Where could I go?

Post Red Hood visit, Peter would come home to a meal sitting in his fridge. How the man has time to bring him food, he doesn’t know. The promise of food in his fridge usually puts a bit of pep in his step on the way home though, which is a big plus for his current mental state.

So he was getting a bit pampered, sue him. Coming home to a nice meal that doesn't come in a box or plastic bag was nice.

It wasn’t until two weeks after Hood’s unannounced visit that he came home to the man standing in his apartment yet again, inspecting some new gadgets he’s been working on. His hands gently look over the devices before picking one up to examine it further.

Of course he grabs the one with exposed wires that could shock the shit out of him, fucking of course.

“Wait! Some of those could hurt you, be careful” Peter rushes over, gingerly grabbing the device from his grasp and setting it back in its place. As he looks at the table to reorganize his things (he has a system, Hood), his eyes catch on a large brown paper bag clutched in the vigilantes grip. 

“If those are torture devices you legally have to tell me. Also I thought you were cooler than that, Hood,” Peter steps back from the table, motioning to the bag at Red Hoods side. He moves to the center of the room, putting distance between himself and the vigilante.

With a huff the bag is thrust towards Peter's chest. Peeking inside, a smile grows on Peter's face. 

A container of absolutely divine tacos is staring back at him, and holy shit a container of pico de gallo with some chips. Peter immediately plops down on the ground with his back against the wall, pulling the food out of the bag. His hands scavenged to open the container. When he’s able to finagle the container open the smell or savory goodness it's him and Peter has to stop himself from moving too quickly. He does have an audience.

“Holy shit! This looks so good! Y’know, there was this guy who lived on my floor back in New York who was super chill and whenever he made tacos he’d always bring us some, I think he had a crush on my aunt but I’d always get to eat the pico because she doesn’t like tomatoes,”

As Peter rambled, Hood makes his way over to the desk chair to sit. 

Ok, strange, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is Peter getting as much taco into his mouth as possible. When he finishes the first taco, he’s interrupted by a metallic ‘ahem’. His eyes dart up to the vigilante.

“Talk to me about Joker, you’re the only person right now who might be even a little bit willing to talk about him,”

Peter pauses, putting his food down. This guy has been surprisingly chill for someone that could probably just torture information out of him. Does he really think tacos will be the thing to win him over and make him spill all of his secrets?

Well…he’s on the right track for sure. Good food is the way to anyone's heart.

“I…can’t actually tell you much. When I was in that...situation I wasn’t told much…” Peter plays with his hands, pressing his fingertips together. “But um, sometimes I heard the other members talking about random drug deals and drops they would do, they would say stuff about activity around someplace called Burnley,” Peter pauses, taking a bite of his food. Red hood sits at his desk, leaning forward with both elbows on his knees. He motions for Peter to continue.

“I don’t uh- I don’t know much more, sorry. I wasn’t really allowed…outside, He preferred to keep me close,” Peter looked down at his lap, it felt like yesterday he was still waiting in his room to be told what to do. To be shocked for no reason. His fingers twitch at the thought, the taco container discarded on the floor.

Memories of failed plans start to surface, the anger after a loss, being shoved back into his room and shocked. His body convulsing, garbled screams coming out of his mouth. The pain, the fear, the embarrassment-

His hand shoots up to his neck, tracing the circular scar.

It’s gone, you’re fine.

A sigh exits his mouth. He looks back at his food, suddenly not hungry any more.

“That’s useful, thanks,” Hood stands up from the desk, heading towards the front door.

The vigilante pauses at the door, a hand resting on the frame.“Get some sleep or something, you look like shit,”

Peter purses his lips at the statement, he’s not totally wrong.

Peter leaves his position on the floor, shoving the leftovers into his fridge.

—

Peter’s back seriously aches.

The docks pay well, and they pay in cash which is a great bonus. He gets paid a fair amount for heaving around crates all day. Even with his whole super healing deal, he still needs a good night of sleep to get rid of the dull ache in his back that throbs with every step.

Oh god…is he getting old?

Shaking off the slight terror of aging, Peter heads straight home after his shift. A wad of cash is stuffed in the inner pocket of his recently thrifted coat, luckily it wasn’t enough to create a noticeable bulge. If Peters learned anything about Gotham in his time here, it’s that you never want to make it look like you have money.

It was getting colder here, if Gotham was anything like New York the temperatures are gonna drop pretty suddenly within the next few weeks. While his coat wasn’t the best quality it would be fine for now, though he’ll have to find something better soon. He can’t thermoregulate at all, maybe some charities will be giving out new jackets and gloves. 

Though, right now he kind of needs a new everything. 

Don’t get him wrong, this newfound freedom was invigorating. He was jerking awake in the middle of the night less and less, probably thanks to the meals he was getting from the local vigilante. Last night there was some delicious butter chicken waiting for him. He didn’t finish that last night since he was exhausted, he could probably heat that up for tonight then go to sleep early. Tomorrow was his day off so he-

The sound of light crackling brings him out of his thoughts, distant enough to be a couple blocks away. His head jerks up, scanning the surrounding area with pinched brows. Soon after the crackling starts, the smell of smoke reaches him too.

Fire.

Peter follows the scent of the smoke, taking him down familiar streets. The streets he uses to get to and from work.

No…

He turns a corner onto a street, his street. In the distance a bright, burning, glow illuminates the streets that are growing darker by the minute.

No no no! Please!

Without thinking he starts running, his feet carrying him closer to the source of the flames. His newly thrifted work boots smack against the pavement loudly, echoing across the street, the sound only complemented by the growing sound of a fire raging.

When he arrives, his apartment building is engulfed in flames, the bright orange inferno reaching towards the inky black sky. Smoke billows out of the windows and he can hear the faint sound of jars and glasses shattering from the heat and building pressure.

His new home, the place he's carved out and made for himself is gone. In an instant everything he’s built up is taken away yet again. Peter's fists clench as burning tears threaten to spill. Why is it always him? Whenever he’s around people, they die. Whenever he finds something good, it’s taken away.

His home, his friends, May.

He’s cursed, he has to be.

It’s all gone again, ripped away.

The structure in front of him creaks dangerously as a figure bursts out from the middle of the building, cackling madly. He’s in a dark skin tight suit with silver plates protecting his chest, arms, and legs. On his back is a…fire propelled jetpack? Ok, that’s really unsafe. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

“Gotham will feel the warmth of my flames! The city will scream the name Firefly’!”

Ok, so that’s what his deal is.

He strains his ears, trying to search the building for any heartbeats. Nothing. On the street there’s at least fifty people, so it’s likely everyone was able to get out quickly. In hindsight it seems typical for gothamites to be able to evacuate an area quickly, as sad as that is.

A deranged cackle brings him back to the flying figure in front of him. Cocking his fist back he grabs a device, pulls a pin on it, then throws it at a group of nearby cars.

Almost instantly the area explodes in a burst of roiling flame, everything in its radius is covered in the harsh glow of fire and the smell of smoke. The man laughs again, swooping down the street.

He took it all. His trinkets, his mattress that was actually pretty comfortable, his hotplate, his fucking butter chicken.

With a start Peter sprints after the man, his thoughts engulfed in rage. How dare he.

He gains speed surprisingly quickly, Firefly keeps stopping to throw fire grenades at seemingly random areas, cackling the entire time.

Stop fucking laughing

An inhuman grunt leaves his mouth as he jumps to latch onto the jetpack of the man. His legs explode in pain as they’re subjected to the fire spouting from the engine. Firefly, who likely wasn’t expecting the extra passenger, lets out a startled yelp and starts careening towards the ground. As they spin together, plummeting towards the ground, Peter grabs at the device on his back. He manages to rip off one of the wings, making the fire sputter out and the pain reduce in his legs, before they both slam into the ground. Peter stumbles to his feet, catching sight of Firefly trying to crawl to his knees.

He doesn’t even realize he’s punched the man until his fist is back at his side. Firefly’s head is knocked to the side, his mouth contorting into a wild grin.

“Gotham will feel my flames! They will know what-”

Another punch cuts him off, then another. Firefly cackles in response.

Stop. Fucking. Laughing.

He hits him again, knocking his face to the side. He keeps hitting him until blood starts to collect on his knuckles, but he keeps going. He’ll keep going until he stops with that awful cackling. He’ll go for as long as he needs to, until the fight is over and he can go back to his cot-

He's slipping, he’s zoning out again. Fuck, he has to stop. 

But he won’t stop cackling and it’s grating on his ears and if he doesn’t shut him up he’ll activate the remote and-

“Peter,”

He stops, fist cocked back, ready to hit Firefly again and get even more blood on his fist. He can feel his heartbeat racing in his ears, his chest heaving rhythmically. His vision starts to focus on the man below him. His cheekbone is already starting to swell up and Peter can’t recognize the bottom half of his face from the blood spattering it. He’ll probably need stitches, a lot of them.

As shame starts to blossom in Peter’s chest, a hand rests on his shoulder. It guides him away from the body, light chuckles still hitting Peter's ears as someone puts space between him and Firefly. 

When he tears his eyes away from the body, he sees the red helmet he’s so accustomed to seeing in his apartment.

Former apartment

“What happened,”

It wasn’t a question, it was a command. How could he even explain himself? His building was burnt down and instead of making sure people were ok he freaked out and couldn’t stop hitting someone? what has this city done to him?

“I-I…my apartment…he burned it down. It’s all I had and he…” Peter takes a shaky breath, trying to still his hands before his whole body starts to shake and he needs to sink down to the ground and rock back and forth for a good hour or two.

“Ok, I understand…” His hand stays firmly on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him from spiraling and possibly pummeling Firefly again.

His eyes shoot back to the man on the ground, broken wheezes fill the silence between the three. 

At least he stopped laughing.

He’ll have to get a new apartment then, right? That place was seriously cheap so it was a good situation to be in, would he even be able to afford somewhere else? Not with his current unstable job, and oh god where was he going to sleep tonight? He doesn’t even have a bed anymore, he’ll have to go back to sleeping behind dumpsters and in warehouses for the time being.

“Come with me,” A metallic voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

??

“I…what?”

“I have a safe house not too far from here. Stay there for the night, can’t have my informant staying on the streets,”

Before Peter can answer, Red Hood is already turning and heading down the street, his hand staying firmly on Peter’s shoulder, guiding him the entire time.

—

Tucked away through a maze of back alleys sits a small unassuming warehouse. Anyone who passed by it would likely think it befell the same fate most warehouses in gotham fell, sitting abandoned and desecrated. A potential villain hideout that should be avoided.

When they arrive inside, Peter is pleasantly surprised by how nice it is. He’s never had a safe house before, so he didn’t actually know what to expect. Tony had small places for everyone to hide out in, but those were always amazingly furnished with a full kitchen, bedroom, and master bathroom, because it was Tony. Peter expected nothing less from the man. 

He quickly ignores the pang in his heart at the thought of Tony, the ideas of what he would think of Peter now fill his head for a moment before he swivels his mind back to the present.

For a place that was only supposed to be used for one night it was surprisingly well furnished. The area consisted of three rooms, one encompassing most of the space with the other having obviously been added after the area was cleared out. The main room had two couches with a coffee table between them, along with a small kitchen area tucked away in the corner. The other two rooms were blocked by doors, Peter assumes they’re the bedroom and bathroom. Tucked away in another corner is a desk littered with machinery parts and tools. Okay, he definitely has to check that out at some point. It seems like he has some way better tools than him.

“You gonna go sit down? I’ll grab some food.”

Peter's eyes move over to the vigilante who stands a couple feet away from him, he’s shifting between his feet, arms crossed and hands tucked under his armpits.

He’s nervous, probably because he saw you pummeling a man half to death.

He glances away quickly, moving towards one of the couches. It was one of those classic grandma couches, with the floral patterning and soft cushions. May used to have one when he was just a little kid, he even remembers going to the furniture warehouse and shopping for a new one with her and Ben when he was ten. 

Scanning it, Peter could tell that there were definitely some additions made, patches littered the cushions and sides. Peter hazards a guess that it’s from tears and scratches. If someone wasn’t looking very hard, they wouldn’t see the stains blending in with the flowers and ok, that’s definitely blood. It’s definitely what he expects from a vigilante like Red Hood's safe house. 

It’s all…surprisingly homey. Everything seems old and worn in, but in a good way. 

It reminds him of his old apartment with May. Sure, everything was broken and in desperate need of patching up. But it was theirs.

Wow, he is in a very sappy mood right now. 

Sitting on the couch proves that this definitely had to be a grandma’s couch at some point because wow these cushions are swallowing him up. An involuntary yawn escapes his mouth as he seeps deeper and deeper into the cushions. He barely registers the sound of heavy boots going over to the kitchen area and pots clanking softly. His eyes are starting to droop as his head lols to the side.

So comfortable…

As he starts to drift off, he’s startled awake by a light ‘thump’ to his side. Sitting on the end of the couch is a large, fluffy, blanket coupled with a pillow. The sound of heavy boots stirs him more as he watches the vigilante move back to the kitchen area. 

Draping the blanket over himself, he settles into the insanely comfortable couch as his mind starts to drift off again. When was the last time he got to sleep on a truly comfortable surface? His bed at his apartment was found in the trash and had definitely seen better days, Peter partially thinks his body molded to it and that's why it was comfortable. Though it was infinitely better than the camping cot and whatever excuse for a mattress the Joker had provided. 

His thoughts drift towards the future as he falls asleep.

—

He’s stirred awake by someone nudging his shoulder and the smell of something delicious wafting towards his nose.

Opening his eyes, Peter spots a bowl of something on the table between the couches and the Red hood nudging him with a gloved hand.

Bolting up Peter quickly sits up straight, combing his hands through his hair and bringing his hands down to his neck to check for the device. When it’s not there, he brings his hands back up to rub at his eyes to clear away any more sleep. 

When he speaks, the tiredness in his voice betrays him. “How long was I asleep?” Peter mumbles most of the words, surprised Hood even registered it.

“About 40 minutes, eat something before you sleep for the night.”

He looks back at the bowl on the table, it smells amazing. Did he make this? Wait…has Red Hood been making all the food he drops off?

He’s not gonna think about that right now, opting to try whatever food he’s been given. Fuck it if he’s being poisoned, it smells amazing and his spider sense would probably go off right? The bowl is warm to the touch and it’s full of some type of rice dish. When he takes his first bite, Peter suppresses a moan. 

Holy shit, this is so good. Like, so so good. He can’t stop himself from eating bite after bite, Peter knows Hood is watching him but he can’t even think about that right now. All he wants to focus on is this absolutely amazing food he’s getting to eat. Bless Aunt May, but she was never the best cook. Dinners spent in the small thai restaurant a few minutes away fill his mind and a smile grows on his face, they always got free dessert. 

He’s had his fair share of good food, Tony kind of pampered him with nice dinners, but nothing could compare to just how simple and homely this dish was. 

“It’s risotto.”

Peter is broken out of his food trance by the mechanical voice. Looking down, he realizes he’s already had the full bowl and was mostly scraping it for anything else he could get.

“Thank you. Like, seriously thank you this is delicious.”

The vigilante in front of him turns away at that, looking out the window of the warehouse. Smoggy dark skies greet them both, the moon shines between the clouds. Bathing the tops of the tallest skyscrapers in silver light.

“Alright, I’m going to head out. Get some sleep.” With that the vigilante stands, softly taking the bowl from Peter's hands and heading to the kitchen again. 

With a warm meal and an insanely comfy sleeping area surrounding him, Peter can’t help but fall into a deep sleep for the night, his worries melting away.