~ WARNING: Gore, Death, Attempted Suicide, Self harm

I have it marked as to where it starts and ends and there will be a brief summary for those who skip it ~

Red Hood had been treating him well while helping Peter back on his feet. It'd been nearly a week at this point, which meant a lot of time to get to know his 'roommate'. A part of Peter knew that despite the big, tough guy persona Hood had, he was still caring. Especially towards kids, as Peter had learned once the other vigilante had allowed him to return to patrol.

But, as all good things do, it had to end. Hood explained that he was going to return to his actual apartment and leave Peter to hole up in the safe house. Not that he was complaining. It was better than the last, with food and water stocked up and far cleaner.

By now, Peter was on the lookout for a specific Bat everytime he left the apartment. His sixth sense constantly thrummed in his skull and could feel their eyes on him. Yet he could never catch a glimpse of them. On the third day of this cat and mouse game, which he was frankly tired of, Peter resigned himself to sitting right next to the bat signal. Maybe a little petty, but he at least knew he'd know Batsy would eventually show up. And sure enough he did.

A man dropped down beside Peter. Batman was built and quite tall, but even then he seamlessly meshed in and out of the darkness. His black cape billowed out behind him and he had a rather serious look on his face, slightly smoothing down the fear of that thing coming back to get Peter.

"Spiderman," he growled.

"Yep, also you forgot the hyphen," Peter replied, swiftly rising to his feet.

Batman seemed to skip over the last bit of Peter's sentence. "I hear Red Hood has been housing you."

"I feel like you already know the answer to that," Peter deadpanned. He leaned on the bat signal, trying to make it look like Batman's intimidating-ness wasn't affecting him.

The slightest hint of a smirk flashed across Batman's face before disappearing just as quickly. "I guess you could say that. Yes," he answered.

"Annndd," he continued, dragging out the 'and', "You probably already know the reason behind that."

Batman nodded. "Red Hood informed me. Which brings me to the main reason I'd wanted to talk to you." He paused for a moment, jaw clenched, before sighing. "For your safety and so we can learn more about what's happening… I've been asked to add you to the team."

Peter's brows shot up behind his mask. "Wait really!?"

"Yes. The decision is yours and you will still get to keep the comm no matter what choice you make."

Peter hesitated. This was what he'd wanted for so long, even with the Avengers. They'd all felt a little too old for Peter, which made it difficult at times. But a surprising amount of the Bat clan was around Peter's age. He nodded and stuck the com into his ear before turning his attention back to Batman. Only to be met with an empty rooftop.

"Yeah, he does that a lot. You'll get used to it," a voice to his side declared.

Spider-Man turned to face the person, eyes catching onto the new suit. "Hey Red… suit change?"

Red Robin let out a long, exasperated sigh. "My last suit somehow magically disappeared. And I have my ideas as to how."

Peter snorted. He eyed the new suit a little longer before replying, "Well I like it. Plus you don't look as bald with it."

"Wow, thanks," Red Robin replied sarcastically.

"No really, it suits you… Pun intended."

A small smile cracked Red Robin's lips. "You'll fit right in."

Peter's heart may or may not have started beating faster. He turned to look out across the dark sky of Gotham. "How'd you guys manage to get Batman to accept me?" Peter asked.

"Blackmail. You'd be surprised by the amount of stupid shit that guy's done," Red laughed.

Spider-Man cracked a smile and replied, "And you're probably right about that."

Gunshots rang out in the distance, catching the duo's attention.

"C'mon spidey, breaks over."

Peter sighed and followed Red Robin off the roof and to where the gunshots rang out. Two groups on either side of an alley had opened fire on one another. Each vigilante took a group to deal with. Peter dropped down onto one of the men and shot out a web to bring down two more of the goons. Dodging the stray bullet or weapon was easy enough, especially with his heightened senses. Weaving and punching, Peter took down his group.

Turning to see how Red Robin was doing, he found him to already be done. Red Robin waved him over and Peter jogged over.

"I've gotta get going now and I'm sure you can handle yourself," Red Robin quickly stated while taking his hand and shoving a paper in it. "See ya spidey."

He shot out a grappling hook before eventually disappearing from Peter's view. Peter unwrapped the paper. His eyes widened slightly while his cheeks heated up. Scribbled on the paper was Red Robin's number with a 'call me' above it and a doodle of the vigilante next to it.

A part of Peter felt like it was too soon. That he'd only just lost MJ. But another part felt like it'd been much longer. In his mind he could already imagine those dark curls shortening and straightening out, rich brown skin turning an almost sickly pale… but the smile stayed the same… and the attitude.

He exhaled through a growing smile. 'Dumb Peter. Dumb, dumb Peter.'

- Warning -

Days slowly passed as Peter became more acquainted with the rest of the Batclan, both in and out of suit. He'd often end up delivering food to them on their breaks which was always fun. Peter found it nice to have someone to rely on. In a way it helped him stay warm as the days grew colder. Seriously, Gotham was freezing and it wasn't even winter yet. Delmar had given him a thicker sweater to wear out on delivery, but Peter was still part spider. Meaning that his body was constantly trying to go into hibernation. It was how spiders could maintain their energy in nature. Of course Peter spent a bit more energy than an average spider, which led to needing to eat more than an average spider.

Jason was off that night, so Peter was alone. It was nights like this when he had time to think as he ran around doing delivery. It'd been a while since the voice had spoken to him. It almost felt like it was slowly fading away.

A gust of wind buffeted past him, nearly throwing him off balance as he was jumping between buildings. The frigid air seeped through his clothes and Peter could swear his body nearly went into shock at that moment. Taking a moment to warm up slightly, he noted his windburnt face and discolored fingers.

'I need to get myself a face mask or something,' he huffed while wiping at his runny nose. 'And gloves.'

Mentally adding that to his shopping list, he stepped to the edge of the building. Peter jumped easily down the rickety fire escape to the ground and stepped into the alley that led to his final destination. A somewhat clean area in Crime Alley with enough light to make Peter feel safer. The dreary cold made him slow and tired. Out of everything at that moment, he desperately wanted to huddle up into a ball and sleep.

'Just one more,' Peter reminded himself.

His senses thrummed the closer he got to the door. A smell burned his nostrils and made him want to leave. He barely even knocked when the door swung open to reveal a large man and a dimmed room.

"Delivery for-"

"Yep," the man on the other side interrupted. He made a show of looking for his money before forcing out a chuckle. "Ahh, sorry. I forgot ta bring it with me, come inside 'n I'll grab it fo ya."

Peter swallowed thickly, every fiber of his being telling him not to. But he couldn't go back without the money. And he'd honestly rather be inside than outside at that moment. Stepping inside, the pungent smell of citrus and smoke made him recoil.

A bright light blinded him. His sense spiked in his head and he ducked. But his weakened self wasn't quick enough to register the second alarm. Metal connected with the back of his skull and sent him crashing into the cold concrete floor. A choked gasp forced its way out as a second swing struck him.

"Get him out that fucking uniform!" the first man hissed. "Don't need people comin' at us for killing the 'Delivery Guy'!"

Peter was forced into a kneeling position and a needle jabbed itself into his neck. Cold serum seeped into his muscles, forcing them to relax and go numb. He could distantly feel his prized 'Delmar's Deli' sweatshirt be stripped from him and the sudden coldness of the room. His body curled inwards, hoping to somewhat regulate whatever heat it had left.

"What 'bout the sweater?"

"Burn it or somethin', I ain't give a shit. Long as the evidence don't point to us, we be fine. Just make sure to grab valuables first."

The man who'd taken his sweater snarked back, "Aye, aye man."

He threw the clothing into an unlit burn barrel before turning back to Peter. "What makes the pipsqueak so special?" he asked, crouching down and poking Peter's cheek. "Don't look very special to me."

"Why would I know that?" the first man replied while walking back with a bottle in his hand and pushing away the other guy. "Just told us how to get 'm down, take what we want 'n shit and leave."

He held the bottle beneath Peter's nose. The smell of mint made him want to vomit, but his body refused to move.

"Huh, guess he wasn't lyin'. He really don't like mint," he mumbled. "That should hold 'm down long 'nough."

The first man stood up and made to walk away. Peter's body tensed suddenly as clarity rushed back to him as his body burned through the serum. Green and red. Peter's vision shifted from the two colors randomly. One making him feel chaos bubbling beneath his skin, and the other rage.

With startling speed, Peter grabbed onto the first man's ankle. The man shouted and cursed as he was dragged down. Peter trembled, finding sadistic glee in the sudden fear the man showed. He lurched forward and his teeth sunk into the man's neck. Blood rushed into his mouth. He tore away, quickly swallowing and lapping up the blood, before he bit down into the man's neck again. The man cried out, pleading with the spider as he was being slowly suffocated from the force of the bite. Peter couldn't stop. Blood trickled from his mouth and down his chin.

Hungry… Peter was hungry…

Peter tore away again, panting and trembling. The man's eyes desperately followed him. Tears streamed down his pained face while he shook from shock. Peter's fangs pierced into the man, puncturing his windpipe. The man squirmed beneath Peter, wheezing. Bloody bubbles formed around his mouth. Venom pumped out from the fangs. A gurgling, choking sound was music to his ears. Then, it was quiet. There were no more screams from the man, physically unable to get enough air. The squirming delved into shaking, sudden jerks, and muscle cramps. With a final twitch, the man stilled, his lifeless body slumping to the ground.

A blood curdling wail erupted from the other side of the room. The second man, who seemingly broke out of his shocked trance, covered his mouth as he looked about to vomit. Peter whipped his head to face him, tearing the first man's neck apart even further in the process. Saliva mixed with blood as it leaked from his open maw. He swallowed.

Hungry… hungry…

The second man grappled for a weapon, his hands landing on the tire iron they'd used before. Peter snarled and hunched over his meal. The tire iron came down on his skull yet again as Peter stubbornly refused to move away from his food. With a hiss, he grabbed the metal and wrenched it towards him. A sickening pop came from the man's shoulder from the force of the pull. He tripped over his own dying friend's body and sprawled out across the floor. Peter, on all fours, scuttled hurriedly towards him. Grabbing the tire iron, he pressed it against the man's neck, effectively pinning him to the ground.

Peter opened his bloodied mouth, his fangs springing forward, and shot out venom. The man let out a pained shriek as steam rose from his melting face. He clawed at Peter's arms and face in hopes of escape.

A gurgling sound reminded Peter of what he'd been doing previously. He released the wounded man and scampered back to his meal. Leaving the wounded man screaming and holding his face with trembling hands.

More.

Peter returned to feeding, drinking up the liquids that filled his mouth and occasionally chomping into the neck to get more. He could still feel the pulse beneath him. It was driving him crazy. The taste… the sound… the feel of it all.

Then it all stopped. His normal vision came back.

Peter could taste the iron in his mouth… the sound of his teeth digging into a once living human's flesh… the feel of the slimy, hot blood slithering its way down his throat. He wanted to vomit. He tried to, but the predator inside refused to give up its meal.

Sinister eyes watched him from the shadows. Their eyes met. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't focus on the figure. Its face seemingly morphed from a disgusted, horrified Aunt May to an all too pleased Quintin Beck…

With a gag, Peter threw himself off of the corpse and towards the exit. He grabbed the injured man while reaching for the door. His bloodied hands left smears on the door handle as he ripped it open, quite literally tearing it from its hinges in the process.

The cold wind seeped into his bare skin as he ran with the injured man in his arms. Patrols had given him time to map out the city and locate the nearest hospital or clinic. Being in Crime Alley, that meant the closest person was Leslie. His sneakers pounded on the pavement as he sped to the clinic. At that point he didn't care if he was running faster than an average human could. Time was ticking. He'd killed one person today, he didn't need another.

He caught sight of a familiar door and burst through it, spooking several of the people already in the clinic. There came a beat of silence as people looked on in horror at the sight before them, then the room exploded into noise. People gasped and gagged, some even dry heaving. A stretcher was wheeled into the room along with a group of nurses and Leslie Thompkins herself. Peter set the man down on the cot. The nurses quickly rushed the man to an open room as Leslie took Peter's wrist, gesturing for him to come also.

Peter could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. He figured Leslie could feel it also. The bile and blood rose in his throat. He quickly took his hand back, shaking his head, and then he ran.

It didn't matter where, as long as he was far away from the destruction he had just caused. Until he nearly got hit by a motorcycle. The biker swerved to avoid him as Peter jumped back. His vision swam and bile rose up, forcing him to the ground.

'Why him?' he cried to himself, 'Why did it have to be him?'

Nightwing leaped from his bike and ran to Peter's side, pulling his helmet off and cursing while doing so.

Nightwing held Peter's shoulders. He questioned, "Pete! Holy shit, what happened to you!?"

The floodgates opened and he cowered away. The words stuck in his throat, stuck between wanting to tell Nightwing and not

Peter curled into himself more, hyperventilating and crying. "I hurt them," he sobbed, "I hurt them so bad. I-" he was interrupted by a hiccup, which escalated into him delving into a fit of struggled breathing and coughing.

His fingers bit into his skin. He could still taste the blood in his mouth, hear the terrified screams of the man, feel the way his fangs broke through man's flesh and windpipe so easily. Peter was scared.

"Kid…" Nightwing gently scooped him into an embrace. Peter cried into his chest, smearing the crimson blood across the blue emblem in the process.

"I… I think I killed him. I don't want to be a killer." His lip quivered as he tried gasping for more air. "I don't want to be a killer," Peter repeated, pleading with him. "Please, I'm sorry. I don't… I didn't mean… I."

He couldn't find the energy to speak anymore as he fell into a blubbering mess of tears and blood. His body racked with hiccups and sobs. It hurt. A headache hammered at his skull. It was too much. He wanted to go home. He wanted to hide away. He wanted to be safe... Peter wanted to die.

Nightwing hushed him, telling him it was okay, that it'd all be okay. It wouldn't. Peter felt completely numb to the world, tears still streaming down his face, but emotions completely spent. He could only blankly stare at the blood smeared emblem with the occasional hiccup shuddering through him.

He knew what was going to happen next and he'd already made up his mind.

"Pete, look." Nightwing started. His voice was gentle, but firm. "We're gonna get you cleaned up. Then you're gonna to clock out and get your pay from Delmar's. Then you're gonna meet me outside and talk about it. Alright?"

Peter looked up, eyes eerily vacant. His hazel eyes glowed an unnatural green, but looked utterly dead. There was no emotion as he nodded to the bird.

The next moments were in a daze. Nightwing had given him a shirt at some point and helped him rid himself of the blood. Just barely, he'd noticed the way the vigilante eyed his back. Then, somehow, they were already at Delmar's. Peter trudged after Nightwing, who had taken the role of explaining what had happened to his boss. He could remember hearing Delmar yell something about going and dealing with those punks. But a deep part of Peter knew they'd already been dealt with. He could still feel the warmth of their blood on him despite being cleaned of it.

Delmar told Peter to take as much time as he needed while stuffing his check into Peter's trembling hand. When had he begun shaking?

Then they were outside again.

"Peter…" Nightwing's voice broke through the fog in his mind. "Peter, can you tell me more?"

He felt something snapped inside him. Peter couldn't do it anymore. He had to do it before he changed his mind. Turning from the vigilante, Peter broke out into a sprint. Nightwing, startled, called after him while taking chase. But it didn't take long for Nightwing to lose the enhanced personnel's trail.

Peter's heart pounded in his chest. His eyes scanned the horizon in an almost frantic manner. He didn't care where, he just needed to be up high. It didn't take long before he stood atop it, frigid wind rushing past and further dulling his senses. For a second, he stared out over the city. His blank eyes trying to focus on every little detail. Peter's feet shuffled forward. It was… peaceful. He hoped it would also be just as peaceful.

Someone called his name. No. 'Called' would be an understatement. They literally screamed it at the top of their lungs.

Peter's legs felt tired. Without a thought, he collapsed over the side. Wind pushed past him as he dropped. A serene calm washed over him and the need to open his eyes no longer existed. His eyelids drooped before closing entirely.

His sense spiked and his arm suddenly wrenched in its socket. Cold concrete met him once again that night as he tumbled across it. Peter let out a shuddering breath, quivering and tears streaming down his cheeks. He shifted into a stooped position, his arms shaking as they held him up. Green tinged his vision, forcing him to blink it away.

Slamming his fist into the concrete, he cried to himself, "Why can't I die!? I can't do this! I- I can't- I… just let me die… please"

He wailed and clenched his head as he curled into himself.

"... I just want to die," he rasped out in a strangle sob.

A few minutes passed before he had the strength to sit up. His hands laid limply in his lap. A thought came to mind. He shakily brought a hand to his mouth and slipped it past his teeth. Then he dug it into the roof of his mouth. Pain shot through his body as his blood slowly filled his mouth. He didn't want them anymore. He couldn't let that happen again. Sliding in beneath his venom sacks, he quickly pulled, ripping them from his mouth. They dropped onto the concrete with a wet slap. He went back to digging and soon enough, the fangs joined the venom sacks on the roof.

He spit out as much blood as he could while wiping the blood on his hands on his pants. Panting and bloodied once again that night, Peter wandered off back home.

- Warning end-

~ A quick summary:

Peter delivers to a some people who end up being a trap. Peter falls into a bit of a pit episode and kills one man and injures the other. It shows itself in the form of aunt May and Quentin Beck. This scares Peter off, who drops the injured guy at Leslie's, before running into Nightwing. Nightwing attempts to help him, but Peter is already in too bad of a mindset. He runs off and attempts to kill himself, but his trusty spider sense keeps him alive and in a bit of frustration he tears his fangs out.