There is a common misconception that Gotham, New Jersey is relatively close to New York City. In the grand scheme of things, sure . The drive is not so bad. But for an emotionally drained teenager running on no sleep and an unsettling green influence?
Two hours felt like it had lasted two weeks. The crying twin toddlers overwhelmed his sixth sense, and the smartly dressed man arguing on the phone two rows ahead did nothing for the headache that grew worse by the minute.
Honestly, if hell were real? This is what Peter imagined it to be: a stuffy bus that would never make its final stop.
Peter stepped off of the bus at eleven a.m. with a crick in his neck that only made his buzzing discomfort worse. The feelings of dread, frustration, and anxiety wracked his body, bouncing up and down his spine and infecting his mind with dangerous thoughts.
He shuffled through the crowd on the busy sidewalk. Today was a Thursday, so still part of the work week- but that meant nothing for the foot traffic of New York City.
The deep breaths that Peter took had helped a little bit , the air in the city being more familiar than Gotham's haze had ever felt. If Peter closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the city, he could almost convince himself that he was Home.
But then his chest would lurch, and he would be painfully reminded of how wrong that thought was.
Peter really had not set a big goal in New York. Really, in the moment, he had wanted to escape Gotham and the Waynes. Their hospitality had been suffocating, and their overbearing promises of comfort and safety had simply been manipulation.
They lied to him, just like Karen had.
Thinking of the AI made something else in Peter's chest ache, but not in the same way that thinking about the Waynes did. Karen was his : created by Tony for him and him only. She was supposed to help Peter- to protect him and make sure that he was safe. But she had purposely gone behind his back, withholding important information from him.
She even shared his information with the Waynes. There was no telling how much she had revealed to the family without Peter knowing. The thought made something fierce turn in his gut that moved in tandem with the green in the corners of his vision.
Peter glanced at street signs as he walked, crossing intersections and letting his legs lead him without a single thought. Deep down, Peter knew that this was not his New York, but it was so similar that instincts had naturally taken control.
The teen felt an uncomfortable familiarity as he walked down the busy sidewalks, eyeing the pre-lunch traffic on the streets. It was too familiar at first, but he had forced himself to shake that feeling and press on.
Peter had no real destination in mind, so the fact that his body had kicked in to take over for his mind was something of a comfort. Maybe thinking less would help.
So he muted his mind to the best of his capabilities, shoving any unsettling thoughts into a dark corner in the back of his brain.
Just one hour , he mentally pleaded. One hour of rest, I can't take much more. He prayed that his overactive mind would comply.
He had been glad, at the very least, that he had abandoned his cell phone at the Manor alongside the Spider Armor. He knew that destroying the hearing aid could not destroy Karen , but would simply eliminate her way of tracking him. Losing any other technology that she had attached herself to rendered him completely off-the-grid.
It also rendered him alone, but he tried not to think about that. He considered that one of those dark unsettling thoughts to be shoved aside for later.
The teen mumbled apologies under his breath as he coasted around other foot commuters, accidentally bumping one woman while ducking around another, raising a hand in an apologetic manner to placate her before she could even get angry. He knew how to deal with New Yorkers, and he knew how to navigate the city.
Even if that street was named something different, or the traffic lights were a different shape than he was used to. Had that building gotten taller? Where did that building go?
The longer Peter looked, the more he realized all of the small differences. The sidewalk tiles were slightly larger than he was used to, but the sewer grates were a different color. There was never a bank on that corner, and that alleyway was supposed to be blocked off. It was a hotspot for petty theft.
But Peter was not Spider-man right now, he was just Peter . So he ignored that sinking feeling when he noticed the shadowy figures, and moved on, just like every other person on the sidewalk. It almost made him feel normal, but he knew he could not pretend like this forever.
Tony would be so ashamed of him.
He was thrown back to a time a year or two ago, during his freshman year of High School. A conversation happened on top of a roof, with Peter arguing at a flying machine. But then, the machine opened, and the one man that Peter looked up to stepped out with a glower and a piercing glare.
Then Peter had his suit taken away, and once again, he was not Spider-man. The scenario then was obviously different from the current moment, but the small similarities made him shiver in discomfort.
But then, he was pushing a door open and stepping into a building with big glass windows, a slowly spinning ceiling fan that was on its last life, and a delicious smelling spread of various sandwich toppings.
The harsh change of sensory information from going inside almost startled Peter, but he steeled himself and forced a neutral expression onto his face.
There was a line, which some part of him had expected. Delmar's Deli would be popular in any universe, and Peter firmly believed that. The place had quality food, and little to no wait time after all, which was a blessing in a place as busy as New York.
After three minutes, the teen stepped up to the counter, glancing over to the menu briefly out of habit. He was painfully surprised to discover that it had a different format. Despite his mental anguish, he kept himself painfully neutral.
After all, this was his first time here.
He looked to Delmar, the familiar face of the dominican man staring back with a similarly neutral expression. They were strangers, so there was no need for the friendly smiles that Peter longed to exchange.
"I'll get a number five." Peter repeated his order for the first time in two years. Back home, since he had been such a regular, Delmar and the other employees of the Deli had memorized his specific requests. Saying them outloud now made him feel picky. "And if it's not too much trouble, could you maybe add pickles? And uh, squish the bread in the panini press so it's flat?"
Delmar blinked slowly, and as the seconds passed, Peter felt sweat drip down his neck. For once, he started blaming his instincts: maybe coming here was a bad idea.
"Number five already comes with pickles, kid. You want extra?" There was no room for banter, no empathy, and no familiarity. The Deli Owner offered only the patience and gratitude that he gave every other customer.
Peter's heart faltered, but he nodded. Delmar rang him up, looking pointedly down at the register.
"...y'know," Peter cleared his throat, speaking again. There was something slightly desperate that he could not shake from his tone. "I once had a friend tell me that these were the best sandwiches in Queens."
"Lots of people say that about lots of different places, don't flatter me, kid." Delmar grumbled. Purely based on his expression, Peter could tell that the man was tired. Maybe the Delmar in this universe was not as energetic as the man he was used to. Just another reminder that this was not his home.
The teen took his sandwich two minutes later in silence, leaving the shop. Stepping back out onto the street almost overwhelmed his senses once more, but he did his best to push the bad feeling and green away while he inspected the sandwich to see what he had actually just bought with the last of his cash.
It, of course, was different from what he had been expecting. So Peter was lowered into eating a sandwich that he did not enjoy, walking down the sidewalk with his eyes pointed down. That had not even been the worst thing to come out of that interaction.
The worst part of that entire stop was the fact that Delmar's cat Murphy was not even there. It was a different cat, with short white fur and green eyes, named Murray. Even noticing the cat as he walked out made something in his chest die. Maybe it was his hope.
Once again, Peter's legs worked on their own and walked him from street to street, his instincts leading him down vividly familiar paths and turns.
His heart nearly leapt from his chest when he passed Midtown. The thought of going back to his old school, with his old friends, made him want to cry all over again. He missed them so bad- Ned and MJ had been his anchors.
And they were here . Well, MJ was, at least. As he passed the school's stairs, he noticed a flier pinned to the wall. In big bold letters, it said something about the Academic Decathlon team fundraising to go to D.C. for nationals. On the paper, a cartoon image of a tiger beating up a nightingale was pasted toward the bottom.
That was Gotham Prep's mascot.
Peter's heart sank as realization hit him.
MJ had been in Gotham for an AcaDeca meet, and that's why she had been in the library that day.
Peter promptly found the closest garbage can and released his early lunch, hunched over with his hands gripping the edges. So much for trying to enjoy that sandwich, even if it had not been what he wanted. Now it had joined the rest of New York's trash.
When he finally managed to pull himself from the garbage can, he glanced toward where people were walking on the sidewalk. No one had even batted an eye, instead just giving a wide berth around him. People dressed in smart suits did not want to catch whatever illness he apparently had.
Honestly, Peter did not blame them. Guilt and grief were both deadly diseases.
So he swallowed the remaining bile and his pride, wiped his mouth on his gray jacket sleeve, and continued down the sidewalk.
The rest of the mid-morning and early afternoon went by in a quick haze. He wanted to believe that he somehow ended up in Central Park at some point, laying in the grass and watching the sky. It was probably an attempt to ground himself, but being surrounded by so much green had just made him sick to his stomach again.
Currently, the score between his mind and his body was two to nothing, and unfortunately two garbage cans had been caught in the crossfire. He internally apologized to the sanitary workers who would have to change those bags.
But then he blinked, and the soft grass of Central was no longer below him. Instead, he was walking again to a place he could not pinpoint. By now, it was just before six p.m. New York's nightlife would come to life soon, which would make walking harder to do. Navigating busy sidewalks was a talent that Peter had practiced, not perfected. He much preferred to swing overhead.
But Peter was not Spider-man- not right now. Right now, he was a lonely teen who was on the verge of tears and hungry. His quick metabolism did not enjoy vomiting twice earlier, especially since he had made no effort to replenish the empty space in his stomach.
He just… could not bring himself to. Not like he could buy anything, either. He had spent the last of his cash on that sandwich at Delmar's, and that had been quite the mistake.
When Peter blinked again, the world became fuzzy once more, pulling him into an overstimulated buzz that nearly had him tripping over his own feet. In an attempt to hold himself together, the boy stumbled into the nearest alley, bracing himself against the brick wall and breathing like he could not get enough air.
Calm down, Peter– he tried desperately to remind himself. Calm down– you can't get anything useful done like this–
But try as he may, he simply could not convince his nerves and his sixth sense to relax. Soon enough, Peter had fallen onto his knees, forearms braced against the brick wall as fat tears streamed down his face, head hung low. There was no telling just how long he stayed in that position, crying for what seemed like an eternity.
All that he knew was that when he finally lifted his heavy head to look up toward the sky, he was greeted by the stars. His heart skipped a few beats in his chest, and through blurry eyes, he could only stare.
Gotham did not have many stars. The fog and haze that hovered around the city tended to block out all light that was not artificial, and even then- the city was still the darkest he had ever seen.
Darker than Titan.
Looking up at the sky felt like seeing an old friend. Stars were consistent: they existed in every universe. At least, Peter hoped that they did.
Within seconds, he had risen to his feet and shot webs towards the roof, pulling himself up until he could stand on the higher point. His neck was craned upward.
Oh, how he missed those stars.
"...hi." he whispered into the cold night air of New York, his voice getting lost in the soft wind. "...it's me again."
If the stars could talk, Peter could only imagine them greeting him like an old friend. They would say his name with joy and relief, pulling him into a warm hug blanketed by clouds. The stars would never betray him.
The stars did not respond.
Green invaded the corners of his eyes, and Peter lost track of how many times that had happened over the last few hours. The gaps in his memory and the fuzzy feeling that had overtaken his body certainly did not help him number the appearances, either.
"...at least you're still here." he felt his knees lock uncomfortably, but made no move to adjust his stance. Why should he be comfortable? "You wouldn't abandon me."
The stars did not respond.
"...I bet you were even there in Gotham, too." Peter smiled tiredly, throat and eyes dry. He could not possibly cry or sob any more. "...there were just clouds in the way, huh?"
The stars did not respond.
The teen did not notice when exactly he blacked out. All he knew was that one minute he was basking in the comfort of knowing that the stars still existed, and the next he was waking up at sunrise, collapsed on that same roof.
The Gala went on without Peter. It was uneventful. The Wayne family made face, smiled for photos, and chatted with socialites about the state of New Jersey's economy. No one seemed to notice their tense shoulders, or their eagerness to check their phones every few minutes. No one bothered to ask where Barbara had gone off to an hour after the event had started.
It had made her escape to the Batcave much easier: she had much better things to do than pretend to care about the opinions of Gotham's elite.
The woman stared blankly at the Batcomputer, glasses sliding down her nose ever so slightly. The screen before her was unfamiliar, with an unrecognizable logo and a loading bar that was on ninety-nine percent.
Stark Industries reflected onto her glasses in blocky blue letters, with a geometrical circle incorporated into the design. Obviously this was the work of Tony Stark, but for that man to not even exist, it made this hard to believe.
Three seconds of silence later, the bar filled to one hundred percent, and the window abruptly closed. She stared at the screensaver of the Batcomputer. If she had been speaking before, she would be at a loss for words.
Just before her hands could meet the large keyboard, a familiar voice projected itself from the monitor speakers.
"Hello, Barbara Gordon."
"..Karen-" she nearly choked, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. "Karen, okay- do you know where Peter is-" Her fingers flew across the keyboard in half a second, pulling up maps, trackers, and security cameras as fast as the systems would go.
All traces of Karen's signal displayed on the map of Gotham: at the manor, at Barbara's apartment, in the harbor. She would have been concerned about that last one, if not for having noticed it a week earlier. She was certain that was not Peter, and investigating it further would have to be saved for another time.
"I am unaware of his exact location. He destroyed the hearing aid when he boarded the bus for New York City."
Barbara nearly faltered, but did not allow the sudden information to throw her off. "New York? Did he seriously go all the way to New York ?"
"That is what I assume, yes."
"Why didn't he take you?"
"Likely so that you would not track him. Peter does not want to be found."
"Bullshit." She gritted her teeth. "He's mad that you worked with us, isn't he? You lied to him."
"For his own good."
" For his own good– " She repeated, almost in disbelief. Better yet, Barbara was appalled by Karen. "He's supposed to be able to trust you, Karen. I don't know where the hell you two came from, but I know enough to figure that you're the only thing he has."
"Do you regret tracking Peter?"
The lack of emotion in Karen unsettled Barbara, reminding the woman subtly that she was just an AI. There was no real emotion there, just preprogrammed code that had developed overtime to suit the needs of its user.
"...no, I don't." Barbara answered quietly but honestly. She would have ended up tracking the kid one way or another, that was not something that she was ashamed to admit. Still, that did not change the fact of Karen's blatant betrayal of the teen. "...but you letting me so willingly is worse than anything that I could do to that boy."
"I beg to differ." The red haired woman could have almost mistaken that tone for sass . "Your treatment of Peter could also be considered betrayal. We are in the same boat, Barbara Gordon. It is up to you to decide whether or not you will accept my help in finding him again."
Barbara let that simmer in her mind, leaning back in her wheelchair and frowning softly. "...wouldn't it be the other way around?" she asked carefully. "... you need us to find Peter. You're just an AI, you can't physically get him yourself."
Karen's silence spoke volumes, and Barbara knew in that moment that she had trapped her in a corner.
"...look, Karen." The woman softened her voice into something on the sympathetic side, eyeing the computer screen in front of her. "...we have a common goal, right? We both want Peter safe and home. That's all you ever wanted, right?"
"Correct."
"Then let's help each other , yeah?" She allowed herself to smile ever so slightly, but was unsure if she was trying to convince Karen or herself. "I can't find him without you, and you can't do anything to bring him home without me." Barbara let a beat of silence pass. "...I know that we messed up, but you did too. It needs to be a joint effort in bringing him back."
There was another silence that overtook the cave. For those long seconds, it even seemed like the bats overhead had quieted down, eager to hear how the AI would respond to this offer. Barbara herself felt like she was on the edge of her seat, but held her posture relaxed and open.
"I see that we both have actions to atone for. Working together is the most efficient use of time and resources."
For the first time in hours, Barbara's smile turned real. She sighed quietly through her nose in relief and returned to typing. "Sounds great to me, Karen. Now, care to explain what that loading bar was?"
Peter's second day in New York went by much like the first one. He let his instincts guide him through the city, which almost always resulted in a heavy reminder that he was not home. He was in a messed up New York that only made the pit in his chest worse and worse.
If going to Delmar's had been a mistake, then going anywhere else had to have been some sort of punishment. Sick, twisted punishments set up by the multiverse simply to toy with him.
A sun bleached green and pink shop sign hung overhead, and Peter held his breath as he stepped inside. Despite his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest, begging to leave, he ignored the pleas. He gave in to his own dark thoughts.
The cozy pastry shop was empty of customers, save for the boy sitting at the counter playing a quiet mobile game on his phone. His head was down, and his short, dark hair fell just above his ears. He did not turn to look as Peter approached the counter, looking over the menu.
It was exactly the same as he remembered, which only made him feel worse somehow.
MJ glanced up from the three compartment sink behind the counter, fully pausing when she locked eyes with the teen boy waiting to order. Weeks ago, in Gotham Public Library, she had no clue who this kid was.
To be fair, she still had no clue. At least this time, though, she could recognize a face. This face belonged to the boy who bumped into her.
"...welcome to Peter Pan Donuts and Pastries." She hummed, boredom radiating from her voice. "What can I get for you?"
Peter's heart begged to leave. The green in his vision demanded that he stay. His mind stayed silent.
"...just a coffee." he replied quietly, afraid that if he spoke too loud, his emotions would release like a dam.
"Ew, okay." she rolled her eyes. Peter knew that MJ hated black coffee. "What's the name for the order?"
"...Peter."
Three seconds later, Peter had dropped the five dollar bill he had found outside onto the counter, telling the girl quietly to keep the change. He sat down three seats away from the other teen at the bar, looking down at his hands while he waited for his coffee.
Something dangerous buzzed in his mind; dangerous and green . It made him want to rush into the bathroom to vomit again, despite knowing that his stomach was empty. It made him want to sob violently, despite the fact that his body was steadily becoming dehydrated.
And yet, he still chose to come get a coffee instead of finding a water bottle at a corner store.
He was startled out of his thoughts by a paper cup being placed in front of him, the name Peter in bold black sharpie ink across the side. MJ squinted at him when she pulled her hand away.
"...you're a student at Gotham Prep, right? Why are you in New York?" she asked, standing in front of him as she spoke from the other side of the counter.
If Peter had to have a genuine conversation with this MJ, he may end up sobbing again.
"..yeah, I'm registered." he hummed, finding it impossible to look her in the face. Instead, he looked down at the coffee cup, gaze tracing her handwriting over and over again. "...and you're a Midtown student. That's why you were in Gotham."
"Thought it was obvious." she rolled her eyes.
"You're from Gotham?" The boy three seats down spoke, sounding surprised. When Peter turned his head he was greeted by Ned Leeds, who was looking at him with skeptical curiosity. When Peter did not immediately respond, the teen elaborated. "I mean, you don't have a Jersey accent."
Peter swallowed rising bile. "I'm uh.. I'm from Queens, actually. I'm here visiting, since, uh, it's been a while." he had to keep a steady control of his voice. Green clawed at his eyes, making them itch.
MJ huffed. "Why would anyone willingly move to Gotham. Even in the two days I was there, it seemed like a shit hole."
"Yeah, it is." Peter agreed without hesitation, looking back down at his coffee. He had to resist the urge to flinch when Ned moved from his seat to one closer, officially joining the conversation. "...I don't know why I moved, either. I miss New York too much."
"Then it's a good thing you're visiting." Ned hummed, smile obvious. "I'm Ned, that's MJ."
"Don't tell him my name–" MJ hissed, glaring at Ned and gesturing at Peter with a firm hand.
"What? It's not hurting anyone." Ned snorted, rolling his eyes.
It's hurting me, Peter thought weakly.
"..I'm Peter." he forced a smile, despite not looking up. "Peter Parker."
"Okay, that's a good name." Ned nodded, turning his smile to MJ. "You said your last name is Park–?"
Before Ned could even finish his question, Peter was on his feet, coffee in hand, and walking out the door, a rushed apology forming under his breath. He nearly tripped out the door, squeezed the coffee cup impossibly hard in his one handed grip.
He ignored the sounds of confusion from behind him, and turned sharply to keep walking. Fuck instinct, he thought, green suffocating his vision. I need to get out of here.
Peter neglected to even glance down at the cup, barely even feeling when the boiling hot liquid started to leak from where his fingers poked into the cup. They had formed into sharp, claw-like figures, spilling the scorching coffee onto both his hand and the ground.
"I'm sorry-" Tim took a sharp breath, looking up at the Batcomputer's many monitors with wide eyes. "You're telling me that Karen has been downloading her software into the Batcomputer for how many days? "
"Weeks." Barbara corrected, sipping a mug of lukewarm coffee. It had gone forgotten for about forty minutes while she worked alongside the AI, only being reminded of it when Tim entered with his own drink. "She's been doing this since she connected to Peter's phone. It's just been running in the background."
So what if Babs had not slept in almost twenty-seven hours? This was child's play compared to her old sleep schedule when she was Batgirl.
"Whatever-" Tim huffed, sitting down in the Batcomputer chair and pulling himself up to the large desk. "So her systems are all dependent on the Batcomputer now?"
"Correct, Tim Drake-Wayne."
"So we have access to all of your files?" Tim mused, an interesting thought in light of the terrible circumstances they were in.
"Incorrect. Certain information is under protocolled protection, as per Tony Stark's programming."
"As far as I'm concerned, Tony Stark isn't here." the teen boy rolled his eyes, leaning back in the chair. "What's so important that you gotta hide it from us, anyways?"
"Information that is sensitive to Peter."
"She already betrayed him once, Tim." Barbara quietly reminded him. "Don't push her to give us any sort of access, I already tried."
Tim nodded slowly, turning his attention back to the screens. Maps of New York City were displayed, alongside various security cameras showing busy streets in the aforementioned city. There was even a list of names next to ticket numbers, all associated with the bus line that Peter had used to leave.
"...okay, how close are we?" He asked in a quieter voice, fiddling with the leather jacket around his torso. It was too big for him, and smelled like cheap cologne and hay. Studs lined the shoulders, along with a bisexual pride flag stitched into one arm.
Barbara knew the jacket belonged to Tim's boyfriend, and easily connected two and two to figure out that it was being used as a grounding device. Tim was much more anxious than he was showing. She was at least glad that the teen was able to get some sort of comfort at the moment.
"...we're getting there." She answered, not wanting to dampen his mood even more with a specific answer. The woman wished that she had more to give, but the search so far had been less than perfect. "Karen's looking into places that Peter used to frequent when he lived in New York."
"I'm opening security footage, Barbara Gordon."
Karen's sudden voice made Tim jump, and he looked up at the screens once more with wide eyes. He could almost forget she was even there when she got quiet, and it somewhat unsettled him.
Like she had said though, a new window opened on the largest monitor, allowing both Tim and Barbara to watch. It was security footage from some sort of pastry shop, with cozy string lights and a bored looking high schooler behind the counter.
Unmistakably, Peter ordered a coffee then sat down. Tim and Barbara held their breath upon realizing who they were looking at. A conversation ensued that they could not hear, since the security camera had been video only. Less than five minutes later, their target was leaving in a rush.
Karen paused the footage once another teenage girl stepped into the pastry shop a minute or two after Peter had left, letting Barbara and Tim dwell.
"...so he's fine, right? He didn't look injured." Tim said after a moment, ignoring the shake in his voice.
"..he looked scared." Barbara said quietly. "...he might not be physically injured, but something's wrong. We can't leave him out there."
"Obviously." Tim huffed, brows pinching together as he glared over to Barbara. "That was never an option in the first place, Babs."
"I know that, Tim." she glared back, before it quickly softened into a sigh. "..sorry for insinuating otherwise, I'm just stressed."
Tim hesitated. "...me too. Can we just focus on bringing him home?"
"Yeah, sorry."
New York's lunch rush came and went, and Peter wandered around with a fiendish ache in his stomach. He would have looked for food hours ago if not for that consistent buzz in his spine and the sickening green in his vision.
His mind was silent, and the green demanded that he atone for what he had done.
What did I do? He asked internally, searching for the reason why he deserved such a terrible fate. He did not wish hunger on anyone . Having experienced it from such a young age, he knew just how cruel it could be. His quick metabolism only made the pain worse.
The green merely laughed at his question, so Peter did not ask again.
By three p.m. Peter had found his way into a residential block of Queens. Here the sidewalks were not nearly as busy, but that really was not saying much. It was still New York City, after all. After three turns and crossing a street, familiar concrete steps were under his borrowed rust-colored converse, and he was pushing a creaky wooden door open.
The first floor of the building was dusty and dark. No lights were on, and it took Peter an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the place was completely unoccupied. He blamed his lack of critical thinking skills on his empty stomach.
The elevators, of course, failed to work. There must not have been power in the building. So Peter resorted to the staircase located down the hall, taking his time on the creaking floorboards. He was afraid that if he stepped too fast, his foot would go straight through the wood.
There was a reason that the building was unoccupied. As he made his way up the flights of stairs, Peter wondered if a better descriptor would be abandoned . Potted plants were dead at the end of each floor, and many of the hallway windows had broken glass, or boards covering them.
The air was thick with dust that made it hard to breathe. It reminded Peter of Titan and death.
The seventh floor reeked of mold and weed, and stepping into the hallway from the staircase made him want to vomit yet again. The smell was bad, but the feeling of dread in his chest was even worse. It nauseated him.
But the green provoked him into moving forward.
He approached the apartment door, and used a shaky hand to test the knob. It was locked, but with a quick jolt of his super powered wrist, the lock snapped under his grip. He carefully pushed it open, ignoring the internal thought that he was breaking and entering.
No one had lived here in years, clearly. The furniture was covered in thin white sheets, covered in their own layers of dust. There was still a kettle on the stove. A box of familiar tea bags sat nearby on the counter, open and ready for use.
A framed photo of Aunt May and Uncle Ben assaulted his vision, hung up on the wall of the small kitchenette. The thick sheen of dust slightly smudged their big smiles, but it was unmistakably them .
Seeing them made him ache, even if it was just in a photo.
A short wander of the familiar apartment made a headache grow stronger and stronger in his mind. He swiped a careful finger across the dust books abandoned on their shelves, eyes searching near frantically for a familiar title.
But just like Jason had discovered: The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane did not exist. Instead, in its rightful spot on the family bookshelf, was a copy of Julius Caesar .
Peter hated reading that book his freshman year. He hated reading it so much that he had kicked it under his bed to be forgotten with time after he had written his essay on it. His analysis had been fine, and he made a ninety-four. The good grade did not sway his opinion of the book.
Neither did this moment. In fact, he almost felt offended by its presence. It was taking up space that it did not belong in. Despite his frustration with the book, deep down he understood that he had done the exact same thing.
He had taken up space that he did not belong in.
And no, he did not mean his room at Wayne Manor. He did not mean his spot at the dinner table with the family. He did not even mean his friendships with the family.
He meant his presence in the universe.
He did not belong there.
In a sudden fit of hot green anger, Peter ripped Julius Caesar from the shelf, fingers breaking pits into the cover as he threw it across the room. The book made a dull thud on the wall, followed by another when it hit the floor a second later. Its pages laid open toward the ceiling. Peter's heart faltered.
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look:
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous
The teen glared down at the offending words, a bubbling anger forming in his mind. A certain amount of time passed- Peter truly could not tell how long- but when he blinked and was able to clear his vision, the book had been torn into shreds.
Peter left through the broken window, hands gripping the frame. Glass dug into his palms, but he paid the dripping blood no mind. One second later, he was shooting out webs and pulling himself through the air, across the city, and under the stars.
"There–" Damian said frantically, reaching out suddenly to pause the security footage. "Right there–" he pointed up at the screen, nearly shaking.
Pictured was a security camera from a random New York roof. It had been a long shot, considering they lost Peter about an hour after seeing him leave that pastry shop. Jason, who had been at the Manor ever since everyone realized Peter had ran, was the first to volunteer in finding him.
"He's in New York, that's all the info I need." Jason argued, glaring at Bruce. The older man barely reacted to his son's obvious frustration and anger. "I can have him home quicker than any of you can–"
"Jason, I'm not sending you to New York City alone." Bruce said gently.
"I'm not asking you to send me, Bruce." he said through gritted teeth. The man jabbed a finger into his father's chest, forcing him to take a steadying step back. "I'm telling you that I'm going after him."
Bruce's silence encouraged Jason to continue speaking.
"...He's got something going on in that head of his, B. If it has anything to do with Lazarus Pits like we suspect, I'm the only one who can help him without getting hurt."
The argument ended there, and within ten minutes, Red Hood was riding to New York on his kitted out motorcycle.
Now, about several hours later, almost every single Wayne was staring up at the Batcomputer with held breath and shaky hands. Jason's tracking marker was displayed on a map of New York, letting the family watch as their brother and son searched the city.
They also watched the security cameras that Barbara and Karen had pulled, eyes traveling to where Damian had pointed.
A figure swinging through the city, covered by the night. His stature and posture were familiar, and made the Waynes' hearts leap. Peter .
"Red Hood-" Barbara said into the Oracle Comms, grabbing the attention of the man. "Target's moving down Park Avenue in Manhattan."
"The fuck is he doing in Manhattan- " Jason growled through the speakers. "I thought he was from Queens, what could he need from Manhattan–"
"Avengers Tower."
The cave fell silent. Damian stared up at the screen, searching for some trace of the AI. "...what?" he said quietly. He felt Stephanie grab his shoulder gently, intending to comfort him. Nearby, Tim, Cass, and Duke stared at the screen with held breath. Bruce stood to the side, eyes locked onto Jason's tracking marker.
"The Target is heading toward 200 Park Avenue. He knows the address as Avengers Tower."
"Oracle, route me." Jason demanded immediately. The family could hear as his bike wheels screeched to a halt, and his marker turned down a new road. " Now ."
Barbara started typing without argument, loading up the fastest route to the given address. They would have to trust Karen on this one.
Peter was cold. The gray jacket offered little warmth, having been torn up through his hasty apartment escapes and his multiple stumbles. A hole had been ripped through one of the elbows when he botched a landing, the concrete of a roof scraping his skin and causing him to bleed. He paid the small wound no mind. He did not mind either way if it healed or not.
Peter was hungry. The sandwich and ruined coffee had done nothing for his stomach. He had lost count of how often he had thrown up over the last forty-eight hours. He could feel his insides cramping and aching the longer he went without a real meal. Even water would have been great at the moment. But he ignored how painful every step was. He got himself into this situation, there was no need to be regretful now.
Peter was tired. He had not slept more than two hours, and even then it had been involuntary. He kept collapsing , the weight of his actions and his thoughts pushing him to the brink of darkness numerous times. He would wake up in strange alley ways, or blink and suddenly be somewhere new. He was delirious, and he wanted nothing more than to just… lay down . Maybe he could lay down forever.
The teen looked up at the sky, gaze making contact with the stars from his spot on top of a yellow crane. They shined against the light pollution of New York, breaking through the eerie haze and glowing down on him. It was comforting, and it was safe.
"...me again." Peter whispered, not recognizing his own voice. It was scratchy and hoarse from sobbing so much. Being dehydrated made it worse. "...I messed up bad."
The stars did not respond.
"...I tried to fight a big alien guy, even when Tony told me to stay on Earth. It got me killed." he felt his voice break painfully in his throat. "...it got so many people killed."
The stars did not respond.
"...and now I'm alone again. By my own doing." he cracked a pathetic smile, wanting to laugh at his own self depreciation. "...I never listen, do I?"
The stars did not respond.
"...I'm just.. I'm just gonna lay down for a few minutes, okay?" he felt tears prick at his eyes, but was unable to see them due to the sheer amount of green that overwhelmed his vision. "...just let me sleep for a bit. I'll get up eventually."
Do you promise to get up again? The stars asked gently.
Peter did not respond.
Jason did not even park his bike before scrambling off of it, the vehicle falling onto its side a few feet away from where he stood. He stared up at the fenced off construction zone, cursing under his breath. There were stray metal poles, panes of glass, rusty nails, and bent metal strips just about everywhere within the fences.
He wasted no time to climb up and hop over, black boots landing heavily on the dirty ground. He navigated the place fast, one hand on his gun, the other held out at his side for stability. "Oracle, are we sure he's here? " he whispered into his comms. "It's a construction zone, not a tower."
"I am positive that he is here. I suggest using the heat signature mode on your helmet. I shall activate it for you."
Jason flinched when his vision turned from fuzzy green night vision to bright blue heat vision, showing him any heavy signatures of heat that were highlighted in red. It was freaky how Karen could just do that , and the thought of her now being part of his helmet made something in him uncomfortable.
But he pushed it aside: he had better things to worry about.
Quick glances around revealed nothing. Even when his eyes trailed up, there was nothing big or substantial enough to be a person. As the minutes ticked by, Jason got more and more anxious. What if the teen had left already? Where could he go next?
It was only when Jason looked up up that he paused. His chest lurched. He felt part of his heart break.
It took him ten minutes to climb up the crane, wary of where he stepped and how much he jostled the machine. He was afraid - there were so many ways that this could go wrong. If he shook the supports too much, Peter could fall–
Jason had to pause, steeling his nerves with his head pressed against the side of the crane. He took deep breaths, eyes squeezed shut. He just needed patience. That virtue would be the thing to bring Peter home, he was sure of it.
Patience and hope.
Peter was woken from his fuzzy sleep by something holding his arm. Confused, he squinted up, but was only able to see the stars. They shined down on him, and Peter smiled. He could look at those stars forever.
"Come on, Pete." The stars ushered urgently. Peter became confused. Why did the stars sound scared? "Come on-" Whatever had been holding his arm tugged him gently to sit up, while something else braced his back. It felt like a hand.
"...What..?" he mumbled, blinking rapidly to try and shake the green from his eyes. It clouded everything, making it impossible to truly see what was around him. Why was the wind so loud?
"Deep breaths, Pete." the stars mumbled encouragingly, as the hand left his back, It was replaced by an arm wrapping around his middle, pulling him back firmly against something warm. It made him melt, eyes falling shut once more. "I've got you."
"...Thanks.." the teen mumbled, lulling on the edge of consciousness once more.
"Everytime." the stars whispered, pulling Peter until he was tucked into the warm embrace of the star. "I will get you every time, I promise."
Peter did not respond.
"You're worth it, Pete. You're worth every second." The stars promised.
"Target secured." Jason's voice shuddered through the Oracle Comms, making the cave fall still once more. "I'm turning off comms until I get home."
Barbara's eyes widened. "J– Red Hood, hold on–"
"I'll be fine. "
Red Hood disconnected from the Oracle Comms without another word, leaving an exhausted family in empty silence.