Chapter 10
He dreams of a glass tube. He dreams of drowning in a toxic green liquid, choking on it, feeling it seep into his skin. It feels like being drowned in acid. Scorching, smothering heat that fills his lungs, his nose, his eyes. The pain is unbearable, worse than the Dusting. It scalds him from the inside out, and the pain of it is enough to threaten his very mind--
Someone shushes him, soothing him, pulling him out of the nightmare. The dream shifts to red, then to darkness, and then to something else entirely. Peter wakes up in his apartment, sprawled across his couch. He looks around himself in blatant confusion for a moment.
It’s his apartment back in Queens. The cramped two bedroom apartment with too thin walls, nestled near a street constantly busy with truck traffic. It feels like home, right down to the smell of chicken curry May has simmering on the stove and the distant thrum of traffic outside.
"Hey, think fast!" a familiar voice calls out to him.
May Parker tosses a towel at Peter's face from the kitchenette in their apartment. He reaches up and snatches it out of the air, his senses still on high alert from his nightmare. He stares at May, clutching the dish towel in his hand, and has to fight a sudden wave of tears.
"Hey, good catch," she says, grinning at him in that vaguely dorky way he's fully inherited from her.
"May?" Peter asks, his voice shaking.
May's demeanor changes immediately. "Peter? Honey, what's wrong?"
Peter stares at her for a moment, before scrambling up from the couch and stumbling over to her. He practically falls against her, clinging to her and burying his face against her shoulder. She pulls him into a protective hug, shushing him gently, and holds him close.
Peter can hear someone whisper nearby.
“His nightmares are getting worse,” Sam says.
“We can’t hold them off forever,” Strange replies. “Wanda can help switch them over to pleasant memories. That’s the best we can do until he stops ignoring what’s happened to him.”
“That’s not happening anytime soon,” Fury says.
May starts to hum. Peter tunes out the others and focuses on her instead.
* * *
Peter wakes up feeling as though he hasn’t slept at all. His whole body tingles and aches, and it takes true effort to stagger out of his bed towards the shower this morning. Patrol hadn’t been that rough; what is his deal?
“The machine,” Strange says. “There are more side effects than a few strands of grey hair, Peter.”
Peter doesn’t want to think about that. He ignores it, and steps into the frigid shower room instead. Frost covers the outside of the fire station’s windows. Peter isn’t sure of what he’ll do when it becomes too cold to shower in the morning. He showers, bundles up in his school uniform (now a bit looser than before; losing that kitchen job really tore into his calorie intake), and heads to school.
Lou hands him a sandwich as he gets onto the bus. "Rough night?"
"Rougher than usual," Peter says, dropping into his seat. Lou’s been ‘accidentally’ grabbing two sandwiches for Peter on a daily basis.
“Huh,” Lou says. He drums his fingertips against the steering wheel for a moment, then catches Peter’s eye. “If you get hungry at your, uh, second job, stop by the depot. We’ll get you some decent dinner.”
Peter stops, considers that, and then shyly nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Lou.”
* * *
"Hey Peter, Duke, Steph, and I are heading to the movies on Friday. You in? My treat," Tim asks, dropping into his desk seat beside Peter.
"Duke would like to see you," Steph adds. "He's pretty bored at home right now."
"Sorry, I can't," Peter replies. He doesn't spare Tim a glance; he's focused on finishing as much of his homework that he can. The last thing he needs is to fall behind and have some concerned teacher try to call Tony about his failing grades. That’d be disastrous.
"Another time, then," Tim says. He doesn't hide the disappointment in his voice very well. Nor does he hide the worried frown he aims at Steph.
Peter stays focused on his school work.
* * *
Peter’s patrols are pretty normal. Muggings, robberies, fights, lost kids. That kind of thing. Between each of those, he takes a moment to do two things: he starts looking for False Facer hideouts and he starts tracking down the other person from his universe that he can sense. The latter is much harder than he thought it would be. Some nights, he can sense them--whoever they are--right around the corner. His whole body lights up, his senses going utterly mad, sharp enough to startle him and throw off his web slinging. But when he stops to find the source, it’s gone.
He spends an entire night swinging through Crime Alley, and then further into the wider city, chasing the strange sense of other that appears when he thinks of home. He never gets close enough to pinpoint it; it disappears too quickly. One of Gotham’s frequent thunderstorms is at a fever pitch for most of it, hindering his progress.
After spending most of the night on a wild goose chase through the city, Peter drops down on a stone gargoyle overlooking the East End district across the river from the Bowery and Crime Alley. The rain comes down in sheets, and he’s thoroughly soaked. He can barely see the lights and cars on the street below.
He had it. He was so close to catching it and then it disappeared. Literally. It’s as if the thing setting off his senses is teleporting across the city. That should be impossible. That kind of tech just doesn’t exist in this universe. He’s not even sure it exists in his universe, really.
Thunder rolls across the sky, and another onslaught of rain hits him. He sighs, makes a note to waterproof his suit at some point in the future, and is just about to head back to Crime Alley when he sees something climb out of the window of a Wayne Tech office building. They’re wearing a catsuit--a literal catsuit, actually, complete with stubby little ears--and they have something tucked under their arm. They close the window behind themselves, carefully aim a grappling hook towards a nearby building, and then swing away from the office building.
An honest to god catburglar. Peter’s both amused and very, very curious. He swings after them, keeping low. He just wants to follow them for now. And he does, for a little while; lightning flashes between them, and the cat burglar glances over her shoulder directly at him. He can see her eyes widen behind her mask, and then she’s off. She drops onto a rooftop and begins to sprint across it. Peter’s quick to follow, but another flash of lightning blinds him and he loses track of them. He sprints across the roof, and stops in the middle.
The cat person is out of sight. Peter stands alone on the rooftops. He stops to listen, closing his eyes to try and focus his hearing on any nearby heartbeats or breathing. He hears nothing. The wind and the rain, normally a boon against overstimulation, dampen his sense of smell and his hearing. Whoever they were, whatever they stole, they’re long gone now.
Peter sighs, leaping off the side of the building and swinging for home. What a waste of a night.
* * *
The next night, the bat signal changes from the image of a bat to that of a spider. The same spider Peter’s got stitched into his suit, in fact. He eyes it for awhile, then swings over to the source. It takes him awhile; the source turns out to be Gotham PD’s headquarters tucked away near the library. Peter swings around the building twice before flinging himself up onto the roof ledge and dropping into his regular crouch. James Gordon, the man who helped him figure out his subway route for school, stands near the spotlight.
“Uh. Hi. You called me?” Peter asks.
Gordon turns to face him, squinting at him for a moment, before he nods. “I’ve got an assignment for you, if you’re up for it. You handle things in Crime Alley, right?”
“Yeah. Little guy stuff, mostly. You know.”
“Then this fits the bill,” Gordon says. He walks over to Peter and hands him a camera. “If you’re cleaning up Crime Alley, you’ll need to start with the cops. I’ve gotten reports that they’re dirty as sin, taking bribes from any gang that pays and turning a blind eye to a litany of crimes. I know they’re crooked, they know I know, but they’ve got the whole place scared stiff. No one will lodge complaints against them. Hell, no one will even risk calling me about it either.”
Peter takes the camera, looking it over. It’s a nice one, with a very expensive lens. He pulls the strap over his shoulder. “So you need me to spy on them?”
“More or less. Catch them in the act. Take a few photographs and, if it’s safe, disable them and call dispatch and ask for me. If not, just keep the camera and come back when you’ve finished the film roll. I need hard evidence that they're crooked before I can do anything to them.”
“Got it,” Peter says, a little thrown by the fact that the police are asking him for help. That’s a new and interesting spin on things. The cops in Queens, for example, were at best moderately tolerant of his bullshit. The feeling was pretty much mutual. “I don’t have a phone, though.”
“Then just bring the camera back here. And be careful,” Gordon continues. “If it gets too hot, leave. Don’t get hurt over this.”
“Yessir,” Peter says with a jaunty salute before flinging himself off the building. “One order of crooked cops coming right up!”
* * *
Gordon turns to the shadows behind himself after Spider-Man leaves. “You sure about this?”
Batman steps out of the shadows, just enough for his outline to be seen. He blends in well. “I am.”
“You’ll make sure he doesn’t get hurt, right?”
“He’s more than capable of handling himself. I’ve been keeping watch when I’ve got the time.”
“He reminds me of your first Robin, you know. I like him,” Gordon says, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket. He’ll catch hell from Barbara if she finds out about this, but he can deal with that later. Between Batman, Red Robin, and Signal’s injuries, things are heating up in Gotham. Add in the Joker running free, and well. That’s a recipe for disaster. “You really need to figure out where this one came from.”
“I’m working on it,” Batman says.
“And maybe give the kid a sandwich,” Gordon adds. He pauses, turns around and sighs when he sees the empty rooftop where Batman once stood. “Do me a favor and don’t teach him that habit of yours while you’re at it.”
There is, of course, no answer.
* * *
Peter takes to his task quickly. The cops aren’t difficult to find in Crime Alley. In fact, they’re usually at designated spots so far from any actual crime that it would be comical if it wasn’t so infuriating. None of them notice him above them, and they definitely don’t notice him taking pictures of every drug deal, every payoff, and every other crooked thing they’ve been doing.
If he wasn’t so low on web fluid, he’d string each one up on a streetlight for Gordon to collect later. That’s not practical at the moment, so he sticks to the plan: take pictures, note down what’s happening and where, and then swings back to Gotham PD with a full camera a few hours later.
To his surprise, Jim Gordon is still there, smoking a cigarette and pacing. He looks up when Peter appears and stops his pacing, tilting his head curiously.
“I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that you’re already finished,” he says, stamping out his cigarette. There are three other similarly smashed cigarette butts on the ground beside his polished shoes.
“Good thing. I definitely earned a gold star for stalking today,” Peter replies, handing him the camera.
Gordon snorts, taking the camera. He clicks through the first few pictures, squinting at the tiny screen. Then he nods and holds the camera close against his side. “This is just what I needed. You’ve got a talent for this, kid. Good work. I can replace the crooked cops with good ones with this evidence.”
Peter gives Gordon another salute, then tilts his head. “Anytime. But hey, speaking of Crime Alley, you know the groups that move around in that district, right?”
“More than I’d like,” Gordon replies dryly.
“Cool. Can you tell me where the False Facers hide out?”
Gordon stares at him for a long moment, nods, and pulls a notebook out of his breast pocket. He flips it open and takes out a pen, writing out a list of addresses with dates and times. He tears the page free and hands it to Peter.
“They’re on the move more often than not, but they always stick to these three warehouses. Check there first.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Mr. Gordon!” Peter says, scanning the paper and committing it to memory before tucking it away into one of his pockets. He shoots out a web at a nearby building, pulling himself away and calling back, “Give a call if you need anything else!”
“Stay safe, Spider-Man,” Gordon replies quietly. He sounds tired.
* * *
It’s getting late, but it isn’t quite late enough for Peter to turn in yet. He swings for the first address on the page Gordon gave him. An old retail store tucked away inside the worst of the urban blight in Crime Alley, its windows boarded up against the outside world. Peter lands on top of some nameless ten storey building nearby and peers below.
Men in black skull masks move inside and out of the abandoned shop, packing up a van and chatting with one another. Peter tilts his head, leaning forward to try and hear what they’re saying--
“Hey,” a voice says behind him. “This is my stake out. Get lost.”
“I was here first, so no,” Peter replies. If he squints, he can just make out what they’re carrying. Crates, barrels, and something else. A machine? Machine parts, at least. “Find your own stake out.”
Peter gets a very annoyed sigh in response to that. The Red Hood walks up beside him and leans against a pipe. His outfit is different today; instead of the red pill shaped helmet, he’s wearing an actual red hoodie with the hood pulled up. The sleeves have been ripped off, and the hoodie hangs open, revealing a suit beneath. A red bat symbol covers his chest, the color matching the mask across his eyes and the face mask beneath it.
“I thought you only handled ‘little guy stuff’,” he says, placing obnoxious air quotes around the phrase. “What are you doing chasing the False Facers?”
“Cleaning house, ideally,” Peter says. “These guys need to go.”
“Yeah, well, that’s our job for tonight. Get lost.”
“Make me,” Peter replies. He squints at the men below.
Red Hood stops, then rolls his eyes. “Not worth the effort. And Batman would probably bitch at me if I swung on you.”
That gets Peter’s attention. He looks up from the gang below and faces Red Hood, tilting his head. “Batman? He’s in Crime Alley?”
“Yeah, you really knocked him on his ass the other night,” Red Hood says. He jerks his chin over towards the shadows near the van the False Facers are stacking crates inside of. “See him?”
Peter doesn’t see him right away. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he can make out the form hidden within the dark. It’s impressive. And incredibly eerie.
“Does he have a stealth suit?” Peter wonders aloud. “T--Iron Man made one of those before. He couldn’t keep the camouflage working when moving at speed, though.”
“Who the hell is Iron Man?” Red Hood asks.
“No one you know, apparently,” Peter replies, half amused, half resigned. “He’s a hero. We’ve worked together. Um, we trained a bit, too.”
Actually, the training was secondary. After Peter’s internship became official--complete with a series of goofy and not-so-goofy pictures--he spent most of his time helping Tony design the next iteration of his suit. Not the Iron Spider, just an upgrade to his Stark Suit. He has some very fond memories of that time.
“So, I guess it's kind of like you and Batman,” Peter adds after a moment. Red Hood scoffs. Hard. “I mean, you are kind of wearing his suit, dude.”
“It’s complicated. I’m here to help him. Maybe.”
“I can’t tell if you want to make sure he’s safe or if you want to throw him off a building,” Peter says after a moment.
“Depends on the day. Sometimes the minute.”
“Bad blood, huh?”
“It’s complicated,” Red Hood says bitterly. “And I’ve been reminded of a few bad memories lately, so the resentment is a bit closer to the surface than normal.”
“Oh,” Peter says. He pauses for a moment. “Wanna talk about it?”
“What?”
“I mean, these guys are kinda dumb and they’re not going anywhere, and we’re both staking them out... You seem like you could use a chat, that’s all.”
“Does that seriously work on people for you?”
“Honestly, you’d be really surprised,” Peter replies. “People figure they’re less crazy than the weirdo in the superhero suit running around at night, so they’re kinda open about stuff.”
Red Hood scoffs, turning away from him and going silent. Peter shrugs and goes quiet beside him; some people just don’t like to talk. And maybe that’s for the best. Red Hood seems like an angry man, bitter and obviously nursing some long ago injury. Peter’s met people like that before. He typically avoids them.
“You’ve met him before,” Bucky says.
“You mentioned this Iron Man guy,” Hood says suddenly. “Is he your father?”
Peter blinks, unsure of how he could have gotten that impression. “Um, no, actually. My parents died when I was young. Really young. He just--”
“Took you in.”
Peter’s shocked by the weary bitterness in the man’s tone. “Yeah. Kinda.”
“You guys are close?”
“I mean---well, yeah. Of course.” Well, about as close as someone can reasonably get to Tony Stark.
“When was the last time he hugged you?”
Peter can’t exactly answer ‘When I died, but only sort of by accident because I fell on him’ without making this conversation even more awkward than it already is. “Oh, we’re, uh--we’re not there yet.” A brief pause. “Okay, that sounds worse than it is. He’s not really good with emotions. I’m not sure he experiences them the same way everyone else does.”
Red Hood scoffs. “Yeah, doesn’t that sound familiar. Word of advice, kid? You’ll never be there. Don’t break your heart waiting on it.”
“He cares. Honestly, I think he sometimes cares too much and it overwhelms him. We’ll get there. Eventually.”
“Yeah? How long have you known him?”
“Um, we first met when I was nine. He saved my life--” Even through his mask, the look Red Hood gives him is so pitying that Peter stutters to a stop.
“Good luck with that. In my experience, they just replace you once you’re gone,” Red Hood mutters. He pushes himself off of the pipe and rolls his shoulders. “Listen, unless you want more attention from Batman, you’d better get lost. He’s in a touchy mood these days since some friends of his wenting missing. Find a different hideout to clear.”
With that, Red Hood jumps down from the roof and onto the van below. The False Facers cry out and scatter. Batman moves from the shadows, catching or restraining the gangsters easily. Red Hood handles the rest. He’s not pulling punches. Peter watches long enough to make sure they have things well in hand, then swings away.
The Red Hood has given him a few things to think about.