Dark Matter

Peter wanders through Dr. Strange’s library during his dreams. It’s warm, and peaceful, and a tad moody. Clouds gather outside of the Sanctum, flickering with blue-purple lightning. He can’t hear the thunder yet, but he thinks that’s a quirk of the dream more than anything else. The Sanctum is old, and powerful, and a comfort he takes advantage of in his sleep whenever possible.

He finds Loki in the stacks, still paging through that copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. Peter’s more than a little amused by that. He stops and tilts his head.

“Tolkein was wasted on your people,” Loki says idly. “He should have been born an Asgardian.”

“He probably wouldn’t have liked you much,” Peter says.

“That wouldn’t exactly make him unique, now would it?” Loki replies dryly. He waves a hand at Peter. “You can find the sorcerer brooding upstairs.”

Peter knows a dismissal when he hears one. He shrugs and moves past Loki, jogging up the grand staircase to the second floor. The clouds have turned this floor gloomy, muting the golden light that usually filters through the windows. Dr. Strange stands beneath the largest window, looking up at the stormy sky through the dome glass window. The clouds roll and broil, flickering with lightning, illuminating the stony, thoughtful expression on the sorcerer’s face. His cloak floats above his shoulders, though one corner raises and waves at Peter when he draws close.

“Mr. Parker,” Strange says. His voice isn’t quite subdued, but it’s close. He sounds thoughtful, withdrawn, and as the thunder rumbles above, Peter wonders if he should have left the sorcerer to his thoughts.

“Uh, hi, Dr. Strange,” Peter says, standing near the stairs. He shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly anxious. The sorcerer is pretty intimidating, all things considered. And he can’t help but think of Gandalf's famous line about meddling in the affairs of wizards.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure. Usually when I end up in someone’s soul world it’s because they brought me here,” Peter says slowly. “I’m kind of confused why I’m here, though.”

Dr. Strange finally turns away from the storm above, focusing his gaze on Peter. He can see echoes of the storm’s lightning flash behind Strange’s eyes. Peter takes in a deep breath and walks towards him.

“You haven’t talked to me much lately,” Peter says. “I see Wanda when I have nightmares, or Bucky or Sam, and Mr. Fury, Agent Hill, and King T’Challa help me train, but I don’t really see you very much.”

Dr. Strange looks back up at the storm gathering outside. “Mhm.”

“Was it something I said?”

Dr. Strange sighs. “No. You’ve done nothing wrong, Peter.”

“Oh. Good.” He pauses for a moment. “Then what’s wrong?”

“I know what’s coming,” Dr. Strange says simply. “That’s all.”

And then he falls silent and regards the storm outside his sanctum again.

“Do I get to know what’s coming?” Peter asks, tilting his head.

“No,” Dr. Strange says after a moment. “I can’t tell you.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Peter replies. “Okay, so I don’t get any spoilers. Got any advice for me?”

Dr. Strange considers his question, and nods. “Yes. I suppose I can give you some advice. I want you to remember two things. Do you remember what I told you when I gave you the letter?”

“No great thing can be done without sacrifice?” Peter says, half remembering it. “Yeah, I remember that. What’s the other thing?”

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Strange says. It’s sincere and heartfelt, and deeply disturbing.

Peter frowns at him, confused.

“The letter is about to reach its destination. You’ll understand more when that happens. Until then, good night,” Dr. Strange says. A simple gesture sends Peter out of his portion of the Soul Stone and into another. Wanda or T’Challa, perhaps.

* * *

Dr. Strange leaves the upper floor of his sanctum once Peter is sent away. He stalks past rows of bookshelves, his thoughts as stormy as the clouds outside. He pauses at the bookshelf where Loki stands reading. He watches the Asgardian god for a long moment before approaching.

“Can I help you, sorcerer?” Loki asks, keeping his focus on the book in front of him.

“You called Peter here. Why?” Strange asks.

“I could say it’s because I wanted to see you squirm, to gain an edge on you, or to gain a bit of revenge for that stunt you pulled on me back in New York,” Loki says. “But you would rightly deduce that I’m lying to you.”

Strange simply stares at him and waits for him to get to the point.

Loki sighs. “You know, you’ve become significantly less interesting over time. Fine. I brought the boy into your soul to see if I could. I have need of him for something, and I wanted to be sure I could borrow him. Really, you should be thanking me for making the attempt where he's relatively safe.”

“If you harm him--”

“You and I both know that would be utterly pointless. You aren’t the only one with the gift of foresight,” Loki remarks dryly.

Dr. Strange has nothing he can say to that.

“I will borrow him for one night. That is all I need.”

“Fine,” Strange says. Perhaps Loki’s meant to do this. He only knows the highs and lows of this timeline; the finer details had eluded him on Titan, and he simply didn’t have the energy or time to waste to learn the whole of it. Regardless, Loki will have his way. “But only one night.”

Loki smiles. He knows Dr. Strange has no way of stopping him if he decides to borrow Peter’s consciousness beyond that. Dr. Strange stares at him for a moment longer, then turns and leaves the God of Mischief to his reading.

* * *

He’s exhausted by the time he reaches the bus stop, and wonders if he may have overdone it last night. His usual fatigue hasn’t faded in the least, and his footsteps feel heavier than normal. Maybe going on a quick patrol before meeting up with Red Hood was a poor choice.

“Extra training isn’t doing you any favors. Not with the amount of food you’re getting right now,” Bucky says. “You’re burning more calories than you’re taking in.”

Which is...well. True. His school uniform feels a bit roomier than it should at the moment. He should start looking for another job. There has to be something, right? Something other than Wayne Enterprises internships, anyway. Peter isn’t eager to take a job from a man he’s stolen from, and he’s already an intern for a rival company. Technically. Kind of. And anyway, he can’t pay back the money he stole with money he earned from the same guy. That doesn’t accomplish anything.

If he gets much hungrier, all bets are off, though.

Lou hands him a couple of sandwiches as he climbs onto the bus and Peter takes them both gratefully. He drops down in his usual seat with a sigh, scooting out of the way of the businessman who usually follows him onto the bus.

The guy has a breakfast burrito in hand, and fumbles with it while paying his fare. He drops it and sighs as it splatters across his shoes and the floor. “Ah, crap.”

He kneels down and cleans it up as quickly as he can, using his copy of The Daily Planet to clear away his mess. Peter sets aside his sandwiches and ducks down to help, and the guy smiles at him gratefully. Peter realizes the business man isn’t much older than he is. Maybe three years at most, but the guy has the kind of face that makes him look younger than he really is.

Lou holds out a small trash can for them, squinting at the paper. “The Daily Planet?”

“I like to keep up with things,” the man says, sitting down at his usual seat behind Peter. “So much for today’s copy. And my breakfast. I haven’t had anything since lunch yesterday.”

“Sounds like they’re working you like a dog,” Lou says, closing the bus doors and putting it into gear.

“You have no idea,” the man replies.

“Here, take one of mine. I can spare it.” Peter offers the man one of his sandwiches, and the guy brightens.

“No, you can’t,” Fury says.

Peter pointedly ignores him.

“Hey, thanks,” the man says, taking the offered sandwich with one hand and holding out his hand with the other. “I’m Jimmy. Jimmy Olsen.”

Peter takes his hand. “Peter. You aren’t from Gotham, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Jimmy asks with a wry grin while unwrapping the sandwich. “Guess it would be. Gotham knows their own on sight. No, I’m from Metropolis. Born and raised.”

“Oh. What brings you to Gotham?"

"Doing research for the Planet," Jimmy says, shrugging. "Just some background stuff for one of the reporters back home."

“Yeah? What’s the big scoop?” Peter asks. He likes Jimmy; there’s an earnest air about the guy that just clicks with Peter.

"That new truancy law, mostly. I'm almost done with it. In fact, my ticket home is slated for tomorrow,” Jimmy says around a mouthful of sandwich. “And, no offense, thank god for that. I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to. Usually I follow one of the investigative reporters around while they do the research, but my regular guy is off sick or something. He’s been out for awhile, actually.”

He pauses, frowns, and considers that for a moment. Peter finishes up his sandwich, bracing himself when the bus slows to his stop, and grabs his backpack, standing up. Jimmy perks up when he sees Peter start to leave.

“Hey, if you’re ever in Metropolis, swing by the Daily Planet so I can pay you back for the sandwich,” he says.

“I’ll do that,” Peter says, tromping down the bus steps and through the doors.

He has no intention of taking Jimmy up on that offer, no matter how sincere it sounds. What on earth would Peter be doing in Metropolis anyway?

* * *

Tim is withdrawn, pale, and intensely focused on his phone and notebook for most of the day. To the point of only sparing Peter a brief nod when Peter sits down beside him in class. Peter leaves him be, worried by the fevered pulse of his friend’s heartbeat. He takes notes for both of them during their classes, and confronts him during home room.

“Hey, are you sure you should be here?” Peter asks. “You look, uh. Bad.”

“You’re a regular poet, Parker,” Bucky says.

Shut up.

“I’m fine. Just focused. I get like this sometimes,” Tim says, distracted. He picks up his coffee cup--a new one, not the one he had at the start of the day, Peter notes, with some despair--takes a deep drink.

“Should you be drinking coffee with a fever that high?” Peter asks, frowning.

“Probably not, no,” Tim says, before taking another deep drink. Peter reaches over and takes the cup from him and he huffs. “Hey. That’s mine.”

“No more coffee, you’re going to blow up your heart,” Peter retorts. He pauses, then squints at the phone and notebook on Tim’s desk while keeping Tim’s cup of coffee well out of his reach. “What’s this?”

“Spider-Man,” Tim says, dropping back into his chair with a huff when it becomes clear that Peter won’t let him have his coffee back. “He’s a new guy on the superhero scene. Nobody knows who he is or where he came from.”

“So you’re, what, studying him? Your chemistry notes aren’t this exhaustive,” Peter says, amused. And a little disturbed. There are sketches of Peter’s nightly patrols, with dates, times, and places neatly marked on the notebook. Not even Flash had been this detail oriented with Spider-Man’s habits.

“Yes. I keep track of all of the superheroes in town. And this guy came out of nowhere,” Tim says simply. He picks up his pen. “”Right around the time things started getting weird around Gotham, too. That’s a little odd.”

“Maybe he just has bad timing,” Peter tries.

“Maybe. Or he’s connected to the weird stuff happening. You know I heard the Bats don’t know who he is? That won’t last for very long.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, a tiny bit wary.

“Batman is literally the greatest detective in the world,” Tim says, offhandedly. “He knows everyone’s secret identity. Or he learns it eventually.”

“Huh,” Peter says idly. Is that why Batman followed him awhile back? “I haven’t seen Batman around lately.”

“Well, you aren’t a criminal, so that’s not a big surprise,” Tim says, amused. “And rumor is he’s busy somewhere. Nightwing’s running the show right now.”

“Good choice. Nightwing’s cool,” Peter says. “Hey, where’s Duke?”

“At home,” Tim says. “He’s got the worst of my cold right now.”

“Shouldn’t you be at home, then?” Peter says, eyeing the coffee in his hand warily. His immune system is worlds beyond what it was before the bite, but he really can’t afford a cold right now.

“Yeah, probably,” Tim says. He reaches for the spot where his coffee normally is on his desk, pauses, then squints at Peter. “Hey. Can I have my coffee back?”

“No,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “If you get any more flighty, I’m carrying you back to your fancy mansion.”

“That’d be one way to get you there,” Tim mutters under his breath.

Peter politely ignores that.

* * *

Peter drops into Wayne Memorial Plaza, but he keeps to the shadows this time, wary of another attack from behind. He stalks the shadows of the mournful shopping area, moving silently and quickly. He avoids the playground, the restaurant, and the years old bloodstains that cover both. He doesn’t want to get too close to those, not even to get a jump on Red Hood. And that’s what he plans to do tonight: catch Red Hood off guard. Peter wants to show him that he may have been on the defensive last night, but that won’t happen tonight. He isn’t the best at hand to hand, but he’s a quick learner, and he knows better than to just drop into plain sight without scoping out his surroundings this time. Red Hood had driven that particular lesson home quite handily last night.

It’s raining tonight; one of those steady soaking rains that’s pleasant to listen to when inside with family, and utterly miserable to be caught outside in. Peter’s suit isn’t quite waterproof, but it keeps him dry enough, and when he skitters up and under an awning, the rain is no longer a problem. Bonus: he’s perfectly hidden, snuggled among the shadows out of sight.

Now all he has to do is wait for Red Hood to arrive. He settles in. He can stay still for a long time if he needs; it helps if he’s upside down, too. He’s not sure why. It just feels natural.

Time passes. The rain eases up. No sign of Red Hood. Where the hell is he? Is this one of his tests? Or is he hurt somewhere? Peter’s seen him swing through Crime Alley every now and then. He’s in and out within an hour, usually. Maybe he’s hurt--

A young woman in a dark suit with a purple cloak drops down in the center of the plaza. She’s not trying to be stealthy. She barely even gives her surroundings a second look, perfectly at ease. Peter tilts his head, and prepares to swing out of the shadows--

Someone grabs his shoulder from the darkness, right behind him.

His reaction is a startled shriek, flail, and then a wholly undignified flop onto his back. He finds himself staring up at the Black Bat, who blends into the darkness absurdly well. And who is also immune to his spider senses, apparently. Maybe he has gotten too reliant on them.

Black Bat stares down at him with a curious tilt to her head. Spoiler saunters over and kneels down above him, smirking through her mask. “Hi, new kid.”

Her voice is electronic at the edges, masking her true voice, whatever it may be. It sounds much cleaner than Peter’s own modulator. Peter stares past her and up at the sky for a moment before looking at her and then the Black Bat. “Hi. You guys aren’t Red Hood.”

“Nope, we’re way cooler,” Spoiler says. Black Bat offers one gauntleted hand to Peter. “Red’s busy tonight, so you get to hang out with us.”

“Oh,” Peter says. He takes Black Bat’s offered arm and stands up with her help. “He, uh, didn’t mention that.”

"He's big on surprises."

"I gathered," Peter says, brushing himself off. “So are you two, apparently.”

“It’s a Bat thing. If it makes you feel better, no one is better at sneaking around than Black Bat.”

“Usually no one can sneak up on me,” Peter says ruefully. “It’s happening more and more often these days. Not a fan of that.”

“We’re a sneaky bunch,” Spoiler says. “Are you up for a little detective work tonight?”

“Uh, sure,” Peter says.

“Cool. First things first, your gift.”

He tilts his head when Black Bat approaches him and holds out a small box with a post-it note on top of it with the words ‘A gift for the new guy’ and the Batman symbol drawn beneath in a flowing, feminine hand. He takes it, looking it over for a moment, before opening it up.

It’s an earpiece. Small, elegantly made, and clearly very powerful. Peter takes it out of the box, and turns away from Black Bat and Spoiler, examining it closely. Peter’s seen headsets like these before. He’s built them into his own suit in Tony’s lab. He knows what they should look like and what they should feel like, even in a universe that hasn’t been invaded by aliens. And he knows it should only be half as large as it currently is. There should be a seam along the back--Ah. There it is.

He gently pops off the back half of it and crushes it in his hand before rolling his mask up to put it into his ear. Spoiler seems amused by his actions. Black Bat merely tilts her head to one side.

A very amused, and slightly exasperated voice greets him. “Hi, Spider-Man. I see you’ve found your gift. And broken it already.”

“I didn’t break it, I just took off the tracker you tacked onto it,” Peter says calmly, rolling his mask back down. “I don’t trust you guys enough to have you follow me home, sorry.”

“Fair enough. I’m Oracle. I act as a one woman support network for all of the heroes in Gotham City. You’ve just been given the green light from Red Hood, which makes you a part of the team.”

Huh. He must’ve impressed Red Hood last night. More than he expected. “I didn’t think he had that many friends.”

“He likes to pretend he doesn’t,” Spoiler says. She and Black Bat pull out grappling hook guns, take aim, and launch them into the sky. “Come on, we’ll fill you in on tonight’s job.”

With that, they leap into the sky, swinging back up towards the rooftops of Gotham. Peter is quick to follow them. To his surprise, they don’t stick to Crime Alley. They move away from it completely, heading towards the southern end of the island. Mist and fog obscure some of the taller buildings, and Peter is forced to be much more careful than he usually is while swinging. He knows Crime Alley’s buildings by heart, but he’s not as familiar with buildings outside of that district.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Peter asks, swinging between Black Bat and Spoiler.

He isn’t used to swinging with people. On his few team ups with the other Avengers, he’d simply stick a web to one of his teammate’s boots and hitch a ride. Rhodey, Tony, and Vision all have the ability to fly, after all. It’s just quicker to hitch a ride from one of them. It takes a few moments, but he finds his rhythm and swings with them easily. Black Bat gives him an approving look once he hits his stride.

“We’re checking out a place Nightwing and Robin found during their patrol last night. A lab of some kind. Some mutant creatures attacked one of our own a little awhile back and hurt him pretty badly. Nightwing says they came from the lab he found,” Spoiler says.

“The manbats,” Peter says.

“Exactly. Well, not exactly. There’s only one Manbat that exists, and Dr. Langstrom is currently serving out his prison sentence in Blackgate,” Spoiler says.

“The creatures that attacked Signal weren’t anything we’ve seen before, but most people call them ‘manbats’ anyway. I guess they think of it as a joke. I guess they do kind of look like bats from afar,” Oracle says, cutting in.

“Right, I heard Signal got hurt. Is he all right?” Peter asks

“He’ll heal, but it’ll take some time,” Oracle says. And god, her voice is familiar. “He heals a little faster than the rest of us. A benefit of his powers.”

“I thought Batman had a rule about that,” Peter says after a moment, his tone wary and questioning. “You know. The whole ‘no metas in Gotham’ thing.”

“With Batman, there are exceptions to every rule,” Spoiler remarks. “Otherwise he would’ve run you out of town a long time ago.”

“Comforting.”

“That rule is mostly meant to keep Justice League members from coming in and ‘fixing’ Gotham,” Oracle says. “They mean well, but they don't know Gotham, and they aren't capable of handling things here.”

“Oh,” Peter says. “So, Batman doesn’t hate metas.”

“No, Spider-Man, he doesn’t,” Oracle says, and there’s a touch of sympathy in her voice. “Is that why you avoided him for so long?”

“Among other reasons, yeah,” Peter mumbles. They move in silence after that, and Peter mulls over this new information. It doesn't last long; they're covering a lot territory in a short amount of time.

“We’re here,” Spoiler says. She motions towards a foreboding building set near the southern dock yards.

The fog hangs heavily over the dark building, adding to the ominous air surrounding it. Its windows are dark, and it seems to shrug off the paltry light glowing from the street lights below. Rain runs down its sides in steady streams, and Peter wonders how any of the buildings in Gotham manage to stay so dingy and depressing under all of this rain. The three of them drop down on top of the roof. No alarms sound off, and there are no guards that Peter can sense nearby. Though that doesn’t prove anything, given his recent track record.

“I’ve had an eye on this place all day. No one’s gone in or out,” Oracle says. “But be careful going inside.”

“Got it,” Spoiler says.

Black Bat pops open the door on the roof in seconds, and heads inside. Spoiler motions for Peter to follow her, and the three of them duck inside and down the dim stairwell leading into a laboratory.

The lab is strange, dark, and silent. Strange, soot gray machines with odd buttons line the walls and a part of the floor. There aren’t any monitors in sight, but there is a series of black tanks in the far corner. Fluorescent lights shine uncertain light across the scene, and Peter’s thankful for his enhanced sight. Without it, this place would be nothing more than dark shadows and shapeless machines.

Black Bat and Spoiler split up from him and begin poking around the strange room and stranger machines. Peter hangs back, looking over the room, and fights back an unsettling wave of deja vu. A few months ago, he woke up in a room not unlike this one, and that thought sets off a low hum of unease in the back of his mind. There’s a click in the comm link; Oracle is isolating his channel from the others.

“Gotham’s been in a state of low grade emergency for the past six months. Between the bat creatures, the Scarecrow’s new fear gas, the Arkham breakout, and the Justice League calling on Batman constantly, things have been tense,” Oracle says. “It started with the bat creatures. At first, it was just one or two, but they started to flock together. Never more than six at a time, which is good for us. If there were more of them, we wouldn’t be able to hold them off.”

Peter moves away from Black Bat and Spoiler, heading for the dark tanks in the far corner. “What happens when they show up? I haven’t seen them in Crime Alley.”

“Usually they ignore people. They’re looking for something--or someone--and don’t pay any attention to people or things that get in their way. Until they attacked Signal, at least,” Oracle says. “He followed them to a city bus and tried to draw them away from it.”

Peter stills for a moment, then keeps moving. “Why did they attack that bus?”

“Signal thinks they found what they were looking for, whatever it was. The bus was packed with early morning commuters, so we can’t narrow down who or what they wanted,” Oracle says. “Not that it matters. He and Red Hood have been hunting the things down ever since they showed up. We’re pretty sure those three that attacked the bus were the last ones.”

Thank God, Peter thinks. He remembers the bat creature’s eyes focusing on him through the bus’s windshield all too clearly. They were looking for him. But he wasn’t even here six months ago. Why would they start looking for him before he got here?

“And none of the people on the bus seemed suspicious?” Peter asks quietly. He stops near one of the black tanks and idly taps one of the controls. It accomplishes nothing, which isn’t surprising. Makes him feel better though.

“Not at all,” Oracle says. “Everyone on that bus is painfully normal. Minus the brave kid that ran out to fight the things with his backpack. Signal’s been singing his praises for awhile.”

Peter perks up at that, smiling beneath his mask. He taps one last button on the black tank, prepared to give it up for a lost cause. It slides open. A bat creature falls out of the tank and onto the ground.

Peter leaps back, trense and prepared to fight--and then stops. The creature doesn’t move. It isn’t breathing. He can’t hear its heart beating. It’s dead. He straightens up and approaches it slowly, looking it over. This one died awhile ago, judging by the smell, but it hasn’t started to rot. Peter crouches down to get a better look at it.

Its wings are batlike, but that’s where the comparison to natural life ends. Everything else about the mutated and misshapen thing is distinctly other in a way that makes Peter’s skin crawl. There are two beady eyes set in the skull, but no nose, and no ears. Just a row of needle sharp teeth that match the three massive claws that make up the creature’s hands.

Out of curiosity, he reaches out and touches the creature. It feels soft and slick and wrong, like a tomato that’s smooth and ripe on the outside, but a rotten black beneath. It isn’t from Earth. He knows that on an instinctual level. But it also seems familiar somehow, in a way he can’t quite reckon with his own memories.

“Outrider,” Loki hisses in the back of his mind. Others murmur in agreement or aggravation when he speaks.

Peter doesn't know what he means. He's never seen one of these before.

There are bits of metal embedded into its skin. Too small to be armor. Something electronic, maybe. He kneels down to take a closer look, tracing the outline of one beneath his finger. Definitely electronic, he decides. A transmitter or something like it, though he doesn't see how it could be turned on or off or even controlled. Maybe this thing is half robot?

"Find anything?" Spoiler asks over his shoulder.

"No, not really," he answers, though the word outrider almost slips out. “Just a dead monster. You?”

“No,” Spoiler says with a sigh. “But that isn’t surprising. This place is abandoned. Whoever made these things are long gone, and they weren’t nice enough to leave a forwarding address.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Peter says. Outrider is still echoing inside his mind. He can’t understand the significance.

“Probably. Looks like your first detective detail ended in a bust,” Spoiler says. She shrugs. “Sorry.”

“In this case, I’ll take it. I don’t want to be anywhere close to whatever made this thing,” Peter says.

“We should clear this place out and send what we find over to Batman to look through,” Oracle says, half to herself. “Spoiler, Black Bat, can you standby while I get that figured out? I think I can have Red Robin there in thirty minutes or less.”

Spoiler looks over at Black Bat who nods. “Yeah, Oracle, we can definitely hang out in the murder lab for a little while.”

“Thanks. Spidey, feel free to hang out. Red Robin would love to meet you,” Oracle says.

“No thanks,” Peter says, heading for the stairs. Normally, he’d skitter up the wall, but he’s not eager to touch the strange machines covering the wall. “No offense to Red Robin, but I’m not hanging out here any longer than I need to.”

“That’s fair,” Spoiler says. “Clocking out for the night?”

“More or less.” His exhaustion from this morning never really went away, and it weighs on him heavier than ever. “I’ll probably do a spot check around the Alley and turn in.”

“Be safe,” Oracle says as he walks out onto the roof. “Call if you need anything. You’re not in this alone anymore, remember that.”

“Got it,” Peter says. And then he turns off the headset. He knows how easily those are to trace, too.

* * *

Spoiler watches Spider-Man leave and turns to look at Black Bat. She tilts her head after a moment and says, “You recognized him.”

Black Bat is silent for a long moment, and then raises her hand and makes a so-so motion.

As always, Spoiler understands her meaning. “You have suspicions.”

Black Bat nods.

“Are you going to share with the class?” Oracle says.

Another pause, and then Black Bat gently shakes her head.

“Guess I’ll just have to wait until Tim finds out, then,” Oracle says. “He may be grounded from patrol, but he definitely hasn’t been grounded from the Batcave, and he’s taken interest in our new spider friend.”

Spoiler laughs. “Spider-Man might as well say goodbye to his secret identity, then. How long do you think it’ll take before Tim figures it out?”

Black Bat considers the question, then makes a few quick signs. She’s much more comfortable with sign rather than speech, and she, Batman, Oracle, and Spoiler have developed their own private language. She shares another version with the rest of the Bat crew, but only Batman, Oracle, and Spoiler know this one.

“A month? Really?” Spoiler says.

“Mm, I could see it. Spider-Man’s crafty, and he doesn’t want us trailing after him yet. He might even give Tim a run for his money,” Oracle says. She taps a few keys on her keyboard. “All right, Tim and Duke are on their way with a truck.”

* * *

Felicia Hardy tucks the blueprints of LexCorp’s latest weapon into the satchel across her shoulder, somewhat bemused by Lex Luthor’s utter obsession with Superman. The man’s technology is impressive, and useful for her needs, but the fact that he’s wasted all of his engineers on designing weapons to fight a single guy is exasperating. At least in her universe Tony Stark eventually used his technology to better society. She doubts LexCorp will follow in Stark Industries footsteps. Which makes all of his stuff free for the taking as far as she’s concerned.

She slips out of the twentieth floor window and leaps into the foggy night, shooting off her grappling hook gun. She starts to swing back towards Gotham’s East End district, careful to avoid areas where the Bats have been patrolling. She’s run into Nightwing and Red Hood briefly, and she’s not eager to repeat the experience.

She’s halfway home when the clouds above flash with lightning, illuminating a figure in blue and red. Spider-Man. She doesn’t know how long he’s been tailing her, but he picks up his pace once he realizes she can see him. Dammit. She doesn’t need this. Normally she wouldn’t mind a good chase, but not tonight.

She changes direction, swinging low and into the alleys at the edge of the Bowery. He gives chase, because of course he does. She tries to lose him in the towering skyscrapers that cover the Bowery, changing angle, direction, and speed, and can’t quite manage it. It isn’t surprising, but it’s very aggravating.

She makes a split second decision, swinging between two hulking skyscrapers and above an usually wide alley. She recalls her grappling hook, aims it, and shoots. It jams, clicks, and shoots on a delay, the hook wobbling off target.

And suddenly, Felicia is in free fall. The grappling hook fell short, and she doesn’t have enough time to recall it or aim it or, really, do anything to save herself. She can only fall and watch her rapidly approaching death. To think, she survived the Decimation only to end up here with Spider-Man. And here she is, about to splatter across the ground in front of him. She cringes, raising her arms to shield her face, as if that will do anything more than shatter her arms first--

Something flies past her and bounces onto the ground. A small thing, barely larger than a hockey puck, with small LEDs blinking across the top of it. It blinks once, twice, and then a wave of blue-purple light erupts from it, catching the rain drops from the sky and suspending them in mid air.

Felicia hits it hard, but instead of shattering every bone in her body, she merely gets the wind knocked out of her. It feels like falling into a giant beanbag; the force of her fall is spread out and away from her, causing the blue field around her to ripple and undulate like water. Felicia gasps for breath, flopping back into the field. Her hands are trembling and her heart is beating hard enough that she can hear it echoing inside her ears. That had been close.

“Well, that’s one way to catch a cat burglar,” Spider-Man says. He’s perched on a thin ledge above her. His hands are shaking too, just a bit. “Good thing I’m good at inventing things and have a decent throwing arm, huh?”

“You haven’t caught me yet,” Felicia gasps. She tries to sit up. And doesn’t move. The force field didn’t just break her fall and save her life. It’s a trap. Oh, that son of a---

“I mean, yeah, I kind of have,” Spider-Man says. She can hear the smugness in his tone even through that ridiculous voice modulator.

Felicia locks eyes with him through his mask, narrows her eyes, and thinks in that special way that always shifts her luck from bad to good. The bricks beneath Spider-Man’s feet suddenly shift by a miniscule degree before falling off of the building. Spider-Man flails, scrambles for purchase against the slick wall of the building, and then falls directly into the dumpster below. He lands inside with an echoing thunk! loud enough to make her teeth rattle. At the same time, the force field shrinks and collapses, allowing her to stand on her own two feet easily.

Okay, that had worked too well. What the hell is with Spider-Man’s luck?

“Are you dead? You legally have to tell me if you’re dead,” she says quietly, snatching up the small hockey puck device and approaching the dumpster. She didn’t mean to hurt him, for god’s sake. She peers into the dumpster, makes a face at the smell, and reaches down to check Spider-Man’s pulse. She finds it easily; a strong and steady beat. “Did you just pass out?”

No response. If he’s faking, he’s doing an obscenely admirable job at it. Felicia Hardy bites her lip, unsure of what to do. She can’t just leave him in a pile of cold garbage after saving her life. That’s just uncalled for. Plus, she kind of enjoys their little game of cat and mouse. Or cat and spider, in this case.

And, well, he is her hometown hero. Just in a different universe.

“--check for head wounds--” something hisses nearby.

Felicia startles, looking around the alley. Something stirs in the shadows, but a closer look reveals nothing more substantial than an empty styrofoam cup rolling across the cracked asphalt. She shakes her head; she’s been staying out too late this past week and it’s clearly taking its toll.

She reaches into the dumpster and hauls Spider-Man out of it. He groans, leaning back against her until she can lay him out on the cold ground. She crouches beside him, hesitates, and then sighs.

“Okay, so, don’t hold this against me,” she mutters, gently rolling up his mask. She stares at Spider-Man’s face for a moment, frowning in confusion. “Spider-Man is the nerd from history class? Are you kidding me?”

Spider-Man--Peter Parker--has nothing to say to that. Which is probably for the best. She checks him for head wounds, gently running her hand through his hair to check for breaks in his skin or a massive lump indicating a concussion. She finds neither; just that streak of premature white hair above his right temple. She’d always been fascinated by that during class. Peter melts into her touch and snuggles into her hand. Which is admittedly cute.

She rolls his mask back over his face and contemplates what to do from here. She can’t just leave him out here, in the depths of Crime Alley, unconscious. That’s tantamount to murder, and she’s no murderer. She could find one of the Bats; Nightwing and Red Hood have been showing up in the Alley more and more often lately. They would help. She could also, theoretically, take him home with her and try to explain his presence to Selina. That probably won’t go anywhere productive. Selina is beyond patient with Felicia, but she probably won’t let her drag some idiot from the Bat crew into her apartment uninvited. Felicia considers her options, weighing the small device Peter used to save her life in her hands.

Peter stirs, sitting up with a low groan. “Wha’ happen--”

“You fell,” Felicia says, backing away to give him some space. “Are you okay?”

Peter staggers up, and shakes his head slowly. He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. I’ve fallen much further than that before.”

That’s a horrifying thought. “Good thing you’re tougher than you look.”

“That’s me. The toughest guy in Gotham City,” Peter mutters, rubbing the back of his head with a wince. She can recognize his voice now, even with the voice modulator. “So, are you going to return the blueprints you stole or--”

“Nope. And I’m totally keeping this, too,” Felicia says, holding up his antigrav device. “Thanks for the souvenir, Spidey!”

“What---hey! I only have one of those--”

Felicia smirks, aims her grappling hook gun above her head and shoots it. She winks at Peter and launches herself into the Gotham night. She swings back towards Selina’s apartment, half expecting Peter to follow her, but he doesn’t. She’s disappointed by that, but the guy did give himself some potential brain damage saving her life. Maybe she should cut him some slack.

She’s definitely paying him a visit during class tomorrow.