Where could I go?

There's no trace of him.

They have clear images of his face, but the gaudy clown makeup makes it hard to process. When they try to clean up footage and photos manually it doesn’t help much, the Joker was thinking ahead when he used shapes that would conceal Pranks identity. 

It’s not normal for the clown to take on an apprentice, big moves like that usually mean something seriously bad is down the line.

Ow! Fuck. 

Tim pulls his hand out of his hair, his scalp aching. He must’ve almost fallen asleep again, his glove caught in his hair. 

At least he’s awake again.

A quick glance at the clock in the corner of the large computer screen tells him he’s been staring at a screen for the past 4 hours. His eyes are starting to itch from the overexposure to the bright light glaring at him. On the screen is a collection of every photo they could get of ‘Prank’ and a working file on him. 

Everything about him is unknown. 

His real name, his age, his full power set, and why he would even consider working for the Joker.

Though, Tim has his own theories about that. Why would Prank tell him how to stop the Joker's plan? He seemed to be holding back during their first encounter too…

Every report after an encounter with Prank notes that he tried to help them in some way. It doesn’t make any sense, there had to be some external factor influencing him. There’s a weird feeling in his gut when they fight, something just seems…off with him. He’s holding back.

Anyone who works for the Joker usually doesn’t stick around for long. 

“Red? Red, don’t tell me you fell asleep or something. I got something big,”

God he wishes he was sleeping right now, but the screen continues taunting him with its patronizing glow.

“I’m awake…mostly, what’s up Oracle?”

“Ok so B-man, Wing, Robin, and Hood were stopping Joker's plan to cut off power to the city, y’know?”

“Yup,” Tim can feel his eyes drooping already, when was the last time he took a nap?

“So Wing shoots the EMP thing to stop the Joker’s EMP thing and Prank goes super still,”

That’s… interesting, was there some type of electric component in him? Was that what gave him his abilities? He can feel his mind overloading with new theories already. “...Ok? Like he’s a robot secretly still or something else still? That would explain why he’s untraceable…”

“No no no, like shocked still. Then, out of nowhere he just bolts,”

“Did you track him?” Tim scoots from his previously slumped position in his swivel chair. That caught his attention, why did he choose now to leave? Why did he leave in the first place? His theory on Prank not being fully compliant with the Joker is starting to get a lot more traction in his mind.

“Of course I tracked him, Red. He used those swingy things from his wrists, which side note is a bit gross, to move fast but I traced him to a park where he scrubbed off his clown makeup. Then he swung away again,”

Tim’s eyes go wide for a second before he leans onto the desk, an excitement filling his veins.

“Does that mean you-”

“Yup,” He can hear her popping her ‘p’ smugly even through the light radio static.

“I got footage of his bare face,”

—

For once in his life, Peter is lucky. 

Gotham is somehow the worst and best place to be if you wind up there with no known identity, the clothes on his back, and fresh trauma that makes Peter want to stay curled up behind his new dumpster home indefinitely.

For the first few days away from the Joker, Peter does exactly that. He stays curled up behind a dumpster as he listens to the ambient noise of the street. He lays low for a few days, then when he feels safe enough to leave the alley, he finds a way to make a new life.

The first thing he needs to do is find out how far he is from New York, so off to the library it is.

After making a quick stop at a public bathroom to wash off the rest of his face and (possibly) steal some clothes that he is definitely going to give back later. Peter is wandering the streets trying to ask people for directions, most of the responses range from ‘fuck off’ to someone reaching into their jacket threateningly to which Peter definitely doesn’t yelp and skitter away.

He decides he’ll just try to find a map. This city is definitely not the most welcoming.

When he finds a subway tunnel, he’s able to locate a map on the wall behind impossibly yellowed plastic. After taking a few minutes to familiarize himself with the area, Peter is pleased to find that he’s only a couple blocks away from the Gotham Library.

When he finally gets to the building, it seems to loom threateningly over the city. The gothic architecture and drab colors don’t really fill Peter with the usual wonder that a beacon of knowledge would.

Who puts gargoyles on a library? Scratch that, who makes libraries look so scary?

The place was practically empty, besides some people quietly reading in corners. At least it was quiet. When Peter tries to go up to the front desk it was deserted as well. Though, he could hear a voice behind the ‘employees only’ door talking to someone else. He pays it no mind and heads towards the section with free access computers. 

First off, these computers were old, they still had that boxy frame Peter’s came to associate with technology long in the past. 

Place must not have good funding…

When the computer boots up after an embarrassingly long time, Peter’s eyes immediately shoot towards the date displayed on the corner of the screen. 

August 14th

Jesus…how long has he been here? He missed his birthday, but it’s not like he had many people to celebrate it with, another year older or whatever. He now has to navigate the world as a nineteen year old, hopefully it’s not too different. 

It’s been a good couple of months since he’s been here. Days did seem to blend together, and it’s not like he was able to keep track of time when he was-

Stop thinking about everything. Keep going forward.

Better to just march forward, it’s either that or have a breakdown in the library. Which he will admit, has happened once or twice. But those were usually about school stuff, not being traumatized and tortured for months on end and also having to work for someone whos definitely a psychopath who-

Stop. Thinking.

Peter keeps trudging forward.

Signing in as a guest, Peter quickly navigates over to-

Ew, Bing? What is wrong with this city…

The first thing Peter searches (and this might make him a bit narcissistic) is Spiderman. Those guys in the alley when he was first launched here were confused, but that could just be him being in a different city.

After yet another frankly embarrassing loading time…nothing.

??

Ok…maybe he’s not that popular. Whatever, that doesn’t hurt his feelings at all. He tries someone more popular next, Iron Man.

…What the fuck.

Captain America? The Avengers? S.H.I.E.L.D? Fuck Fuck Fuck why isn’t anything coming up?? His fingers fly across the keys as he tries again and again to search for things familiar to him.

Nothing.

Peter's breath catches in his throat for a second. His heartbeat is too fast, he needs to calm down. Dragging his palms over his stolen pants, Peter takes slow steady breaths. When he feels his chest start to loosen and his heartbeat even out he goes back to the computer. Typing in something more broad: Superheroes.

Dozens of pages fill the boxy screen, though none of these people look familiar at all. Peter tries not to panic, his palms rub on his pants faster. Ok, none of the heroes he knows exist. What did Dr. Strange’s magic do?

Oh shit.

He’s probably in a different dimension. 

Fuck

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

He tries to stay calm, he really does. Tears are starting to prick at Peter's eyes and he guesses he’s having that library breakdown after all. He can’t help but hold his sides, rocking back and forth as he gasps for breath. The buzzing in his head starts getting louder and louder. This can’t be happening to him, this can’t be. 

The puzzle pieces start to click together in his brain.

Those guys didn’t recognize his symbol, he didn’t know what Gotham was even though it seems like a major city. They called him a meta instead of a mutant…

Oh god…

“You alright?”

Peter doesn’t scream. Because that would be weird. Instead, he makes a scared squeaking noise and almost falls out of his chair. Much more dignified. 

He looks at the source of the voice, which must be the librarian. She’s looking at him with an unreadable expression at first, until her face shifts into a look of concern and she’s leaning out of her wheelchair to place a comforting hand on the edge of the desk Peter is hyperventilating at.

From his limited time in Gotham, he’s pretty sure that most people here wouldn’t willingly check on some random guy freaking out in a library.

“Yes. I am super fine, totally fine. Sorry,” Peter rambles on, his voice scratchy from underuse. He holds back a wince as the words scrape out of his throat. 

“Ok…do you need help with anything?” The look on the woman's face is of genuine concern, though something lurks underneath. Her eyebrows are pinched and her eyes are searching his face for…something. 

“No, I think I’m done here,”

Jesus Peter that sounded cryptic.

He closes his tabs and stands quickly, walking past the woman and straight towards the doors.

“Oh! Ok well have a good day! I’m Barbara if you need anything else!”

Peter barely hears her as he walks out of the library, only to be immediately assaulted by the rough city noise of Gotham again.

As he starts down the street, Peter tries to focus on his current objectives instead of breaking down in an alley again. He needs to find a roof, some food, and probably some documents that prove he exists here.

Easy stuff, right?

—

For all of its craziness, Gotham actually has a couple things that are useful for Peter as he tries to set up a life here. New York seems like a bust, even if he stayed in his dimension (the concept of multiple different dimensions is NOT something he will be thinking about right now or he might as well head back to the trauma dumpster for another few days of curled up pondering) he wouldn’t have anything to go home to. He might as well build himself up here then hit the road when he has the resources to. Gotham city does not seem like the best place to stay long term. 

If he was stranded anywhere else, Peter would likely be indefinitely homeless. But Gotham? Gotham seems like it’s set up for people to make fake personas. Apparently, people’s personal documents are destroyed by villain attacks constantly. Which, first off, is pretty concerning, but at least it’s extremely easy to game the system. A quick trip to the record office and some classic Parker charm (he was so awkward about lying he almost cried) and now Peter was the owner of a shiny new birth certificate.

So, he now officially exists in Gotham City. That brings him to his second dilemma: shelter.

Gotham has a shit ton of abandoned warehouses which, yet again is concerning, but is also very useful for finding a place to sleep. It seems like most of this city is lightly concerning in ways that help Peter, but he’s counting his blessings right now so he won’t complain. He tries not to stay in the same place, relying on his spider sense to warn him if he’s in danger. When he’s not sleeping, he’s usually trying to find food. Usually he could go to a community kitchen, but Peter needs to start earning his own money so he can afford to eat as much as he needs. Having at least one meal a day is something he’s grateful for, but when he sneaks into gyms to shower he can see his ribs poking out just underneath the skin. If he doesn’t get a steady source of food soon he’ll be in a world of trouble.

The food dilemma leads him to yet another problem: money.

He tries to take jobs that don’t seem too sketchy, it’s mostly construction work or unloading shipments at the docks. Nobody talks to each other and he’s paid in cash at the end of the day. Peter is grateful for all of it. No one asks him questions, no one prods. 

It’s perfect.

The odd jobs pay well enough, good enough for Peter to save up for a deeply shitty apartment in an even shittier part of town. Apparently the area he’s in is called ‘Crime Alley’ and it definitely lives up to its name. His spider sense always stays at a low buzz here, thrumming lightly when he passes alleys or people walking past him. When he scouts out apartments he’s slightly grateful that the people running the buildings didn’t do a background check or even ask if he has a steady source of income. Most just made it clear that if he didn’t pay rent on time, he’d be back on the streets. By the end of the week he was able to find an apartment that suited his needs: quiet, hidden, and small.

Speaking of small, calling his apartment an ‘apartment’ was…an overstatement. It was more like a glorified walk-in closet. It was big enough to be the closet of one of those celebrities from that reality show May would always watch. He would always watch it with her on Thursday nights, even if he was absolutely appalled at all of their behavior. They clearly didn’t have a May in their life to set them straight.

His new home may be a small mattress with an even smaller minifridge and hot plate balance on top of said fridge (all graciously provided to him but the various dumpsters around Gotham). But it was home to him, a place of his own.

Peter tries to fill it with things that bring him joy, splurging on a tool kit so he can now spend some of his time fixing up junk or making something new. His apartment now has an alarm clock and radio, which he would consider progress towards having a homey space.

It’s his, and the cramped space offers a comforting aura he can’t quite explain.

—

As Peter starts to settle into his small space, it dawns on him that for the first time in months he can do whatever he wants. Which is both thrilling and terrifying, he didn’t realize how quickly he started to get used to being bossed around. Now that he doesn’t have that it feels…weird. Like he’s just always waiting for someone to walk into his room to tell him he needs to fight or that he’s about to help the Joker.

He continues working odd jobs, getting paid just enough to get by, and stocking up on bulk packages of box mac n cheese and ramen noodles.

Hey, it’s definitely not healthy, but it is filling and Peter hasn’t had a full stomach in months.

He gets to sleep for more than three hours at a time on a comfy mattress (okay, he does have a bit of back pain from it but it’s better than the camping cot). Though he sometimes finds himself waking in the middle of the night, realizing his body was preparing him for a shock. Peter turns over and traces the area where the device was, the divots in his skin making a perfect circle. A reminder of the horrible people he’s helped.

Those were the nights that were the worst, his spine would tingle like it’s getting ready for something, like it’s waiting for the next shock or for the Joker to burst into his room mumbling incoherently. 

He doesn’t usually sleep the rest of the night after that happens.

Peter finds himself in his apartment now, the day went generally well. He mostly worked on a couple odd jobs and then retired to his humble abode. His spider sense is buzzing at the back of his skull like it usually does when he returns to his apartment, which makes him worry about his neighbors, but if they knew who he was he’s sure they’d also be wary

His hearing picks up the sound of nightlife in Gotham as it usually does, the sounds of Gotham at night is so distinctly different from Queens in a way he can’t place. It’s definitely peppered with more gunshots, but there’s an eeriness to the whole city he can sense. The wind seems to whistle down the streets, the sound of buildings that have long settled creaking punctures the air. It’s like the city is alive and warning people that it’s dangerous. 

A couple blocks over there's some type of rave happening. The thrumming bass is steady as he starts preparing a box of mac n cheese for dinner. The light buzz increases steadily as Peter continues his cooking, slightly more on edge. 

There’s a feeling of eyes on him, but when he looks out his window there’s nothing he can spot, the smog covering the city cloaks the rooftops expertly. Peter tamps down his nervousness, and continues cooking. If the Joker was going to get him he would just barge in and take him, he’s not the most stealthy guy. 

He breathes in and out, continuing to prepare his dinner. It’s probably just his imagination, he’s a pretty paranoid guy so it’s not out of the realm of expectation for him to worry about being watched.

—

It continues for days, then weeks. The buzzing at the base of his neck increases steadily and warns him he’s being watched, it continues for about thirty minutes to an hour, then whoevers watching him decides to turn their attention elsewhere. 

At this point he knows it’s not the Joker, the Joker would probably kidnap him or something and bring him back to that stupid building and put that terrible device on him and he would shock him and-

Stop it. Keep making your mac n cheese.

Peter stops stirring so aggressively. Huh, he didn’t even realize he was doing that.

His focus remains on cooking as he ignores the buzzing as it grows louder than it ever has. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the warning, it’s probably just whoevers watching him. Or maybe he’s going crazy, with the way Peter’s life has been going maybe the Joker’s crazy has rubbed off on him. Maybe all that sleep deprivation is getting to him finally and he’s hallucinating maybe he-

A knock reverberates through his tiny apartment. Peter stops preparing his mac n cheese (Aw man, I just finished it…) and heads towards the door.

The buzzing continues, building to a slow and steady thrum reverberating down his spine that matches his heartbeat.

Undoing his locks, Peter opens the door and is met with the barrel of a gun.

God damn it.

Peter psychically deflates at the scene and leans against the doorway. So he definitely wasn’t hallucinating then, this was probably the person who’s been stalking him for the past few weeks and now they have a gun trained on him, he should probably get a good look at whoever this guy is-

Fuuuuuuck

Peter’s eyes widen when they latch onto the figure standing behind the gun. It’s that guy he’s fought, the one who shot him. The one who is definitely not a fan of him, judging by how aggressively he fights. Damn, he was sure this guy wasn’t that tall, and also built. 

“Prank,” A mechanical voice fills the silent room. Peter purses his lips at the name, pointedly looking at the floor. 

The gun moves forward as the man lets himself in.

“Let’s have a little talk,”