Shortly before morning, as Peter dozed, curled up under the roof of a rundown subway station he was pretty sure was being used for weapons deals, it started to rain. It was one of the heaviest storms he'd seen in a while, water crashing violently on the fragile roof above him, shocking him awake.
He blearily opened his eyes, shivering slightly. Frostbite was a serious concern of his, and he was starting to realize than sleeping outside in barely appropriate shelters was taking a heavy toll on his body and mind.
Ever since the previous night, the gun incident, he'd been rattled. It had stung to feel so powerless to know that, no matter what he did, he had no way out of the situation without getting injured.
And then if he got injured, what could he do? There was no one to patch him up anymore.
That was probably the hardest part of it all. As he had kneeled on that dark, damp roof, puking up the only warm food he'd had in days, he had been faced with the oppressive loneliness of his situation. With the fact that he would have no one to laugh this off with, nobody to tell the story to.
Peter didn't think he'd be so afraid of being alone. Even at his most troubled, he always had the knowledge that, somewhere, May was thinking about him, M-J still loved him, Ned would help…
And Mr. Stark, Tony…
He didn't want to think about it.
It was odd, being so terrified of something so intangible. Even as he shivered in the cold rain water, he barely noticed it as he considered the possibility that, maybe, he would indeed stay alone forever.
He shook his head abruptly, trying to drag himself away from his dark thoughts. He had to focus, he was Spider-Man, he was-
But he wasn't really Spider-Man anymore now, was he? His powers were still there but, with how tired and hungry he was, he didn't trust himself to fight more than a couple people at a time. His web fluid was almost out and his suit would not work.
Distantly, he remembered one of the two Other Peters. He had been able to produce his own web biologically, and, like the third of the Spider-Men, his suit did not appear to have any technological upgrades.
He used the man's memory, someone like him, but without any of his gadgets or tricks, to shake himself off of his daze. He gathered his belongings, soberly considering his last can of food. At least he had money.
To his dismay, he had not woken up right as the rain started but, instead, several minutes later. This meant that his clothes, along with the paper he got from the library, were soaked. He regarded the file he compiled, wondering if he could maybe salvage it. It didn't seem likely, the ink had already started to run and most of the pages looked like messes of black and gray.
Disappointment weighed heavily on his mind. He should have though this through better, considered the weather, found a better shelter. Thinking properly, however, was difficult. Hunger was not so much a problem as it once had been, thanks to the pizza from the day before, but exhaustion had settled deep into his bones.
It had been several nights spent in barely functional shelters, almost freezing to death. His sleep, already filled with nightmares, had not been restful. His emotions, frayed from the recent events, were almost unmanageable.
He needed a safe place to rest, to get his bearings. He had not been himself lately, could not be himself with everything that was happening around him.
Peter jumped out of his hiding spot, not hearing anyone else outside in such a weather. As soon as he stepped out from under the broken roof, water crashed on him and went through his clothes. He might as well be naked, that would help about as much.
At four in the morning, according to the giant clock tower he could see in the distance, there weren't many places open and he didn't want to spend his money on a fast food. More supplies could be stretched out from 47$ than he would get off of a burger and fries. He needed more than that to sustain himself, anyways.
Another disturbing thing he had noticed, since he came to, was the deafening quietness of his Spider sense. It had not went off once, not even when guns were drawn on him. The sense, being a somewhat more recent addition to his powers than the wall climbing, super strength and other more physical attributes, was something he was less familiar with. He had never had it up and disappear on him like this before.
Having it go away now of all times was not helping with his general anxious state. At first, he had thought it was just a sign that he was safe, but since last night's delivery, he wasn't so sure anymore. He had been in danger. Yet, it had come as a surprise.
Water poured on him and he started fearing for his money. He had cleaned out one of the cans and stuffed the bills in it, underneath his gloves and mask, to make sure they wouldn't get stolen or damaged as he slept. Now, however, the rain was falling so hard that it might get wet despite all of his efforts.
No fast food, he had decided, but what other place could he hide out in safely and away from the water? He had returned to the Bowery, feeling like its dangers were, at least, familiar to him. It had helped him find a spot for the night, as a lot of buildings were abandoned and only squatted up to the first flew floors. Now, however, it was working against him. The high areas he had used to hide from the gangs and rest up were all poorly protected from the water.
He didn't know where to go.
Aimlessly, Peter walked around the roofs, trying his best not to slip and fall. After a while, he managed to find an emergency staircase that wasn't occupied and was also miraculously somewhat sheltered thanks to a balcony a few dozen feet or so above it. He wriggled his body into the small parts of it that escaped the rain and settled down there, knees against his chest.
Almost as bad as the loneliness, he thought as he watched water drop in front of his eyes, splashing at his feet then falling down to the street below, was the cold. Like New York, Gotham City's weather appeared heavily influenced by the ocean it was built next to. The humidity, however, was even higher than it was back home, somehow. It made the cold able to penetrate through his clothes and set deep into his bones. It had been a while since he had been so cold for so long.
The memory came up in his tired mind, and he did not have the strength to bat it down. Their first winter without Ben. They had spent most of these dark nights huddled together under the two blankets and two coats they owned, sharing the same mattress. After school, May took him to her second job at a coffee shop, where he could sit in the spinning high chairs and get a free pastry, as long as he was nice to the owner.
Peter smiled, remembering how lost and scared he had felt then. Abruptly, his smile soured. As scared as he had been, he could rely on May.
She died because of him.
The thought punched him in the guts, making him clench his fists and close his eyes. He knew it was not true, knew she would be proud of what he had done, would have wanted him to be too, but he was not proud. He felt guilty.
He sat there until the sky started to lighten up, watching the rain fall and listening to the sounds of a somewhat subdued Gotham. Once in a while, he could hear screams. Something in him wanted to go help, he didn't.
He hated himself for it. He was too weak though, too conflicted.
As the sun rose, the rain didn't stop, forcing him to head out under it. The Pizzeria hoodie at least allowed him to protect his face and hair, but the rest of him was shivering badly. He ducked into the first open convenience store he found, breaking down and grabbing a 1$ umbrella from the front. The thing was heavy and probably easily breakable, he would need to get his hand on some tape and string to make sure he could repair it.
Once he felt more confident about the safety of his dollar bills, Peter started looking for any kind of low budget store. There was, to his surprise, a very large number of them scattered throughout the Bowery. Maybe he should have come there on his first day, instead of making his way into the richer districts.
It made sense, in a dark sort of way. Most of those second hand places were also pawn shops, and Peter had noticed a high rate of drug use in the area. He had himself on several occasions had to figure out his way around a drug-withdrawal related crime. If some people were desperate enough to commit crimes when in that state, most of the ones that wouldn't ressort to violence would probably sell their belongings.
Even then, as a thief, you had to sell your loot somewhere.
It was hard for him to understand some of the troubles adults and more unlucky teenagers went through, but he always tried to at least attempt to see it their way. He felt it was only fair, when he beat them up to a pulp, to not assume they were just all doing this because of some inherent evil nature.
His 46$ safely stored, Peter made his way towards the closest of the pawn shop. He tried to, at least.
As he walked, a hand closed on his shoulder, attempting to tug him backwards. Despite his smaller frame, due to his age, he didn't move. It took a lot more than a tug to overcome his super strength. He yanked his shoulder forward, tearing it free from the stranger's grip.
"What the hell, man?" Peter whipped around, coming face to face with two boys, barely older than him.
There was a hollowness to their cheeks that hadn't settled in in his yet and their clothes looked as ragged as his felt over the Spider suit. Both of them were holding weapons, one a knife, the other, a baseball bat.
"Got cash or loot?" The boy who had grabbed him asked, dragging his words slightly. There was an unfocused look to his eyes, but his heartbeat and breathing sounded sober to Peter. Head trauma? Illness? Maybe a speech impediment.
The other boy stepped forward slightly. They were both taller than him but, as long as guns were not involved, the New-Yorker did not have anything to fear in contests of strength. Now, he just had to make sure he fought them off in a way that did not scream "mutant" to them and the people undoubtedly watching from inside the buildings lining the street.
This was going to be harder.
His fingers brushed past his shorts as he tried to figure out how he wanted to handle the situation. As they did, he could feel something hard inside of his pocket. Was it the can? No… it was too small…
With a sudden flash of inspiration, Peter snapped the taser out of his pocket, his speed bordering on unnatural just enough that he helped it wouldn't draw too much attention. It took him a second longer than he hoped to find the correct finger placement but, once he did, electricity sparked menacingly from his weapon.
"Back off." He warned.
The two boys exchanged a look, obviously weighing the risks and benefits of going after him now that he had revealed he wasn't defenseless. They were still two against his one, though, which in their mind meant they still had a chance to win.
Peter was weak enough that he didn't trust himself to dodge several gunshots at point blank range, that did not mean he had lost all of his strength. They didn't know what they were going up against, if they decided to-
Yep.
He saw the first boy's shoulder muscle tense, perspiration dripping down his forehead. His movements seemed slow to Peter. It was terribly easy to strike before the knife moved even a few inches. His hand shot forward with inhuman velocity and wrapped around the attacker's wrist. He squeezed slightly.
In front of him, the taller boy's face paled, as he found himself unable to move his arm any longer. He tried to tug himself free of Peter's grip. Of course, it was in vain.
"What the-"
Abruptly, Peter let go of his wrist and shoved his shoulder into his chest. He tried to put as little strength as he could behind the blow, but it was still more than enough to make his opponent fall backwards, crashing into the ground with a gasp.
In his other hand, he still held the taser, sparking threateningly.
"Back off." He repeated, voice even. His head was thumping, he was starting to feel hungry again.
This time, they listened to him, scrambling away and cursing at him and his mother, father and great-uncle. He watched them leave with a sigh, putting the taser back into his pocket and scratching his head.
At least they didn't notice there was anything odd about him, and he didn't have to actually use the weapon the hero had given him the night before.
Hoping nobody would try to attack him again, he ducked into the store, hand still wrapped around the taser.
Inside, a dark haired woman was sitting behind the counter, looking at her phone. She raised her head when he walked in, narrowing her eyes.
"I have money." Peter spluttered, not wanting to make her think he was going to rob her store.
She shrugged and bent over, taking something out from under the counter. When she sat a revolver down on it, tip turned towards Peter, he let out a long sigh.
"I'm not looking for a fight." He tried "I just want a bag."
"As long as you pay for it, no need for me to use this." The shopkeeper replied, sending him an unamused glare. Not wanting to push his luck, he nodded and elected on ignoring the weapon. The silence from his Spider sense didn't help putting him at ease either.
Riffling through the different bins and shelves in the store, Peter managed to find an old pair of shoes, priced at 12$, and a backpack, for 14. Those were quite an investment, taking a chunk out of his budget, but he couldn't keep walking around in his spider boots. He also needed a way to carry his stuff, at least until he found permanent housing.
Upon seeing him walk to the counter and pull out his bills, the woman relaxed, putting her weapon back into the counter.
His new shoes on and his belongings transferred into the ratty, grey backpack, he hunted down a small clothes store, in which he invested 15$ for underwear and socks.
By the time lunch rolled around, he only had 5$ left out of the 47 he had started the day with. That went into a large jar of peanut butter, a loaf of sliced bread and a pack of beef jerky sticks.
He ended up eating a few slices, having to dip his fingers into the jar, since he still did not have any cutlery, but kept the jerky closed, afraid that it would attract insects if he kept it open. He yawned. Now that he had eaten something, his tiredness was catching up to him. Unfortunately, it was still raining heavily.
And that was how Peter ended up at the Gotham Public Library for the second time that week.
He noticed the high amount of people in the building as he entered it. Obviously, he wasn't the only person with poor living situations who had thought of taking shelter there.
It put a bit of a damper of his plan to doze off in a random chair. With this amount of people there, he didn't feel confident sleeping in public and not getting his bag swiped. There was, of course, nothing of monetary value inside but, to him, it was all he had.
Barbara was there on that day too, although she was too busy at the front desk for him to come and say hi to her. She probably wouldn't even care anyways. He waved at her nonetheless, still grateful that she had shown him kindness at a time of his life when he truly needed it.
Blessedly, two computers were still free on the second floor when he climbed up there. There were a lot less children this time and, Peter, who had not kept track of days, weeks or dates, assumed it must be a school day. He logged in to the guest session.
Well, he had a whole afternoon to spend before heading to the pizzeria, might as well brush up on the vague knowledge he remembered gleaning from the waterlogged documents.
First things first, he went back to the Batman Wikipedia page, remembering about the hero he has met the night before. Obviously, it had not been the bat, Peter remembered that there had been no cape on the stranger's back, but this page linked to many of the other vigilantes active in Gotham. Surely, he would be able to find him.
After reading through the Robin page, which he found fascinating considering his home world did not have hero assistants, or sidekicks as some of the articles called it that he knew of, he ended up somewhere that made him straighten up abruptly.
"Nightwing" he whispered, eyes locked on the small, blurry picture of a man in mid jump, clad in black and blue body armor. There were several changes to his outfit, compared to the one he has seen the night before, but it was similar enough that there was no doubt.
Nightwing had been the first of the Robins, many years ago, before moving away from Gotham to the nearby city of Blüdhaven, which he had been protecting ever since. Peter did remember him mentioning something about coming back, but his headache was stopping him from thinking too hard about it, worsening when he made the mistake of doing so.
To his confusion, the article specified that Nightwing, like Batman, was not suspected of being a "metahuman". The foreign term lead to another page, which he followed.
Metahumans…
From what had been made public of the researches that had been conducted on them, then posted on Wikipedia, metas were this world's equivalent of mutants, being directly connected with a set of genes, specifically one, which was apparently the source of the supernatural abilities they could get.
Unlike the mutants of his universe, most metas were suspected to need a form of trigger or life event to happen, as every iteration of meta abilities came on suddenly and abruptly. At the bottom of the page, a list of suspected meta humans was written. Unsurprisingly, most of them were either superheroes or villains. Neither Batman nor Nightwing, or Robin, for that matter, where in it.
"Metahumans?" A familiar voice read behind him, making him jump violently.
Barbara smiled innocently when he turned towards her, a hand on his chest, heart thumping. How the woman could be so stealthy while in a wheelchair perplexed him somewhat, but her interest in him confused him even more.
"It's interesting." Peter eventually replied, trying his best not to look suspicious. "I never really looked into it."
The look she gave him was dubitative, to say the least. She didn't make any comment though. Just like before, she didn't push him, even though he could tell she was just choosing to let him get away with his lie.
"Aha." She nodded instead. "That they are. You're probably going to meet several of them in Gotham, if you haven't yet in New York."
"Oh I have," Peter said, thinking about the sand person he had just encountered a few days ago. "I met a lizard-man once."
She whistled at that, although not looking overly surprised that such a thing existed. Good, that meant he hadn't blundered.
"We do have a crocodile man, here, but I wouldn't recommend talking to him." She leaned it and whispered : "He's a bit murderous."
Before coming to Gotham, Peter would have assumed she was joking. Now that he had experienced it for himself, he was not so sure.
"Oh gosh!" Barbara gasped. "I almost forgot about this!"
She gestured to her lap, on which sat what appear to be a small pamphlet. After having it handed to him, Peter flipped through the thirty or so laminated pages. Every single one of them was dedicated to a specific criminal and included a picture, a transcription of their dedicated siren rhythm, and a list of things to do and not do in case of an emergency involving them.
Most of the "dos" involved hiding and praying.
"This is called 'Welcome to Gotham'" Barbara told him proudly. "The Library staff had the idea to write it, the GCPD and Wayne Industries helped us make the idea into a reality."
Peter flipped back to the front page of the pamphlet. It was, indeed, named "Welcome to Gotham".
"Did you chose the name?" He asked, smiling despite himself.
She shook her head. "My father did. I think he did pretty well on this one."
"I think so too. Thanks a lot."
"Of course," she said, starting to wheel herself away. "I saw that you were looking up criminals earlier this week, figured you hadn't been given this when you moved in."
Yes, because Peter had not "moved in" and, from the way she said it, Barbara knew that. She let him have his secrets, though, and he was grateful for it.
"I'm Peter." He stammered out, before she got too far away. She turned around in her chair and laughed, smiling at him.
"Welcome to Gotham, Peter!"
Then, she left for good. He sat in front of the computer in silence for a bit, looking back at where she had gone to take the elevator down. She wasn't his friend, she was just doing her job but still… It felt good to talk to someone.