Chapter 5
Peter had read somewhere that The Batman didn't have any special powers or abilities, by all accounts, he should just be Some Guy (some scarily smart scarily scary guy, but Some Guy nonetheless). Peter was under the impression that he could probably take the man if worse came to worse. But face to face with this absolute beast of a man, with his impossibly bread shoulders and hands that looked like they could probably rip his entire leg off spiderbite or not, Peter's scared.
And that's exactly why he's hauling ass across Gotham's rooftops the second he catches sight of the man and doesn't dare to look back. The wind is rushes past his ears, his heart is pounding in his chest. Peter doesn't stop. A stupid idiotic part of him wants to slow down and listen, see if he's lost him, but Peter's smart enough to know not to take any chances with the six foot tall, built-like-a-wall vigilante that strikes fear into even the worst of Gotham's criminals - and speeds up instead.
His Spider-Sense spikes as he's clearing another two buildings, and it's the only reason he ducks in time to dodge whatever's been thrown at him. It misses him by a hair, but the damage is done: he falters in the air, throwing his momentum off and has to drop into a roll so he lands on the roof of the last building instead of the sidewalk six stories below hum. He scrambles up and panic makes him look behind him so that Peter sees the living shadow vaulting towards him with some kind of grapple device.
He's aloud a few seconds to breathe, and that seems to finally finally get his brain working to the point where he realizes that he hasn't actually done anything to warrant the beating of his life, and that what Batman most likely saw was some street rando taking secret photos of his child sidekick. Then Peter had somehow detected him and decided to run of all things. So, naturally, he gave chase.
God, he really hopes that's the case and that he's not just waiting on top of the rooftop for the Dark Knight to come beat his ass like some idiot... Now that he's thinking clearer, Peter is sure he could atleast evade Batman enough to tire him and maybe even escape.
In the two minutes of rest he allows himself, The Dark Knight has already caught up, landing on the rooftop and staring him down, his pitch black cape like a puddle of ink over his muscular frame and the ground at his feet. Despite himself (and his predicament) Peter wonders if he ever tripped on it. Probably not, but it's a funny thought - and it almost brings a chuckle out of him before the heightened thrum at the back of his neck reminds him that doing that would not only be extremely inappropriate but also mind bogglingly stupid.
They stared at each other in silence for a while. Peter's wary gaze meeting The Batman's cold and calculating glare. The Bat doesn't seem eager to speak, but something in his posture - a minute twitch from the muscles in his back - tells Peter that he's expecting an explanation. So, he explains.
"I'm a photographer," he starts."I'm applying for a new position at the Gazette, and I was just trying to get a few shots, I swear!"
Batman doesn't react, He just stares at Peter some more. Peter tenses, hands balling into fists, already preparing for the worst.
"Go home," Batman says "Gotham's dangerous at night." The man is already turning away from him and grabbing hold of his grapple.
Against all judgement, Peter snorts, "No way, really?" he snarks. Batman turns just enough to give him a Look™ before disappearing into the night, taking the edge off his Spider-Sense and the gross 'being watched' feeling with him. Peter doesn't linger, he finds the nearest run down diner and books it inside, bumping into a few customers and a startled waitress in his rush. A sliver of guilt runs through him, but he can't bring himself to care enough.
Ignoring the flustered waitress, he finds the nearest booth seat and sinks as low as he can into it. Peter tries to breathe, takes deep breaths like May taught him, and just sits there waiting for his heart rate to slow. He must look really stupid, he thinks. Some teenager in a threadbare sweater freaking out in the booth seat of a diner he didn't wait long enough to know the name of. For a few seconds, everything is too bright and too loud and too much.
When Peter can finally think without the drum of his heartbeat in his ears, he sinks bonelessly into the seat, the adrenaline wearing off and showing itself in the form of exhaustion instead. Five minutes later, Peter walks out of the diner and shivers at the pricks of cold on his skin. He reads a street sign and takes off running in his "home's" direction.
A few minutes later, he finds his way back to the theater. Turns out he had traveled quite a ways away from Crime Alley in his efforts to snap some photos, and then some more trying to evade the Bat. Peter crawls onto his makeshift 'bed' and has just enough energy to forgo sleep for a quick look through the camera's memory card. There were only two pictures, the action shots he'd taken of Robin. Peter feels a thread of disappointment unfurl in his chest. He'd meant to take more, but he'd been pretty put off by his little Batman encounter for the night.
That's right, for the night, because Batman could be as scary as he wanted, Peter is getting this job. Besides, it's not like it's his first time photographing vigilantes in action anyway. Granted, the 'vigilantes' in question had in fact been one (1) vigilante, and it was him, but it still counted. Point is, he could handle a little danger.
His mind briefly flashed through a few choice memories, him stuck underneath a building, being attacked by an armada of laser drones, and even some of his more recent experiences with the Other Peters' villains. And finally, that last battle with Green Goblin, where he had been the danger. Peter waved them away and turned on his side, and waited for the fuzzy warmth of sleep to take him away.
Desk Lady took the camera from his hands, turning it over in her own. Looking for any scratches so she could charge him for that, too, Peter thought bitterly. Finally, she turned it on to look at the memory.
Peter knew the moment she saw them. Aside from his perception rate being faster than the average human, her reaction was also incredibly obvious. Her eyes widened and she even leaned in to look a little closer. Peter leaned closer, too, a shit-eating grin on his face.
The picture was clear (or as clear as it could be with the piece of equipment he had). You could practically see the ripples in the man's face from where Robin had punched him, could make out the stubble on his downed partner's face. The teen vigilante was at the apex of his motion, you could practically predict how the scene would look a few seconds later of Peter hadn't gotten a pic of the aftermath too.
They were good. And they both knew it.
"We'll take it." The woman said curtly, Peter could see the muscles in her cheek straining to mask any emotion on her face. Probably so she didn't inflate his non-existant ego or something. (Joke's on her though, an inflated ego meant he had some solid semblance of self-assurance. So. Ha.)
She scribbled something on a piece of paper and held her perfectly manicured hand out to him. Peter shook it. Peter : 1, Universe : a lot
"Oh, can I have my payment in cash, if you don't mind?" Desk Lady looked at him like he was crazy.