It was quiet in Veck's Mercedes.

Gentle humming from the windshield wipers provided an oddly comforting break from the silence in short intervals. At least this time, Veck let Peter ride in the passenger seat. Peter could imagine the thoughts going through Veck's mind. How a twenty year old kid was capable of the back to back impressive feats. First, the robbery. Then saving Purgatory, or at least, the men that belonged to it. Peter still had yet to crawl on any walls, shoot any webs, or give away anything too obvious that he was Spider-Man in hiding. Again, he drilled it into his head that he had to be careful. It just so happened he found himself in life or death situations too often to consider such cautions.

Veck had picked him up immediately, taking the captain of Purgatory's advice, and allowing Peter to graduate a couple of steps up from a "scrub." With his eyes focused on the dimly lit streets, Veck cruised towards northern uptown, where the quality of life was light years ahead of what Peter had lived through the past few days. Veck shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road as he finally addressed his passenger.

"Look, I dunno how you do what you do. But you're turnin' out to be quite the lucky charm for us. The Joker would be proud of you."

"That mean I at least get to get his autograph? A strand of his hair in a little baggie or someth-?"

"Not yet. I told you before, kid. The Joker is damn near untouchable. Not even I get to see him unless he calls me. And I'm one of his right hand men." Peter sucked his teeth and turned back to gazing at the hazy window. "But. Even though you're new, I'll make an exception." Veck took his arm off the wheel to tap Peter. "Anything you want. It's yours. At least for tonight." Glancing down at the car's digital clock, Veck corrected himself. It was one o'clock in the morning. "Morning. My treat."

"Dude. Honestly. I just want a safe, quiet place to sleep. And a hot shower. Uh, preferably not next to other guys." Such a basic bathing option wasn't a luxury afforded to him at Purgatory. Peter shuddered, rather not wanting to think about it.

Veck arched an eyebrow as he rounded a street that would lead further into uptown. "That's it? You don't-"

"Yeah, that's it," Peter quickly reiterated. Out of his peripheral vision, Veck could see the irritation and fatigue in Peter's eyes. Such was the case for most men that came out of Purgatory, often polar opposites of how they were at the beginning. A small part of Veck was relieved that Peter didn't have to stay longer than a few days, especially knowing what skills the young man possessed. "You can crash at my place. It's got everything you asked for. Just one catch… It's not very quiet."


Up ahead, Peter spotted a pool house tucked away in an earthy corridor. They were far up northern Gotham, a few minutes away from the core city. Already, Peter could hear muffled EDM music blasting from the house, eliciting a sigh from him. Veck wasn't lying. Peter wouldn't be getting any sleep for the rest of the early morning. Expensive cars and SUVs lined the illuminated driveway that Veck pulled into, gradually approaching an indoor car port where people, probably criminals, were standing around. They looked a little too dressed up, a little too much like ditsy celebrities, to be criminals, but Peter fired off his assumptions anyway.

Pulling the car to a stop just at the base of the carport, Veck parked and nodded at Peter as he undid his seatbelt. "You can probably tell, I let the boys get a head start. We party like this every weekend."

"Wait, this is you?" Peter asked, pointing toward the front of the pool house.

Veck smirked. "This is me." Both men stepped out of the car, Veck resting his arms on the roof as he spoke across it. "Boss takes good care of the ones who get shit done. You keep up the hustle and maybe this'll be you too," Veck twirled around slowly with his arms stretched out. "The house, the car, and all the bells and whistles that come with 'em."

Flicking his head up toward the second floor of the house, Veck gave a perverted smile at the bikini-clad women in his outdoor pool. Peter shook his head, blowing his lips out as the two headed inside. That type of life wasn't for him. Riches meant nothing to him. Shrugging his shoulders as he walked down the hall, Peter made that clear to Veck.

"Somebody has to be the guy that gets the small cut. And I'm cool with being that guy. Got my board," he said, lifting his DGK deck. He then pointed to his hypnotizing grin. "And I got my smile. Figure that's all I need."

Veck cringed. "Not if you want people to take you seriously." He playfully snatched the board and smirked. "I mean, come on. You gonna give one of those hotties a ride home on the back of a fucking skateboard?" The EDM got louder the further they walked down the hall, approaching the main room on the first floor. "C'mon, Ben. It was okay to be humble when you had to. But you don't have to anymore," Veck said, putting his arm around Peter's shoulders. "You're one of our boys now. The Joker's boys. And that shit, my man, is nothing to be humble about. You should flaunt that shit everywhere you go, and take advantage of all the perks," he said, pausing to admire two women walking past them that hadn't bothered to cover up their breasts.

"Good morning, Mr. Simms."

"Ladies." Veck looked back at Peter letting his eyebrows dance on his forehead. "Aaaall the perks. C'mon, Ben. Let me show you what you've been missin' out on."*

Laughter and music filled the living room space, along with a handful of thugs and celebrity look alikes from one end to the other. Upon Veck's arrival, everyone cheered at his entrance, backing up his claim that he was one of the Joker's highest profile men. Peter stayed at the entrance to the room, against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He was too tired to give thought into "playing" into his role. At the moment, he could care less. It was only a matter of time when he was noticed though, with one of the thugs pointing at him from across the room on a white leather sofa.

"This the guy?" He asked, beckoning Peter over.

Veck nodded. "In the flesh."

Peter walked into the room, eyes from everyone crawling over his body. He knew what they were thinking. How such an unexpecting "kid" could live up to the growing reputation he was already making. Somebody lowered the music, contributing to the slower atmosphere he found himself in. Maybe it was the fatigue, but Peter felt himself moving in slow motion, almost as if he were in an ocean of some sort.

"Get your ass over here, champ! That's right, this seat's yours," the thug said, making space for him on the sofa.

Sinking into his plush seat, a woman clad in fishnet lingerie slid next to Peter, wine glass in one hand, and the other slithering around his neck. "Damn, he's so young." She murmured, a faint accent to her voice. Suddenly, he felt much more awake. Hyperware, in fact, thanks to her practically gluing herself to him. She was exotic. Perhaps South American from her accent, golden skin, and curly black hair. She took amusement in Peter's fluster, especially with how often he snatched his eyes back, only to have them drift down towards the left where her legs sat curled up against his own.

"How old are you," she asked.

Too fast and too hard, Peter shook his head. "I dunno." Cringing and cursing himself at his nervous instinct, he reminded himself to try and be as calm as possible. Of course, it didn't help that Peter hadn't touched a woman since Gwen's passing. And before Gwen, relationships weren't even a thought to him.

"You don't know?" She asked in a teasing tone, flipping her hair and stifling a chuckle with her glass. Some of the others in the room were starting to laugh and murmur among each other. It wasn't looking good for his "badass" act.

"I mean, I-I do, but, I dunno, take a guess."

"I'm hoping you're at least eighteen."

"He's twenty." Veck said, offering some support as he poured a glass for himself. "No need to go easy on him." He stood up straight and addressed the room. "And quit clownin' him. Kid's probably never had his whistle wet, so this is new to him. He's one of those skater types, so he probably never got much action besides the local PTA mom comin' to kick him out the parking lot."

Everyone laughed. It reminded him of high school, getting picked on and ridiculed.

"Skateboarder, hmm? You must know a lotta tricks. Any you wanna show me?" She asked, running her index up and down his neck. Thinking too fast, Peter used it as an opportunity to focus on a comfort topic for him.

Sitting up slightly, he began rambling. "U-Uh, actually, yeah! Not too long ago, I, uh, mastered a trick called a 'laser flip.'" She opened her mouth to inquire, but was caught off by Peter's even faster mouth, geeking out about. "It's pretty notorious in the skater community for, I dunno, being, like, one of the hardest tricks to master." A nervous chuckle escaped his lips as he continued. "And, yeah, I did it stationary, so now, I just gotta do it moving, and…" Peter paused, taking in the combination of amused and uninvested looks on everyone. He nervously scratched under his eye and deflated, sinking back all the way into the seat. "I dunno, I just… I just love physics. And I love angles. And I also love gravity. And, I dunno, skating just lets me push those things to their limits." Finally, he found a little strength to look the woman in her eyes. "And I love pushing things to their limits." He snapped his head away from her and panicked. "I-I mean! N-Not like that. I, uh, I don't wanna disrespect you. Not trying to flirt with you-"

"You're not trying to flirt with me? Why not? Am I not beautiful?"

"No… I mean! I mean, yes! Yes, you're beautiful! But-"

"Know something?" She started, sitting her glass down. "I love physics too." Peter felt one of her legs sweep over his thigh so that she could straddle his waist just seconds later. "I love the angles." Grabbing the ends of her top, she arched her back as she stretched it over herself until it was off, leaving her chest fully exposed. "And gravity is just the icing on the cake." And gravity did its job, taking the clothing to the floor once she let it go. "Looks like we have a lot in common. Maybe we should go upstairs. See what else we might find out about each other."

"Hold on!" He shouted too loud. "Y-You didn't let me show you the trick."

"Benjamin… dude…" Veck grimaced, shaking his head, along with many others to see Peter cock blocking himself.

She turned her head away for a second to hide her eye roll, before returning a fake interested gaze at Peter. "No, no. I actually want to see it."

"You do want to see it?! Cool! Because, yeah, I want you to see it too!"

"Then let's see it!"

"Yeah, yeah! Let's see it." Leather squealed as she got up from Peter's lap, making space for him. Peter stood up, grabbed his board, and nervously placed it on the ground. Nearby thugs scooted the table away so that he'd have ample space to either impress everybody, or embarrass himself even more. It was a generous gesture, and Peter let them know with a timid nod, his confidence still at a low. Blowing his lips out with a loud breath, he hopped onto the board and squatted, remembering his steps. It seemed so hard to concentrate, so he just repeated the steps in his head until finally, he slammed his foot down, beginning the trick.

Pop? Check.

Flip? Check.

Landing? Not so much.

The trick was successful and for a split second, Peter celebrated, until the actual landing literally threw him off. Under his weight, the board went flying out from behind him, throwing him forward onto Veck's floor face first. Hysterical laughter erupted in the room, and Peter turned around, grimacing mostly out of disappointment in himself than actual pain.

Peter looked at the exotic woman and nervously smiled. "I swear I had it down last night."

She rolled her eyes even harder, amused and just a little proud that she may have had a hand in embarrassing him.

Stepping over Peter, Veck stole the attention away from him and decided to take her for himself. "Lemme show you how to score. C'mere, Gabby. Your fine ass."

He forced her up by her arm. She clumsily balanced herself on her heels from the sudden movement, and gave in to Veck's sloppy kisses. Peter watched as her shoulders slightly lowered, her tension relieving. But he still found it hard to believe that she wanted to be there. Maybe she did, and if that was the case, that was fine. But he just couldn't stand how the women were treated like, as Veck himself would put it, "bells and whistles." The Joker must've taught them well.

Taking a second to breathe, Veck began stepping away, his hand still on Gabby's arm as he led her with him, and addressed Peter. "Guest room's upstairs. Probably won't see me for the rest of the night."

At the absence of Veck, the music found its way back on, and all the different cliques in the room turned their attention back on each other. Peter got up and dusted off his hands, glad that the attention wasn't on him anymore. Well, at least not completely. A hotshot looking gangster with sweeping long hair, and a model-like figure beckoned Peter over towards the bar.

"Say, kid. Why don'cha keep us company for the rest of the night?"

Peter scratched his nose and pointed upstairs. "Uh, actually, I'm pretty tired. Was gonna head up and crash."

The man reeled his head back and chuckled. "Upstairs? There's only one guest room, kid, and it's next to Veck's room. And you ain't gonna get a lick of shuteye with those two fuckin' each other all night."

Peter adjusted his beanie and walked over to the bar. Putting his hands in his pockets, he leaned up against the island with one foot next to the gangster, who had introduced himself as "Connor." "And while we're on the topic, why the hell did you choke when Gabby was ready to fuck you in front of the whole damn house?"

"Yeah, the fuck's wrong with you? You a faggot or somethin'?" The bartender asked, poking his nose into their conversation.

It was another unwelcome reminder of high school. How classmates would call him a host of homophobic slurs for not showing "interest" in women, which, to them, qualified as insulting comments and flirt.

Tease him for being awkward? Check.

Tease him for possibly being queer? Check.

Peter masked his hurt from the insult with his humor - an all too reliable defensive reaction to his past traumas. "And what if I was? What, my flush isn't straight enough for the Joker?"

"I ain't gonna judge," Connor said. "Don't think he'd give a rat's ass anyway."

"Listen, Gabby wasn't gonna fuck him anyway!" Bartender added. "She was playin' the hell outta our boy! You didn't see how she was killin' herself tryin' not to laugh in our boy's face?"

Peter took those words to heart, and looked around at the rest of the women still stealing amused glances at him. He swallowed an embarrassed lump in his throat and returned his attention to the Bartender when the man tapped a glass in front of him.

"Ain't gonna lie, son. I heard you could work a whoopin'. And that may be true, but you gotta lot to learn about gettin' laid."

Connor nodded and tapped Peter's arm. "Listen, Benny. Don't matter to me whether you like dick, pussy, or whatever. You gotta walk the walk. And right now, you're doing a pretty shitty job at it, my friend. You're scaring the girls away."

Peter had enough of the teasing. "Nah, actually, I'm committed to someone."

Harley crossed his mind. Then Gwen. And Peter questioned himself whether or not he should feel bad that Harley was the first to his mind when he said those words. There was a certain look on his face as he did so, and Connor studied that look, taking it seriously.

"A loyal one." Connor shook his finger at Peter as he reached for his glass. "We better see that same loyalty to us, understand? We need young talent like you."

While Connor took another swallow, Peter used the opportunity to finally get some more intel on the Joker. "So what is the Joker like?" The sudden, out of the blue question caught the two thugs off guard. "I mean, I'm just curious. I'm, uh, an enthusiast."

It didn't help that Peter's words nearly burst out of his mouth, like they'd been sitting on his tongue for eons. But that certainly was the truth. If only they'd known how much Peter had obsessed to the point of mental breakdowns. Eventually, he would lead the question up to Harley, who was really the topic of interest. He had to be careful, though. He didn't want to ask too many direct or obvious questions to raise suspicion, although he was already off to a terrible start.

Connor put his hand on his hip, arched his back, and looked up toward the ceiling. "Well, shit. 'What is the Joker like'? Where do I even start?"

"How about… before he met Harley Quinn?" Words tumbled out his mouth without his permission.

Every caution he needed to take, he'd subconsciously forgone because of how anxious, impatient, and passionate he was to know about just who she was. Peter wanted to facepalm, but he kept his hands still, in his pockets, and his mind ready to absorb any details that the men provided.

"Shit, kid, y'know how long ago that was?" Connor adjusted his Ray Bans in thought. "That waaas… three years ago? Maybe four?"

"Sounds about right." Bartender confirmed, drying off a glass with a towel. "I wasn't in the gang yet, but my knucklehead brother was. Harley bust the Boss outta Arkham, remember? Everyone was glad to have him back so we wouldn't have to put up with Penguin's fat ass anymore."

"Wait," Connor said, scratching his hair. "Harley did bust him out. But I can't recall if she was around before that. Was she?"

The Bartender shrugged. "Don't remember. Pretty sure she wasn't though, 'cause the Joker seems to be way more laidback ever since Harley came into the picture. But, shit, I'd be smilin' like a fatass in a candy store too if I had her. An obedient lil' slut to gag on my meat whenever I told her to? Shit, I'd be laughin' my ass off all the time too!"

The two men laughed and glanced at Peter, expecting him to join in. All they got in return was a fake smile. Peter lowered his eyes at the dialogue. They were getting off topic and it bothered him, the way they talked about Harley. For now, he let them continue on without any objections to hopefully pick out more useful details.

Connor chuckled and shifted his weight. "No see, the Joker doesn't even have to ask for that kinda shit. From what I hear, she just does it. Eeevery night. Aaall day. Just cooonstant pussy. Aaall the 'jobs' a motherfucker could ask for. Blowjob, tittyjob, footjob, fuckin' assjob, you name it! Bitch has a damn job center open for him and he's the only one who gets to apply! I'm surprised the Boss hasn't proposed world peace with all the wild shit she does to him."

Bartender paused, thinking for a second, before he sat down his towel and nodded at Connor. "Y'know, I've heard some Harley stories before, but I wanna know what you know. Don't know how you do it, but you always get the juicy details. Lucky bastard."

"S'not always a good thing. I always end up with the murder details. Y'know, how they were murdered. How many limbs lost, organs got cut out, and all that shit. But yeah," Connor chuckled, and adjusted his cufflinks, getting ready to dive into a world of perversion and sex. "Alright. Well, for starters, word is that the Boss never uses any rubber. Ev-er. Imagine that shit."

"Oh, trust me, I'm right there with you," Bartender said, his eyes closed.

"And I know you see how fuckin' tight that snatch is!" Connor playfully elbowed Peter. "I mean, fuck. Imagine never havin' to pull out a pussy thaaat tiiight."

"Maybe at first. Three years of getting pounded non-stop by the Joker's crazy ass? Shit's probably loose as a goose."

More like three years of emotional torment and physical abuse. Peter could only imagine what went on in their bedroom over those three years. He could hear the yelling. The screaming. And the crying after it was all said and done.

Connor paused, taking the final sip of his drink. "Tell ya one thing. She's gotta be on some serious birth control."

Bartender snorted. "Hardly. I'm surprised they don't have a million little fuckers runnin' around now. Everybody knows that Harley wants kids."

Connor and Peter paused, the both of them nearly asking at the same time, "She does?"

"Yeah." Bartender paused and pointed at Connor. "Wait, how the hell do you not know that?"

"Pftt. Guess I never cared enough to pay attention. Whatever. When you're givin' head to the richest Godfather in Gotham, you probably get access to some shit that probably ain't even legal."

"I'm tellin' you, Con. Harley would never even look at a Plan B. The girl is nuts about Joker, she'd have his baby in a heartbeat. Why they don't after three years? I dunno. And maybe we should leave it at that."

Something told Peter that maybe the Bartender knew just a little bit more about that subject. Regardless, it was heartbreaking to hear that Harley wanted to give her children to such a twisted man. A part of him was glad that they still hadn't had any children. But the hunch he had told him that maybe gratitude wasn't what he should feel… that there was something perhaps darker behind the story. Peter decided that was enough of the sex talk, and opted to steer the conversation in another direction before the two men could open their mouths again.

"So, uh. You guys mentioned that Harley busted the Jok-" Peter paused and corrected himself, "-The Boss. Right? She broke him out of jail or whatever, but she wasn't around before? I mean, who was she and where did she come from?"

Connor sighed and crossed his arms. "No one knows for sure. She just popped up. People say she's a fangirl that fell in love with him off the street. A prostitute he fucked that became obsessed with him. Hell, I remember this one story somebody told me. Said she was a religious freak who sold her soul to the devil. The devil ended up being the Joker the whole time, and now, she can't get away from him even if she wanted to."

"That's hilarious. Would make sense too since no one knows where the Boss came from either. Or why he's so fuckin' insane."

Bartender leaned over the island, his burly elbows resting on top as he channeled his attention directly towards Peter. "The oldest story in the book is that Harley was actually a doctor inside Arkham whenever the Boss got there. No way to prove it since Arkham is destroyed and nobody survived the fire, 'cept the loonies. But anyway, people say she was a psychiatrist there or somethin', but I don't buy it. There is no way someone that fucked up coulda been a doctor. I swear, sometimes, that bitch is even scarier than the Joker."

"It does make the most sense though," commented Connor.

"No. It doesn't. How the hell does someone with a damn PhD end up like Harley Quinn? Y'know how long it takes to get a PhD? Have any idea how smart you gotta be? Not trying to say Harley is young and dumb. But…"

"Yeah, I get ya. She ain't exactly a spring chicken. That much adds up."

"J-Just, uh, just how old is Harley anyway?" Asked Peter.

"About, what, twenty-eight, twenty-nine?"

"Definitely in her late twenties. Her face doesn't show it, but you can tell by how she carries herself. Bitch walks around like she birthed the mafia or somethin'."

"She's an old school gangster, that's for sure." The Bartender looked Peter up and down and studied his body language. He looked to be too invested for just a normal thug. "Say. Why you askin' so many questions about her anyway, huh?"

Connor teased him, bumping his arm again. "Tell him, Benny. You wanna be the one to give Harley those kids, huh?"

"What do you think? Should we tell Boss this kid wants to rail his girl?"

"Nah. We won't do that to you Benny. Last guy the Boss thought was trying to bang her ended up in a meat grinder. No joke. I had to clean the damn machine after he used it."

"You serious? God… damn..."

Connor turned his body fully toward Peter now. "Look, I know what you're thinkin'. It's what all of us are thinkin'. Everybody wants to fuck Harley. But if you wanna stay alive, don't look at her, don't speak to her, don't even think about her. Because the Joker can smell that shit." He slowly shook his head as he continued. "And when he does..." he paused to let out a sadistic whistle. "...Not even Batman can save your ass."


Peter was in the carport.

He needed a retreat from the loud music and the smell of booze breath from everyone inside the house. It also helped to have a more secluded area to absorb all the information that had been given to him. So he decided to lose himself in his thoughts, as well as the environment he was in. The carport hosted a variety of expensive, luxury cars that Peter rarely had the pleasure of seeing up close. He was far from a car enthusiast, but it felt good to admire nice things as he mulled over what a possible new plan of action could be to get close to Harley. Trudging up and down the carport, he came across a certain car that drew his attention. He wasn't quite able to identify what it was, but it was clearly recently made and looked fast. Speckled green paint accented with yellow stripes adorned its body, and when he made it to the front of the car, he noticed it boasted a logo of a jaguar.

"Jaguar... huh."

"It's got five-hundred horses," he heard a familiar voice boom at the entrance door. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Connor's flamboyant walk toward him.

"Hey, uh, sorry man I didn't mean to get too close..."

Connor shut him up by tossing him a set of keys out of the pockets of his high waters. Peter caught it them, looked down at the fob, and ran his thumb across an identical "Jaguar" logo that was fastened onto the grill on the front.

"Y'know, for a guy who's, supposedly impossible to beat in a fight, you're pretty shy."

Shaking his head, Peter looked down at his shoes and caressed his hair. "Yeaaah, I know, man, it's just... I'm tired and I-"

"Yes, you mentioned being tired to me earlier. You see, here's the thing. You have a set of keys to a five-hundred horsepower sports car. You could use this car to wake yourself up. Or, you can walk yourself up to bed, and regret passing up my offer."

Connor gave a smug smirk and walked over to the passenger side, already predicting what Peter's answer would be. Using the last little bit of energy he had left, he twirled the keys around his finger and opened the driver door.

"Sweet."*

"Wooo hooo!"

Howls fueled by ecstasy were nearly as loud as the car's roaring engine. It's timbre reverberated along the nearly empty streets of early morning Gotham. Still a bit dark out, Gotham's streets were nowhere as near as packed as New York's streets would still be, even at three o'clock in the morning. And Peter took advantage of that, steering and spinning the car into one narrow street after the other. Despite being still fatigued, Peter stayed aware enough to keep an eye out for civilians or other traffic cars. Reaching central downtown, traffic picked up somewhat, forcing Peter to slow down. However, that didn't mean he had to stop his high octane horseplay. A devious smirk dressed his face as an idea came to mind. Peter roared the car to a stop in the middle of an intersection, gathering the attention of passerby's that were mostly teens and young adults. They whipped out their phones and recorded Peter and Connor as he revved the engine again and again. Bright flashes from the cameras lit up the spot as Peter started a burnout.

"Woo! I always wanted to do this! Holy crap, you're the best, man!" Peter laughed, nudging Connor in the arm.

"So how 'bout it, kid, you still tired?! Ha ha!"

It was things like this Peter could certainly get used to. Maybe not embrace, since it was still criminal activity at the end of the day. But it was fun to cut loose every now and then, and he was glad he could do it in such a way. By now, the Jaguar had drawn a crowd, one half cheering the car on, and the other half cursing at the obstacle blocking their path. The burnout had transitioned into small donuts that Peter clumsily performed, especially since he'd never properly driven a car beforehand.

Everything was perfect and pure bliss until a bright set of lights sliced through the night, through the cars and crowds in the street, and straight into Peter's heart.

No matter how much he squinted his eyes and shielded his face with his hand, the light invaded the cockpit of the car. Even with how bright white it was, the light seemed so dark. There was an eeriness that accompanied it. An uneasiness that infected the air, and put everyone on their toes, and it showed through the crowd of people now with more floating phones in the air. Along with the blinding lights from the distance, came a sharp mechanical noise, like a power plant booting up

"What is this?" Peter murmured to himself. He looked to his right and saw his passenger in the same headspace.

All of a sudden, everything was clear to Connor. It was evident in his face, through his wide eyes, like he'd seen a ghost. "Fuck, kid. We gotta get outta here."

"Why? Who is this? Why is everyone freaking out?"

The high pitch whine of an engine got louder somehow, threatening to burst eardrums.

"Don't ask questions, Benny, just do what I say. Put this thing in reverse, and-"

Peter drowned him out. It helped that the voices of the crowds got louder as well, muddling in with the sound of the engine on the other end of the street. That's when his Spider-Sense hit him. It wasn't exactly the danger-type of sense, rather, it was a warning, informing him that it was someone he'd encountered before. Like a puzzle, it all came together.

"Batman..."

"Right! It's Batman, and we don't have any crew with us, which is why we-" While speaking, Connor grabbed the steering wheel, "-Need to haul ass!"

Again and again, Connor yanked the steering wheel, and furrowed his brows when it wouldn't obey his command. Not even as much as a budge was given. Especially not when Peter still had his hand on it, zoned out on how this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Timing couldn't be any better, and Peter was convinced that it must've been a sign from the universe to complete this maniacal, ridiculous mission that he'd given himself - saving Harley Quinn.

Batman would not be Vengeance tonight.

No. Instead, he would be a tool. A well used tool by Peter to get to Harley - the only thing that mattered to him anymore. Not even his own life. In an eerie manner, Peter turned his head towards Connor.

"You want me to run? Nah, man, we're the Joker's boys. We don't run."

Especially not when Batman had blessed with him exactly what Peter was waiting for - A golden opportunity to prove his worth to the Joker. Connor could see something in the young man's eyes he hadn't seen before in him. But shockingly enough, if he had to compare the look in Peter's eyes to anyone, the Joker or Harley would be the closest match.

"They weren't lying about you. You are insane."

Ignoring the panic in Connor, Peter did the one thing that no one was expecting - He floored it. Smoke filled the vicinity from shredded tires. Using all five-hundred horses, Peter sped towards the Batmobile on the other end of the block. Peter smirked when the Batmobile followed suit.

"No!" Connor shouted, rustling back and forth in his seat. "Benjamin, no! You're going to get us killed!"

Continuing to ignore his passenger's protests, Peter kept the car in a straight line, a line shared by the Batmobile, which would eventually lead them to colliding with one another.

Somebody would have to give.

Peter noticed the Batmobile bouncing up slightly as it crossed the intersection, now onto the same block. Its blistering speed shocked Peter as it made its way down the street much faster than he thought. It must've boasted much more than his own five-hundred horsepower. The unexpected speed of Batman's vehicle forced Peter to think fast, even though he didn't like it. He would have to give in, lest he lose control, and wreck the car into one of the crowds that stood by.

The Batmobile's engine screamed in his ear now, it's lights piercing though his cornea. Another second, and Connor's Jaguar would be a square metal cube. Batman wasn't budging like Peter hoped.

Mere seconds before a collision, Peter yanked the car left, narrowly dodging death, or at the very least, injuries close to it. Peter didn't expect to accommodate for the massive shift in weight the car suffered at the sudden maneuver, and he found himself fighting with the steering wheel to keep it all under control. His senses were a jumbled mess as he told to his hands to do what his feet were supposed to do, and vice-versa.

Gritting his teeth and instinctually holding Connor back with his right arm to protect him, Peter bit the bullet.

A disturbing metal crunch erupted in the air, followed by car sirens going off. Everyone rushed to record the accident, phones still in hand, as Batman walked up to the wreckage. The front end was non-existent, buried deep into an idle SUV that, thankfully, had no one in it during the crash. Stomping up to the side, Batman flew open the door, and was caught off guard to find only Connor inside. Blood was dripping down his face as he held his hands up in surrender. Otherwise, the goon was fine.

But where was the driver?

By the time Batman looked to his left, it was too late.

"Croootch!"

For a second, all Batman saw was blackwash denim as Peter wrapped the inside of his thighs onto Batman's face. Thinking quick and using the momentum, Batman slammed Peter onto his back. Peter took the force of the impact, and powered it into a backwards somersault that he used to give himself space before Batman could follow up.

"Crap. That usually works," he said, standing up and dusting off his hands.

"Kick-his-ass! Kick-his-ass!" The crowd was relentless, cheering for Peter as they gathered around the two of them. The majority of the phones were surprisingly trained onto Peter. It wasn't often that a single goon had the guts to go toe-to-toe with Gotham's protector, and everyone made sure to capture the rare treat they were given.

Without taking his eyes off Batman, Peter pointed a thumb behind him. "Hear that, man?! They want me to kick your ass! Aren't you supposed to be a people pleaser? Whaddya say we please the people and give them what they want, huh?"

"That's not how this works."

"It's not?"

"You talk too much."

Peter got more of a kick out of Batman's expression than his own joke. The older vigilante looked so bored, and unamused that he was probably on the verge of sleep. Little did Peter know that Batman would be the toughest opponent he faced yet. Peter fished the giraffe mask from the back of his pants, and got ready to brawl.

The fight started with the both of them rushing towards each other with synchronized sounds of splashing footsteps on the wet Gotham pavement. To Batman, this was just an ordinary thug that must've had a screw loose to directly challenge him. So he shouldn't have been surprised when Peter threw in an unexpected front flip right over him, using the momentum from his sprint to soar cleanly over the vigilante.

Skidding to a stop, Batman prepped an immediate counter kick to whatever the thug had planned. Peter was already one step ahead of him. Taking both palms, Peter shoved Batman's heel away from his face, and sprung into a running punch that successfully landed onto Batman's cheek. Following it up, Peter took advantage of Batman's shaken stance and ran up with a second punch, this time, jumping up in the air for extra force, and, to boast the greater energy that Peter had.

With Peter in mid-air, Batman caught the fist with one hand, and used his other to grab the thug by his shirt, and slam him down onto asphalt. Locking Peter in with his knees, Batman perched himself on top of Peter, gave a headbutt followed by another, before Peter decided two could play that game. Desperate hands reached for the edges of Batman's mask, and used them to pull the vigilante into an even more brutal headbutt of his own, that dazed Batman enough for Peter to shimmy out from the hold.

Batman's eyes opened just in time to see Peter's legs wrapping around his neck, then tensing with a surprising amount of force, before Peter twisted his torso and tossed Batman over onto the ground with the power of his legs. From the force of the maneuver, Batman's forehead hit the pavement, but he shook it off just as fast, only to see the heel of Peter's sneaker burying into his face from a horse buck kick.

There was no choice but to take the kick, the pain that came with it, and use it as momentum to roll over back onto his knees, then back onto his feet. Batman stood up, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth, and looking at the thug who stood across from him, waiting in a slack manner for him to get back up. Peter teased him, taunting Batman with a beckoning hand.

Batman chuckled. That was fine... if that's what the thug wanted. Putting his pride aside, Batman cracked his neck and accepted that he underestimated the "thug" that he still didn't know was actually Spider-Man. It wouldn't happen again. The goon had earned Batman's full arsenal of ass-whooping techniques.

For the next minute, Peter welcomed it. He took amusement of fighting the legendary Dark Knight up close, showing off a bit for the crowd that seemed to be getting bigger every second, yet, still making sure he didn't go too extreme with his strength, lest Batman find out that who he was fighting was actually supernatural.

The thing is, Batman had already caught onto that. It was strange at first to him, but something was certainly off about this fight. Had he seen this type of combat before? Not only that, but Batman was experienced enough to know when someone was holding back, and Peter was doing a terrible job at it. Not because his hits were hard, but because the movements weren't natural. They were forced; either too stiff or too sloppy. Something wasn't right, and Batman wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Changing into a more firm stance, Batman launched himself at Peter, beckoning him in with a punch, to which Peter fell for. Intercepting his right swing, Batman grabbed Peter by the forearm and immediately chucked it behind his own back. Pushing up and into Peter's back, Batman pushed the limits of what he knew the human bones could handle, eliciting a painful groan from Peter. He wasn't finished yet. Taking his free arm, Batman shot his arm around Peter's neck and tightened, sucking him into a brutal chokehold.

Now for the finale - A body slam that would no doubt stun men twice Peter's size.

Batman prepared for the finisher, but felt Peter's body suddenly tense at an immense profile.

There we go.

That's what Batman wanted. To see just exactly how his opponent was holding back. And the result caught him off guard.

Peter powered both his arms out of Batman's hold, first, taking the arm around his neck, and twisting it as he slid under and out of the hold. Peter would've opted to flip Batman, but decided that would be too much, and instead, used his entire body to swing Batman by the arm, and onto the ground. He made sure to look like he strained while doing so, and rushed to finish the job. As Batman rolled back onto his feet, he looked up in time to see a flying knee headed straight for him. Batman's chin caught the impact, damaging the technology within the skintight mask, and throwing him off his stance.

Stumbling backwards after each hit, Peter wailed into the Batman's chest, throwing one low hook after the other until Batman had enough, intercepting the last punch by twisting his lower torso just in time. Raising up his leg, Batman's right thigh caught the hit, and he swiftly transitioned from one leg to the other to throw a roundhouse that connected with Peter's chin, knocking the giraffe mask off.

Both of them took a break, resting on the ground just inches away from each other. Batman perched himself onto one knee, while Peter recovered from the roundhouse, flat on his chest on the ground. Both men were bleeding from their chins, and Batman even paused to adjust the damaged mask. Strange electronic fluctuations in his mask could be heard, indicating that his voice changer had been damaged.

What was the next move?

Who would stand up first?

All people in the crowd were questioning each other, looking over one another. It would be a night to remember. Logic be damned, they were an even match. Somebody was finally an even match for Batman, and the multiple phones streaming to social media made sure to make that known live through Gotham. Licking the inside of his mouth free of blood, Peter looked up through tired eyes at Batman.

There it was.

The juvenile energy that Batman had noticed before. Was this... Spider-Man?

His movements, his posture, even his voice. It all matched up, rather Batman wanted to believe it or not.

Batman stepped forward just slightly, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Mind your business," Peter spat. He cracked his knuckles, getting ready to go another round before sirens were heard just in the distance.

Their battle couldn't continue. Priorities needed to be first, and the mission was Harley. What good would any of his hard work be if he got arrested? It was fortunate that Peter thought ahead, and he let Batman know by flashing a stolen smoke bomb between his fingers in pride. Batman grunted, flicking his eyes down to his utility belt, not even noticing that one of his bombs were snatched.

"Didn't think you'd mind if I borrowed this. Was hoping it had your autograph on it, though."

"Don't go back." There was a slight plea to Batman's voice, evident in a small, but noticeable lighter tone.

Even in just those few moments, he had pieced together everything Peter had done, and had a strong hunch as to why, or maybe who, was the motive for his drastic change. The fatigue in his body. The lost look in his eye.

Batman shook his head, stepping further. "Don't go back." He repeated, louder and sterner.

It only earned an exhausted chuckle from Peter. "Catch."

Batman threw up his cape to shield himself from the smoke bomb thrown into his face. Coughing from the burning substance, he shot a grappling hook up to a nearby building to get an immediate bird's eye view among the crowded street that was now runamuck with sirens and yelling. But the one person he looked for was nowhere to be found. The wrecked Jaguar was still there, but gone was the passenger, and its delusional driver that once had to be an innocent kid simply beaten to a pulp by life.


A Few Hours Later

After the escape from Batman, everything was a blur to Peter. He fell in and out of a much needed sleep, somewhere in between his dreams and a restless mind that wouldn't shut off, forcing him to relive the fight with Batman over and over again until the sun came up.

It was long into the morning that his limbo was broken, provided by the sound of footsteps in front of the sofa that Peter fell asleep on. Blinking the sleep away from his eyes, that's when Peter looked around the living room, and then up at Veck that stood over him with crossed arms. That's right, Peter thought. He had gone back to Veck's house with Connor, and fell asleep shortly after.

"Wake your ass up. How'd you do it?"

Shoving knuckles into his drowsy eyes, Peter croaked, "Do what?"

"Hold a fight against Batman? I'm lookin' at the video right here. You damn near kicked his ass."

Peter paused. So it wasn't a dream. It was the real deal. A part of him was happy about that, especially since it meant more reputation points for the persona he was going for. But then there was the look in Veck's eyes, like something was up. Something was wrong. Peter sat up from off the sofa's cushion, begging Veck to elaborate through the look in his eyes.

Veck did so, stating, "You're noticed," to Peter as he put his phone back into his pocket.

"'Noticed?' Wh-I don't get it. What does that mean?"

"Means the Boss called me first thing this morning..." Veck paused, clearly seeing that Peter was still halfway asleep. But what he was about to say, he wanted Peter to make sure there was no mistaking his words. So Veck squatted down in front of Peter, eye level with the young adult, and gave a mischievous smirk.

"The Joker... he says he wants to meet you."


*IMPORTANT UPDATE* - So, if you're still invested in this story, thank you for reading. We're not quite to the halfway point of the story yet, but we're getting there, and I'm hoping this story will continue to be entertaining for you. I'm not gonna lie, it seems like I have a smaller audience for this story than I thought. I mean, I knew it would be a small audience at the start, but this is much smaller than what I'm used to. So for the few people that have stuck around for this, you have my thanks. Also, this is probably the first story that I received genuine hate on from both AO3 and FFN, and I've been writing for a few years now. Lol, guess we got to start somewhere. I'm not sure if the plot or my writing is really that bad, because I don't think it is. It is what is, so whatever. But I'm not going to let bad vibes drag me down.

With that being said, I'm not gonna be an asshole and stop updating the story just because I'm not satisfied with the reception. However, there IS another big project that I've been working on that I'm getting ready to upload, and right now I'd rather dedicate my time to working on that instead. It's another big project like Gunshot Valentine is, and it will be a massive crossover that will take probably into the end of next year to complete. Also, the tone of that project is totally different from this one, and to properly write a certain fic, I have to be in an equal headspace with it. Meaning, I can't give myself tonal whiplash by editing a chapter of THIS story, then heading over to my other fic that's focused on goofy teens, high school, feelings, etc., the very next day.

So yeah... I'm not going to be as diligent as I was at first for updating this story. I'm going to try my best to crank out at least one chapter a month for this story, but I wanted to give a heads up to everyone subscribed. Again, thanks for sticking around, and please look forward to the next chapter. It's gonna be the best so far imo. Stay safe and have a good day.