Chapter Text
The boy in front of him was clearly homeless. He didn’t need his bat training to figure that out.
It was obvious in the way all his clothes sat loosely on his frame (that Tim would bet was too thin) clearly too big and covered in old stains.
His hair is a slightly curly and dirty, brown mop with some white strands mixed in (at one section by his hairline) that fell just over his ears. His eyes are brown hidden behind a layer of green that doesn’t quite make it to his pupil and orange that seems to dance around both clours.
The boy adverts his eyes turning to Babs instead. “S-so why’d you call me over Ms Barabra?” Tim recognises the New York accent that the boy tried to hide.
“Oh yes, this came for you this morning.” Babs passed the boy an envelope, which Tim recognised as the one from Gotham Prep.
“Hoping to get in? I hear the exam was hard this year.” Tim asks.
The boy hums nodding his head as he replies, “Yeah, the exam was easy, finished early and everything. I was expecting it to be harder, so maybe I missed something but I’m not sure-” the boy carefully rips the envelope open, “- ‘Dear parent/ guardian’ blah blah oh here it is
‘We would like to congratulate you on getting into the Gotham Prep Scholarship program! Oh, awesome Ms Baraba I got in. Baring stuff baring stuff, start date, equipment, instructions for the first day.” The boy pauses when he continues his voice is sadder and quieter, “ and Guardian permission forms.”
Ignoring that last detail but storing it away Babs smiles warmly at the boy. “Congrats Peter I’m glad you got in.” The boy, Peter returns a small, forced smile.
“T-thanks Ms Barbara. I got to go now. It was nice meeting you- “ the boy points in the direction of the computers.
“Tim. It was nice meeting you too.”
“Tim, cool. Um bye now Ms Barbara, Tim.” Peter nods along to himself, before going further into the library not waiting for them to reply.
“Soo, how’s the search going?”
“Bruce already told me about your ban, of which you still have over 3 hours. If you want information come back when it’s over. Go get some vitamin D or something while you wait it out.”
With a small scoff, Tim exited the building leaving Babs to her libarian duties.
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Peter clenches the scholarship papers in his hands, papers signed with fake signatures. Deep inside he wants to cry and scream, curse at the world, the universe, anyone he could. He wishes to go home, back to May, back to Tony, to Ned, MJ, Harry, Matt, Wade, the Avengers, the Defenders. Just anyone from home. Anyone he knows.
But on the outside he just stares at the paper, ignoring the worried Blurs. The only signs of the disaster going on inside him are the small pools of tears threatening to leave his eyes.
At one point the Blurs gave up realising their words were just falling in empty ears instead, Peter could feel not-so-warm hands on his shoulders and rubbing his back, while orange figures sat around him. Subconsciously, he leaned into the false touches craving the comfort they brought even if they weren’t real as he silently let the tears fall.
Less than 5 minutes later Peter wiped the tears away pushing all the sadness back into a small box at the back of his mind ( right next to the anger that seemed to be steadily building up) where it will stay for the rest of time. Woo now that that’s over back to the book.
“Please get some therapy kid.” Sam seemed upset, by Peter’s coping mechanism, which was 100% health thank you very much.
Matt scoffed, “As if he would.”
“Can’t afford it,” Peter states as he opens up a random book he finds.
“Get Stark to pay!” Multiple voices told him.
Peter just shook his head, “Quiet now, people are starting to look at me funny.” It wasn’t true but it did the job.
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Walking through the lower sections of Gotham avoiding anything that set his spidey sense off more than the usual buzz of Gotham. It was hard walking through the streets, hearing every cry for help any little sound of crime and being unable to help.
Every time he thought of his suit lying on the ground in his apartment, the iron spider hidden in the watch on his wrist, still malfunctioning from that stupid green liquid or the web shooters, one the watch strap the other a metal bracelet on the other wrist.
He wants to help. He really does. He hates walking past. Hesitating every time his body starts moving to help. Pausing once he takes a couple of steps in the right direction. Freezing in place as images of memories of a battle on an orange planet, Titan, that he couldn’t quite remember. Of Mr. Stark’s face as everything becomes dust painfully ripping him apart.
Just down the alleyway ahead he could hear the sounds of a not-so-friendly mugging, he could taste the fear in the air. Just like always he goes to help. Just like always he freezes up and begins to shake as memories dance in front of his eyes. Just like always he finds himself on the top of some roof tears from his eyes, hands painted red with blood - the same blood covering broken brick in front of him - and with green clouding his vision.
It was the only time he let the green out. When he is alone on the top of the world where there's no one around he can hurt.
Sinking down onto the edge of the roof, Peter rests his head on his knees letting the tears fall, listening to the sounds of Gotham trying to drown out the images in his head. Hasn’t he cried enough today? Can’t the universe just leave him alone and let him exist without pain? No. Of course not.
On cue, rain starts to pour down, forcing him to head back to his apartment.