Chapter 8: Bouncing back

Peter was not fired from his job.

Instead, Marco sat him down, handing him a brand new pizzeria hoodie. This one smelled fresh and, when he changed in the bathroom, it fit him perfectly.

"You were there during the Firefly attack." His boss told him as he came out of the Men's room.

He didn't try to deny it, nodding silently instead, hoping he wouldn't be asked anymore questions. The events were so fresh in his mind, the memory so raw, that he doubted he could think about it for too long before breaking down.

"First time, I assume?" Marco said, after his statement was left unanswered. "It happens once every couple of months, one of them showing up."

Peter shivered. "Every few months?" He repeated, feeling numb.

"They break out. Did anybody give you that paper Gordon made?"

He didn't answer, not knowing what the older man was talking about, looking at his hands instead. His boss sighed, limping away to the kitchen and coming back with a beer. He didn't offer one to Peter, which was alright. He didn't even like alcohol anyways.

"I thought not." Marco grumbled. "I'll get you one tomorrow, if you decide to stay."

"What do you mean?"

Cutting through the numbness that had been affecting him all day, surprise sprung in his mind. He looked up, confused. As an answer, he was given a sad smile then, after the adult had taken a swig of his bottle :

"Kid. When I called in yesterday night and heard you had showed up to the Bowery smelling like smoke and fuel, looking like you had been beaten up by the Bat himself, I thought I was never going to see you again, thought you'd take the first train back to New York."

Peter couldn't even afford a ticket if he wanted to.

"There's nothing for me up there." He sighed instead. "I already told you I don't have a choice."

The man hung his head, something cloudy flashing through his eyes. It was easy to recognize, as someone who was in the throes of it.

It was grief.

He could have asked, could have tried to comfort him. He lacked the energy, though. Even though it was now cold and dreary, he still felt the heat of the flames against his back.

Marco raised his head again, looking at him for a long time. Peter squirmed uneasily, hoping he wasn't acting suspicious.

The man did throw him a question, but it wasn't about Firefly:

"What's your name, kid?" He asked him, looking like it pained him greatly to do so.

It looked like his answer was important to him so, still a bit shaken, Peter told him the truth. It earned him a nod.

"Alright Peter, time to get to work, then." His boss grunted, darkness still on his face, barely suppressed.

Fourteen deliveries that night, more than he ever had before. Either the word was getting around that Marco's was open for business again, and old regulars wanted to rekindle their habits, or the recent arson attack and subsequent explosions had scared civilians into hiding out inside and relying on delivery.

He would have to split it into two trips, his pizza bag being only able to fit eight boxes maximum. He carefully placed his first load into the backpack, then slid it on.

He cringed as he felt the heat of the freshly made pizza seep into his back. It was not painful, only deeply unsettling. He used to see the warmth as a form of comfort, before Firefly, but now it felt nauseating.

Peter took a few deep, calming breaths. He did not have a choice. This place helped him get an apartment without asking questions and was allowing him to make money in a way that didn't contradict his ideals. This wasn't something that looked to be very common in Gotham.

He was going to have to get over this new issue, even if the fight had only been a couple days ago and fresh in his mind, he needed the cash. More than that, he needed the distraction. Thinking about having to sit down alone, in front of the broken Iron Spider, with nothing else to do but reminisce about the past, made him want to puke.

Despite his aching, itching back, his body answered him more easily than he would have thought, with how terrible he felt. It distressed him a little bit, how rapidly his strength had come back as soon as he had started eating more.

He already knew that his metabolism required him to consume more calories than the average person, but he could truly feel the change in his body as he slowly got his living situation sorted out. His senses were sharper, his body more flexible, powerful.

Getting to sleep on a proper mattress, with the relative safety of a locked door and closed blinds, the sound of cars coming from behind surprisingly thick walls, had also helped tremendously. His back was the only reminder of what happened barely a couple days ago. He felt completely fine otherwise.

He should feel grateful to be able to physically bounce back so fast, but he wasn't. He couldn't help but remember the burning building, the crying children…

The terrible snap, as he broke Firefly's arms.

It was terrifying, thinking about it. As he slowly climbed up a service ladder, not wanting to be spotted jumping around too close to the pizzeria, he realized something disturbing. Lately, he had fought a lot of people who were augmented in some way, "metas", as people called them here. Sandman, that weird doctor lizard… they had been able to handle his strength. He also knew how to pull his punch with smaller, street level criminals, it had become almost instinctual to him.

Unfortunately, he wasn't used to having to restrain his strength when fighting for his life. The most influential villains in this town were mostly regular humans but somehow most of them had the ability to be dangerous even without any special power, Firefly was the living proof of that. He would need to learn very carefully who was or was not a meta among the rogues.

If Spider-Man came back… when Spider-Man came back, he couldn't go around breaking people's bones.

It was simple : Breaking regular people's bones was a slippery slope towards using his strength irresponsibly. It could end up with him causing grievous injury to someone accidentally, could degenerate into something even worse.

Peter would never let that happen. If he had been more cool-headed, he could have used his strength more wisely, finishing off the man earlier. Then, he might have managed to save more people.

His GPS led him deep into an area he hadn't visited before, although he didn't notice it right away, too deep in his own thoughts. Eventually, though, the change in building style perplexed him enough that he stopped running and looked around, frowning.

This part of town had a lot of red tiled roofs, vegetation but, also, verticality. Houses seemed to stack on top of each other, forming small towers. Some of them almost looked like fortresses, with cameras on their walls and what seemed to be look-outs. It was strikingly different from the white stone gothic architecture found in the rest of Gotham.

He hummed thoughtfully, wishing he had memorized more of the city's areas. He was clearly in a different kind of district than the one he has just left. Instead of small groups of men and women, most of them visibly part of a gang, the people here were dressed more discreetly, although almost all of them were carrying guns.

Organized crime? Maybe. He would have to spend more time at the library to get a clear idea of what was going on. He was kind of looking forward to it.

A chill went down his spine as the heat of the pizzas reminded him of his situation. He shouldn't be wasting time sight-seeing, he had a job to do, and he needed to earn money.

His first delivery took him not too far away, to another red-tiled building, covered in moss and small plants. He smiled unconsciously. Gotham seemed good at finding ways to surprise him, in small ways, he hadn't expected there to be so much green down there, but it was heartening, in such a big city.

His good mood soured quite a bit after he got a gun pulled on him, yet again, by his first clients.

"Sorry, sorry…" One of them laughed apologetically, once they figured out he was just a delivery boy. "We thought you were someone else."

The one good side to this encounter was the large 20$ tip they left him. He still ran as fast as he could once he got out of view. Nobody in this town respected basic gun safety rules, their trigger discipline was absolutely awful and he wanted as little to do with it as possible.

The next three deliveries were uneventful, excluding the fact that, for two of them, he had to climb up one of the strange towers and pass the boxes through the window to the clients. Both times, the people inside had been wearing an alarmingly large number of weapons.

When his GPS led him out of this odd district and back into the familiar chaos of the Bowery, Peter felt relief wash over him. At least he knew more about this part of Gotham, and where to find shelter there.

Oh. Right. He didn't need to find shelter anymore, he had an apartment now. It felt odd, thinking that he would be going back somewhere specific after his shift and not just wander around until he found a free spot to try and rest at.

The next pizza took him to a basement apartment, whose heavy, metallic door was slowly opened by a middle-aged bespectacled man. He glanced up at Peter, a frown on his face.

"Pizza?" Peter offered, pushing the box forward.

That earned him an incredulous look, as if the man had expected him to say something entirely different. That was a bit hard to understand, considering he had a huge pizza bag poking out from each side of his body.

"… sure…" The man eventually whispered, pushing up his glasses with a gloved hand. The thing appeared made out of green velvet of all things, which made Peter grimace, thinking about the pizza grease that was about to stain it.

The man kept the door opened even after the pizza was handed over to him. He looked genuinely surprised, still.

"So… Marco's is open again?"

Ah, probably an old regular then. Maybe the pizzeria went on break for longer than what he had originally thought. He had assumed the owner's injury was the reason for the temporary closure, but that had obviously been a recent development and everyone had been acting so surprised to see him that he was starting to wonder how long their hiatus had truly been.

"Uh-… yeah. Since a couple days ago."

The man nodded, his shoulders jerking with each head movement, his whole body tense and sharp. He looked down at the box in his hands, then back at Peter.

"Do you… want to play a game?" He asked eventually, lips twitching slightly, sometimes heading up, sometimes down.

"Ah… I'm sorry… I still have more pizza to deliver."

"Don't worry, don't worry. I will make it brief. You can even stay outside."

Peter, who had not even considered entering the basement apartment of an odd man who lived behind a bunker door, smiled politely. The civilian obviously took that as an agreement, beaming at him.

"Alright alright… If you can solve my riddle, I will give you ten dollars. If you can't, I will give you five."

It seemed like a supremely convoluted way of handling money but Peter didn't want to complain. He was now going off the assumption that every single person in Gotham except him owned and carried a firearm of some sort and, without exception, they all had terrible trigger discipline.

Therefore, making sure they didn't recklessly point a firearm at him was going to be one of his main goals, even if he had to go through some loops to keep in their good grace.

"Sure." He said, "Gimme your worst."

"Alright, alright… Let's see…" The man rubbed his chin with his free hand, also gloved in green, still holding the pizza in his other hand. He straightened up as inspiration seemed to have struck him and he asked, smiling as he did so: "What goes through cities and fields… yet never moves?"

Peter had heard that one before which was a bummer, but the poor guy looked so invested in his game that he pretended to think about it for a while, which made the man grin.

"A road." He said after faking working through the puzzle mentally. His answer earned him a round of applause from the man.

"Pretty tough, uh?" The stranger smirked.

"Yeah!" Peter lied, accepting the bill he was handed. "Thank you sir."

The man happily waved at him, before slowly dragging the metal door closed. The boy could hear it click over and over again as multiple locks fell into place. More odd clanking came from inside, adding to the oddness of the whole encounter.

This was definitely a close contender for the weirdest interaction he had had while delivering food, but Harley still took the crown. At least, no guns had been involved this time, he was making progress.

He went back to the roofs, feeling uncomfortable staying so close to the ground for too long. Five deliveries accomplished, nine more to go.

Gotham was such an odd town, he thought, tapping a new address into his GPS. People in there seemed to be an entirely different brand of eccentric, compared to what he was used to. And he thought he was odd for dressing up as a spider and going out to beat up criminals after school.

He followed the directions from the device, eventually crossing a sign reading "Crown Point", at one of the main intersections. It had been decorated with little skulls and Peter though he could smell some blood around it. This was such a lovely way to set the mood.

The GPS led him into a dark alleyway, which he couldn't help but sigh at. He was probably to get jumped again, wasn't he? He missed the edge his Spider sense used to give him in those kinds of situations. It still hadn't come back, even after getting sleep and two sandwiches.

Maybe he should try getting more sleep and more sandwiches, maybe it was a puberty thing, maybe he just had no clue how to bring it back. He wished he could figure it out, its absence was making him feel even more acutely how useful of a tool it was.

He could barely hear any breathing inside of the alleyway, and it was coming from a single person. He stepped forward, missing the taser Nightwing had given him. Without it, it was going to be hard to defend himself without using too much strength.

"Hey! Up there!" A voice called.

He jumped, looking towards the sky. There, sitting on a broken down lamppost, a shadowed figure peered down at him. Peter frowned, wondering how he was supposed to hand them their food.

He ended up walking around, searching for an inconspicuous way up, eventually finding a ladder that, if he used a running start, he could probably reach while still pretending to be an ordinary teenager.

He did so easily, smoothly making his way up the rusted metal and closer to the stranger's level. Said stranger stood up on their spot, then turned and jumped in his direction, landing on a window ledge right next to him.

"Don't worry," they said, "I'll get it from your backpack."

Even for him, it was hard to see the person's features in the darkness, but Peter thought they appeared young, probably around his age, or perhaps a bit older. He thought he could make out a familiar domino mask on their eyes and nose, but couldn't get a close enough look to be sure. The build was all wrong for this to be Nightwing, though, and the voice was also completely off.

Just like they said they would, the stranger opened his pizza bag, taking great care not to let any box fall out. Peter heard them slide the top one out.

"I honestly didn't think you'd come," he heard next, as they shuffled away from him after sliding a bill in the pocket of his hoodie. "Nobody delivers here usually. Guess things are changing."

They left before he could say anything, using some kind of rope-a grappling hook, maybe?- to move faster. Peter waited until the sound of them zipping away faded into the distance before he discarded the ladder and, carefully, stuck his way up to the roof. Honestly, crawling up walls was much better.

The rest of his night was extremely relaxing, when compared to those first few deliveries. He only got jumped once more, which he handled by grabbing the knife he was being threatened with before it was fully raised, and tugging it out of its owners hands. He then finished him off by grabbing him by the collar and throwing him into a dumpster. As a punishment, and also because he needed it, he kept the knife.

"What the fuck?" He heard as the man went flying, making him worry he might have been a bit unsubtle about his super strength in this specific case. He didn't stick around long enough to find out just how much, heading back to his route, eager to finish his shift and head back to the apartment.

In total, if he added his tips to his salary from Marco's, he made almost 110$ that night, and he didn't even have to sell any information for it. It wouldn't carry him very far, in the grand scheme of things, but it would get him far enough that he could make his situation slightly better thanks to it.

New clothes! Finally he could wear something that wasn't dirty and stolen. He had been waiting for it for a while, had even hoped he could have saved some of the 140$ for it. Unfortunately, the cash he hadn't hidden in his sneakers had all been lost to the Firefly confrontation, so he hadn't been able to do it in the end.

His numbness now replaced with a slight eagerness, he allowed himself to pick up a slightly above average speed, jumping, rolling and swinging from poles to gargoyles to hanging road signs. He was fast and it was dark so he wasn't too worried about being spotted. Plus, the velocity, the wind in his face, in his hair… all of those things were making him feel more alive.

And he really needed that right now.

He wasn't out of breath when he slowed down, a block away from Marco's, but he was starting to sweat slightly. His chest still felt empty, his mind was still clouded but, as he stood there, cheeks flushed from his mad dash, he felt a bit better.

By the time he made his way back to his apartment, night was well underway. He didn't have a way to tell the time precisely yet, he would have to find himself a cheap phone once he had more budget, but he thought it must be around midnight.

Climbing up the spiral staircase, he could hear people talking on the lower floors. The difference in volume told him that these apartments had several more rooms than his, as some voices appeared to come from much further away. The rent probably went up with the size of the place, he thought, so that was perfectly fine by him. Plus, he liked being under the roof. Sure, it meant the window was angled a bit oddly, as it had to follow the slope, but it allowed him to open it and then, if he wanted to, simply climb out through it.

He hadn't thought about it before, too busy thinking about the fight with Firefly and hesitating over the remains of the Iron Spider.

He had almost forgotten about that, he remembered glumly. He would have to bring himself to dismantle the suit, the components inside of it, and the gold that they contained, were too valuable for his future projects for him to simply let them collect dust. He didn't want to, but he would have to and the sooner the better.

He unlocked his door, darkly glancing at the mattress, under which he had hidden the ruined suit. He walked over to his desk, which lacked a chair and, not knowing where else to sit, climbed up on it.

Being made of sturdy wood, it held his weighty quite well, allowing him to set his dinner on his lap. Marco had given him a small pizza again, and this time it even had a few slices of pepperoni on it.

He didn't feel tired yet, his body still alert due to the exertion of running home from roof to roof. He needed to think, then, not wanting his mind to wander into dark memories. Now was not the time. He needed just a bit more control before he could think about it, just a tiny bit more.

After eating, he went into the bathroom to clean up, sighing as he remembered that he had long missed the hours during which he could get some hot water. Shivering under the cold blast, he ended up staying there longer than expected, as the temperature shock soothed a bit of his back's terrible itchiness. The pain wasn't fully gone yet, but it had quieted considerably, it had now gone into healing mode, which was always deeply uncomfortable.

As he went back into the main room, dripping water everywhere, he noticed that, although his mattress had some sheets on, it lacked a blanket, something he hadn't noticed before. Yet another thing he had to add to his shopping list.

Glancing at the empty pizza box over at his desk, it dawned on him that he also did not own a trashcan, and he still didn't have soap.

Being on his own was proving to be challenging, there were a lot of details he had to think of that sometimes came as complete surprises to him. He was so used to May running the household that he completely lacked any experience in that regard.

His heart twisted as he remembered his aunt. He missed her. He wished she could have been here, visiting his first appartement with a proud smile on her face. Well, ideally, he wouldn't want her to see it in this state, as it lacked a lot of essential furniture, but just having her there would make even that small humiliation alright.

It hurt too much to think, and he couldn't distract himself from the memories now that he had been trapped by them. Wanting an escape from his mind, he closed his eyes, hoping for a nice dream to take him away from his grief.

He did not have a nice dream.

Instead, his sleep was troubled with the smell of smoke and the sound of explosions. Blasts of energy, tongues of flames.

Just another normal night in Gotham.