A Lesson in Survival
Peter wasn’t exactly sure why he showed up.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him that if he kept getting his ass kicked like he did at the warehouse, he was going to end up as just another nameless body in Gotham’s alleys. Or maybe—just maybe—he was tired of pretending he had it all figured out.
Which was why, despite every instinct telling him to stay away, Peter found himself on the rooftop of a small gym in Old Gotham, waiting.
He wasn’t waiting long.
“You’re late.”
Peter turned to see Nightwing drop down from an adjacent fire escape, landing in an effortless crouch before rising to his full height. He was out of the suit, wearing just a dark athletic jacket and combat pants, but there was no mistaking the way he carried himself—like he was always ready for a fight.
Peter crossed his arms. “You never actually gave me a time.”
Nightwing smirked. “And yet, you’re still late.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Are you always this annoying, or is it just me?”
“Oh, I’m holding back,” Nightwing said, clapping him on the shoulder before gesturing toward the gym entrance. “C’mon, let’s see how much you actually know.”
Peter followed, his gut twisting with something he refused to call nerves. He had trained himself hard these past few weeks—harder than ever before. But Nightwing wasn’t some random thug in an alleyway. He was trained by Batman. And that meant Peter was about to get his ego kicked in.
It didn’t take long for Peter to confirm his suspicions.
He was good. Nightwing was better.
They started with sparring, and Peter put up a fight. He was fast, stronger than most people Nightwing had probably trained with, and he had his spider-sense. But Nightwing was something else entirely. He moved with precision, with purpose, every strike calculated, every dodge perfectly timed.
Peter threw a punch. Nightwing dodged it effortlessly, stepping into his guard and twisting Peter’s wrist behind his back in one smooth motion.
“Too predictable,” Nightwing said as Peter gritted his teeth in frustration.
Peter flipped himself over, twisting out of the hold, and landed a kick that Nightwing barely deflected. “Yeah? Predict this.”
He feinted left, then shot low, aiming to sweep Nightwing’s legs out from under him. Nightwing jumped over the sweep, flipped, and before Peter could react, drove a palm into his chest, sending him stumbling backward.
“Nice try,” Nightwing said, smirking. “But you telegraph your moves.”
Peter groaned, rubbing his ribs. “And you talk too much.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Peter lunged again, only for Nightwing to sidestep him entirely. Before he could regain his footing, Nightwing hooked his ankle and sent him sprawling onto the mat.
Peter stared at the ceiling, catching his breath. “This is humiliating.”
Nightwing crouched beside him. “Nah. Humiliating is what happens if you don’t learn from it.”
Peter sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “So, what? You just offer free beatdowns to any idiot who tries to fight crime in Gotham?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
Peter raised a brow. “I’m interesting?”
“Well, you’ve got skills. Not great ones, obviously, but skills.” Nightwing grinned. “Plus, you remind me of someone.”
Peter frowned. “Who?”
Nightwing’s expression shifted, just for a moment. “Someone who also thought he could do it alone.”
Peter hesitated. He could hear what Nightwing wasn’t saying. He knew that look—the one that said there was a story behind it, a history. But he wasn’t about to push.
“So, what now?” Peter asked, shaking off the moment.
Nightwing stood, offering him a hand. “Now? We go again.”
Peter groaned. “You’re actually trying to kill me.”
Nightwing smirked. “If I was trying, you’d know.”
The ‘training’ lasted for hours, and by the time they were done, Peter felt like he had been run over by several Batmobiles. But for all the bruises, he also felt… good. Like he was actually learning something. Like maybe, he had a shot at surviving in this city.
As they packed up, Peter leaned against the ropes of the training ring, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his sleeve. “So, this your way of inducting me into the Bat Boy Club?”
Nightwing snorted. “Please. You think we’d let just anyone in?”
Peter smirked. “I dunno, I hear you guys have a revolving door policy.”
Nightwing huffed. “You’re not wrong. But no, this isn’t recruitment. You don’t want to work with us, fine. I get it. But if you’re gonna be out there, you might as well not get yourself killed.”
Peter considered that. It was probably the closest thing to a compliment he was going to get.
“Besides,” Nightwing added, “it’s kind of fun watching you get knocked on your ass.”
Peter groaned. “I take it back. You are actually trying to kill me.”
Nightwing grinned. “Nah. You’re not worth the paperwork. And it’s against the rules.”
Peter rolled his eyes, but there was something lighter in his chest. Something familiar that hadn’t been there in weeks, months, even.
After training, Nightwing took Peter out on a quick patrol, showing him the small but critical things that Gotham’s heroes picked up over time—blind spots in alleyways, rooftops with easy escape routes, areas where criminals tended to gather unnoticed. The kind of information that only came from experience.
By the time Peter made it back to his own hideout, exhausted but buzzing with adrenaline, he realized what felt so familiar. Even though none of this ever happened before, the training with Nightwing, meeting Batman and all that, it felt like a memory repeating.
He was in a comic book he magically remembered nothing from (no, he was not thinking about that again), so why does it feel like being with the Avengers again. Not aunt May, Ned, MJ, or Mr. Stark, no, there was no way they could be replaced, and he definitely wasn’t going to try. But today was like being at the Stark tower, training, or just talking with them. He didn’t feel anything like this in a long while, ever since everyone in his universe forgot him.
It felt good. He liked feeling like this again.
Even though this wasn’t his universe and there was no Avengers here. The feeling remains. And he hoped he could stay like this longer.
After many months, he fell asleep with a warm feeling in his chest.