had to have read all of these.

Peter tilted his head, eyes scanning the titles. Les Misérables. Frankenstein. Watership Down. All dramatic and moody. Very fitting.

He turned away from the bookshelf to make his way back to the couch, sinking into it again. With his arms stretched along the back he stared at the ceiling like it might have answers. Cross-dimensional travel was actually very boring, he had absolutely nothing to do in his free time.

Peter let out a slow sigh, his eyes tracing cracks in the ceiling plaster like they might spell out an interdimensional rescue plan in Morse code. No such luck.

Peter’s eyes trailed to his backpack.

Of course, he had one thing he could be doing.

He shot Jason a quick text telling him that he was heading out and would be home later, then he rolled across the couch in the most difficult way he could and unzipped his backpack. He got into his Spider-Suit^TM in record time.

Pulling the mask over his head, he cracked his neck left, then right. It was time for Spider-Mans first day-time appearance in Gotham.

He slid the window open with practiced ease, looking for any cameras that might catch sight of him. By some miracle, there were none that had Jason’s window in direct view. He skittered out, landing softly on the fire escape. The city stretched out beneath him—grey, grimy, and buzzing with quiet tension. Gotham in daylight wasn’t exactly a postcard, but it had its own kind of thrill. Less theatrics, more danger lurking just under the surface.

He wanted to adjust his suit and get it turned into the Gotham police network, but he didn’t have the tools, so that meant it was back to the old-fashioned way for now. He swung off the fire escape, weaving through the city’s jagged skyline with practiced ease. The sounds of Gotham—distant sirens, the clatter of hurried footsteps, the murmur of voices—wrapped around him as he too in a slow, steady breath, focusing.

Gotham felt like it had a different rhythm from New York.

Spider-Man perched on the edge of a roof, squinting down at the street below. People walked fast, heads down, like they knew better than to linger. Even the pigeons looked like they’d been through something.

“Cheerful place,” he muttered, voice muffled through the mask.

Putting on the mask made him feel like MJ or Miles’ voices were going to filter through just any moment now. But they didn’t. It was kind of strange, he missed the busy chatter that usually lingered, even if it was just the police scanner.

Peter leapt again, landing on the next rooftop in near silence. It was still strange seeing so few other heroes out in daylight. In New York, he could count on someone swinging or flying past him every other hour. Here, he got the distinct impression that most of Gotham’s costumed weirdos preferred the cover of night. Probably helped with the brooding.

He ran across the rooftop and dove off the edge, launching a web mid-fall and swinging wide across the street. A kid on the sidewalk pointed up and shouted something, but most of the crowd just kept walking. A few glanced up, then looked away just as quickly. As if they weren’t quite sure if he was real, or if they should pretend they didn’t see him.

And that’s when he heard an alarm. Sharp, shrill, and echoing from a few streets over.

The shrieking was getting louder as he adjusted his path and took a sharp swing left, the city blurring beneath him in streaks of rusted brick and sun-faded billboards. As he landed on another roof, the source of the alarm came into view.

A small bank. Two getaway cars pulled halfway onto the sidewalk. Shattered glass. People ducking for cover behind parked cars and trash bins. And a few guys in dollar-store Halloween masks waving around automatic weapons like they were compensating for something.

Classic.

He assessed the situation briefly before he flicked out a web and launched forward, flipping through the air like a gymnast. One of the gunmen looked up just in time to catch a full-face serving of webbing. He went down with a startled grunt.

That got everyone’s attention.

“Who the hell—?”

Another guy lifted his weapon, but Peter was already mid-swing. “Nice to meet you guys! My name is Spider-Man, what about you?” he called, kicking the guy square in the chest and sending him crashing into a dumpster.

He landed in front of the bank doors, arms crossed. “Alright, Gotham’s Least Wanted, we gonna do this the easy way or the—?”

A bullet ricocheted off the stone column beside him.

Peter dove to the side with a sigh. “Cool, cool, so definitely the hard way.”

He didn’t have time to banter more. Another two guys came out of the bank, one dragging a duffel bag that was practically bursting at the seams. Peter slingshotted a web between their legs and yanked—both went down in a tangled heap, cash fluttering into the air like sad, dramatic confetti.

Police sirens were drawing close now, tires screeching somewhere down the block.

“Perfect timing,” Peter muttered, flipping to the fire escape and perching up high again. No need to stick around and get questioned by GCPD.

As he leapt away, a few onlookers stared after him with uncertain expressions. Peter caught the glint of a phone camera flash just before he vanished over the edge of the rooftop. He couldn’t help but smile behind the mask.

He landed a few buildings over, crouched low in the shadow of a weather-beaten water tower, and let himself breathe for a second. His heart was steady—calmer than it probably should’ve been after an armed robbery takedown. But he’d been doing this long enough that it felt almost like muscle memory now.

After a moment, Peter felt eyes on him again. Great.

The armed robbery may not have had him sweating, but this did. He didn’t like being watched by the bats, it was insanely creepy.

Peter mustered up his courage—which wasn’t that hard—and turned toward the direction they were in. “I know you’re there.”

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the distant hum of Gotham’s ever-present traffic and the soft rush of wind between buildings.

Then, from the shadows, a voice answered. Low, amused, and far too calm for Peter’s liking.

“Not bad. Most people don’t notice.”

Peter tensed, but didn’t jump. Barely. His eyes scanned the rooftop directly across from him—still empty. Nothing moved.

Of course they had to be dramatic about it.

“You guys seriously need to invest in less creepy hobbies,” Peter called, standing up from his crouch and brushing imaginary dust off his suit. “Like stamp collecting. Or pottery.”

There was a shift in the shadows behind the water tower.

Not Batman.

Thank God.

Red Hood was now standing before him.

Wow, the action figure Peter had did not do the guy justice. He was maybe a hundred times buffer in person, and man, Peter wasn’t complaining. Even if he ended up at the receiving end of one of those fists, he would be thanking the lord above.

Red Hood didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, arms crossed, helmet reflecting the low grey light like it had its own thoughts. He could faintly hear the chattering of someone talking—no, yelling—through what Peter assumed was Red Hoods comms, before he abruptly shut them off, cutting off whoever was on the other end.

“Why are you here.”

Peter gave a theatrical sigh, throwing his hands up like he’d just been asked why water was wet. “Is this how you guys say hello? Not even a ‘nice swing back there,’ or a ‘thanks for stopping the armed robbery’? Very brash and rude in my opinion.”

Red Hood didn’t budge. Not even a twitch. The silence dragged for a few seconds too long.

“Who are you.”

Peter dropped his hands with a sigh. “I would’ve though you of all people would understand the point of the mask. Like, c’mon, I’m not just gonna tell you!”

Red Hood tilted his head just slightly. The gesture was small, but it carried weight.

“You showed up in Gotham without a signal, without clearance, and you’re running ops in broad daylight. That puts you on my radar.”

Peter shrugged, unbothered. “Look, man, I’m not running ops. I stopped a robbery, big difference. I don’t mean to step on your turf or whatever you got going on here-”

“You’re not from here.”

Peter groaned, “Give a guy a minute to speak! I’m here temporarily, I’ll be out of your hair the minute I figure out a way home. Until then though, you’re stuck with me!”

Red Hood’s visor tilted slightly, “You’ve either got guts, or you’re stupid.”

Peter smirked beneath his mask. “Maybe a little of both. But I’m here to help, not cause trouble. Pinky swear!” Peter lifted his pinky up towards Red Hood, who unsurprisingly didn’t take it.

Red Hood stood silently for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, a dry chuckle rumbled from behind the helmet. “If that’s true, I’d keep close to Crime Alley. That’ll keep you out of the Batman’s sights for now.”

Peter beamed at this; he hadn’t expected this interaction to go so smoothly.

He moved to speak again but was cut off by Red Hood, who was moving back towards the ledge of the building. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. I still want to see for myself what you’re doing here.”

Then he jumped off.

Peter ran to the ledge where Red Hood had just been, curious. He was pretty sure none of the bats were mutants, according to the internet at least.

When he looked over, there was nothing. Peter was sure he heard a faint clanking, like metal against metal perhaps.

Huh.

Chapter Text

Peter swung through the Gotham streets, letting the city hum around him.

When he reached the apartment, he made a pit stop on the roof to throw on his regular clothes and slip his mask discreetly into his pocket. He flung himself–and the box he was hauling– over the ledge of the building, then climbed through the window, landing lightly on the carpet.

Jason wasn’t home. Which was fine by him, that meant less complaining about the scrap Peter was about to litter the coffee table with.

He ripped open the box he was holding and gently dumped its contents out. Since Jason never went back for it, he had to go and get it himself, and now that he and his parts were reunited, that meant he could finally get to upgrading his Spider-Suit^™.

Peter quickly rummaged through Jason's junk drawer and got a few small tools he would need, then he sat down on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. He took the suit and flipped it inside out, then began working.

Hours passed in a blur as he tinkered, he calibrated web settings, reinforced the elbows and knees, and rigged a small receiver to tune into the local police scanner. He would need a computer to do anything crazy, and he obviously didn’t have access to one at the moment.

He paused when a small shiver went down his spine as he sensed someone at the door. He quickly threw the Spider-Suit^™ under the couch and grabbed a random piece of junk to feign working on in an attempt to act natural.

Jason walked in, immediately noticing the mess Peter had made. “Wow,” he said, his voice flat but carrying that subtle edge of exasperation.

Peter grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, well… a guy’s gotta keep busy. You don’t leave me with much to do around here.”

Jason kicked off his boots and slipped into the kitchen, “You could, I don’t know, clean perhaps? Like a normal and respectful guest? Not make the place dirtier.” He frowned as he rummaged through the mostly empty fridge.

Peter rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off the ground, stretching. “Now why would I do that?”

Jason sighed, grabbing a half-empty carton of milk. “Because I like having a home that doesn’t look like a scrapyard exploded in it.”

Peter flopped back onto the couch and groaned theatrically. “I’m bored!”

Jason shut the fridge with a dull thunk and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “That’s not my problem,” he said, though his tone had softened just a little. “Go outside. Harass a pigeon. I don’t know. Something.”

Peter kicked his legs up onto the coffee table—directly on top of his scattered half-finished suit parts.

Jason stared down at Peter’s feet.“You did not just put your dirty feet on my table.”

Peter blinked innocently. “I did not know this was a table. It could be a… leg rest structure. For resting legs. Structurally.”

Jason trudged over and shoved his ankles off before plopping down on the couch next to Peter “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what my teachers used to say,” Peter said with a little flourish and a grin.

Jason rubbed a hand down his face, then glanced around the apartment like seeing it for the first time. It was kind of bleak. The walls were empty. The table was scratched. The fridge was—well—sad.

“…Dude. When’s the last time you did anything fun?”

Jason met his eyes. “…I have fun.”

“Okay,” Peter said, nodding earnestly. “When?”

Jason opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Eventually, he gestured vaguely around the room. “This. Quiet. Peace. That’s fun.”

Peter looked around, then back towards Jason, “You’re joking right?”

…

Then, before Jason could hope to respond, Peter leapt up and clapped his hands loudly. “Alright! We’re going out!”

Jason blinked. “No we’re not.”

“Yes we are.”

“Peter.”

Peter smiled wide, “Nope. You don’t get a vote.” He ran over to where his hoodie was draped over a kitchen chair, quickly snatching it up. “Come on. Shoes. Outside. Vitamin D. Let’s go.”

“Do not talk to me about vitamins,” Jason muttered, but he was already slipping boots back on.

Peter was halfway to the door already when Jason stopped, hand still on his boot lace.

“…Where are we even going?” Jason asked, suspicious but not actually resisting.

Peter froze mid-motion, like he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He turned slowly, smiling with the most fake confidence Jason had ever seen.

“Out,” Peter declared.

Jason stared flatly. “Out where.”

—

A few minutes later, they were walking down the sidewalk side-by-side. The city around them was alive—sirens somewhere in the distance, neon signs buzzing, the distant smell of street food carts and wet cement.

The air was cool and crisp, but the sun was still warm as it landed on their faces in a way that only occurred in the early fall.

Peter didn’t actually know where they were going, he hadn’t been around long enough to know any of the local businesses. They walked in a comfortable silence as Peter examined the buildings for a good place to stop.

As they rounded a corner, Peter spotted a small diner–and as if on queue–he heard Jason's stomach growl. He grinned as he grabbed Jason by the arm and tugged him across the street, causing a startled gruff.

Jason stumbled a half step as Peter marched him toward the diner like he’d been planning it all day. The door jingled as Peter shoved it open with entirely too much enthusiasm. The warm smell of coffee, syrup, and something fried wrapped around them instantly. Stepping inside released them from the chill that had been nipping at their exposed skin.

A waitress near the counter glanced up and smiled. “Sit anywhere you like.”

Peter beelined straight for a booth beside the window, practically flopping into his side. Jason sat across from him with considerably more caution, like booth cushions were capable of surprise attacks.

Peter chose a booth beside the window and dropped into his seat like gravity was optional, while Jason slid into the seat across from him.

Peter had already picked up the laminated menu, but he wasn’t reading it—he was just staring at Jason over the top of it like he was observing a rare cryptid.

Jason blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that.”

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re gonna order,” Peter said, squinting. “You seem like… a ‘grits and toast’ kinda guy.”

Jason’s expression didn’t change, but Peter saw the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips.

The waitress approached right on cue, pad in hand. She looked like she’d worked here for thirty years and had seen every kind of Gotham citizen walk in—from clowns to capes to the vaguely suspicious. In other words, Jason and Peter didn’t even register as notable.

“What can I get you boys?”

Jason didn’t even look at the menu. “Black coffee, a breakfast ham sandwich, and a side of fried potatoes.”

Peter slapped a hand on the table. “Coffee with cream and sugar. Chocolate chip pancakes. With whip cream. And strawberries. And chocolate syrup. And—”

Jason kicked him under the table.

Peter continued, unbothered: “And a side of bacon.”

The waitress just wrote it down, eyeing Peter in a way that said she was sure this lanky kid could not put all of that food down. “I’ll be back with drinks,” she said, wandering off.

Peter leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped in both hands. “So,” he said, voice bright, “this is fun.”

Jason stared at him, deadpan. “We just sat down.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed, nodding like that was extremely meaningful. “And it’s already nice.”

Jason opened his mouth—likely to offer something in the realm of sarcasm or mild suffering—but the coffee arrived too quickly. The mugs were thick ceramic, chipped around the rim from years of use. The kind that held heat and history.

Jason wrapped his hands around his mug and exhaled the smallest sigh. The steam curled up past his face, softening hard angles in a way that felt almost secret.

Peter studied Jason’s face. The small beauty marks that littered his cheeks, nose, chin–all subtle and light in color. The minute lines and creases in his skin born from a lifetime of smiling, frowning, laughing, and crying. The barely-there scars that stretched across it all, cutting through his eyebrow, across his nose, down his cheek. Some are a soft white that blends into the skin, with the only indication being a small groove not level with the rest of his face. Others are a newer, brighter pink, not nearly as lightened by time. There were a couple that ran gently into the soft pale skin of his lips, which Jason licked after taking a sip of his coffee.

Peter’s face quickly heated up and he yanked his gaze away so fast that Jason was sure to have noticed. He was definitely bright red.

Jason paused mid-sip, mug hovering just beneath his mouth, watching Peter absolutely combust and pretend he hadn’t just been staring at him with the kind of intensity normally reserved for Renaissance oil portraits.

“…What,” Jason said flatly.

“Nothing.” Peter’s voice cracked. Then he cleared his throat. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

Peter was saved from Jason’s questioning stare when the waitress returned, sliding the plates down in front of them with practiced ease. Jason’s was neat, straightforward—ham sandwich sitting between toast still slick with melted butter, potatoes crisped perfectly at the edges. Peter’s… was a monstrosity. Chocolate chips glinted. Whipped cream towered. Strawberries glistened like they were posing for a cookbook glamour shot.

Jason's gaze changed from questioning to disgusted as his eyes landed on Peter's plate. “That,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his fork, “should be illegal.”

Peter didn’t have time to respond as he began shoveling food into his mouth, so he resorted to a very animated eye-roll.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The diner hummed softly—plates clattering, someone laughing near the bar, the hiss of a grill.

They tended to do that often when they were together; simply sitting and enjoying each other's company. Neither felt obligated to entertain the other, but they also knew they could initiate conversation whenever they wanted.

Jason ate carefully, methodically. Peter ate like he had never seen food before.

—

Immediately after they finished their food Peter perked up, suddenly remember a place he had swung buy as Spider-Man the night before. Once again, he grabbed Jason and tugged him towards the door. Jason just barely had time to dig a couple twenties out of his pockets and throw them onto the table before he was barbarically dragged away.

The bell over the door jingled violently as Peter hauled them both outside, like they were fleeing the scene of a crime instead of brunch. Jason had to take several quick steps to avoid tripping over his own boots, muttering curses that didn’t have any real heat to them.

“Jesus, slow down,” Jason grumbled.

Peter stopped just long enough for Jason to straighten his jacket and catch his breath, then spun on his heel with a bright, conspiratorial grin.

“C’mon,” Peter said. “I know where we’re going.”

Jason stared. “That’s alarming.”

Peter didn’t elaborate. Just stuck his hands in his hoodie pocket and started walking, head tilted back like he was letting the sun hit his face.

They walked several blocks—not rushed, not aimless. The city around them shifted as they moved deeper into quieter streets, the skyscrapers thinning for warehouses and small shops. Peter was humming something under his breath, a tune Jason didn’t recognize but had the warmth of something happy.

A minute later, Peter pointed. “There.”

Jason squinted.

It was… a bookstore.

The sign was old, hand-painted once upon a time and now faded around the edges. The front windows were cluttered with stacks of used hardbacks and sun-yellowed paperbacks. The door had a wind chime instead of a bell.

Jason blinked. “Huh.”

Peter rocked back on his heels, grinning ear to ear.

Jason couldn’t help but smile too. Peter was already pushing the door open, and the wind chime above it gave a delicate little tinkle as they stepped inside. “I caught sight of this place the other day on my way home from work.”

The smell hit immediately—old paper and cedar and something faintly floral. The kind of scent that belonged to quiet afternoons and sweater weather. A cat slept on top of a pile of encyclopedias near the counter, tail flicking once before deciding they weren’t worth paying attention to.Peter hadn’t been inside this place yet, but it was everything he had hoped it would be.

Jason paused just inside the door, taking in the shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. The place felt alive with quiet energy—stacks leaning like old friends, corners piled high with forgotten stories, and little slips of bookmarks peeking out like shy secrets.

“Come on!” Peter whispered, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He plopped onto the floor without hesitation, letting the soft dust of old books puff up around him. Jason froze for a second, and Peter could swear he saw his friend blink in mild horror.

Jason followed, more slowly, scanning titles and occasionally shaking his head at the odd mix of books Peter would pick up and inspect. He murmured, “I can’t believe I've never been here before.”

There were some classic novels, a few graphic novels he recognized, and then bizarre, oddly specific cookbooks Peter would open and immediately start reading aloud in a mock-serious tone.

Peter flipped a copy of Poems of the Lost and Found into his hands, plopping down cross-legged on the floor. “Look at this, Jason. You think anyone reads poetry anymore? I bet the cat’s the only one who gets it. Oh! Maybe Duke…” He tossed the book in the air slightly, catching it again with a flourish.

Jason crouched beside him, pretending not to be amused, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward anyway. “You’ve got… interesting taste.”

“Interesting? This is excellent taste. I’ll have you know the last time I read a book like this, it changed my life.” Peter winked, tapping the book to his chest like it was a badge of honor.

Peter was a giant liar. He avoided poetry at all costs.

He glanced sideways at Jason, who was crouched awkwardly beside him, pretending not to be fascinated by the cluttered chaos of books Peter had already claimed as his own. Peter’s chest warmed at the smile plastered on Jason's face.

Eventually, Jason gave in and sat next to Peter on the floor with his own collection of books to look through.

Peter’s heart did this ridiculous little flip when Jason settled beside him, sliding close enough that their shoulders brushed. It wasn’t a big thing—he didn’t need it to be—but the small warmth of proximity made Peter feel like the air itself had grown softer around them. He shifted slightly, letting his arm rest lightly against Jason’s, though it wasn’t a deliberate move. Just… comfort.

Minutes passed like that, just breathing in the warmth of the bookstore, the faint musky smell of old pages mixing with something soft in the air, maybe the sun hitting through the front window. Peter kept pretending to read, but his attention kept drifting back to Jason—how he tilted his head, how his fingers lingered on the edges of the pages, how his lips pressed together in that way that made Peter want to lean closer.

Peter's cheeks were flushed again.

When did it get this bad?