Chapter 19: Reap the rewards
They handed him the money inside of a small sports bag, the kind high schoolers used to carry around shoes or clothes for gym class. The contrast between the packaging and what he knew was inside of it made him want to laugh.
He didn't. Several of the rogues in the VIP section were still staring at him, he could feel it. It was less than before, since the fighting had resumed, but it was enough to make him uncomfortable. That was way too much unwanted attention from exactly the kind of people he had been raised to avoid.
As soon as the cash changed hands, Ivy dragged him out, making him wince. His foot hadn't healed fully. It would probably take a couple days for it to be back to its normal state, and a bit less than that before the pain faded.
Peter groaned, dirty water splashing against the holes in his shoes as they exited the arena, gazes still burning the back of his neck. With the amount of bacteria in the sewers, he would have to be lucky not to get an infection. That would delay his recovery by maybe a day, hopefully not more.
Maybe eating a more diverse diet could help. He did know food was an important part of getting energy but he wasn't well versed in dietetics or what kind of food he should prioritize. May had been the one grocery shopping, back home.
He fell into a tired, robotic walking rhythm until his dazedness was broken by a voice. He tried to focus back on his surroundings.
"You have two weeks." Ivy told him, jumping the ladder leading to the outer area of the sewers. Vines grew out of her dress, roots like thousands of insect legs, carrying her through the air. All pretense of being an ordinary human was gone.
Peter used his good leg to jump after her, easily keeping his balance as he landed on one foot, the money on his back and the plant box clutched in his hands.
"Two weeks." He repeated, adrenaline still pumping in his veins, making it hard to focus on the conversation.
It was odd not to try and hide his abilities but Ivy clearly did not care about showing off her meta status. As long as he didn't give off that he had any other powers than the two he had shown -strength and speed-, he had no reason not to follow her lead.
It was nice, talking to someone else with superpowers, even if she was a dangerous criminal dragging him into even more of a mess than what he had landed himself into in the first place. He had missed it.
Of course, nothing could beat meeting his alternate selves. Their powers had been similar yet different in some tiny, interesting ways. He was still amazed that his oldest self could produce his own webbing.
The amount of food needed for that…
His foot twinged, burning in the grimy water, bringing him back to the present. Ivy had already started walking towards the exit, plants retreating into her dress.
"Two weeks is the time you have to recover."
He started, remembering that nobody here knew about his enhanced healing. That was one ability he would have to keep secret, alongside his more spider-like characteristics.
"Alright." He nodded, trying to keep his face even. Lying was not one of his strong suits but, hopefully, she would mistake his behavior for apprehension.
"Good. You learn fast, little boy." She smirked, eyes sparkling. He had seen her relax slightly, once he handed her the money. For some reason, Harley was in a situation where this kind of cash was important, that was the only reason he could see behind her reaction.
With her powers, she could easily make money herself, and probably was. She didn't want him to say Harley's name next to other criminals…
Maybe she didn't want to be associated with her? Or maybe the person Harley was hiding from was skilled enough to track her location from only a few details.
That was a slightly chilling prospect. Ivy herself appeared to take this seriously, which meant that whoever it was must be particularly dangerous. She was one of the most powerful metas he had met in this universe, could this mystery person be stronger than her?
He felt like he was missing something, a strange feeling down in his stomach. His leg still hurt, cramping periodically. He tried to ignore it, but it was hard to keep from grimacing.
Good, the more he could sell that his body didn't heal any faster than anyone else's, the safer he was. Between his ability to hold his breath for a dozen minutes and his healing, he knew that it would be easy for him to fake his death, in case of an emergency during a fight.
He had to keep that as a last resort, though, and make sure whoever he was facing then couldn't take his pulse.
His mind kept wandering away from the cold reality around him, mostly because he was trying to avoid thinking about the state of his foot and how he would have to peel his shoes off of the skin later.
Ivy didn't seem particularly interested in talking to him, though. They walked the rest of the way in silence. The wind, hurling into the tunnels louder now that they were getting closer to the docks, would have covered most sounds anyway.
But then, maybe she was just like him, and would have been able to hear despite it. Either way, he didn't want it to be known that several of his senses were enhanced. That would definitely make people more wary of him, especially during deliveries.
Before they could step out, Peter stopped, shuffling uneasily.
Ivy raised an eyebrow at him, foot tapping on the icy ground impatiently.
"I… uh… will wait until you're gone."
She shrugged and, thankfully, must be very eager to get away from the sewers since she didn't argue, walking out and leaving him behind. Not ending the night by getting choked by poisonous pollen was a win in Peter's eyes so he took the time to wait an extra few minutes, making sure he wouldn't come out too early.
The night was dark when he eventually followed her but the blizzard had thankfully stopped. Snow covered the stairs in a thick blanket, rising above his ankles when he stepped up on them. It made it extremely easy to see, moonlight reflecting off of the white streets, lighting up the docks. There weren't many buildings to hide the sky, in this part of Gotham.
He snuggled the little plant box tightly against his chest, under his hoodie. It was cold still, he didn't want it to suffer from the temperature shock, especially now that Ivy was gone.
It took him much longer than it usually would to get back to his apartment, his body protesting every few feet, pleading with him to take a break and sit down. He couldn't, not in this weather, nor with damaged shoes and no coat. He endured the discomfort, finally reaching his building after two hours of limping and cursing under his breath.
He really hoped a good night-or rather morning- of sleep would deal with most of the damage. If it still wasn't enough, maybe he should invest in some more food. He had so much money now…
Dragging himself up the stairs, he pushed open his door, letting the bag of money drop next to his bed as he triple locked the room. He settled his new plant on his desk, under the window to make sure it would get as much sun as possible. He would need to research how to take good care of it once he got access to the Internet. He cleared the area around it, not wanting any tool to fall on it.
A short, cold shower was all he could manage before collapsing on his mattress, shivering under the thin blanket.
It had been hard but he had managed to get his hands on a significant sum of cash. Hopefully, it would make his life easier now.
Peter fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the first one since his aunt died.
Maybe he could make things work out in the end.
oOo
He woke up later than he usually did, his body needing more sleep than usual to recover from the wounds. Thankfully, when he sat up and looked down at his legs, the only marks left from the previous night's fight were a series of scars, going up to his ankles, pink and tender.
They were extremely itchy. He would have to live with it. He would also have to make sure no one present during the fight saw him-
Ah.
His job.
He was going to have to run and jump for his job. The only thing he could hope for was that no one he was delivering to had witnessed the confrontation between him and Orca. Unfortunately, that seemed unlikely. About half of his orders went directly to various street level criminals, sometimes higher ranked.
He would have to be especially lucky to avoid suspicion.
Needless to say, it was hopeless.
Well maybe people wouldn't jump to conclusions right away. He had no way around risking it unfortunately, he needed the apartment. He didn't know how much rent was in Gotham but he was aware of the fact that, while three thousand dollars was a huge sum of money for him, it would only be good for a few months of rent at full price at most… And he still did not have an I.D.
Then, maybe living here was less expensive than what living in New York City had cost his aunt. Both cities seemed prone to villain attacks but Gotham had a distinctively more dangerous atmosphere.
Peter shook his head, raising to his feet and stretching. Now was not the time for speculation.
Now was the time to get himself a computer.
He felt so excited at the idea that he had a hard time standing still in the shower and was practically bouncing up to the ceiling as he got dressed. Peter loved computer stuff. He wasn't as good or knowledgeable as Ned, of course, but he had learned several programming languages alongside him, with his help most of the time too.
He had helped his friend build his first computer, that had always been something that they had fun doing together.
Now, Ned didn't remember who he was and Peter had no way of seeing him ever again. He'd have to build up from what he knew and…
Well maybe, somewhere across the multiverse, Ned and MJ would be tinkering with something too, at the same time as he was. That thought made him smile.
He practically ran down the stairs, heart pounding with excitement. The sports bag, now with all of his money in it, bounced against his back with every step. It was so full. He couldn't believe he was casually walking around with this small fortune on himself.
He didn't fear being jumped, though. Word had spread a few days after he moved in that he shouldn't be messed with. His clothes, old and scuffed, blended in well with what the locals were wearing. If he didn't speak, it was easy to assume he was from Gotham.
The Bowery's limitless supply of shady pawn shops did not disappoint, once again. Laptops were often among the most stolen items on any given campus or in any big city. Not only could they be sold for a large sum of cash, but they were pretty easy to grab.
They were also worth it to sell, even if they weren't stolen, so a lot of families moving in to this district might get rid of theirs in order to spend money on more urgent needs. Food and shelter were more important than having access to the internet, he knew that very well.
Nobody blinked when he stepped into one of the largest stores of the area. Guarded by two men wearing sweatshirts and hiding firearms in a holster under their baggy pants, it was one Peter had been to often. It was there that he had found his chemical kit.
Compared to many downtown shops, this one was tiny. For the Bowery, however, it was huge. Several rooms of clothing spread across the ground floor while most of the technology and appliances were relegated to the basement, which was more tightly watched.
In between the two, games, musical instruments and anything worth selling were displayed, some items in better state than others.
He didn't care. He was already on his way to the basement, not stopping to browse the video games like he would have a few months ago. Of course, he missed spending time playing but he didn't have anything to even run those programs on. Games could wait until after he was settled down in this world.
A teenage girl, holding a baseball bat in her left hand and swiping through her phone with her right, greeted him with a warning glare. This was supposedly the most secure part of the store, she likely wouldn't hesitate to hit him over the head if she thought he was here to steal.
He smiled awkwardly at her, shuffling past her chair to reach the rows of various tech appliances and furniture. Radios, televisions, cameras, no computer so far…
Peter walked past an older gentleman, dressed quite oddly for the Bowery with an expensive looking coat and perfectly trimmed hair, who was busy looking over the many turntables on display. The man nodded politely at him as he walked past, then resumed his search.
Besides him, the store was almost empty. It was Christmas morning after all, most people with a family would be spending it at home with their loved ones.
Turning into another aisle, Peter sighed when he noticed it, once again, was not one with computers in it. The shelves were full of kitchen appliances, from a simple toaster to a full oven.
He was about to turn away and keep on looking for a computer when he hesitated.
There were several small fridges at the end of the aisle, most of them barely reaching up to his waist. They were tiny but that probably meant they were also cheaper.
If he had a small fridge, it wouldn't be that much of an investment that he would be at a loss if he lost his apartment and had to dump it. It would, however, allow him to buy many more things than ramen and rice.
His mouth started watering as he thought about meat, vegetables and …
Milk!
He loved milk. Especially with chocolate.
It would even help him as a vigilante. He had been recently thinking of trying to switch to a better diet to give his powers more energy to work with. If he could store ingredients safely, that would leave him so many more-
Oh and they had a tiny oven too.
Having so much money made so many things he would have considered absolutely out of the realm of possibilities a few days ago now completely possible.
The oven, as small as a microwave, was only 30$. The fridges went from 40 to 200$. He grabbed one of the cheaper ones, a bit less than 60$. It was absolutely tiny, stopping at his knee, but…
An oven and a fridge. Even if they didn't work fully, he was confident in his ability to fix them up and, if they did work, then everything was perfect!
Realizing he probably shouldn't be walking around carrying a small fridge with only one hand if he didn't want to attract attention, he made a show of hoisting it up the stairs. He saw the old man ahead of him, a beautiful turntable in his hands. He was happy that the stranger had found what he was looking for.
"Can I keep this here?" He asked the shopkeeper, a pregnant woman with clips in her hair and a riffle on her back. "I have more stuff I wanna get downstairs."
"'s long as you have the cash for it." She answered. She wasn't the same person than the one he had bought the chem kit from. Not that much of a surprise, considering the size of the store.
Peter nodded enthusiastically and jogged back downstairs, grabbing the small oven. This one, he didn't have to pretend was too heavy for him. He kept it under his arm as he wandered around, trying to find what he had come to get in the first place.
He found it in a side room, at the very back of the basement. Another girl was sitting next to the open door leading into it, a revolver on display on her lap, safety off.
People had such terrible firearm habits in this city.
"Can I go in?" He asked, pointing at the rows of laptops and phones he could see on the inside.
She nodded silently, looking at him up and down with narrowed eyes. He didn't push his luck with her, hurrying past her chair.
This last room was a lot smaller than every other one in the store. Dimly lit by colorful LED strips on the wall, it had a few rows of metal shelves in its center, and several glass cases on its walls. Most of it was filled with electronics, specifically phones and computers.
He immediately started looking through them, trying to figure out what he wanted to get. Several brands he could recognize as being the same as the ones he knew back home, but some others -like the Lexbook- were completely foreign to him.
He decided to get something he knew, so that he wouldn't get any surprises. If the computer he happened to grab was stolen, he might have to wipe it completely and reinstall an operating system to avoid it getting bricked. He also had to think about getting a charger with it.
That left him with a lot less options, several of which cost way too much for him. He was looking to spend a few hundred dollars, not a few thousands. Some of the tech here was extremely high quality…
Surprising, for a pawn store.
Peter eventually settled on a 400$ Asus laptop, sleek and black, its casing in good shape. He had experience working with this kind of computer before and, hopefully, it would translate in being able to learn how to use this one faster.
Thankfully, the laptop came with its own cable and case. Satisfied with his choice, he grabbed them, sent a mournful look at the phones, and made his way upstairs, arms full with his purchases.
"You gonna be able to carry all that home?" The shopkeeper asked him as he counted the bills he owed her.
"Uh… yeah. I'll just put everything in the fridge."
She stared at him, obviously wondering where he would get the strength to lift everything. The fridge was barely big enough to fit the computer and the oven in it, sure, but it was still quite heavy and, added to the rest, Peter would have to carry around a hundred pounds of appliances back to his apartment.
That was nothing to him but he couldn't really let that be known. Instead, he flashed a bright smile and handed over the money, trying to look as innocent as he could.
"I'll manage don't worry!"
Before he could get another dubious look, Peter lifted up the small fridge, pretending to need both of his hands to carry it. He made sure his pace was slow as he exited the store then, as soon as he was out of view, he sped up. He couldn't wait to get home and start tinkering!
He was so excited he barely felt the cold as he half walked half ran through the snow. He wanted to have as much time as possible before his shift, and it was already past one! He had to be fast.
After making sure no one was able to see him, Peter ran up the stairs to his apartment, fridge as light as air in his arms. He opened his door up, stepped inside, closed it behind him.
He couldn't stop smiling. He still had so much money left! Thanks to the fight he was able to afford so much, this was awesome.
He set down the fridge opposite to his bed, opening it up before plugging it, taking out the oven and the computer. He would have to find something to put them on other than his desk, which was covered in a few layers of clutter.
For now, he would have to settle with the ground. He plugged both of the appliances in, not turning them on quite yet, almost jumping up and down when they lit up immediately. No need to fix them up yet.
Of course, the laptop didn't turn on right away when he flipped it open. He had to walk around his room to find another plug, making a mental note to try and grab an extender next time he was at a convenient store.
As he waited for the computer to charge, Peter thought about all the food he would now be able to make. Maybe he should get some plates and cutlery? And a pan or maybe some sheets to put in his oven… He was going to be able to eat tasty food everyday!
His mouth watered at the thought. Chicken and pork. Fish and vegetables. Pasta and cheese. Lasagna!
His stomach growled but he ignored it, focusing instead on the screen in front of him, which had switched on. Blessedly, it seemed like the computer had either not been stolen or had not been bricked by its previous owner. It worked perfectly, with many of the files and programs still installed on the desktop, which featured a stylized picture of a cat as background.
"Time for a wipe." Peter whispered to himself, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. This would take some time but not enough to have him waste his entire afternoon waiting. He had so much work to do!
After starting the deletion of every piece of data outside of the OS, Peter left the computer open and charging on his mattress. He turned on his radio, listening to the now familiar advertisements as he rolled out his work-tarp.
Scrapping the Iron-Spider would be a good way to spend the time waiting for the laptop to complete the wipe. He needed to get the data logs next to the head anyway, to check which parts had been damaged, what programs he would have to rewrite.
"Welcoooome Gotham! Vesper here today, covering for our dear friend Vicki! Some of you may already know me from my daily podcast: What's Up Today? Where we talk about all the most important Gotham news along with some very exclusive interviews!
If you don't know me, don't worry listener, by the end of the next few weeks, we will be very well acquainted!"
The laptop was only 10% done with its task, which gave Peter plenty of time to extract sensitive parts from the suit. He crouched down next to the shoulders, or what was left of them.
With a sigh, he picked up his scissors and started cutting off the burned, melted edge of the rips in the Iron-Spider. Fire had damaged it severely, ruining a lot of its technology.
"Some financial news first, boo, I know. LexTech stocks falling slightly as local billionaire and philanthropist, Bruce Wayne, announced this morning they would be releasing their brand new phone, the M-Direct this January.
It's the first phone ever released by the company but, from their press release, they have announced that durability and toughness was one of their primary goals when making it.
Many of you may also not know it but the phone is named after Mr Wayne's mother, which is why you might see it referred to as "Martha"! Some citizens are unhappy with the name, an online poll is already set up to get it changed to… drumroll… the Batphone! Yes, very Gotham, isn't it? But it will be the first smartphone produced in Gotham by Gotham for Gotham in almost six years!
What do you think listener? Batphone or M-direct? Make sure to let us know on our official Twitter page!"
Peter wished he still had social media, he really liked to post skyline pictures on his Spider-Man account. Maybe, once he had a phone again, he could start doing it. It had helped his image a lot, and it also allowed him to interact with civilians outside of emergencies.
He was done trimming the damaged edges, which left him having to grab his anti static strap and tweezers. Dislodging the chips he knew contained data was going to be a delicate business. Even scraping them could ruin some of the information contained there, and he didn't even have a clue about what it was.
The AI systems might have survived, or the strings, or the sensors… he really had no idea. Other than the AI, he was fairly confident he could replicate most of the coding for the other systems, as long as he had a lot of time to do so. Then, he could connect them to the various technologies he had already extracted and automate parts of the suits again.
His first would be a basic one, but he needed an air filtering one as well as a sneak one on top of it. Something to protect against fire would also be useful, if he could manage to find some materials for it.
Really, getting materials would not be that hard once he settled on what he wanted. He of course would be including some of the Iron-Spider in every suit, which meant they would all have some amount of metal in them but…
Should he go with something like Spandex for flexibility or maybe something like Kevlar for more protection? Maybe he could layer it or… have different parts use different materials?
He missed his first suit, and the fabric Tony had developed to make it so resistant. It had originally been done with the Hulk in mind but it had worked wonders for him.
"Now for the headline of today! Riddler behind bars! The criminal mastermind we all know and hate has been arrested during a combined intervention between the GCPD and the Bat-Clan.
No death was reported but it is noted that several officers were injured during the confrontation. Riddler is currently being transferred to Arkham Asylum as we speak! We can all rest a bit easier tonight knowing that there is one less murderous maniac out in the streets tonight."
Peter started. He remembered reading about the Riddler, and also knew he had been on the run recently. Looked like the police finally caught up to him and sent him behind bars. Maybe now that the man had been stopped, they would dedicate more time to keeping the streets safe.
Surely the Joker couldn't be that much of a drain on their resources.
He spent another thirty minutes listening to the radio explaining the current state of the Gotham sports teams -which were apparently doing terrible this season- before his computer's screen turned black then lit up again, indicating that it was ready to be worked on.
He had four hours before his shift started. He was going to make it count.
Peter carefully put the Iron-Spider away, storing the small parts he had gotten into one of his many plastic boxes. All of them were tiny but made in a way that they could be plugged into a micro-port, which some computers had to read SIM cards and other tiny chips. This one, blessedly, had several.
He plugged it in, grimacing when his laptop told him the chip was unreadable. Of course, it wouldn't be this easy. The program used in the Iron Spider was protected with several layers of code that made sure only certified Stark Tech could read and edit it. Tony had been extremely paranoid about people stealing his tech for as long as Peter had known him.
That meant he would have to program an interface for the Stark data to be able to communicate with his lowly Asus computer. He had no idea where to start.
With a sigh, he tried to turn to the internet for some leads, only to be hit with a reality he had somehow forgot about earlier.
He didn't have Internet.
Of course he didn't have any connection! He didn't even have a wifi box in his apartment, and his landlady had never mentioned helping him set up an Internet line. He was such an idiot not to have thought about this before.
He briefly lamented his entire existence, staring forlornly at the dinosaur on his screen, which was helpfully informing him there was no network available. After glaring at the poor thing for a dozen minutes, he eventually stood up, shoulders sagging.
There went his afternoon of coding and ordering materials. He was going to have to go out again.
Well at least he would be able to get some pre-payed cards while he was in town, since he didn't think he'd be able to get what he wanted in the Bowery. With those, he'd be able to order things to deliv-
Ah. Yes. People didn't deliver in this part of Gotham. People other than Marco's of course.
Then he would have to use a pick-up point, at least if he couldn't find a store that carried the materials he needed.
He felt like this town was fighting with him, trying to make his life more complicated. He had no choice but to adapt, though, so he headed to Old Gotham and its shimmering Christmas lights. Despite the holidays, many stores were still open there and, as he left the Bowery, he could see groups of people walking on the streets, together.
Of course, not everyone celebrated Christmas. He didn't this year, and he wasn't the only one, whether for cultural, religious or other personal reasons. He felt a bit less lonely as he joined the small crowd heading into a shopping gallery.
He couldn't help himself this time around and splurged on a jacket made of light brown thick fabric with a double layer of fluff to protect from the cold on the inside. He felt a bit guilty to spend his prize money on something so selfish but he didn't want to keep on walking around without a coat and cause people to wonder how it was that he never got sick despite it.
New shoes eventually followed, sturdy leather work boots that would likely last him a decade. Uncle Ben used to have a pair just like this one, which made it impossible to ignore when he walked past it after getting his jacket. He felt warm and nostalgic as he finally made his way to the phone store, protected from the elements at last.
He had just spent so much on frivolous belongings, yet he had many more dollar bills in his pockets. It felt surreal.
Deep down, he remembered how stressful the previous night had been, how terrifying the gazes from the rogues felt but his excitement drowned out his worry. Finally, he didn't feel like he was struggling to keep his head out of the water.
Being a meta was truly a blessing, maybe that was where all of his luck went.
Then, being a meta had also caused him to lose quite a lot.
At the store, he easily found what he was looking for. Like New York City, Gotham had a lot of blank network areas, which meant that boxes using the phone network to hotspot for a computer or a television were common there. He easily found a box connected to the 4G network, and payed six months of subscription upfront, for a couple more hundred dollars.
It wasn't cheap but it was necessary for him.
Stuffing his purchase in the large pockets of his brand new jacket, he stepped out once again, smiling as the wind crashed on the thick fabric he was wearing, barely making him shiver.
This was nice, he was feeling good.
Instead of running home and starting to work on his computer right away, Peter walked around the neighborhood, watching the civilians go about their daily lives. He even got himself a hotdog and a little bag of fries at a stand. He might be alone but he still deserved to treat himself for Christmas. He watched couples and families ice skate on an outside rink, wishing he could join them.
Eventually, though, it was time for him to head to work and he barely got to drop off his Internet box at his apartment before having to jump on the roof and run out. Night was falling and snow was back in the air, flakes getting stuck in his hair as he jumped across gaps and over chimneys.
He made it to Marco's in records time. His work boots had soles good enough to crunch the ice under him, keeping him from slipping. It was a welcome change from his old used sneakers, and one he was very happy about. Even if it was a selfish investment, it had been a good one.
He was about to climb down the building in front of the pizzeria and head inside when he noticed something unusual. The front of the restaurant, which was usually clear of any vehicles or human presence was occupied by something.
A large black motorcycle stood there, parked in front and held to the ground and the walls with several thick chains, which was likely necessary in Gotham to stop it from getting stolen. Peter wasn't very knowledgeable in bikes but even he could tell that this one was very well cared for. Its surface was shining, free of dirt and grime as if it had just been polished. A fresh coat of paint had been applied to it, he could smell it, strong over the scents of the city and the snow.
Did Marco park this here? No, he was too injured to drive a motorcycle, he could barely walk for more than a few minutes, then who…
Oh.
Of course! The new driver.
Peter gulped, intimidated. This new person was a lot cooler than he was, and probably more experienced too. He had to run around to deliver his pizza and here they came with a gorgeous vehicle. Not only did they have their license, they knew enough about bikes to keep it in that state.
Because the wheels smelled worn, to Peter, and he could tell there was history to the engine from what he could see of it. Stains the owner hadn't gotten to yet under the bulk of the bike. It was hard to tell with how polished the thing was, but it had been used a lot.
Feeling incredibly anxious now, somehow more than he had before the fight with Orca, he put his hands in his pockets, took a deep breath…
Then took his hands out and used them to climb down the building. He landed on the snow with a soft puff, flakes sticking to his brand new boots.
Thankfully, they were waterproof.
Heart racing, Peter pushed the door of the pizzeria open. There, sitting at his usual table, was Marco. In front of him, sitting sideways to see both the back door and the front door, was a young man. He was barely older than him, with no lines on his face and not even the start of a beard, but he looked like an adult in ways that he himself never felt like he did.
The teen had jet black hair with a white streak in the middle which, surprisingly, did not smell dyed to Peter. His skin had a slight tan and, even though he was sitting, he was clearly much, much taller than him. The Marco's hoodie he was wearing under his hard leather jacket did not hide at all how muscular he was, almost on par with Captain America or Thor at his prime.
Alright, so this was the kind of driver Marco would usually hire. Someone who would have survived the gangs but for some reason did not want to work for them. Someone from Gotham. It made sense now, that his boss thought he wouldn't make it past an hour out at night if this was his standard.
Not only was the new driver built better than many of the thugs he had seen around Crime Alley at night, but he was also carrying several guns, all of them loaded. From the smell, Peter detected at least four on himself, including one hidden in his left boot, and at least five more inside of his bike, as well as explosives.
A-alright.
Maybe Marco's was more into helping former gang members out of the underworld than lifting up random street kids, then. Or maybe it was not that unusual in Gotham to have so many weapons? The bike and the guns did look expensive, why would someone who could afford that work as a pizza delivery boy?
His heart was racing even faster now, as his mind went through the options. Time had slowed around him, or rather he was allowing himself to perceive it as he usually would, without slowing himself down. The humans, in comparison, seemed like they were sloths, each of their breath dragging on forever, each twitch of their muscles stretching for an eternity.
He rarely allowed himself to do this, it was a bad habit to take when out of the mask. Spider-Man could afford to think unnaturally fast, lift weights and move at a speed that humans could never hope to achieve. Using his powers as himself was making him slip in his civilian identity.
He chastised himself and tried his best to slow his perception down to a normal level. It was hard to quiet everything down but he had a lot of practice and, eventually, time trickled out again, seconds falling back into place.
"Ah, this is your senior coworker…" Marco was saying, pointing at Peter, of all things.
It made the teen cringe. This dude had at least three inches and probably sixty or eighty pounds on him. He was also clearly older, being called his senior really did not feel right.
"… Peter." His boss finished, not aware of his silent suffering. His new coworker was looking at him intently, somehow not scoffing at the fact that he, Peter Parker, was being called his senior. His eyes were a vivid green, almost as bright as Ivy's had been.
Oh god was this guy also a plant muta-meta?
No, he couldn't hear, smell or feel anything unusual in his heartbeat, sweat, blood or breathing pattern. According to the book he had started to read, metas were unusual, powerful ones were even rarer. The likelihood of two metas working at the same pizza place would be almost as low as the one of two vigilantes working at the same pizza place.
Especially when said place only had three employees, and one of them was the boss.
Ah damn, he was doing it again. He had to focus on slowing himself down, stop his thoughts from racing out of control like this.
"Peter." Marco was saying, extremely slowly from his perspective, then more normally once he calmed himself back to a human rhythm. "This is Jason, the new driver."
"Nice to meet you." Jason nodded politely, eyes still burning into his, like he was trying to read his thoughts-oh god was he a tele-don't think about it.
"Yeah- Nice to- uh nice to meet you uh… man." He cringed at the last part, gritting his teeth. Socializing with a cool older guy should not be this hard.
Jason probably drank beers with his friends, he would never want to hang out with someone like Peter. He totally looked like the kind of guy who would go out with a giant crowd of people. He even had a leather jacket. Maybe he had biker friends.
Peter had never had biker friends. Peter had nerd friends. Peter was a nerd.
His dreams of making friend with his new neighbor evaporated instantly, then he realized the guy probably wouldn't even be his neighbor because he had an amazing bike and ten guns and a great leather jacket and he probably went out and drank beer with his friends.
Calm down, Parker.
He was the senior coworker. He had to act cool, too.
Jason raised an eyebrow at his greetings, his top lip rising slightly. Micro-expressions. He could see them but had never really taught himself to read them. He hadn't needed it, when he had MJ to analyze people for him.
He would have to learn. That and so many other things.
He slowed his perception down, again. This was always so tedious. At least he wasn't slipping up with his other abilities, although he knew that was now a risk since he was allowing Peter Parker and superpowers to mix.
Mentally, it was messing with the neat little boxes he had put his civilian identity and his vigilante one in. No powers without a mask, that had been the rule, it had eventually become a reflex, just like breathing.
And now he had gone against it. Just like when he remembered he was controlling his breathing, it would take him a while to fall into the habit and be able to do it unconsciously. Until then, he would have to keep on reminding himself to do it.
"I want you guys to work together for a while."
Peter started. Was he supposed to teach the new guy free running or- maybe he just meant-
Marco looked down pointedly, eyes digging into Peter's foot. An instant after, he was back to his usual posture. His expression, bored annoyance, hadn't changed all along but a twitch in Jason's right eyebrow showed he had noticed the silent exchange.
The guy was perceptive, on top of being built like a professional boxer. But that was barely more than a passing concern as suddenly, Peter realized that Marco knew about the fight, enough to have heard about his injury.
He was even more well connected that he had thought. All of the people in the arena the previous night were higher ranked than streets thugs. Whoever his informant, or informants, were, they were quite high ranked.
"Peter, people know who you are and won't shoot you on sight. Can't say the same for you Jason, 'specially with the bike."
"That's why I have the guns." The older teen piped in, twirling one of his two visible firearms on his index finger. His voice was pure Gotham, which made Peter think once again that everyone from this city had terrible gun safety issues.
Who taught these people how to shoot? Before he event got to learn during his training course-not that he would ever use the knowledge, he did not need guns nor want them- the Avengers had taught him how to behave around a firearm.
They said it might be necessary to learn one day, May didn't agree but, since Ben had always wanted to teach him how to shoot, he had decided to listen. He had sworn off firearms, though.
Everyone in Gotham loved to carry guns so he couldn't blame someone born there and raised in that culture for owning them. Not everyone was a meta. Not everyone would be able to punch Firefly down.
For many civilians, the only way to take Firefly on would be with a firearm, a vehicle or a very potent trap. A lot of people only had the budget or the time for the first.
"Stop twirling those." Marco snapped. "Not inside the store."
Jason wrinkled his nose in annoyance but complied, which made their boss relax. The rules were set and he was alright with them. Not into the store did make sense, but never twirling charged guns with the safety off should not be limited to a single place.
Gotham was incredibly dangerous, not just because of its villains but because of the way its residents acted.
"Peter, you'll be introducing Jason around town. Current climate being that way, it's needed. Jason, you'll be driving the two of you."
"Do we have to split pay?" The young man asked, now twirling a combat knife, which he had fetched from an inside pocket in his jacket. This was apparently not an issue for Marco, who ignored it and replied flatly:
"No. I can cover it."
That made Peter frown. He would be able to keep paying them the same, despite them delivering together? Even if the motorcycle was faster, they would both be delivering at the same time, so it still scaled up…
Either Marco was making a huge margin on the pizza, enough to keep the place running and them payed, he was operating at a loss or he was getting income from another source.
That was a bit intimidating, considering the kind of place Gotham was. Maybe he was getting some kind of insurance payout for his leg… but then insurance in this city couldn't be that much considering how dangerous it was to live there.
"Alright." Jason nodded, standing up and stretching, apparently satisfied with the answer. "Let's go then. You can cover me when I drive." He nodded at Peter.
"Uh…"
"He doesn't shoot." Marco sighed.
Jason looked at him slightly incredulously.
"You don't?"
"I can't drive either." Peter blushed, feeling extremely inadequate.
His coworker shook his head. "Wouldn't let you drive anyway, but…" He laughed sharply, sounding bitter. "Everywhere I go I'm followed by pacifists."
"I'm not a pacifist." Peter frowned. "I just don't need a gun."
Instead of a rebuke, his reply got him a sudden heavy silence. The implication, one he hasn't intended to make aloud, hung in the air.
"I see." Jason said, narrowing his eyes. "Narrows?"
He shook his head. "New York." He replied with a sigh.
His coworker hummed in answer, not probing any further. Peter still felt like he had been instantly figured out. But such an innocent comment wasn't an admission of anything, at least not in his eyes.
"Stop blabbing." Marco cut in, snapping his fingers at them. "More working. Peter get the GPS, Jason get the pizza."
The younger teen obeyed immediately but saw the older boy bristle slightly at their boss' tone. He didn't like authority that much, it seemed. Why was this kind of person working at a pizza restaurant?
Was this truly the kind of people Marco usually hired? The adult was watching them move around with an unreadable expression, arms crossed.
Before the two of them could leave, their boss stopped them, calling Peter forward. He gulped audibly, hoping he wasn't about to get fired now that a more competent, non meta driver was there. Instead, Marco grabbed his wrist and tugged him closer, whispering:
"Don't let them know you can heal."
"-How do you know?"
His boss raised an eyebrow and he remembered the man knew about Firefly. It had taken him a few days to recover from the injuries, mostly due to his poor diet at the time. Despite being slow for him, it was months faster than it would have taken for a regular human.
He was let go shortly after, stumbling after the older boy, who was busy unlocking the chains holding his vehicle down.
They eventually switched loads, Jason holding the GPS with a dubious look on his face and Peter putting on the back pack. The bike was large enough for both of them to sit on it without touching each other, which he was very glad about, mostly because of the guns he knew the older teen was carrying.
"You're gonna fall." Jason warned him when Peter scooted back on the bike, sitting straight with his hands flat down its side. "You have to grab something."
"I'll be fine." He replied, sticking his palms and fingers to the smooth motorcycle surface.
His coworker shrugged, not arguing with him and, obviously expecting him to lose balance right away, he started his bike up, going slowly.
Peter stayed relaxed, easily keeping his balance.
"Suppose you don't need a helmet?" Jason said, stopping the motorcycle after a few feet of slow riding. He probably intended to show him it wasn't this easy to keep his balance while sitting this way, but didn't try to talk it out with him. He liked action more than words, then.
"I'll be fine without one." Peter replied.
Despite his terrible gun practices, Jason appeared to at least be a safe driver as he slipped a sleek black helmet, also freshly re-painted, on his head. The smell would be barely noticeable for a human, the work was of high quality, but to him it was obvious.
The next time the motorcycle started up, it was with a loud roar, the engine fully awakened. Peter tightened his abdominal muscles, trying not to apply too much pressure with his hands, to keep from damaging the vehicle. It was easy to stay still though, the wind wasn't stronger than he was and he could go faster than this bike simply by running.
That was a dangerous thought to have as Peter Parker, especially around strangers with guns.
Jason tore through the streets with ease, not bothered by the ice and the snow, twisting between cars and passerby. This was definitely not the right or safe way to drive but, in this side of Gotham, nobody really seemed to care.
Their first delivery was to the Bowery, a familiar place for Peter. The motorcycle slowed down significantly as they got closer to their delivery point, before stopping entirely.
"Okay." Jason told him. "You go ahead."
He blinked, confused.
"Wait… why me?"
"Because they know you." The older boy sighed, sounding like he thought this should have been an obvious answer. "If I just show up on a motorcycle, they'll shoot."
"Will they really?"
"Yes." Jason nodded. Despite the impatience in his tone, he still took the time to explain the situation to him, which Peter appreciated. He had never been shot at while delivering, but he looked a lot less intimidating than a six foot tall man on a giant bike.
All things considered, maybe he was lucky to be relatively short. This way, people weren't scared into shooting before talking.
He unstuck his hands from the bike and jumped off smoothly, stretching his arms, the pizza bag warm on his back. Jason was looking at him, eyes sometimes flickering downwards.
Right.
Peter pretended to wince, hoping he did a good job of it before asking, hands shoved in his jacket's pockets to shield them from the cold:
"What should I tell them?"
Jason sighed long sufferingly but answered: "Tell them you've got a new coworker and Marco sent you with him. I got the shirt, he said it should be good." After a brief pause, he added: "Tell them I'm coming on a bike."
"Ok." He nodded, trying to calm his nerves. Having company during his deliveries was very unusual.
Jason watched him as he walked towards the drop-off point, his gaze burning into the back of his neck.
Peter couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. The guy was really cool, way too cool for him. He knew how to get around in Gotham, unlike him. He had money, he was actually an adult.
Even though he was a vigilante and a meta, next to Jason, he felt like he was back in high school, looking at the popular kids' table. It was stupid, because high school was long gone and he was already supposed to be going to college.
He stepped in the small alleyway the GPS was leading them to. There, standing around a small barrel fire, were a group of men, wearing the two toned uniforms Peter had seen around the city. There had been more of them gathering recently, more gang activity in general.
They seemed to be focused around the Bowery, just like the Black Mask gang and the clown gang, which both appeared in other districts as well. It seemed like the different sides were biding their time, not clashing for territory yet, but…
There was tension brewing in the air. He didn't see several groups belonging to different gangs in the same street that night, hadn't seen that for a few days.
"Oh hey! Pizza kid!" One of the clients greeted him. "Two cheese!"
The other ones mumbled, looking on edge, several of them messing with their guns. They were glancing around, trying to spot something…
Oh, right! They probably heard the engine.
"Uh… I also have to introduce you guys to someone." He said, taking out the order, which smelled divine.
His words sent a shockwave of suspicious glares and safety clicks around the group. One of them even raised his pistol slightly, not quite pointing it but obviously ready to shoot.
"Yes?" The leader of the pack, the one who had welcomed him, replied, voice very soft. It sent shivers down his spine but he spoke through them:
"New coworker. Uh… He's driving a motorcycle. He's uh… he's there. He uh… he has a shirt too."
Nobody relaxed at his explanation, but they did ask him to bring Jason over, voices still tense. He did so while fully aware of the weapons now pointed at his back, of the speed of the men's heartbeats.
Jason was waiting, leaning on his motorcycle slightly, smoking a cigarette. With his leather jacket and his dark hair, he looked like a biker cut straight out of a movie. Peter really hoped he wouldn't try to draw his weapons.
"Hey." The young man greeted him, nodding in his direction.
"Hey." He replied shakily. "They said they want to see you. They're kind of…"
"… Twitchy?" Jason finished. "Yeah that's fine. Let's go."
He took one last drag of his smoke and smothered the flame, slipping it back into a bland pack. Saving it for later? It didn't fit with the image Peter had of him but he couldn't see any other reason for his behavior.
They both hopped on the bike and drove forward slowly, coming into the view of the group of men. Several of them tended up noticeably when they spotted Jason, who was still openly wearing weapons.
"Hey guys…" Peter smiled weakly. "That's my coworker Jason…"
Said coworker slid off his motorcycle, putting his hand into his jacket as he walked forward. This caused several men to curse and raise their weapons, guns clicking.
"Chill." Jason said, unperturbed by the fact he was seconds away from his own death. "I'm offering you a smoke."
The pack he took out looked a lot nicer than the one he had used in front of Peter, and two third of the cigarettes in it were still there, all of them pristine. Guns went down slowly.
"You first." The leader sneered, not accepting the gift immediately.
Jason smiled politely, an odd look on his face, and lit one of the sticks, putting it in his mouth and taking a long drag. After a moment, the group of men stepped forward, several of them grabbing an offered cigarette, two fetching the pizza from Peter's hands, who had been left holding the boxes.
"You local?" One of them asked, after food and smokes had been distributed. Jason was still looking relaxed, completely at ease around them, it seemed to have some sort of calming effect, albeit a slow one. Some of the thugs were looking a lot less tense.
"Kinda." His coworker replied, "have only been in town for a few months. I was born there, though. Left for some time…"
"Where'd you go?"
Peter didn't have to go through this kind of questioning, which made him reconsider just how old he looked. Jason was getting such a different response than he did on his first deliveries!
"Ethiopia." The older boy replied, unbothered. "Other countries."
"Military?"
The young man shook his head, still smoking calmly.
"Merc?"
This earned the leader of the group a smirk. The atmosphere had completely changed, each answer getting the thugs to relax a little.
"You could say that." Jason nodded, taking one last drag before flickering the cigarette's remains into the snow. "Working here now. Here, take that."
He handed the man the pack of quality cigarettes, face unreadable. His gift was accepted with a confused but pleased look.
"Let your other boys and girls on the street know about me and my bike." He said, sounding more like he was giving an order than asking for a favor. It worked though, as he got a few nods in answer, all guns now down.
"Guess Marco's hiring guys like you again." Someone snorted amusedly as the two of them got back on the motorcycle.
Peter was an outlier, then. He was right to think the pizzeria usually took on tougher people than him.
"Guess so." Jason replied flatly.
Then, with a loud engine roar, they were off again.
Notes:
Jason is 6 foot tall and around 220 lbs of muscle in many comics… and he will be like this here AN ABSOLUTE UNIT
Dynamic bro team of Peter "Tiny Beast" Parker and Jason "Cool Bike" Todd