Chapter 6
His class is normal, boring, and borderline insufferable after that. When the bell sounds off, he’s one of the first out of the door for his next class. Chemistry, thank god. The class is still below his ability, but it’s comforting to be in a subject he understands. And lunch is right after. Another bonus. He needs to eat more after taking that beating last night.
Tim walks into the lab two minutes after Peter sets his books down. He’s moving stiffly, taking care to not bend or turn, and he sits with obvious relief. He looks pale and exhausted, and he’s desperately clinging to a large cup of coffee. Something he probably shouldn’t have in the lab, to be honest.
He catches Peter’s eye and waves him over to his lab station in the back of the room. "You might as well sit with me here, too. Your lab partner isn't much better than Edison, and I usually do my work alone."
Peter hesitates for a moment, idly wondering if this is some elaborate set up to embarrass him, then shrugs, and moves his seat over to Tim. The guy seems decent enough; he’s withdrawn, pale, and constantly drinking coffee, and that’s all Peter knows about him. Peter doesn’t remember hearing him snicker or mock him when he walked past him in the hall, and that puts him far above the standard in this school.
"As long as you're sure I won't ruin any 'networking opportunities' for you," Peter says, dropping his book and notebooks on the lab table.
Tim rolls his eyes. "Hardly." His voice carries a very distinctive old money accent, the kind where even a compliment can sound like cutting damnation, but he seems to be about as down to earth as anyone Peter would meet on the streets. It’s a welcome change from the norm in this place. He offers his hand to Peter. "I'm Tim."
Peter shakes his hand, relieved to find a normal human being at last. Which is pretty ironic given his own status. "Peter."
"You're a Wayne scholarship kid too, aren't you?"
"Is it that obvious?" That may not be a good thing; if there's some sort of social network for people who have this scholarship, they might notice he earned it through illegitimate means. He never considered that, and he should have. He certainly wasn’t alone when he took the test for the scholarship.
"Yeah, but in a good way," Tim replies, grinning. "Normally they keep us away from each other, but I guess you slipped through the cracks. Lucky me."
“Yeah, lucky you,” Peter says, not quite as eagerly.
“Hey, we’re all pretty cool,” Tim says. “It’s nice to meet the newest member of the club, you know? You’ve seemed busy so we all gave you space.”
“What, have you guys been following me?”
“Kinda hard not to when we have the same classes,” Tim says wryly. “You haven’t noticed, but I’m in most of your classes, and Duke and Steph share a couple of your afternoon classes.”
Well, he’s right. Peter hasn’t noticed. He frowns, thinking back over the previous three weeks. He has a hazy memory around that history class where he got the Justice League’s formation wrong. Most of the class had snickered at him or given him looks of pity and disbelief. But three students had just looked at him. Tim had been one, another had been a blonde girl.
At that moment, the professor walks in and starts the lesson. There's not much room for idle talk after that.
Tim, as it turns out, is one of the few people Peter's met that can match him at all things science related. It's refreshing, and a welcome relief from carrying his wealthier and lazier classmates' grades. It is, however, more difficult to get away with making his web fluid. He’s got enough to last him a month or two at the moment since he isn’t patrolling every night, but still. Like food, he could always use more.
But the company more than makes up for it. Tim's apparent friendship earns Peter less scrutiny from the professor in that class. And it even seems genuine. Peter can count on one hand how often that's happened in his life.
By the end of the period, the two are fast friends.
When the bell sounds off, Tim stands up. He's moving very carefully as he does so. It’s oddly familiar.
"His ribs are broken or bruised," Bucky points out.
Peter notices it after that; Tim is moving the same way he did back home after catching the Scorpion’s tail across his back during their last fight. He frowns; there aren’t a lot of good reasons for someone his age to have bruised ribs. And it’s not like child abuse is purely a poor kid phenomenon.
"What's your next class?" Tim asks, grabbing his coffee. He shakes the thermos and makes a face when he realizes how little he has left.
"Uh, literature."
Tim thinks. "That's not far from my class. Come on, I'll walk with you."
"Sure."
* * *
His next class goes by in a blur. Peter's baffled and shocked by how easily he gained a friend. Like Ned, Tim simply sat down beside him and talked to him with no reservation whatsoever. Peter's equal parts envious and grateful for that. And wary of screwing it up. That would just be his luck, really. He finally meets a decent person at this school and he chases them off by being himself.
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Shuri says. “You’ll be fine.”
Well, maybe that’s true. He’s still wary of it. Parker luck dictates that every good thing that happens to him will soon be followed by something much worse. It all balances out eventually.
Or maybe he’s just weirdly paranoid about his own fortune.
The bell rings and pulls him out of his thoughts.
“Okay, everyone, don’t forget! We’re starting a new book on Friday! Make sure you pick up a copy of Stranger In A Strange Land by next Monday at the latest!” the cheery teacher calls out.
Peter can smell the alcohol on the man’s breath from the back of the class, and idly wonders if that’s just a requirement for English and Literature teachers in every universe as he puts away his books and makes a note to visit a second hand bookstore at some point before going to work tomorrow.
* * *
His stomach growls as he moves through the line in the cafeteria. He piles his tray high with as much food as he can carry on it. He doesn’t care how it looks; ever since he started working, his appetite has shot up, and rice and beans can only do so much. The lunch lady takes one look at his tray and general physique and then adds a cookie to the pile. He could hug her.
He turns away from her and starts towards his usual spot, eager to eat as much as he can and smuggle what’s left over for the ride home on the subway. If he’s lucky, he might even manage a nap on the subway. It's warmer than the firehouse these days.
“Peter! Over here!” a voice calls out, startling him out of his thoughts.
Peter turns to his right and sees Tim sitting at one of the more secluded tables in the cafeteria. He’s not alone; someone else is sitting across from him. A tall, dark skinned boy with sharp brown eyes that look Peter over curiously. Peter fidgets nervously and briefly considers pretending he didn't see him. Tim would be polite enough to leave him alone--
"Come on, kid, don't do that to yourself," Sam says gently.
“Come sit with us,” Tim says, waving him over.
Peter hesitates for a moment, then mentally shrugs and walks over to sit next to Tim. His plate is piled higher than anyone else’s at the table, and he hopes no one comments on it. He’s never felt more out of place in his life. He wishes Ned was here. Ned’s always been better at meeting new people than Peter.
“Duke, this is Peter,” Tim says, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Peter, this is my brother, Duke Thomas.”
"Hey, Peter, welcome to the Wayne Club," Duke says. He has an easy grin and friendly eyes, and he shakes Peter's hand warmly. There’s a subtle, natural charm in the way he carries himself that draws Peter in almost immediately. He feels stronger near Duke, more confident.
Or maybe he’s just that lonely. Who knows. It’s not like he’s drowning in friends in this universe. “Wayne Club, huh? Is there a secret handshake?”
Duke’s grin grows wider. “Something like that. You’re still a level one Wayne kid right now, so you don’t get the secret handshake yet.”
Peter rolls his eyes, but grins. “I think I can live without that.”
Tim stirs an unnervingly large cup of coffee in front of himself. Peter’s fairly certain you aren’t supposed to drink coffee past noon, and he’s definitely certain it shouldn’t be from a cup that’s nearly as tall as Tim’s forearm is long.
“Duke’s just glad he’s not the newest kid in the club,” Tim says.
“Absolutely. Being the new kid sucks,” Duke says, grabbing his sandwich. His eyes dart around the cafeteria behind Peter, as if he’s looking at people nearby. Or a crowd of them. Peter finds that strange; the only thing behind him is a wall. “Where are you from?”
“Queens.” Technically, at least. “Gotham’s been kind of a culture shock.”
“I bet,” Tim says. He takes a deep drink of his coffee before continuing. “How did you end up in Gotham anyway?”
“It’s a long story. I kind of ended up here by accident. I’m waiting to hear back from home.” Which is true enough, though he’s starting to think that’s not very likely to happen for awhile yet. Not until he figures out who or what else made it into this universe from his own. Everytime he thinks of home, his senses twinge.
Tim tilts his head, considering this. Duke looks past Peter for a moment, then focuses on him again. “Well, you can hang out with us until that happens. The more the merrier.”
“I think I’d like that,” Peter says. He’s starting to relax around them, grazing on his food as they talk. Somehow, the meal seems more filling today.
Tim glances around the cafeteria, frowning. “Hey, where’s Steph?”
“Something came up with her dad,” Duke says, sending Tim a significant look.
“I--oh, right. I guess we’ll catch her later,” Time says. He goes quiet and thoughtful for a moment, then focuses on Peter. "Hey, I wanted to ask you how you figured out that calculation for the lab today."
Peter perks up. He's always down to talk science.
Peter likes Duke. He likes Tim. And he's surprised when both of them adopt him into their friendship as smoothly as they do. The topics they talk about are pretty generic--classes, school, which teacher is the nicest (the drunken literature teacher), which is the worst (the physics teacher), and which one they would choose to have on their team during a zombie outbreak scenario (the angry bald history teacher is Peter’s vote).
When the bell rings, Peter’s finished his meal completely, and he leaves the cafeteria with two new friends.
* * *
The rest of his day goes by in a blur. As it turns out, he does have Duke and Tim in one of his last two classes of the day. History is a lot more tolerable with friends nearby. In his final class, he’s alone again, but that might be for the best. He doesn’t exactly want Tim or Duke to see him head for the subway in the afternoon rush. The less they know of his living situation, the better, frankly.
He steps off the subway early, heading for the library.
* * *
Red Robin had told him that the library is open late, but it looks almost abandoned. The building is huge, foreboding, and built in a gothic style as is fitting for a public facility inside Gotham. The overcast sky and chill autumn wind pushing leaves along the street only enhance the feeling of brooding isolation that covers the building. The lights are on, sure, but he doesn’t really see anyone going in or out, which is a stark contrast from his trips to the library back home in Queens. The local library seemed busiest on Friday evenings. The opposite seems to be true in Gotham. Peter hesitates outside of the polished wood doors, shifting back and forth on his feet.
The door pops open, and Barbara sits at the other side. She gives him a friendly grin and waves him inside. “Hey, stranger. Here to pick up your card? I’ve been holding onto it for a few weeks now. I was about to track you down and hand it to you.”
Peter completely forgot about that card. “Oh, uh, yeah. Actually, I was hoping to get some homework done here? A, uh, a friend said you guys were open late but--”
Well, it doesn’t look like the library is actually open. In fact, the whole block looks dead. Aside from the occasional passing car or pedestrian, the streets are quiet. It’s a little unnerving, really. And it isn’t much better when Peter steps inside the library. The building is empty; he can only hear his heartbeat and Barbara’s. They’re alone in the library.
“We’re open for a little while yet,” Barbara says. “Feel free to pick a table. I’m going to be in my office finishing up a few things before I start up my second job. Give a yell if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Barbara,” Peter says. After a moment’s hesitation, he heads for the nearest table and sits down after dropping his backpack on the table.
He starts in on his homework. If nothing else, he’ll be warm and dry while finishing it up. He settles into the flow of it, churning out homework for the next week in the safety and warmth of the library while he still has the chance. He might as well; there’s no guarantee the library will be open this late next week, and he’d like to have a weekend free of it. Getting everything done early will give him...more free time to feel hungry at night, or something. He hasn’t quite figured that out yet. It’s not like he’s got patrol competing for his time right now.
Barbara shuts the door to her office, but not all the way. It’s open just a crack. Peter can hear her settle into her desk, hear her laptop turn on, and put headphones over her ears. Beyond that, the tinny frequency of her radio, and static.
“Okay, guys, I’m here. What’d I miss?”
There’s a long pause.
“So, not a pit, but a Lazarus machine?” Barbara says. She’s pitching her voice low, and it’s clearly something Peter shouldn’t overhear, but well. Super hearing. “How many? Is it still working?”
She’s quiet for a moment, then sighs.
“Well, that’s a relief, I guess,” Barbara says. “Except now we have a potentially insane zombie running around--No, Jason, I don’t mean you. Focus. Where is this machine?”
Another pause.
"Right, I'll keep an eye out," Barbara says. “I have a gut feeling that this ties into the kryptonite being smuggled into the city---”
What the hell kind of second job does Barbara have? Peter sets his pencil down, tilting his head and listening in. He shouldn’t. It’s not his business. But he’s curious.
“It’s either meant to keep Superman out--which isn’t likely, you know Batman’s ‘no metas in Gotham’ rule--or it’s a power source. Which is equally bad.”
Peter freezes. No metas in Gotham? What? He knows mutant powers are rare in this world, but he didn’t realize Batman actively chased them out of town. That’s disturbing. Add another point towards his 'avoid Batman' instinct. The man's reputation is already intimidating as hell, and Peter’s got two things working against him: he’s a thief and a mutant. He’s not eager to earn himself a beating from one of this universe’s superheroes. And he’s even less eager to end up in prison.
“Who on earth would need that much kryptonite anyway?” Barbara asks thoughtfully. “Better question would be to figure out where it came from. It wasn’t Lexcorp. Steph double checked.”
Peter taps his pen against his notebook, then gradually goes back to work.
* * *
A few hours later, he’s finished his assignments for the weekend, and he’s ready to leave. Barbara paused her second job long enough to see him out into the misty Gotham night. He hesitates outside of the library doors, and turns to face Barbara, tilting his head.
“The library isn’t actually open this late, is it?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“You mentioned the library had funding issues. That usually means they close things early,” Peter says slowly. “No one else is inside the library. I would’ve noticed. It was just me and you. How did you know to stay late tonight?”
Barbara quirks a brow, and when she smiles, it feels a lot more genuine than the customer service smile she had before. “Let’s just say a little bird asked a favor of me.”
Huh. That makes sense. Peter had friends up and down Queens when he was doing patrols as Spiderman. It makes sense that Red Robin has the same kind of network. Maybe she’s his ‘guy in the chair’? That’d explain the extensive knowledge of Gotham’s ongoing crime crisis. Maybe he should come by the library again tomorrow to make sure she makes it home safely. He feels a sudden urge to ask her if he could come back inside and ask her for help. But if she is working with Red Robin, then she’s working with Batman by extension. And that’s the last person he wants to cross paths with at the moment. In fact, he should avoid this whole Bat clan if he can.
A part of him realizes that includes Nightwing, too. That thought is oddly painful.
“Oh. Cool,” Peter says after a moment.
“I’ll keep the lights on for you next week,” Barbara says. “But it’s late, and you should go get some rest.”
Yeah, that’s true. He’s downright exhausted after today’s events. “Thanks, Barbara. Good night!”
“Good night, Peter! Get some dinner!”
Right, dinner. It’s late enough that he’ll just have to snack on what’s available. Whatever, he barely feels the hunger anymore.
When he has that thought, a very annoyed sigh comes from his right, and it sounds suspiciously like Dr. Strange.
Peter ignores it, walking towards the subway. Night has fallen, the wind is much colder, and it cuts right through his school blazer. He adds ‘find a warmer coat’ to his already depressingly long shopping list.
He never once looks up, which means he doesn’t see Red Robin and Signal shadow him along the rooftops.