Halloween Eve and Halloween were spent on high alert. Oracle ran Jason and Peter ragged, racing them from altercation to altercation with clipped instructions and co-ordinates. The whole thing was a harrowing experience, Peter constantly anxious that this would be the one to blow up. This would be the one where a surprise rogue would raise their ugly head.
Thrilling? Sure. But more importantly, it was exhausting work. On Halloween, Peter nearly slept through all five alarms he'd set for the afternoon shift at NRE, and even if someone put a gun to his head, he doubted he could have told them what he'd done on the job.
So, when dawn came on November first, the pretty pink skies reeked of anti-climax. All that work, all that dread, for nothing more exciting than a handful of opportunistic muggers and 'wannabe gangsters playing dress-ups' (Jason's words). All of which Jason and Peter dealt with quickly, dumping their asses — where needed — for the police on the outskirts of Park Row.
It was a strange sensation, to feel both relieved and ripped off at the same time.
Come Tuesday the first, Gotham city was blanketed with a feeling of jubilation that Peter — exhausted after patrolling all night — was unprepared for. It simmered across the Web, bursting open to release bubbles of exaltation that smacked into Peter with the force of a two-tonne truck.
The first time it happened, Peter and Jason were walking back from NRE in the late afternoon. Peter nearly stumbled into the oncoming traffic. He was saved only by Dog's sharp yelp and Jason yanking him away from the kerb. They stumbled backwards, Jason's steady hands digging into Peter's puffer jacket and both ended up sprawled against the glass of a convenience store.
"Pete?" Jason's hands patted over him in concern. "The fuck?"
Breathless with a laughter that wasn't his own, Peter couldn't respond at first. His blood felt light, muscles shivery. "I—I'm f-ffine!"
"Pete, you're crying."
He was? He touched his cheeks and yep, those were tears. He laughed again.
Jason's expression shifted into something grim and urgent. His light eyes darted from Peter to the other pedestrians, who'd steered clear of them the moment Peter began to laugh.
"Did you smell something strange?" Jason demanded. His hands migrated to cup Peter's elbows, twisting them so it was Jason's back to the street. "Something bitter?"
"Haha, no!" Peter giggled. He covered his mouth to try and shield himself. Already, the laughter was dying, but he couldn't shake off the stupid grin. "I'm fine. It's — Jace, it's the city."
Jason froze in his fierce surveillance of the street. The disbelief in his expression when he turned it on Peter was unwarranted. "The… city?"
"Mm—hahah!—mhmm! The city's ha-happy."
Unconvinced, Jason dragged Peter's unresisting hand away, studying his face with a care Peter didn't understand. Jason paid particular attention to his eyes. The tears had dried up just as swiftly as they appeared, but the burn was still there when Peter squeezed his lids shut.
"You're sure you didn't smell something off?"
Peter mutely shook his head and opened his eyes just in time to see Jason sag with relief. His breath gusted over Peter's cheek as he hung his head.
"What…" Peter grimaced — or tried to — as another wave of joy washed over him, softer than the last but still there. "What did you think it was?"
"Joker venom," Jason said, low enough it couldn't be heard by anyone but Peter. "Or cheerdrops[1], maybe."
That sobered Peter. Cheerdrops had been out of circulation for going on six months, but addicts in the Bowery were still suffering the side effects. With supply gone, many had turned to other, just as addictive alternatives, particularly opioids and meth — depending on the more desired effect. And of course, Jason had made sure Peter knew all there was to know about Joker venom.
Shaking his head vehemently, Peter patted Jason's shoulder in comfort.
"Nothing like that," he promised. "It's just that the whole city is relieved. I got hit by a wave of it over the Web. It took me by surprise."
Jason straightened, frowning. "The Web?"
Peter opened his mouth. Closed it. Smiled sheepishly. "I guess I should probably explain that now, shouldn't I?"
"Seems like you should," Jason agreed. He let Peter push him away, then stooped to pick up Dog's leash, dropped in the alarm. "You good to walk back?"
Peter's head rattled with the force of his head bobbing. If anything, he felt like he could run laps around the city. His steps were unnaturally light — even for Peter — as they resumed their walk. The bright feeling inside him, foreign or not, had the information spilling from his lips with an ease he'd have never managed before.
— + —
"You sure you're up for tonight?" Jason asked for the millionth time.
Peter, who had already shoved his mask into his backpack, along with a healthy collection of snacks, shot his housemate a glare. "I'm fine."
"What if you get hit by another bubble while you're grappling?"
"It's not grappling, it's web-slinging."
"My apologies." Jason's drawl didn't sound anywhere remotely approaching apologetic. "What happens if you're hit by another bubble while you're web-slinging?"
"I'm already used to it." Peter toed on his new sneakers — a find he was pleased with, having dragged Jason into a Goodwill on their giddy walk back. "There'll be no squished spiders for you to scrape off the concrete, don't worry."
Jason was silent. When Peter looked up, he laughed at the warring emotions of horror, disgust and concern on Jason's face.
"Seriously, it's fine. I'm fine."
It wasn't even a lie, was the annoying thing. After that first burst of collective emotion, the rest were moderate in comparison, though perhaps that was more because Peter was no longer blind-sided by the 'pops'. After the fourth instance, he'd been able to pinpoint the moment before the dam broke and brace for impact. Now, the worst that happened were a few errant giggles escaping.
Jason was just freaked out because Peter's initial reaction too closely resembled someone dosed on venom… It was probably uncharitable of Peter to think Jason's behaviour was overbearing, knowing Jason's experience with the villain.
Still… Peter was getting sick of the kid-skin gloves. Peter was capable. He liked to think he'd grown as Spider-Man. He knew how to be cautious. How to mask himself. How to defuse a situation with words, or webs or violence. Just because Jason hadn't seen him do much of that didn't mean those skills weren't there.
The annoyance must have been easy for Jason to read, because he huffed and his shoulders sank as he accepted Peter's insistence.
"Fine. Things'll be lively tonight, but there's probably not too much that'll happen."
Lively was an understatement. As soon as the sun went down, the streets came alive. The locals emerged from the homes they'd hidden in the last couple of days to hold block parties, music and laughter cutting straight through the usually grim Gotham evening. Cars rolled by, windows open, horns blasting off a continuous stream of sound.
The people in their apartment building had set up a gathering of their own on the sidewalk and the small drive that wrapped back and around. For the last half hour, the tantalising scent of grilled meat wafted up and crept in through tightly shut windows. It was a special kind of torment for both Peter and Dog.
Jason waited for him by the door, already ready to leave. "C'mon! While the night's young."
Shoes on, Peter gave a goodbye pet to Dog then passed through, shoulder brushing Jason's chest. "It's going to be a good night; I can feel it."
"You're only sayin' that because of the Web," Jason grumbled as he followed Peter out the door. "Who knew the city could be so damn happy? It's unnatural." He locked up and shot Peter a glare when Peter failed to hide his snicker behind his hand. "You're spoiling her reputation."
"This edgelord of a city needs a good challenge."
Jason gave him the finger.
They trotted down the stairs. At least, Jason did. After the first flight, Peter took to jumping them and firmly ignoring Jason's tired requests that he stop.
"There's no one watching," Peter told him, confident in his ability to track people on the Web. And it wasn't as if it was suspicious activity. So maybe the jumps got increasingly theatrical, but there was nothing to them that couldn't be chalked up to some skill at gymnastics!
On the last jump, Peter landed on his hands and grinned up at an exasperated Jason from his new vantage point.
"You've got really long nose hair," he said seriously, and cackled when Jason's hand reflexively flew up to cover his nose.
"Brat," Jason growled and shoved Peter's legs, toppling him. Peter was still laughing as he jumped back to his feet and they exited the building.
If Jason hoped to make a quick getaway however, he was to be sorely mistaken.
"Peter! Jason!" a woman called the moment they set foot outside.
The block party was in full swing. Peter's mouth immediately filled with saliva at the rich scent of grilled meat. A small group of children gathered near the steps, squatting over a chalk game on the sidewalk, following rules indecipherable to anyone over the age of thirteen. They were watched over by a gaggle of fathers who were armed with smiles, beers and knives apiece. Peter saw the outline of at least one gun, lazily concealed in their coats, as he passed.
Mr Hudson raised a beer in greeting and Peter waved back. His youngest, Eri, who at the tender age of six and a half could colour between the lines much better than Peter could, was bullying another boy into drawing a box exactly right for unknown reasons.
Beyond the children, an array of seats — from camp chairs, to dining chairs, to even a ragged couch — lined the sidewalk and spilled out onto the street. And at the heart of it, three ancient barbecue grills were being manned by Mrs Peng, her 'dear friend' Flora and a light-skinned black man Peter didn't know by name but thought lived on the third floor. A soft haze from the grills hung over everything and Peter's stomach immediately grumbled with lust.
Mrs Peng waved them over, having grabbed their attention with her unnerving skill at voice projection. Peter grabbed Jason's jacket and tugged him onwards to greet her. Jason groaned softly, but his reluctance was no match for grilled meat or Peter's super-strength.
"Hey, Mrs Peng!" He let the old woman kiss his cheek and did so in return, then shook Flora's hand. "Anything you could spare?"
Mrs Peng was a retired languages teacher and her grin was wicked sharp. She was the kind of teacher Peter probably would have enjoyed having, with a razored wit that was entirely mismatched to her tiny frame and long, white hair, impeccably braided away from her face. "For a pair of growing boys? Always. There's bread and ketchup by André."
André nodded at them from the third grill and held out a bag of white bread.
"Thanks," Peter said and introduced himself and Jason.
"You're the ones with the dog, aren't you?" André said after Jason and Peter had helped themselves to bread.
"The very ones," Jason agreed. "You gotta dog?"
"Naw." André paused to turn over the burger patties and hotdogs. "My girl's more a cat person. But we didn't think we was allowed pets 'til you moved in."
"Ask the landlord." Jason held out his bread for André to deposit a hotdog onto it. "They'll probably say yes if you just get the one. They'd want it neutered, though."
"Noted." André grinned and gave Peter a hotdog. It steamed in the cold and Peter doused it enthusiastically with hot sauce. No pickles, but there was sauerkraut, which Peter could settle for in a pinch. He piled a hearty amount on top with a hum of delight. The judgemental stare coming from Jason went firmly ignored.
With the evening still early and in no rush to put on their suits, Peter and Jason chatted with the three cooks, broken intermittently by someone popping in to get something to eat. A mutual complaint between all the residents was the elevator, which continually broke down and had become the 'bane of my goddamn existence!' according to Mrs Peng.
How much would it take to get it properly repaired? It wouldn't be a simple job: the apartments had to be at least sixty years old — probably way older, since it lacked the brutalist panes of concrete characteristic of the fifties — and it showed its age. Peter dwelled on what would have to be done as he inhaled his hotdog — nevermind that he only ate an hour ago.
Jason must've caught the look in his eye. He slung an arm over Peter's shoulder and ruffled his hair. Peter elbowed him lightly in retaliation. "We'd best be off. Seeing a friend tonight."
"No work?" Mrs Peng asked. There was a sharpened point embedded in her tone, one that often cropped up when speaking to or about Jason. Any attempts at learning why usually led to vague answers from Jason, which led Peter to believe she was suspicious of him.
"Not tonight." Jason, to his credit, didn't react to Mrs Peng's probing. "Scheduled night off: I always take it after Halloween."
"Well, you'd best stay safe out on the streets," she hummed, then turned with warmer eyes to Peter. "Things might look good right now, but we've all seen it turn ugly fast. Keep your eyes peeled."
Having just shoved the last of his hotdog in his mouth, Peter nodded.
"She's just bein' paranoid," Flora added with a wink at Peter. She was a tall and broad woman, with curled brown hair that was only just turning grey, even though she had to be in her mid-sixties. "We're safe enough tonight. And if any freaks do rear their ugly heads, they'll meet the unhappy side of a grill."
Peter winced at the imagery but sent them a thumbs up. It was Jason's turn to drag him away, Peter twisting to wave good-bye to the revellers as they travelled north towards Jason's other safehouse, since Peter had broken the windows to his old one.
He regretted that but Jason had reassured him he'd just leave it be for a few months before returning. 'Long enough to be forgotten about'.
A thought occurred to him as they walked. Block parties were in full swing on practically every corner and the ruckus easily drowned out their quiet conversation.
"How did you get the landlord to say yes to Dog?"
Peter knew enough about renting to know most landlords laid out a blanket ban on pets of any kind. It was odd, in hindsight, that Jason would be able to have one.
"Pete, I own the building."
He nearly stumbled over his own feet. Jason laughed at him.
"Or near-abouts. Technically, it's owned by a Jonathan Earnshaw… who just so happens to work for Colorado Asset Management."
Peter stared up at Jason, unimpressed. "I bet you thought you were real clever with that name, didn't you?"
Jason chuckled. "I plead the Fifth."
It was probably a decent red (ha!) herring, really. Disarmingly corporate. The name though… "Does this 'company' own more than one building?"
Jason nodded slowly. "It's sort of an open secret… That Red Hood's gang has control over a lot of the housing. Before… Park Row was split between three or four gangs. A whole bunch of shitty landlords, holding the threat of homelessness over everyone's heads."
"It's still a monopoly," Peter pointed out.
"Yeah," Jason huffed, scrubbing the back of his hair. "But we're not in it for the profit. Don't see how different it'd be from public housing. At least this way, people know they're getting a fair deal… gonna have to push that elevator replacement, though. It's ridiculous the repairs've dragged on this long."
"… How long have you been living there? There's been tonnes of times where we've had to take the stairs!" Peter was suddenly outraged. "Mrs Peng's not getting any younger!"
"Don't let her hear you say that." Jason frowned down at him, but he did have the grace to be chagrined. "It's my bad. I'll talk to the property manager, make sure it's bumped up the improvement timeline."
"You'd better, Mr Property Mogul," Peter said, mollified.
"Call it self-preservation." Jason grinned at Peter. "Can't have you turning your sights on elevator repairs."
"I—" Peter glared. "I don't appreciate your tone."
Jason laughed and attempted to muss up Peter's hair again. He dodged away before those dastardly fingers could make contact.
Still in easy cheer, they reached the safe house and suited up for the evening. Peter hoped, with so many people out and about, that it would be another uneventful night. But there was a danger to so many people being outside: how simple it would be for an opportunistic someone with the wrong intentions to wreak havoc… With that in mind, it was another 'all hands on deck' night.
Not that Peter expected to come across any of the Bats. As with the last two nights, there'd been no interference from the rest of Gotham's vigilante lineup. Peter and Jason took care of Park Row, the Bowery and Robbinsville; the Bats took care of the rest.
They took to the rooftops for patrol, sticking together because 'four fists are better than two', according to Jason. A line Peter found laughable when Jason preferred crowbars and guns far more than he did his fists.
With an audience, Peter couldn't resist showing off, jumping into twists and spins ahead of Jason as he slipped deep into the Web, hunting for any geysers of alarm. Jason grumbled at first over their private comm, but it didn't take much for him to get competitive. Soon enough, both were flying across the roofs of Park Row, pulling off jumps that defied gravity as the city's infectious relief and happiness fizzed through their veins.
For all his size, Jason was remarkably athletic and flexible. He pulled off moves almost as good as Peter — hindered only by the lack of power that Peter brought to the table. His grappling guns were engineering marvels and Jason used them like an extension of his own body. Even though Peter did have to slow to let Jason keep up, it didn't feel like he was 'making do'.
It was so much fun! Used to being a loner, Peter never realised how enjoyable it could be to have a partner in crime (fighting). Even working with the other Peters couldn't compare. That evening had been tempered by a churning storm of fear and anger and grief. But whipping along the edge of a rooftop? Jason's light footsteps following close behind, his snarky laughter in Peter's ears?
It felt like it could be enough to ease the ache of exile.
Perhaps… perhaps this was something he could get used to.
When Jason finally called for a break, Peter stopped, hanging upside-down from a cell tower. Below, on the rooftop, Jason's broad chest laboured with heavy breaths, but even with his mask and muzzle, Peter knew he was grinning — a suspicion that was promptly confirmed when Jason tore the muzzle off so he could get more air. Thick plumes of white clouded around his head as he panted. With the mask and the red eyes still glowing, he more closely resembled a dragon than man.
"Fuck. You," Jason said when he finally got his breath back enough to speak. Peter might have been offended were it not for Jason's sharp-toothed grin directed upwards. "You ain't even outta breath."
"Skill issue, old man."
Jason threw something from his belt at him. Peter cackled. It was child's play to dodge it. The follow-through he caught more out of curiosity than anything—
"Oh — shit!"
Whatever it was, it blinked dangerously. Peter's senses blared. He tossed it away and then exploited the distracting explosion of light to launch himself at Jason. Didn't matter. Jason was ready for it and immediately they were wrestling again. Elbows and fists and knees flew, glancing blows scraped past vulnerable spots, but it was Peter who won this time, webbing one of Jason's feet to the rooftop and jumping onto his back to force him down.
He didn't fool himself into thinking it had been a true victory — the gap between their skills was astronomical, he was self-aware enough to admit it — but that didn't stop him from crowing victoriously about Jason's old bones when the man yielded.
Jason was still smiling as Peter sprayed the webbing around his boot to free him. "You're a fast learner, I'll give you that," he admitted, twisting his ankle carefully.
Some of Peter's jubilation died down. Shit, he hoped he hadn't hurt anything.
His sudden misgivings must have been obvious, because Jason looked up and huffed a laugh.
"I'm fine. It was a smart move, Bitsy. There's no such thing as honourable fighting in Gotham. Only fighting that keeps you alive."
Peter nodded, only a little comforted. He sat down beside Jason to wait for the man to recoup.
"I can see why you're used to working on your own," Jason said. He had leaned back on his hands to stare up at the sickly sky. Peter wished the clouds would clear: maybe he might be able to fool himself into thinking they were sat on a New York rooftop if he could just see the stars. "Sticking to our level must be hard, huh?"
Surprised, Peter's immediate response was just to shrug, but he forced himself to use his words. "I'm used to it? That's not — it doesn't feel to me like going fast or being strong is my normal, you know?"
Jason hummed. "The team I last worked with, I was the only human. Biz and Artemis, they were strong… slowing down or being gentle… it was often more of an afterthought." Jason's head rolled on his neck to regard Peter. Masks or not, his attention was a comforting weight. "It's easy. To forget. With you, I mean. Easy to think you're like the rest of us. You've got it down to an art."
"I had to hide it," Peter said with a shrug, but his stomach flipped happily at the praise. "It took ages." He chuckled. "I tore through heaps of clothes. Broke tonnes of things… my — May and Ben just thought I'd gotten really clumsy. They took me to the optometrists… I faked it and asked for contacts."
"… So you weren't always like this?"
Jason's tone was cautious but searching. He was fishing for information. For a moment, Peter tossed up the idea of getting defensive, but the cat was already out of the bag. No point keeping it to himself — not when Jason already knew so much.
This was how things started last time.
But this was different, right? Ned and Jason couldn't be compared. Ned had been a kid — just like Peter. An innocent. Jason was not only an adult, but someone who'd been on the vigilante scene for way longer than Peter. He'd walked out of a sorely outnumbered fight with Pyg's men with barely a few scratches (though plenty of bruises. Peter had seen a livid purple on his hip when Jason had reached for the mugs yesterday morning).
Point was, Jason knew how to protect himself.
"I got bit," Peter finally admitted.
"… Bit," Jason echoed.
"By a radioactive spider."
"A radioactive spider." Jason was… appropriately incredulous. Saying it out loud never made it feel more real.
"It was a science trip. They took us to these labs that'd been working on gene splicing."
"Huh. That's…" Jason's head tilted with confusion. "How do you even make a spider radioactive?"
Peter paused. Actually, that was a good point. "Um."
"Jesus." Jason dropped his head into his hands.
"Look!" Peter threw up his hands. "I wasn't listening to that part, okay! Flash was making fun of my shoes at that point? A-and afterwards, I kinda had other things to worry about!"
Like not puking up his guts on the bus ride home. Or not turning every door handle in their apartment into putty. And hiding the evidence of the ones he'd already destroyed. Ben had been very confused.
There was a brief but embarrassingly intense point in Peter's life where he became very interested in 'DIY home improvements'.
"Guess that explains the radioactivity."
Peter straightened. "The what?"
Jason coughed. "Uh. Signal told me. You're ever so slightly radioactive."
Radioactive?!
That was… That was bad, right? That had to be bad.
"And you willingly hang out with me?"
"Slightly, I said." Jason clamped a hand on Peter's shoulder like he was worried Peter would suddenly run off. Which was… not an incorrect or out-of-pocket assumption. Peter didn't exactly have a great history with sticking around when reality got too hard to handle, did he? "Signal said it's not much — not dangerous levels. Like being out in the sun for a bit."
"Oh my God!" Peter buried his head in his hands and Jason squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Do you have to wear sunscreen around me?"
Startled laughter made him look up. Jason was grinning like he'd not just tipped Peter's world thirty degrees.
"This isn't a laughing matter! Radiation from the sun still causes cancer!"
"So I'll buy myself some sunscreen. Honestly Bitsy, if it was cancer that got the better of me, I'd count myself a lucky guy."
The comment floored Peter.
He understood the fatalism — of course he did. Jobs like theirs… they had a time limit. One that rarely ended with retirement. Peter and Jason knew that better than most. And maybe it was the difference in experience, or the differences in their deaths — Jason's had been the far crueller way to die — but to hear Jason put it so plainly… to know Jason thought an ending lined with wrinkles and decades upon decades of memories was something out of his reach…
Peter couldn't abide by it.
He twisted onto his knees. Reached out and gripped Jason's shoulders tight. He watched as Jason's expression sobered with confusion.
"We have to," Peter said urgently. If they'd been the tallest building around, Peter would have torn off his mask to get the message across. "We have to get there, Jace. To old age."
The confusion died back. Jason wrapped his gloved hands around Peter's wrists and squeezed back. "You know a life like this doesn't end that way."
"No," Peter snapped. He felt — wild. Half sure, half uncertain, but every word that slipped out of his mouth felt like the truth. "No. It can. It will. You'll get arthritis and complain about your knees, I'll get — I dunno, type two diabetes and have to watch what I eat so I don't get fat—"
Jason snorted. "Petey, c'mon. We both know it'd be me worrying about getting fat."
"But that's the point! That's the future we — the future we deserve. With aches and pains and cancer."
"Oh, so you want me to get cancer now, eh? I see how it is—"
"I'm serious, Jace!"
"So'm I." Jason's smile was wry as he pulled away. "The job'll never end. You know that."
"Maybe not," Peter acknowledged. His hands felt cold. "But that doesn't mean it has to take us down. Why else would we get a second chance if it was just to let this life kill us all over again?"
Jason fell quiet. Peter wished they could be having this conversation in the privacy of their apartment instead of beneath the heady Gotham sky.
Eventually, Jason spoke again. "Where'd this come from, Pete? Before, you…"
There was no need to finish the sentence. Peter knew exactly what Jason meant. Before, Peter had been hanging on by a few tenuous threads. Ever since the Erasure, even back in Queens, Peter had been spiralling down the path of self-destruction. Turning up in Gotham hadn't done much to help, he'd thought. If anything, things were worse, because he was stranded here. Stuck with no way home. Alone…
But that wasn't really the case, was it? He wasn't alone. Wasn't a non-entity — not like he was on Earth I. And maybe… maybe he could be someone again. If this was Peter's 'final destination' like Constantine said, then perhaps it was about time for him to start thinking of it that way.
"Maybe I just don't want to see you dead."
Jason's mouth fell softly open.
Peter grinned, knowing it would transfer through the mask and soften the seriousness of the moment. "Besides, when you think about it, don't you think it's kind of your fault I'm stuck here now?"
"My fault?"
"Mhm. If you hadn't taken me on that walk, I might never have been mugged and cut my head."
"Please," Jason scoffed, but his voice was strained. "You woulda been mugged even earlier had I let you run off."
"Well, we'll never know now," Peter said primly. "But I think the least you could do is take responsibility."
"Take responsibility," Jason echoed in bewildered amusement. "Sorry Petey, didn't realise you were a blushing virgin I'd got in the family way. And anyway, ain't that what I've been doing the last month or so?"
"Exactly," Peter said. "We've got a good thing going on, so I'd appreciate if you wouldn't spoil it by dying on me."
Jason's head tilted back as he laughed heartily. "Now the true colours come out, eh? You're a goddamn gold-digger."
"I prefer the term diamond miner."
"You can prefer whatever term you want. You'll be pullin' your weight in this relationship, buddy."
They both paused, then erupted into giggles.
"Out of curiosity," Peter asked when the laughter subsided a little. "How much would it mess with your family's brain if we pretended you were my sugar baby?"
As intended, Jason cracked up all over again. His laughter washed over the rooftop, warm and hearty and just a little bit spiteful. Peter's chest was cracked full with it, as filling as any banquet.
"We ain't pullin' the sugar baby card," Jason told him in between spouts of laughter. "They're suspicious enough as it is. That'd be the jump the shark moment for 'em."
"Shame," Peter mused. "It would've been fun to wave around a stolen credit card."
"Besides, it don't fit with the whole preppers-turned-cultist story you got goin' on. Though I gotta warn you, Dick's onto you there."
Peter stored that information away for later. He shrugged. "I could say I nicked it from the cult leader before I ran?"
Jason shook his head. "Forget it. We're lucky they've not called our bluff yet. Don't push it."
"Boo! I—"
Peter stopped.
The green was back.
Unnoticed until now, a handful of tiny weeds that had found themselves displaced on the rooftop had grown. Long blades of grass leaned drunkenly towards his hand, and a ragged rosette of purslane twisted in its search for Peter. As it moved, more fleshy leaves sprouted from its stem and hair-like roots spread across the rubberised ground, seeking stability as it crept towards Peter's hand. Hesitant but not afraid — not this time — Peter reached out and the weed immediately wrapped around his forearm, fortunately not blocking his web-shooters.
"Pete?"
Peter stood. Jason startled and began to stand too and Peter stepped backwards, towards the edge of the rooftop. "I gotta — gotta go."
"Eh? The fuck you mean? Hey—!"
But whatever Jason was about to say was lost to Peter. He spun on his foot and leapt off the rooftop, chasing after the green that had woven its way insidiously into the Web without Peter's knowledge.
— + —
BatWatch Official ✔
@batwatchoffish
Reported sightings of Bats across the city. Don't be complacent because Halloween's over! #batwatch #gothamcapes
❤ 1.4K 7:32 PM - November 1, 2016
789 people are talking about this
— + —
SuperBatLyfer
@capesandgaze
Omfggggggg new IT couple? New IT couple?! 4 real tho does anyone have pics of this guy?? New capes as well defined as bigfoot #redhood#spiderman #gothamcapes
Color me popsicle @BouncinBergenia
Heyyyy so are like, Red Hood and that new spider-guy A Thing?! Cause Im p sure they were flirting when they ran past my apartment? #redhood #spiderman#gothamcapes
❤ 48 8:41 PM - November 1, 2016
3 people are talking about this
[1] In Batman: Urban Legends (Vol 1), a new villain Cheer released to the streets of the Bowery (predominantly) a new drug called 'cheerdrops'. The drug created feelings of euphoria and 'extremely pleasant hallucinations', but while under its influence, addicts were self-harming themselves (physically or through neglect). Jason and Bruce team up together (kinda) by the end of it to take down the mastermind, Cheer.
I'd like to note, it's in this volume that Jason says he's swearing off guns (Jason shot and killed a kid's dad because the guy was mouthing off about his wife who'd OD'ed and his son, whom he confessed to having dosed with cheerdrops in the past). This is an example of me picking and choosing parts of canon, because obviously Jason still uses guns here (though for the most part he uses rubber bullets as he compromises with in the comics). So Cheer and cheerdrops exist, but the main events of the 'Cheer' storyline didn't really happen. Or at least, the won't have unless I decide that actually I want them to have.