Where could I go?

He can’t sleep.

The warehouse is completely silent, save for the city noise Peter has finally become accustomed to. 

The warehouse is only illuminated by the moon’s light as it peeks through the clouds, silver hues painting the walls. On a night like this, Peter would probably want to swing around the city and feel the wind whipping around him. That always was the best therapy.

But now he was in a foreign place, if this world even needed Spiderman would they want the one Peter has become? His time with Aaron and the Joker has changed him so much.

When he was imprisoned, Peter could feel his humanity chip away. In those moments he let go when he would obey the Joker without a second thought. Those were the moments that solidified the horrible truth to him.

He would never be the bright, easy-going, hero he used to be. This city, this world, had changed him not only physically. It warped him in ways he wasn’t sure he wanted to explore yet.

Peter rolls onto his side, his blanket disregarded on the floor. The couch swallows him whole as he sinks deeper, trying to drift off with every fiber of his being. A yawn escapes his mouth as he turns onto his back. If he had a mirror, he would definitely spot the purple bags around his eyes. Sleep has been harder and harder coming to him recently.

When he shifts, the warehouse echoes.

It’s too big, he realizes.

Of all the things that usually set him on edge, it’s always the mundane things that get him. It’s always the things that seem inconspicuous at first, something Peter had never even considered a trigger.

Back in May’s apartment, it was coffee grounds.

He can remember it so vividly, May pouring coffee grounds into the machine. She had turned around to ask him if he wanted a cup but he couldn’t hear her. His eyes were locked on the dark specks floating through the air, leaving him breathless. All he could think about was people turning to dust in front of him, his body burning and aching as Tony held him close. The regret in the man's eyes just before Peter’s vision blurred and warped, the pain encompassing his face. The darkness and terror that gripped him as he reconstituted all those years later.

Damn, he hadn’t thought about that stuff in a while. Best to just add it to the pile of stuff he will probably talk about one day.

Peter hadn’t really thought about coffee since May had switched to a Keurig, and that was that.

Apparently, the new thing that messes with Peter is the place he is currently staying. Because of course, it would be.

Peter has always lived in small spaces. His bedroom when he lived with May was only able to fit some select furniture and a small bed. But it never felt cramped, it always had the comforting presence of a warm hug. When he was sent to Gotham, all Peter had was a small cell to stay in. At the time, it seemed like the only comfort he could get. Even when he was sent off to work for the Joker, he stayed in a room similar to his old bedroom back in Queens. It was a bit more sad-circus-themed, but at that time he would take whatever he could get.

Sometimes it was comforting to be in a small space. He hadn’t recognized it before, but this warehouse was uncomfortably large. Without the safety of walls, Peter felt…exposed. Someone could sneak up on him at any angle and attack him-

“Why are you still awake?”

Peter jolts, grabbing the side of the couch and flipping over it towards the voice. He twists in the air and wraps his legs around the intruder's waist, using the continued motion to flip them on their back. Peter straddles the person, pinning an arm across their throat. When they’re secured, Peter focuses on identifying their face, or in this case helmet… helmet?

Fuck

Just as quickly as he brings Hood to the ground, Peter scrambles off the vigilante with apologies spilling from his lips. The other gets to his feet rapidly, offering a hand to Peter as he continues muttering apologies.

When they’re both standing Hood places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, stopping his nervous mumblings.

“...Sorry,” Peter says lamely.

The word echoes through the warehouse, he didn’t even realize how on edge he was. Something like this shouldn’t be making him so nervous. This room just makes him feel like he can’t watch his back.

“No need for that. What’s wrong,”

“...I couldn’t sleep. This room is… it’s too big,” He finishes his sentence shrugging his shoulders and staring pointedly at the ground. When he says it out loud it seems more childish than he had expected. 

“I get that,” The mechanical voice draws Peter's eyes up to the vigilante. In the moonlight, all he can make out is the man's figure and a shine of red, coated in a silver glow. Peter was probably supposed to be scared of him, who wouldn’t be scared of the tank that could kill you instantly? 

But in this moment all he felt was safe.

He knows the fearsome Red Hood likes to cook and read, andthat he can be vulnerable when he wants to be. He knows that Hood mumbles to himself when he thinks Peter doesn't hear and that he has a very organized system in which he puts the groceries away.

Peter understands why he’s not seeing more of the vigilante. When he was hiding his identity from his friends it was mostly out of a need to protect. 

Was that what Hood was doing? Who was he protecting, Peter or Himself?

“You can sleep in my bedroom,”

???

“Absolutely not! This is your space and I'm already encroaching on it enough I couldn’t possibly do that, too! I’d be a terrible guest!” Peter immediately protests, his objections interrupted by yawns as he can feel the tiredness seeping into his bones. Now that he’s standing it’s hard to ignore just how tired he’s been in the last few hours. 

As Peter walks towards the bedroom he-

Wait, when did he start walking? He registers an arm wrapped around his shoulders and a gentle force guiding him toward the bedroom door.

“Noooo,” Peter whines, stopping in his tracks. “I’d be a terrible guest if I took your bed, I was raised better than this,”

“Yeah yeah whatever, you’re obviously too tired to fight me so just get some rest,”

“Is that a challenge?”

“What? Is that- oh my god are you cranky right now?” Hood turns towards Peter incredulously. Peter is sure if he could see behind the mask the vigilante's eyebrows would be raised in surprise.

“...no,” Peter crosses his arms, aiming his gaze at the concrete floor. Maybe he was a little cranky, he hasn’t gotten much sleep recently, butthat's not his fault! It’s the warehouse's fault, he swears!

“Suuuure, you’re not cranky at all you’re just whiny and you tried to kill me,” The arm wrapped around his shoulders guides him forward again, this time Peter doesn’t budge.

“I said I was sorry!” Peter throws his arms out to accentuate his point. He did say he was sorry.

“Sure sure, if you don’t get in that bed right now  I’ll be forced to take extreme measures,”

“You’re bluffing,” Peter barely finishes his sentence when another hand scoops up his legs, flinging him over Hood's back. He lets out an indignant noise as he’s unceremoniously thrown over the vigilante's shoulder. The pair head towards the bedroom door.

“Hey! Not cool you’re being-” Another yawn escapes Peter’s mouth, stifling his words. He lets his head hang, his eyes starting to flutter as sleep beckons him again. It really was hard to fight sleep right now, especially since he didn’t have to waste his energy on useless things like standing.

Peter registers the sound of a door opening and his body being placed on a soft surface before he’s out like a light.

—

For all his broodiness and scariness, the ferocious Red Hood is actually a pretty nice guy.

In his own way.

Peter likes to think he’s generally good at understanding people, with the limited information he has about the vigilante he’s able to draw a couple conclusions. 

He cares about Peter to some extent, Peter gets a bed and three square meals a day. In his book, Hood is already the nicest guy in Gotham because of that. He’s also particularly stubborn, Peter mostly sees that side of him when he keeps trying to sneak back to the workbench when he should be sleeping or eating. Even if that side of him annoys Peter to no end because he’s fine with a little less sleep and he just wants to tinker some more, he’s grateful for that well-rested feeling he gets when he wakes up for the day and he spots donuts on the table.

There’s something underneath that steely exterior, but the man is extremely private. 

It’s been about a week since he’s unofficially moved into Hood’s safehouse and the man hasn’t taken off the helmet once when he’s in the room with Peter.

It’s completely fine that he doesn’t want to, of course, but Peter can’t help but wonder what the man looks like under the helmet. Secret identities are no joke, Peter understands that way too well. But it’s not wrong to imagine…right?

He finds himself imagining right now. He’s just finished dinner and the vigilante sits on the couch across from him regarding him silently.

Peter regards him right back.

His face would probably be pretty angular if the rest of his body is angular, his muscles show through his gear in all the right places. He looks seriously scary, like a fighting gym subscription come to life. He’d probably have brown or black hair since those are statistically the most common hair colors. The finer details of his face are slightly blurry in the image he’s made in his mind.

“What’s up with you?”

Peter snaps back to reality, leaving his musings for another day. It would be weird to tell him about that stuff-

“I was thinking about what you look like,” Peter blurts out, against his better judgment.

…What. Did. You. Just. Do.

Peter’s eyes go wide as a blush rushes to his face. Damn his stupid mouth, damn his imagination and damn his stupid brain for trying to invade this man’s privacy. For once in his life could he just be quiet? Nope, Peter Parker is the most awkward man on the planet apparently and sometimes maybe he does need to be quiet, especially when he’s talking to a dude who could easily break him in half.

Speaking of said man, he’s standing up right now and heading over to Peter’s couch.

“Oh my god are you about to kill me? I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I swear, everyone’s allowed to have secrets and you are totally allowed to have secrets too,” Peter can’t stop talking as the vigilante approaches him, sitting down on the couch next to Peter’s (slightly trembling) form. 

He is definitely gonna strangle me.

“Close your eyes,”

?? 

Is he going to…sneak attack me? 

Peter obeys, screwing his eyes shut as he leans slightly away from Hood. By now, he’s cross-legged facing towards the vigilante with his eyes closed. He’s close to tipping over the side of the couch from how far back he’s leaning.

The silent warehouse is momentarily filled with a quiet hissing sound and the rustle of clothes. Then, a soft thud as an object is placed on the coffee table.

Peter doesn’t move an inch, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

Gloved hands grab his own, pulling them upwards. Before Peter realizes what’s going on his hands connect with soft, warm, skin. 

A mix of emotions floods his body as his hands settle on the man's face. At the forefront, isappreciation. Appreciation for the fact that Hood trusts him like this.

His hands rest on Hood’s jawline. Based on what he could feel, Peter was right about his hunch that the vigilante’s face was sharp. Slowly, Peter guides his fingers up the other's face. When he’s about to get to the other’s eyes, Peter stops at the feeling of a hard fabric material outlining the vigilante’s eyes and brow. Peter stops, tracing the outline before letting out a quick puff of laughter.

“Really, man? A mask under a mask?” He giggles to himself, bringing his fingers up towards the other's browline. 

Peter still has his eyes closed but he can practically sense the pout forming on the man's lips.

“Shut up,” The other man huffs, his arms crossing in a rustle of fabric.

His voice is smooth, with a hint of a deeper tone underneath. Peter’s fingers faltered at hearing the others' voices, was this the first time he’d heard Hood without the voice modulator? He can feel his face heating up.

It was nice.

Peter continues to grace his hands across the vigilante's face, filling in the mental gaps. He isn’t able to fully picture Hood’s face from feeling it, but some ideas are being constructed. He starts to pull his hands away from the other's face when his fingertips catch on a raised area on the vigilante's cheek. How did he not feel this at first?

Peter’s hand returns to the cheek, cupping the raised area. 

It’s a scar

Peter has his fair share of scars. He can heal quickly, sure, but large injuries seldom heal perfectly. The large marring on his back from the building dropped on him is proof. This scar is deep, intentionally inflicted. His fingers trace up and down the skin. It’s angled weirdly into some type of symbol. Peter leans forward, tracing the skin to find out what it could possibly-

“Stop,” Hood’s voice is harsh, though there's no real bite behind it. Peter can’t see him, but he can feel the shift in body language from a mile away.

In an instant, Peter's hands are back in his lap as a jacket rustles and a small hissing noise fills the room again.

When Peter opens his eyes again, Hood is walking out the door for the night.