Gotham…
Always has Peter teetering on the fucking edge.
Whether it's the fact that he's starving, the eyes that seem to always peer out at him from darkness--the constant sounds of screams and gunshots--
It never stops; it never does.
Peter can hear everything.
He can feel everything .
He hasn't had a moment of peace since ending up here. Perhaps it's what he deserves.
Tonight's no different.
It's not unique .
Just another evening in Gotham.
Peter needs to find something to eat.
It's Saturday, so he couldn't get anything from school…
And he's out of supplies at the firehouse. So he really doesn’t have any options.
Peter needs to go out.
But his body won’t cooperate. His body is trembling .
It betrays him.
He's not sure he even has the energy to dumpster dive tonight. But, maybe…he could go to that dinner, Sophie...?
He can’t remember the name of it…
Perhaps it was just called Sophie’s dinner.
Or not….his brain betrays him too.
He feels a wave of dizziness wash over him and so he leans against the alley wall.
Peter blinks.
Darkness.
He feels a weight on him and the sharp lack of sunlight.
It’s cold now.
Peter feels a tug—
Then he opens his eyes.
Theres a man on top of him--
Their hand sliding down and down--
Peter throws the man off of him. The shove is weak but strong enough to give him room to escape from underneath the man.
The man grumbles, clearly not expecting Peter to fight.
They probably never fought him.
So weak and frail and starved—
"Fine… I'll pay for a good time if that's what you--"
Peter breaks.
His fist decks the man, knocking him to the ground.
The man’s teeth clatter together as his skull hits the pavement.
But it's not enough.
It never is.
Peter kicks.
The man's ribs crack, and they cry out, begging.
Peter sobs. He’s tired. Cold hungry—
He’s angry.
Peter wonders how many fucking children have begged him to--
The thought makes him want to vomit, but not like he has anything to puke.
This.
Kick
Fucking.
Kick
City--
Kick
Kick
Kick
Kick
The man whimpers but stops protecting himself.
Perhaps he’s lost the will to.
And Peter… blinks away his own tears is breath ragged hash and loud—
Unlike the man’s.
Which is too quiet—
Peter falls to his knees and checks the man’s neck—
There is a pulse…
That man is breathing .
Oh, thank God--they're breathing---
Peter chokes—he grabs the man's phone and dials 911. Putting the phone in the man’s hand Peter stumbles up and sprints away after the call connects.
They can track it, right?
Right?
Oh---oh how could he--
Peter sprints down the street--the tangy metallic smell-- it's everywhere---
Hiding in every alley, he runs down--
Following him like a dark omen--
Blood.
But it's not here. It's not his.
It's on him.
Peter ends up near the fire station and scrambles to get to the roof. Flopping over the edge, he dry-heaves.
Collapsing into the gravel he sobs.
May always said he was an ugly crier.
Part of him wants Nightwing to come.
To do what? Lock him up, comfort him--to, to, to--
Peter curls in on himself.
The one thing that Peter knows about Gotham…
He's alone.
---
"Anyone near Spider Alley?"
"Yeah," Jason grumbles over the comms, "Why?"
"Got a call… a few hours ago, a man was almost beaten to death--he's in a Coma now…But the injuries look like they were caused by a meta."
"Do we have any leads outside of that? That could be anyone." Nightwing chimes in.
"It doesn't follow anyone's MO. Unless our regulars didn't want to take credit and acted out of the norm." Barbara says, "Besides, this guy's records are clean. No crimes, or connections, he's a charity therapist for Crime Alley…my guess is a disgruntled patient--"
"Great. An insane and disgruntled meta--"
"Isn't that Pot meeting Kettle, Todd?" Damian snips.
"Aren't you supposed to be in bed, Demon?"
Dick buts in, "I'm not too far. We'll take a look together, hood."
---
Their investigation doesn't turn up much.
They can't even ask the witness questions; it turns out coma patients don't talk.
---
Peter wakes to the sun pouring down on him…
He gets up wobbly, the ghost of a memory still violent and fresh in his mind. Of beating that man.
Hauntingly so.
With a shudder and a limp, Peter climbs down from the firehouse.
He fucked up his ankle kicking that—
Since when did he used to be so frail?
He…he needs to eat. Then he can…think. And heal.
Oh god….what did he--
Food.
Food, first.
---
Peter limps into an alley behind a Dinner he knows leaves the dumpster unlocked. He’s not sure what would happen if they locked it.
He would…it would be the final straw.
Over a lock?
Really?
He's not in the mood to beg or work for a meal. The dumpster is more than enough…..
If it’s unlocked.
Peter breathes a sigh of relief. It’s unlocked. Thank whatever god there is for finally dealing him a good card.
And… he's so fucking pathetic he has to try twice to get into the dumpster---
Maybe he’s finally starving to death?
His foot slips and he falls, bruising his ribs along the rim.
What is with him?
Maybe third times the charm…he winces at the pain in his ribs and goes to climb in—
"I saw you walk back here," Peter jumps, turning to see the man at the alley's mouth. "Figured you were hungry by the looks of you."
And for once. His spider-sense…. wasn't screaming .
He’s forgotten what silence is like.
Peter let’s go of the side of the dumpster his attention fully on the man.
The first thing he notices is the man brought a plate out of the dinner--with silverware, a napkin-- and a glass of water.
"It's for you." The man sits it down and turns to walk away, "Eat, if you want."
"Wait--"
The man stops to look back-- he’s wearing the same sunglasses Tony always did.
"--What's your name?"
The man walks back to Peter. He's clothed in greys and blacks; his hair a pure white; and with a grin, he says, "Slade. You?"
"Peter... Thank you-- seriously. Thank you for the food." Peter takes a hesitant step towards the food— and Slade— his spider-sense is calm--he’s safe.
"Hey, how about you come back to the dinner with me? That way, you don't have to crouch down in this alley? Can’t imagine it’s easy to enjoy a good meal out here. ” Slade motions Peter to come to him as he takes a step towards the dinner.
And Peter takes three.
"Sure."
Peter grabs the plate and glass of water, following the man in. He sits across from Slade relaxing in the comfortable and clean booth seat.
Much better than the alley, even if the clatter of plates and the chatter of the dinners grates against his enhanced senses.
It’s not as grating as the smell of the alley.
He doesn’t wait to tuck in and start eating— he can’t even find it to care how he’s eating in front of Slade.
"How long have you been on the streets?"
Peter stops shoveling food into his mouth and looks up, "I-- you're not going to turn me in, are you?"
It comes out harsher than intended.
But the dread in his gut is harsher, no?
"Not at all," Slade leans back and waives his hand, "If I was in your position, I'd hate to be turned in, too. I understand."
Peter doubts that…but it doesn't sound like he's lying.
His face doesn’t look like he’s being mean or lying or—
"Thank you…" Peter whispers, avoiding eye contact with the man.
"But…" Slade sighs, "I know how Gotham…is. It wears people down. Breaks them, changes them …especially if you live on the streets."
Peter winces---
Kick--
Kick.
Kick.
"Yeah…"
"I just started living here not too long ago. My daughter's moved away. It's hard getting used to being alone… If you ever need a meal or anything, even just someone to talk to. It'd be nice to not be alone." Peter feels uneasy about accepting the man's offer.
He doesn’t deserve it.
He can’t take advantage of this man’s loneliness…
"I…I will think about it."
"Here," Slade grabs a pen and a napkin and writes down a phone number and an address, "take it. Even if you don't plan on using it. At least to make me feel better." Slade gives a soft laugh, waiving down the waiter for the ticket.
Peter takes the napkin.
"Again… I'll think about it. "
"That's all I ask," He pulls out his wallet and pays in cash, "Well, I best be off."
And like that, the man is gone.
Slade didn't eat all of his meal, so Peter gets a to-go box for it and packs it home. The napkin is placed on top of the hashbrowns in the container.
When he makes his way back to the firehouse, he climbs up carefully avoiding aggravating his foot more and sits down in his hovel. He finishes up his homework and starts to work on his tech projects.
It's only when he sits down to eat the rest of the food does he notice.
Hidden in the napkin is four hundred dollars.
Guilt swells in his chest.
---
He doesn't deserve four hundred dollars.
Especially not after--
No, no.
He doesn't need to think about that. After all…That man…
He was touching a kid--
He deserved it.
Peter groans tugging at his hair—
There is no way he can accept this money.
He looks at the address and realizes that it's along his trip back from school.
Looks like he'll be making a house call.
---
School passes uneventfully. He keeps his head down and gets his work done.
Tim and Duke pester him a little more about crime alley than usual.
But what answer do they expect from him?
'Oh yes, the never-ending gunshots and misery. Love it.'
Peter practically flees from Gotham academy and Tim and Duke.
He doesn't need their pity and he doesn’t need their questions.
He’s fine.
Peter slowly makes his way to the apartment, his foot still a little sore. It's in a fairly nice apartment building, much to Peter's surprise and discomfort.
It’s been ages since he’s seen the inside of a building outside of Crime Alley. Not counting Gotham academy or the library…
He almost forgot what central heating feels like—he forgot the plush carpet and hardwood—
It’s nice and clean. No scraps or scuffs.
Climbing up the stairs-- Peter felt too dirty to use the elevator.
He stands in front of the apartment.
God, he might not even be home--
Peter winces as he knocks.
He hears movement inside.
Footsteps towards the door--locks clicking, so many different locks…
But he supposes that this is indeed Gotham .
The door swings open.
"Peter." The man gives him a toothy smile, "Please come in--"
"I---" Peter hands the man the money, "I can't take this, Mr. Slade."
The man blinks at him, "Nonsense. It's yours."
"But--"
"You can, and you will take it." The man stares down at him, his expression hard to read through the reflective lenses of his sunglasses.
But Peter isn’t stupid.
Slade’s not asking …
Peter's cheeks turn a little pink, "But…."
"Do you think you're not deserving of it?" The man presses his lips together and shakes his head, "If you want to earn it, fair enough by me. I have chores and things I could have you do."
Peter weighs the option.
I mean….it wouldn't be his first job in Gotham…
Hopefully, it won't end like the last one.
Besides, Peter is in desperate need of cash…
What Gotham Academy gives him is simply not enough.
"What do you need done?"
Somehow earning the money feels worse.
---
It was simple and easy stuff.
Housekeeping really.
But it pays really well.
Mainly because Slade insists on paying more than Peter is worth.
Peter comes by to clean Slade’s apartment every Wednesday and Saturday.
Vacuum, dust, do the dishes, anything housekeeping. The furniture and decor in Slade’s aprtment always makes him nervous. It seems too nice…
And Peter is constantly afraid of breaking or ruining something. But he can’t say no to the money.
He can’t say no to being fed.
60$ per visit, 120$ a week.
It…was the best thing that happened to him since he moved to Gotham.
He had food—clothes—savings—
It’s freeing to have a little extra and Slade is always there when he works. So it’s nice to chit chat too.
Sometimes he has food for Peter. The man always seems to know when he's hungry or the money is getting stretched a little too thin.
And today happens to be one of those days.
"Peter," Slade opens the door, motioning him to come in, "It's good to see you!"
"It's good to see you too, Mr. Wilson," the man hums at the ‘Mr.’ but has yet to say anything. It must be a good thing, Peter assumes. "What would you like me to help with today, sir?"
"Actually…I had something else in mind. Perhaps you could help me cook?"
Peter pauses, "Sure…? Not sure how much help I'd be…I'd burn water."
Slade laughs and probably rolls his eyes under the sunglasses.
Now that Peter thinks about it, he's never seen him without ---
"I doubt that. Think of it like chemistry. I remember you mentioned you like that. Cooking shouldn't be hard for you if chemistry is not." Peter supposes that must be true, but when he cooked with May he was always proven otherwise. "If you follow my directions, you should be fine."
And so… Peter starts to cook meals with Slade.
And as always Slade tries to pay him too much, but this time Peter refuses. After all, cooking with Slade isn't really work ; therefore, he shouldn't be paid.
But Peter still needs the work so he starts to come more often. He tries not to be rude but he can’t turn down the money and the food.
He’s careful to not burden Slade too much—
But the man is always too sharp to let Peter get away with any of that.
Slade is blunt.
Peter’s also careful to not let his time with Slade cut into his school time or Spider-Man time.
And slowly…he starts spending most days there unless Slade is on a business trip, which he frequently is.
When Slade is away he only lets himself in to clean.
---
"Come on, Peter." Tim says, "You never hang out with us after class anymore. What gives?"
"Yeah, what gives?" Duke asks, leaning towards Peter, he makes a face, "Got some secret girl or --"
"No!"
Duke smiles, "So it is a girl--"
"It's a guy!” Peter blurts out before he can think--
Fuck, fuck, fuck---
"Oh, well, that's fine too. Tell us about him--" Tim leans in with a grin.
Peter turns a bright red running his hand through his hair, "Nope. Not in a relationship, and especially not with…." Peter is disgusted by the thought--and is suddenly brought back to then when that man tried to-- "He's an adult . No. He….I clean his house for money, and he feeds me."
"Oh, uh…" Tim stumbles over his words, "What’s he like?"
"Hmmm…." Peter, doesn't know what to say, really. "Harsh but nice. Nice to me, anyway."
“Harsh?” Duke probs, but Peter never answers.
---
It happens one night.
They made dinner together.
It is a quiet meal.
More so than usual.
"I know you’re a Meta."
Peter's not sure what to do, so he freezes--
"It doesn't bother me… But it does make me curious how you end up in a position like this, Peter. Couldn't you steal to live? Or why not go out and fight crime like the bats?"
Peter stares at Slade for a long time, unable to move or even talk.
"I… it's not right to steal. I only fight…those who deserve it." Peter whispers, "I… it's not right."
And Slade does not ask for more information.
But the next day, when Peter goes to clean, he realizes what he said.
‘I only fight…those who deserve it.’
Slade’s not an idiot.
Far from it, actually.
The man probably has already put two and two together.
So Peter tells him.
“I’m Spider-Man.”
Slade takes his sunglasses off and for the first time Peter realizes he’s missing an eye.
“I thought you might be.”
“Are you upset?”
“No. But if you’re hurt I want you to come here, I know a decent amount of medical knowledge. I was a first responder of sorts at one point.”
And it feels good to have someone.
To have Slade know and accept him…
He’s not alone anymore.
---
"Peter. Why don't you stay the night? It's late."
He finds nothing to argue with.
Soon, it's more than just one night…
And then, Slade's apartment has a bed room just for him.
The bed is soft and nice—and Slade bought him computers, books, a chemistry set perfect for making web fluid…among other things.
It reminds him of how Tony always bought him things.
---
"You seem…better."
Peter looks and Felicia oddly.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing… You found your Selina, didn't you?"
Peter supposes then that he did.
---
"Peter, could you please go to Bat Burger with us?" Tim, pleads, "It's been forever!"
"Let me ask Mr. Wilson--"
"Wilson?"
"Yeah…I live with him, right now."
It…is odd to say.
"What happened to Tony?" Duke asks, eyes narrowing at Peter as he flinches at the man's mention.
"I…Mr. Wilson takes care of me, now."
Tim and Duke don't press.
---
Slade is on a business trip and will be gone for a few weeks.
Peter misses him.
Their home feels too empty without him.
When he's gone, Peter usually just stays in the firehouse.
He knows it is dumb…but hey, it's better than being alone with Slade gone.
—
The trip gets extended.
Peter gets the text from Slade on the phone the man gave him just as he rests an ice pack against his eye.
It's going to bruise.
Spider-Man sometimes can’t dodge everything.
Thankfully it's Friday. It should be healed by Monday, it won't be so suspicious.
--
Tim and Duke notice the bruise, but they say nothing.
Or perhaps they didn’t notice?
---
When Slade comes back, he sits Peter down for dinner.
He made it without Peter's help.
"Peter, I am a mercenary."
He stares at the man.
How?
"That man you beat in the alleyway was a target of mine, not to kill but to do worse." But, Slade states, cutting into his steak, "I don't really go after innocent people. That man, David Valtz, was a charity therapist in Crime Alley…he hurt many children, which is why I was paid to hurt him."
Slade is talking about David Valtz in the past tense.
"You--" Peter chokes up, jumping up fast enough to knock his chair over, "this, I--"
"He got what was coming…you stopped him from hurting anything other children …thank you."
Peter doesn't finish his meal. In fact, he doesn't stay with Slade for a week.
But… Slade is not wrong, is he?
---
He comes back.
And things fall into a new normal.
For the time being.
---
Good times never last, though, do they?
Slade is sitting with him again.
"I want to train you."
For safety, it goes unsaid.
And he goes to school with more and more bruises.
Not that his friends notice.
He just needs some time alone. Some time to train, to be more, to be better .
---
He hasn't talked to Nightwing as Peter in a month.
Slade cracked his ribs.
Dislocated his shoulder.
The enemy gives no leeway, so why should he give it to Peter?
It makes sense.
Slade is right .
He just wants to protect Peter.
But Peter is still ungrateful.
He doesn't spend the night with Slade. Instead, he goes to the firehouse and relaxes on its roof.
Hopefully, his busted lip and black eye will heal up in time for school Monday.
Slade always saves the most difficult training for Friday evening…
When was the last time he went out as Spiderman? Five days ago….?
"Peter--you're hurt." Nightwing hesitates briefly before gently placing his hand on his shoulder.
Peter hugs Nightwing.
He misses being touched—no.
Being hugged.
Contact with others only brought pain now.
Peter misses May.
He misses Ben, Tony, Ned MJ—even Flash.
Nightwing hugs him back and pulls him close.
"I'm here."
And he can ignore the pain in his ribs and arm— just for this.
---
Nightwing never lets that evening go, no matter how much Peter tries to deflect or pretend nothing happened.
If he doesn't say anything, there's nothing really that Nightwing can do.
And Peter doesn't want or need help.
They both know that.
Or at least Peter knows.
And whenever the Bats or the Wayne's try to follow him?
He loses them.
Just like Slade taught him.
--
Peter wakes to the smell of bacon and eggs.
Something Slade often cooks for early mornings.
Or when he needs something .
He crawls out of bed and makes himself presentable. Slade can't stand people who don't make sure they're put together.
He sits at the table, and Slade puts a plate in front of him.
Proportioned to both of their enhanced metabolisms.
"I have a client who wants me to acquire something. I need help for the mission."
Peter knows what is being asked.
Not that Slade asks.
—
It goes smoothly.
He just has Peter walk in and out with him, really.
Peter knows that Slade, or rather Deathstroke, did not need him there at all .
He wanted him to be there.
And he becomes Apex, Slade's new Renegade.
—
And so it happens again and again.
Soon Peter helps Slade by doing the easier missions, the easy "fetch” quests.
And Spider-Man falls to the wayside.
—
But things don't stay simple.
—
Peter jumps as alarms blare.
The siren and flashing lights threaten to overwhelm his senses.
Fuck.
He knew things would catch up to him eventually.
They always did—
Peter crawls through the vents and makes his way out of the building—he's on the roof.
And Nightwing is, too.
"Listen, kid—"
Peter is done listening.
He runs, but Nightwing prevents him.
"You don't want to be Slade's apprentice—"
"I'm not."
It confuses Nightwing enough for Peter to get in one solid kick.
"Then what are you?" Nightwing recovers quickly, throwing a kick of his own, which Peter dodges, "why work for him?"
"Because—"Peter growls in pain, "he's all I have!"
The only one who knows me.
Nightwing lets him get away.
The man never even landed a hit on him.
—
Peter often wonders how he ended up here.
He supposes it's what he deserves.
"You seem to be thinking hard, Peter." Slade watches him work on his homework, although he's yet to write anything down.
"Just doing math, Sir."
The man hums, "if you need someone to listen, I am here."
—
Peter cares about Slade.
But he doesn't trust him.
And in Slade's own twisted way, he's the same.
But he supposed that's what Gotham does to people.
Or maybe Slade was born that way.
Either way, it doesn't matter .
—
Peter doesn't remember when he couldn't stand to eat with his… friends.
Maybe it's after you robbed WE—
He eats on the roof, now, grabs his food, and flees.
They stopped chasing him a week ago.
It’s nice to be able to enjoy the view in solitude. He deserves to be alone after what he’s done.
So when someone sits next to him, Peter startles.
Felecia.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Nothing else is ever said.
—
Slade is on a mission.
Leaving Peter alone.
He's always been alone.
Even with Slade.
But it's easier to forget when the man is near.
Today is the anniversary.
Of Ben.
In the past, he would've gone to the roof and hoped to see—
But after he fought Nightwing…
He hates everything.
This city—
His friends—
Sometimes Slade—
Nightwing—
The bats—
Himself.
He just wants things to be over.
He wants to forget.
Peter refuses to quit.
That would be the final nail in the coffin of his worth—both literally and metaphorically.
And it's in his weakest moments he climbs to the roof of the firehouse and waits for Nightwing.
He waits. And waits.
Even when he doesn't show, it helps calm his thoughts and prevents him from doing something stupid while leaving the possibility just open enough that—
Tonight's no different…
But tonight, he comes.
"Long time no see!"
Peter turns and sees his smile—
It's the first time since the fight—
And runs up to him, holding on for dead life.
He can't…
He can't
"Pete—what's going on? Are you hurt?"
It's not painful to admit he's not hurt.
"No, just—"excuse, excuse— don't show him why you're really crying, and today…is the same day—when everything went bad—when Ben….died.
"Hey, it's okay; talk to me, kiddo."
"It's—"Peter chokes, "the anniversary of—of Ben's death—its all my fault— I—"
— the pain is real.
But it's only a shard of it. A fraction of what’s happened— what’s happening.
A broken reflection—missing all the important parts.
Perhaps Peter has always been fractured.
"Hey, let's just take deep breaths, okay?"
Peter shudders in a breath, just like Slade taught him.
If Slade had his way, he'd never cry.
If Peter had his way, he'd never feel anything at all.
"I ran away. My uncle Ben went after me— he was shot— he put himself between me and the gun—it's all my fault! I killed him and May—and my parents— it's all my fault."
Nightwing stays with him the whole night. Tries to take him home too.
But Peter runs off and loses him in the subway.
To his surprise, he does feel better.
God, he hasn't been out as Spider-Man in two and a half weeks…
Just once for about thirty minutes or so.
God… he's been so selfish not helping— but the bats had it taken care of, no?
Peter goes out as Spider-Man that night.
And all of Monday, too, he calls in "sick."
—
Crime Alley is happy to see him back.
The bats are too.
He never answers the questions of why he's been coming less and less.
—
Peter is dying.
It’s just a fact.
He’s breaking apart.
In slow motion.
Maybe that’s why it took him so long to see. It crept up on him.
Slade wants him to torture a man.
"Beat up" is the word Slade uses.
But they mean the same thing.
There’s no reason to hide behind words.
Not anymore, at least.
Peter bitterly knows that it's not like he hasn't done this before.
Besides, this man is a human trafficker.
He deserves worse.
He…deserves worse.
It feels nice to let go.
But it's always the aftermath that hurts.
Not the violence or scent of blood.
It's the realization.
It's a curse.
It’s the ghosts that haunt him—
He doesn’t want believe it—to listen—
Peter got frustrated.
Punched the man’s head just right.
But so what…?
One less evil in the world.
—
Peter packs his things in a bag leaving behind all the things Slade bought him.
Things he now understands to be bribes.
Peter goes to leave Slade's apartment, his bags light and his body heavy.
He was foolish to think the man would let him.
Slade is always several steps ahead. Peter should know better.
He doesn't know what happened when it hit him.
Peter’s a damn fool.
—
Peter woke up to Slade in the other room, calling him in, "sick” for school.
He misses Tim, Duke and Felicia.
Cass and Steph too.
He won't be going to school for a while.
Peter needs to heal before he can show his face there. Heal the visible bruising and cuts, the handprint— his black eye .
Slade is always careful to make sure he's not hurt in a debilitating way. Always hitting him in areas that prioritize pain but leave no lasting damage.
So…Peter’s fine.
Fine enough for Slade to leave for business.
And while he's gone Slade leaves a mission for Peter.
Break into WE industries and steal some files.
His gut churns.
Tim, Duke, Cass, Steph—
They'd all hate him if they knew…
But they'd hate him after the first time he broke into WE with Slade— they’d hate him after he first beat that man…
The mission is a failure.
The Bats are watching it too closely.
An excuse Slade accepts.
For now.
—
Slade comes back injured.
Well, as injured as the man could be.
"Come sit with me." He motions, and Peter obeys.
The man pours him two fingers of whiskey.
"I'm not 21–"
Slade rolls his eyes— his eye , "I know. Drink."
—
It becomes a guilty pleasure.
To drink.
He knows Slade is always watching.
It becomes a fun game to hide it.
Or perhaps Slade knows and just doesn't care?
Perhaps no one does.
Not even himself.
—
They say the third time is the charm.
His third time robbing WE.
A correction of his inability to break in last time.
Peter chokes as his back hits the ground—the air leaving him.
He understands why the underbelly of Gotham is terrified of him.
Darkness engulfs Peter as black cape pools around them.
The only thing he can see is the sharp face of the man who has him pinned down—
"Who are you!"
Batman.
It's funny. When he's fighting is when he's normal.
Perhaps he's always been a person born from violence.
Peter snorts—lowering his voice he states—
"I am Batman—"
The hero's grip tightens on him.
"Enough of this—"
Peter throws Batman off of him—super strength beats Batman every time… or at least this time.
Element of surprise.
He won’t be so lucky again.
You’d be a fool to underestimate the bat.
Batman grunts in pain as he hits the wall.
He’s worked with him as Spider-Man.
He’s…
Batman is a good person.
How could Peter continue this?
Continue to hurt them?
Peter hesitates—
Batarangs fly at him, and it’s only thanks to Peter’s spider sense that he dodges.
Well, fuck Peter and his desire to make sure the man was fine. Jesus.
He needs to get out.
Escape before—
Behind him—
Nightwing and Red Robin.
Red Robin strikes first. Peter rolls out of the way, then Nightwing comes and--
He hesitates.
‘You can’t afford to hesitate—‘
Slade’s voice snaps in his mind.
He's electrocuted and goes down--so briefly---
Peter can’t hesitate again.
He won’t be lucky a third time.
Peter jumps up, hand grabbing the vent above him, his barely out of reach--they'll be hot on his trail-
He scrambles through the vent and breaks out into an office room.
He runs to the windows and--
Nightwing blocks him.
Peter hisses and sprints around the man, throwing himself out through the glass--it cuts and embeds itself into his flesh--
He slams into the brick wall next to the WE annex building and starts to fall, just barely catching the window ledge.
Peter climbs like his life depends on it--- and really it does.
He needs to get rid of Nightwing's grappling hook.
Peter rolls over the edge onto the gravel roof and turns, attacking Nightwing as soon as the man climbs over the edge.
The other two will be here any second-- he knows he needs to make this quick--
Peter takes the grappling hook from the belt and destroys it. The metal warping easily in his hands--
But it's too late. Batman is there.
Peter dodge's the strike from behind, balancing a delicate dance between the two.
It's a sharp and distilled dance. A dance where there is no winner, only pain.
And Peter’s spider senses can only do so much.
He manages to coral them to the ledge--He can always try to dive off--
Peter dodges strikes from Batman and kicks Nightwing back preventing him from attacking--
Nightwing starts to fall--over the ledge—
Peter dives after him and manages to grab his leg--
As always.
It's his kindness that fuck him over in the end.
Nightwing is saved.
Is alive.
But at the cost of him losing the fight.
Peter supposes that it’s what he deserves.
Batman grabs Peter and drags him back up, bringing Nightwing with him.
As soon as they're both up, he tazes Peter and takes him down—Peter starts to slip from consciousness.
This taze had more power than the last one….
He knew he wouldn’t be lucky a third time.
"He destroyed my grappling hook, B--" Nightwing says softly, checking Peter’s limbs for any injuries, "He dove over to save me."
---
Peter wakes up in a cell.
The lights are dim, and he has paper blankets.
What, do they think he's a suicide risk?
…
Peter doesn't want to think about the validity of that.
His mask is gone.
So…
Nightwing knows.
Peter's not even sure he wants to breathe.
They'll hate him .
"Hey… you're awake."
He doesn't respond. Only the cold drip of water in the distance and click of bats can be heard.
They’re in a cave.
A bat cave.
"Peter…I don't hate you." He turns to look at Nightwing.
How could he not?
How…?
"You should."
"I shouldn't, and I don't." Nightwing sighs, "You helped red robin. You're a good kid…with a good heart. When I started to fall, you sacrificed your win to save me. That's all I need to know… I'm just concerned and worried for you…how did you end up working for Slade?"
Peter starts to cry, "I can't, I'm sorry--- I'm so, so sorry--"
He hears the forcefield drop, and Nightwing hugs him.
Something Peter never thought he’d get again.
"It's okay--it's okay, Peter." Nightwing rubs circles on his back, "It'll be okay."
And Peter wonders if it's true.
--
Nightwing left at some point after Peter fell asleep. God how embarrassing.
He fell asleep crying in Nightwings arms.
Peter has no time to worry about that as he wakes up to the presence of a man.
"My name is Alfred."
Peter eyes the man and notes he's carrying a large tray of food.
The forcefield opens up a little slot, and he slides the food in.
"If you need something, don't hesitate to ask…." The man gives a sad smile, "Enjoy your meal. Seconds are available if you need them. You need only ask."
The man is gone.
And Peter eats.
He's gotten into a bad habit of not eating unless he's with Slade or at school.
Peter falls asleep again and wakes up to a gruff voice.
"Peter."
He eyes Batman nervously, shoulders hunched and ready for…. pain .
"You will be staying with us." The man hesitates. "I'm not good with these things….Dick?"
It's only then that Peter notices the man standing next to Batman.
"Hey. Let's get you out of there. We'll explain things during dinner, okay?"
And it clicks.
"You're Nightwing. "
"Yeah…" Dick gives him a sad smile, "I am. But everything will be explained during dinner."
The force field goes down, and Peter hesitantly comes out--
Batman grabs his wrist and a---
Watch…?
It's strapped to his arm before he even knows what’s happening.
It must be like Mr. Stark's watch….
"Consider this your probationary ankle monitor."
And then Batman leaves.
"Don't worry too much about him, Peter…." Nightwing-- Dick-- squeezes his shoulder. "He'll warm up to you before you know it."
Peter doesn't deserve the warmth.
Dick leads him up a staircase, "Welcome to Wayne Manor, Peter. I think you'll enjoy it here."
Peter hesitates ,
And it clicks.
Tim and Duke…are Waynes.
This Dick is their Dick .
Fuck, that's an awkward thought--what was Dick short for…Richard…?
It doesn't matter.
Dick is Nightwing.
This person is the same as that one--which means…
Tim and Duke are….
No.
"Peter?" Dick looks at him softly, "You doing okay?"
"Y-yeah, I'm fine."
Never let anyone see your weakness, Peter.
A lesson Slade taught him well.
"It's okay to not be fine."
Is it?
Peter doesn't repeat his thought aloud.
He’s led through elegant halls. Rich wood paneling and fine art adorns every inch available…
Peter doesn’t belong here.
It’s too rich, too nice, too much.
Eventually, they find themselves in a dining room, with Tim and Duke sitting with their own meals and two extra plates. One for Dick and one for Peter.
"Hey," Duke says with a reassuring smile.
"Hi."
It's weak.
But it's still there.
"It's good to see you, Peter," Tim says.
And when they sit down and eat, it might be awkwardly silent, but…
It's okay .
---
Peter gets to sleep in a real bed that evening.
It’s large and with sheets a higher thread count than he thought possible.
Before Dick left him to his own devices, he explained the rules of his…probation.
He's not allowed to leave the inside of the manor without someone accompanying him. He must go to school, and he can't leave the school grounds.
If he breaks these conditions, Bruce… Batman and Dick will know.
And…if he needs it, or he runs into Slade, there is a panic button on his watch that he can activate.
He's expected to go to school tomorrow…..
But he can't sleep.
And when the sun comes up, and Alfred knocks on his door, his only choice is to pretend he rested well.
Breakfast is a quiet affair, and so is the ride to school.
--
It's weird going to school.
Going through the motions.
He knows…really, it doesn't matter at all.
--
The drive home is filled with idle chatter.
But Peter can't remember if he's talked at all today.
--
Peter doesn't come out for dinner.
He locks himself in his room.
It's better this way…
He hears the footsteps before the knock .
"Hey…Peter. You got to eat." Dick, he can hear in the man's heartbeat he's sad, or is it pity ?
Peter doesn't reply.
And Dick does not leave. Not for a long time. But eventually, even he gives up.
--
This goes on for two days.
And Peter refuses to leave.
Until he hears a new set of footsteps.
Someone sits down on the outside of his door.
"Hey, Peter."
It's a woman.
"My name is Dinah."
Peter doesn't say anything.
"I imagine it's hard adjusting to everything… you've been through a lot, haven't you?"
Peter curls up.
"It's okay to need space. That's fine. But you need to eat. You'll only feel worse if you don't, Peter." She says it so softly and sincerely…
It seems an affront to not reply.
"Maybe… that's what I want." Peter leans against the door, heart pounding. The words were only whispered. She shouldn't have heard them, but Peter can tell she did.
He can tell by the way her voice hitches and her heart speeds.
"You want to suffer." It's a statement….
It's a fact .
Yet…
"I'm tired." Peters rests all of his weight on the door, tears starting to well up in his eyes. "It's never going to be over--I can't --- I can't ---"
He sobs for a long time.
But Dinah stays patient with him.
She stays .
"I know it's hard. But you don't have to do it alone anymore." Dinah says, voice remaining calm, "you're not alone anymore, Peter."
It's something he doesn't want to hear .
"It's hard, and I won't lie. It will take time, but we'll stay with you. Not eating isn't the answer. The only way out is through. . ."
Peter digs into his skin, drawing blood as he picks at it.
"My uncle…he told me the same thing once." His voice wavers, "I…hated him for telling me that at the time. But….."
Peter shifts and grabs the door handle, the handle clicking as he unlocks it.
" I didn't want to believe him …but….Ben was always right, in the end."
He opens the door.
He's only dead because you wouldn't listen to him.
Dinah takes him to the dining room. It's just them and Alfred, who looks relieved to see him.
"Master Peter," Alfred gives him a soft smile, "It's good to see you, young man. I've prepared some soup. I hope you like chicken noodle soup… I even made the noodles myself---"
The man sits a bowl in front of him and lays out a silver spoon and napkin before doing the same for Dinah.
"Thank you, Mr. Alfred."
"Good heavens, Mr. Alfred is a new one," the man gives a soft chuckle, "Alfred will do just fine, Master Peter."
Peter turns to look at the man and raises his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Master Peter is a new one to me, too. Just 'Peter' will do fine."
Alfred gives Peter a smile back.
"We'll see."
He and Dinah are then left to their meals.
She doesn't press him on anything.
She's just there for him…she asks questions.
Like what his favorite subject is-- things you wouldn't need to ask a freak like him.
It's nice…to be sorta normal for a bit.
---
Dinah comes over twice a week.
Every Wednesday and Sunday.
They don't talk about things sometimes. Other times….
"I wish I had died instead of my uncle."
Dinah lets him talk.
"I…I was a meta then. I should've stopped it. I knew I could've…and--" Peter laughs in pain, "I'd run away…decided I was going to make money in underground wrestling-- after all, I'm a meta, I'll always win--"
Peter starts to tear up.
"The ringmaster stiffed me. And right after the fucker did it, a man robbed him. Took the cash and ran off--I could've stopped him. I thought about it but decided against it. "
He's silent for a long time.
"I let him run off. After all, why help the man who cheated me?" Peter curls in on himself, "I ended up running into the man later that day. He recognized me--"
Peter starts to sob, "He was going to shoot me-- he wanted to kill me--- not Ben---But Ben he---"
He clenches his eyes shut.
"It's my fault. I held him in my arms. I saw the light leave his eyes--and I'll never forget what he told me. With great power comes great responsibility-- And I've done nothing but fuck up with my abilities--- I shouldn't have lived…at least then, I wouldn't be such a fuck up…."
"You're not a fuck up, Peter."
Dinah says it with such definity. It pulls a bitter laugh from Peter.
"You don't know what I've done."
"I don't, but nothing you have done will change my mind."
"Slade had me…hurt a man, once."
Peter doesn't talk for a long time.
Just another painful silence.
"It felt good. Watching him hurt-- it felt right --he was a human trafficker, he stepped on the wrong person's toes, and well…Slade was paid to teach him a lesson. To make an example out of him…." Peter gives a bitter laugh, "It felt good to let go. Am I that fucked up of a person to feel that way about hurting another human being?"
He didn't mean to kill the man.
"You feel bad about it, now, don't you?" Peter nods, "Then, that's your answer. Emotions can be intense at the moment, and you can forget yourself. But I think all you need to know is how you feel about it right now . You regret it, and I think that's all that matters, Peter. Slade is a master manipulator. He gets into your head and finds ways to make you do things you'd never have done before… it's happened to others too, even us heros."
He….
"I'm done. I---I want to leave."
There was nothing reasonable about what he did for Slade. There was pressure from the man he—
Peter chose this.
Lies .
"You're free to leave whenever you're ready--"
Peter bolts.
He leaves the mansion--the grounds---
He just needs to be free.
And perhaps it is a stupid idea for him too.
His watch tracks everything.
They'll be able to get him easily.
This is why Peter needs to get this wristwatch off.
He slinks into an alleyway where he has some spider supplies hidden.
He grabs the knife in his kit and tries to cut it off—
What the fuck is this made of?
Vibranium?
Peter tries again, and the knife slips—
Peter hisses in pain as he slices into the meat of his arm—
Fuck—-
There has to be another way….
Peter slides the band down—
He pushes down and listens to the crunch of his hands as he break the bone—
He uses the blood to help slide the watch off—
Peter needs to keep moving.
He takes the medical supplies and treats his cut… it's bleeding way too much.
He grabs the watch and keeps moving.
The world goes fuzzy—
It's a nasty cut, but it'll heal.
He just needs to fight through it.
He takes the watch with him a few blocks before smashing it with a brick—until he has no doubt the watch is dead.
He didn't want the last known location to be near his…blood and spider cache.
He should have thought about that before he took it off.
Slade wouldn’t approve.
Peter makes his way to Crime Alley— so predictable.
But he needs something here.
He climbs up into the firehouse and grabs his emergency supplies.
A grab bag— the black widow taught him to always have one.
Cash, food, clothes—meds, and first aid—
He changes his shirt—the bleeding has slowed down, but his other shirt is soaked.
Peter gets out of the firehouse and makes his way to the subway—sneaking down to the docks where he'd set up a location that would be a good safe house.
He lays down in a web hammock and falls to sleep.
—-
Peter wakes up starving.
He rolls out of the hammock and lands with a thump against the wooden floor.
He crawls over to his bag and pulls out a meal bar.
He eats it quickly and then checks on his wound.
It's not looking any better…
A little inflamed but okay.
He's got enough meal bars to lay low for a few days.
Or at least one more. He needs to wait till his arm heals.
Peter pulls out his notebook. Now is a better time than any to make some designs.
He hasn't…
Pete hasn't done this in months.
The realization hits him hard.
He… misses tinkering.
Maybe…maybe he doesn't need school—doesn't need anyone!
He could just tinker and sell his goods.
It…
He can be free.
Peter lays back down in his hammock after he draws some plans.
It's now late into the afternoon.
He blinks and fades away.
—
He wakes up the next day, and his arm is…getting infected.
He needs to find a pharmacy really quickly.
But…he needs to be careful with his money…….
Peter groans. Make money first, medicine later.
He puts on a face mask and keeps his hood up.
He gets up and crawls out of the warehouse and goes in search of some tech.
Most of this area of the city is falling apart or decaying.
Not too different from Crime Alley, really.
It helps keep Peter at ease, strangely.
Eventually he finds an old electronics shop, the paint chipping and the bricks crumbling…
He grabs some computer stuff—it's an electronics shop—sells and repairs. And the dubstep is full of stuff for him to take.
It's hard with his arm as messed up as it is…
But! Peter fills his bag in no time—most of it is things that are pretty much worthless… but it's what he has.
He takes it back and makes his own computer—it takes him a few hours, but he makes it back to the store before closing.
The startle at him coming in with the medical mask, figures it's Gotham, after all.
Then he explained that he was just a germaphobe, they relaxed.
They buy it off him for 60 bucks.
Peter grins and makes his way to where he thinks the pharmacy is. Just a few blocks away…
It's a little rough finding it, but eventually, he does.
And he wasn’t mugged on the way. So it wasn’t too bad.
The stores on this side of town have everything behind glass. Bulletproof glass.
Always a good sign…
They don't care about the mask as much. Just assumed he was sick, he supposes. It makes more sense to go to the pharmacy while sick…
They help him pick out a salve and—
"Get on the fucking ground and give me—"
Fucking Parker luck.
"Give you what?" Peter spins and snaps at the man— "I'm really not in the mood for a robbery."
The man falters.
Maybe it’s because of how young Peter is? Or maybe he can tell how little he cares?
But the man’s eyes squint and he doubles down.
Of course.
Of course.
"What makes you think you can tell me what the fuck to do?"
Peter grinds his teeth. His anger bubbling up to the surface like a supid rot.
"What makes you think that you can tell me what to do, hmm?" Peter walks toward the man calmly, "because you have a gun?"
The man points the gun at Peter's head.
"Just stay back, man—I don't want to hurt—"
Peter head buts the gun and knocks it out of the man's hand, then grabs him—throwing him against the wall—
Watch your strength—
Normal human strength.
Don't…hurt him.
The man whimpers—
"Please—don't hurt me—"
Peter, lets go.
"Listen, man…you don't seem like a hardened criminal…just go home." The man scrambles off, sprinting out of the store. He bends down and picks up the gun, putting it in his waistband.
Peter walks up to the till and pays for his stuff giving the frightened worker a tip.
They need it after dealing with this bullshit.
—-
Peter stops to get take out before going back to his safe house. Perhaps it was a waste of money… but he needs it.
Taking his food he makes his way back to the warehouse careful to avoid cameras or places he’d be easy to spot.
He climbs up and gets into the warehouse wincing at the noise of the rats.
They could smell the food.
Peter sits down and eats, treating his wound. The cut is starting to smell.
With a hiss he rubs the disinfectant in and bandages it carefully.
He’s felt worse.
This…is nothing.
Working past the pain Peter starts to work on more tech to sell. If he’s going to be free he needs to produce.
—
Two days in and his wound only gets worse.
Yellow and…almost rotting . It makes Peter dizzy to look at.
He can almost feel the infection creeping its way into his flesh and—
The slave isn’t doing anything to help.
He’s been keeping the wound clean and changing the bandages but it does not help…
Peter can hardly move his left arm, the muscle is angry and the skin red…
Briefly, he thinks about going to Slades—-
The Wayne's would never take him back after he ran.
He takes the gun and puts it in his waistband.
At least he deserved to be with ilk like Slade.
He'll fit right in.
Slade is better than death.
His injury is going to go bad fast…
And Peter knows that he certainly will not be free in death.
—
Peter enters Slade’s apartment, the world starting to spin with his fever.
The man's not there.
But knowing him, he'll soon arrive once he knows Peter is there…
He helps himself to the medical supplies and tries to treat the wound the best he can.
Once he's done, he lays down in his bed and promptly passes out.
—
He wakes up with a heart monitor and IV in his arm.
Alone.
Peter realizes he's in his room at Slade's apartment and gets up. Okay, when he gets to the door, it swings open and reveals Slade.
"Peter. You are not to get out of bed. Go lay back down."
And Peter obeys.
Spade sits down next to his bed—he must have dragged a chair into the room when Peter was asleep.
"I think we need to have a talk."
Peter eyes the man warily.
The man’s eyes are narrow and there’s a forced neutrality to it all:
"Yes, Sir."
"Your injury is self-inflicted."
Peter shifts uncomfortably under Slade's words. It’s not… true.
But at this point Peter isn’t fully sure it wasn’t.
He could have thought more. He knew he could’ve cut himself.
But he doesn’t care anymore.
"You will tell me the truth. Are you suicidal."
Slade states it as if he's already come to his own conclusion.
And perhaps Slade is right.
Yet still, the word Peter utters is "No."
The man narrows his eyes at Peter.
"I will not let you take your own life."
Peter looks away and whispers, "I know."
Being home with Slade is a bitter comfort.
At least Slade is what he deserves.
—
Peter is eventually allowed out of his room, but Slade keeps him on a short leash.
—
Peter doesn't want this .
He wants to be free
To be happy.
And if he must be selfish to get that?
Then…maybe, maybe he could be selfish.
If it meant he’d be free.
If it meant he’d be happy.
And staying with Slade will never bring him that.
He wants to live again.
And if he can't be free, then death is a better fate.
So he plans his escape.
WE is closer than the manor.
And Peter would not win a race against Slade unless he chooses to go there.
Now it's just a waiting game.
—
Slade is careful.
Slade is always one step ahead.
It was difficult, but Peter now stands on the street.
Slade didn't give him access to shoes.
It would make his escape slower, but then again, Peter did not care if his feet were hurt.
A miscalculation of Slade’s end.
Peter cuts his feet on the shards of glass but makes it WE.
He darts in, blending in so no one would see him.
He sneaks back to the employee elevator and gets on, taking it up to one of the business floors.
Heart pounding as each person nears him.
Too many people.
So many shots and toes and the click clacking of dress shoes—
Overwhelming like Stark tower is. Was.
Peter walks out and finds an empty cubicle. Picking up the phone, he dials Tim's number.
It rings…and rings…and rings.
He’s not going to pick up, is he?
What will Peter do? If he doesn’t answer?
Wait?
Call again later?
Tim's in class, of course, but he only knew his number and Duke's number.
On the last ring, it picks up.
And Peter let’s put a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
"Hello…?"
"It's Peter." His voice is cold. He doesn't mean it to be that way. But it is. "I'm at WE."
"Are you—-are you okay?"
Peter's heart breaks at that.
"You don't think I'm here to rob it?"
Tim gives a dry laugh, "are you?"
"No…."
"But that doesn't answer my question…are you okay?"
And for the first time, Peter says...
"No."
There's panic on the other end—
"Are you bleeding? Have you been—"
"Just a little cut up. Physically I'm…fine."
"Okay…okay—" Peter can hear him tapping on his phone— "Bruce and Lucious are at WE—what floor are you on? They'll come to get you."
Peter looks behind himself at the plaque on the wall, "Floor 17."
"Okay, they'll be there soon. Just hang tight, okay?"
Peter doesn't say anything. The words can't form.
He sits down at the desk. Him standing up with no shoes would draw attention, and then that attention would ring alarm bells…
He was startled by a hand on his shoulder.
"Peter."
He turns to see Bruce Wayne.
His face is as unreadable as ever.
Just like Slade’s.
Perhaps the Wayne’s won’t forgive him.
Then you’ll just get what you deserve.
"Let's go home."
Home…?
Home.
—
The ride back to the manor is a blessing.
Even if he would be punished.
Because…he’s ultimately safe.
They’ll give him what he deserves—
Slade always gave too much in the wrong ways.
When he can see the manor grounds he breathes a sigh of relief.
Home.
For now, at least.
Alfred meets them at the door.
God, he misses Alfred.
He was always so kind even though Peter never deserved it.
Bruce offered to carry Peter several times because of his bleeding feet, but he refused each time.
He walks across the drive towards the front door where Alfred stands, Bruce’s hand both a comfort and a threat rests on his shoulder.
Alfred opens the door and Bruce leads him through the rich halls and carved wood.
They sit down in the living room, and Alfred starts to pull the glass out of his arms and feet, while Bruce sits on the other side of the room and broods.
He wonders when the other shoe will fall.
When Peter will get what he deserves.
Alfred finishes up and pats his leg, gently, “Alright. Master Bruce, Master Peter, I shall be back with refreshments and snacks. I imagine you’re quite hungry, Master Peter.”
Alfred leaves.
He leaves him alone with Bruce.
With Batman.
The man gets up and stalks closer to him.
Peter closes his eyes and winces, ready for——
The man sits across from him, giving him a slight pat on the knee before retreating.
"I'm not going to hit you." Pete's eyes shoot up, and he stares at Bruce.
Bruce’s face is still unchanging.
Peter could be arrested.
He could be locked away.
Anything could happen.
"I want you to tell me step by step what happened after you left the manor."
Peter blinks at the man but obliges.
At least he wasn't going to be hurt… physically .
He thinks he's going to be sick.
"I…" Peter looks down, ashamed, "I was panicked—I wasn't thinking straight, so went back to my roots and disappeared."
"How did you get the watch off?"
"I tried to cut it off—" His eyes flicker to the white scar across the vein of his wrist, quickly hiding it from the man. Would he think the same as Slade? Would he lock Peter away? "It didn't work… so I then crushed the bones in my hand and slid it off."
"Give me your hand—"
Peter eyes the man but compiles nonetheless.
He's not in any place to say no.
Bruce's hand feels the bone, freezing as he sees the white scar over his vein.
"I wasn't trying to kill myself."
The man's grip tightens ever so slightly on his arm.
"You had to have known you'd cut yourself doing that."
His voice is stern. But…soft.
Soft coming from Bruce, from Batman, anyways.
Peter says nothing, just shrugs.
"Peter…" the man calls, and Peter looks away. Bruce sighs. Alfred finds that the perfect time to come in and sit a tray of sandwiches next to them. Bruce lets go and lean back in his chair, far away from Peter. "Dick should be here soon. He's been looking for you."
Put looks up at Bruce, "he…looked for me?"
God, that makes him feel bad.
"Yes, he did." Bruce gets up and heads towards the door, "We can talk more later."
"It's good to have you back, Master Peter." Peter watches Alfred carefully, unsure.
"It is good to be back, Mr. Alfred."
"You don't need to be afraid of us here, Master Peter."
Peter snorts, "I'm pretty sure that does the opposite of comfort me, Alfred."
"Well, I promise you are safe—,"
"Peter."
He startles as his name is called, and Dick is standing there at the door.
"Hey."
The man walks close to him and envelopes him in a hug, and Peter hugs him back, tears streaming—
"I'm so glad you're safe, that you're home. "
"I'm so sorry—"
"Shhh, shhh, we don't need to think about that right now."
And he just held Peter.
—-
Dick has him eat sandwiches as they sit together in silence.
Peter knows he should say something.
That Dick wants him to say something.
Peter is brave.
He lifted buildings off of himself.
Fought the Vulture —
Hell, he fought Captain America!
He's… Spider-Man.
And he's dying.
Alone.
He's not alone.
He hopes.
"I'm…." Peter pulls away from Dick… "I'm Spider-Man."
Dick turns and looks at him.
"I've been a meta since I was 13. I became Spider-Man…." Peter can't bear to look at dick, at Nightwing, "I became Spider-Man to avenge my uncle's death. But I guess now I only ever brought more pain. I know you are going to hate me…."
There was a long silence.
"Slade didn't find me. We met. In a strange way," Peter choked out a laugh, "he had a hit on a man. But ironically, the homeless orphan beat him to it— and I still think what I did was right. Both times—a child rapist and a human trafficker."
"Peter…"
He winced at Nightwing's voice.
Because Dick becomes Nightwing when Peter thinks of his crimes.
"I was dumpster diving 'cause I was hungry, and he offered me food—then safety and a home— I'm a fool. My spider sense tells me when people want to hurt me—just before they do— yet I still fell for his lies— or maybe they weren't lies? And he really does care? I don't know, I don't know—"
Peter can’t see-
He’s always been an ugly crier.
Tears and snot and—
And god, May…she’d always complain as she wiped his tears away.
Dick pulls him into a hug ignoring the snot and tears as they stain his shoulder.
"It's okay, Pete, you're okay—" the man rubs circles on his back. "We're here. And I don't hate you. No one does, I promise."
"They should— you should—" Peter grips him tightly, "it's so much easier if you just hate me—hit me—I deserve it— please— "
"You don't deserve to be hit, and you don't deserve to be hated ."
He says it with such finality that, for once… Peter believes .
—
Tim and Duke arrive shortly after Peter manages to pull away from Dick and clean his face. God his a fucking mess…
They don’t care either.
They envelope him in hugs of their own.
Tim squeezes him, "Welcome home, Peter—
"It's been strange without you," Duke adds, patting his back.
And perhaps it will be difficult to stay. To work through his troubles…
But it'll be okay.
It will be worth it .
And he can finally be free.