Peter was staring at himself in the mirror again, this time for another reason. He had his mouth wide open and finger poking at the enlarged canines, and that wasn't even the weirdest thing. Two irritated bumps were growing in behind his upper canines. Anyone else would most likely chalk it up to an infection and set an appointment up or try and get rid of it themselves. But Peter's body could fight off most, if not any, infection thrown its way. Which pointed to something completely different going on.
He'd initially found out about it in a rather painful way after he'd tried to bite into a hard, stale bagel. It hurt, but he couldn't just not eat either. He'd spent a good amount of energy on patrol and dumbly hadn't eaten afterwards, leaving him to wake up to excruciating pain from his upset stomach. Peter had also found out the downside to creating and using his own webs as not only had it contributed to his hunger, but the web shooters were also irritated and red from the overuse.
It was like Peter's body was fighting with itself and it was somehow still in losing.
He spent time looking for any other abnormalities on himself. However, after a thorough inspection he found nothing new. Even the weird bruise on his back had stayed the same, which slightly worried him.
Peter was not surprised when the water didn't work, but even being prepared for that possibility, he still nearly had a breakdown over it. His body ached and he craved a warm shower. Gotham was freezing and he was just a little spider who, by biology, wanted to hibernate when it was too cold. Begrudgingly, he trudged out of the bathroom and instead huddled himself in the vast amounts of blankets in the hideout.
It was barely even noon, but Peter could feel exhaustion settling into his bones. His head drooped. A small nap would be alright.
–
He startled awake to a siren blaring in the right outside of the building he was in, red and blue lights bouncing off of the walls as the car screamed past. Complete silence followed after.
Golden sunlight broke through dark clouds and into his mangy apartment. For a split second in that tranquility, Peter felt like he was back home. If he turned to look in the kitchen, he'd find Aunt May cooking. They would laugh and talk as they sat down together.
Together.
There was no together, Aunt May was dead.
The apartment was empty. No one in the kitchen was waiting for him while making breakfast. No one was there to laugh with, to cry with. He was alone.
His mood effectively soured, Peter shimmied his way out of the nest of blankets he'd made. He figured it was a little after noon and had things he needed to do. Finding a job or some way to make money legally, or at least somewhat legally, was one of them. Being accepted and keeping the job was going to be hard, but actually finding one would be difficult on its own.
The weird, disembodied voice spoke again, 'Barbara.'
Peter's face scrunched. 'Barbara? Why the fu- oh. The library. Yeah the library could help.' He groaned while dragging his hand down his face. 'Great, now I'm talking with the voices.'
Peter looked through the dusty cabinets and eventually found some leftover food. It wasn't much, meaning his need to find a job was even greater. Chewing down gently on the high calorie bars, he got a whiff of himself and nearly gagged. The stink of sewers, sweat, and overall grime emanated from him and his heightened senses easily picked up the scent.
"I could find a gas station with some showers in them." he hummed. He'd feel bad because they're technically only meant for truckers, but he was desperate. "A gym could work also. Or a homeless shelter."
'Library, Peter.' the voice sighed.
He jumped. "Right! Library comes first." A pause. "Where is the library?"
Silence "… Voice? Fine, just leave me when I'm asking you a question. I'm sure I can find the library by myself."
He searched around the apartment, hoping to maybe find a map of Gotham. Peter eventually exhausted himself and came to the conclusion that he had no idea where he was or where he would go to find the library. Time to wander the city until he finds it. After finding a change of clothes, he took to the fire escape. When his sense buzzed as he looked down at the alley, Peter decided that he'd rather roof hop instead of wandering the streets.
The wind cut through his clothes and whipped against his face as he ran across the roofs. He knew he was going to end up wind burned from it.
Above him, swirling dark grey clouds promised rain that Peter did not feel like getting caught in it again. However, it also lent him darkness that he could use to go above the average pace of a normal human. Being able to go faster, got him jittery. Nervous of being seen by the likes of the vigilantes, but also craving the chase that would most likely ensue.
A storefront caught his eye. He skidded to a halt, nearly tripping, to get a better look at the restaurant. The lobby looked closed and run down, but a bright yellow sign was flipped to open. Next to the sign, a poster cheerfully read that they were looking for new hires. Peter did a double take as he read the store name.
"Delmar's Deli!" A smile crept along his face, "I guess it's just a multiversal experience."
Peter noted the location in his mind. If it were any other way he would have gone in to talk about the hiring, but Peter was far from presentable. First impressions are important after all.
He still didn't feel safe enough to travel along the streets, so he took off again on the rooftops. The expanse of buildings got smaller as they edged closer to a river lazily churning through the city. There was no way he could jump it which meant he'd have to take a bridge across. He groaned as he looked down at the streets. Peter didn't like the thought of being on the ground in Gotham, but his hand had been forced.
He made his way quickly down a rickety fire escape before silently dropping into the alley. Odors wafted out of grimy dumpsters and Peter was pretty sure the guy propped up against one was dead. Avoiding the presumed dead guy, he made his way out into the street. Not many people were out and about despite it being mid-afternoon. Although, Peter figured it had to do with the gangs and thugs hiding in the shadows. He could even smell gunpowder on the occasional civilian he'd pass by.
Peter knew he stood out like a sore thumb, he just didn't share the same vibe that a natural Gothamite would. He just hoped it wouldn't get him mugged. A sharp tug on his shirt dragged him into a nearby alley. He'd spoken too soon. Metal pressed against the back of his head and the mugger spoke.
"Gimme everything you got, kid," he demanded, pushing the gun into Peter's head as an emphasis.
Peter nearly gagged, the guy's breath stunk and the sharp bite of the marijuana caught in his nose. "Man, you gotta mint?"
The butt of the gun rammed into the back of his head. Yeah, he kind of deserved that.
Peter held his hands up. "Okay, okay. Let me grab it alright."
The mugger backed off enough for Peter to be able to grab any belongings and hand them over. Well that's if he had any belongings on him. Because he didn't.
"... I don't have anything on me," he weakly said.
The mugger, who turned out to be some mid twenties white guy, just stared at him blankly. "What?"
"I- I don't have anything man. I don't know what else to tell you"
"Of course," he drags a hand across his face. "Of course I try to mug the one person who doesn't carry anything." The man waves his gun around erratically.
"Look man, I'm sorry-"
He swung his gun to aim towards Peter. "No! Shut up!" he yelled.
Peter hunched his shoulders together, hands still up in the air.
The mugger stormed closer to him, pissed off. A finger poked into Peter. "You know you really are gonna be sorry now."
Peter blanked, saw the finger in his face, and then bit it. Stunned silence carried beneath the two.
"Did… Did you just bite me?!"
"I'm so sorry. It was by complete reflex"
"Why would your reflex be to bite someone!"
"I-," Peter flailed his arms around, "I don't know man. It just happened."
"Well this is also about to happen to you!" the guy said, pointing his gun at him and causing his sense to blare.
Peter's hand flung out as he open palm punched the mugger. The guy dropped the gun and grabbed at his nose.
"Why are you making this so difficult, man?" he cried out.
"You're making this difficult!" Peter cried back.
"Just go already," he sniffled.
Peter waved his hands while backing out of the alley way. "I'm sorry man."
Seeing he was in the clear, Peter ran from the alley for a good few minutes before stopping to really ponder what had just happened. He hunched in on himself, 'I just bit someone. Why did I do that? Why- Oh god, what if he has some disease that I end up getting.' He screamed internally, kicking himself on how stupid he was.
Pulling himself back together after cursing at himself, he kept walking to the river's edge. A little ways away, a massive bridge jutted out from the river and he could see the cars zooming across like little bugs on a branch. He sped up, hoping to make it there before anything else happened.
Peter had never been so happy to walk across a bridge. He knew he wasn't entirely safe, but he still felt much safer on the bridge than in the city. Making his way across, his eye caught the sight of a subway entrance.
He groaned, how come he hadn't thought of that earlier. Peter made his way into the tunnel, noticing a map hung along the wall. He stopped to study it.
"Whatcha looking for there kiddo?" a rough voice asked behind him.
Peter tensed and turned to look behind him. The guy was built and held himself with a dangerous confidence. He almost missed the suspiciously familiar white tuft of hair and green eyes that had haunted Peter. The man raised an eyebrow and Peter realized he hadn't said anything yet.
"Uhm, just looking for the library," he stuttered out.
The man's eyes narrowed at him before he grunted and pointed a finger at a spot on the map. "There, and kid."
"Yes?"
"You're not from here so I'll give you one piece of advice, get the hell out of here while you can. Gotham ain't for the weak hearted"
Peter nodded furiously and scurried away from the man, skillfully hopping the line and waiting for the train. He could smell the blood and gunpowder on the man and just hoped he wouldn't have to meet him again.
A few minutes pass and he can hear the distant sound of a train. The screeching as it came to a stop in the tunnel hurts his ears and makes him suddenly miss his noise-canceling headphones. He hopped on and was jostled around by the other passengers before he managed to snag a seat.
A headache was starting to form behind his eyes. His mouth still ached and itched from whatever was going on with it. The screeching and constant chatter stabbed at his ears. Peter clenched his fist, he was starting to get overwhelmed and just hoped it wouldn't cause him to lash out.
He breathes in, trying to focus on only his breathing. This carried on until a voice crackled over the intercom and informed of the incoming stop. Peter broke from his breathing and listened, suddenly startled that it was already his stop. He hadn't realized how long he'd been getting himself to relax.
The train slows and the doors creak open. Several others shuffle out of the car along with Peter. It was moments like this that reminded him of his time before the spider, when he was just an ordinary person surrounded by ordinary people. He could be himself then and never have to worry about hurting or having to save someone. But how could he long for that again? He had donned the mask. How could he give it up?
Clenching his fist harder, he quickly left the tunnel and mixes with the drones of people walking around in the much cleaner streets. He knew where to go and turned to head there.
–
The walk to the library ended up being longer than anticipated. The occasional detour to avoid a sketchy place or moments where he was completely lost and had to backtrack had taken up more time then he would have liked. It was much darker and a drizzle had started by the time he had reached the towering walls of the library.
He didn't like being wet. There were moments where he could tolerate it or even enjoy it sometimes, but he was not enjoying it this time. The way his clothes stuck to his skin and water would slosh in his shoes irritated him. Not to mention, it was cold in Gotham. So the wind would pierce straight through his wet clothes and into him.
Grumbling and climbing the steps, he opened the doors and stepped inside. Barbara glanced up before glancing back down again, then her eyes widened and she looked back up to him.
"Peter! You're… you're soaked again."
"Unfortunately," Peter deadpanned.
She stifled a laugh, leaning down to grab a towel and hand it over. He graciously took it and dried off the best he could.
"So what brings you in today?" she asks.
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Uhm. Do you have any information on job openings, perhaps?"
She raised her eyebrows, "Oh? Yes actually. I'm sure we have some sort of packet somewhere."
Barbara searches around her office before plucking a stack of papers out triumphantly and handing them to Peter. "Here you go, a list of mostly reliable and legal job openings."
"Mostly?" Peter asked, quirking a brow.
She shrugged, "We don't always know if a place is shady or not. We have little markings on the side of each place to show the level of sketchiness." Babs tapped the side and sure enough, there were little warning signs beside some of the labeled jobs. "The more warnings the sketchier it is."
Peter nodded, flipping through the pamphlet for something he already had an idea on. There it was, Delmar's Deli, with only one warning sign when most places had two or more. He couldn't just hope to land the job there, which is why he'd asked for the pamphlet, but a small part really hoped he did.
"Thanks," he smiled at her, "I kind of had an idea of a place, but I wanted to make sure. And also have an idea of other jobs."
"Really? And where is that?" she questioned.
"Delmar's Deli, I saw it on the way here and it just," he sighed, "It reminded me of a shop from back home."
"Oh really? I have a friend who works there, you'll probably get to meet him at some point. If you know, you get the job."
"Wow, really dripping with confidence in me," he quipped.
Barbara laughed. "I'm sure you'll be just fine."
Peter nodded, stuffing the pamphlet into one of his pockets. "Well, I'll be out I guess." He waved to her and went to leave when he ran into someone.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" the voice said, grabbing onto Peter to make sure he didn't fall.
Peter's sense buzzed as he looked at the man. He seemed familiar.
"Oh hey Dick. You bulldozing through people now?" Barbara questioned, grinning.
"I didn't mean to," Dick replied.
"Yeah yeah, of course you didn't."
Dick teasingly glared at her and turned to Peter. "Sorry about that man." He let go of Peter and walked away to talk to Barbara.
Peter blinked, shook his head and exited the library, not too excited to be back in the rain. He figured he could find a gym to shower in before heading back home.
–
Finding one wasn't too difficult, but now he had to find a way in without a membership.
'Window,' the voice said.
'Voice! You're back.' he grinned, 'A window, huh? Breaking and entering here I come.'
He walked around the side of the building, checking to make sure it was safe, and crawled up the wall to a window. The first window ended up just being one that looked into the gym, but a few windows later, he found one that led into the washrooms. It hadn't been locked properly and Peter was able to pry it open easily.
Peter silently dropped to the floor, his skin tingling. The silence, humidity, and darkness felt perfect. His sight adjusted to the dark as he undressed and showered; quickly getting back into his wet clothes once done. His sense hummed, someone was watching him.
Crawling back out of the window, he jumped down and wasted no time in running towards the subway. The sound of shoes running after him made his heart skip faster. He wove between streets, cars, and people alike, hoping to strand the stalker. The subway was coming up quickly, making him speed up.
Reaching the entrance, he didn't bother with the stairs and instead jumped to the bottom, coming to a roll as he hit the ground. He briefly registered people shouting at him angrily, but pushed it aside. A train was stopped and people were still boarding. He leaped over a tollbooth and sprinted to the subway car as he saw the doors slowly sliding shut. Peter just barely squeezed in, nearly falling on the person nearest the doors.
He leaned over on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Outside, the view of the station changed to tiled walls as the train sped along its tracks. Peter heaved and slumped into an open seat.
–
Peter ran along the rooftops in what he had now learned to be the Bowery. It was still downpouring and the darkness had grown, now the only lights he had were from the occasional apartment and the working street lamps. He'd hoped to make it back in one piece, but that was proving to be difficult. He skidded against wet pavement and his hands hurt from the amount of times he'd rammed them into a wall to catch himself. The cold made his hands shake and harder to move.
Grunting, he heaved himself over a ledge before catching sight of Delmar's. It was still open, a smidge of light emanating from it. He came to a stop. It couldn't hurt. He jumped down to the street and jogged to the door. He hesitated, breathed in and entered.
The lobby was empty, chairs put away neatly on tables and dust gathering on them. A man came running around a corner leading to the back, gun in hand.
"I'm here for the job! I'm here for the job!" Peter yelped out, eyeing the gun.
It made him stop, but he narrowed his eyes at Peter before chuckling. "You won't last a day out there kid."
"Can you at least give me a chance?"
He pondered it. "What's your name?"
"Peter," he answered, holding his hand out.
"Delmar," he said, taking his hand. "Well, Peter, you think you can make it a night?"
Peter nodded strongly.
"Fine." Delmar crossed his arms. "Show me you can."
