Chapter Text
“May I reiterate that we can find a new shelter?” Karen was louder now that she was reconnected with the rest of the nanobots in his suit.
“May I re-it-er-ate that I like it here?” Peter replied.
That was a lie, he did not like it here, but in-here was safer than a lot of out - theres . In the crumbled-down abandoned building, with its vague after-taste of copper and nitrogen, nobody could reach Peter. Locals drew a wide berth around it, like it carried some sort of disease that even delinquent teenagers feared, leaving not one tagged wall in the hallways, just Peter and the two homeless guys who couldn’t go higher than the third floor since the stairwell was barricaded. Peter hadn’t seen his two neighbors yet, but sometimes he heard them laugh and giggle in the middle of the night, and Karen decided that it was best that they didn’t meet.
At least this place was insulated and furnished, and it had no rent. Which was fair, because Peter was pretty sure it would be illegal to charge rent for a place that had weird red, white, and green mold crawling up the walls.
Still, Peter was getting antsy.
Mr Stark should have shown up and rescued him by now, right? It’s been a full week already. Surely someone else was coming to help him.
Karen kept reminding him that the best thing to do when you’re lost is to stay in the same place until help arrives.
“Peter, it is a weekend again, it is safe to attempt to find a new shelter,” Karen coaxed. “CPS won’t pick you up if you listen to me.”
Still, Karen tried to get him to move.
“No.”
“Peter-”
“Nuh-uh!” Peter tried to cover his ears, then realized that Karen was in his ears with his mask and aids, and began to chant the word louder and louder.
“This is unproductive!” Karen was yelling now, cross. “Peter, stop it!”
“This is my home now!” Peter yelled back in the empty room. “You can’t make me!”
“Peter! You are not safe here!”
“no , no, no, NO!” Peter stomped his feet against the ceiling. “This is mine! ”
“FINE!” Karen snapped, if she was human then she would be tearing her hair out. “We can stay!”
Peter froze from where he was standing upside down. “Really?”
“Yes,” Karen ground out. “Only because I have yet to see adverse effects of mold poisoning from you. The second you feel ill, I will be removing you from here.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
Karen was clearly unimpressed with him, “As the youth say: Bet .”
Peter paused, considering his circumstances. He was alone, and small, and only being supported by Karen.
He didn’t respond, and instead shot out another web, making a new cocoon.
If the bottom half of his new room looked like it came straight out of a zombie movie, then the top half of the room looked like that scene in The Hobbit movies where the dwarrow get attacked by giant spiders in Mirkwood. Webs hung everywhere, creating hammocks and cocoons and spots for him to hide in.
The webs coming out of him were weird . Healing quickly wasn’t the only thing he had gained, and the spinnerets had been a nice and terrifying surprise. On one hand, he didn’t have to steal supplies to make his own webs, on the other hand, he definitely didn’t have that before and who knows what’s going on in his body.
Karen has reassured him multiple times that her scans do not indicate he was growing new limbs, but she did want to take him to a dentist soon, which wasn’t reassuring either.
If Aunt May were here, he’d have gone to the dentist ages ago . Aunt May was a nurse, and she would be able to do her own blood tests sneakily and give him check-ups and make sure his healing was fine. She’d take care of him.
But Aunt May wasn’t here and so he had to listen to Karen because she was the only vaguely-adult person in his life.
Most of the time. He had to listen to her, most of the time.
Peter curled up in his cocoon and drew it tighter around himself, trying to insulate himself. It was a pathetic attempt to block out the world and the cold, but he was trying his best, okay?
He’d only gone outside to grab more food, not wanting to chance getting kidnapped or whatever the weirdos in Jersey would do to a lone kid on the streets. He was wearing clothes from the abandoned closet on top of his nanite suit, a combination of purple leggings, a plain red shirt, and a too-big hoodie that came from the two kids’ rooms.
It’s warm, at least. Start of June, so Summer was fully in swing, even if the weather outside didn’t seem to agree with what season it was. During the middle of the day, it got uncomfortably humid, like Peter had taken a left on Titan and ended up in a multidimensional sauna. It sucked . Night was way better, a light breeze with a permanent 60-degree chill, even if this city decided that meant it was perfect for playing ‘firecrackers or gunshots’ at 2 am right outside his window.
Peter swore he had only closed his eyes for a few seconds before he woke up to that exact game being played.
“Ugh,” Peter whined, shooting off another web to wrap around himself.
“Go back to sleep, Peter,” Karen soothed. “I am watching the cameras, you’re safe.”
Another round of shots ring, this time even closer.
Peter is far too small to be going Spidering, even if he really, really wants to. He’s too short, and his powers are fritzing, and he’s hungry all the time. Aunt May told him he can’t go Spidering if he’s hungry, that’s one of her big rules.
It’s no good if he faints from hunger mid-swing and becomes a spider-pancake. His malnutrition already had him do a really embarrassing swoon once during PE, and Aunt May had been really upset when she came to pick him up.
Shots were fired, with very loud swearing.
Peter didn’t have to strain his hearing, they seemed to be coming from just two blocks away. “Where the fuck are those birds?!”
Birds?
“Karen,” Peter frowned, “Are there people shooting at pigeons?”
Usually, Peter had to deal with tourists trying to catch pigeons, not with people trying to shoot them. Surely they’re not that hungry, right? There’s stores to rob instead of killing poor wildlife.
“Not pigeons,” Karen replied. “These birds appear to be human-shaped and the local vigilantes.”
“Pigeon-man and Captain Bird?” Peter may be sorely lacking in the sleep aspect.
“Nightwing and Red Hood,” Karen corrected. “The latter is expected as we are currently in his claimed territory, however, Nightwing is outside his regular territory.”
More shots, and a shrieked: “Oh shit!”
“They good?” Peter rubbed at his eyes.
“Scans show that both vigilantes are fine. They have evaded all bullets, and are now returning fire.” She whirred, and his mask faded out into hearing aids, glowing softly blue. “They also seem to be attempting to push each other off the roof.”
“Stupid,” Peter yawned and began to slip out of his cocoon nest, gripping the ceiling with his fingertips before letting himself drop to the ground on his feet. “I thought the local heroes were Batman and Robin?”
“They are, with an extended array of other vigilantes in the city. They are referred to as a collective as the ‘Bats and Birds’ due to the mantle appearing to be inherited and passed down. Robin is the title most passed down, with six known vigilantes being graced the title. Batman is more stable; however, there are online rumors of Batman being temporarily replaced by the older Birds. There are additional groups such as the Birds of Prey and the Batgirls, which are also Birds and Bats.”
That’s a lot of vigilantes for one city. Peter used to think that New York had a lot of heroes, but apparently, that was nowhere near the number that Gotham had. Which was weird, because from the book about Gotham that Miss Barbara showed him, Gotham had a quarter of the population that New York had.
“They don’t have any spiders?” That sucked. Peter was one of many spiders back home, with himself and Ms Romanoff and the whole Red Room. Not to mention Antman or Wasp and their bug group.
Karen hesitated for a second, her servers whirring. “I have found no evidence of any arachnid heroes. There is one mention of a ‘Black Spider’ who is currently residing in Blackgate Penititionary for serial murder, however.”
“Well,” Peter considered that. “I guess that tracks. Kinda. Was he a spy or assassin?”
Peter knew about Black Widows and the Red Room. His Aunt May was an ex-widow, or, at least, the closest thing one could get to being an ex-widow. She hadn’t made the cut to be a proper spy-assassin, so on her final test, she had gone rogue, faked her death, run away with his Uncle to America, changed her name, and joined SHIELD. She had then stepped down from SHIELD’s medical division when the files had leaked and worked as a normal nurse instead of a SHIELD nurse who specialized in Enhanced physiologies. While Uncle Ben and he were being shot at by a solid sixth of the NYPD in Hell’s Kitchen, his Aunt May had been fighting two Widows sent by Dreykov in Brooklyn. Only Peter and May had made it to their emergency meet-up point, and that had led to a six-month trip around the US, Mexico, and a few different islands where they lived in a car. Peter learned a lot about Black Widows and SHIELD in those six months.
“No data available.” Karen denied. “Standard civilian access only, Peter, apologies. If we connect me to a proper computer, I can search for more.”
“We’ll go back to the library,” Peter decided, reaching for the door.
“It’s the middle of the night.” Karen sounded disapproving as he left his apartment. “Go back to sleep, Peter.”
“I wanna see the Birds,” He refused.
He wanted to see how they fought, and what the heroes here were like.
“It is unsafe.” She scolded, “Safety is your priority.”
Peter rolled his eyes, “I’ve been safe inside all week. I’m bored .”
So he strode down the hallway until he got to the stairwell, and began to climb.
Karen didn’t try to stop him this time, knowing all too well that boredom was a bigger danger to Peter than any bullets. She remembered the Fourth of July America’s Ass-travaganza incident that MJ, Ned, and Peter may or may not have started. May had been so disappointed when she picked them up from the beach and saw the ash and sand in their hair. She did give them all extra-large sodas, however, as a treat for out-running the cops and sending them on a wild goose chase. Then she scolded them all again and put a little bit of liquid IV in their sodas, which made the weirdest salty-sweet aftertaste.
Outside was far chillier than inside, but it was also humid enough that Peter didn’t feel it.
The roof was just as ramshackle as the inside of the apartment complex but less moldy. The TV antennas were all either broken or stolen, and there was an old plastic chair in a corner, the kind you saw on people’s porches in the Bronx. It was originally blue, but it had faded from exposure to the elements, and it was mottled in an ombre of lavender to grey.
Peter, seeing a very clear seat for him to watch everything go down, sat in the chair.
Down below, a bunch of gangsters were running around like headless chickens. Some were shooting up at some buildings over, some were running away, and some were yelling weird shit.
“Stand down!” One guy tried to command the others. “It’s the two big birds! Stand the fuck down!”
“I ain’t losing my bones!” One woman yelled as she gapped it, sprinting down the street like hell itself was on her heels.
“I’ll pluck you like a chicken you boneless motherfucker!” One other guy yelled like he was Rambo, a machine gun on his shoulder.
Up above, a different type of chaos was happening.
One man, larger and built like Captain America and Thor’s lovechild, was jumping rooftops while firing bullets down below. He was athletic, doing flips and showy stuff that should be impossible for a guy his size, but gravity didn’t seem to care. The other man, shorter and slimmer, was alternating between trying to push Captain Thor Junior off the rooftop and freefalling between buildings, swooping down to kick a thug or two before grappling back up. It was messy, it was chaotic, and it was perfectly executed.
These two were playing around and beating people up in such perfect synchrony that it made Peter’s head spin. Boneless Bird, from what Peter could guess from that picture-perfect triple somersault, was executing moves that only Spider-Man could manage. Captain Thor Junior wasn’t letting the distance or his parkouring interfere with his marksmanship in a way that Uncle Ben would be begrudgingly impressed by. Daredevil would drool at their situational awareness.
They stuck to the apartment buildings on the other side of the street, so it was just plain good watching, and Peter didn’t even get the urge to interfere. Junior appeared to be using rubber bullets, from the complete lack of blood coming from the fallen thugs, and Boneless was laughing and mocking them, generally having a good time.
Even his Tingle was quiet, so Peter got to simply observe and learn.
The Birds and thugs didn’t seem like they were going anywhere, and it wasn’t like he could go back to sleep with this kinda racket going on.
At one point, Junior shoved Boneless off the rooftop, and the flippy bird didn’t even flinch, seamlessly transferring into a flip that had him landing feet first on a thug’s back.
Peter tilted his head at the move. That one would be perfect for the next time someone threw him out a window.
Standing on his plastic chair, Peter threw his whole body sideways as if he was free-falling, then tucked as if to transfer into a flip. Unfortunately, unlike the two Birds, Peter was not falling off a building, and so he didn’t actually have all that much space or momentum. That is, to say, Peter ate shit .
Loudly. Right on a metal sheet and broken antenna.
“Fucking birds!” One guy below twisted and fired in the air, at Peter ’s building.
“Stay low!” Karen snapped. “Flat on the ground, now.”
Peter was already flat on the ground, but he didn’t argue. “I’m sorry.”
“I hope we’ve learned a valuable lesson here,” Karen hissed back as the gunshots over his head increased.
He was pouting, “I didn’t mean to.”
“Start crawling back to the access stairs, we can discuss this when we are safely inside again.”
Then, the gunshots went completely silent and were replaced by tires squealing, and Peter realized that the laughter and joking from the vigilantes had gone quiet.
Someone landed on the edge of the roof, and they quickly ran over to Peter’s side.
“Kid!” It was the slimmer vigilante, clad in black with a bird spreading across his chest and down his arms. “Are you okay?”
Another thud indicated the larger vigilante arriving. “Wing, was that a kid?”
Peter picked up his head and sniffed, widening his eyes at the pair whose fun he had ruined. “Sorry! I just wanted to watch!”
“Oh jeez,” Red Hood put his hands on his hips, staring down at him and visibly folding in on himself, becoming softer at the presence of an upset kid. “We’re just glad you’re okay, kiddo. Where’s your parents?”
“Are you okay, sweetie? Oh no, your palms! That must hurt, huh?” Nightwing had paused for a second when Peter had lifted his head up, but was now putting his hands under Peter’s armpits and picking him up and placing him on his feet, like he was an errant cat. “But, guess what? I have Bat-Band-Aids!”
Now, Peter could continue to be upset about interrupting them, however, something far more pressing has come up.
“Bat-Band-Aids?” Peter stuck out his hands to Nightwing, peering at the near-invisible belt he was reaching for. “Uh-huh, they hurt, I need one. No, two! I need two. Cause I have two hands.”
His palms were already healing, but the vigilantes didn’t have to know that.
“Peter,” Karen sounded exasperated in his ear. “Stranger danger includes vigilantes.”
Nah, that didn’t sound right at all.