Chapter 22: Dust clouds

WARNINGS FOR: Building collapses, descriptions of injuries, body horror, death.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The small bag of soil and box of fertilizer tea he carried back to his apartment were significantly heavier than his newly bought suit materials, and they barely weighed anything as he trotted on the roofs of Old Gotham. It still made his head spin a bit, thinking about how much money he had spent a couple hours earlier. He had everything he needed for his first suit but if he wanted to make another one with similar materials, he would have to fight again, or sell a lot of very good intel to Gordon to be able to afford it. He looked forward to neither but knew he was bound to end up doing both, with how things had been going for him.

You made those choices yourself. Take responsibility for your actions, Peter.

The voice in his mind was a bitter mixture of May and Ben with some hints of MJ. Only the latter was still alive but he knew that all three would have told him this. The memory made him feel slightly better, especially since the words were reassuring in a way. He had made the choices that had lead him to where he was now, him, nobody else. He would be the one to decide how he would get out of it, no matter how much work he would have to accomplish to make sure of it. He could see how the fighting ring could be useful to him, same for his relationship with the Commissioner. He could also see the dangers involved in both of them, now he only had to keep clear of them.

If only it was this easy...

Shaking his head, he pushed away the gloom that had started to spread in his mind. Instead, he tried to focus on the roofs he was running on, the small, cramped alleyways he was leaping above. He made sure never to be seen jumping too far but free running, even when trying to keep within human limitations, had always allowed him to clear his mind. Sports had always played that role to him, that and crafting projects, whether they be digital or physical. Once he got into his zone he often found himself focusing so intently that he lost track of everything except what he was doing. Sound helped and, for the first time, he remembered about the loss of his earbuds. He missed listening to music when he was running and off duty. Not only did it help soothe his mind but it also kept away some of the noise he always heard around him. The sounds of the city, sometimes dull rumbles, sometimes screeches, barks, moans, thumps... It all got a bit overwhelming, sometimes.

With or without earbuds, it only took a few minutes of running for him to slip into a comfortable emptiness, all his focus on the path in front of him, on keeping his strength and speed in check. He ran a few steps up a small wall, leading to a slightly higher building, just few enough to be believable, and leaped up, pushing with his work boots, reaching up and hoisting himself up on another roof. As soon as his feet hit the stone arch that decorated the gothic building, he sprung again, dashing with the wind against his back, pushing him, making him faster, faster...

By the time he stopped in front of his window, he was grinning widely and his eyes were shining back at him on the glass. He carefully slipped inside, checking on his plant first thing to make sure the cold air seeping into the room hadn't damaged it. It felt cool to him so he resolved to repot it as soon as possible, into the slightly larger gardening jar he had gotten. It had small holes at the bottom to drain excess water so he had to complement it with a small hard clay plate. They hadn't been expensive, thankfully for his quickly disappearing stash of money.

Before he started on this new task, he locked up his windows and went to check on the Iron Spider, hidden in a bundle under his folded clothes. None of the wrinkles on his shirts or pants looked different than the ones he remembered from the last time he had shoved it inside. Nobody had been through his things. He sighed in relief, shoulders sagging slightly, and turned back towards Ivy's present. With as much care as he could, he took the tiny thing out of its equally tiny pot, using his spider abilities as much as he could to make sure he didn't tear anything, moving with extreme precision.

It seemed to take hours but it was only a few minutes before his plant was tucked into its new pot, now looking even smaller than before, swallowed by the larger space. It would grow into it, if the articles he had read online were accurate.

And then what? Would he have to get a new pot or would it eventually stop getting bigger?

And what was he supposed to do with the pot the plant had come with? Did Ivy want it back? It was probably safer to clean it and hand it back to her next time he saw her but-... what if she thought it meant he accidentally killed the plant? He just wanted to give it more space, not put himself in danger. This place was so difficult to navigate, he had no idea if a misstep with his fellow metahuman would lead to violence or simply to indifference on her part. She had treated him like a fly stuck to the bottom of her heels. He didn't know if it was any better than the way Harley treated him, as if he was one of her dearest friends despite them barely knowing each other.

He tried his best to ignore his anxiety, sitting on the ground in the center of his room and unpacking the rest of his bag. The two bundles of fabric ended up in front of him and he stared at them intently, twisting his hands into knots.

Well.

That was awkward.

Up until now he had been so focused on working on blueprints, scrapping components off of the Iron Spider and acquiring materials and funds that he had not really thought about how he would make his suit.

Now, Peter wasn't a beginner at sewing. He had spent many many hours learning how to work different types of fabric with May, silk included, and he had learned from Tony how to repair and upgrade different, thicker materials like leather or metal. He had always worked supervised, however, and he had never gotten to truly make and lead his own project until the end of the Thanos situation, until Tony...

He bit his lip, hard. Blood spurted in his mouth, drying up as fast as it had come out, the small cut already mending himself. He breathed out, running a trembling hand through his hair. It was starting to grow long enough to flop down on his forehead, but he had no budget to pay for a haircut, and no aunt to do it for him for free.

Remembering about his dead loved one would not help him right now. For the time being, he had to figure out how to make a skintight suit from scratch without the help of Stark technology, and without May there to give him advice, not that she often did when it came to suits. His counterparts had been able to make their own so it made sense that he would be able to as well... Sure his first and only attempt at making a vigilante outfit on his own looked more like a strange kind of streetwear than a superhero body armor, but he had learned a lot since then.

He eyed the spider silk and gulped, sweat beading on his forehead. It had been really expensive. He had used silk before, and he had drawn patrons but...

Maybe he should make himself a Spandex outfit first, just to make sure-...

No! He didn't have time for that. He needed to get ready to go out and Spandex alone would not cut it in Gotham unless he wanted it to end up slashed to pieces every night. But... if he messed up, he would have to pay for the silk again, and he didn't have components for his web yet. He needed to think about that. Money was quickly drying up.

With a heavy sigh, Peter dragged himself towards his mattress, snatching his laptop and settling it on his lap as he sat there cross-legged. He quickly created himself an account to the most popular video website in this dimension, which was a very similar yet different version of the one he knew from back home, and created a new playlist, feeling a bit discouraged at the amount of information he knew he was going to have to absorb. He had to learn years worth of skill in only a few days. At least, he would be able to follow a sped up video, which should help make it go a bit quicker.

[NEW PLAYLIST : SUPER HERO SUIT COSPLAY TUTORIALS]

At least, if Jason ever ended up coming into his apartment, he could now leave the laptop open and back up his claim that he was working on cosplay. After all, even someone competent in one domain could still learn and he definitely was not very competent when it came to making a skintight, good looking suit without the assistance of Stark Tech. It would also no doubt take longer to finish, even with his enhanced speed and precision. He allowed himself a few seconds to mourn the loss of his high tech equipment, which would have made the task ahead of him significantly easier.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a blur of information, schematics and notes he managed to scribble on one of his notebooks, hanging from his ceiling by the tip of two of his fingers, slowly swinging around the room. He was lacking a lot of what he needed for the finer details of his outfit. The dark webbing he was used to sporting, for example, would require a lot of very precise work, and likely a lot of time and mistakes with it, to complete. He would not be able to use silk or Spandex for him, but something more rigid.

What if that was were he put some of the Iron Spider's components? He had looked over many of the files recovered from the micro drives and had started to repair some of the scanner subroutines but he had not yet found any programming regarding the nanobots, which he thought would fit perfectly as a pattern on his suit, ready to be deployed whenever needed. As long as he kept them secure in the pods, they would fear very little. He just had to steer clear of fire. And explosions. And lasers. Gotham was dangerous but surely not every villain would be carrying around a small arsenal.

It would all be so much easier if he had managed to find anything related to Tony's AI. Unfortunately, either the information he was looking for was in a drive he hadn't scanned yet or it was too damaged for him to make sense of it. Either way, he had to stick to what he had available to him right now. The situation in Gotham looked to be worsening by the day and Spider-Man simply could not afford to lay low any longer.

His eyes wandered over to his red locker, in which he kept the remains of his old suit, and a few box containing all the nano pods he had salvaged from it. He did know some basic robot programming, and had worked with machine learning and AI in particular alongside Tony. In fact, those were the fields he was the most comfortable in, when it came to robotics. He simply had to, especially after the death of his mentor. He and Ned were the only people he knew of who were able to change the behavior of his bots, and it was the single area in which he considered himself as skilled, if not more, than his friend.

Peter Parker might not have been able to hack into a government agency, not yet at least, but he could program a thousand different ways for his bots to act and, on top of that, make it so they would learn and adapt each time they were taken out. That would have to be enough.

He started thinking about what he would need to write for the nanobots to deploy from his suit's web design and, surprisingly, he found that he felt able to do it. More astonishingly, he was confident he could accomplish it on his own. He dropped down in a crouch, landing on his toes next to his mattress. With a grin, he turned off the tutorial videos and started brainstorming, taking notes and putting down burgeons of ideas, testing out some lines. He had a lot of thinking to do, he had decide what languages to use, how he would mix them together, how much machine learning he wanted to put in and how much pre-written behavior…

It seemed to him that barely a few minutes had passed since he started typing away but, to his surprise, he was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. Jason, his ears and nose told him.

Closing his laptop, Peter slipped on his boots and his jacket, reminding himself that he was supposed to be injured. Once he had repeated the thought half a dozen times or so, he took a deep breath and unlocked his apartment, flashing his neighbor a bright welcoming smile.

Said smile faded quickly, replaced by a confused frown when he noticed what his (hopefully) new friend was doing. On Jason's shoulder, held there with ease as if it had not weighed anything at all, was a mannequin.

Not a mannequin you would see in a store, no, one you would see in a workshop, adjustable in several ways, from tightness of the chest to height. He had never seen one from so close, but had sometimes spotted a couple at the back of a fabrics store, when visiting them with his aunt. Peter blinked when the older teen set it down in front him.

"Thought I'd get you one." Jason grumbled. "Got a place I used to make stuff at. Had two of those." He crossed his arms in front of him, raising his chin as if to dare him to say anything.

Peter ignored the threatening look, thanking him profusely. From what he could see behind the man, a pile of boxes and another similar mannequin, he was indeed moving equipment into his room. So that was what he had been doing all afternoon, getting his furniture back from wherever he had stored it. Maybe, before he left Gotham, he had an apartment or a house in the area.

"Was this all in the containers?" He asked, too curious to worry about appearing nosy. If his coworker could keep all of that hidden out in town, he was even more savvy than what he had first suspected.

"This?" Jason shot a quick glance behind his shoulders. "No. Some places in town don't get used so much anymore, it's easy to snag a spot there."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. As an outsider, he didn't know that much about the Gotham districts he hadn't visited yet. What would make someone abandon their home, if the people here could still be fine living in the Bowery and Crime Alley? He shuddered slightly, thinking about the pain those poor civilians would have no doubts gone through.

"Yeah." The older boy agreed, mistaking his discomfort for fear. "Not going there if I can help it. This place's pretty sweet, the owner is very skilled."

The New Yorker did not need to ask what skill exactly their landlady possessed. If there were so many criminals using this building as a safe house, it was more than obvious that the woman was very good at staying under the authorities' radar. This was likely the main reason that brought people to her in the first place. Not for the first time, he wondered how Marco had met such a person. The man was surprisingly well connected, for a small time business owner. Perhaps it was a necessity here, to survive one had to cooperate and know people in the underworld. it would be in line with everything else he had learned about Gotham.

"Anyways, you'll need one for your … cosplay." The word sounded foreign to him but he said it anyways, testing it out with a frown.

They lifted the mannequin together, Peter struggling not to make it obvious that he could have carried it on the tip of one of his fingers. After settling it down in front of his still cluttered desk, he offered to help his neighbor store the rest of his belongings, which they did, mostly in silence.

Jason's apartment was slightly larger than his, but just as sparsely furnished. A mattress laid on the ground, topped by a camping pad and with for blanket the sleeping bag he had seen in the man's container not so long ago. A walk-in closet, devoid of any door but as large as the bathroom it was right next to, was one of the main differences with his own room. It was still bare, save for a pair of muddy work boots, looking very similar to his own. As his gaze slid across the empty walls, he spotted a small TV, perhaps five or so years old in this universe. He distantly remembered having to chose between two different sets of furniture when he first moved in but, with everything that had happened, the memory was nothing more than a vague blur. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like years had passed.

"Thanks dude." Jason told him earnestly, standing in the center of the room, looking at their handiwork. On top of the mannequin, they had added a half dozen or so boxes of varying sizes, as well as a large sewing machine, what looked like a case full of tools and a worn down leather punching bag.

Peter looked at the last item regretfully. He often wished he had a way to take out his frustration now that he wasn't able to simply go out and swing between the skyscrapers anymore. A single punch from him however and this flimsy bag would burst open. Back in the day, he had the occasion to use a training room specifically made for the Avengers. Most of the furniture there had been able to handle him at half strength, and a few could take all of his might. That occasion had stayed a one time thing, however. Chaos had followed soon after that summer, and he never really had the time to go back there, nor the wish to, after Tony passed.

"You box?" Jason asked suddenly, looking excited. He was likely an adept of the sport, considering his enthusiasm. His build was also typical for a guy addicted to working out and that type of combat sports was extremely in character for the teen. Unlike him, he looked like a guy who would like to throw some punches around.

He shook his head, embarrassed.

"Sorry, no. I- uh… Some adults I know showed me some stuff but I never really-… I've been in street fights but-…" How did one explain that they spent most of their teenage years fighting crime as a masked vigilante? Not easily, that was how.

"I see." There was a brief pause, then: "I go to a gym nearby if you wanna try it out. Knowing some moves might be good if you wanna keep working nights."

Peter had a hard time finding an excuse to back out of it. He had been honest when saying he never really practiced, not in a club or a class at least. Although the Avengers had sometimes given him crash courses on self defense, he'd never studied a discipline properly. Of course, after spending so long fighting thugs and villains, he had picked up quite a few techniques, from all around the world -or at least all around NYC. His flexibility and strength helped him pull out pretty much anything he tried without much effort. He had never seen the need to spend hours practicing every week when, physically, he was superior to most people he came across.

However, that was back in his universe. Here, it seemed every villain was either extremely devious our had some sort of power. On top of that, Gotham had a plethora of bad guys, significantly more than what he had had to deal with back in New York.

"S-sure." He stuttered out. He would have to watch his strength and speed but learning some proper moves could only make him more efficient. Even if he didn't pick up anything new, he needed some practice acting like a regular human. Having to slow down his punches and restrain himself would help him stay under the radar.

Jason's smile did not quite reach his eyes, he could see it in the muscles around his temples and in the quirk of his mouth. He pretended not to notice, grinning back.

"Guess you'll be showing me a lot." Peter noted self consciously, suddenly hoping he wasn't annoying his new friend.

Thankfully, the friend in question only shrugged, then frowned and slid what looked like a very neat-up phone out of his pocket. He peered down at it and his frown turned into a full blown grimace.

"Shit." He said, eloquently. "We're late."

Peter blinked, then started sweating profusely. He peered over at the screen, noticing the background: a picture of Gotham which appeared to have been taken from a vantage point over the city, and confirmed that, indeed, they only had ten minutes to get to work. Memories of barely making it to school, hair messy and shirt wrinkled, came back to him and he cringed. He didn't think that he would ever feel the very specific panic that came with being late to a class but adulthood never failed to disprove his hopes and dreams. Being stressed out about being late appeared to be something of a curse every human was saddled with.

They didn't exchange another word while inside, rushing to exit the room and make their way downstairs, almost stomping a burly, mean looking woman as they did so. They reached the street in record time and Peter had the presence of mind to add a limp to his dash. It wasn't as hard as he had expected it to be: his coworker might be fit, but his running speed was less than a tenth of his own, if he really tried. He pretended to catch his breath while Jason freed his bike from the sarcophagus of chains and dangling locks he had secured around it.

It was only when they sped away that Peter realized he was about to experience yet another unfortunate instance of reckless driving. He couldn't keep from grimacing as the motorcycle swerved past a slow-moving truck, its tires looking about to roll away from under it. To his horror, the wild ride did not stop there and they ended up speeding around a good dozen or so vehicles, one of them a cop car. No chase started, unlike it might have back in New York. The GCPD had more important crimes to solve than traffic in this part of town. He hoped this wasn't true for every neighborhood, the death toll from vehicle crashes could be severe.

After a few minutes that felt like an eternity to him, they reached the restaurant. He jumped off the motorcycle as fast as he could, heart beating wildly. He was not scared for himself, a crash would likely leave him unscathed, but he couldn't say the same for his friend. Jason rode as if he did not care whether he lived or die and, incidentally, everyone else on the road was a second thought to him. He was extremely skilled, evidenced by the fact they hadn't ended up splattered against a wall or the back of a semi, but even the best of the best could slip. He had seen it happen before and he prayed that he wouldn't witness something similar again.

"Burn your tires yet?" Marco asked when they stepped in, his nose buried in an old school newspaper, the back of it covered in an add for a new burger chain comic to the city, "Big Belly Burger". Somehow, despite being black and white, it managed to look tacky. Their boss folded the piece of paper before he could study it any longer, staring at them blankly. "Heard you brake from behind a closed door."

Jason snorted, smirking at the older man, his eyes glaring daggers. "She can handle it." He sniffed, arms now crossed, fingers tight against his leather sleeves.

"Wouldn't want you to ruin the orders." Their boss' voice was cold, meeting his employee's defiance with calm confidence. "Reliability is key."

"Of course."

Peter, once again, started feeling deeply uncomfortable. Why did he have to get caught in between those two?

He sighed, glancing outside to try and gather his nerves before interrupting the two older men. Snow had started to fall once more, slowly fluttering to the ground, remaining light for now. He wondered if his jacket would be enough to keep the chill away, especially with the wind that always game alongside a bike ride. His neck itched slightly and he frowned, barely stopping himself from reaching up and scratching the sore spot. It was a distant, weak feeling but it was unmistakable. His mind slipped into calm almost immediately as he considered what dangers they might be likely to encounter. An ambush, perhaps? He hoped no villain would attack while they were out in the cold. His suit wasn't ready yet and he had forgotten his web shooters, not feeling like he would need them when helping Jason move in.

He took a deep breath and turned his gaze back to the two civilians. They were still glaring at each other, although Marco looked relaxed, and was even cracking open a can of beer, some of it fizzing and dripping down to the table.

"You guys better be careful." The man suddenly sighed, straightening up and taking a long gulp of his drink. "Some guy ordered a salad, don't bust the thing open."

"We won't." Peter hurriedly replied, grabbing the first opportunity he saw to dispel the hostility in the room. "We'll be careful."

"I know." Marco nodded, still frowning. "You have guns, right?" He was talking to Jason, who started and hesitantly nodded, looking wary. Their boss went on: "Good. Make sure you have one close. The city is weird tonight. Too silent."

As if on cue, the snow picked up in strength, wind slamming more and more forcefully against the building. The night was only getting started and, already, it looked like a storm was brewing.

The foreboding feeling did not leave him as the two of them gathered up everything they needed for their first round of deliveries, taking great care not to bump the cardboard bowl the salad was stored in. They stood in silence in front of the pizzeria for a tad longer than what was needed to put the first address in, both of them looking around uncomfortably. The city was indeed quiet, the restaurant street devoid of any gang activities, any and all of the usual groups of thugs and dealers having disappeared off to some other place. Maybe they were sheltering from the cold... But no. It wouldn't make sense, they had never avoided the elements before, not here in North Gotham. Marco was right, something unusual was going on.

"What do you think he meant?" Peter asked, fidgeting slightly, his neck now itching more noticeably. "Is this normal here? People leaving I mean. Not being there."

Jason looked up from the lock he was opening, face hard but lip twitching ever so slightly. Not in amusement, he realized, in anxiety. "It does happen." He replied after a beat. "They call it withdrawing. Or hiding out."

"From what?"

His friend stood up, chains gathered up in his arms then stored away inside the hidden compartment on the bike. "Each other, I guess. They do it when they get a tip one of them is planning something dangerous."

"So they work together." Peter grimaced.

"Not... Not really." Jason frowned, rubbing the back of his head wearily. "The guys speak to each other. In whorehouses-" The language made Peter flinch. "-or in bars. Places like that, you know. They get a feel of when shit is about to go down."

"And- you think… tonight?" He shifted on his feet, uncertain. "But Marco sent us out."

"You heard him. Reliability is key." He sounded bitter but resigned. "Gotham has been pretty quiet lately, it only means there's a shitstorm brewing."

"And it's gonna hit tonight."

"Maybe."

He really hoped it would not. He had barely gotten his hands on the materials he needed, his suit was days away from being functional. On impulse, he asked Jason for a helmet, hoping it would at least help him keep a semblance of anonymity if trouble was indeed brewing. He wouldn't hide away from his responsibilities. If he had to go out without his suit to save people, he would do it. He would try to be sneaky about it, but he would still do it.

To his surprise, his coworker did not dig the helmet he asked for out of his numerous bike compartments and instead ducked inside the restaurant. Apparently, he didn't want to have to carry it around every night just in case. Up until then, Peter had assumed he wanted nothing to do with Marco, and now it looked like he trusted him enough to keep some of his belongings there. Gothamites truly were odd people.

No matter. He slid the black helmet on, grimacing as it limited his field of view in a way that was very much unlike his own mask. It was bulky and smelled of dust but he kept it tight, hoping the fact his Spider sense had been rather weak throughout the evening was a sign they wouldn't really be in danger. Perhaps they would get into a crash. He almost hoped they would, if that meant he had more time to get his suit ready before having to face anyone.

"The wind is cold," was the only explanation he managed to give Jason as they settled on the bike. His friend shrugged but he could tell by the tension in his shoulder and the sound of his heart that he, too, felt uneasy. He didn't call out his obvious lie, however, letting it slide gracefully, as he often did.

They drove off in silence, going at a much slower pace than usual. Both of them peered down every alley they passed and stared at every shadows. Some people were still out, despite what Marco had said. A few poor souls shivered under streetlights, wearing too thin clothes and haggard expressions. He wished he had scarves or gloves to give them but his jackets and boots were the only things sheltering him from the snow. They passed them in silence, plunging back into the blizzard and the darkness as they left them behind, hopefully not to freeze to death.

The first few addresses they visited housed civilians, who thanked them profusely but hurriedly, closing the door as fast as possible once money changed hands. Most payed online but some still insisted on using cash the old fashioned way. Perhaps, like Peter, it was the only kind of currency they owned. He accepted everything politely, making most of the conversation while his friend watched the streets worriedly, hands tight against his leg, sometimes turning into fists.

An odd mood seemed to have spread to the whole town, but no one appeared able to find out what exactly was wrong. The only thing he himself knew was that he was uncomfortable, and that everyone else appeared to be as well. Every second they spent standing still in one place, his discomfort grew.

Their third delivery took them to a winding alley in the Bowery, far enough away from any source of light that they were both tense by the time they reached the drop off point. Behind the door, he could hear the shuffling of boots and the clicks of weapons, both common noises in this part of town. His Spider sense did not itch any more than it had earlier, neither did it break into full tingles as it would when he was about to encounter something truly dangerous. He still determined to be careful, hopping off the motorcycle smoothly, and making his way towards the building. If he kept his back to his coworker, perhaps he could remain inconspicuous even while using superhuman strength.

"Take off the helmet." Jason reminded him, grabbing his arm to stop him from knocking on the door.

Remembering he was supposed to introduce his coworker to the underworld, Peter nodded and tried his best to smooth his hair down, helmet tucked under one of his arms. He managed to comb a few curls out with his fingers when a couple men cracked the door open, peering at them suspiciously. They held weapons behind their backs, he could smell their discomfort in their sweat. He didn't recognize the logo on their jackets, one of the city's gang no doubt. He smiled innocently, praying they wouldn't force him to use force against them.

"T, come here." He heard one of them whisper. "That the kid?"

More voices came from inside, then shuffling and creaking. He glanced back at Jason, who probably hadn't heard anything but was as tense as he felt, frowning with his own helmet held in in his hand, his other under his jacket, ready to draw a weapon.

A chill ran down his spine but his neck did not tingle. He stayed tense, ready to spring into action if needed. First, he thought, he would have to drop the helmet somewhere soft, then he could follow it with a kick to the legs or-

"It's him yeah." A rough voice replied, equally quiet. He closed his fingers into fists, stuffed them in his pockets, tried to calm his nerves.

The door opened wider but, instead of guns, the two of them were met with the pale face of a man who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he currently was. The poor guy cleared his throat shakily, then accepted the pizza box and all but threw a few fifty dollar bills at them. Both Jason and him watched as the wood frame slammed shut before the money even touched the ground. They exchanged a look, frowning.

Peter knew why the men had reacted that way of course, but he did his best to appear innocent, playing up his confusion by asking his friend if he had known those strange people. He knew the answer before the question left his mouth but he still pretended to listen intently. He did not feel proud to be acting so deceitful. Gotham had changed him. It had only been a few weeks and already he was behaving in a way that would have made his past self ashamed. He had lied before, but he never liked outright manipulation, no matter the context.

His little act did allow him to leave the place without raising his friend's suspicion and he couldn't help but feel relieved at that thought. Jason seemed like a good guy: even if he acted tough most of the time, he had helped him out enough times for him to see that, deep down, he was kind. He didn't have to drive him to work or to get him a mannequin for sewing, yet he did. Of all people, he wanted that one innocent civilian tangled up in his vigilante business the least.

By their sixth delivery, he had started to relax slightly. So far, everyone had been behaving in the same way: shoving tips in their face and heading back inside as quickly as they could.

Nonetheless, the streets were stiller than they had ever been, everyone outside smelling and sounding like they wanted nothing more than to be back between four walls, safe from the cold and whatever else was brewing that night. Whenever they crossed a civilian, they quickened their pace or ducked into the shadows, not wanting to attract attention from whoever was driving outside in such a night.

Their seventh delivery led them somewhere that forced both of them to perk up. Instead of a house or even a squat, Jason stopped in front of a dark, empty shopping mall. At least five stories tall, it towered over a parking lot that, according to the sign in front of it, went down to ten levels into the earth. It was one of the more put together places he had had the opportunity to see in this part of Gotham, and it still looked ancient and damaged.

"The old mall." His friend's voice was almost a growl, full of an inexplicable anger-… or was it bitterness? "That's one of their-…" The young man shook his head, gritting his teeth. As they slowed down next to the delivery point, he had taken off his helmet but he settled it back on his head, clenching his fists rhythmically, as if wishing he could punch something. Peter thought about imitating him but, before he could decide, a whooshing sound made him look up sharply, then gasp.

Up there, falling down from the top of the building-… no-… jumping down from the top of the building, was a child. He recognized the outfit distantly, even if the colors were slightly different from the ones he had seen earlier in the day. He felt torn between consternation and horror.

This was a child. A little, small, tiny child.

The kid landed softly in front of them, straightening up smoothly, apparently so used to such theatrical entrances he did not expect them to react. Peter didn't stop himself from gaping openly, however. He thought he had been young starting vigilantism at fourteen and, in the back of his mind, he had known Robin was twelve, perhaps thirteen at most. But thirteen hadn't been so far away from his own age when he had started out. This one child could not be older than ten years old. Not only that but he exuded a cool calm so distinct from his physical appearance that, instantly, he knew the boy had been through a horrific, horrific event, if not events plural. There was no other reason for someone so small to act so coolly, to seem so confident standing there, alone in the dark in one of the most dangerous parts of town.

He did not know the Bat, he did not know the city really, not yet. However, he found himself hating both of them suddenly. They sent a kid out to fight. Someone who was even younger than he had been. This wasn't right.

"Your salad." His voice seemed distant, disconnected from his mind somehow. It was as if his mouth was being controlled by a separate entity, a stranger or perhaps a robot.

He mechanically handed the bowl to the boy, who took it just as distractedly. He was staring behind Peter and straight at Jason who, his helmet still on, had stayed standing next to his bike, hand trailing one of the compartments hidden along its body. His shoulders were tense but his knees were slightly bent, ready to jump, to run…

"Pizza delivery." Robin said suddenly. There was a slight accent to his voice, audible despite the buzz that attempted to disguise the true sound of it. Perhaps it worked for humans whose meta abilities did not involve enhanced hearing. "You do pizza delivery." He appeared stunned, for some inexplicable reason. By now, the word should have spread that the pizzeria was back in business.

"We do." Peter nodded, "and salad!" He awkwardly pointed down at the bowl the boy now held. They both looked at it silently and, for the first time, he noticed the kid was wearing the same kind of domino mask as Nightwing.

He couldn't blame the first Robin for not seeing anything wrong with sending a ten year old out to fight men with guns, the vigilante probably had been in the same situation at the same age. He did blame the city and the Bat for letting it happen, and he hoped there was a very good reason for them letting this kind of things go on under their watch. There had to be a good reason, he hoped. There had to.

Robin and him stared at the salad in silence for a moment longer then the boy looked back up, this time at him.

"Do you have utensils?" He asked, his politeness dripping with condescension. Flushing with embarrassment, Peter hastily shoved a plastic knife and fork in his hand, croaking out an apology. How was this tiny kid managing to make him feel worthless?

It was in the way the boy held himself, the slight drawl in his tone. He looked more composed and civilized than he had ever felt in his life, and he was too young to be in high school.

The kid sniffed at him and pointedly turned back to Jason, the eye slits of his domino mask suddenly sliding closer together, reminding him of his own mask. Well. His former mask. Whoever had made it had a taste for the dramatic, which he could appreciate.

"Interesting vehicle." Robin said, crossing his thin arms in front of his chest. He puffed his chest, as if to appear more threatening, but it only served to make him look even younger.

Despite his young age, Peter could see a few scars peaking from under his gloves, rugged pink lines that looked like they had been gotten in battle, or perhaps in a severe accident. His skin was a few tones darker than his too, making the scars stand out starkly. He memorized every detail in the same distant way he had spoken. He still felt shock rattling through him and, once again, he shivered. They sent a ten year old out to fight the kind of criminals he saw every night. Men like Firefly. Women like Orca. This just was not right.

"Let's go, kid." His coworker told him, snapping him out of his horrified daze. Unlike him, the older teen did not seem concerned by the fact one of the active vigilante of the city was younger than a middle schooler. Under the artificial street lamps, it was hard to tell if his composure was fake.

Jason ignored the glaring child and grabbed his arm, tugging him towards the bike. The boy behind them tightened his gaze further and bared his teeth in a snarl, visibly offended by the way he was being treated. He didn't say a word, however, watching them retreat with tightened fists. In a tense silence, they climbed on the motorcycle and drove away as soon as their feet left the ground, leaving him quivering with rage but helpless to stop them.

Jason took them through a maze of dark, winding street, ignoring Peter when he tried to tell him where their next, and last, delivery was. Instead of heading to the address their client had given, they went in circles, loops and through unpaved, muddy streets. A few times, they stopped and waited for a dozen seconds before driving off again. 

It took a while for him to understand why they were wasting time going around in circles but, once he did, he started glancing around anxiously, tugging at the hem of his jacket with trembling hands. Now was not the time to get involved with a clan of vigilantes he did not know if he wanted to associate with yet. For all he knew, they might all be secretly villains. Nightwing probably wasn't one, but he had been indoctrinated as a child and-...

He took a deep breath. He didn't know the bats or their ways. There could be a reason behind Robin being out like this at his age. There had to be one, in fact. Batman was a good guy, that's what his research told him. He tugged at his sleeves, wishing once more for his suit to be functional.

They slowed down and stopped next to a dark, old stone house, its walls ornate and sporting large stone gargoyles. Jason parked the bike under one of them, making them melt into the shadows. The engine quietened smoothly and they stayed still for a moment, listening intently. The snow had started to form a soft layer on the ground, muffling noises and making it feel like they were somewhere smaller, more private.

"Do you think he'll follow us?" Peter eventually asked, checking the roofs over them for any footsteps but hearing none. "I don't think he is."

His friend turned his head, eyes unreadable under his helmet. "I don't want to take chances." He sighed, then punched the air in front of him, fists shaking slightly. "Look P- ...kid... you don't want to get involved with the Bats. Trust me. Nothing good comes out of it."

"I-..." He found words failing him and, after opening and shutting it a few time silently, he closed his mouth with a snap. His usually composed neighbor had an edge of panic in his voice, and on his skin, under the artificial scent of the helmet, was something that smelled a lot like anger. Without his enhanced senses, he would never have noticed it but, with him being able to hear the older boy's erratic heartbeat, his unease was obvious. He truly believed what he was saying. More than that, he was afraid of the bats, somehow.

"Some of them are alright." Jason said, spitting the sentence out grudgingly. "But in general good things don't happen around them. It's just-" He hissed, this time seemingly more in frustration than anger. "They're dangerous people to know."

"Do you know them?" His curiosity betrayed his good sense once again and he winced at his own bluntness. It was too late to back out however, and it looked like they were going to hide out in the shadows for a while longer.

"Most people know them." His friend sighed. "You kinda have to eventually run into one of them if you live here. Can't say I really know that one, but I really don't want to risk it."

He looked about to add something more, his shoulders tensing in the way they did when he was out of his comfort zone but, as he slowly straightened up, a loud rumble made both of them look up sharply, cutting him off. A foreboding silence stretched for a while, snowflakes floating down gently in the quietness, making the moment feel that much more eery. Peter swallowed, a hard lump in the back of his throat. His neck itched badly, he had to consciously stop himself from reaching up, not wanting to attract attention to himself.

A strange howl cut through the uneasy call. Not human, it creaked on the edges like metal bending or perhaps a building groaning, about to collapse. Sinister cracks and bangs followed the noise, coming from a few streets away on their left. A deep roar, making the ground under the motorcycle tremble almost imperceptibly, echoed against the houses surrounding them. They both turned in that direction, although it was impossible to see anything, with the snow, the wind and the shadows. They would have to get closer to find out what was happening, but he didn't want to involve his coworker.

Perhaps he could get him to drop him off somewhere? He was about to ask when he felt the man in front of him shift, leaning forward slightly.

Wordlessly, Jason kicked his bike to life, heading towards the rumbling, his heart sounding steadier than what what would be expected in this situation. He did not seem to hesitate as he sped into the night, not slowing down as they swerved abruptly to the left, now only a few blocks away from the origin of the tremors. Peter could feel the air get heavier, although it was hard to smell anything with his nose blocked by his visor.

The wind was loud, slapping their helmet with wave after wave of billowing snowflakes. Their jackets glistened with frost and humidity and, under them, the tires squealed with every tight turn taken, sometimes skidding worryingly on what could only be black ice. Somehow, no matter how badly frozen the road was, it never fully slipped out of control. Robin had been right, this was an extremely interesting vehicle. Whoever had been its first owner, they must have even more money, or brains, than what he had first estimated.

Crashes and screeches mixed together in a disturbing rhythm, the first coming ever closer to them as they rode. The second, however, started behind them and slowly echoed further away in the city, strangely haunting. They did not sound human but he did not think dogs could make such a sound. He turned several times on his seat, trying his best to make out the source of the shrill cries but never managed to. Whatever was making those sounds, it was nowhere close to them, which made it all the more worrying that they could hear so many different ones and from so far away. None came from the source of the rumbling, thankfully. He did not feel like he wanted to find out what was causing that second disturbance, not when he still hadn't discovered what was happening in the first place.

Clutching the sides of the bike, Peter wondered why his coworker felt the need to head there. He was a vigilante so, even without his suit, he himself felt a responsibility to go check what had happened, to help. At least, he could keep his helmet on. If anyone saw him doing anything odd, or worse, caught him on tape, his identity would be somewhat protected. His heart pounded in his chest as he remembered Firefly. he found himself hoping he wouldn't have to fight anyone. He wasn't ready. Not yet.

The bike slowed as they reached a darker spot in the town, a block where seemingly all lights had vanished. It was too cloudy for the moon to help much but he thought he could see what looked like billowing plumes of dust and smoke swirl on the ground as they passed. His blood froze in his veins when they rounded on the street the sounds had originated from. The smells his helmet had kept away, dust, metal and blood, all mixed together, clogged his nose and throat. He coughed, cursing under his breath. Pushing past his discomfort, he squinted in the darkness, noticing first the many fallen streetlight, then taking in the rest of the scene.

Several of the buildings that had stood lined next to each other on each side of the road had collapsed, and a few others seemed to be seconds away from destruction themselves. Holes marred their walls, like gaping wounds bleeding out dust and rubble. He could hear crying, breathing and screaming coming from inside many of them, some of the voices too high pitched to belong to an adult. More yells and crashes sounded further down the road but he focused on the closest building first.

Without thinking, he sprung into action, dropping the pizza bag on the ground and rushing into one of the still intact units. Behind him, he could hear Jason hop down and follow him, entering another of the damaged houses, seemingly uncaring of the danger. It was hard to see anything but he found that he could easily tell his surroundings by listening to the vibrations of his footsteps, and the way his fingertips felt when he tapped them on the walls. It was his first time trying to find his way around by relying solely on his tremor sense but it seemed instinctual to follow it. Spiders found their preys that way, he knew. Following the vibrations on the net.

Disturbingly, he had taken off his helmet without even noticing what he was doing, leaving it laying in a dark, dusty corridor to be able to feel the odd vibrations more easily. His face tingled, and he felt goosebumps on his skin, under his clothes. Usually, his spider side took over when he was climbing, making him contort in all kinds of weird positions but he had no time to question this new side of himself. It wasn't like he had been in this situation before either, his former suit allowed him to see even in complete darkness.

Peter's neck itched, not tingling quite yet but slowly heading there. He gritted his teeth and sped up slightly above what was humanly achievable, following the sounds of crying and shouting. He reached the third floor in seconds, leaping above a hole that was rapidly gnawing away at the main staircase. The walls around him shook every time he took a step. He could hear moaning coming from under his feet, down in the basement, where the street side apartments had already collapsed. A few people were trapped down there, under feet of rubble and metal. His stomach twisted thinking of them, but he had no choice. He had to save the people he could get to first, the ones who had a better chance at survival.

Fully giving up on his normal kid act now that he was in complete darkness, in the middle of an ancient building on the verge of collapse, he kicked open the door he was heading towards. Further down behind it, he could hear yelling and pounding. The wood panel slammed out of its hinges loudly but he barely noticed it, his eyes taking in the room in front of him. A small kitchen and living area, with a stroller on the side and-

The screams came from the second door to the left, behind the couch and the TV. He was past it before he finished his next breath, opening it more carefully this time. There, the ground and walls had already started to crumble, several larger pieces of rumble pinning a man down by the leg, looking heavy enough that his limb had probably been crushed. Next to him, crouching, sobbing but looking determined to stay by his side, a woman and a small child, presumably his family, tried their best to pry the heavy stone blocks off of him. For once, Peter cursed Gotham's propensity towards extravagant, gothic stonework. Flimsy plywood or even glass would have been easier to deal with.

He crouched down next to them, one of his knees digging into the quivering floor, feeling rolling pebbles and broken metal. Carefully, he slid his hands under the one block that had been crushing the man, grimacing when it proved heavier than what he had expected. A part of it was connected to the wall he noticed dimly, a strange colorless picture or the whole room clear in his mind's eye. It wasn't as if he was smelling the furniture, nor hearing it… But the shaking ground somehow translated in his brain, turning into a somewhat blurry idea of his surroundings. The slightest shift of his muscles sent shivers up and down the floor and what remained of the ceiling. He could sense it, even though he did not fully understand how.

"I'm going to lift this." He told the civilians, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. "Drag him out as soon as it gets off of him. We need to get out fast."

The woman nodded silently. He could smell the tears and the sweat streaming down her face. She didn't question how he would be able to lift something so heavy and he thanked the darkness for hiding his features, especially now that he didn't have Jason's helmet to protect hid identity. As gently as he could, aware of every groans and moans of the metal frame encasing them and inexorably crumbling apart, he lifted the heavy block. His muscles shook with the strain. As he had suspected, tons of stones weighed on the poor man's leg. Whatever state it was in, he would probably not be able to keep it if he wanted to survive.

The building creaked ominously but he went on nonetheless, feeling a cold sweat run down his back, his neck itching maddeningly.

Just as he had told her to, the civilian plunged down, grabbing her partner's shoulders and dragging him away from the rubble. Carefully, Peter lowered the collapsed slab back, fingers bleeding and healing in an infinite, lightning fast cycle. He would need to eat and sleep a great deal to recover from this night but he didn't care. Saving lives in the present was more important. His arms twitched. He didn't know how much weight he had just had to hold, but it felt dangerously close to his limits.

As soon as his hands were free, he grabbed the man, shouting at the woman to take the child with her and follow him, trying to make himself heard over the rumbling and creaking. His neck tingled in time for him to forcefully drag all four of them out of the room just before the rest of the ceiling collapsed. Giving up all pretenses of being a regular teenager, Peter ended up almost carrying them over the hole, dropping them in a heap in front of the groaning building. He stood there panting for a minute, coughing and trying to catch his breath. The air was just so heavy, there was so much dust…

Disturbingly, the screams coming from the basement had ceased, and he could now hear a quiet gurgling, buried under the rumbling and banging. He felt like vomiting but forced himself back into a semblance of his usual vigilante composure.

He didn't have much time to make sure the three civilians were fine but he did quickly check on them, cringing at the state of the injury he hadn't had time to examine yet. He felt terrible for not staying with them any longer but he could still hear cries coming from inside. He dashed away once again, vaguely aware of the sounds of further crashes down the street and of a shape running away, ducking into a house, coming back out, madly flailing as it ran. The dust of the collapsing apartments engulfed him before he could see more and he lost himself in the terrible rhythm of barely rescuing the survivors of the disaster. Sometimes, he wasn't fast enough, and the floor crumbled before he got there. Sometimes, he was just in time but he could tell a wound was simply too severe to be healed. He still carried those victims out, mostly so that their loved ones, often still at their side as they laid dying and trying desperately to help in any way they could, would come with him. At some point, maybe it had been minutes, maybe hours, he noticed his hands were smeared with blood. He didn't have time to wipe them, however, there was always one more person to rescue, one more child to carry out.

The darkness hid his identity and he found he did not need light to get around, even when his nose and ears felt overwhelmed by the smells and sounds of death around him. Even phones were useless and the dust clouds were so thick they felt like water when he breathed in. Eventually he resolved to hold his breath, knowing he could go on for much longer than a regular person without needing to take another one. He could hear coughing from behind him, spluttering, vomiting. Sometimes, would be rescuers had to back away from a crumbling house, scared off by the darkness, by the smells and the lack of air. He went in when nobody else could, sometimes digging barely breathing bodies out of caves made of destroyed walls and broken tiles, sometimes crawling down there himself, blessing the fact he had learned first aid years ago, wanting to be able to help in situations not unlike this one.

It reminded him of his childhood, of New York and the thwarted invasion. The smell of dust, old stones, plumbing and gas crumbling and mixing into one another brought him back to his old self, wandering the ruined streets of his former neighborhood, holding his aunt's hand as tight as he could. This was only a street, however, and the perpetrators were not aliens but- He shook his head, focusing back on carrying the girl he had managed to rescue dangling over a pit in the ground, a sinkhole that had opened as a result of the collapsing houses. He had people to save here, fighting was not his job, not out of the costume. He wasn't even sure there had been anyone behind this. For all he knew, this could have been a freak accident, a gas leak accidentally ignited or something related to the buildings' structures. Not everything was related to a villain.

As if on cue, a dark shape moved in front of him, almost crushing him and the child in his arm as it passed them. It hulked over him by several feet, muscles rippling behind the clouds of dust. It smelled unnatural, like chemicals, although he couldn't quite make out which one.

His neck tingled and his eyes followed the stranger as they disappeared into the dust and the smoke. He could still smell their scent, and the stench of blood underlying it. Nobody else seemed to have noticed or, if they had, they did not care enough to follow. There were still dozen more to rescue.

But what if this odd person caused another building to collapse? More people would die. No one else was going after them.

Peter set the civilian down and sprinted after the shape, having already made the decision to stop whoever it was before he had even realized he was wondering if he should act. As always, his body moved on its own, leaving no place for reason. The scents coming from this shadow were so unnatural, so sharp and disturbing that he simply knew that it was connected to the incident. His neck started itching again, but he ignored it. Using his newfound vibration sense to duck and jump above and past rescuers and survivors, he focused on the chase only. Distantly, he noticed a few parked police cars, their lights barely strong enough to pierce the walls of dust. They were gone too fast for him to react or tell them anything and he was back to the dust clouds and the fleeing person in front of him. He could hear the thumps of large feet grinding into the old stone road, too heavy for a regular person. He gritted his teeth and sped up slightly, taking advantage of the lack of visibility to catch up with the creature.

He heard it groan and moan as he got closer, its back rippling with muscles, veins popping out every few inches, looking more like tubes than blood vessel. In the back of his mind, he realized that the creature he was chasing was a person, a human. The knowledge was sobering and, suddenly, he felt horrible for whatever had caused them to transform into what he was now chasing.

They were a human, but they had caused dozen of deaths. He had to stop them. No matter what, he had to.

He stopped for a fraction of a second, crouching on the ground, one hand reaching down, palm touching the rocks and the rubbles. As quickly as he had bent down, he shot forward, cutting through the air, dust smearing his face, entering his nose and his mouth as he leapt. He gathered his legs in front of his chest, curling up in the air. Moments before he would hit the back of the fleeing villain, he kicked his feet forwards and pulled his back straight, as fast and hard as he could. His boots smashed into muscle, skin and flesh with a loud THWACK and a sinister crack.

His target yelled out in pain, stumbling and reaching behind them to try and grab him. He had expected it, however, and had used the impact of his kick to push himself back, landing on his hands then lowering himself to a crouch. He let out a long exhale and filled his lungs with the dusty night air. Snow was still falling, sticking to his hair and clothes, although he didn't truly feel it.

By now, they had reached the edge of the disaster zone, and some lights from nearby buildings made it a bit easier to distinguish what was going on, unfortunately for Peter's anonymity. Not many people seemed willing to go out into the streets, although he could hear a lot of activity behind him, police and ambulance sirens alike, and another, deeper, louder motor roaring. Maybe the bats were getting involved, maybe they had called the army. For the first time in a while, he realized the haunting screeches had still not stopped.

"Why?" He yelled, over the bangs and the howls, the rumbling and the cries of the dying. "Why would you do this?"

Instead of answering, the villain he was chasing started running again, each step barely more than a stagger yet heavy enough to shatter the ground under them. With a curse he did not know himself capable of saying out loud, he followed, only allowing himself to sprint as fast as he had seen some of the best track runners at his former school run. Although the mound of muscles and veins that had once been a person was strong, they were not particularly fast and he easily kept up with them, plunging into dark alleyways and tight stone staircases. He jumped over a stone wall when the villain chose to smash through it, bouncing off the dumpsters and metal trashcans the stranger tried to push in his direction. He could hear them panting and moaning, they sounded in pain. He could not allow himself to feel bad for them, not here, not in Gotham. Not after what had happened last time he gave someone like this the benefit of the doubt...

They sprung out of the housing district and straight into a construction zone, abandoned at this time of the day. The villain's pace had slowed by then and, although they tore through the fence protecting the site with ease, they stumbled to a walk, then stopped completely and turned to stare at Peter, letting him see their face for the first time.

They looked like a man, although it was to tell, every single muscle in their face and neck bulging out so grotesquely they features seemed to have melted somehow. The only recognizable feature in this tangle of flesh and bone was a pair of eyes, looking small under the layers of chemically enhanced musculature. To his surprise, he thought he could see something that looked a lot like horror in them. Moisture dripped from under the damaged lids, it smelled exactly like tears. Stunned, he stopped in front of the strange person, fist raised but not striking, staring into the horrified gaze, watching silently as the villain backed away from him, still crying.

They were still moaning and, suddenly, he realized those very moans were mangled words, spoken in a raspy, broken voices. Fearful mutters, pleading for mercy, talking of demons and horrors. Despite their massive size, the person he was chasing was trembling and looking at him as if he was the most terrifying creature they had ever seen.

"I-" He gulped, voice trembling despite himself. "Are you alright?" He took a step forward, trying to appear non threatening. "I'm sorry for hitting you, I thought you-"

His Spider sense tingled in time for him to bend his back in half, a large, veiny fist cutting through the air where his head had been moments prior. He gritted his teeth and bent further towards the ground, planting his hands and sending his legs upwards. They arched up smoothly, with a grace he knew was almost impossible for humans to achieve, and once again he planted his feet in the weird mixture of muscles, bones and flesh. His strike sent the villain reeling backwards, crashing into a pile of bricks, sending them flying to the ground.

"I was trying to be nice." He snapped, now irritated. Crouching down, he readied himself to jump above the creature once more and finish them off with a falling kick or knee to the gut.

A wail was the only answer he got from the figure as they sprawled in the mess of bricks, snow and mud. They twitched violently, arms reaching up then down, legs shaking. The wailing turned into ragged sobbing, then to howls. Their hands, twisted, broken things covered in veins and muscles that had no right being there, crawled up to their face. Their nails dug into their own skin as they yelled, now wordlessly, an animalistic howl.

He closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. This person had caused the collapses, or at least been involved with it, he was sure of it. They sounded so pathetic, crawling and bawling that he had a hard time believing they had done so willingly, or even fully understanding what was happening around them. They attacked him, though, they had been lucid enough for that. But had it been a trick, or simply a kneejerk reaction to what could be a form of psychosis? He started regretting the kicks he had thrown. If he was the cause of their death, he would never forgive himself.

The way their muscles bulged looked terribly painful, especially around some of their joints, who seemed to have been all but crushed by the mass. He could see an unhealthy green tinge start to spread in spots on their necks and chest. When he listened to their heart, it was beating sluggishly, skipping several beats in a row.

"Oh." He whispered. The beating was erratic, fading away quickly. "Oh no."

He didn't know why but he stepped forward again, now so close to the deformed human body he could feel their skin quivering. He touched the person's face, wincing when they did not react, their muscles so tense they were most likely unable to move. They were burning up, their eyes now rolling in their orbits, tears, blood and a strange white foam dripping from them. Their lungs sounded clogged up but, looking over their body, he thought it might be rather be that they were being compressed by all the muscles. All of that growth could not be natural, it appeared to be so extreme that it broke bones, which must be excruciating. And their veins looked so thick yet their heart was so slow... if it wasn't pumping blood then what was running in there? He noticed that some of them had stopped pulsing altogether and he grimaced.

He knelt down next to them as they laid in the snow, arms and legs spasming, gasping for air. Their eyes were still open, unblinking and teary, but the terror had left them. He could only see pain now, and their face was so stiff that only their scent and gaze betrayed the way they truly felt. Helplessly, he put his hands -so small on this deformed chest- over their ribcage and pushed down, trying to get their heart to beat more regularly. He couldn't give up. This wasn't this person's fault, they had not intended for this all to happen. He could feel how terrified they were but, as he pressed down again and again, their blood never started flowing any faster. He tried for a while longer, ignoring the way some of the veins burst when he pressed down too hard, letting out the same foam that had dripped out of their eyelids. Eventually he had to back away, his hands covered in the weird liquid. He wiped it on his pants then on the ground, muddying his fingers. Grime was better than whatever this was.

"You're dying." Peter said softly, feeling shocked and very small. He could see marks on the strangers naked wrists, bulging scars now opening up again, left by bounds that had stayed on for too long, he tried his best to fix the memory in his mind, make sure he would remember it later, when he revisited this moment. "I'm sorry."

He would make sure that whoever had caused this would be stopped. If those truly were marks left over from time in captivity, then this poor civilian really was innocent. He knew the Gotham underground used several toxic gases and liquids that could induce neurologic effects, some of them causing people to laugh hysterically, others plunging any victim into a deep psychosis, in which they hallucinated their worst fears. This did not look like either of them, and he could not remember what else Barbara's pamphlet had described. It had been so long since he had read it. He would have to look into those substances, however. He had a gut feeling that whatever he was witnessing right now had a connection to a drug of some kind. The acrid chemical smell coming from the frothy tears on the deformed face and his own hand, despite all his wiping, only served to confirm it.

He sat down on the cold ground, suddenly drained of all his energy. Next to him, the dying person's hand was twitching, fingers mangled and broken beyond repair, muscles bulging and quivering, alongside too big veins and splotches of green skin, like bruises. On impulse, he reached down and grabbed the hand in his, squeezing it tightly. He did not know what had happened, nor why it had, but he did not want to leave someone to die on their own, feeling like they were alone in the world. He could not allow that to happen.

The stranger's back arched suddenly and they twisted in pain, moaning and groaning, spit flowing down their damaged chin. As their lips parted, he could see that their tongue was severely swollen, taking up most of their mouth. Their breathing was barely more than a low whistle. He bent down towards their ears, whispering that he was there, that they were not alone, that it was going to be alright and it would be over soon. He was crying, both because of the horror he was witnessing and because of the terrible things he already had to experience that night. He hoped Jason was alright, he had not seen him in hours. It was still so dark, dawn was so far away... He wanted the sun to rise already, to wash away this nightmare of an evening and bring some clarity. He still did not understand what had happened.

The raspy breathing became a gurgle, then a rasp again. The cycle went on for a few minutes until, finally, the gurgle turned into a heart wrenching rattle, the one that sometimes left the throat of dying humans. After the last of it faded into silence, the large form stilled. Peter let the mangled hand fall, wiping his cheeks with his fingers, smearing more dirt and blood on his face as he did so. This was not what he had expected would happen. He thought he was chasing a villain but he couldn't shake the feeling that the person he had just watched die had been a victim, the same as everyone else who had perished that night. They had looked so afraid.

Their body looked just as grotesque now that it was still, muscles so ridiculously big their skin looked about to rip apart.

He could not tell what kind of person they had been while they had still been alive. Their gender, age, even their ethnicity were impossible to make out. The only thing he could see clearly, as he tried to calm his heart and his mind, was their eyes. Their irises were dark brown, almost black, and framed by long eyelashes. He couldn't look away from the lifeless gaze, every detail of it burning into his memory. He knew he would see it in his nightmares, that and the twitching and arching that had accompanied the stranger's death.

He sat there in the snow, staring at their lifeless form, at their chest that would never rise again until his tears dried and his hands began to hurt from the cold.

Still, he could not tear his eyes away.

Notes:

Chapter notes:

Robin is 10, turning 11 in a few months. He has been Robin under Bruce for a few months now. Jason and him never really talked in person out of costume so Damian is a bit weirded out.

Spiders feel vibrations through the hairs on their body. peter has a body and he also has hair. He mostly feels it through his exposed skin.

Asgakdkak i have plans for the spider boy... so many plans...

Update babble:

As some of you may have noticed, I've slowed down my updates. This is in part because I'm more busy now than when I started writing this.

Mostly, I'm working with horses and writing other non fanfiction stuff

I'm also working on another fic that I'm trying to finish before uploading, so that's another thing.

UPDATE SCHEDULE:

I will aim to post every two weeks to one month maximum. I might do more or less depending on irl stuff.

I estimate this fanfic will be between 40 or 60 chapters long and will have a sequel, although a sequel would be depending on irl stuff as well.

thank you for reading my brain worm. As always go check out the other amazing crossover stories that inspired this but tbh I'm pretty sure most of you already have lmao.