Chapter Text
“Breaking News! Masked figure, now identified as Gotham vigilante ‘Spiderman’, seen crashing into Titans Tower! Is he attacking? Is there a new alliance in the works? Is there something that the people should know? I’m Isla Banks, and you’re watching Channel 6 news. Stay tuned for more on this mysterious conflict.”
Jason replayed the news clip over and over again, just staring at the name on the screen.
…
“Who the fuck is Spiderman?”
Did Jason miss something? Someone would have told him if Bruce adopted a new kid, right? There's no way he wouldn't have been forced to participate in the whole 'first meeting' gimmick they always pull with the new birdies.
Jason let out a deep sigh. Bruce can not keep doing this.
As he pulled out his phone, muttering curses against his family, he wonders if it's too late to be un-adopted. Whatever, he can deal with that after he yells at Bruce for adopting another kid before his third therapy session.
The phone rings three times before Bruce picks up. He can hear the man’s hesitation through the phone. “Jay? Are you alright? Is something wrong–”
“Care to explain why your newest bird is apparently waging a war on Titans Tower?” Jason snapped. He was pacing the floor of his safehouse, the only one that was closer to an apartment than a safehouse. He was probably going to wear tracks into the rug, which would be upsetting because he bought this recently and really liked it. “Also, I would’ve liked a heads up before seeing your new project stir up a shitstorm.”
Bruce was silent. Jason could practically feel the confusion seeping through the phone. “Did Duke do something? No, he couldn’t have. He’s been at home all day. What are you talking about, Jason?”
Jason scoffed, but felt his own confusion take place. “No, not Duke. That spider kid. I’m surprised that you let him deviate from the whole bird theme but I guess it’s better than taking the mantle from the demon brat.” Jason pauses to sink into the leather armchair he abandoned when he saw the news. “Also, why would you adopt another kid? I thought you were going to go back to therapy before you even spoke of possibly snatching up another one.”
Bruce was quiet for a long time. Jason could hear him moving, presumably towards a computer if the sounds of keys clacking was anything to go by. “Jason, Spider-Man isn’t a part of our team. We’ve been trying to track him down. He hasn’t done anything threatening so far, but we’ve been keeping an eye on his activities. Breaking into Titans Tower is a major escalation.”
Jason was stunned for a moment. Then he heard Dick’s voice take over the line. “I was trying to warn you about the new guy on the scene. You decided to turn it into a game of tag.” He sounded annoyingly smug about it. Blue bird bastard.
“I told you to text me if it was actually important. My inbox is starkly empty of your messages, Dickie. What’s up with that?” Jason is trying to reel in his temper. He’s been making an effort to reconnect with his family, he really has, but it is getting increasingly difficult to keep things civil.
Dick, however, seems entirely unbothered by Jason’s passive aggression. He lets out a delighted gasp. “Little Wing, are you asking me to text you more often? Aw, I knew you were missing me. I’ll start texting daily, don’t worry.”
Jason grits his teeth and rubs at his brows. “Just tell me whatever information you’ve got on this guy. Is he an immediate threat to the Titans?” He pushes himself up from his chair and forces himself through the process Alfred taught him makes the best tea. He puts the kettle on the stove as he listens to his brother ramble on about what little knowledge they have.
“He’s definitely got some dance training. He mixed ballet and swing dancing. Do you know how much of a crime that is in the dance world? I don't know how Cass isn’t as distraught as I am about this. She’s the one that actually does ballet on a regular basis.” Dick sounded exasperated, like he’s telling everyone that some guy has been selling drugs to children and nobody cares.
“When have you seen him dance? What, does he put on shows for kids or something?” Jason is letting the tea steep when Dick replies.
“Oh, he danced with the Joker. Did I forget to mention that?” He nearly burns himself when the kettle slips out of his hands and lands roughly on the counter. He was nearing hysteria the longer Dick spoke. An incredulous laugh slipped past his lips.
“Are you joking? B, he’s joking right?” The silence of the other end of the line was as much of an answer as he needed. “Dancing? That fucker beat the Joker by dancing?” Jason was half yelling half laughing into his phone. To anyone who passed his safehouse it would have sounded like he was having a breakdown with the strangled laughter coming from his mouth. By the time Dick had finished relaying the story to Jason he could hardly breathe. “I can’t believe this, I mean, I just can’t.”
“I know. It’s an insane move. I thought he was trying to get himself killed.” Dick sounded absolutely giddy that someone else was having a reaction to this.
“ Boys. ” Bruce had been quiet aside from the clacking of keys. “We have bigger issues to deal with. I’m watching the security footage, he isn’t attacking. If anything he seems disoriented and confused on how he got there.” Dick stopped talking and Jason strained to listen in.
“I’ll go and check it out. It’s the Staten Island tower, right? It’s not too far off. I’ll be there in twenty, fifteen if I’m really rushing.” Jason wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He knew that Dick could handle himself. He also knew that while Dick was one of the smartest people he knew, he had a tendency to let his heart guide him rather than his head.
That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Dick’s empathy is one of the main reasons he’s so good at his job. However, when people he cares about are put in jeopardy he sometimes doesn’t think his actions through as well as he should. Contrary to popular belief and despite his crippling disdain for his family, he does care about every one of them. He’s also a mother hen. But unlike some people – cough Bruce cough – he’s very quiet about his mother henning.
Usually.
“Jay, I’m heading out. See you at breakfast this Sunday?” Dick sounded hopeful, heart wrenchingly so.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. I would have to be insane to miss out on Alfred’s anda bhurji.” Jason really was looking forward to the spiced scrambled eggs that Alfred made so well. He was also looking forward to being forced to play UNO or watch a movie or something afterwards.
“Good. I’ve missed your dumb face. See you soon, Little Wing. I love you.” Jason paused. He was still processing that there was a new, unidentified, vigilante out on the scene, and none of his psycho stalker family have tracked him down yet.
“Be safe, don’t do any stupid shit that could get you killed.” Jason didn’t say anything more than that. Just ended the call and buried his head in his hands. His tea had since cooled, except he never actually got around to adding the tea leaves so it's just cool water sitting in his kettle.
He sat around for a grand total of three minutes before he was shrugging on his signature leather jacket, speckled with patches and small sewn details. He glued his domino on and as he heard the hiss of his helmet locking into place he was cursing his stupid heart for bleeding more than it could pump. He plucked up his keys from the wooden bowl he kept near the back entrance.
Dick may have let his heart lead him, but Jason was ten times worse. Except now he knew how to punch his heart back down. How to be smart about it. Unfortunately, he hasn’t reached his quota for ‘dumbass shit that he shouldn't have done’ this week.
His motorcycle roars off down the street and his almost tea sits cold on the counter, forgotten and irrelevant. The almost tea is very offended.
☆ ✮ ✰
As Peter lives through a very uncomfortable interaction, he wonders what he has done for god to have decided to abandon him. Then he wonders if the oddly shimmery angel women he’s not sure if he hallucinated as his soul was batted way out of left field and into another universe had anything to do with that abandonment.
Those weirdos let him stay on the glass covered floor for a few minutes before pulling him to his feet. It was awkward to say the least. They didn’t really know what to categorize him as. Peter was pretty sure it was that fact that made the whole thing off putting. It went something like this.
“Are you, um, injured?” The redhead guy with a lightning bolt symbol on his chest asked.
That’s Wallace ‘Wally’ West. He is the vigilante ‘Kid Flash’. Has very enhanced speed. Seemingly a sidekick to ‘Flash’ who has since gone off into a solo career.
“Nah, I’m chilling. Aside from, y’know, getting blasted a few miles through very tough glass.” He groaned from the floor, a red gloved hand reached down to pull him up. He hesitated for a moment before he accepted it.
“So.” The guy, Wally, dragged out the word, somehow making things more uncomfortable than they already were. “Are you a criminal?”
“Vigilantism is technically a crime, so some would argue that everyone in this room is a criminal.” Peter reasoned, that's when the metal guy spoke up.
“So you aren’t injured too badly. That's good. You seem decent enough so far but we do need to take you into custody for interrogation.” Everyone was still on high alert, waiting for Peter to signal that he was a threat.
Victor Stone, he is the vigilante named ‘Cyborg’. Has enhanced strength, flight, and part of his brain is a powerful computer.
Well that was something. “Yeah, man, I get it. You wanna tie me up or something? Like for your own peace of mind? I just can’t be here for too long. I have work soon.” The atmosphere in the room was tense. Everyone was geared up for a fight, Peter included.
He let them restrain him without a fuss. Didn’t fight or struggle. He wasn’t really in the mood to deal with a group of moody superheroes. He had dealt with the Avengers enough to know he had more than his fill of that torture.
He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with his methods of getting here. His main theories are either he got struck by radioactive lightning and somehow didn't notice, or he’s now a cursed being, doomed to spend eternity with freaky electricity shooting out of his hands.
Either way, now he’s tied to a chair, surrounded by people who call themselves the ‘Teen Titans’. The ropes are entirely ineffective, he could break them in seconds if he wanted to, but A for effort. Although the scary goth chick was definitely a factor in his lack of escape attempt.
“Who are you?” The green tiger (maybe? It kinda looks like a tiger) spoke. Which was disconcerting because, normally, tigers didn’t talk. But, hey, Peter doesn’t judge. Tigers can talk if they want to. End Tigerism.
Garfield Logan, he is the vigilante known as ‘Beast Boy’. He has the ability to shapeshift.
“I’m Spider-Man. Nice to meet you guys. Sorry I broke your window, I would offer to replace it but I am incredibly poor.” He made the decision to push himself backwards. The chair tipped and he landed on his back. He felt a small twinge in his muscle and winced imperceptibly “And hello to the freaks behind me, don’t think I forgot about you creeps. I have eyes in the back of my head. Literally.”
He rolled over and struggled to put the chair back upright. Eventually someone took pity on him and set his chair back up. When he looked to see who it was, he wasn’t too surprised to see that it was Kid Flash. For some reason, that guy had quickly taken a liking to Peter. It was odd, but amusing.
“Now I would love to stay and chit chat, however I have a coworker who is absolutely going to kill me if I leave her alone at rush hour.” The reinforced rope snapped with ease as Peter dusted himself off and got to his feet. Of course this caused everyone in the room to tense up again and prepare for a fight. “Sorry, I know I was the one who suggested the ropes but you have no idea how scary that woman can be.”
It would be in your best interest to avoid combat. Suit integrity is at 87%, web capacity is at 54%. ‘Teen Titans’ are at a combat level that would greatly jeopardize your current physical health.
Peter didn’t indulge in the threatening glares casted at him, instead deciding to heed Karen’s warning. Besides, he wasn’t aiming to hurt these people. He didn’t want to be there in the first place. “Now– vigilante to vigilantes– I wish you the best, I really do. This has been an amazing experience, but I’ve gotta bounce. I pinky promise that at some point we will sit down for a chat and you can question me all you want, but my coworker will track me down and disembowel me.”
This is when he realized that he was on an island that was a decent bit away from anything he could swing to easily. Whatever. He’d figure that out in the air. “You said something about rush hour? Isn’t that like midday to early afternoon for most places? It's almost six o'clock.” That one came from some kid in a leather jacket. He was wearing it over a bright red and blue suit, a symbol that looked like an ‘S’ displayed proudly in the chest.
Connor Kent, also goes by Kon-El, is ‘Superboy’. Powers include flight, telekinesis, enhanced strength, enhanced speed, invulnerability, heat vision, x-ray vision, and multiple more.
Peter waved him off. “Rush hour is weird for my job. Our regulars are crazy.” Just as Peter was about to jump from the window which now had a very open concept, he turned to face the group, all of whom seemed slightly dazed with either confusion or shock. “Oh, by the way two goth gingers are unconscious in a warehouse on the corner of 7th and Green.” He did a very dramatic fall backwards, before shooting a very extended web to pull him away from the tower which only now did he realize was T-shaped.
At least people in this universe were consistent with their shticks.
He had grabbed hold on a passing cargo ship, using it to fling himself back into the familiarity that was tall building and busy streets. As he quickly pulled himself back into the gothic city he realized that was the closest he came to Queens since he arrived in this strange universe. Peter wasn’t sure why he hadn’t visited. He also wasn’t sure that he could stomach seeing his home without recognizing anything.
Or maybe he would recognize everything. He couldn’t tell which was worse. Having every memory of his past be reduced to fleeting knowledge without a trace of evidence for what he knew, or being haunted by every memory he has. Good and bad, he would know it all. Know that it never happened here. Know that he couldn’t get the life he had back.
He didn’t have much time to contemplate that, as his stupid web shooters jammed up with fucking silly string again . Then of course he was falling. But not before seeing a snickering woman out of the corner of his eye.
She looked like that inverted version of the angel lady. Dark hair, so black it seemed to suck in the light around her. She had shimmering charcoal markings on her arms and legs. Her eyes a glimmering sort of lavender. She wore a circlet with a tiger's eye resting on her forehead.
She was falling right alongside him, though she was curled in laughter while Peter was pretty much just flailing around. In his defense, he was looking for a way to catch himself. It was hard to not look desperate and foolish when you were panicking. Peter was plummeting too fast for him to do much but brace for impact.
He hit the surface hard, water pushed into his suit and the air was knocked out of his lungs. He struggled under the pressure of whatever harbor or river or ocean he had fallen into. He thrashed to try and push himself up to the surface, if only for a moment, just so he could get a breath of air. His suit felt heavy, it wouldn’t move. It was going into lockdown
He could feel a steady thrum building in his veins, churning with energy unspent. It grew and grew the longer Peter struggled. When he was sure it was his final moments, confident that he would never take another breath, he made one last fighting effort to keep himself alive.
He floundered and struggled, and when he did that thrum beating through his blood exploded. Blinding white overtook his vision, he was shot backwards once more. He could feel the second Iron Spider burst into a million pieces and dissipated into the water. His back hit something solid, his hand brushing a pipe. He grabbed ahold of it, desperately clutching at anything that would ground him.
He pushed himself up, he swam up and up and up. When he made it past the murky of wherever he was he gasped at the freedom. He gulped down lungfuls of air, yearning for the relief of the pressure built up in his chest. He dug his fingers into the dirt, the grime working its way under his nails. He clawed his way back onto solid land. The ground was damp and rank but it was stable. He was safe, or as safe as he could get in this situation.
As he took in his surroundings he brought himself down to earth. The world was dark and dreadful. But he was alive. And god damn it he was going to stay alive.
Peter staggered himself home with nothing. No voice in his ear giving him gentle directions, not that he wore the earbuds out in public anyway. Not when it still felt like he was getting crushed by guilt whenever he tried to use them where they could be seen by anyone but him. It might be misplaced guilt, maybe. But it was still overwhelming.
He was dripping wet and filthy, his hair matted with whatever muck is in the Gotham harbor. He was wearing the kevlar body suit that he wore beneath the Iron Spider. Its thick protective layer was entirely unnecessary, but Tony insisted on him wearing it.
He wandered the streets, windows dark, traffic lights flickering, a general sense of panic lingering in the air. He could barely register anything outside of the cold that sunk into his bones. Bitter and biting, it scratched at him, baring its ugly teeth every time the breeze brushed his cheeks.
There were people on every side of him, some complaining, some worrying, he could hear the cries of a child in an apartment far from his own. The electric currents that thrum steadily in his ears, like a comforting bass, are absent from the madrigal. Flashlights flickered and fizzed out, emergency generators crackled and sputtered before dying out just the same.
Gentle hands placed themselves on his shoulders, pausing his footsteps. He glanced up into the cool gray eyes of his new coworker. He had walked himself back to the familiar storefront of The Echo. He never did end up letting Lyra know he wasn’t coming in today.
He was pulled from his musings by fingers snapping in front of his eyes. “Hello? Petey pie, are you still with me?” He blinked, his eyes refocusing on the woman in front of him.
“Yeah, yeah. What did you say?” He was really out of it. He knew that. Lyra probably knew that. He was soaking wet, shivering, and probably turning blue.
“I asked if you were alright, but that was a pointless question. You have someone I can call? Or at least a safe way home?” She had pulled out her phone before he even had time to register her voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I can get home fine by myself–”
“Cut the bullshit. You’re clearly a runaway of some sort, probably living on the streets or in a shelter. I don't know if you’ve noticed but there’s a major blackout. Even headlights are getting fucked up.” Peter hadn’t explicitly known that, but he would have figured it out eventually. He would have pieced all the evidence together at some point.
“You’re staying with me tonight. I can’t have you getting in a car wreck because nobody can see, I don’t want that on my conscience.” She looped her arm in Peter’s and tugged him away from the cafe.
“Wait, you really don’t have to–” he was cut off before he could finish his plea.
“Consider this my repayment for you skipping work without any warning. Not cool man, not cool.” She ruffled his hair before continuing to drag him to her apartment building. “C’mon Petey pie, I can find a way to make us some hot cocoa or something.”
Peter didn’t fight when she swept him off to safety. Her shimmery purple nail polish glinted in what little sunlight they still had. He couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t question why he was drenched, or why he was wandering, seemingly aimlessly, through the streets. She just offered her help, and didn’t let him turn it down. It was nice, it was painful, and Peter knew exactly why.
Lyra felt like May.
☆ ✮ ✰
When Sola decided to jam up the spiderling’s little ‘web-shooters’ a few times, it was really meant as a harmless prank. It’s not like she did it first anyway. It was that girl’s idea, what was her name? Glitter? Glimmer? Something like that.
Of course Azalea had to blow things out of proportion, what with giving the boy somewhat divine abilities. As if the spider needed to become even more supernatural. Of all the freaks of nature that Sola had encountered over her unending lifetime, this child was one of the greatest anomalies.
She had gathered up the tiny pieces of what was formerly the spider boy’s suit. It was a familiar material, seeing as vibranium was a pet project of hers. Originally, she had sent it out into that universe hoping that someone would make weapons of mass destruction, but no. Wakanda had to go and make healthcare.
Sola didn’t have many pet projects after that.
The technology was corroded and fizzing with disrepair. For a moment she was horrified that someone would be so idiotic as to go and fight with armor in this state. Sure she created some fools, but even a fool had a shred of common sense.
Music blasting and proper precautions definitely not taken, Sola got to work. She tinkered and fiddled with whatever she thought needed it. She also toyed with parts that didn’t need it, but who cares about technicalities. She wasn’t a lawyer.
Contrary to popular belief, Sola adored the thought of vigilantes and superheros. Sure, their good deeds were productions of Azalea’s work, but the collateral damage and the destruction that made those heroes so great belonged entirely to Sola.
She wasn’t, however, a fan of most of their costumes. Bright colors are impractical no matter the time of day, dark colors are only ever useful at night (mother forbid a disaster happens during the day), neutrals are almost always too light or too dark. There is never a sweet spot.
Currently, it’s just a game of how many bullshit gadgets can she fit into a singular suit of armor. She’s definitely going to do some redesigning of the spider symbol and color scheme. If she’s going to torment a child running around punching people, she’s going to at least have him do it in style. That means no more neon red and blue that can be spotted from six miles away.
She was halfway through her mad scientist-esque welding, sparks flying far too close to sensitive objects. The door slammed open and bright white light flooded in, but Sola paid no mind to her sister. Ignoring the shouts meant to get her attention, she continued her work.
That is, until a current of energy shattered a window. Shadows flooded in through the broken glass, Sola was quick to patch it up with her own magic. Turning in her chair, she stared at her sister, eyes narrowing in an unimpressed stare.
“Was that really necessary?” Sola twirled a screwdriver in her fingers Azalea was positively fuming. “What’s got your feathers ruffled?” She spun back to her newest project, continuing her experimentations.
“ You. What were you even trying to do?” Azalea collapsed into one of the chairs furthest from Sola’s workbench. She picked up an abandoned clump of wires and started to untangle them.
“What I always try to do. Make things interesting.” Sola overturned one of the screws, causing the metal to crack. She swore and started the tedious process of pulling the screw back out from its place embedded. “You’re the one who blew things out of proportion by giving him a shard of your power.”
Azalea muttered something under her breath, looking like a petulant child. “Just be more careful.” She sighed, still fiddling with the wires. “The last time you went too far with ‘making things interesting’ you wiped out the dinosaurs in most universes. I don’t want to have to deal with the fallout if something like that happens with the human race.”
Sola groaned and threw herself back in her chair, sending it rolling across the room. “That was an isolated incident. Isolated. ” Azalea looked on with an uneasy expression.
“As long as it’s controlled. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can’t stop you doing what you please. I simply hope that you think things over thoroughly.” She rose from her seat, setting the untangled wires back where she got them.
“Oh, please. Like sending that spider brat your abilities wasn’t an impulsive decision.” Sola drew herself back to her workbench, continuing her scrutiny over the broken screw.
“It was an impulsive decision, but I thought it through as well as I could in the moment.” Azalea paused in the doorway. “Sola.”
She didn’t turn at her sister’s call. She didn’t dare react, for reactions are time consuming and time is always of the essence.
“ Orsola.”
The chair she was sitting on hit the floor with a deafening clatter. “Do not call me by that name. That name died when I was sent to that place. When I was trapped with that monster. ” She turned to face her sister, her blood. “When you did nothing to help me.”
“We do not have time to discuss this. Just know that I will always be here when you shatter. I will do what I can to pick up the pieces, but if you hide the shards there is only so much I can do.” She dissipated in a flash of blinding light.
Sola overturned the desk that was reserved for her sister. The one she would always put back in its place no matter how hard she fought to leave it as it was.
When she returned to her newest distraction the screw was laying next to the unfinished suit, the crack nowhere to be seen.