Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Peter took a deep breath as he faced his greatest enemy in recent times.

Petra Grayson’s long hair — the one he had to deal with. It wasn’t a normal long-hair length, it was the kind that would attract attention wherever he went.

And not just long — curly. Peter didn’t think it was ugly, quite the opposite, it was gorgeous. He just didn’t have the patience to take care of it.

And yet his patience had lasted longer than expected, after half an hour trying out the curly hair routine Karen had recommended.

The boy looked in the mirror, noticing how his wet hair looked more defined than on other days. Still, nothing compared to the curls he had seen in Petra’s photos — always flawless.

“What do you think, Karen?” Peter asked as he put on the gold-rimmed glasses the A.I. had modified to look more like Petra’s.

“We still need progress to make you resemble Miss Grayson more, but this is much better than the first days,” Karen almost sounded cheerful — and she was clearly making an effort to lift the boy’s mood.

Petra looked a lot like him. Curly hair. Big brown eyes. Freckles all over her face. Baby face.

But still, she was very different. Her lips were slightly fuller, and her face rounder and more feminine.

“The Wayne family must be waiting for you for breakfast,” the A.I. pulled him out of his thoughts.

Peter sighed in frustration. Living with the Waynes was annoying, to say the least.
Damian thought he was superior, and when he wasn’t completely ignoring Peter, he was about as pleasant as a horse.

Stephanie was… nice(?) — but Peter had the impression she was probably very nosy, so he decided to stay away from her.

Tim was the typical nerd who stayed up all night studying (Peter assumed) and lived off coffee (of that Peter was certain).

Peter had no comments about Bruce, Jason, or Dick, since he had barely seen them.

Cass was kind and quiet. Unique in her own way. Peter would have said it was a pleasure to know her and be around her… if his spider-sense didn’t go into full panic mode every time he saw her.

Duke wasn’t a bother in any way; he just seemed… distant. There was always something heavy in his gaze whenever he looked at Petra/Peter.

It was as if the spider had summoned a demon when Peter opened the door and came face-to-face with the tall, dark-haired man with honey-colored eyes.

“H-Hi, Petra! Good morning! We’re waiting for you in the kitchen and I… uh… kinda came to wake you up—” Duke spoke nervously until Peter cut him off.

“Good morning, Duke!” Peter greeted him with a practiced smile meant to mirror his sister’s. “I’m just going to grab my phone. You can head down.”

“O-Okay. I’ll be going, then.”

Peter watched him leave, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.
Something told him today wouldn’t be like the others.

And before it started, there was something he had to get

Chapter Text

Peter walked down the stairs slowly, without any excitement to see the Waynes.

Peter entered the kitchen, and the mansion’s butler, Alfred, was already waiting.

During his time at the mansion, Peter had realized that Alfred was the pillar of the family. Keeping an eye on everyone and making sure they were all well. The man’s company was welcome to Peter. In the brief conversations they’d had, Alfred was extremely pleasant and warm.

“Good morning, Miss Petra. Breakfast is already served.” Alfred’s tone was as formal as always.

“Good morning, Alfred,” Peter said casually with a half-smile, as he walked toward Petra’s usual seat, beside the short-haired Asian girl who was already seated with perfect posture.

“Good morning, Petra,” they all said in unison, except for Cass, who signed, and Tim, who was in the middle of a long yawn.

“Good morning,” Tim said belatedly in a sleepy voice. His dark circles were as deep as every other day, which only seemed to highlight his crystal-blue eyes even more.

“Good morning, guys,” he replied, earning an indifferent look from Damian.

Peter ate in silence, avoiding paying attention to the siblings’ conversation. The last thing he wanted was to risk blowing his cover by interacting with the Waynes.

-🕷-

Peter had his head resting against the cold car window, watching the city buildings on the way to Gotham Prep. The only sound in the car was the irritating noise of typing.

The boy shook his head and closed his eyes, focusing on the other sounds of the city.

The sound of cars on the highway.

People chatting on the sidewalks.

The subway running beneath them.

The static of a radio. He pushed a little harder until he managed to hear what was being said.

—The Firefly attacks hit three residential buildings in the Bowery. There were many injured but no deaths. Unfortunately, those victims are now homeless and the criminal still hasn’t been found—

Peter stopped listening. Guilt weighed heavy on his chest. A knot formed in his throat. The image of what he’d heard stuck in his mind: families without a home, wounded people devastated, fire consuming lives he could have saved.

He clenched his fists, guilt turning into anger. These people needed help. Gotham didn’t need a boy pretending to be someone else. And there he was, living this mediocre, imposing life. Useless.

“We’re a few meters from the school,” Karen informed him.

Peter opened his eyes and was the first to get out of the car as soon as it stopped, chest still tight. He walked quickly to shake the Waynes off. He wasn’t in the condition to deal with them right now.

His spider-sense tingled.

A hand grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and turn around.

He froze when he saw Cain staring at him.

“Uh… Do you need something, Cass?” Peter asked, his voice trembling.

First class together. History. Cass signed with a furrowed brow, as if it were obvious. And it was. But not for Peter.

She dragged him by the arm through the hallways, like a mother cat dragging her kittens.

Well… Peter felt too disturbed to do anything about it.

-🕷-

The teacher, Mrs. Mills, filled the board with exercises and ordered them to pair up. Peter had already noticed she wasn’t much of a fan of actually teaching.

Cass wasted no time pushing their desks together with a friendly smile. To Peter, the air felt heavy. He shivered at every little movement of the girl, unaware of his nervousness.

Peter tried to distract his mind by working on a few problems.

The boy had never been so happy to hear the sound of the bell ringing through the school. He stood up quickly—though not as fast as he wanted to; he still had manners and didn’t want to be rude.

“I want the activities done for next class! Don’t forget!” Mrs. Mills shouted.

Peter was about to head to the next room when Cass tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

We can finish the activity. Library. This afternoon.  she signed.

Careful! Careful! Careful!

Peter took a step back. A shiver ran through his whole body. If his spider-sense was warning him, he was going to listen.

“Look… thanks, but that probably wasn’t in your plans. We can do this another day, okay?” He struggled not to stutter and tried to sound as natural as possible.

Cass exhaled slowly and closed her eyes.

Just wanna hang out with you. Its been a while since we did that, she communicated calmly, but insistently.

Another stone of guilt weighed on his heart. Was he the one ruining the relationship between these sisters?

“All right. Right after class?” Peter gave in. He didn’t want to go at all, but maybe this would help the cover and ease some of the guilty.

The Asian girl smiled without showing her teeth, but the joy on her face was clear. She waved enthusiastically as she left.

Maybe he wanted to go a little now.

Chapter Text

First day in Gotham

Peter woke up with his back on a cold and hard floor. Every muscle hurt. His throat dry begging for water. He did not dare to move for long and stunned minutes.

Peter's mind was foggy. Fragments of memories mixing up in his mind. He tried to remember the last moments before ending up in that place.

"Can't you redo the spell? Make everyone forget me?" Asked Peter terrified looking at the edges of his universe breaking through the sky. "That would solve things, right?"

He directed his gaze at Stephen. His eyes teary and desperate to save the people he loved.

"I'm sorry child. That wouldn't be enough," his voice sounded melancholy. "But... No. It's too risky," he murmured.

"I'll do anything!" Peter shouted. "Just... please, save them," his tone was low and pleading.

Stephen considered the request.

"You must trust me," he said making a yellow magic circle.

He didn't remember anything anymore.

Great. It was really what he needed.

Damn sorcerer.

Peter opened his eyes. His vision was blurred. He needed a few seconds of concentration to focus on the ceiling above him. It looked like he was in an old warehouse.

The smell of the place hit him like a punch. The smell of rusty metal and damp moss mixed with the sweet aroma coming... from him?

He rested his arms on the floor and sat with difficulty. He looked around for some belongings.

There was a blue and worn gym bag, even though it seemed to be branded. Peter sighed in relief to see his glasses were also there.

Peter reached out but froze halfway through.

He carefully observed his now thin and delicate hand with long nails perfectly painted a dark blue shade, which stood out against his fair skin. There was also a ring and a bracelet, both golden.

No... What the hell did you do, Strange? Thought analyzing incredulously his whole body.

It was curvy and feminine (???). He was wearing a kind of collant and dirty jeans, full of stains. His chest was bigger than it should be.

Peter groaned, running his hand through his hair, something he always did when nervous, until feeling the strands reach his waist. That worsened his nervousness.

He brought his hand to his ear because it was heavy. He felt at the fingertips a kind of hoop with a large pendant whose shape he could not figure out.

His head was a mess. He couldn't have become a girl... right?

That was impossible.

Peter put on his glasses and turned his attention to the place.

Danger! Danger! Danger!

Peter shivered, standing up quickly and taking a step back. Doing that he almost stepped on another pair of glasses, feminine with golden frames.

"Karen?" He called hesitantly, his voice was hoarse and weak and (again) feminine. The feeling of strangeness flooded him again upon hearing the sound.

"Hello, Peter. How can I help you?" Karen greeted him.

Peter sighed in relief, at least he had Karen by his side.

"Thank God you recognized me—Wait, how did you recognize me?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"I believe the spell done by Stephen Strange altered some configurations of my system." She replied categorically.

Danger! Danger! Danger!

"Okay, this is new. Do you know where I am?" He shivered again. It was better to leave this place as soon as possible.

"I can't connect to any Stark satellite. I can hack others, but it will take some time," Karen informed him.

Peter didn't answer. His heart tight in his chest.

This made no sense. Karen should be able to access Stark satellites anywhere on the planet.

His senses disturbed him again. Wherever he was, it wasn't a good place, and it was better for Peter to leave quickly.

-🕷-

Peter let his spider sense guide him through the cold and dark streets of the city. Cries of despair could be heard in the distance. The gym bag weighing by his side.

The tall buildings seemed to bend over him, needing him even more. The streets exuded hopelessness. Walking slowly along the sidewalks, now and then a scurried past at his feet.

As soon as he left what he discovered to be an old abandoned warehouse, it started raining. A bitter reminder from the universe of how things always went wrong for him.

He entered a small convenience store, the only one that had made his instincts diminish in intensity.

The sound of the door bell echoed behind him, drawing the attention of an old man, already gray-haired, with a cigarette in his mouth and reading some newspaper.

"Don't try any tricks. I have a gun," he threatened in a low and suspicious tone.

"I won't try anything. Is there a bathroom here?" Peter asked in an even lower tone.

"Over there," he pointed with his head to the back of the store, lighting another cigarette.

Peter walked there with tired steps. Shivering slightly as the cold wind of the store hit his wet clothes.

The bathroom was dirty and smelly. He wasn't going to use it, he just needed a place to think.

The reflection in the cracked mirror confirmed his suspicion. He was definitely a girl.

Peter's "eyes" were swollen, as if he had cried for hours. What he supposed was mask making a trail down his cheeks.

Now he could see the earrings he wore, a golden hoop with a stunning sun pendant.

Peter also seemed smaller, about 10 centimeters shorter. That would be a big problem in the future.

The discomfort he felt made him want to tear his skin off. He dug his nails into his palms. Everything had been fine for a few weeks, now... this!?

He didn't want to deal with it.

His body was not his. The reflection staring at him was of a completely different person.

His face was different. His body was different. His voice was different. His hair was different.

Everything was different.

The realization hit him worse than any blow he could have received.

This was not him. It wasn't. It couldn't be real. It couldn't.

The air became difficult to breathe.

It was not enough.

The more he pulled, the more was missing.

Peter hit his back against the door with a loud bang. His breaths getting shorter and shorter.

His vision suddenly blurred, black at the edges, preventing him from focusing on the mirror.

The bathroom seemed to shrink, crushing him.

His heart beating fast inside his ribs, as if it would explode. The sound taking over his ears and overshadowing the rain.

He let himself slide to the dirty floor.

This was not him. It wasn't. He didn't want to believe it was.

A sharp sob escaped him, he hadn't even realized he had started crying.

He grabbed his chest with his trembling hand while crying and hyperventilating even more. Karen began to play a calm melody in his ears, doing what she could to try to calm him.

The tears fell bitterly down his face.

-🕷-

After long minutes, Peter finally managed to regain calm.

"Peter, are you feeling better?" Karen called in a low voice.

Peter nodded. His heartbeat had slowed and his breathing was stable.

"What did you find?" His voice had no emotion.

"Are you sure you're okay? The news I have to give you may be too stressful to handle in your current situation." Karen asked.

Peter knew he wasn't okay. How could he be okay? After everything that happened, the last thing he was was okay. Hurt, melancholy, desolate, anguished, lonely. But okay? No, he was not.

And in the end, what could Peter Parker do now?

"I'm okay, alright?" Peter sighed and ran his hand over his face, realizing his tone was a bit rude. "Sorry, do you at least know where we are?" He spoke softer.

"According to my research, we are in a city called Gotham City. Often called the most dangerous in America."

Gotham? Peter was confused, had never heard of this city before. And he was very good at geography in school. But having such a title, Peter thought he wouldn’t even need to know it.

"I didn't find anything linked to the Avengers. Absolutely nothing. Not Spider-Man, nor any other hero. I also found your new features in the database as a girl named Petra Grayson," Karen paused, as if that would ease the weight of the news.

It didn't ease.

Peter hugged his knees to his chest and lowered his head in resignation.

With this information, the only possibility Peter could think of was that he was in another universe. And in someone else's body.

(He would make a mental note never to resort to spells to solve his problems again.)

Peter was in a spiral of thoughts.

On one hand, maybe he could start over, no one really knew who he was.

On the other, he wanted to go home. He wanted to get back the life he had, for the people he loved.

And on another side, he should assume the identity of Petra.

"What the hell do I do now?" He whimpered to no one, not expecting an answer from Karen.

"I recommend you find a place to stay tonight, having a meal would also be great," Karen replied anyway.

Peter felt his stomach growl loudly immediately.

"You're right, I’ll think about it later," He wiped the tears with his sleeve. If he thought about it longer, he would probably go crazy.

He left the bathroom disheartened, walking to the shelves of the store. The lights flickering slightly above him, probably a wiring problem.

Most of the other items were out of the question, either for lacking enough calories his body needed or needing to be heated.

"There is a fast food a few streets away. It would be more beneficial than any food here," Karen spoke in his ears.

That sometimes scared Peter. It even seemed like she could read minds.

He was about to leave the store quickly, until interrupted by the clerk.

"Hey, the bathroom is for customers only, you’ll have to buy something," he said arrogantly.

Peter shivered as the smell of cigarette reached his nose.

"Hummm," Peter analyzed the shelves near him and grabbed a one-dollar gum.

"Money," the old man requested rudely, not taking his eyes off the newspaper.

Peter emptied his pants pockets, taking out some coins. He hurriedly extended his hand with the money.

The man finally looked at him. He raised his eyebrows, attentive to his body more than necessary. His eyes shone with a predatory gleam.

He removed the cigarette from his mouth, curling his lips into a malicious smile.

Peter squirmed uncomfortably, disliking the gaze he received.

"Are you alone?" The man asked with evident interest in his voice.

A bad feeling ran through Peter. He didn't answer, still holding out his hand, waiting for the money to be received.

"A sweetie like you shouldn’t be alone at this hour. Especially in Gotham," the man grabbed his wrist quickly.

Peter stiffened, his spider sense buzzing on alert, hairs on his neck standing up. He tried to escape the grip, bringing his arm back.

The old man didn't let go, increasing the grip and pulling Peter closer brutally, making the boy hit the counter and bend his body with a loud noise that echoed through the store.

"You should be very careful in this city. But well, you could stay here, I’ll take care of you,swettie" he offered, with a malicious tone that left no room for contradictions.

Peter wanted to vomit. The way the man looked at him, the cigarette aroma, the strong grip on his wrist, all made his stomach contract.

Peter didn't want to let it happen. He was trained for situations like this, but going through it was very different. He was sweating cold, feeling his heart beat fast and the tears again threatening to fall.

Even with difficulty thinking, he gathered strength and punched the old man in the stomach with his free hand, making him release his wrist and stagger back. He also punched the side of his face, taking out his anger on him.

Peter went running away, the situation that had just happened disturbing his head.

Before he could cross the door, a tall black-haired man burst through the door desperately, looking directly at Peter. He was wet, probably walking in the rain.

Peter stepped back instinctively and raised his fist in defense.

His blue eyes were distressed, and the man hesitated before approaching.

"Petra..." He paused, looked at the man bent over the counter and groaning in pain. "Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?" He asked with a trembling voice, putting both hands on Peter's shoulders.

This person knew Petra. His features were extremely similar, as if they were family. He was too young to be the father. A brother, perhaps?

"Let's go, okay? I’ll take you home." He spoke softly, intertwining his hand with hers.

Peter thought about running away. But the exhaustion (physical, emotional, and mental) spoke louder. Maybe he didn’t need to be alone, at least for now.

He would follow the music as it played. Until he learned to play his own.

---

https://www.tumblr.com/spectravondergeistphantom8?source=share

Chapter Text

Peter had always liked school. He was fascinated by subjects involving science and above average in all the others. He could count on his fingers how many failing grades he had gotten in his entire life.

But Gotham Prep had taken that passion and sliced it into pieces! He had never attended such boring classes. And adding to the fact that he had already seen all the high school content—because he had already graduated, duh—this resulted in a sleepy and bored Peter.

And just thinking about the uniform he was forced to wear, his desire to burn down this school increased. What kind of institution in the 21st century still made girls wear skirts?! Especially in a city this cold, where even a simple breeze could make someone freeze.

Tapping his pen on the desk, he returned to his main dilemma of the day: how he was going to deal with Cass in the afternoon. He wasn’t only referring to how his spider-sense reacted to her, but also to how he was supposed to act as Petra.

She was a blank book. He knew nothing about her. Only redundant things—she was kind, smart, polite, and positive. But that didn’t tell him how she laughed at jokes, or how she made them. Did she even like jokes?

These last weeks pretending to be her had been a challenge.

It was like acting in a play where everyone else had the script except Peter.

It was frustrating. It was confusing.

And Peter wasn’t liking it one bit.

-🕷-

As he put his books in the locker, the dreaded moment approached in the form of a pair of dark eyes watching him attentively.

Are you ready? she signed.

“Oh, yes. Let’s go.” Peter stammered, already feeling his spider-sense nagging at him.

The empty streets of Gotham led the two of them to walk in silence—a silence quite uncomfortable in Peter’s view. Cass, however, seemed either completely unaffected or hiding it very well, her calm steps barely detectable even to his super-hearing. He wondered several times if he should start a conversation, or if an awkward silence was better than an awkward conversation.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the library. Cass entered first, holding the door so Peter could pass.

The natural silence of a library, along with the dim lighting, gave a cozy feeling to anyone who walked in. The smell of old books supported that impression. It seemed like the only warm spot in that cold city.

The librarian behind the counter looked at them with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a thin line, which Peter found strange. Her body tensed up when her gaze met his, then she immediately switched to a friendly posture.

“Hi girls! I wasn’t expecting you here today.” She gave a small wave, her gaze alternating between him and Cass. “How can I help you?” she asked, looking directly at the Asian girl.

The red-haired woman seemed to know them, though Peter had no idea who she was. He squinted to read her nametag: Barbara.

A lightbulb went off. He remembered hearing Tim mention her at breakfast once, as a family friend.

“We just came to study a little,” Peter replied. “Babs,” he added uncertainly.

Yes. Don’t disturb us. Cass, who had seemed to be in a silent staring contest with Barbara, signed firmly.

Peter felt the sudden tension, but decided to stay quiet.

-🕷-

Already seated at the table, with the ticking of an old clock as the background soundtrack- tic, tac, tic, tac-  Cass didn’t seem bothered by silence, calmly working on her exercises. But Peter noticed the glances she threw at him from the corner of her eye.

Peter bounced his leg restlessly, glancing at the clock every minute.

The movement of Cass’s hands caught his attention.

What happened? Her expression was worried.

The question sent a chill down his entire body. His foot stopped trembling instantly, but his heart raced as if to make up for the silence.

Was she starting to suspect something?! Peter’s head twisted into knots.

“What do you mean?” he shot back with another question, confused, eyes wide.

Cass lifted her hands and sighed, then signed again.

You’ve been acting strange lately. She averted her gaze, as if unsure of her own words, her brows knitted together.

“I’m normal,” he retorted defensively, gripping the pencil in his hand tightly.

No. I know you. You’re not normal. She reaffirmed, more frantic.

They stared at each other, the air dense between them while Peter stayed silent. But there was nothing he could say. He wasn’t Petra—of course anyone watching from outside would think “she” was acting weird.

When she realized she wouldn’t get an answer, Cass let her shoulders drop and looked softly at Peter.

I just want to know what’s going on. You can talk to me. She signed gently, a caring offer.

A loud buzz filled Peter’s ears. The pencil cracked in his hand.

His mouth burned as if someone were forcing him to speak. A phrase scraped at his throat, begging to come out.

“Are you going to keep pretending you care?” The words came out like a gunshot—loud and hurtful.

Peter clapped a hand over his mouth in a quick movement. He hadn’t wanted to say that—he didn’t even know why he had. For a brief moment, he had lost control over his own body. All he knew was that his head hurt, like nails being hammered into it.

Cass didn’t move. Her dark eyes widened for a moment. She held her breath—no gasp of shock escaped. Her silence was indecipherable. Was she upset? Angry? Or just as confused as Peter was?

Peter thought about justifying himself or apologizing, but it felt like any word would trigger a bomb.

Heavy seconds passed until they were interrupted by Barbara’s urgent voice, echoing through the shelves.

“Cass!! I need you in the back! Now!”

The call split the tension in half. But it didn’t dissipate—it still hung there, heavy and unfinished, leaving both Peter and Cass with their own thoughts and doubts.

Cass’s chair screeched against the floor as she stood up straight, already rushing toward the voice.

She stopped abruptly, turning back to Peter.

Stay here. We’re not done yet. She signed sharply, her hands rigid, more of an order than a request.

A shame Peter hated following orders.

Chapter Text

Peter grabbed his things as soon as Cass disappeared between the shelves, hastily scribbling a small note on the table.

He tiptoed to the exit, closing the door carefully so it wouldn’t make a sound. He let out a sigh of relief after hearing the faint click of the door locking behind him, he couldn’t stand being in that place any longer.

From inside the library, he hadn’t noticed how dark it was outside. The typical heavy clouds of Gotham hung above him.

The brief, yet impactful, discussion with Cass was still rattling in his head.

The ideal thing would’ve been to dodge the questions, then pretend nothing happened and hope Cass would forget. But after that line… Peter doubted she would let it slide. At best, he’d have to explain himself, which was already bad—because he didn’t even know why he’d said it.

"Are you going to keep pretending you care?"

The phrase echoed in his mind, and Peter felt the same burning in his throat, his chest tightening with each beat of his heart.

He clenched his fists. He didn’t like the overwhelming wave of emotions that had hit him in that moment.

Peter had expected Cass to be upset. She seemed genuinely concerned, and he had to admit, that response was cruel.

But Peter didn’t really care about her feelings. His priority was his disguise. As much as he hated this whole charade, it was something to hold on to, and he couldn’t afford to lose it.

A bitter taste filled his mouth.

May wouldn’t like seeing him thinking this coldly, this selfishly.

Tears threatened to fall at the mere memory of his aunt, of how disappointed she would be in him. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head violently, forcing it back.

He didn’t need to think about that now. Not now, not ever.

Walking slowly, Peter didn’t head to Wayne Manor. He needed someplace high, where the wind would clear his thoughts.

He walked toward a tall building, five or six stories high, and climbed up the fire escape to the top. He threw his backpack aside.

Peter sat on the ground, slouched, letting the icy Gotham breeze hit his face. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, then exhaled slowly, relaxing his shoulders, letting his thoughts drift away.

Even before becoming Spider-Man, high places had always been his refuge.

On bad days, he would sit by the apartment window and take in the view of New York City. Cars passing, lights flicking on and off in the neighboring buildings, pedestrians hurrying down the streets, it was his favorite sight.

Once he got his powers, that perception deepened. He didn’t just see the city anymore—he felt it.

Now, as he swung through the skies or perched on some skyscraper, he could hear pigeons flapping their wings above; radios blasting popular songs; fragments of conversations; heartbeats everywhere. Peter even came to think of New York as a living organism.

But Gotham… Gotham was a rotting corpse. The city resembled nothing of chaotic New York. The gothic buildings and looming towers cut across the horizon in a threatening, oppressive way, never giving the same sense of freedom New York’s structures had.

Instead of pleasant sounds, there were gunshots; rats scurrying through the sewers; the flutter of bat wings—sometimes mutant ones, according to a few newspapers he’d read—instead of pigeons.

But the worst part was the screams. Endless, desperate pleas that never stopped, not at any hour of the day. No matter where he was, no matter what time it was, they lingered in the background.

Gotham breathed darkness in every aspect.

Even its smells carried that weight. The faint scent of fresh blood on every corner, mixed with alcohol and drugs, trash, sewage, and other human residues—even vomit, which he figured came from alcohol and drugs.

And… burnt?

He sniffed again, sharpening his senses. It smelled like charred wood and iron.

Peter looked around for fire. His heart skipped a beat when he spotted a gray trail of smoke rising in the distance.

He remembered the radio broadcast from that morning, the news that Firefly still hadn’t been found. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was attacking somewhere now.

"Karen, is there a fire nearby?" The question was more of a statement, he was sure of it.

"A Firefly attack is happening at a residential building a few blocks away. Nightwing and Spoiler are already there dealing with him. You don’t need to worry," Karen’s voice echoed in his ears.

Peter sighed. She was right. The vigilantes already had it under control. He didn’t need to care.

He didn’t need to care.

He didn’t need to care.

But the hero inside him did care. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to intervene, to save those people, to be Spider-Man again.

No, he scolded himself mentally. The heroes are already on it. You don’t have to get involved.

Buuuuut… just taking a look wouldn’t hurt. He’d just make sure everyone was fine and leave. That was it. Totally.

"If there’s one thing I can’t stop doing… it’s caring," he murmured under his breath.

He swung his backpack onto his shoulders before even finishing the sentence. He rushed down the fire escape, leapt to the ground, and sprinted through the streets, ignoring the strange looks from bystanders. The fire wasn’t far.

He’d make it in time.

He could already see the flames lighting up the street in orange before even reaching the scene. A crowd had gathered around the burning building. Some looked injured, likely just rescued, while others were helping the wounded.

The vigilante in the purple cape had just exited the building, carrying a man on her back. She looked exhausted, her costume torn and covered in soot.

"That was the last one, now we just have to wait for the paramedics," he heard her pant from afar.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

The sound froze time. Someone was still inside the building.

The raging, destructive flames reflected in Peter’s uncertain eyes as he stared at the structure. He stepped forward instinctively but couldn’t take another step. His legs trembled, drained of strength, consumed by anxiety.

Peter remembered all his losses. Of what this relentless desire to save lives had brought him. How it had dragged him to rock bottom.

No, focus Peter. Pull yourself together. There’s a life at stake here. This isn’t the time to get emotional! he reasoned.

The heartbeat was weak, too faint for someone in good condition. Peter thought it might be a child, but whoever it was, they didn’t have much time.

Only he had that information. No one else knew someone was still inside. All they’d find would be remains in the ashes—he shuddered at the thought of that happening, especially with heroes already on-site—unless Peter intervened.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

He scanned the crowd for anyone watching him. When no one was, he finally moved. He shoved his backpack behind a dumpster, praying it wouldn’t get stolen.

The front entrance was no longer an option, the only way in was through the windows. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to climb the burning walls, risking being seen. Instead, he darted up the fire escape.

The iron groaned with each step, the shrill sound almost drowning out the heartbeat. Peter raced upward as fast as he could, heading to the source—on the top floor.

By the time he reached it, his own heartbeat was racing. The smell of heated metal was overwhelming, and the suffocating heat made sweat drip down his skin. He braced himself, hands on his knees, trying to catch enough breath before charging in.

Suddenly, the whole structure shook loose from the wall under his weight.

Startled, Peter clung to the railing, the fire escape creaking and tilting dangerously toward the ground. Nails snapped free and clattered down into the alley. His heart skipped—this was not a good start.

Okay, not too bad, he thought optimistically. I just have to jump inside through the window.

If he didn’t jump soon, the escape would collapse under him. Swallowing hard, he reminded himself, he’d done this countless times. He shouldn’t be panicking now.

With one decisive push, he leapt through the window, landing hard on the floor. The glass had already shattered long ago from the heat, and the shards cut into his skin. Some wounds were shallow, others deeper. He brushed his arms quickly and pushed forward.

There's no turning back now.

The apartment was tiny. The kitchen and living room blended together, with just two doors on Peter’s right. Despite the fire consuming everything, it still bore signs of being a home. Simple furniture radiated warmth. Children’s books were scattered everywhere, though now burnt and lost forever.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

Peter kicked open the first door, the heartbeat growing louder. The room was engulfed in fire, with no windows for the smoke to escape. The door crumbled in his hands, crashing to the ground. The noise made him flinch, but a muffled cry drew his attention.

Through the dense smoke, he spotted a little girl, no more than seven. Curly brown hair tied in two pigtails. Her breathing was ragged, her eyelids heavy, but she clung tightly to a rag doll against her chest.

Peter covered his mouth, coughing violently as the smoke burned his throat and lungs. He wondered how the girl had stayed conscious this long—though she was on the verge of collapsing.

Ignoring this, he crouched in front of her. She stared at him, frightened, like a trapped animal. He inhaled deeply before speaking.

“Hey.” His voice came out rougher than expected. “That’s a really pretty doll you’ve got there. Does she have a name?”

Distraction would help—it’d make it easier to get her out.

The girl hugged the doll tighter, avoiding his eyes.

“Princess…” she whispered timidly.

“That’s a beautiful name. I bet you have a lovely name too. Can I know it?” he asked, inching closer.

“My name is Julia,” she said softly.

“Alright, Julia, I need to get you out of here now, but you have to stay calm—” Peter began, using the same tone he always had with kids as Spider-Man, but she interrupted.

“No! My mom said not to leave. I have to wait for her.” She curled up tighter.

The fire spread further. A wooden beam collapsed nearby, making Julia flinch. Peter had to hurry.

“Your mom sent me to get you! You need to trust me. We have to go now" he lied—at least about the mother part. But the urgency was real. He held out his hand.

Julia glanced between his eyes, the flames, and his outstretched hand. Hesitantly, she took it.

The moment their hands met, Peter’s spider-sense flared.

Above!

He snatched the girl into his arms just before another beam crashed exactly where she’d been.

“You okay?” he asked.

Julia squeezed tighter around his neck, her legs wrapping firmly around his waist. That was answer enough. Peter sprinted back toward the window.

The fire had spread across the living room, leaving little space to pass. He barreled through, shielding the child with his own body.

Reaching the exit, Peter adjusted his grip.

“Hold on tight,” he told her. “And don’t look down.”

He extended his hands first, clinging to the wall like always. His palms seared against the heated surface, but he bit down on his lip, ignoring the pain.

Then he pushed his legs out and began descending swiftly. His movements were fast, precise, efficient. Within moments, they reached the ground.

Relief flooded him when he spotted ambulances down the street. He could drop her off quietly—hopefully, the vigilantes were gone by now. It would be suspicious for a random teenager to appear carrying a child from a fire.

Sneaking around the wreckage, Peter retrieved his backpack with one hand and slipped to an empty ambulance, setting Julia inside.

He knelt so they were eye to eye.

“If anyone asks, you don’t remember me. It’ll be our little secret.” He raised his pinky with a mischievous grin. “Promise?”

Julia hooked her pinky with his, her face lighting up with childlike excitement despite what she’d endured.

“Promise!” she said.

“Good. Now I have to go. Bye-bye!” He waved, standing. She waved back.

That was pretty good, Peter thought. That sense of accomplishment—the warmth starting in his chest and spreading through his body.

“Hey! You there!” a voice shouted, clearly at him.

Shit. Spoke too soon.

A chill shot through Peter’s body—but not his spider-sense.

His spider-sense was a fiery tingle, electrifying every nerve, raising the hairs on his neck.

This was different. A cold shiver, a numb tingling racing from his toes to his head. And his senses… they felt normal. Too normal.

He spun, ducking behind the ambulance. He was screwed, someone had seen him.

But then something strange happened. The paramedic—the one Peter  who had shouted—wasn’t even looking his way. Still confused, Peter decided to listen.

“Hey, little one. Was someone here with you?” the man asked Julia.

She shook her head, though her eyes lingered exactly where Peter stood. Strange, It looked like she couldn’t see him at all.

“Who brought you here then?” the man asked again.

Julia pointed to Spoiler, who was way across the street.

Smart kid. Peter chuckled to himself.

The girl's face twisted into a grimace, coughing heavily afterward. Peter felt uneasy, but now that a doctor was with her, he felt more at ease leaving her.

“This job is driving me crazy,” the man muttered under his breath. Peter wouldn’t have heard it without his sharpened senses.

Peter frowned. Until he looked at his own hands. His breath caught.

He was fucking invisible.

Like—completely transparent. He could see the asphalt right through his skin.

“What the hell…” he stumbled back, bewildered.

"Peter, I can confirm you are invisible right now," Karen stated—the obvious, as usual.

Peter groaned. He hated how painfully obvious she could be, especially at the worst times.

“I know! How do I go back to normal?” he snapped, panicked.

"I don’t have a tested answer, but I believe once you calm down and reach a safe place, you’ll return to your physical state," Karen reasoned.

Peter swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready for more physical changes.

Still, it was best to leave before anyone else noticed.

-🕷-

The Next Night

Peter had been standing atop the tallest building he could find, eyes closed, for a long time. He inhaled one last deep breath. Then he ran, building momentum—and jumped.

Time slowed mid-leap.

He kept his eyes shut as he fell. He saw nothing. He only felt. Relishing in a sensation he hadn’t experienced in so long.

His makeshift uniform dulled the wind against his skin, but he could still feel it ripple through the fabric.

He kept his eyes closed the whole time, embracing the freefall.

He let himself near the ground intentionally. Adrenaline surged through his veins. Each gasp of air filled his lungs with euphoria.

At the last second, he shot a web upward and yanked himself back into the air—higher than usual.

Probably used too much strength now that I’m lighter, Peter thought. Not a problem. I’ll adapt fast.

He kept swinging, web after web, adjusting to his new weight. He was clumsy at first, but still—it felt incredible. Doing something so familiar, so his, after all this time. For once, things made a little of sense again.

This is what he wanted. This is what his soul craved every day.

He remembered May’s words, that once were Ben’s.

"With great power, comes great responsibility."

Being Spider-Man wasn’t just an obligation. It was his purpose.

And one thing Peter Parker knew for sure:

There is no universe where he doesn’t choose to wear the mask.

My tumblr

Chapter Text

Dick Grayson

Ever since Dick started acting as Robin, Bruce had established a strict rule: He would not get involved in any child trafficking cases. And this rule applied to Jason, Tim, Steph, and all the other children.

And when Duke arrived at the mansion, he created another: he shouldn’t get involved in any meta trafficking cases. Duke didn’t care and seemed so scared of the possibility of being kidnapped by one of these networks that if Bruce hadn’t imposed this rule, he would have excluded himself from missions.

They had been investigating a trafficking network for months. After much investigation and many contacts, they had finally discovered the date of an auction. And it was today. Just on Petra’s sixteenth birthday.

Petra didn’t ask for a big party, or even to go out with friends like regular teenagers her age would. She just asked for a family dinner.

"I was thinking of having dinner here at the mansion. I just want to spend time with you guys. And what could be better than a dinner just with us?"

That was all she answered when Dick asked what she wanted, along with those bright eyes that he would give the world just to see filled with joy.

Dick sighed in frustration, his heart weighing tons in his chest.

Petra treasured quality family time like it was gold.

This poisoned Dick inside. Knowing he would never spend enough time with her. He was always too busy with his hero work. There was always a case, a mission, a patrol. That was more important.

Dick shook his head, as if it were possible to throw the thoughts away with the movement. This auction was the only lead they had in months; they couldn’t miss it.

"Dick! We’re leaving, come on!" Tim shouted from the Batcave.

Dick left the locker room, looking around the cave confused. He was sure Duke was there to say goodbye before putting on his suit.

"Where’s Duke?" he asked.

Tim grumbled. "The demon bat argued with him and made him leave the Batcave," he said, teeth clenched, staring at Damian.

"I just said what everyone’s thinking, Drake. You all just don’t want to admit the truth," Damian retorted, his face scowling, arms crossed.

Tim froze at that, but didn’t let it show that he was affected. Cass pretended not to hear, heading to her motorcycle. Steph looked away and put her mask on quickly, but Dick still saw the irritated expression on her face.

"You don’t speak for all of us here, Damian, forgot?" Steph muttered with irritation and exhaustion in her voice. She glared heavily at Damian before going to climb on Cass’ back.

Damian clenched his fists and stomped toward the Batmobile.

"Hypocrites. All of you." Damian huffed loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Dick looked at Jason, trying to understand what was happening. Jason shrugged in response, typical of him. Bruce made a hand gesture that meant "we’ll talk later."

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Better said: He went upstairs to stay with Petra. Now let’s go already." He waved his hand, indicating for them to follow him to the bike.

The tension between them was palpable. The truth was that none of them wanted to go on this mission. But this was a sacrifice that came with the choice of being a hero.

And deep down, it was the right choice. Save many lives or avoid upsetting a teenager by missing her birthday dinner? The answer was painfully obvious, capable of killing Dick inside.

He straightened his posture and relaxed his fists, which he hadn’t realized he had clenched. Everything would be fine. Even if he felt terribly selfish thinking this: Petra would understand, she always did.

-🦇-

5 missed calls.

Petra had called Dick 5 times during the night. One after the other. At 3:36 a.m.

He only noticed when he returned to the locker room to change clothes. The phone had been left on the bench, the screen lighting up the darkness with those notifications that made his stomach drop.

Dick put on his normal clothes as quickly as a speedster would. His hands were sweaty, trembling as he held the phone.

What could Petra want at this hour? Dick thought. She was always very strict about going to bed by midnight at the latest. And why five calls?! Was it really that urgent at this hour?!

Dick passed by the other Bat-family members, quickly going up the stairs to Petra’s room.

His heart seemed to beat faster with every step. With each step, he felt even further from Petra. The corridor seemed to stretch infinitely, making the destination seem as far as possible.

The possibilities multiplied in his head: had she gotten sick? Was she angry with them? — Stop being stupid, Dick, of course she was angry. Maybe she wanted to know why they hadn’t come to the dinner.

Dick’s throat was dry. Whatever the reason, he was worried.

He paused for a moment at the sight of the baby blue "P" hanging on her door. He knocked loudly so she would wake up.

Nothing.

He knocked again, harder.

Nothing.

"Petra!" he called, knocking again.

Nothing.

Tired of waiting, Dick forced the doorknob down. He hoped it would be a failed effort, since her room was always locked. But the door opened with a slight push, revealing a completely ... empty room.

The bed was untouched. It didn’t look like anyone had been near it. Dick’s breath caught. He looked around the room for any sign of her.

But the only trace was a post-it stuck to her dresser mirror.

He ripped the paper off in a quick motion. Reading the message written there:

"I had to leave

I’m sorry

- with all my love, Petra"

But among these phrases, there was a section scribbled over aggressively, almost piercing the paper. Lines drawn over the letters, trying to erase what had already been written. Dick squinted, trying to decipher what was underneath the scribble.

"I promise I’ll be fine. I’ll be back soon"

Dick’s blood froze, leaving his face pale. The ground seemed to collapse beneath him. He seemed to float as he stared at the note. His gaze went over the lines repeatedly, as if the phrases could explain themselves.

Why scribble "I’llbe fine"?She wouldn’t be fine? She wouldn’t come back? The very thought of something bad having happened to her made Dick’s stomach sink.

Cold sweat ran down his forehead. The pain in his chest grew.

Dick took a deep breath. He had to calm down and think clearly. He ran his trembling hand through his hair. He had to alert his brothers. They would help solve this situation.

He ran back to the cave with his heart in his hands. He went straight to the medbay looking for Duke, the last one who had been with her.

The boy was with Tim, bandaging his arm. Dick cleared his throat to get his attention. The yellow-eyed boy looked up at him without much interest.

"Duke, do you know where Petra is?" Dick asked directly.

Duke raised an eyebrow. "She should be in her room, why are you asking?"

"Because she’s not there."

"What?!" Duke yelled, eyes wide, letting go of Tim’s arm.

Bruce approached from behind them like a shadow. Still in his Batman suit, but with the cowl lowered.

There were only four of them in the cave. Damian, Cass, Steph, and Alfred had gone upstairs to eat something. Jason had gone straight home after the mission.

"Explain, Dick," Bruce said sharply.

"I went to see her when I got back. I only found this." Dick held out the post-it to Bruce, but Tim was faster, snatching the paper from Dick like a wild animal.

His mouth moved silently as he read the words quickly. His eyebrows furrowed as soon as he finished reading.

"What the hell did she mean by this?" Tim said, his voice higher than normal.

"Let me see," Duke said, already grabbing the note.

"It’s not just that," Dick showed the phone screen to Bruce, the five missed calls glaring. "Look at this."

Bruce’s expression darkened. A line of concern appeared on his forehead. His jaw tightened.

"Duke, did something happen that we need to know?" Bruce asked categorically, assuming his investigative Batman persona.

Duke bit his lip and turned his head, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

"I kinda—She started—No I mean… Argh!" Duke fumbled with his words. He touched the tip of his nose, his gaze meeting Dick’s for a brief moment before looking away. But it was enough for Dick to see the guilt in his eyes, a weight he had rarely seen on Duke.

"Duke," Tim said to get his attention, his tone sharp.

"She was sad. Like really sad. Cried a lot. But didn’t say anything at all." Duke ran his hand over his face. "She said she was going to sleep. I didn’t think she would leave the house."

The boy didn’t look directly at any of them while speaking. Dick didn’t like it, as what Duke said didn’t seem like the full truth. But they didn’t have time now; the priority was finding Petra and understanding what had happened.

"I’ll check the cameras," Tim stood determined.

"I’ll call the others," Duke said, heading toward the stairs. But Bruce’s firm hand stopped him.

"Not yet. We should wait for more information before considering this an emergency," Bruce argued.

It wasn’t what Bruce said that scared Dick, but the coldness in his voice, the tone that didn’t seem like he was speaking about his own daughter. Bruce had this habit of being rational in tense moments, but the lack of emotion boiled Dick’s blood. He clenched his fists.

"Five consecutive calls at three in the morning and a highly suspicious note. Isn’t that concerning enough?" Dick said through clenched teeth.

Bruce sighed, not wanting Dick to freak out. "I’m just saying we can’t dismiss the possibility that it’s nothing—"

"Nothing?!" Dick shouted. How could he say it was nothing when everything pointed to something bad having happened?

"Teenagers do this, Dick. They leave home upset without telling anyone. You’ve done it many times yourself, I’ve lost count," Bruce reasoned.

"But Petra doesn’t do this. Never has," Dick countered.

"That’s why there’s a first time for everything," Bruce said firmly, not backing down.

They stared at each other, eyes sharp. The tension was palpable. Only to be cut by Duke like a blade. He was no longer beside them but stood with Tim in front of the Batcomputer.

"You can stop being idiots and come see this," his tone was low and irritated, almost growling.

Dick practically materialized beside them, looking at the Batcomputer screen. Bruce appeared right after.

"You better see for yourselves," Tim said cautiously.

The images showed Petra running hurriedly through the mansion grounds. Running not only fast, but as if her life depended on it. She went from the mansion door to the gate in seconds.

Dick narrowed his eyes. Why was she in such a hurry?

She stopped in front of the iron gate, seeming hesitant. And against what everyone thought she would do—she didn’t open the gate—Petra simply jumped over it! She climbed the iron bars and leaped to the other side, landing face down on the ground. She got up looking dizzy but immediately ran off.

Dick was shocked. His jaw literally dropped, forming an "O".

"And you think this is strange? Look at this," Tim pointed to the screen as the camera angle changed.

Now the view was further down the street. Dick expected the footage to show Petra still running. But somehow, it was even more concerning. The camera showed nothing. Dick leaned closer as if that would make her appear.

"She seems to evaporate! I’ve already checked the cameras around the area. She only appears on the mansion cameras. Only there," Tim said in disbelief.

Dick wanted to argue with Bruce and rub it in that it was nothing, but the hollow pain in his heart was stronger. Because that was the final verdict, like a hammer in a courtroom. Petra had disappeared.

-🦇-

The whole family spent the entire day searching for her tirelessly. Checking every corner of cold Gotham.

Dick didn’t care if it rained almost all day. He kept going relentlessly, hunting for his sister like a predator. Cass didn’t fall behind. She was just as fierce as Dick, determined to bring her sister home as quickly as possible.

Night came with no sign of Petra. His heart was tight, almost like a physical pain. The guilt weighed on his chest. He didn’t want to imagine what could have happened to her. But still, the worst possible scenarios ran through his mind.

They all reunited in the cave at night to review what they had found. Which was … nothing. Dick was frustrated, but it was expected. They had no leads, no footage, no idea where she could have gone.

The silence was deafening. No one spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I found it," Barbara informed, as surprised and relieved as everyone in the room, the sound of her keyboard echoing through the speakers. "I’m sending the location."

"I’m on my way," Dick said, running to the car.

The first thing he saw through the convenience store windows as he arrived was her. Not a second passed before he burst through the door. His stomach churned seeing her state.

Uneven breathing. Soaked clothes. Hair disheveled. Makeup smudged all over her face.

Dick expected her to throw herself into his arms, crying and apologizing for running away.

But he received eyes filled with fear directed at him. She stepped back a few steps, as if she had just seen the scariest thing. She raised trembling fists toward Dick. Not just a defensive gesture, but of a survivor. Whatever had happened affected her.

The cold wind of the store hit their wet clothes, sending a shiver down his body.

"Petra…" Dick began, but a groan of pain caught his attention from an old man leaning over the counter. The scene being painted wasn’t pretty.

He placed both hands firmly on her shoulders. "Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?" he asked, voice trembling.

Petra didn’t respond. Her eyes had no recognition, making Dick’s heart twist into a knot.

"Let’s go, okay? I’ll take you home," he spoke softly. Using a tone he usually used with victims, and had wished all his life never to use with Petra.

Dick intertwined his hand with hers. She didn’t resist, but didn’t hold back. The older one guided her to the car with caution and care.

Petra seemed like a ghost, with no reaction. Dick felt as if he were carrying something weightless, as light as a feather. Just following wherever he led her.

Dick placed her in the passenger seat and got in the driver’s side. He didn’t start the car immediately. He kept staring at Petra with worry, hoping she would say something.

"Nothing to say?" Dick asked without harshness, just carefully. Desperate to know what had happened.

"What should I say?" Petra answered without taking her eyes off the car window. Dick couldn’t help but feel relieved to finally hear her voice, though her tone seemed … lost. Everything about her seemed lost, actually.

"Where were you?"

Petra didn’t look again. Dick grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him, even as she kept her head turned aside.

"Petra, look at me," he begged, voice breaking. He just needed to see her eyes.

They finally came face to face. Dick observed Petra’s clouded pupils, even her iris seemed to lose color. The pain in Dick’s heart felt physical, as if someone were crushing it and making it bleed.

Dick hugged her gently, wrapping his protective arms around her shoulders. She didn’t return it, but Dick didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was safe.

He pulled away just a little, running his thumb over the streaks left by long-dried tears, trying to wipe her face.

Finally, he let go of the reluctant embrace. Petra seemed calmer, just a little, almost imperceptible. That made Dick feel more at ease.

Dick started the car. They would be fine. Things were going to get back to normal. He hoped.

Back to today

After apprehending Firefly, Dick returned alone to the fire scene. He found it strange, as Cass had been with him during the fight. Usually, she would check on the injured whenever such attacks occurred, but that night she went straight back to the cave.

It took Dick years to understand Cass. Even today, it was a challenge to figure her out. But it was in these small changes in habits that he realized something was happening. Dick thought it might have been because of Petra’s birthday. He would talk to Cass later.

"Hey, Spoiler," Dick called.

Her posture was tense. Dick feared something bad had happened.

"Hi!" Steph’s voice tried to sound calm. "So… um… I—"

"If something happened, you have to tell me," he said.

"Look," her shoulders fell. "There was kind of a child on the second floor. And I didn’t know."

Dick’s heart sank, already imagining what had happened.

"Spoiler… Did—"

"No!" Spoiler was quick to interrupt him. "She’s fine. What I mean is… it’s complicated."

"Just tell me, Spoiler."

"It wasn’t me who saved the girl," she blurted.

Dick frowned. That didn’t make sense.

"I want a full report on everything that happened," he demanded firmly.

"The girl’s name is Julia. She inhaled a lot of smoke, but is already receiving oxygen. Her mother arrived a few minutes ago. The problem is she seemed to be alone in the ambulance; the paramedics said no one was with her," Steph explained, stumbling over her words.

"Any chance she went down alone?" Dick speculated.

"The fire escape broke before she could go down, and the entrance had long been taken by flames," she argued.

"Didn’t she say anything?" Dick asked. Children weren’t very good at lying.

"She keeps saying I saved her, but it wasn’t me," Dick clearly heard the weight in Steph’s words. The guilt of not saving someone, even though she was fine now.

Dick felt bad for his sister, but the priority now was figuring out what had happened.

He raised his hand to the communicator to speak to Barbara. He told her what had happened.

"So, you can work your magic with the computer and check the cameras?" Dick tried to make a joke to ease the tension. All of them were natural detectives. The same assumption—which wasn’t good at all—was definitely running through their minds.

"Of course, wonder boy, that’s my job," Barbara replied.

Dick heard Babs’ fingers flying over the keys at a rapid pace.

"Nightwing, we have a problem," Barbara spoke apprehensively in his earpiece.

Dick remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"The security camera footage was deleted. I can’t access it at all. It stops before the stairs collapsed and only resumes after the girl is already in the ambulance," Barbara said, her voice uncertain, as if she didn’t understand it either.

Dick and Steph exchanged glances. This was strange. Too strange.

The following night, after the patrol

Jason was the last to arrive, while all the other Bat-family members were already gathered in the cave. Except for Duke, who was in pajamas; the others were still in their suits.

The tension in the room was the same as always. For Bruce to call a meeting and gather all of Gotham’s vigilantes—including Jason—they knew something bad, or at least alarming, must have happened. But this had become so routine that they didn’t even bother worrying before receiving the news.

Bruce hovered in front of the Batcomputer, drawing everyone’s attention and interrupting the conversation between Cass and Steph.

"Oracle, show the images," Bruce commanded.

The images drew a shocked gasp from Steph and managed to chase away the sleepiness from poor Duke.

The first photo was the most blurry and shaky. A slender figure, in blue and red, swung from the buildings with a kind of white rope. But instead of holding a grappling hook, the figure only had the white cord in hand.

The second image was clearer. It was still impossible to tell if it was a boy or a girl, but it was definitely a teenager. Maybe even younger than Tim and the others. They were balanced expertly on top of a pole. A spider was drawn on their back and on the front of the hoodie.

"Is this what I think it is?" Steph asked.

"This… definitely wasn’t what I expected for today," Duke commented, representing all of them.

"A new vigilante. Interesting. As long as they don’t put themselves in danger," Dick said, genuinely concerned for this possible new hero’s well-being.

Jason scoffed.

"Obviously they’re in danger. Patrolling in Gotham is just asking for trouble."

"I have one more thing," Barbara informed, typing rapidly and opening a video on the screen.

The recording was a direct continuation of the previous footage, only from another angle. The new vigilante jumped from the pole, landing in front of a robbery. Two men were stealing from a woman. But the hero was faster, stopping the thieves against the wall with webs (?) and agile—Dick dared say experienced—movements.

"A meta?" Cass finally spoke.

"Not necessarily. Just because they’re a spider-themed furry doesn’t mean they have spider powers. Look at Bruce; he doesn’t have bat powers," Steph joked with a little laugh.

"I agree," Tim laughed. "But seriously, whatever these ‘webs’ are," he made quotation marks with his hands, "they could be technology, not necessarily natural."

Bruce cleared his throat, silencing everyone.

"Meta or not, they could still be a threat. Be careful. Don’t patrol alone. Stay alert. Any information obtained must be passed on to me," Bruce said, looking at each of them with intensity. "Understood?"

Chapter Text

Peter had been Spider-Man for a month now. And he still couldn’t believe how good it felt. The burning exhaustion in his muscles, the bruises, the cuts and scrapes. People might think he was insane — and he was going a little crazy, but that’s beside the point — for liking those sensations, but they were so familiar. It was something he had grown so used to that it felt like home.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was still in New York. In a cramped apartment, with Aunt May asleep in the room next door. The thought made his heart warm and ache with homesickness at the same time.

The spider was relaxing on Petra’s huge bed after an intense patrol. Not only had he stopped a robbery, but he had also been chased by Gotham’s vigilantes. He sighed, sinking deeper into the sheets, remembering the night.

'Peter was running at full speed over the rooftops of Gotham. Alternating between sprinting across buildings and swinging through the air with his webs, intent on losing Nightwing. The classic cloudy sky was the backdrop for the chase.

Peter had become much faster and more agile since he arrived in this universe. He sliced through the air like butter. The boy was far ahead of Nightwing — but the bird-themed vigilante didn’t seem ready to give up. Peter could hear his heartbeat and his footsteps across the rooftops, telling him he was still being followed.

This was getting boring. Not tiring — Peter could go for hours without breaking a sweat — he just didn’t want to. He became Spider-Man again to save people, not to play cat and mouse.

And it wasn’t the first time Peter had been chased by one of the bats. He had tried talking to them but quickly learned they didn’t listen much. Now, the boy spent his nights dividing time between fighting crime and fooling vigilantes.

Peter stopped on a rooftop — this hunt was ending tonight. He turned toward the direction Nightwing was coming from, waiting.

He arrived moments later, landing in front of the spider, only slightly out of breath. Peter was impressed, he wouldn’t lie. Considering that an ordinary guy — well, not that ordinary, since Nightwing was anything but normal, lets say without powers — had just kept up with him.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Peter said sarcastically. “Thought you’d give up after the first block.”

His voice sounded masculine. A spark of belonging ignited inside him. Peter had built a voice modulator after his first night as Spider-Man — using parts from an old radio. It wasn’t professional. Static hissed at the end of each sentence, and the tone was clearly robotic. And it wasn’t exactly like his old voice.

But it was good enough for him. Anything that didn’t sound soft and feminine was good enough.

“What can I say? Persistence is one of my heroic qualities,” Nightwing said with a shrug.

“So chasing people is heroic now?” Peter asked, crossing his arms.

Nightwing scratched the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say chasing. More like harmless investigation.”

“You’ve been following me for half an hour,” Peter shot back.

“I wouldn’t be following you if you hadn’t run off first,” the older vigilante argued.

Peter growled in frustration. “Whatever. Just stop it and leave me alone.”

The spider turned around, irritated, ready to leave.

“Hey, wait! I just want to talk!” Nightwing reached for his shoulder, but Peter moved faster, stepping aside as if the touch would burn.

“Be. Quick.” His reply was cold, the metallic voice from the modulator echoing slightly. He tilted his head to the side to look at him. The city lights reflected on the white lenses of his mask.

“This job is dangerous, kid. More than you think, I can promise you that. And I guarantee you’ll get hurt. Go home. The streets aren’t a place for you.”

Nightwing’s tone was that of someone experienced, a soldier who had seen war. And Peter didn’t doubt he was one — he could recognize someone with the same kind of pain. But Nightwing didn’t seem to have that same ability.

“I’m not going home, and I don’t need your concern,” Peter snapped immediately.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, kid. But it’s not worth risking yourself for nothing — especially alone.”

“I do this to save people, same as you. And don’t you dare think you know anything about me. I know exactly what I’m doing and I know the risks better than anyone. And by the way, I’m perfectly fine on my own. So, want a tip? Stay out of my way.”

The words came out sharp, full of venom. Peter hoped the message was clear but left before seeing Nightwing’s reaction. He jumped off the building, shooting a web into the air.

Nightwing didn’t follow him.'

The memory soured Peter’s mood. Though sleep was already calling him, and he let it take him into the warm darkness of unconsciousness.

-🕷-

Peter woke reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to go to school. He didn’t even bother fixing his hair (like every morning), leaving it wild and messy. Tying it up every night and swinging through the air didn’t help its appearance.

He spent his usual five minutes staring at the uniform skirt, wondering if he could rip it, burn it, and throw it into hell. The anxiety and discomfort grew in the pit of his stomach. But he put it on anyway.

Peter didn’t pay attention to anything that day. He slept through most of the classes and did a few extremely complex — and completely unnecessary — calculations just to pass the time.

The smell of food reached his nose a few minutes before the bell rang. Gotham Prep’s cuisine was worthy of a fancy restaurant — mini mushroom risottos, pasta with pesto sauce, and other expensive dishes Peter couldn’t even name, all free for students. He didn’t see the need for such luxury at a school; it was just rich-people vanity. But he wasn’t going to complain, the food was heavenly.

The delicious aroma made his stomach growl involuntarily. He grabbed a tray and joined the line, putting a little of everything that smelled good on his plate.

Once satisfied, Peter walked to a table, one far from the others, in a corner of the cafeteria. He sat alone and ate quietly, savoring every bite.

There was no one to sit with him. No one talked to him except the Waynes. No one texted him or asked to work together on school projects. He guessed a girl like Petra would’ve been surrounded by friends and boys. He wasn’t sure why he thought that, but let’s be honest, she was beautiful (no matter how much Peter hated this body, that was undeniable), she was smart, and most importantly: rich and technically famous.

Actually, not technically — Petra was famous. Come on, she was the daughter of Gotham’s richest and most public figure. Peter assumed people would at least try to get close to take advantage of her wealth. Petra had everything to be the cliché rich, naïve girl everyone used or the mean popular girl from movies — and with her distant family, the whole script was ready.

Peter chuckled at his own joke.

Then, suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Being watched.

The laugh died halfway, and Peter looked up, scanning the room for whoever was watching him.

His eyes met Duke’s, narrowed, brow furrowed. The golden-eyed boy stared at Peter intensely, like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. But the second he noticed Peter looking back, he quickly looked away, pretending nothing had happened.

Peter’s vision blurred for a moment. A sharp pain struck his head, as if someone had hit him, forcing him to press a hand against his temple.

He frowned. But ignored it. Like most things that had been happening lately.

-🕷-

Finally, the best and most anticipated part of the day had come: patrol time!

Peter put on his suit, made from Petra’s wardrobe. It took him a while to find something he liked, since most of it consisted of dresses and impractical feminine clothes. But with a bit of improvisation, he managed to create the perfect outfit.

He wore a navy-blue hoodie, at least two or three sizes too big. Peter loved it the moment he tried it on — mainly because it was loose enough not to show any curves and long enough to cover his butt.

Together with the mask and the voice modulator, there was no way anyone could tell he wasn’t a guy.

He also wore leggings in a more saturated shade of blue. Unfortunately, they clung too well to his thighs, but they were the best option for leaping around the city (and the colors matched, of course).

Using fabric paints he’d found along with sewing supplies in Petra’s room — that girl had a lot of stuff — he painted black web patterns on the mask and gloves and drew a red spider symbol on the hoodie’s front and back.

The red mask covered only his face instead of his entire head, since his hair wouldn’t fit inside. So, Peter used the hoodie to hide his curls.

He tied his hair in a messy, loose bun (give him credit, it wasn’t as easy as it looks) and pulled up the hood. He couldn't forget to tie the laces of his red All Stars before heading toward the city.

As he swung through the buildings, Peter couldn’t help but admire the bright moon overhead. Big and imposing in the sky, shining alongside the stars across Gotham.

He landed on a rooftop to take in the view. He hadn’t seen the moon once since arriving here. The sight filled his chest with a good feeling, something told him tonight would be... different.

“Hey, Karen? What’s on the schedule for tonight?” he asked, eager for the patrol.

Before he could get an answer, screams echoed in the distance, followed by a loud crash. He didn’t think twice before heading toward the sound.

The commotion came from a giant lizard rampaging through the street. Killer Croc, Peter recognized immediately. The criminal was attacking people without a specific target, hurling cars around hoping to hit someone.

Peter hadn’t fought any of Gotham’s big villains directly yet. Sure, he had taken down plenty of henchmen, since saving civilians was always his top priority, but he usually left the major threats to the bats. It had also been a while since he’d faced someone with physical power close to his own — though he suspected the crocodile was much stronger.

The villain prepared to throw a car at a group of young people cornered against a wall. Their faces were frozen in fear and horror, one boy stepping forward to shield the others.

The car flew through the air, and Peter shot webs, catching it midflight and redirecting it to a spot clear of pedestrians.

“Hey! Trying to get the attention of a vigilante? ’Cause I think you just did,” Peter called out, teasing.

Killer Croc turned toward him, eyes sharp, and roared in fury. He grabbed another car and hurled it at Peter. But the spider was faster, dodging each projectile.

“Throwing things at people is how you deal with your issues?” Peter leaped aside from another attack. “Ever tried therapy?”

Between a trash can and a motorcycle thrown at him, Peter saw the chance to web one of the crocodile’s arms.

Good job, Parker. Still got it, he thought to himself.

Killer Croc didn’t like that — he charged forward with brute force. His footsteps made the ground shake, his heavy tail dragging behind him.

The villain swung a fist at the spot Peter had just vacated, shattering the asphalt beneath. Pebbles scattered through the air.

Peter was getting winded, but he wasn’t backing down now. He aimed his right arm, ready to web Croc’s face, targeting those reptilian eyes.

He didn’t even register the movement before Croc grabbed his extended arm and lifted him up to face level.

Panic surged through Peter. His heart pounded wildly as the scaly monster held him like a rag doll.

He writhed in the crushing grip, desperate to break free. His feet didn’t touch the ground, and his kicks barely reached Croc. He punched the creature’s slick arm with all his strength — nothing.

Killer Croc squeezed tighter, and Peter heard the sickening crack of bone. A scream tore from his throat.

The crocodile didn’t stop.

“A bug like you should learn who not to mess with,” he growled, his voice rough and monstrous. The stench of sewage and decay hit Peter’s nose, a warning of what was coming.

Croc opened his mouth wide, revealing all his teeth, tongue, and throat, and lunged at Peter.

Adrenaline finally kicked his brain into motion. Peter fired a web straight into the villain’s open maw.

Croc dropped him instantly, clutching at his mouth, dazed.

Peter hit the asphalt hard, landing on his injured arm, sending waves of agony through his body. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, fighting through the pain.

He fired webs wildly, without much thought, his only goal was to wrap the crocodile up in layers of sticky silk.

The webs clung to Croc’s scaly skin, binding arms and legs. The monster roared, the sound echoing through the street, and tore through the webbing with brute strength, strands hanging from his limbs.

He charged again. Peter saw no choice but to leap atop a nearby lamppost.

“Coward! Come down and fight like a man!” Croc roared.

You want me down? Fine. Peter thought.

He launched himself off the post, flipping midair, and kicked Croc square in the jaw. A hollow crack echoed from the hit. The reptile staggered backward.

Peter seized the chance — jumped onto a car and delivered one final punch with all his strength. The blow landed perfectly, sending the villain crashing to the ground, unconscious. The asphalt splintered beneath him.

Peter shot a few more webs over the reptile, just to be sure.

“I’m alerting the authorities,” Karen informed him.

He should leave before the bats, the police, or anyone else arrived.

He fired a web upward with his good arm, swinging away only with it. Pain shot through his right one, every movement sending sharp shocks. As the adrenaline wore off, his muscles screamed in protest.

Peter was exhausted. All he wanted was to crash into bed and sleep. He’d have to come up with a decent excuse for this broken arm — bruises he could hide from the Waynes, but a fracture was too much. If his healing factor worked properly, the bone would mend in a week or two.

As he swung, a deafening buzz filled his ears out of nowhere. The same pounding headache from lunch slammed into his skull. He didn’t know what it was. What was happening.

He kept going. But the pain was relentless. His breathing grew shallow and uneven. Each swing took less strength than the last. He began hearing faint whispers, carried by the wind, coming from nowhere.

“Let me free.”

“Get me out.”

Sharp claws began scratching frantically at his chest from the inside.

Peter couldn’t take it anymore. He landed on a mid-height building. All his senses were overloaded. The ringing in his ears grew louder, drowning out everything else.

“Let me out.”

“LET ME OUT!”

The voice grew louder. Peter stumbled backward, overwhelmed, until he felt the edge of the rooftop beneath his heels.

The pain in his chest intensified. It felt like his skin was being torn apart — like something inside was trying to escape.

His spider-sense was useless, screaming warnings of both the height and the danger within. Overstimulated and panicking, Peter could barely think.

Danger! High! Danger! Inside!

A scream — sharp, full of pain, agony, and sorrow — echoed in his ears. And he fell backward.

It was like someone flipped a switch. All energy drained from his body. He didn’t even think to shoot a web.

The fall felt like slow motion. Silence settled over everything. He only felt the air rushing past him and the starry sky growing farther away.

The spider hit the ground with a dull thud. His mind was too clouded to move.

Peter’s vision was blurry; he could barely see anything.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glowing blue figure, shimmering under the moonlight. Its silhouette was humanoid. And strangely familiar.

Its steps were silent as it approached — not making a sound. Like a ghost.

“Who are you?” Peter asked weakly, his voice barely a whisper.

The figure kept staring at him, studying him.

The voice that came was low, yet full of anger — and very familiar. 

“I’m the owner of this body.”

Chapter Text

While we watched the struggles of the young Peter Parker in this new universe, the princess of Gotham was surrounded by pain and agony, begging for salvation.

In a place where no one could hear her screams.

Trapped in the hardest tower to escape: her own body and mind.

Will she ever be able to escape?

Petra Grayson

Petra never thought this would happen.

Never thought she would be where she was.

Never thought her whole life would be taken of her hands.

And in the blink of an eye, she was no longer at rock bottom.

She was below it.

In the first few minutes, she could only think of one thing:

Did I die?

Petra felt like she was in limbo.

She couldn’t feel her body. Not a single muscle. It was inexplicable. She couldn’t feel the fabric of her clothes. The curls on her head. Or even her breathing.

The worst part: Petra could hear. Heartbeats. The light breathing of someone, as if they were asleep. And the all too familiar sound of Gotham, gunshots and screams in the wind — which somehow managed to sound even more chaotic and sharp.

But she couldn’t see.

Is that what death is like? she thought to herself.

It didn’t make sense. Petra had never died before, but she had a faint (read: very strong) certainty that it shouldn’t be like this.

Anyone in her situation would’ve lost it by now. But she decided to wait.

For what, you might ask.

Well, maybe for some divine explanation from the heavens, maybe they’d just forgotten to take her soul or something.

It was hard for Petra to accept that she had died.

It was devastating. But she was not ready.

Petra kept waiting — patiently, too patiently for the situation she was in. Until the minutes turned into hours — at least she hoped they were only hours, because she had long lost track of time — and patience turned into agony.

The anguish of being so powerless enveloped Petra. Everything was so wrong and she couldn’t do anything! This didn’t seem like a spiritual problem, but Petra just didn’t want to believe this was the end.

She wanted to cry.

Suddenly, like a light at the end of the tunnel, Petra opened her eyes.

But it wasn’t really her. It felt like another force had done it. Someone else.

It was as if a window had been opened to the outside world. She saw her body move, speak, walk — and Petra even heard another person’s voice in her ear.

For a moment, her mind stopped working.

She watched her body wander aimlessly through streets she had never seen before. In the rain, and she didn’t feel cold. Not the drops on her skin. Not the wind brushing against her wet clothes.

Petra also saw “her” have a breakdown. It was an ugly cry, with shaking and sharp sobs. A mirror of what she was feeling, though they weren’t her tears.

When Dick arrived, Petra imagined her salvation had come, like a prince on a white horse. She wanted to run to him, hug him, cry on his shoulder, and beg him to take her home. But her body didn’t respond, doing the opposite instead. Stepping backward.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” she screamed in anguish inside her own mind.

No sound came out.

“Please, Dick... help me,” Petra whimpered in despair.

Her brother didn’t hear her.

No one heard her.

The realization hit harder than the idea of death itself.

Petra was trapped. In her own body.

Unable to move.

Unable to speak.

She had a mouth, but she couldn’t scream.

A dark knot formed in her throat. And it didn’t fade for days to come.

She tried desperately to ask her siblings for help every day.

Eventually, she gave up.

The days were dark and morbid. The same faces that couldn’t see her existence, that couldn’t hear her pleas. She had no voice, no speech, no power of choice.

At night, when her body slept, Petra saw herself living memories. That weren’t hers.

Most of them portrayed a brown-haired woman. She’d find her, most of the time, happily cooking in a small kitchen, or chatting about silly things with Petra. She seemed like a mother her mom always caring and worried about “Petra,” even though the girl believed all that affection wasn’t meant for her. It never was.

Some were of an arrogant but affectionate man. Always tinkering with extremely advanced technology — Petra had never seen tech like that, not even in her few visits to Wayne Industries. Their conversations were about things she was nowhere near understanding. In these memories, Petra felt warmth in her chest, a sense of belonging, of being seen for what she knew how to do — and the man was proud of that.

And the rest had as their main attraction a girl — who strangely reminded her of someone — with not-so-tidy curls falling over her shoulders. Though she looked disheveled, she was incredibly attractive, or at least Petra felt so. Accompanying her, a nerdy Asian boy.

Counting how many nightmares she’d had, Petra could say sixteen days had passed since she’d been trapped.

Petra felt like she was watching a movie — with no control over the protagonist.

But here’s the thing...

She was the protagonist.

She should be making the decisions.

She should have control over things.

After all, it was her life.

Not whoever was in her place.

The melancholy in her heart didn’t take long to mix with injustice and her craving for control, turning into hatred.

For everything and everyone.

But mostly...

...for whoever had possession of her body now.

Petra called them “ possessor .” It was better than not having a name to think of in her head. And well, that’s what they were. Someone who had taken her life as their own.

And to make it worse, they weren’t even doing it right. What they were actually doing was ruining the image she had worked so hard to build.

Everything Petra had taken years to construct, brick by brick, now seemed to crumble in the wind.

Every morning she woke up early to fill her face with makeup and make her hair look as perfect as possible. Every smile against her will. Every rehearsed laugh made to seem real.

All in vain. 

All in vain because that little piece of crap who had possessed her body only knew how to cry, complain, and run to some “Karen” whenever a problem came up!

Oh right, there was also Karen. Petra had no idea where this woman’s voice came from, what she was, or anything about her. The possessor was always asking her questions, and the woman would answer in their ear.

The questions the possessor asked were idiotic, always about things everyone should already know.

“Karen, can you explain vigilantes in Gotham to me?” they asked without enthusiasm.

The woman began reciting an encyclopedia of things Petra — and half the world — already knew. The possessor didn’t interrupt, listening attentively until reaching a specific part.

“...Vigilantes like Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin are active members of the Justice League and—” she was interrupted.

“What is the Justice League?” they asked, confused. Like, actually confused. As if “Justice League” was something that didn’t exist.

They are dumb or something? Petra thought to herself. Maybe they’re from prehistory or something.

Petra thought a lot about who the possessor was. And one of her guesses was that they were a ghost.

She knew, crazy, but just the fact that she was trapped in her own body was crazy enough to make that possible. And it’s not like Petra didn’t believe in ghosts.

Well, Petra imagined that as soon as she died, the possessor (who would be a spirit) had entered her dead body. And by doing so, had prevented her soul from moving on to the other side.

That theory opened up several questions in Petra’s mind.

Who was this person in life?

Why me?

Of all the people who die every minute, did it really have to be me?

A tiny bit of fear lingered in her mind. What if she was thinking about it the wrong way? What if Petra was actually getting further and further from the answer?

Petra didn’t know anything for sure. But it was good to have something to hold on to. To pretend it was true.

The only thing she thought might be close to the truth was that the possessor was a boy.

Over time, Petra noticed a pattern. Both the woman in their ear and the people in their dreams always said “ Peter .”

And since she was seeing the possessor hate her body, it made sense.

And the possessor didn’t seem to understand how a woman’s body worked. Constantly asking Karen basic questions or seeming startled by the reflection in the mirror, as if it showed a lie.

He would hyperventilate whenever he needed to undress. Petra had seen him cry several times while showering — when he even bothered to.

Petra tried to feel pity. She swears she tried. But she couldn’t. The burning stone of anger in her chest wouldn’t allow her to feel any other emotion, especially toward the possessor.

She wanted him to suffer. To pay for what he had done to her.

In the end, she didn’t care about that ghost. Above all, Petra wanted to regain control.

Her only hope came on an ordinary day.

Karen had suggested that the possessor finish doing the hair to better disguise himself as Petra.

Her mood — which already barely existed — soured considerably. She didn’t like people touching her hair.

Don’t use that one! Petra tried to warn, but it didn’t work. Again.

Among all the wonderful, expensive creams she owned, the possessor used a terrible hair cream — it was so old that it was probably expired from how long it had been sitting there.

That’s what irritated Petra the most. How he tried to pretend to be her. To steal her life. And he didn’t even do it right. His smile wasn’t as bright. He didn’t wear makeup. His posture was too sloppy. His hair was so messy it could easily be mistaken for a lion’s mane.

She hoped her family wouldn’t notice, or that they’d attribute her strange behavior to being angry with them — oh, she was boiling with anger, though.

Seriously, showing up for her birthday was the only thing she’d asked for in years. Was it too much to ask that they be there?

Maybe she would’ve tried to understand their side under other circumstances — as she always did. But her mind was too clouded to be understanding or coherent.

When Cass called “her” to study in the library, Petra wanted to refuse just to get back at her. She knew very well she’d do anything to hang out with her sister again, and under other circumstances, she would’ve been jumping for joy at the invitation.

Her possessor seemed to agree with her, refusing the offer.

But Cass seemed to want to play dirty.

Just wanna hang out with you. It’s been a while since we did that. She communicated calmly but insistently.

Now that I’m trapped with no control over my actions you want to hang out? First of all, we never did because of you and—

“Okay. After class?” the possessor gave in.

Wait, you said yes?! Dude, I thought we were agreeing with each other and then you go and pull this crap! Argh! Petra screamed furiously at the possessor, even if it was in vain.

She wished she could simply not be there.

Of all her siblings, Cass was the one she was most upset with. And she didn’t need to elaborate.

In the library, Petra listened intently to the ticking of the clock, counting the seconds until they could leave.

The library was quiet and still. Few people around.

Cass caught the possessor’s attention with a hand movement.

“What happened?” the girl asked, concern stamped on her face.

Petra knew that expression. Cass’s eyebrows would furrow so lightly that it took Petra years of knowing her to even notice it. Her eyes just a bit wider, as if that helped her see people. She was clearly worried. Or suspicious.

Could it be… she finally noticed? That the person in front of her wasn’t her sister but an impostor?

“What do you mean?” her body asked, voice trembling. Maybe thinking the same thing as Petra.

You’ve been acting weird lately, Cass signed. She looked away as if unsure of what she was saying.

Who cares if she’s not sure? She noticed. She noticed. She noticed. She noticed.

“I’m normal,” the possessor retorted, and Petra could hear the slight tremor in their voice.

No. I know you. You’re not like this, Cass reaffirmed.

She kept staring, but the possessor didn’t respond. The air between them grew noticeably tense.

And for the first time in many days, Petra felt hope. It was like a beam of light in the middle of darkness. The reassurance that the sun always returns after the storm.

Her sister noticed. Of course she would. Cass always noticed. Petra had been so foolish to feel so hopeless. Her siblings would find a way.

I just want to know what’s going on. You can talk to me. Cass communicated softly. A kind offer.

Petra waited for her to say more, but the girl seemed to drop the subject.

Wait, that’s it? Petra thought.

The clouds seemed to come back and block out the sun.

You’re not going to insist?

Petra’s blood felt like it was boiling. Whatever lucidity she’d had left vanished in that instant.

Why give me hope if you’re not going to do anything?

Why pretend you care?

She always did that. Always. Always. Always.

And I always believe it.

I hate it. I hate how she keeps pretending to care.

“You’re just going to keep pretending you care?” she blurted out, venom dripping from her harsh and cruel tone.

All of Petra’s thoughts stopped. In that moment, she could feel again. Feel the air filling her lungs completely. Feel her heart pounding fast, pumping blood through her veins. Feel the fabric of the uniform against her skin. She felt alive.

Sensations so common that everyone takes them for granted — but for Petra, it was her entire world finally making sense again.

All of Petra’s thoughts froze.

Did I speak? she thought in shock.

If she had control of her body, she probably would’ve fainted upon realizing this.

A different kind of hope ignited in her chest. Like a wildfire — brutal and overwhelming.

Petra had spent so many days trapped. So many days wondering if she’d ever return home. So much time questioning if she’d spend the rest of her days there, just watching her life crumble before her eyes. So much time wondering if someone would save her.

After today, it was clear: no one was going to save her except herself.

If there was a crack, she was going to use it.

She was going to escape.

-🩵-

It had already been a month and Petra still hadn’t escaped. Funny, right?

No. She didn’t think so.

It was with sorrow in her heart that she considered she might have only imagine what had happended. As much as her soul longed for freedom in every possible way, it way clear that what had happended in the library was nothing more than an ilussion created by her mind alredy lacking lucidity.

No. Be positive. Have hope or you will never reach anything. Petra forced her thoughts to stay optimistic. Come on,Petra. Focus on other things.

In today’s dream, Petra was swinging through buildings from what she imagined to be New York, comparing them to the photos she had seen of the city. The feeling of flying through the wind in dreams and in real life was very different.

In real life, it was terrifying. Just seeing her body swinging through the air, supported only by a thin line made of school chemical products (a questionable choice of material if she could give her opinion), without being able to do anything about it, was… critical.

Petra’s life was hanging by a thread — literally — every night.

But in dreams everything was safer. More because if she fell, she wouldn’t die, than for any other reason.

The buildings she flew over were prettier, the streets more alive, and the city sounds had more joy than Gotham ever had.

Petra felt relaxed, as she hadn’t felt in a long time; it almost felt like she was floating on clouds. And she kind of was, flying over modern and bright buildings.

The feeling of freedom she felt motivated her even more to escape that prison.

She had started entering those dreams as Spider-Man from the day her possessor decided to put on a mask and play vigilante.

And gods, Petra was completely FREAKING OUT about it. She wanted to punch, hit, and shake whoever that possessor was to see if they gained some sense.

They didn’t seem to have any idea how dangerous it was to do that in Gotham — or anywhere! — but Gotham?! This city is like the crime capital! The most dangerous in America! Everyone’s afraid of this place!

You find every kind of criminal: pickpockets, bank robbers, abusers, gangs, mafias and even metas rebel here!

And we haven’t even talked about the villains! The supervillains! Because none of them could be just incompetent. They all had to have henchmen, money as fuck, and a diploma!

Seriously, this guy had to be joking! He’d be dead in the blink of an eye — and he’d take Petra with him!

And there was still Karen. At first, Petra thought she would be the voice of reason, someone who wouldn’t let the possessor do stupidly dumb things with her body. But noooooo, she and the possessor were two peas in a pod! Karen only encouraged Spider-Man recklessly.

My God, Petra didn’t even want to think about the spider powers. Honestly, that was the last straw. That would bring so many problems: Petra was now a meta, and technically also a vigilante, her family couldn’t find out, she had to hide, the—

AHHHHHHHHHHHH! Petra screamed internally in frustration.

Today. It ends today. I’m going to get out of here and put my life back on track, Petra thought determinedly, courage filling her chest like a storm.

As soon as her eyes opened, Petra didn’t stop for an instant from trying to break the barrier that trapped her. It was like a magical layer that wouldn’t let her move, no matter how tirelessly she tried.

When lunchtime came, Petra was already exhausted. Her mind was drained from so much effort.

She had interfered in the possessor’s actions a few times after the fight with Cass.

Those were emotional moments, when the pain and feelings didn’t fit inside her chest and overflowed into the physical world.

Other times, when her body was too tired from patrol, Petra could also move a little, no matter how small the actions were — a simple movement of a finger or a word that slipped from her lips.

It was little, but it was something.

Just not enough. It was never enough.

The possessor suddenly looked around, searching for something Petra didn’t know.

Their eyes met her brother’s, Duke. The same comforting honey-colored eyes Petra loved.

Duke! Petra screamed, hitting the magical barrier around her, even knowing it wouldn’t help.

That made the possessor tremble and groan softly in pain, putting a hand to his temple. If Petra could, she would’ve raised an eyebrow and given a small smile.

Don’t get her wrong — those little pains were a sign that she had some chance to escape and do something for herself. (Also, she liked seeing him suffer, just a little.)

Later at night, during patrol — Petra admired the moon alongside the possessor, standing on top of a building. It was rare for the moon to shine so beautifully and enchantingly as it did tonight.

Petra, in all her years living in Gotham, had already accepted that the moon — considered by science just a natural satellite of Earth and revered in so many cultures — was a sign. Whether good or bad.

Regardless of its purpose, it was the universe’s way of saying that day would be remarkable.

And Petra gladly accepted that message.

Still gazing at the moon in the sky, while the possessor asked Karen a question she didn’t listen to, the sound of screams echoed in the distance, catching their attention.

It didn’t take long before they were in the air again. How Petra hated that. But she couldn’t deny it was fast, they arrived at the scene in seconds.

Soon they found the giant lizard, Killer Croc, destroying the city and scaring civilians.

Petra wasn’t impressed, that was typical in Gotham. But being there, seeing it up close, feeling all the adrenaline of the moment — and her body rushing toward probable/maybe/possible death — made fear take over her mind.

The fight was quick, but no less distressing for Petra. It was exhausting, the way she felt in every battle she didn’t want to be in.

They were back in the air again as soon as Karen called the authorities.

Petra wanted to pretend. Pretend it was like in the dream world. That she felt the same freedom.

But there was no freedom of any kind.

Much less like the one she felt as Spider-Man.

Sadness tried to take over her. But if anyone was going to take control of anything, it would be her.

I’m going to put an end to this.

This was her chance. Her body was exhausted from the fight, and the act of swinging with only one arm while the other was shattered and throbbing with pain brought the perfect vulnerability for her to attack.

Petra began to act, punching whatever held her inside her body.

It seemed to work. She listened with satisfaction to the possessor’s breathing grow faster and heavier.

“I want to be free,” Petra said with conviction.

“I want get out,” she affirmed with even more certainty.

She used her nails to tear at whatever was in front of her desperately, gradually increasing the strength she used. All in search of an exit.

Spider-Man’s swings became slower and weaker, as fragile as glass. If he took any longer to shoot a web, they’d probably fall.

The possessor landed on a not-so-tall building with difficulty. His feet hit the roof with a heavy thud, like a dead weight.

“Let me out.”

“Let me out!”

Petra’s nails caught on something that made a sharp sound. Hope shone in her eyes.

She brought the backs of her hands together and grabbed the sides of that something. Her nerves screamed, it was as if the touch set her skin on fire. She ignored the pain as if it were just a mild annoyance.

She pulled her arms apart, forcing an opening. She threw her body forward quickly, taking advantage of the gap.

The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life.

It was as if her soul were being shredded, torn apart. She could compare it to the feeling of salt in a wound — only much worse.

But she kept going. She kept forcing herself out, amid the pain and agony. Because this would end her suffering. If only she could escape.

In one last effort, Petra couldn’t help but scream. A shrill scream that expressed everything she felt. All her wretched feelings turned into sound. A scream that truly echoed — that could be heard.

Petra fell to the ground without a sound.

She stayed there. In the same place. Just breathing.

Inhaling. And exhaling.

And Petra smiled. Smiled for real.

Happiness didn’t fit inside her chest. She had escaped. It didn’t seem real that it had actually happened.

Her happiness was abruptly interrupted by a mysterious supernatural force pulling her downward.

What the hell? was the only thing she had time to think during the fall.

It was quick but incredibly disorienting.

Petra hit the ground again in silence. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

She got to her knees, dazed. Rubbed her nose with her hand. It was incredible how she always had to fall face-first to the ground.

The bright color of her skin caught her attention. It was a shade of blue.

Soft, calm, and slightly faded.

She placed both hands within her field of vision. Besides being clearly blue and glowing, they seemed… translucent.

Her mind had no time to process before a weak, raspy voice asked:

“Who are you?” The sound was no more than a whisper in the wind. And terribly familiar.

A stolen voice. One that shouldn’t belong to anyone but her.

She turned to face the source of the voice.

A body lay on the ground.

The features of her face shaped themselves as fury flooded her mind before the person in front of her. The possessor.

Her jaw locked, the line of her jaw becoming sharp. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she narrowed her eyes like sharp blades.

Her eyes shone with a light reflected from hatred.

Pure hatred, embodied by someone who had had her life stolen. Someone deprived of following her own destiny.

But Petra was ready to take it back — to whom it should never have stopped belonging.

Who am I? the girl repeated the question in her head as she approached the still figure on the ground.

“ I am the owner of this body.”

Chapter Text

Peter Parker 

" I am the owner of this body."

The words sent an icy shiver down his spine. His eyes widened and Peter’s breath caught in his throat.

No… it couldn’t be…

He couldn’t believe that right there, right in front of his eyes, stood the person Peter had imagined for so long to be dead.

He should’ve been more careful. Thought better. And not just assumed he would never see her again. Because it was obvious she would return to take back what was hers.

In the situation he found himself in when he arrived in this universe, the only logical explanation Peter could think of was that Petra Grayson Wayne was dead.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Peter didn’t recognize himself. He was someone else. Literally.

This life wasn’t his. He wasn’t family of any of these people in that ridiculous mansion. He wasn’t a citizen of that godforsaken city. Nor a student at that school. He didn’t owe anything there to anyone.

“You have to be somewhere, right?” Peter said to the mirror, his voice loaded with anger and indignation. How could he have ended up in this situation?

He let out a short humorless laugh that didn’t last more than three seconds and ended as a frustrated, broken groan. He grabbed the marble edges of the bathroom sink with enough force to make his knuckles turn white.

“Why don’t you show up?” he questioned, staring into his own eyes in the mirror. His pupils were nothing more than tiny dots of despair floating in the brown iris.

“Hm?” He leaned toward the mirror as if forcing an answer out of it.

“Aren’t you going to answer me too?” he asked the person in the reflection.

Because that reflection certainly wasn’t his.

That face, that body, everything he had found since he arrived wasn’t his. It was hers. Petra Grayson’s.

And that girl still hadn’t shown a sign of life.

Not a sign… of life…?

Could she be dead? Peter thought.

He let go of the sink and straightened his back. The anger and frustration dissipated, giving way to a contemplative state inside his mind.

Strange didn’t just send me into the body of a girl, but the body of a dead girl?!?!?!?!?!?!

Well, that was how Peter reached that conclusion. Looking back, he believed he had handled the situation far too well (a complete lie, considering the meltdown he had afterward).

His attention shifted to the person approaching Peter more and more.

In fact, he couldn’t really see her face. Nor focus on anything specific about her figure—her face or details of her clothes.

She crouched beside him.

Peter tried to move away, dragging himself backward. As irrational as it was, he felt afraid of her. The anger radiating from her wasn’t normal, and he feared what that anger could lead her to do.

Maybe it was his mind clouded by exhaustion, but nothing about the Petra in front of him was normal. He couldn’t clearly see her face. Nor focus on anything about her figure. If Peter didn’t force himself to look at her, he feared she would go invisible, so translucent she seemed.

But the blue tone she had was undeniable.

What the hell is this? Peter thought, incredulous.

Her skin was a pale blue. Like a flower that had lost its color.

Peter used his good arm to push himself away. He tried to use it to stand up, but only managed to get on his knees before being shoved to the ground. He fell face-first, hitting the dirty alley painfully.

He would’ve stayed down if someone hadn’t flipped him over—someone who seemed to struggle while doing so.

There she was. Petra.

Right on top of him, the girl whose life he had destroyed. Her hands were planted on either side of his head, leaving him nowhere to go.

He tried to sit up. But Petra stopped him. Not with strength, nor weight—she didn’t seem to have either—but with a kind of presence.

Her breathing was slow and deep. Her chest rose and fell, blowing a cold wind onto his face.

She didn’t seem real. Like a hallucination.

But at the same time, Petra seemed so real.

Peter’s heart began pounding faster. His palms grew sweaty, sticking uncomfortably inside his gloves. With his back pressed against the stones, he just wanted to disappear.

Peter examined her face. Now close enough for him to at least see something.

Streaks of smeared mask paint ran down her cheeks. Her eyes—always brown—were now dark blue. Glassy and focused on Peter.

The silence between them was disturbing. No one spoke for a long moment.

Both their minds seemed overloaded with a million thoughts.

“Are you… who I think you are?” Peter asked, his voice trembling.

He knew who she was. He wasn’t stupid. Anyone with basic critical thinking could deduce that. But someone had to start this conversation one way or another.

Petra raised her eyebrows, her jaw locked. She pressed her lips into a thin line before opening her mouth to speak.

“Who do you think I am?” Her tone was firm and rough. Like sandpaper.

Her form, however, seemed to flicker. Like the image on an old TV.

“Well, shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

He swallowed hard. Peter did not expect this girl to be so terrifying.

“If you’re so eager to know who I am then—” Peter began, only to be interrupted.

“No. I don’t want to know. I only asked out of politeness.” She spat the words sharply.

Another minute of silence stretched.

A humorless giggle escaped her full lips, leaving a macabre smile drawn on her face—one completely out of tune with the tension.

“But you know what I really want?” she asked with a fake laugh.

Peter’s stomach twisted and churned.

He tried sitting up, but was slammed back down by the cold palms of the girl above him.

“Look… Petra.” Her name sounded strange coming from his mouth.

“Listen first.” She wrapped a hand around his neck in a swift movement.

Peter choked at the sudden gesture. The strength in her hand was shocking, though not enough to hurt him. That is, if it weren’t for the voice modulator on his throat—its cold metal pressed against his skin creating a suffocating sensation.

The spider grabbed Petra’s wrist as if he would make her let go. Without any real muscle strength, the attempt had no effect on her.

“Let’s try to solve this… peacefully,” Peter managed, trying to stay diplomatic.

“No! This is my body. My family. My life. And I want it back!” Her voice rose, until she was nearly screaming.

That stuck in Peter’s mind.

If Petra took her body back, he would be free, right?

Free of this body.

Free of this family.

Free of this life.

Free of everything that didn’t belong to him.

Peter didn’t know what would happen to him. But he knew that maybe—just maybe—he could finally rest.

Peter closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Let his heartbeat slow and calm.

He released Petra’s wrist and let his hand fall beside his body.

“If you want your life back, it’s all yours. You can take it.” Peter said quietly, calmly.

She frowned. Her jaw literally dropped.

“… what?” Petra whispered, her voice filled with surprise. Her expression, incredulous.

“That’s exactly what you heard,” Peter confirmed.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Okaaay…” Petra dragged out the word, like someone does when they’re suspicious. She removed her hand from his neck slowly, keeping it raised in case she needed it.

They stared at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds.

“How do I do that?”

“Why do you think I should know?” Peter shot back immediately.

“Well,” she let out a sarcastic little laugh, “you’re the one who possessed my body.” She clenched her jaw.

“I don’t know. You got out of it, didn’t you? Just… go back the same way.” Peter suggested, tired.

Yeah, that was stupid to say, Peter thought. But his brain was on autopilot now. He was tired of thinking.

The idea of freedom clouded his mind. He just wanted to be done with all of this as quickly as possible.

Petra straightened her back and looked down at her own hands for a moment, with lifeless eyes. Like someone staring at a weapon before committing a crime.

That scared Peter.

Without warning, Petra lowered her hands quickly, plunging them into Peter’s chest.

He couldn’t describe the sensation. It was like being stabbed, but without pain—just the horrible discomfort of having something inside you.

Petra’s arms disappeared where Peter’s hoodie began, with no sign of her hands. Peter grabbed her wrists—the part still outside of him.

They stared at each other. The air between them filled with both their desperation.

The spider was terrified. He tried pushing her away.

And the ghost, ravenous. She pushed her hands deeper with insistence, completely ignoring his attempt to escape.

It wasn’t a good idea.

A bright light burst between them. Petra was violently thrown back, away from Peter.

He didn’t understand what had happened.

His muscles felt like they were dissolving. Everything too blurry to stay awake.

Peter closed his eyes and let the darkness consume him.

Jason Todd

Jason couldn’t believe that giant lizard had the audacity to invade his territory. Now, at least, the villain lay wrapped in a thick layer of spiderweb.

Jason crouched down and touched the material with the tip of his fingers. It was thin, very elastic and sticky. Like gum, only ten times more resistant and dangerous.

The vigilante sighed. Well, he sure didn’t want to get stuck in that thing.

“Looks like that spider did a great job here,” Dick said behind him.

Jason didn’t like working with the bats. Especially when they entered his territory. Things were always tense between them. They fought crime in… very different ways.

But they had found a common interest lately.

Spider-Man.

Who wasn’t a man. He was a boy. Just another kid who had gotten involved in a battle he shouldn’t be fighting.

And believe it or not, Bruce claimed he had nothing to do with this new child soldier. Which left Tim and the others intrigued, trying to figure out his origin and story.

If Jason said he wasn’t curious too, he’d be lying. But what concerned him most was the boy’s well-being—if he kept living the hero life, he wouldn’t last long.

“Yeah… fighting Killer Croc and winning isn’t for just anyone,” Jason replied to his brother as he stood up.

“But I don’t doubt he’s seriously hurt,” he added bitterly after a moment. “Have you seen the size of that little shit? He’s probably all broken.”

Dick sighed, agreeing with his brother.

“I agree. And I don’t think he went very far. Maybe we can still find him.”

A lightbulb went off in Jason’s head.

“Based on our past experiences, you know it’s almost impossible to find him,” Jason argued.

His younger brother turned his back, walking toward his motorcycle.

“You deal with this. I have more important things to do,” he said while leaving.

“Hey! You’re abandoning me?” Dick complained, dramatic.

Jason ignored him, swung his leg over the bike, and climbed on.

Jason would look for Spider-Man alone. Not that he didn't trust Dick, but (as he already said) he didn't want the bats to get even more involved in this case.

He drove through the streets of Crime Alley with one goal: find Spider-Man.

With eagle eyes, he observed every corner and alley in search of the boy. His heart beat hard inside his chest. The motorcycle engine roared in his ears.

After a long while, a colorful shape in some random alley caught Jason’s attention.

He parked the motorcycle crookedly. Got off quickly and entered the alley.

Lying on the filthy ground, there he was. Spider-Man.

As he expected, the spider was in terrible shape. His suit was beaten, stained, and scraped in several places.

Jason crouched beside him. He placed two fingers gently on his neck, just below the ear, to feel his pulse.

It was weak. Too weak.

That worried the older man. The kid’s breathing was barely there, so faint. His right arm lay at an extremely twisted angle. Definitely broken.

Jason didn’t think twice.

This kid needed somewhere to stay. He needed care. Medical attention, urgently.

The man slid an arm under Spider-Man’s knees, and used the other to support his back.

He lifted him effortlessly. The boy was light. Couldn’t weigh more than 60 kilos. And he was short too—fitting perfectly in Jason’s arms.

Unconsciously, Spider-Man’s head tilted to the side, resting on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason froze.

It almost reminded him of one of his sisters. The youngest. The one he’d once been closest to. The one he didn’t like to remember.

Almost reminded him—because he didn’t allow the thoughts to form.

He ignored it.

And headed toward a doctor he was sure would know how to handle the situation.

My tumblr

Chapter Text

Jason Todd

Jason kicked the clinic door open. The smell of painkillers and medicine mixed with the typical hospital atmosphere. He went around the counter, entering one of the rooms Leslie worked in.

She, who had been organizing medication in the cabinet, turned around startled. Her eyes landed on the hero in Jason’s arms, her expression quickly turning apprehensive.

“What happened to him?” Leslie asked, already preparing to handle the situation, gesturing toward the gurney in the center of the room. “Lay him here.”

Jason placed Spider-Man gently on the gurney, with great care. The kid looked dead in his arms. It drove the older man insane. His heart pounded hard against his chest.

“He came out of a fight with Killer Croc. I found him already unconscious in an alley. I believe his right arm is broken,” he answered harshly.

The doctor’s eyes widened. Jason could feel the weight his answer left hanging in the air.

“Killer Croc?” Leslie’s voice was a mix of shock and concern. The man could have sworn he saw another wrinkle forming on her face.

It was understandable. She had seen up close, many times, what that terrorist usually did to vigilantes.

Leslie began working immediately. Her experienced hands moved quickly, every action precise, while Jason remained close, watching the procedure.

She picked up a pair of surgical scissors and cut through the right sleeve of the hoodie, revealing a red fabric beneath, which was also torn to finally expose the injured skin.

Jason clenched his fists at the sight. The kid’s arm was swollen like a pufferfish. Three large bruises stood out against the pale skin, clear marks of Killer Croc’s fingers. The worst injury was a protrusion in the middle of the forearm, coincidentally right below the purple marks.

Leslie gently ran her fingertips over the injury. Spider-Man didn’t move; there was only a muscle twitch and a low groan of pain in response.

“This is bad,” the doctor commented categorically, the wrinkles on her face deepening.

“I see,” Jason said through clenched teeth, his jaw locked.

It didn’t take long for Leslie to immobilize Spider-Man’s arm. A splint.

The doctor hurried to look for other injuries. The kid’s breathing was short and tense, which made her believe there might be a fracture in the chest area. Her hands reached the hem of the hoodie, lifting the clothing to expose the bruises.

Nothing new. If not for the sight that made Jason take a step forward.

It wasn’t the severity of the bruises that caught his attention, although they were also a factor. The main reason for his shock was the silhouette of the injured body. Soft curves descended along the hips and rose up the torso, highlighting an almost hourglass shape.

Jason wasn’t the only one to notice the anomaly in the kid. Leslie kept her serious, professional posture, but their eyes met for less than a second.

The silence in the room changed. The concern remained in the air, now mixed with the curiosity of an intriguing mystery.

Leslie lifted the clothing a little more delicately, reaching the rib area. The skin had that strange color of a bruise that was just beginning to form. The mark started on the side and went down toward the back.

But what stood out the most were the bandages covering the upper chest. Strips wrapped tightly around that area, as if made to press something down. Or hide it. Even though a volume was still visible beneath the white wraps.

It was as if a key had turned in Jason’s brain, sending a shock through his nerves.

That was not the sight of a male body.

His breath caught in his throat. Every muscle in his body didn’t dare move an inch, as if he had turned into a statue at the realization.

Spider-Man… was a girl?!

Jason’s head started to spin. It didn’t make sense. And at the same time, the pieces seemed to fit perfectly.

A groan broke his thoughts. It was a sound of pain mixed with confusion, coming from the injured person. Instinctively, Jason took a step forward.

The hero on the gurney seemed disturbed as she woke up. Her head slowly alternated between Leslie and Jason. Leslie stepped back, removing her hands from the kid’s injuries and resting one gently on her shoulder.

“Spider-Man?” Leslie called softly.

The hero’s muscles stiffened suddenly, her posture becoming completely defensive. She moved quickly, sitting up on the gurney. She slapped Leslie’s hand away with her injured arm.

Which didn’t seem like a good idea, because she groaned in pain immediately. She brought both arms to her chest, like a shield meant to protect her. Not only that, but probably as a way to hide what was beneath the bandages. The hood of the hoodie had fallen, revealing a messy bun, with several brown curls escaping the tie.

Her breathing was frantic. Too fast, as if each pull of air wasn’t enough. Jason wouldn’t have been surprised if she had a panic attack right then. As soon as she noticed her hair exposed, she quickly pulled the hood back up, covering the strands again.

Jason’s chest ached with protectiveness for the kid.

But he didn’t have time to say anything; Spider-Man’s hand struck his chest abruptly, pushing him away with all her strength.

“Stay back!” she said in a hoarse, weak voice, but filled with anger. “Where am I?!”

There was something stamped in her voice that Jason could identify very well. A mix of fear and insecurity, concern for her own well-being, hidden beneath layers of hostility, in a way meant to make people leave her alone. But that wasn’t exactly the case here.

Jason stayed back, not wanting to agitate her further. He prepared to speak, but Leslie was quicker to address the kid.

“You’re in a clinic in Crime Alley. I’m Dr. Leslie Thompson. I take care of the residents here in the alley, and anyone who comes to my door needing help.” Her voice was gentle, the tone she used when she needed to calm someone down.

That didn’t relax Spider-Man.

“How did I get here?”

“I found you unconscious and brought you here,” Jason answered.

Spider-Man still looked suspicious. She stayed silent for a long time, seeming to think about the situation.

The silence stretched on for long minutes, but neither of the adults interrupted. Neither of them wanted to overwhelm the kid any further.

“What did you see?” the vigilante asked, her voice broken but steeped in anger. Her arms tightened against her chest. “Did you see my identity?”

“I didn’t see anything different from what I always see. Just an injured person needing medical care,” Leslie replied calmly but firmly. Jason knew she would do anything to finish helping that child. And Jason would too. “And we didn’t remove your mask either. That’s not my goal here.”

“If I even dream that someone who isn’t in this room has the slightest idea about my secret,” Spider-Man threatened in a low but deadly serious tone, “you’ll regret helping me.”

When she spoke, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. Contrary to what she probably thought, Jason and Leslie were satisfied with at least being able to treat her.

“Don’t expect that to happen,” Jason said with conviction.

He felt the piercing gaze directed at him from beneath the mask.

“Can you leave the room?” There was a sharpness in her tone that left no room for him to stay. She said nothing else as she turned her back to the older man and faced Leslie, waiting for him to leave.

Jason turned away and left the two alone.

---

As soon as he sat down on the clinic’s waiting benches, the realization of everything finally hit him.

Spider-Man was a girl.

He let his body fold forward, resting his chin on his interlaced hands, settling into a thoughtful posture.

That information was messing with his head. It was something that changed nothing and everything at the same time.

What intrigued Jason was why.

If he already thought it was extremely stupid for a boy to want to play vigilante out there—because he knew very well the tragedies that could happen—but a girl? It was equally stupid and reckless, just less likely and more curious.

There was that whole damn stereotype that boys had to fight and be tough. He could remember all the different boys from the alley who got into fights for the same reason: “being stronger,” proving they were stronger, or some other idiocy of the same kind. He could picture that image with Spider-Man.

But now knowing he is a girl? He didn’t know if that fit.

He wondered why she had started doing this. To prove something to someone specific? To show that she could do it? Or a sense of heroism that ended up destroying the life of whoever had it?

And more importantly, why pass as a boy? It was more surprising than anything else; it wasn’t something anyone would expect.

But if you stopped to think about it, it was actually a smart choice. Women, especially in that world, were underestimated. Even though Jason disagreed with that view, the truth was that it was much harder to be taken seriously as a girl.

So it was a good strategy. Considering that this way she could get what she wanted and might even be safer like that. Even if the situations she dealt with were the same, there were dangers she wouldn’t have to face if she was seen as a man.

Jason sighed in frustration.

In the end, he would have to wait to get the answers directly from her.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker 

Peter was being haunted. Not by his memories, his past, his regrets, or any other poetic interpretation you might think of. He meant literally haunted.

As soon as he woke up, the first person he saw was a sturdy, tall man with a helmet that looked like a pill — Red Hood — and an older woman with gray hair wearing a lab coat. He didn’t have the headspace to figure out whether she was a doctor or not at the time, he just knew they were uncomfortably close to him.

The second thing he saw caught his attention even more and surpassed the shock of the first: Petra.

His subconscious hoped all of that had been a creation of his brain as a manifestation of the guilt he felt in relation to her, or one of the effects of extreme post-fight exhaustion.

But everything that had happened had been far too real to be.

Now he could see her more clearly, without all the confusion in his mind from a few moments earlier.

Her color reminded him of the sky. Calm and serene, the kind that appears on the most peaceful days to make the atmosphere even more pleasant. A blue that conveyed softness. A shade often used in hospital rooms, inviting critically ill patients to relax in their most unfortunate moments. The faint light her body emitted dimly illuminated the space around her. It could even bring him peace, if he ignored the earlier events.

If he hadn’t looked into her eyes. The blue of her irises looked nothing like the blue of her skin. The shade seemed pulled straight from the deepest part of the ocean. Or from a brutal and furious storm. Contained within the small space it occupied. Yet it still leaked and dripped down her face like a melting mask and completely smudged makeup.

He didn’t let his guard down. Well, as they said.

The eyes are the window to the soul. And he didn’t trust even a little bit the vision those eyes gave him.

And now it seemed she was going to stay with him. Someone he didn’t trust and who would probably (definitely) make everything harder for him. For an undetermined amount of time.

And worst of all: Red Hood now knew he was a girl.

It didn’t seem like something to worry about at first glance. The worst situation in that case would be them discovering who he is, and it wouldn’t be possible for them to figure out his identity just by knowing that small detail. And from what he saw, they didn’t even want to know.

Leslie had been extremely kind to him while treating his injuries.

He felt a little stupid about the initial panic when he woke up. But you couldn’t really blame him.

He remembered how his spider-sense had gone off when he woke up. Not in a bad way. But more like a calm warning.

Not dangerous. Trust. Treat. Injured.

Peter trusted his faithful instinct completely. But at that moment, it was nothing more than a buzzing that was ignored. The panic spread through his chest.

His mind unable to think clearly enough to calm down.

And he couldn’t relax.

They were there… seeing not Peter, but a wrong version.

They were seeing the bandages that failed in their mission to compress his chest.

The strange shape of his body from the waist down.

The voice that inevitably sounded slightly feminine, because of the now damaged voice modulator.

They were seeing the long hair tied up in a bun.

Everything that made him be perceived, seen and interpreted as someone he wasn’t. A girl.

But everyone saw him like that all the time. He didn’t understand why it hurt more now.

And it hurt.

It hurt so much.

He had no idea it could hurt that much.

And it hurt more than any situation he had gone through while being in this female body.

Maybe it was because Spider-Man was his only refuge in this place.

It was the only moment when Peter was himself. His real self. It was the rare stretch of time when he felt okay. It felt like he was back in his body — I mean, it didn’t really feel like it, considering all the differences between what he is now and his old one, but he could pretend.

The magic of it was that, regardless of being different, he was treated the same way as before.

Maybe the way he was seen mattered more than how he physically felt. It was important for Peter to be perceived as a boy.

Before, no one knew. And now someone did.

Peter also didn’t want to clarify anything. He didn’t want to talk to Red Hood about it. There wasn’t even a reason. If he could, he would never meet the vigilante again in his life.

Just thinking about talking about how he felt made his cheeks heat up under the mask.

It felt wrong to say out loud how he felt.

It felt wrong.

Very wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

He wrapped his arms around himself. His fingers curled, trembling, tightening his grip on his own shoulder. He could clearly hear his heart pumping blood through his veins like a fast animal.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wr—

Fingers snapping in front of his face pulled him out of his thoughts. The sound carried irritation. The first thing his eyes saw were perfectly done blue nails, and he knew exactly who they belonged to.

In the end, what was the point of all that complaining.

It’s not like he could change the past.

Or had anyone to blame.

Right?

You couldn’t be more wrong!

The one to blame was Petra fucking Wayne.

Things were already bad before her, imagine now that the little princess would want to throw tantrums all the time, just like in the alley.

And ruin the rest of the shitty life he had left.

Damn. Damn. DAMN! he thought silently, frustrated.

Peter just wanted to pretend she didn’t exist. And he was doing that. In quotation marks.

He was ignoring her, even though she hadn’t shut up for a single minute.

“Did you hear me?” Petra asked, indignant. Her high-pitched voice making Peter’s ears bleed. The heavy Gotham accent.

They had already left the clinic a few minutes ago. As soon as Leslie finished treating his injuries, wrapping his ribs and putting his broken arm in a sling, he managed to turn invisible and sneak out without anyone seeing him.

He wished that power had worked when he actually wanted to leave that place. But it seemed like he didn’t have control over that either.

He stayed camouflaged while walking down the street, able to move more freely without worrying about being seen. He could’ve traveled over the rooftops, but he felt so exhausted. It was easier to just let his instinct guide him.

Petra also wasn’t visible, which was good (at least in this situation).

When they were with Leslie and Red Hood, neither of the adults showed any sign of seeing or hearing her.

The atmosphere had been heavy. And that was all he could really notice.

“No, Petra.” Peter made the sarcasm obvious in his words. “We’re alone on a fucking empty street, only you’re talking here. But no, I didn’t hear you.”

He actually hadn’t heard. But she had asked that question so many times he already knew which one it was.

He huffed. He hadn’t imagined how annoying she really was. He knew Petra was definitely annoying for, well, being a spoiled rich girl. He just didn’t know it was this bad. And he concluded that with only a few minutes of coexistence.

“Oh. Of course. What a shame.” she replied with matching sarcasm. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Took a deep breath, as if trying to gather patience to speak, and continued:

“Then let me repeat: Where are we going?” Petra asked, her eyes burning with anger. “And don’t tell me ‘somewhere’.”

Her image glitched abruptly like an old TV about to break, just like it had before.

A chill ran down his spine. The place seemed to get colder all of a sudden, and it seemed to be coming from… Petra?

It was like ice. Even without direct contact, he could feel the freezing breath coming from where she stood.

He decided to ignore it.

“To a place.” He gave the same answer as the other times, regardless of what she had said.

Petra grunted.

“Can you be serious?” Her steps were heavy against the ground.

“I am being serious.” Peter was getting tired of her.

“No, you’re not!” she shot back.

“Can’t you just wait 5 minutes!” the boy said, for the first time looking at her face.

“I could if you told me where I’m supposed to wait to get to,” Petra huffed.

They walked side by side (against both of their wills) for a few more streets until they reached the place.

In front of them stood an abandoned building, spray-painted from top to bottom. The windows were probably broken, since they were covered with wooden boards, all placed crookedly.

He walked around the building. Going in through the front door was risky.

There was a small problem, but one that could be quickly solved.

The back door was locked. The only way in would be to break it down.

He quickly stretched his knee and—

BAM!

“What are you doing?” the girl beside him asked, startled by the sudden action.

“Trying to get in.” He said, taking a few steps back to get momentum.

BAM!

Another kick.

“Isn’t this like trespassing?” Petra asked, questioning his actions.

BAM!

With a final hit, the door finally gave way, slamming into the wall with another bang.

“Do you really think someone lives here?” Peter replied, stepping forward.

The place was silent, the only sound coming from rats scurrying across the floor and the creaking of wood under their feet. Some ticking noises came from somewhere, the kind of sound you hear in horror movies.

The entrance led to a narrow staircase made of dark wood, which looked gray because of all the dust.

Speaking of dust, a cloud of it rose into the air with the wind that came in through the door.

“This place looks like it was built like a century ago,” Petra complained, climbing the steps after him.

It probably was, Peter thought. But didn’t answer out loud.

The stairway walls were all covered in graffiti, just like the outside of the building.

He went up a few more floors, turning corners and entering rooms until his spider-sense told him something.

Left.

He turned his head to the side and saw the entrance to a room. There was a very old single bed, the wood of the frame already worn out.

Taking a step forward into the only minimally habitable room, Peter let out a sigh of relief.

Safe.

It was still as decayed as the rest of the building, to say the least. But it was enough. For Peter.

“This place is falling apart,” Petra said, looking around in disgust. Her brow furrowed and her mouth twisted in revulsion.

“We’re not staying here…” she started, her voice incredulous “…right??”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“We are,” he answered simply, in a single word.

“No, no, no.” She started to panic.

“I have to go back to the manor. I need to see my family. I need to—” her voice got choked up. “Oh my God, there’s so much I need to fix.”

She wrapped her hair around her hands in a nervous gesture.

“I think you should be worrying…” Peter narrowed his eyes, not really knowing how to choose his words. He decided to gesture at her from head to toe “…about all this first.”

He didn’t speak with disdain, although his voice still sounded rude.

Petra wrinkled her nose.

“You’re pointing at all of me,” she observed, in a tone that clearly showed she didn’t like what he said.

“Exactly,” he replied anyway.

Petra went quiet for a moment. She seemed to be thinking about what to say.

“Just tell me what happened,” she said harshly.

“No.” He answered just as dryly.

“If you’re not going to help, my brothers can help, or— or my dad can help,” she cut herself off again. “And if they don’t know how, they can find someone who does,” she said all in one breath.

“I just want to fix our situation.”

She spoke differently now. Less irritated. More nervous, her tone softer too (just a little, very little), but pretty convincing. Or trying to be.

Peter wasn’t going to fall for that charm.

This was way more complicated to fix than she was implying.

“I’ve been pretending to be you for a good while now,” Peter started slowly. “Do you think if they find that out it’ll get a good reaction from them?”

“Or better yet, find me like this?” He gestured downward, referring both to the Spider-Man suit and his injuries.

“You’re just making excuses,” she huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever,” he said, tugging at the mask and letting his face breathe. “Just know I’m not the one who’s going to talk to them.” He turned toward the bed, putting his legs over the mattress and lying down.

“I’ll talk then!” she argued. Stupid argument, Peter would say.

“How exactly? I saw you at the clinic,” Peter said quietly, only intending to relax and go to sleep.

“What are you referring to?” Petra asked, her voice a fierce whisper. Peter felt that cold wind again.

He grunted.

“No one saw you, heard you, and you literally went through walls!” Peter said as if stating that the sky is blue.

He let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what you want to do, but if you really think going there will fix things, go ahead. I’m not holding you here,” Peter muttered loud enough for her to hear, putting an end to the discussion.

Silence.

Finally, Peter thought.

Until his spider-sense picked up the sound of her breathing turning uneven.

“You are so… evil,” Petra stated. Her voice dragged out, like she had just uncovered a huge secret.

He found it strange, it’s not like he had said anything that bad. He was going to let her have a meltdown by herself.

He stayed lying down, eyes closed.

“I can’t stay even ten steps away from you,” Petra growled. He could hear her saying it through clenched teeth.

“I’m stuck to you. Literally—”

What? he thought when he heard that.

The cold in the room intensified. Peter didn’t know if it came from the small crack in the window, or from Petra.

“I can’t speak for myself… I can’t be seen!” Her voice rose gradually, like someone turning up the volume.

He sat up quickly, watching her pour all her frustration onto him.

“I can’t touch anything!” The walls of the place suddenly seemed darker and more depressing.

“—and you still come here talking shit? You have— what is your problem?” Fire seemed to crackle behind her eyes.

“Do you think I’m not fully aware of my condition that you need to come tell me?” Petra stared directly at his face.

He frowned and narrowed his eyes. He guessed she now functioned like some kind of ghost, being invisible, intangible and inaudible — Peter felt sorry for her for that. But not being able to stay away from him? That was a big surprise.

“Don’t make that face. Are you going to pretend you didn’t know?” Petra pointed at him. The wood creaked under her feet as she stepped closer.

“No!” Peter stood up, keeping his eyes level with hers, not letting himself be intimidated.

“—Are you going to tell me this isn’t your plan?” It scared Peter how she sounded so sure of everything she said.

“It’s not!” Peter shouted over her voice, throwing his uninjured hand in the air. “Why would I even do that?!”

“—Exactly! All of this just makes me ask the same thing: what did I ever do to you, huh?” Petra finished her rant. Her breathing was already uneven, her shoulders shaking and her hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning a lighter shade of blue.

Peter rolled his eyes. He could feel the vein in his temple pulsing, causing a headache that was only beginning.

Petra hadn’t done anything. And neither had he. Actually, he’d bet he had suffered even more than the girl. It was unfair for her to want to blame him for what was happening. God, he didn’t even know why she had turned into some kind of spirit or basically anything that had happened in the last two months. And Petra still wanted to treat him like he was Google for all her questions.

And as if the reason they weren’t going to the manor had anything to do with her. Or some plan against her? Ha! He could laugh just at the idea.

“First: you’re no saint. Second: the world doesn’t revolve around you for you to think I planned this situation. Believe me, I’m enjoying this just as much as you are,” Peter argued in his defense, which basically consisted of, well, blaming Petra.

He was starting to think he would be the only rational person between the two of them (and there was Karen too).

“Just say something!” Petra shouted. “A reason! That’s all I want!”

The urge to blame her for everything was so strong now. Invading his train of thought like it had been planted there on purpose.

He didn’t want to do that. Not really.

But his frustrations, the worries, how bad he felt all the time were so loud in his head.

He just wanted to let it out.

Oh, if she wanted a reason, she would get one.

And Peter knew very well how to be petty when he wanted to. Not that he wanted to now.

“You attacked me and knocked me unconscious in less than five minutes the first time we met, which was like a few hours ago,” he shot back quickly, his sharp tongue already having an answer ready. All the anger he felt spilling out of his mouth.

“And that’s what made Red Hood find me and take me to that damned clinic,” he finished, pushing the blame onto her.

And honestly, it was. That’s what he thought. If Peter had been alone, he wouldn’t have fallen off the building and much less passed out. Which would’ve avoided everything that happened after that.

“What?” She stepped back, like she had been startled by the answer.

She let out a mocking little laugh. “That’s not even a coherent reason.”

He kept staring at her, trying not to change his posture or show any emotion she could read. His jaw locked and he ground his teeth. His hands curled into fists.

He didn’t know where all that anger had come from. Peter had barely made it to the building from the pain just minutes ago, and now he felt like he could take Petra down if she stressed him any further.

“Okay, maybe I was wrong to freak out and hurt you — no, I didn’t attack you! That would be very unladylike… I mean, it was very unladylike, right?” She looked away first before speaking.

“A-and… and…” Petra seemed to search her mind for something to say. Peter really wished she would just give up and end the argument.

“It’s not my fault Red Hood showed up there and you know what? You should actually be thanking me — if it weren’t for me — indirectly — you’d still be all broken and hurt.”

“I don’t even know why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” she muttered next, dismissing his reason.

He couldn’t believe he was hearing this.

“No, I’m not a saint. But you, whoever you are, aren’t one either! And about everyth—”

“Thank you?” Peter couldn’t help interrupting, irritated. “Girl, are you even listening to yourself?”

The anger suddenly began to heat his blood.

“Do you have any idea what this cost me?” He pointed an accusing finger at her. He hoped his voice carried all the anger he was feeling.

No, she didn’t. Peter was sure of it.

Petra’s expression was something between confusion and irritation. It was like what he was saying made no sense to her. She crossed her arms tightly. Her posture became perfectly straight, almost arrogant in Peter’s eyes.

“No. I don’t,” she replied uncertainly, lifting her chin. “Care to tell me?”

Peter’s fists clenched with anger.

It had cost him his freedom.

His well-being.

His identity.

His peace.

The tiny bit of sanity that being Spider-Man gave him.

A knot tightened in his throat. His mouth felt as dry as a desert.

The words he wanted to say were covered in thorns. His tongue tingled at the mere thought of saying them out loud.

He didn’t move a muscle, paralyzed by the thought.

No fucking way he was giving her that explanation. It was something so intimate to him, he couldn’t go around talking about it to just anyone.

To no one.

“You know what, I don’t owe you any explanation. Much less do what you want. End. Of. Discussion.” he declared, his eyes burning.

The girl’s face turned perplexed. She blinked slowly once, trying to process what she had just heard. She wasn’t even breathing.

“Peter, can you go rest?” Karen’s voice sounded in his ears and he even startled, having forgotten she was there.

“I’m worried about you in your current state. Ideally I would ask my questions now, but I’d rather you be in a better moment.”

He nodded slowly, agreeing with the artificial intelligence.

Peter turned onto his side in the bed. He bent his legs and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to feel more comfortable.

“This is unfair,” Petra said behind him, so quietly that if it weren’t for his super hearing, he wouldn’t have heard.

Peter’s chest hurt when he heard that. He didn’t know why.

The silence that followed was so comfortable. The idea of the long-awaited sleep was tempting.

Everything in him begged for rest.

And that rest required him to set Petra aside.

So he didn’t move. He didn’t even look back.

Maybe you really are a horrible person, Peter Parker, he thought to himself

He couldn’t help feeling it.

Anger. Hatred. Guilt. Resentment. Shame.

All together.

After that roller coaster of bitter emotions, which left an acidic taste on his tongue — probably from words just as sour — he selfishly hoped to dream of something sweet. Seeing Aunt May would be good, so he could curl up in her lap. It was familiar to him. Something he knew very well.

Since he had no grasp on most of the things that were happening.

But of one thing he was sure:

Peter hated Petra Grayson.

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Chapter Text

Petra Grayson

A small bright dot glimmered between Petra’s hands as soon as she attacked the person who had stolen her body. She didn’t have time to question what it was before the light intensified, almost blinding her, and threw her away with a supernatural force. Her back hit the cold ground without a sound, meters away from where she had been.

But she didn’t give up. She quickly stood up, pushing the hair out of her face and running back to her body.

Her heart was beating hard in her chest, but it felt more like a vague sensation. Her hands trembled. Her eyes were wide and watery.

Petra shook the shoulders of her own body.

“Hey. Wake up,” she called with a weak voice.

He didn’t move. Not even a single reaction.

“Hey!” She shook the shoulders more insistently.

He remained still. As if he were in a deep sleep. With the mask on his face, it was impossible to know his expression.

Unconscious.

Petra put her face in her hands.

“No…” she murmured with a choked voice, like a whiny child before throwing a tantrum.

“So close. I was so close,” she lamented to herself.

The weight of everything hit her like a storm.

For a brief moment it seemed like everything was solved. It seemed like she was going to have her life back and return to how things were before. She truly believed that.

She had the conviction and absolute certainty that she would succeed.

People always labeled her as innocent and naive—whether it was high society, people at school, or her family. Everyone thought that. Not like she tried to prove otherwise, deep down she knew it was true, and this only proved more the label.

In that moment, she felt exactly like that. An idiot. A fool. Someone who really believed things would be solved easily like in a fairy tale.

All her hope shattered into shards of glass that cut her and made her bleed inside.

Her shoulders dropped, along with silent tears sliding down her face and dripping into her hand.

The silence in the alley was deafening. The insects in the place continued following their paths. Some vehicles passed on the street at high speed, whether cars or motorcycles. She could also hear people doing all kinds of things.

A sob threatened to escape. But she swallowed it, as she had learned to do many years ago.

Time passed slowly.

A rat or two passed around the surroundings. Just a few meters from the girl. Gunshots typical of Crime Alley echoed through the air, a sound she thought she would never hear so close.

But nothing besides the sound of drops of sadness falling from her eyes reached Petra’s ears.

She passed her hands under her eyes, wiping the tears. Well, they weren’t exactly tears. At least not liquid ones. They looked more like smoke, dissolving as soon as they slid from her chin.

She blinked a few times, making more tears fall.

Fuck staying calm. Petra didn’t even know how she worked anymore. Was she even real?

She ran a hand through her hair while keeping her eyes closed.

She took several deep breaths, each one having less air than the last. She kept tearing up, distressed.

The roar of a motorcycle suddenly sounded. A robust man got off.

He entered the alley silently, but to Petra it screamed danger. On his head was the classic red helmet she had only heard about. She could see all kinds of knives and pistols hidden among the outfit. The leather boots matched the intimidating aesthetic.

She immediately recognized him: Red Hood.

And Petra was terrified of him. She had never even seen a crime lord before, let alone be breathing the same air as him. Actually, she wasn’t even breathing. She held her breath, afraid of making the smallest sound.

“I know what it looks like, sir…” she stammered fearfully. “B-but I didn’t do anything to him,” she referred to Spider-Man.

Red Hood completely ignored her. And she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more scared. Her throat tightened and she swallowed dryly.

He crouched beside Spider-Man, checking his pulse when he placed his hand on his neck, Petra supposed.

The hero paused for a moment.

And then he picked up her body in his arms.

What?!!!

He began walking toward his motorcycle.

Petra didn’t react. Why was he doing that?

Finally her neurons started working again and she acted on impulse.

She staggered a little without noticing, trying to follow the man. She felt like a little bird that had just hatched from its egg—literally and metaphorically.

She couldn’t support herself on the ground properly. Her legs were a bit wobbly. And her balance and sense of direction seemed drastically damaged.

Shit…

Maybe it was because of the time she spent trapped. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She turned her attention back to Red Hood, who was now… carrying her body away?

“No, no! You can’t take me—my body!” Petra shouted, the anguish reflected in her voice.

Her eyes were glazed with desperation.

He wasn’t ignoring her. Red Hood didn’t even seem to know she was there.

She stepped in front of the hero, trying to stop him from moving away with her.

“Just stop!” she sobbed again, now unable to hold it in.

And the unimaginable happened.

The man went right through her.

And it was one of the worst sensations Petra had ever felt. One of the most disorienting. Nothing but a shiver was enough to destroy her.

A huge tingling spread through her whole being. She didn’t feel pain. But she thought that if she had, it might have been better. She would feel human.

“No, no, no, no…” she whispered, her head almost exploding as she tried to understand what was happening. “Why?!”

She stood there. So immersed in conflicting feelings that she didn’t notice when the motorcycle started and left.

A force suddenly dragged her, the same one that had made her fall from the rooftop. Something stronger than her.

Now she understood how a fish felt when pulled by a hook.

The world turned into a huge blur of lights and rough gray road.

“O-ouch…” she groaned when her vision finally stopped spinning. The few minutes of travel felt like hours inside that whirlwind of lights and motion.

She felt nauseous. She might have thrown up if she had at least some food in her stomach (if she even had a stomach).

Petra blinked several times, trying to stabilize the world around her. She noticed at first the change from the urban scenery to an enclosed place. More specifically with a white floor and a strong smell of alcohol and medicine for old people. Waiting chairs were arranged for whoever wanted to sit.

A clinic, she reasoned.

She noticed late a kind of rope—or maybe a chain—wrapped around her wrist, light blue in color and that definitely shouldn’t exist, since it glowed like Wonder Woman’s lasso, if Petra could compare.

The girl froze, staring at the new discovery like it had seven heads. Well, it might not have, but it was certainly a new puzzle to scramble her mind.

With her eyebrows furrowed, she stood up, still staring at the rope. She didn’t really feel it touching her skin. It was hard to explain.

She followed the path of the magical thread, only then noticing the white door in front of her, exactly where the thread entered and disappeared into the room she couldn’t see.

She placed her hand on the metal doorknob, ready to turn it—until her hand went straight through the object.

She watched her hand pass above and below the knob, appearing and disappearing from her sight as she clumsily tried to open the door.

She grunted, clenching her fists. She didn’t want to get used to this.

She saw no other option but to pass through the material. She stepped one foot forward, cautiously watching only the upper part of her leg remain visible.

Here goes.

She passed the rest of herself in a second, believing that ripping off a band-aid all at once hurt much less, right?

Not this time.

Her spine curved as she leaned forward, using one hand on her knees for support while the other covered her mouth to stop an imminent vomit. She felt the bile—most likely nonexistent, probably just in her head—in her throat, ready to come out. But she swallowed with teary eyes.

She didn’t know if it was disgust with how she was now, still from the transport to the clinic, or from the new ability she had discovered. She didn’t know if she could call it an ability. Petra considered it a curse.

The room was clearly a hospital room, with cabinets full of medicine and drawers filled with all kinds of tools and supplies necessary to treat someone. The bed in the center of the room already held a patient.

The patient in question was Spider-Man.

From the corner of her eye she saw the rope from her hand going to the wrist of her body, as if they were tied together. She tried to examine the thread with her fingers. But it simply disappeared at her touch. Turning into smoke in the air just like everything that came from her.

That was definitely something she would investigate later.

Like every clinic had to have a doctor, this one was no different. The doctor was elderly, with lines of time marked on her face, the wrinkles intensifying her worried expression. Her gray hair probably reflected years of stressful work.

She was talking with the crime lord anxiously, but with the composure of someone who had done this many times before. Petra listened curiously and attentively to both of them, also observing their body language. It seemed they were only going to treat her body.

She thought for a brief moment. That was actually good.

The doctor grabbed the hem of the shirt he was wearing and lifted it to examine him, and Petra did the same only with her eyes.

Petra ground her teeth when she saw the bruises climbing up >her< ribs. Bruises he had caused. All his fault.

As the minutes passed, the intense feeling of anxiety grew in Petra. She even wanted her body to be treated; even she knew that a broken bone that wasn’t immobilized could result in something perhaps irreversible. And she also couldn’t let anyone in her family see her so debilitated.

Red Hood and Leslie showed curiosity about Spider-Man. She wondered why. Maybe in the life of a hero whenever a new vigilante appeared things like that happened, right? Like trying to recruit them to the team or investigate their identity… she wouldn’t be able to handle the curiosity.

But she hoped the two adults could handle it. Imagine if they tried to take the mask off her face? Without it she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. A dark shiver ran through Petra’s veins just imagining the image of Spider-Man being linked to her.

She hoped it wouldn’t take long for the injured hero to wake up, so she would at least have the security that this wouldn’t happen.

Drawing her attention, a groan of pain and restlessness escaped from the possessor, indicating that he was waking up.

Thank God, she thought, now less anxious.

Then he woke up.

And it seemed that after that, everything started going even more wrong.

---

This is so unfair.

Her head weighed tons. Her mind twisted into a merciless knot of thoughts.

This is so unfair.

Her body didn’t weigh tons. Nor kilos. Not even grams. Just nothing.

This is so unfair.

Her chest hurt, also heavy. Her head running a thousand miles per hour and her heart changing feelings with every beat was leaving her disoriented.

She sat down on the floor. Without leaning on the wall, because well, she would go right through it. She was a little surprised she didn’t go through the floor, since it was above the ground.

Petra wanted to freak out.

She felt like it was the only thing that would truly calm her down.

Now really freak out this time. Let all those feelings spill out in an outburst of rage or in a crying breakdown. Both together would also work.

Although she had already done that.

She didn’t feel relieved at all.

Maybe because she was someone who thought too much.

She had always harmed herself with that.

She also planned too much. She left everything she was going to do organized and predictable.

The idea of not being able to solve anything and not even knowing what was going to happen was the end.

She stretched herself across the floor, lying down in that filthy space. The thoughts draining the last bit of energy she still had.

Everything around her seemed to exhaust her well-being. Whether it was the dirt of the environment or the decay of her body a few steps away.

Or the most logical explanation for such fatigue and twisted feeling was the situation she was in.

She felt more like a ghost now than any other time in all these years.

When did her life become this?...

Petra was constantly ignored. For many reasons. And by different people.

She didn’t remember when she got used to it.

But now it was different from all the other years. Now it was as if she didn’t exist.

No one saw her. No one heard her. And to make her situation worse, she couldn’t even touch anything.

Petra couldn’t talk to her family when she found them. Ask for help.

It hurt to admit that the possessor was right when he said during the argument that there was no way for her to ask for help.

She raised her hand into her field of vision. She felt discomfort running through two veins and the feeling of helplessness growing even more in her chest, clinging to her heart as if it were part of it — and it already was.

She observed the baby blue tone that her “skin” had.

Petra had always liked that color. One of her favorites, to be honest. Was that why she was this color now?

Or was it a cruel joke from the universe to make her associate a color she cared so much about with an experience she would do everything to escape and forget as quickly as possible?

Very funny, universe. Hahaha.

She also noticed how transparent she was. Petra could see the other side of her hand.

The girl got angry again. A feeling that mixed with the rest and made her mind feel like a ticking time bomb of thoughts.

She didn’t want this. None of this.

She wanted normal. She wanted a normal life. The life she had before. Was that too much to ask? Was she being too demanding—

Her hand distorted.

Waving like the image of an old television.

The action interrupted her thoughts. Petra widened her eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing. She was genuinely scared. Had she done this before?

It looked so… non-human.

She felt like she had seen this before. Maybe in a movie.

It was almost ghostly.

She hated thinking that. It only confirmed her thought that she was nothing more than an spirit.

Through the flesh — which couldn’t even really be called that — translucent, she could see the cause.

The possessor. In her body, sleeping almost peacefully.

Ironic, when he only brought adversity to her.

This “Peter.” Or at least that was her theory. It was just a hypothesis of who he could be. Because she didn’t even have the right to know who was ruining her life. Although she was almost sure of it, since that was how “Karen” called him.

How could he even think he could act like the victim of the situation?

When it was Petra who couldn’t interfere in anything and couldn’t do anything in general except interact with him.

There was no person, animal, furniture, place, or anything else she could interact with except him.

The only thing she could interact with was him…

Holy shit.

He was the culprit, the origin, the source of all the torment she was facing now.

And also her only hope. The only one who saw her and could do something about her situation.

Oh my God! she thought in horror, the realization leaving a terrible taste in her mouth.

Petra needed help from the possessor.

No, no, no! she mentally whined.

She didn’t want help.

She huffed in frustration.

She mean, Petra wanted help. Just not his!

She hated the possessor! Hated the harm he had caused her. She wanted him to disappear from the face of the earth! No, from existence!

Petra brought a hand to her head, her fingers running through her curls until gripping the strands tightly at the root. The thoughts were stressing her to the limit.

But now it was the only option she had.

And she was going to have to find a way to convince him to help her.

---

Her body really must have been exhausted. Considering the hours he had spent sleeping. It was no surprise, a fight with Killer Croc. That should wear anyone out.

A shiver ran down her spine. It was terrifying to think about her body being used to fight crime. And how damaged it became after every fight. She prayed that this “adventure” the possessor was taking her destiny on would end. She didn’t want any more damage to herself. Because she knew very well that — if — when she could do something with her life again, it would already be a lot of work.

Petra twirled a curl around her finger, thinking she would get bored. But her numerous thoughts did the favor of not letting her mind stop for even a second.

Interrupting her thoughts, the possessor suddenly woke up, jumping from the bed in fright. His breathing was too fast, frantic. His shoulders rose and fell, and he turned his head toward her with wide eyes.

Petra also got startled by the sudden action, standing up instantly. She mentally organized as quickly as she could the step-by-step of how she had planned to approach him and the many things she could say when he finally heard her. And she gathered the courage to speak.

“Oh, hi!” Petra greeted him timidly, shifting the position of her feet. She kept a small embarrassed smile on her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes and didn’t show her teeth.

“Hi…?” His answer was dry, but had the intonation of a question. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed. He seemed confused, still dazed, but he had calmed down a little. He had already sat up on the bed.

To be honest, she would be too. And she was. Her suddenly treating him well — well was a strong word, “decent” would perhaps be better — out of nowhere was at the very least strange after the arguments earlier.

“Did you sleep well?” Petra asked casually, wanting to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work.

The possessor didn’t answer. He narrowed his eyes even more, showing that he didn’t understand what was happening.

The silence between them stretched for a very uncomfortable amount of time. Both suspicious of each other like cornered cats. The possessor stared at her, attentive to her intentions.

Petra took the liberty of looking away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“We didn’t start off very well, did we?” Petra stated the obvious.

Without any contribution from the other side, she assumed he wouldn’t speak until he wanted to. So any question would be useless. She decided that continuing to talk would be the best option.

“Earlier, both of us were emotional,” she let her smile fade, taking on a more serious expression. Her voice was soft, but also heavy. “And we said things that irritated the other, and if it makes you feel better, I take back most of what I said.”

She took it back. But she didn’t change her opinion. She just wanted to keep things calm between them.

“I had time to think and realized that fighting like we did doesn’t solve anything.” Petra crossed her arms, gripping the sleeves of her clothes.

“I imagine a truce is the best choice we can make right now.” She proposed a peace agreement.

“I promise to stop being annoying and stubborn or something like that…” she made a vague gesture — that was why they started arguing if she remembered correctly — “But I want something in return.” Help. “And first I need to know if you agree or not to make this work.”

She would like to say she kept a firm posture, but she quickly looked down at the floor, unable to handle the pressure of the conversation. Praying the possessor would understand and want to do this.

Because understanding was easy. She did.

But wanting to? Not even close.

The only thing bigger than her hatred for him, and what motivated her to propose an alliance, was the desire to go home. To have her life back.

And from past experiences — which were not many, but enough to understand they would argue even about the smallest things — she imagined he would let himself be carried more by—

“I agree,” he said slowly.

What? Petra thought, shocked.

She let a sigh escape from the bottom of her lungs. She was surprised. The girl thought it would be harder to convince him, considering how stubborn he had seemed a few moments earlier.

She felt relieved for a moment. This could be a sign that he would cooperate and that interactions between them would be easier.

“I don’t really see the point in fighting either.” At that moment he was no longer looking at her. His expression was partially hidden by strands of hair that had fallen messily from her bun, but she could still see something there. Shame, maybe guilt. But also compassion for the situation.

“And we’re going to have to be at peace at some point.”

Petra blinked a few times, as if what she was seeing were a hallucination. She even felt dizzy with how simple it was going. And with the difference between the possessor who had argued with her before and the one now. She silently wondered the reason for the sudden change.

“Are you serious?” She couldn’t help feeling suspicious.

“Why would I lie about that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Curious about the question. But something told Petra he knew very well the reason.

“Oh I don’t know maybe because of—” she had no words to express “everything you did—”

“I don’t want to get into that subject again.” His voice was hard, his gaze heavy and full of feelings Petra couldn’t even identify.

“What do you want to ask me?” he asked with a more neutral expression and voice, changing the subject.

She clasped her hands behind her back. She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose and reviewing one last time everything she wanted to say in her head, since it seemed entering that topic led to nothing but emotional exhaustion. For both of them.

“You and I can’t stay separated from each other. Even though it’s something I believe both of us want very much.” Her voice was sharp and methodical.

“What I want most right now is to return to my body,” Petra made that clear at the start. “And from what I understand neither of us has the slightest idea how to do that, so it will definitely take time for that to happen.”

“That by itself already seems like a huge problem and it really is! Especially because it most likely demands a complex solution and it doesn’t help the way I am—” she realized halfway through the sentence that she was getting carried away by her thoughts and saying everything that came to mind, rambling like she always did when she was allowed to.

“What I want to ask you is to help me.” She felt a knot forming in her throat, but kept speaking firmly. “You are my only option, the only person who can reverse this situation.”

He looked at her. Petra could see in the reflection of his eyes that the words had affected him somehow.

“That’s fine with me,” he said slowly, and Petra saw truth in his words.

Just that? She expected him to say more, it was little, but it was the best for someone who had nothing. She had managed.

They stayed silent for a moment of thin tension. The only sound being both of their heavy breathing. Now that they had reached terms and technically had resolved their issues (they still had so many, she thought they weren’t even close to resolved).

“So what do we do now?”

Petra was surprised by the initiative of speech coming from him. She shifted the position of her feet to be more comfortable.

“Hummm… going back to the Mansion would be a good start… we just need to think how,” Petra said thoughtfully. They would have to get there discreetly and it was difficult when “she” was dressed as a superhero. And he wouldn’t be able to enter through the window because of the injuries and wounds.

“We’re going to have to go back at some point,” he said from the bed, his tone troubled. He put a strand of hair behind his ear. “But I had thought about staying hidden until I recover from my injuries, so it won’t raise so much suspicion about them.”

“How long would it take?” she asked out of curiosity. For some time she had wanted to understand how this accelerated healing worked. But also to have an idea of how many days they would stay away if they followed his plan.

“I don’t know exactly. For the bone to regenerate, maybe one, two or three days. To recover completely, a week at most.”

“Then I think you’ll raise more suspicion if we don’t go,” Petra stated. Spending so much time away from home would create worries. In fact it was better that they returned as soon as possible.

And the family was already suspecting too much.

“Your house is very far from here, I don’t even know if I’m able to walk there and keep staying invisible the whole time,” the possessor argued.

“Take a taxi or a rideshare driver,” Petra suggested.

“Like this?”

She narrowed her eyes. It seemed she would have to come up with a solution for that, since her “partner” loved to make excuses.

Think, think, think, think Petra. What can we do now?

Petra had her hand on her chin reflexively. Until she had an idea of what to do.

“How about this: I’m almost sure I saw a thrift store on the way here,” she said confidently. “You go there, change clothes, take a taxi and we go to my house.” She raised one finger for each part of the plan. It was simple, easily executable.

“Any store must be closed at this hour,” he countered the solution she had given. A weak excuse of course.

“Actually I think it’s already late morning,” she crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows. “Did you at least look through the window?”

He turned his head to the small light coming into the room, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, I don’t even have money to buy anything anyway,” he shrugged.

“There’s a card in my phone case. I always leave it there, there’s no way you removed it,” Petra said.

He opened the phone case, making a small sound. There was a black card, without limits.

The possessor opened his mouth slightly, but soon closed it. It seemed trying to contradict her wasn’t working. Good for Petra.

“There’s no chance your father will see what we buy and question it, right?” he asked, closing the case again with another click.

“Please, there’s not even a chance,” Petra almost let out a laugh. The idea of Bruce even caring about what she bought was hilarious, let alone bothering to look at the bill of her card.

“Do we really have to go back now?”

“Yes, we do,” she answered immediately, frowning as she became irritated.

“You can do the invisibility thing to go there, right?” She changed the subject before he had the chance to question her.

“I kind of don’t control that ability,” Peter informed her.

“You don’t control it?” Petra shot skeptically, turning her head to look at him. How could he not know how to use it, it had been so long that he could stay invisible, she assumed he knew what he was doing.

“No. I mean, kind of. Most of the time it’s just instinct. But I’ve managed to use it willingly a few times,” he explained.

“So how are we going there then? A superhero walking in the middle of the streets in broad daylight will draw a lot of attention,” Petra threw her hands in the air, another problem. Things really couldn’t be easy for her.

“Relax girl, I’m pretty sneaky. Night and day. No one will even see me.”

“Oh I doubt—”

“Let’s just go already.” He signaled for her to follow, passing through the door almost before Petra saw him.

Well, she had no other option but to go wherever he went.

---

Petra waited for the possessor tediously at the bathroom door. The only noise in the store came from a rusty heater. The sound of her feet tapping on the floor was somewhat muffled and vague, because, well, she didn’t really have a physical form to actually hit the ground. Not that it mattered. Since no one besides Petra (and maybe the possessor) could hear it.

After they left the abandoned place, it wasn’t even that hard to get to the thrift store, like the possessor had suggested. He couldn’t stay invisible after all. They had to come warming themselves along the corners. Petra had to admit he was good when it came to being stealthy.

Well when she could use that power, she wouldn’t need to be, because she would know how to control it, she thought confidently. Or at least she would try.

Petra huffed. He was taking too long to get ready. It had been a few minutes since he had entered the stall. Who takes that long to change clothes. She imagined it was because of the injuries, but it was already taking too long.

She wondered what he was doing...

She approached with curiosity, getting as close as possible to the door to try to hear something.

Typing.

The constant sound of nails hitting a glass surface indicated that.

Typing.

Typing? Typing what?

Could he be talking to someone? Who could he be talking to? Could it be his family? Or worse someone she had no idea about.

Her heart began to beat faster. She didn’t want more problems, more things for her to deal with, to mess with her head.

“Hey!” Petra called him. “What are you doing? Hurry up!” She rushed him so they could leave.

“I’m coming,” the possessor answered, and Petra almost thought he sounded nervous.

She heard noises from inside the bathroom, it seemed like only now he had started to change clothes, the environment filled with the sound of fabric moving.

After a few minutes, while Petra chewed her nails with anxiety, he came out.

He was wearing another hoodie, also baggy like the uniform one, and this one even seemed to be a size bigger. He had also changed the leggings for sweatpants, but kept the same shoes, a pair of red All Stars. Nothing she would wear, but he preferred not to listen to any of her fashion advice.

He had taken off the sling, but she could see that he still had the rest of the bandages on his arm, even though he tried to hide it by leaving the sleeve lower.

“Who were you talking to?” she said with a scowl and her arms crossed. She didn’t want to argue, but she couldn’t ignore the doubt so easily. Especially when she already had her suspicions.

His face went from confusion to a hard expression, his shoulders tensed.

“No one.” The answer was dry and sharp like a blade. He was defensive.

The girl thought for a moment. She didn’t know if it was possible, but Petra decided to risk a guess of who it could be.

“Was it that Karen?” she asked bluntly.

His expression quickly turned dark. His eyes widened just enough for her to notice that he hadn’t expected that question. His uninjured hand closed into a fist, which he hid at the side of his body in a probable attempt that she wouldn’t see it.

“We’re going to need to finish this conversation later,” he said quietly in an almost threatening way.

He passed by her right after.

Petra was very curious to know what he wanted to talk about.

She followed him from a distance to the register and he paid for the things, but Petra wasn’t paying attention to that. Her head was somewhere else, thinking about everything until now.

She wasn’t happy. Nor did she feel completely well.

Petra was satisfied with the progress she had made. She hoped that today would be a sign that things could work out.

She shook her head.

She didn’t want to fool herself again.

A lot of things still bothered and disturbed her mind. She put a strand behind her ear and massaged her temple.

Fortunately, something calmed her heart:

She was going home.

In the form of a ghost.

Without being able to talk to her family.

And depending on the guy she hated — and who much probably hated her back.

But she was going home.

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