Inconclusive Results
Peter’s stomach was throbbing. The wound, once healing, had ripped open from his fall. The gas, although only exposed for a second, had muted his reflexes allowing him to slam right into the ground. The more he ran, the faster his heart would beat, his metabolism kicking into overdrive to break down any remaining toxins in his bloodstream. If Peter was normal, he had no doubt he would have been completely incapacitated by now. This wasn’t a spontaneous attack, it was planned meticulously. He didn’t know how Batman knew to use such a strong relaxant but he did. Maybe he always does, no matter who the target was, maybe Batman stayed on top of Gotham by being ruthless. Peter hated Gotham and he definitely hated Batman.
Hearing the engine of a motorbike and smelling the distinct smell of over-worked tires, Peter quickly changed directions, ducking into alleyways and jumping over dead ends. Peter knew Batman had called in backup. Someone somewhat familiar with Peter’s escape tactics: Red Hood. The man he flung over his shoulder when his guard was down. Someone who knew not to hesitate in regards to Peter. It wasn’t long until he heard the thwip of a grappling hook and Peter dreaded to think Batman had shaken loose of his webs already, or maybe it was Orphan. Peter wasn’t sure who was worse.
He had been running for what felt like hours but realistically had only been a minute or two. Jumping up, Peter grabbed the edge of a fire escape, flinging himself upwards to the edge of a nearby roof. He couldn’t stay on the ground, but he couldn’t stay exposed on the roofs either. He could hear the thwip of the grappling hook in the distance and the agitated robotic sounds from Red Hood below him.
Peter raced from rooftop to rooftop, trying to keep the distance between him and his pursuers until he could come up with a plan. A part of him contemplated staying, asking for help - they were this world's heroes afterall. It was in their job description. Peter wonders what would have happened if they met under different circumstances, would he have asked for help? Then again, what kind of heroes smoke bomb a kid? None that Peter wanted to get involved with that's for sure. Peter wanted, needed, help but he wasn’t going to turn to them for it. The thwip of the grappling gun was getting closer and the motorcycle kept up with him below. No matter how erratic his movements were, they still managed to keep up with him unnaturally well. Peter could hear the electrical pulsing growing stronger in the air and realised that the roofs he was now jumping between had started to become cleaner, better looked after; he had long left Crime Alley, finding himself now in a more funded part of the city. A place where security cameras sat on the edge of every building, a place where they could track him through the multitude of lenses with few blind spots. That’s how they were keeping up, they could see him. He needed to get out of sight quickly.
Peter changed direction again, aiming for the downtown area where skyscrapers of all sizes were compacted close together. It would be easier to track with more surveillance and security but it was an easier place to swing. It was also a place where grappling guns and motorbikes paled in comparison to web slinging. Reaching the end of the rooftop, he stuck his hand out and shot a web to one of the taller towers and then shot another at a building opposite from it, pulling the webs taught before jumping, slinging him like a slingshot through the air and onto the side of a tower. A better starting point to begin swinging. It took a few tries to get the momentum right, but his muscle memory, coupled with the toxin finally leaving his system, had him swinging freely and fast in no time.
Swinging through the streets, Peter lacked the feeling of freedom that usually accompanied the action. Red Hood was better at keeping up with him than the roof assailant, the wider streets and alleys allowed him to speed up while the person following him with the grappling hook was slowing down. Grappling around proved faster but more tiring than running, a tiredness that Peter took full advantage of as he took sharp turns and flung himself over rooftops, moves they couldn’t replicate that left them falling farther and farther behind. Flinging over the main street, Peter glimpsed a manhole cover and a plan formed. If he could get more distance between him and Red Hood, he could get into the sewers and effectively lose them.
Peter swung erratically, going down one street only to loop around and go down a different one, aiming for dead ends and obstacles until he deemed enough of a distance was made between him and Hood. Jumping down, Peter landed in an alleyway and grabbed a manhole cover, he stuck himself to the metal and yanked it off. He heard Hood take a sharp turn, changing course towards the alley Peter was in, no doubt he was in full view of a CCTV camera with his location being updated every second, but Peter had a plan. He slipped inside and webbed the cover back in place; not hesitating as he continued running through the dark tunnels. He had barely turned a corner before the sound of grunting and swearing came from Hood as he tried in vain to lift the cover Peter had just slipped through. Peter knew it would hold, but he wasn’t sure just how long. He needed to get lost before they decided to try another entrance. Peter was good at disappearing, a fact he was both proud of and bittersweet about.
The sewers stunk. Faeces, urine, and blood shocked his senses as he covered his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. The sewers would span the entirety of Gotham and Peter’s senses would let him know when he had made it to the outskirts of the place, somewhere quieter and less vigilante dense. Turning another corner, Peter stopped.
Was that a fucking alligator?
He didn't think the rumours or Alligators in sewers was a real thing, especially in large cities like Gotham, but then again. What could he expect from Gotham? Every second he spent here was worse than the last. The sooner he gets back into normal civilization the better - preferably a place where there wasn't an alligator staring right at him. Peter backed up and stuck himself to the walls of the sewer, edging himself further and further up the wall until a growl had him frozen in place. He felt like prey staring down a predator. He could hear the pair of footsteps, Batman and Co. racing through the sewers searching for him. Still, Peter stayed unmoving. Watching the creature slowly rise from the water until it was standing on two legs. Like Dr.Connors after mutating into the Lizard but way scarier, more animalistic. Dr. Connors was still human, more like someone with a really bad skin condition and a tail, I mean he even wore a lab coat half the time. This thing was straight out of a fever dream. It let out another growl, a warning in Peter's direction and Peter realised why the sewers smelt like blood. This thing was eating whatever was stupid enough to go down here. And Peter was one of those stupid things.
“Peter!” Batman shouted out as he turned the corner. Peter could hear his elevated heartbeat, he could feel the adrenaline in the air pouring out of Batman as he attempted to take control of the scene.
Peter didn't flinch when Batman showed up, he knew he was close by but every instinct in him told him to keep his eyes trained on the threat in front of him. Batman could hurt him but this thing could, and wanted to, eat him. Unlike Peter, Killer Croc did react to Batman's intrusion. It snapped its head towards Batman and charged, its roar echoing through the sewers and Peter heard the second pair of footstops pause before running faster in their direction. Peter saw Batman take out a smoke bomb, like the one used on him earlier, but this one smelt stronger. With a practiced ease, Batman threw the canister on the ground while his other hand slipped on a small gas like filter over his mouth.The drug rich smoke filled up the tunnels at an alarming rate as Peter watched the scene unfurl before him. Using the cover of the gas, Batman evaded every attack from the monster with ease as the creature swung blindly for its target. Peter wasn’t able to see clearly what was going on, but he could feel it.
The nagging demand of his spider senses pleaded for him to get away, to escape the gas, but his body was unwilling to comply. He could hear the alligator's heart mimicking his own, the longer they were exposed to the gas, the harder it was to keep adrenaline high. Peter’s limbs felt heavy, his mind foggy as he stayed, like a fly on the wall… or a spider.
It wasn’t long until the second pair of footsteps joined them, Red Hood joining the fight with no hesitation. He could feel the heat from the rubber bullets as they shot through the air, bouncing off the armoured skin of the creature. If it wasn’t for the pained groans, Peter would think the bullets weren’t doing anything at all. Peter watched as the once bone breaking attacks from Killer Croc were replaced by weaker ones followed by stumbling as it fought to stay upright. The drug finally worked its way through its bloodstream, the adrenaline from the fight allowing it to spread faster. The fight came to an end when the creature aimed for Hood, only to miss entirely and collapse against the wall when Hood ducked out of the way. Only now, looking at the barely conscious monster collapsed against the stained walls, did Peter’s common sense return to him.
Peter turned from the scene as Batman relayed the events to someone through the com, and Peter flinched hearing Barbara, the librarian, reply with the promise of an armoured police escort for ‘Killer Croc’. Fitting name but very on the nose. Peter didn’t realise he had begun moving, crawling slowly on auto-pilot away from the scene as if he could sneak away. A snail-like pace in the opposite direction wasn’t going to work, but until Peter could get out of the sewers, air still thick with the relaxant, it was the best he could do. He held his breath, something he should’ve done the second Batman activated the smoke bomb, and crawled. He could hear Hood’s footsteps as they approached Peter. He could feel his eye's analyzing him before slow, hesitant arms reached out to him, like someone trying to pick up a stray animal, unsure if the animal would attempt to bite them or be complacent. Peter contemplated biting him, and he thinks he would have if he had the strength, at the moment though, all Peter’s energy was being used to crawl. He didn’t flinch as Hood’s arms awkwardly grabbed onto Peter and tugged. Peter didn’t budge. Hood tugged again and Peter changed his course. He might be slow but he could still think, not clearly but he could still think. Peter started crawling up.
“Shit!” Hood’s robotic filtered voice cursed as his tugging became more desperate the higher Peter climbed. “Don’t- Just Fuckin- Don’t you fucking dare.”
Hood’s hands slipped under Peter’s arm’s and gripped tightly, he had one foot on the wall for support and he was yanking Peter as hard as he could. Peter continued climbing, he had just reached the ceiling when he heard Batman approach the two. Peter, unbothered by the angry man still latched onto him, made his way to the center of the ceiling directly over the flowing sewage below. He could feel Hood’s grip tighten, all too aware of where he would land if he let go of Peter now.
“Peter! If you don’t crawl back down right now, I-ll fucking” Hood panicked, turning towards Batman standing nearby, “B! Don’t just fucking watch. Help!”
Peter continued crawling, slowly making his way further and further away from the smoke. He could hear Batman’s footsteps following them as Peter’s eyes narrowed in on the glimpse of artificial light in the distance. He could smell the smog of the city streets the closer he got to the light. He could see the exit clearly now, could feel his mind clearing, his limbs growing lighter, the closer he got to the manhole cover in the distance. He could see the glint of the metal rungs of a ladder attached to the concrete walls, could feel the air flowing in through the gaps - he could hear the hissing of the smoke bomb in Batman’s hand.
Shit.
Batman shoved the device directly into Peter’s face and Peter couldn’t help himself - instinctually he bit at the offending object, he could feel his teeth sink into the metal. Canines far longer than what they should be piercing right through the metal, the concentrated relaxant filling up his mouth in seconds and Peter could feel the liquid filling up his mouth and pouring down his throat.
‘I fucking hate Batman’ Peter thought as he dropped off the ceiling.
“What the fuck was that!?” Hood shouted as he stood up, holding a now limp Peter under one arm, thankful that he wasn’t dropped directly into the sewage less than a foot away.
“I wasn’t expecting such a…” Batman picked up the canister, the gas was still pouring out while the concentrated liquid flowed out of the puncture marks. “chaotic reaction from him”
“He’s a kid!” Hood shouted exasperatedly, “They’re not really known for having thought out reactions.”
Hood looked towards Peter, still motionless under his arm. Hood glanced at the canister in Batman’s arms and back at the kid. Reaching a hand towards Peter’s face, he gently angled Peter’s face upwards to get a closer look. Deep red burns covered his mouth and lower jaw. Hood’s heart ached knowing just how much pain Peter would be in once the drug wore off.
“Fucking Hell,” Hood cursed, “You better be right about his enhanced healing or I swear I’ll give you matching scars.”
Dick had been watching the entire thing play out. They were trying to help Peter. They all were. Clearly the kid was involved in something much bigger and dangerous then he could handle and yet every attempt to help him ended up with Peter getting hurt. First they drugged him causing him to fall over thirty feet, the loud thud his body made when he hit the ground made them think they had killed him. Then Bruce all but admitted they were trying to kidnap him. Then they unknowingly chased him straight into Killer Croc. Then they gassed him two more times. Three times in total within the last hour with the final one giving Peter chemical burns on his face, mouth, and the inside of his throat.
How did they fuck up this badly?
While Dick was panicking watching the suits' cameras, Tim was stressing over a different Peter related issue. After finding the spider web at the old Opera House Peter had been hiding out in, Tim had finally been able to identify parts of the DNA.
So far Tim has been able to identify a few breeds of spiders that share parts of Peter’s DNA. Funnel Webs, Orb Weaver, Huntsmen, Jumping Spider, and the list goes on. He had managed to create a programme that was able to distinguish and separate the spider DNA from the human. It should have been great news. A breakthrough, he could run Peter’s human DNA against everything they had on file. The system searched everything from autopsy reports to birth records. Everything came back with nothing. Whoever Peter had been with before his DNA was altered had ensured Peter had no records. That didn’t make Peter entirely unique, loads of people had their DNA out of the system. Now by loads of people he means people like the Kents who couldn’t have their DNA public for obvious reasons but that's besides the point, there are loads of people who don’t have records.
Usually, Tim would instead look for next of kin. Parent’s, siblings, estranged family members, etc. That is what had Tim pulling at his hair. He had found two possible relatives; Bruce Wayne and Damian Wayne. Possible matches. Not definite, he reminds himself. 98.8% match was not a legal match. No matter how close it was, it didn't count. When it comes to genetic relations testing there were three possible outcomes that were accepted. 0% meant not related, 99% or above meant related, and anything between 0% and 99% was deemed inconclusive. 98.8% was inconclusive. Inconclusive. If Tim wanted a conclusive result he would need a cleaner sample. One that Peter’s damaged DNA could not give.
“What do you mean Drake?” Damian asked, having made himself comfortable in the cave for the last half hour. “I fail to see how a 0.2% difference can mean all that much.”
“Inconclusive means inconclusive. It means he’s not possibly, maybe, related” Tim looks back at the screen. “Could be but not.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Nothing about this kid makes sense,” Tim mutters as he stares at the screen.
Damian rolls his eyes and turns towards Dick hoping he may provide some more sense to the situation. Dick however is not providing anything useful. He is hunched over the desk, staring at Bruce’s camera, hands pulling at his own hair as he watches Bruce and Hood take a limp, injured Peter out of the sewer system.
“Grayson,” Damian calls out. “Stop panicking and give Drake some advice, he’s talking nonsense again.”
“Huh? Oh yeah,” Dick waves a hand in Tim’s direction, not taking his eyes off his own screen “Good job Tim. Very proud of you. Incredible job.”
The cave falls silent for a few seconds before Tim turns away from his screen to look in Dick’s direction.
“Dick, look at me.” Tim says as he waits for Dick to turn his eyes away from the footage and towards him, “Ask Bruce if he’s had sex with a spider anywhere from 7 to 11 years ago.”
“You will do no such thing.” Damian snapped as Dick stares open mouthed at Tim, “Father has not had sex with a spider. Do not ask him that Grayson.”
Dick looks towards Tim’s screen and the 98.8% match displayed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Bruce could have maybe fucked a spider somewhere between 7 to 11 years ago but also legally not.”
“That is not what it means Drake” Damian shouts. “It means I have a younger brother who was experimented on.”
“No. It means you could inconclusively have a brother that was experimented on.”
“Shut up Drake.”