Where could I go?

When Peter wakes up, it’s to a silent warehouse.

He’s used to the ambient sounds of neighbors starting their day, a symphony of noises that comforts him throughout his morning routine.

Gotham sounds much different compared to New York. For one, he doesn’t hear as much laughing or lively conversation. Instead, he often hears gunshots or the sound of tires screeching across asphalt. During the night time he hears it more often, a cacophony of sounds that put him on edge. 

Since he’s arrived in Gotham, his spider sense hasn’t stopped buzzing, a light tickle at the back of his neck that warns him of danger.

It warns him that this city isn’t normal.

As his bleary eyes open, light streams through the windows on the roof of the warehouse, illuminating the dust filling the air. Peter brings a hand up to his eyes, rubbing away the remnants of sleep and sitting up. He felt…good? His stomach was full and he didn’t have that usual ache between his shoulders that his old mattress gave him.

His mattress…his home, his apartment, his money!

An annoyed groan echoes through the warehouse as Peter drags his hands over his face, dramatically flopping onto the couch.

It’s all gone. He works so hard to build up any semblance of a life and now it’s gone…again. When his mind isn’t so bleary he’ll think of next steps. He’s built himself up from nothing before, he could do it again right? Maybe that was just the rough draft, now he could look into less shady jobs, or he could work on getting a bank account. That would probably be what he does first.

Wait. His money!

Peter hurriedly paws at his inner pocket, a relieved sigh escaping his lips as he feels the wad of cash settled in there. A quick count lets him know that he has two hundred and forty dollars. At least he’s not starting from nothing. He has a nice coat and two hundred and forty dollars, he could take on the world! Shoving the money into his pants pocket, Peter sits up fully on the couch, taking in the warehouse in the light of day.

It’s actually quite pretty…in a murder-warehouse sort of way. Though, he doesn't think Red Hood is intent to murder him right now. The man made him risotto and let him sleep on a grandma couch. Honestly, he’s been more hospitable than anyone else he’s met in this city. 

Speaking of Red Hood…where is that guy? There's a distinct lack of a second heartbeat in the building. He’s probably out doing vigilante stuff, who is he to question this dude's schedule. Peter has many distinct memories of leaving school to go fight crime. Hell, he used to leave his suit under the lockers some days. 

Peter is almost almost tempted to go back to sleep and snuggle up on this squishy couch, avoiding his problems for a couple more hours, when a smell hits his nose. His eyes are immediately drawn to the coffee table. Specifically, to a brown paper bag sitting smack dab in the center. Electing to move forward (and because that sweet smell of whatever was inside was literally pulling him towards the bag) Peter peeks inside the bag to see two warm donuts sitting inside the bag. One glazed, one with pink frosting. His mouth starts to water just staring at them.

He definitely left these for me, right? Why else would they be in the center of the coffee table three feet away from where I was sleeping? Unless it’s some type of test…

Whatever, fuck it these look so good.

The donuts are gone within seconds, his stomach only partially filled. 

Before…all of this, he’d get larger portions of meals and usually May would supply him with granola bars throughout the day. She would sneak some into his pockets before school because he would always forget. 

She would be proud of him for getting out…right? For a second, Peter sends up a silent prayer, something that would get to May and tell her that he’s doing better now. He was never raised particularly religious, but maybe god works differently here.

With a couple pops, Peter stretches and stands up. His body feels surprisingly limber for sleeping on a couch. When he gets a new mattress, he’ll try his hardest to get one that feels nice and soft. No more dumpster mattresses for him. 

The warehouse is still silent, save for the ambient city sounds outside. During a quick scan Peter’s eyes are immediately drawn to a small desk in the corner of the room with various devices scattered on the surface. Padding over, he gets a better look at the parts and tools littering the desks surface.

All these devices are…so suboptimal. It’s kind of hurting Peter’s heart just looking at them. 

He cautiously looks around for a second, as if Hood is going to pop out from behind a corner and tell him he did something wrong. After checking the coast is clear (of course it is), Peter sits down at the chair next to the desk and starts to analyze whatever is being made right now. A couple devices seem to be things that stun the victim…Peter is not going to deal with anything that could stun anyone right now. Everything else seems to be random parts that haven’t been assembled yet. All of the ideas Peter has been suppressing from a lack of tools start to fill his mind. It’s not like he has stark tech, but it’s better than the cheap tool kit and solder he’d picked up from the thrift. 

As he starts working on a new device, he lets the rest of the noise fall away. All he can think about is the massive influx of ideas that come to his mind, underneath some parts is a notebook and pen, which Peter immediately uses to jot down ideas and work out blueprints. A soft smile spreads onto his face as he works, memories of him and his friends working late into the night puts a warm feeling into his chest.

He can tell it’s been at least two hours when he finishes the wiring base for his device. The sun now stands high in the sky, pouring light into the warehouse. Damn, he is in the zone right now. 

When a hand taps his back he jolts, spinning around and letting out a yelp that should definitely be out of his vocal range by now.

Standing there is Red Hood, holding an armful of grocery bags, wearing his helmet and (probably) a confused expression.

“I-uh sorry, I’m sorry for touching your stuff it was just so suboptimal-sorry for calling your devices suboptimal- and I haven’t been able to really work on something in a while so I-”

He’s cut off by the man leaning over him to look at the device on the table. He's slightly invading Peter's personal space but Hood could probably break him with a look so he won’t say anything.

“Looks good,” he says as he turns towards the kitchen, bags still in hand.

??

Peter stares at the retreating back of Hood, who he now sees is wearing a gray compression top and loose fitting black pants. He’s still wearing his combat boots though, those things must be very broken in. 

Instead of getting sucked back into his project he approaches the kitchen to see the vigilante putting away groceries. The previously empty fridge is now stocked with produce and meats.

“Do you…need help putting away groceries?” He’ll try to help, this guy has given him a bed for the night and delicious food for the past few months, he could at least do manual labor for him.

“Nah. I have a system.”

Welp.

Peter stays standing at the entrance of the kitchen, watching the man put away groceries. He hadn’t noticed it before but this guy was buff, that compression top was definitely doing him a couple favors. Peter was muscular, sure, but he wasn’t huge like this guy. He had more of a climber's build. He was more agile than most, probably because the spider bite made him concerningly flexible. His eyes start tracing the man's arms as he reaches up to put away something. Those were earned muscles, he just looks so…hot-

A blush creeps up his cheeks as Peter swiftly turns tail and skitters back to the desk. It takes him a couple seconds of slow breathing to keep his hands from shaking so he can go back to work at the desk.

Don’t think of him like that. First off, he could literally break you over his knee with those muscles. Second off, you’re in his safehouse so don’t be weird. Whatever you’re feeling, get that outta there right now. 

He’ll be fine, he’s allowed to think that people with muscles of greek gods are hot. But not Red Hood, he definitely wouldn’t appreciate that. 

He slips back into his project fairly easily, letting his thoughts and feelings melt away. He’s almost finished the inner mechanisms when he’s tapped on the shoulder again, this time he doesn’t yelp so he counts that as a personal win.

“Come eat. No eating and working at the same time.”

An involuntary whine escapes his mouth as he stands up, heading towards the couch and coffee table again. As he heads to the living area Peter is reminded of countless nights in the lab with Tony, Pepper always dragging them up to the kitchen to eat. Logically it makes sense, but also sometimes he’s in the zone and he just wants to keep creating until sunrise.

Sitting on the table is a club sandwich with kettle chips on the side. Instantly Peter is sitting on the couch and pulling the plate into his lap. As he starts to eat, Red Hood sits on the opposite sofa, studying him beneath his helmet.

The sandwich is divine, of course, it reminds him of afternoons at Delmar’s. He’d be picking up a sandwich after school that was surprisingly wet but still amazing nonetheless. Before he realizes it the sandwich is gone and he’s taking the plate over to the kitchen area. He’s followed by the vigilante who leans up against the wall as he rinses off his dish. 

Is he observing me? Waiting for me to slip up? If I had a criminal in a warehouse I'd probably be on edge too. 

After putting his dish away, Peter passes Hood to get back to the desk. He’s almost done with his design. Maybe when he’s finished he can show him, maybe it’ll win him some brownie points. 

For now, he continues to work, the hours passing him by as he gets lost in his creation yet again.

When it’s time for dinner, Peter has finished his device. He holds it gingerly as Red Hood walks over, probably to tell him dinner is ready. Before he stands to approach the dinner table, he stops the vigilante from moving away, lightly grasping his sleeve. 

“I-um- I made something if you want it,” The vigilante stands in front of him as Peter continues talking, getting lost in his rambles. “So I made a device that stuns people within a thirty foot range by emitting a frequency only certain age ranges could hear. It can incapacitate groups of people for up to thirty seconds and it can be pretty efficient at stunning multiple people at once. It also doesn’t use electricity which is nice,” As Peter finishes his ramble, he hands the device to Hood. 

A sleek flat oval rests in the vigilantes calloused palm. A button sits in the center of the device with  a dial above it that has etched markings indicating the hertz and scrawled on words at different areas of the dial: young, middle aged, and old. 

If he wasn’t focusing intently on Hood’s reaction, he would’ve missed the light huff from behind the helmet that wasn’t picked up by the modulator. He can’t tell if it’s an annoyed huff or a light laugh, though, but any reaction is good…probably.

“Thanks…come eat,”

Peter is up in an instant, heading towards the shared coffee table. A bowl of pasta sits on the table steaming, beckoning him to sit and enjoy a meal. As Peter starts to eat, he considers just how long it’s been since he’s had three full meals a day. His diet is…intense. When he finds a place to settle down, he’ll stock up on more granola bars for sure. 

He should find a place to stay soon, although Red Hood is kind he isn’t really expecting to be able to stay with him for more than a day. He probably has other stuff to do than take care of Peter like he’s a sick puppy.

“...Thank you for this…for everything.” The words leave Peter’s mouth before he realizes. His bowl sits empty on the coffee table, did he really eat that fast? 

Well shit I’ve already started my gratitudes, might as well finish them.

“You didn’t have to be so kind, I know that I…used to give you all a hard time,” He looks to the side, avoiding eye contact with the vigilante sitting across from him. “As soon as I can, I'm going to go out looking for a place to stay in the meantime. I'm sure there's other cheap apartments I can stay in and I have a bit of money on me right now. I’ll probably stay at a shelter for a little bit just until I can-”

“You can stay here for a while,” The sentence is rushed and clipped, an unreadable emotion behind it, masked by the modulator.

??

“...are you sure? I really don’t want to be a bother, I know you probably have better things to worry about-”

“It’s fine. I want you to stay safe and the shelters aren’t the best place to go.”

“...ok.” Peter decides to leave it at that, taking his plate to the sink before an awkward silence forms.

Before Peter settles into sleep, he hears the sound of the warehouse door opening and closing.