When May died, Peter had thought that he'd lost everything . In that singular moment , Peter had been so sure that this was the absolute worst life could offer.
Then MJ almost fell to her death, and he stood corrected: there so much more to lose than Peter ever thought there could be.
And then he lost it all. For real this time.
Strange's spell was supposed to get rid of all traces of Peter Parker, after all. Not only was he gone socially , he was also gone in every other sense of the word. The trust fund Tony had put together (and then never got rid of, even after Titan and the "I don't feel so good, Mr. Stark!" fiasco), Peter's own savings, all of May's personal savings…
If it hadn't been absolutely crippling, and Peter hadn't been losing his mind at the time, he would have been impressed at the extent to which Doctor Strange's spell had worked. As it was, however, Peter had been too caught up in cursing the fact that "erasing himself from existence" truly meant everything was gone, or mixed around, or something .
Peter hadn't tried to gain access to Tony's money, in the aftermath (it felt… perverse. hacking into a dead man's company accounts for cash), and although he'd almost had half a mind to try to leach out some of "May's" savings (which had expanded to include all of Peter's money, as well), he inevitably deciding against it when he saw that the money was going towards maintaining the community center May had been working at, under Happy's careful supervision.
That left Peter with the money remaining in the apartment, which, after a round of heartbreaking goodbyes and eventually-broken promises at the Statue of Liberty, Peter had luckily had the sense to make that his first stop.
(His home . Peter would give anything to go back to those times. Simpler times.)
His entire brain had been scrambled , but the reality of the situation had yet to fully sink in, so Peter actually managed to fill up an entire bin of clothes and toiletries and anything else he could think to bring. There wasn't time or room to grab every treasure, and he'd even been erased from pictures. Still, Peter grabbed a photo that he knew originally included both him and May. If Peter unfocused his eyes enough, it was almost like he could see himself in the space next to her.
It was enough.
(It had to be.)
The Lego figurine had also quickly gone in the bin, along with a file that contained Peter's records and information, such as his birth certificate and social security number. The papers had almost seemed… translucent … when Peter found them. Like they weren't quite solid or even there (like they were being phased out of existence) , and Peter wouldn't have been able to find them had he not known where the records were - in the exact folder and everything. Otherwise, the file would have appeared empty. It was only because Peter knew that they were supposed to be there that the papers were even tangible. It was another reminder of Peter's… nonexistence … but he grabbed them anyway, and beneath his hands they seemed to solidify . At least enough for him to grab them.
Peter has also grabbed every bit of cash that had been within the apartment, feeling horribly guilty as he raided May's not-so-secret hiding place.
She would forgive him. Hell, she'd probably tell him to pawn off her jewelry, but that felt icky to Peter's morals, so hopefully May would forgive him for that.)
As Peter slid out the window, he watched as his bedroom wavered before his eyes, and suddenly even Peter couldn't tell if what he was looking at was his childhood bedroom or simply a guest room. Focusing on it gave Peter a headache, and it was only when he unfocused his eyes that Peter could sort of see the truth behind the illusion.
There was an uneasy feeling in Peter's chest - a certainty that as soon as he turned his back on the scene, every trace of him within his own home would truly be gone. That would solidify as this universe's New Truth, just like Peter's Old Truth had solidified under his hands.
But the only path now available to him was in the opposite direction of home, so Peter left it all behind, fleeing the scene like a guilty criminal after practically robbing his childhood home. As he swung away, Peter felt the binds of the Spider-Man suit loosening, and it was only then that Peter was slammed with the full force of what Strange's spell meant.
Tony's Spider-Suit no longer recognized him, and was therefore deactivating.
Peter almost dropped his swing, and found himself incredibly grateful for Past-Peter's insistence on retaining his version of the web shooters - not Tony's newfangled version that was integrated within the suit. That would have sucked to plummet 20 stories and die because his own innovation forgot who he was.
Luckily the web shooters weren't sentient in any way.
The very same web shooters now hung casually around Peter's wrists in his everyday life, smooth and tight to his skin. Aerodynamic. Still, their weight (More of a metaphorical weight than physical one . Nothing was really heavy for Peter anymore in his civilian life. It was only when he was, say, holding together ferries or lifting up buildings that Peter felt his muscles burn.) was a comforting one. It was the closest thing Peter could associate to safety and freedom .
Feeling bolstered by their weight now, Peter pulled the flip phone from his pocket and dialed the second programmed number. Lifting the phone to his ear, Peter let his feet guide him toward the library while his senses watched his back, allowing Peter to fully focus on the phone call.
"Hello! Sherry speaking, editor of the Gotham Glazer, how may I help you?"
Momentarily surprised, Peter took a moment to respond. It wasn't normally an editor's job to field phone calls. He had seen some of the Gotham Glazer's articles the previous day, and although they never caught up to places like the Gotham Gazette or the Gotham Times in terms of readers, Peter still hadn't thought it would be this bad, "Hi, Sherry, my name is Peter. I'm looking for a job."
"Oh! We aren't hiring right now, though."
Humming, Peter figured screw it , and decided to seize the moment, "I'm a photographer, and noticed when looking through your articles online that, no offense, a lot of the photos are shit. No one is going to want to pick up your paper or click on your online articles when the front cover photo is a bury photo of maybe- Batman or maybe a black sheet."
"I- I'm sorry?" Sherry's voice was incredulous, and once again Peter felt like an asshole bully on the phone. This was not going to become a habit.
"Sorry," Peter sighed, "That was rude. Look, if your company is willing to lend me a camera, I'll take photos tonight and then bring them in tomorrow. I can work freelance, or something. I just need cash, and I promise that you won't regret it."
Sherry stayed quiet, and the guilt was starting to overwhelm Peter before the woman laughed . Peter definitely made some confused sound, because Sherry took pity on him, "Huh. I've never had someone brave enough to say that to my face before," and what?
"I'll be frank with you, Peter. The Glazer is running low on staff, because, just as you said, our photos are shit. Doesn't matter how good our pieces are if no one looks at them. So here's the deal," Sherry paused, and Peter waited with an eager breath, "I'll be generous and give you two nights, since I know the Bats aren't active every night. If you can bring in even one mildly in-focus picture of any of that crew, you have a job."
"Do you have a camera I could use?" Peter wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Sure, for a normal person asking such a task (such as tracking down some of the apparently most elusive vigilantes of all time) would be nearly impossible. Luckily, Peter had some experience with climbing buildings and some handy dandy senses that could lead him right to the danger. Except this time, it wouldn't be to fight! Instead, Peter was about to become the Bat-Paparazzi.
(Okay, that might be an overstatement, but from how few clear photos there were of some of the Bat Crew (aside from JL press moments, because those didn't count ), Peter figured that any photography of them could be considered paparazzi-esque.
"Yep. Come by our building and grab it sometime today," Sherry then rattled off an address and hung up when she was sure Peter had it down.
Peter closed his phone, let out a breath, and then physically restrained himself from cheering out loud like he wanted to. It was probably not a good idea to throw his hands wildly around and yell when the people around him were already looking at him strangely for his horribly giddy smile.
The library could wait! Peter had a new mission now: find the Gotham Glazer, buy a good backpack with the money he'd made from his work earlier this morning, then dart back to the shelter for dinner. Unfortunately, the Bats being nighttime vigilantes would put a damper on Peter's ability to sleep someone safe and comfortable (because, shortly after dinner, the doors closed, and whoever was in or out of the shelter was stuck there for the remainder of the night), but it could work out if Peter did sort of an alternating day thing? maybe? one night going out and then one staying in? at least until Peter could afford a more permanent place to sleep?
(Once again, guilt welled up inside of Peter. He wanted to return back to his home dimension . He did! He'd had a whole breakdown over it, afterall. But it was also hard to undo two years worth (or, if Peter was being honest, his entire vigilante career's worth) of separating Peter Parker and Spider-Man to an excessive degree in one night. But Peter was trying - genuinely trying - to want to go back home ( could it be home? is he allowed to have a home? is it really possible for Peter to be allowed to want this-?) , and it was a start . Additionally, Peter had no clues about how he ended up in this dimension, and for him to be able to reasonably investigate that, Peter needed Spider-Man.
(Did he? No one knew who Peter Parker was in this world, and Peter wasn't planning on staying so-
But it was smarter to keep his identity hidden, at least so that if the reception to Spider-Man/Peter-Man went badly he could still hide out during the day. Also it felt icky - too reminiscent of Beck and his horrible little video, and the whole reason why Peter got into the spellcasting mess to begin with.
So. Secret identity it was!)
He needed to be able to use his powers freely, and without worrying about his body just straight up collapsing due to malnutrition and exhaustion. Hence: the long game! Getting a job and a semi-steady-ish flow of income (at least enough to eat regularly!) was the first step. After that was figuring out how to make Spider-Man work. Because fuck it. Peter may have made fun of Big Bat for sticking too hard to his schtick, but Peter felt like he was very reasonably stuck in his own schtick! Bit by a spider = spider abilities = Spider-Man. It all made sense. Now, unless Batman had been bitten by a radioactive bat who also had a penchant for naming everything after bats, Peter honestly saw no reason to compare their schticks together!
(Okay, that one sounded weird.)
But Peter's point still stood! Maybe he couldn't pull out the sewing machine, but like, a halloween mask and thin gloves to cover his fingers (and also maybe like a black t-shirt and pants? because, not to cramp Batman's style, but with the whole gothic doom and gloom Gotham had going on… Peter hated to admit it, but the man had the right idea with his color scheme. he still couldn't get behind the excessive bat-themed stuff though.)) would probably be enough to hide his identity.
Finding the Glazer ended up being relatively easy (if a long walk). Walking into the front office, a woman with sharp nails and a sharper stare met him, sitting casually at what would be a receptionist's desk. Peter knew on the spot, however, that this woman was not a receptionist, and hedged a tentative, "Uhh, are you Sherry? I'm Peter."
The woman stood, brushing invisible dust off of her slacks, "Correct." Stopping in front of him, Peter watched her take in his state: clothes that had obviously been slept in, his semi-greasy and unwashed hair, the way Peter clung to his drawstring bag like a lifeline, and something seemed to soften in her, "Look, kid," and Peter tensed up impossibly tight, his eyes shuttering from tentative hope to utter blankness , while his hands clenched the precious bag tighter as he attempted to not snap at his new boss. Sherry took it in stride, correcting herself in the next breath, "Peter. I get that you need a job, but this isn't a pity party either. I need a real photographer."
Breathing out through his nose, Peter fought to get a handle on his emotions, beating back the instinctive anger, "And I'm not trying to bullshit my way into a job I can't handle. You said you'd give me two nights - let me at least try before you dismiss me outright."
Sherry rubbed her forehead, and while she seemed to be weighing the thought in her mind, Peter couldn't help but notice she didn't question if he was underage. Sherry didn't seem like the type to be chill with child labor, so it was quite a surprise, especially after always being mistaken for younger than he actually was back in high school.
(Well , Peter mused, No one has asked me that since May died. Maybe I finally look my age?
(Or maybe I look too exhausted to be a teen anymore. I certainly feel that way.))
"Alright," Sherry finally agreed, handing over the camera case that had been hanging over her shoulder, "You break it, you buy it. And I will figure out a way to get that money back. Two nights. Don't disappoint. Or do - but return the camera, at least."
Peter could work with that.
One $10.88 (plus tax!) backpack later, Peter debated webbing the backpack to his sweater. It was a fleeting thought, but still one that he might have taken a bit too seriously. There was still some time before Peter needed to be back at the shelter for dinner, so he decided to test out the new camera, lest he be struggling to figure it out as the action was occurring. Peter needed his fingers to know where the buttons were now in the daylight, so capturing the shot was instinctive when the time came.
The Glazer had been a decent hike away, and Peter remembered passing a park on the way. A park would be a good, inconspicuous place to take pictures. Much less likely to get him yelled at by people who didn't like him swinging around a camera, even though people would always be more interesting subjects to Peter than still life. People came alive in front of the lens, Peter noticed. Or maybe it was that he could notice.
The bite had enhanced all of Peter's senses - vision, hearing, smell… all of them were leaps and bounds above normal.
(Although it was hard for Peter to compare. Pre-bite he had been… well, he'd been an asthmatic nerd who needed some pretty intense glasses. It was difficult to differentiate between what Peter should be seeing versus what he was actually seeing (or hearing, or smelling, or sensing) because of that. Because surely people couldn't hear the exact words of a conversation being held two floors above them, but it also felt impossible that other people didn't notice when Peter could hear up to the fourth floor.)
But because of that enhancement , Peter tended to take in too much of a person when he looked at them. Their smell told him where they'd been, what they'd eaten, and he could hear their heartbeats race when they lied, or slow in contentment and peace. He could see the minute widening of someone's eyes, the tension they held within themselves, or whether a person's relaxation was pretend or real. All of those tiny signs screamed at him, and oftentimes it distracted Peter from what a person was intentionally trying to project, the movements so big and bold that it was like they were moving in slow motion - or not even moving at all. Like when Tony had gone in for a hug, at the end. Peter didn't know it was coming - sure he had been coming closer , but Peter was too focused on the way Tony's heartbeat had increased, a sharp contrast to his adrenaline which stalled . He smelt of dirt and blood and dust and Titan (somehow, even years later. maybe Tony had never stopped carrying Titan around with him) and heard the waver in Tony's breathing. He saw him swallow roughly, and all those miniscule movements had so completely reassured Peter that he was wanted, that Tony's hug had been entirely unexpected. Unseen. Unnoticed, until it was upon him. Unnecessary, because in the end, Peter knew exactly how Tony felt without the man ever having to intentionally move a finger.
Still. It had been appreciated. And Tony had needed it.
But behind a camera? Peter could only see to the level that the camera could capture, and so all the tiny details and microexpressions and minute wavers vanished. People were suddenly Big Movements! and Action! and Surprising! It was exhilarating , and Peter had never known how much photography meant to him until he'd been so overwhelmed with absolutely everything that the narrow view of the camera became his everything.
Taking pictures had begun as a way to get easy money, and ended as a release that Peter so desperately needed.
All that being said: a leaf on the ground did not inspire the same sort of awe.
Trust him: this was the second leaf picture and already Peter wanted to rip his hair out. Maybe he could throw a stick or something? and then try to capture the shot on the stick's descent? because still shots - while helpful for getting to know the camera - wouldn't help when Peter needed to adjust for motion and movement .
And then Peter saw her.
She was movement in the best way possible - at its most raw and emotional form, and Peter had never wanted to take someone's photo so badly. Peter may or may not have been staring (he had) but it was barely for like two seconds max before the girl's head was snapping over. Peter just. Stared helplessly. He attempted to mouth a hello but it got stuck in his throat, and Peter ended up moving his hands in the smallest darting motions while he finally got his face to do something that wasn't whatever helpless expression it had been before. Maybe Peter's smile was way too weak and wavery, but Peter didn't know how to say "I promise I wasn't staring to be a creep" and "I promise I didn't take your picture I just want to really badly" and "Body language is the most beautiful thing ever and you've perfected it."
Y'know. Casual things.
But she understood , Peter knew she did, because her eyebrows quirked together thoughtfully, and the way she checked to the side (maybe she came to the park with someone?) spoke of someone reassuring themself that a current situation was in control before taking on a new task and oh. She was going to come over, she was coming over now, and Peter was so incredibly unprepared.
She settled in front of him, a few feet away, and the gentleness (superimposed against her inherent grace and elegance and strength) in her stance (like approaching a startled animal) had Peter settling back into his skin. There wasn't a need to talk. It simply became irrelevant. She cocked her head to the side, a question. One that had Peter lifting the camera in his hands slightly, a wry smile paired with a shrug of his shoulders.
A pause, and the person in front of him seemed to come to a decision, "Don't post them," Was her request, and then, like an afterthought, "Cass."
"Peter. I won't. Would never."
And that was enough , because then she was Action! and Grace! and Perfect! and Peter is taking pictures, he's moving. She's dancing - ballet - and he's dancing too, albeit in a different form. Something inside of him laughs freely, and he can tell it is within Cass , too. Her spine has softened its posture from the defensive form it had taken - no, not taken. The defensive form that was natural and learned - and her strength and courage took the form of playfulness, and spoke of letting go of a seriousness that had been weighing over her since perhaps forever.
The weight would come back, it always did, Peter knew. But for a moment it was gone - for both of them , it was gone - and that was enough.
Although Peter loved photography for the distance it gave him - it was impossible to feel that distance with Cass. Not when her body language felt so natural, when she read him just as easily. It took three minutes. Maybe four. And then together, Peter felt their energies simmer down, and Cass approached. Without a word, Peter changed the camera's mode to be able to show her the photos he took. Cass looked at them from his side as he tilted the digital screen to her, and while normally with a stranger that would be too close, too familiar, too much , with Cass, it felt as natural as breathing. He flicked through them, and even though Peter knew the pictures were good, suddenly it felt vital that she liked them. Peter's gaze flickered to the side as he finished going through the pictures, and then Cass patted his shoulder. The anxiety uncurled from within Peter, and he smiled softly back at her. His finger hovered over the "Delete" button - a question - and Cass shook her head, "I want them."
Speaking almost felt awkward now; Peter was so entrenched within his sense that it took a moment to pull himself away, "Do you have an email? I can download them onto the computer and send them to you tomorrow."
Shifting her weight onto her toes in a pleased rocking sensation, Cass rattled off an email address, which Peter made sure to ingrain into his memory.
…
He felt looser. Less wound up, less on the brink. Cass didn't remind Peter of anyone he'd ever met before - there were no ghosts hanging over her shoulders. It would be impossible for them to; her movements were all Cass , all perfect understanding and genuine care. For anyone not adept in reading - in not speaking in - body language, Cass would be closed off. Harsh lines and radiated confidence that would have people backing off in a heartbeat.
Peter could read her heart , though. Like she could read his .
Even if Peter never saw her again, this meeting was worth every second a hundredfold over. There was peace within his soul .
If Peter wanted to delude himself (he did want to - it happened to be a frequent urge of his) then he would say that Cass looked lighter too. A sort of peace that comes with being totally understood, and understanding completely, in turn. There was no room for deception or confusion within the honest lines of someone's inherent self.
Breathing felt easier.
Dinner was wonderful .
Still riding on the high of taking pictures, Peter let down his guard as he joined Nic and his friends for dinner. They ended up being very fun to talk to, and something in Peter had exploded in nostalgia (the bittersweet-but-happy kind, not the gut-wrenchingly-terrible kind, which was a novel experience, and one Peter wouldn't mind repeating) when they had waved him over cheerfully, uncaring of their noise and who turned to look at them.
(It reminded him of Ned and MJ, but also Deadpool and Johnny (although those two weren't at the same time! that probably would have been a horrible train wreck). It was also novel seeing spaces where Peter Parker's and Spider-Man's lives interconnected - their joint experiences. Peter hadn't thought there to be anything that could link those two faces together (besides, well, him ), and it felt weird… but also so good … to feel comfortable with the idea that both aspects could coexist inside of him as a real person .
… Comfortable might have been an overstatement. It was more like… Peter didn't immediately reject the idea. But! Progress was progress!)
Before going out, though, Peter wanted to do something about… well, himself. The shelter did have showers, after all, and they were open in the hour period between when dinner started and when the shelter closed down completely for the night. Peter knew he looked dirty (he felt dirty) and was in desperate need of one. Nic had also informed him that the shelter had a clothing donation box, which Peter raided (read: politely asked one of the volunteers the location of, and then took the bare minimum of what he required) before going to the shower, not wanting to put dirty clothes back on.
The box ended up being a good resource, with Peter snagging a pair of sweats that were around his size and a Wonder Woman t-shirt. There was a solid looking jacket, black and sturdy, and Peter almost felt guilty taking it for himself, but between his cold sensitivity and his newfound job of taking pictures of practically invisible vigilantes, Peter decided to grab it.
(Peter pushed away the voice in his head that told him that he shouldn't feel guilty for taking what he needs - that he is in just as much of a shitty situation as everyone else here.)
Showering was a relief.
For seven minutes, Peter felt like it was almost possible to scrub away every bad thing that had ever happened to him. The water was lukewarm and the soap (he'd found it at the bottom of his drawstring bag!) irritated his nose, and it was the best shower Peter had ever had. After getting out and getting dressed in his new clothes, Peter felt like a new man, ready to take on the world!
Or, at least, take some pictures.
Nic had been very alarmed to see Peter start to dodge out of the shelter, and stopped him, "Hey hey, man. Where y'going?"
Adjusting the straps on his new backpack, and clicking closed the strap across his chest, Peter shrugged, "Got a job. Need to be out at night 'cause of it."
"The night is dangerous, Pete. Don't… don't take any risks, alright? Sure, there's all the Bats, but you can't rely on them," Nic seemed intent on making sure Peter knew of the danger that could potentially await him, and Peter tried to give the guy a reassuring smile. Nic couldn't be much older than Peter, and here he was, all concerned for Peter's safety, "Promise I'll be smart, Nic. No jumping into danger for me!"
Still visibly uneasy, Nic just nodded his head, "Y'gonna be back for breakfast?"
"Probably, yeah."
"We'll watch for you. Stay safe."
The camera Sherry had lent him was a truly unfortunate level of bulky and cumbersome to use. Peter didn't know whether to attribute that to the general outdatedness of the technology, Sherry not trusting him with an expensive and nice camera, or the Glazer just not being able to afford a better one. He could probably point at any one of those reasons and be right, but that was neither here nor there.
Other than the fact that he would be right no matter what, which was both here and there.
Still, the weight of the camera rested heavily against his chest, making Peter hyper aware of its presence. He genuinely couldn't afford to break the thing. It wasn't night quite yet - the shelter closed at five-thirty, meaning that it hadn't grown dark out yet. Or, at least night-dark. The daytime was still just as gloomy and sad and depressing as ever. That at least gave him time to try to puzzle out where the best location to take photos would be.
(Peter hadn't had to worry about that part back in New York. Spider-Man would be wherever he was needed when it came to photos. The whole job at the Bugle took startlingly little effort on Peter's part, but Jameson didn't know that, so honestly, Peter really figured his salary could have been significantly better.
There was no horrible guilt and self hatred tied along with that particular whim of his. Funny how Peter's moral compass worked.
Not too funny, though. Sad, really, considering it was more of a self-flagellation type thing and less of an actual moral compass, but luckily for the world, a lot of things made Peter feel guilty, thus preventing a potential super villain from ever arising!
…
That, and while Peter had grown to appreciate some solid melodramatic monologues, he, personally, couldn't picture himself going through the whole spiel, which would make his evil schemes and machinations a lot more difficult for some poor vigilante sap like current-Peter to stop. And that made Peter feel guilty!
Circular reasoning it may be, but that didn't take away from the inherent truth of the matter.
It just meant that Peter had way too much time to think about this sort of stuff.)
… Trying to think about where to stake out just ended up in distraction after distraction. In the end, Peter decided to just "wing it" (HA! 'Cause of the apparent obsession with winged creatures this city had?) and bank on his senses noticing where the most danger was, and then (Sorry, Nic) running head first into it.
But! Peter would stop an unsafe distance away and take photos! not get himself involved at all!
Maybe. Depends. Probably. Most likely , because Peter didn't have a mask and would be staying high up, but then again, Parker Luck was apparently transuniversal, so who says he doesn't accidentally end up becoming a pawn to some caped villain's plan and then accidentally punching through Batman, because no one knows about his strength, or would ever begin to expect it.
Haha. Peter needed to stop joking about these types of things. Because then they seemed actually not-impossible, and Peter did not need that type of pressure.
With time to burn and a growing need to eat , Peter decided to say fuck it and spent his last remaining daylight hours scrounging up some food.
Although…
Peter dug into the pocket of his sweats, debated, forgot why he was even debating, and then called the most street savvy and knowledgeable person he knew: Black Widow.
Just kidding. Peter doesn't know her number. And also she's probably still dead.
(The "probably" comes from the apparent tendency superheroes have to come back from the dead. Peter included! Although that was more of a blip-based circumstance, rather than his own epic revival scene.)
But Peter does know one Deadpool (sometimes unfortunately) who happens to know the best places to eat! Plus, this was a great way to get some more information on how the numbers correlate across dimensions - or if they even do. It could potentially just be a coincidence.
The issue with anyone potentially Deadpool-associate, though, is the very likely chance for Peter to just get horrible confused. He might be better off with calling Tony's number, or something, and getting a genius?
No, no, no. Tony had no concept of subtly or what it would be like to be in Peter's situation.
But.
But.
And oh god, this was a horrible idea, but it was also so, so funny, and Peter dialed the number before he could reconsider.
And then it picked up, and was Peter feeling giddy?
"Hello, Wayne Manor. Alfred speaking," and what the hell was that. Why did Fake Nick Fury's number (aka, professional pain-in-the-ass and masquerading master who knew too much and also didn't know how to leave Peter alone) lead to Wayne Manor .
"Oh, uh, hey! You don't know me, I was wondering if Mr. Wayne was in? I have a very important question for him," Peter lied through his teeth. So far, he hadn't learned anything about the actual identities of the people on the other side of the call - just personalities - and this felt both like cheating and a spectacular research breakthrough.
The person on the other side of the phone paused, which, alright. Peter imagined this was a pretty strange call. Also, who had landlines anymore? Why didn't this Wayne-dude just own a cellphone? Talk about bizarre . The guy certainly had enough money for it. Eventually, Alfred resumed speaking, "Apologies, but this is a private line. If you can give me a name and number, I can see if Master Bruce could call you back at a later date?"
As if , Peter held back a snort, if the guy is anything like Fake-Ass-Fury, then he's going to try to figure out who I am. And even if he's not, no way is the guy gonna call me back with any good intentions.
"No thanks, I'll just ask you my question instead: where do you recommend going for food handouts? I know of the shelter, and then I can also ask some Mom and Pop stores and blah, blah, blah. But I was curious about your - well, Mr. Wayne's, I guess - opinion," Peter really was turning into a ballsy online bully. This poor old man. But questions are questions and food is food, and if Alfred doesn't have an answer, Peter's just going to call Not-Daredevil (who was undoubtedly the best option, but alas, Peter has never been one to make things easy for himself).
(Peter also already knows the best thing he can do in this situation: that's why he's presently walking towards a more well off area of the city known for its cafes and restaurants and bars. This current game of call roulette is more of a sort of fun way to talk and tease people (Peter is never going to beat the bully allegations), and also might end up being his best way home, if he can figure out if there is a transuniversal-connection, and if so, what that might be.
The fact that the call forwarded to Wayne Manor? If there was indeed a connection, it was hinting at a truly massive one.)
Surprisingly, Peter wasn't immediately hung up on, "The Wayne Foundation sponsors many initiatives to help the homeless in Gotham City. You might try going to one of the soup kitchens - I am unsure of your location, but ask a volunteer at the shelter: they will tell you where to go." The man's posh British accent didn't even sound annoyed . He just relayed the information seamlessly and easily, as if he often got these types of questions. Maybe he did. He probably didn't, "Oh! Thank you so much, Sir. I truly appreciate your help!"
"Of course. Now, may I inquire how you got this number?"
"Uh. No thank you. But thank you. But also no. Goodbye!"
Bruce Wayne pushed his chair back, the three people inhabiting the room letting out a joint sigh of relief as the call disconnected. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, already relaying the… frankly bizarre conversation, despite how potentially high stakes it could have been… through his head, in an attempt to figure out what information the stranger had accidentally let slip.
"That was a risky choice," Bruce's son, Damian Wayne, remarked, "What if the person knew they were calling Batman? Or thinking they were calling one of us in costume? That could have revealed our identities."
"I trust Jason and Dick. They both said they got calls from that same number before, and that the person didn't know who they were." Dick was in Blüdhaven, as usual, and Jason wasn't staying at the manor at the moment, but when Dick reported getting an alarming call from someone with a Gotham and Gotham-adjacent area code in the Batchat, Jason had begrudgingly mentioned that he'd also gotten a call from the number, and, as best he figured, it was someone who'd gotten caught up in some type of shit - magical, mob, or otherwise. Dick had been relieved to know that the "Kid" had gotten down from the building safely, to which Jason had scoffed, "Sure, safe . The guy nearly gave me a heart attack with the stunts he was pulling."
Jason hadn't elaborated, and none of them had asked him to. Gotham was busy enough as it was with its general crime rate, not counting the fact that some of the rogues had escaped recently after a nice six month stretch of most of them being locked up. So far all had been quiet, but they'd been working non-stop to try and get a handle on the situation. If things started going south fast, Dick had mentioned that he was just a call away. Other than that, it was all hands on deck. The mysterious caller had slipped through the cracks of their attention, but clearly, Bruce looked at the computer, the damning phone call blinking cheerily, that could no longer last. Once was coincidence, twice was maybe Dick's personal phone number got leaked along with the coincidence, and three times (especially when the third was Batman's personal line ) was no coincidence at all.
"Tim, you're on this," Bruce directed, taking a glance at the young man. He'd broken his arm two months ago and had been benched from field work until it healed. Tim had busied himself with working on the more detective oriented tasks from the Batcave, and going through unclosed police cases, but he'd been getting antsy, "See if you can call this number, or trace it, or… well, you know what to do. Try to figure out who this person is, and how they've gotten ahold of our numbers."
Nodding, Tim seemed to immediately lose himself in thought, his mind already on his newly assigned case. Satisfied, Bruce turned back to Damian, "Eat. Then get ready for patrol tonight."
Rooftops were not an uncommon place for Peter to be. A nighttime rooftop escapade? A casual Tuesday (and every day) occurrence for him. But doing it in civilian clothes as Peter Parker? Now that was something new!
"Y'know what they say," Peter muttered under his breath, adjusting the collar of his coat to block out the chill, "Variety is the spice of life and blah, blah, blah." After the sun set on a very successful mini adventure (Which included: one box stuffed with old pastries that had been about to be thrown out and a styrofoam box of pasta! (And, weirdly enough, a maybe-job offer from a club? But that could be focused on some other time.)), Peter had sneakily made his way up to the rooftops. As opposed to his last time on a rooftop in Gotham, though, Peter was not nearly as close to the ground. Perched atop the flat roof of one of Gotham's multiple towering buildings, Peter kept himself carefully concealed within the shadows. Being found by one of the Bats could go in a multitude of ways - ranging anywhere from intense questioning as to how the hell he got up here, to ruining his chances to get a good picture. One of those would be absolutely terrible, and the other would result in an annoying conversation that Peter would dodge out of by maybe throwing himself off the building (and then using his webshooters! of course!), but hopefully neither would occur.
Still, Peter had to be near that Bats for either of those to happen, so, blanking out his mind, Peter focused deeply on what he could hear . After the bite, Peter's hearing had improved so far past the normal human threshold, but it was after meeting Daredevil , and learning how to hone in on the sounds surrounding him, that Peter's range (and, more importantly, his understanding of what he was hearing) improved drastically.
Ultimately, Peter knew that the average night didn't normally contain cool crime fighting. It was simple stuff, most of the time. A mugging, break-in, purse thief, or a resident asshole making trouble… that tended to make up the majority of a vigilante's nightlife. While Gotham still had one of the highest crime rates in the country, not every night would be filled with some Villain of the Week or big scheme. As well, just after sunset was typically not when the Big Things happened (at least in New York, and while it could be different here… Peter was doubtful of that being the case), so there would likely be a few hours before things started getting exciting. Or deadly. Or both! Hopefully only the first, though. Focusing his hearing and letting his sixth sense hum just under his skin, Peter dug into the pastry box to pass the time.
(The pasta had been demolished near-instantly. It was very good.)
Eventually, Peter's patience paid off, when, ten minutes before eleven, his danger-sense went haywire.
Checking that his backpack and camera were securely attached to his body, Peter neatly sprinted across the roof, staying in the shadows all the while, and with one easy leap, crossed the distance between the roofs, his run not even pausing as he landed. Light work, really. Although Peter kept his pace at something that was still possible by a normal person (Or, at least, he's pretty sure it's relatively normal. It was hard to judge anything when pre-bite-Peter had been a little dork .), the rush of wind against his face and the unconscious adrenaline rush he got from crossing the city's skyline (even though it wasn't his city) felt good . It felt like home , and for once, Peter didn't try to deny himself of that thought.
Following his gut feeting, Peter traveled across the city, occasionally having to use his sticky fingers as the height of the buildings decreased the further he traveled from the more central part of Gotham, "I'm never taking my webshooters for granted again," Peter grumbled under his breath on one such occasion, before there was a flare of awareness to his left that had Peter launching himself off the side of the building and down a four story drop, rolling around the camera protectively and leaping to his feet. Crossing the building in a few strides, Peter flattened himself against the side of a roof access point and held his breath.
Although Peter didn't hear anyone land, he could tell that someone else joined him on the roof a few seconds later. Luckily, they didn't know that he was there, having darted out of view before they could see him. Peter may have crushed all of his packs of crackers in his haste to get out of sight, but it was totally worth it to avoid the attention. The person eventually made their first noise, and considering no one else (well, besides Peter ) was on the roof with him, it was easy to conclude the guy was speaking into a com, "I'm in position. Robin?" A tinny voice on the other side answered, "Affirmative."
And wow that voice sounded young! Peter knew that Batman had a history of kiddy sidekicks… but to hear some kids' voices in person? (or, well, across a com-set, but still- )... it felt gross to Peter. Too child-solider-y for him, personally . Too reminiscent of his own way-too-early start, and Peter knew how that turned out for him: fear of concrete above his head, fear of suffocation… trauma from watching way-too-many loved ones die, a constant anticipation and paranoia about the rug being pulled out from under him at any given moment… Peter knew he was fucked. In many ways, but mostly about his mental health. And just… uck . The whole situation felt wrong and weird , but Peter couldn't exactly point at Batman and tell him all that to his face, so he settled with mentally telling the guy (and also chiding himself about making assumptions when he isn't aware of the full situation), and securing his hands around the camera, ready to snap a picture, should the moment arise.
"Remember, you only have twenty minutes to find the bomb Two-Face planted before it goes off at 11:22, and takes out the Twin Piers loading dock along with it. I'll track down Two-Face and put a stop to him - do not engage if you find him first. Keep me updated on any changes on your situation," Batman waited for an affirmative, and after getting one, he went radio silent after a quick, "Going in now."
There was the sound of a grappling gun, and then Peter could feel Batman's presence leaving the building. Lifting the camera to his eye, Peter settled Batman within his viewfinder and clicked , the perfect silhouette of his bat-winged cape and cowl illuminated by the lights from the harbor. It was a good photo. A great photo, even. It would be more than enough to satisfy Sherry. And yet Peter found himself waiting until Batman was out of sight, then slipping down the side of the building and heading towards Gotham Harbor. It wasn't necessary. In fact, it was quite risky. But knowing that pictures of Batman fighting would both save the Glazer and give Peter a secure job? (Knowing that there was a bomb planted in the Harbor and that people were currently risking their lives to save the place?) …
What was Peter expected to do? Leave?
Yes. But. Well.
(Maybe Parker Luck couldn't take all of the credit for everything bad that happened in Peter's life.
After all, if Peter's shitty luck was transuniversal, then so was his tendency to get himself into trouble.
Oh well, Peter shrugged internally, darting from shadow to shadow, tracking the feeling of doom doom doom across the dockyard, I guess I was due for some excitement, sooner or later. )
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, Peter chanted inside his head, not daring to make a single sound even as his heart felt like it was going to pump out of his chest, I'm going to be able to write a firsthand account of Batman fighting Two-Face after this. Whoever that is. I didn't read that far.
Crouching around the corner of a shipping container, Peter watched as Batman single handedly faced down Two-Face (And wow that name was horribly on-the-nose. Did the guy choose it himself? Peter hoped so. Otherwise it would be a really mean thing for the media to just start calling him, even if it was accurate) and half a dozen henchmen. It was exactly half a dozen, too (two, haha) . This guy really had a fixation. Did everyone in Gotham have such a hardcore schtick?
Batman had his bats, Two-Face had… the number two? Joker had clowns…
(Maybe Peter would need to check the copyright status of Spider-Shticks in Gotham. This lot didn't seem like the type to share .)
Anyway! Not the point. The fight appeared to be a pretty rinse and repeat event, similar to what Peter normally dealt with, and Batman didn't really appear concerned so much as Righteously Upset! so Peter wasn't too worried about his safety. Plus, with his danger-sense dying down to more of a dull thrum (as opposed to the raging alarm it started out as), Peter figured that victory was well within reach.
Two-Face was monologuing (boring!), half of the half-a-dozen goons were down (captured in a series of very exciting action shots!), but oh no! Batman was caught in a tricky situation! (Peter would have thought, had his senses not so much as stirred ). Flanked by two gun-holding-goons, Batman faced Two-Face head-on as the villain dramatically held up the two detonators for the two bombs he placed, threatening Batman that if he moved the Twin Piers would go up in smoke, along with the two dozen hostages that were being stored inside a shipping container alongside one of the bombs. However shall Batman get out of this situation?
Apparently whether or not Two-Face would follow through with his threats at 11:22 (it was currently 11:21) would be decided by a coin toss (and really? All this work just to leave it to chance?) . Peter shifted his weight to the side, making sure that Robin, who had a Batarang aimed at Two-Face's hands (and the detonators), was in frame, and watched as the boy and Batman froze, not realizing that there was a second bomb and hostages.
(Luckily for them, Peter happened to have found the bomb first (or, rather, his hearing picked up the sound of people crying, which happened to be a pretty good directional guide) and after breaking the lock and opening the door in time with the hostages throwing themselves against it, he played a very stressful game of wire-roulette where he cut the wires that didn't make his danger sense scream. Normally Peter would have handled that in a much more professional manner, but sue him, he didn't want to miss the action.
And maybe that would alarm the Bats more than simply being photographed, but above all Peter helped the people. He couldn't just leave them there , and he certainly didn't feel comfortable crouching beside a shipping container with an active bomb inside of it . )
No matter. They didn't know that, and Peter watched Robin calculate then re-calculate his throw as Two-Face moved both detonators to one hand, pulling out his coin with the other. Then, murmuring something in the com-set to Batman, and in a move that was pure synchronized beauty, they threw their Batarangs at once. Robin's throw knocked the detonators out of Two-Face's hands just as Batman's pinged the coin off-course, and Peter had the photo . He had the photo , and in a much more horrible synchrony, two gunshots echoed out, but Batman had pushed one of the guns away and Robin had thrown a second Batarang at the other, so neither shot hit, and with the Robin joining the fray with a frankly brutal efficiency (yet still managing to be non-lethal) the remaining half of the half-a-dozen henchmen went down hard , and Two-Face was subsequently captured.
It played out like an old thirty minute TV show (with ads, so more like twenty-two minutes) about superheroes, with everything being perfectly wrapped up just in time, with just the right amount of stakes.
This was the perfect news story.
Peter fled the scene quite quickly after that. He did take one last photo, though: one of Two-Face tied up as Batman and Robin stood triumphantly in front of him, interrogating him about where the second bomb and the hostages were located.
Good triumphs evil once more, Peter noted wryly.
The next morning, in the midst of what should have been a peaceful breakfast, Tim stormed into the dining room in a frenzy, eyes wild and scattered, "Have you seen the news?" He demanded, and when Bruce, Damian, and Alfred didn't immediately answer, he shook his head, "Look at your phones. I just saw it - Babs sent the link."
To Bruce, he thrust his phone in the man's face. Alfred came to look over Bruce's shoulder as he read the headline:
Gotham Glazer -
"Two-Face Takedown at Twin-Piers! Tandem Throws by the Dynamic Duo!"
Article Written by Sherry Rite, Photos by an Anonymous Submitter
The article then continued to outline - in way too much detail - exactly what he and Damian had done the night before - right down to the twenty-second minute. The most damning part of the article, however, was the headline picture: a startlingly clear photo capturing both Batman flanked by goons and Robin in the shadows, their arms both raised after releasing their throws, the two Batarangs just making contact with their targets. It was a perfect photo, and Bruce didn't know that someone had been there . He knew the exact angle that view would be from, too. It was right beside the storage container that Two-Face had claimed held the hostages - hostages that he and Damian had found hiding further away from the fighting. Hostages who said that they had forced the container doors open themselves, and who didn't know how the bomb had been diffused. Someone had tentatively mentioned that they were told to run , but none of them knew who the first person to say it was, since the word had quickly been repeated by them all, either externally or internally. Bruce had dismissed it - thought that perhaps the container wasn't properly closed, since the lock had been mangled. That they truly had been able to force the doors open. That the second bomb wasn't active because Two-Face wasn't stupid enough to have an active bomb right next to where they were fighting .
And maybe . But maybe not. And Bruce wasn't known for letting " maybe's" stick around in his line of work, even if the intentions were benign.
Pulling up the "Batchat" - a name coined by Steph - Bruce quickly skimmed what everyone else had been saying.
Babs: Gotham Glazer: "Two-Face Take…
Babs: Guys…
Steph: wtf? how did they get such a good pic of b and rob?
Babs: It's the Glazer, too. They are known for having bad pics, and were prob going to close down soon
Dick: B never lets anyone get that close for a pic. and all the details of the mission… no one shud know that much about whats going on
Tim: wth that was last night? O? what do u know?
Babs: It was just posted this morning. At the end there is an author's note that Rite herself wasnt there - it was the photographer, who is a trusted source and wishes to remain anonymous for safety reasons. Said that the subscription version of the article would include more photos of the fight. Rite runs a legit business - no dirt on her anywhere. Don't see why it wud start now, even if the business was going downhill.
Steph: but since no one else was there no one can prove the photos r real
Babs: Nope. Several people confirmed that they were taken hostage and can confirm part of the story. Dad doesn't even know this much about the whole thing - said the article was more informative than any normal police report they ever have about stuff relating to B.
Dick: damn. someone rlly managed to sneak past both B and Dami.
Tim: i dont think b or d knows. im going to show them now
…
Tim: This is Bruce. We now have two different people who know too much: the caller and the photographer. The photographer doesn't seem malicious - it was a highly complimentary article that will likely result in positive sentiment towards us. I don't see any nefarious reasoning behind their actions. They are most likely looking for cash, but they are putting themselves at risk being on-site at a crime scene. As for the caller, continue to beware of them. If any of you manage to get further information on either person, share it immediately. Caller: medium priority. Photographer: low. High priority is still capturing the Arkham escapees.
Steph: ofc ofc
Dick: doubt there will be anything in blud but ill be sure to let u know if stuff starts getting weird here
Damian: I do not believe that a normal person could have managed to sneak past my attention. Whoever this is should have a higher priority.
Babs: I'll keep an eye out. Might reach out to the Gotham Glazer, but if their photographer wants to be anon I doubt Rite will spill.
Jason: I'm still pretty sure that the caller is someone down on their luck and in need of help. The photographer on the other hand is suspicious. I'll keep an eye out during my patrol.
Peter sneezed, and Nic looked up at him sympathetically. Peter would have thought the guy was going to pat his shoulder if he hadn't been across the table, "I hope y'didn't catch a cold last night when y'were out."
"I dunno," Peter sniffled, "Don't think so, at least. It ended up being a pretty productive night, though. Oh!" He turned to the group, "I forgot to mention: I got this job offer from some lounge place. Ice themed, or something. Dunno if I'll end up taking it - have an interview today - but I thought it was funny that I might end up being nocturnal like the Bats!"
Nic's friends all laughed and wished him luck at the interview, although Nic remained concerned. When Peter cocked his head at the other man, questioning, the guy just sighed, "I worry about ya, Pete. Just… stay safe, 'kay? Don't get in over y'head. It's easy to do that in Gotham. Take it from me."