Web of Shadows and Wings

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The evening sky above Gotham City stretched out like a jagged canvas, splattered with hues of smog and crimson. This city had its own heartbeat, and it throbbed with a constant tension, humming like a taut wire about to snap. Peter Parker, no longer the kid from Queens, stood on a crumbling rooftop, his gaze sweeping over the maze-like streets below.

He felt... displaced. Out of time. Out of space. After the spell that had erased his existence from the minds of his loved ones in New York, Peter had thought that might be the end of his story. Maybe he’d live in the shadows forever. The spell had flung him from everything he knew, sending him spiraling into a place he couldn’t understand.

This wasn’t his New York. This wasn’t even his Earth.

But here he was.

Gotham City.

"Guess I landed on the wrong side of the multiverse," Peter muttered under his breath, pulling his hood tighter around his face. The air was damp, carrying a bitter cold that dug deep into his bones. The streets were alive, but not in the way New York was. Gotham’s pulse was dark, chaotic—a city where crime thrived like an infestation, and hope seemed scarce.

Peter clenched his fists, the worn fabric of his suit straining. It wasn’t the pristine Stark suit he had worn before. This was something pieced together from scraps—no tech, no AI in his ear. Just him and his instincts. He could still feel the memory of MJ’s touch, still see Ned’s face, even though they would never remember his.

But there was no time for dwelling on the past.

He’d survive. Somehow.

---

The night unfolded with shadows that twisted into grotesque shapes, and Peter found himself navigating the narrow, graffiti-covered alleys of Gotham, slipping into a rhythm. Crime was crime, after all. Muggers. Thieves. Drug dealers. Even in this place, people needed saving.

He stopped a mugging with a quick zip of his webbing, swinging between two buildings to intercept a gang of thugs harassing a shop owner. He was quick, efficient, but always left before anyone could get a good look at him. If this world had its own Spider-Man, he didn’t want to stir up trouble.

But Gotham… Gotham didn’t need a Spider-Man. It needed something different.

*Something darker.*

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by a series of loud pops, unmistakable to someone with his experience—gunfire.

His reflexes kicked in as he launched into the air, flipping through the gaps in the city’s skyline. He followed the sounds, honing in on a crumbling warehouse by the docks. It was almost too cliché, and that made it worse. Gotham's criminal underbelly didn’t hide; it flaunted its presence.

He landed silently on the roof, pressing his body low against the cold metal. Below him, a group of men were huddled around what looked like crates of weapons—illegal, no doubt. Peter’s gut churned.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but this is a bad night to test my patience.”

The voice came from the shadows, but it wasn’t one Peter recognized. It was smooth, commanding, filled with an almost playful edge.

Then he saw him.

A figure moved out of the darkness with a grace that Peter hadn’t seen since Natasha. He wore a black and blue suit, a sleek domino mask covering his eyes. He wasn’t Batman, but he wasn’t far off. There was something about him—fluid, powerful, yet lighter than the grimness that seemed to weigh Batman down.

Nightwing.

Peter had heard about Gotham’s vigilantes in passing during his time with the Avengers, but they always seemed like distant legends, stories you heard but never encountered. Yet here he was.

Peter’s instincts screamed at him to intervene, to help. But something held him back. This was Nightwing’s city, his fight. So Peter watched from the shadows.

Nightwing moved like a dancer, his batons crackling with electricity as he disarmed one thug after another. It was effortless, like a well-rehearsed routine. Peter couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. This guy had it all together. His world wasn’t crashing down around him. He knew who he was.

But then, one of the thugs made a desperate move, pulling a gun from his waistband. Peter’s heart lurched. He wasn’t going to let anyone die.

With a flick of his wrist, Peter shot a web line, yanking the gun from the man’s hand and sending it skidding across the floor. Nightwing’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Peter’s position on the roof.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Nightwing’s eyes narrowed, but instead of attacking, he nodded—just a small acknowledgment, as if he knew Peter wasn’t a threat.

But Peter wasn’t ready for what came next.

---

After the fight, Peter decided to follow Nightwing from a distance. Something about him tugged at Peter, an odd familiarity he couldn’t place. He wasn’t stalking, exactly. More like… observing.

The rooftops of Gotham had become his new perch. The high places where he could think, gather his thoughts, and figure out what to do next. It didn’t take long before Nightwing caught on, though.

“You know, if you’re going to tail someone, you might want to be less obvious about it.”

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. Nightwing was perched on a fire escape just above him, his voice casual, but his posture alert.

Peter hesitated. “Uh… I wasn’t following. I was just… checking out the view.”

Nightwing smirked, swinging down effortlessly to land beside him. “Right. So, Spider-Man, is it?”

Peter froze. “How do you—?”

“I’ve been around long enough to know when a spider’s swinging through my city,” Nightwing said, crossing his arms. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Stopping muggings, dealing with thugs. Gotham’s got a rhythm, and you’re definitely not part of it.”

Peter pulled down his hood, not bothering to argue. “It’s a long story.”

Nightwing tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “I’m good with long stories. I’ve got time.”

And just like that, Peter found himself spilling everything. The spell, the loss of MJ, of Aunt May. The feeling of isolation, being in a city where no one knew who he was. Where *he* didn’t even know who he was anymore.

Nightwing listened in silence, his face unreadable.

When Peter finished, he felt drained. Empty.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Peter admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if I’m supposed to be here.”

Nightwing let out a soft sigh, looking out over the city. “Gotham has a way of pulling in people who don’t belong. I get it.”

Peter frowned. “How would you know?”

For a moment, Nightwing didn’t answer. He seemed to wrestle with something internally before turning to face Peter, his eyes sharp but not unkind.

“Because you’re not the only one who’s been lost before. Who’s had to start over.”

Peter didn’t reply, but something in Nightwing’s words struck a chord.

Nightwing took a deep breath. “There’s something you need to know, Peter. Something about why you’re here.”

Peter blinked. “Wait… how do you know my—?”

Nightwing stepped forward, his expression serious now. “I know because you and I… we’re connected. More than you realize.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”

Nightwing hesitated, then spoke, his voice soft but firm.

“I’m your father, Peter.”

---

The world tilted.

For a long moment, Peter just stood there, his brain struggling to process the words. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.

“What—? No. No, that’s impossible,” Peter stammered, backing up a step. “You’re—you’re what, like five years older than me?”

Nightwing—or Richard Grayson—shook his head slowly, his eyes filled with something that Peter didn’t want to acknowledge. “I get it. It doesn’t make sense. But trust me, it’s the truth. You weren’t born on the Earth you think you were. You were... hidden. To protect you.”

Peter’s breathing quickened. This had to be some kind of sick joke. “No. My parents—my real parents—they died in a plane crash. They were Richard and Mary Parker. Uncle Ben and Aunt May—”

“Were your guardians. Yes, they loved you, Peter. I’m not saying they didn’t. But the truth is, you were brought to another Earth because staying on mine would’ve put you in danger.”

Peter felt like the ground was slipping out from under him. “You’re saying I’m not even from my Earth?”

Nightwing—his father—nodded grimly. “When you were born, there were... threats. People who would have hurt you to get to me. So, you were sent away, to a world where you could be safe. Your mother—well, she never agreed with it. But it was the only way to keep you hidden from those who wanted to use you.”

Peter’s mind was reeling. “Why... why didn’t you come for me?”

Richard’s face darkened. “Because by the time I realized where you were, you were already in the care of people who loved you. I thought it would be better

for you to grow up without the shadows that follow me. I never thought... I never thought I’d see you again.”

Peter stumbled back, his heart pounding in his chest. “This is insane. This can’t be real.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Richard said, stepping toward him. “But we can figure it out. Together. You don’t have to do this alone, Peter.”

Peter’s fists clenched, anger bubbling up inside him. “No. You don’t get to show up now and act like everything’s fine. You left me. You let me think my whole life was something it wasn’t!”

Richard’s expression softened, regret clear in his eyes. “I did what I thought was best for you.”

“Well, it wasn’t!”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. Peter’s chest heaved as the anger surged through him. Everything he’d known—everything he thought he knew—was unraveling. He didn’t know who to trust. He didn’t even know if he could trust himself anymore.

Richard’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know you’re angry, Peter. And you have every right to be. But this is your home now. Gotham is where you come from. And I’m here, whether you want me to be or not.”

Peter turned away, his mind racing. Gotham... this city of shadows and violence. It wasn’t his home. It couldn’t be.

But maybe... maybe it was.

“I need time,” Peter muttered, not looking back.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” Richard said softly.

Peter didn’t respond. With a heavy heart, he shot a web line and swung into the night, leaving his supposed father behind. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to feel.

All he knew was that Gotham wasn’t done with him yet.

And neither was Richard Grayson.

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