Chapter 36: Fried eggs and weird gloves

"You're early."

Jason was wrong but, considering the guy looked like he had been recently revived from the dead and had eyebags big enough to be confused for black eyes, Peter refrained from correcting him. He was feeling in a much better mood that morning, and it had everything to do with the ten hours of deep sleep he'd just woken up from. Turned out there was a limit to how many nightmares he could get and, once he was exhausted enough, he just stopped dreaming entirely. He didn't question it. It was nice to have the universe be kind to him for once.

"You look like a raccoon." He hid his concern behind a smile. "Do you like, never sleep?"

To his surprise, his neighbor replied with a smirk of his own. "A bit rich, coming from a stick like you. What kinda food do you even eat?"

The younger boy shuddered. "Ramen." Barely seasoned, poorly prepared ramen. Even thinking about the stuff made him want to vomit. With everything that had happened recently, he had little time or inclination to go grocery shopping and, unfortunately, he couldn't survive purely off of Marco's leftovers. His second hand appliances had gone unused ever since he bought them, which was a shame. He really had been looking forward to cooking himself a meal. He hadn't expected how little time he would have for himself. This week had been an absolute disaster.

So yeah, he had lost a little bit of weight, but it really wasn't as bad as Jason's zombie face. Human skin was not supposed to be this pale, especially not on someone who was naturally tan.

"Only ramen?" The former rogue shook his head, looking worried. "Diet is important."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Sure. So is sleep, by the way. Are you gonna let me in?"

He had to suffer another round of concerned glances before his neighbor finally moved away from his door and let him step through. Their apartments being less than ten feet away from each other made it very easy to meet up. He never had one of his friends live this close to him before. Even with his powers, it usually took him ten or fifteen minutes to get to Ned's and MJ's was even further away. He hoped they could keep on being coworkers for a little bit longer, he liked being able to talk to someone his age.

He looked around, trying not to make his curiosity obvious. Jason's place was supposedly the same size and model as his, but it appeared a bit smaller. It was a lot tidier, but had more furniture and items crammed in it, as well as a few curtains, which gave the illusion of a cramped space. There was no bed, not even a mattress, but Peter did notice a couch in somewhat decent shape, with a TV placed in front of it. A gas stove and a small fridge completed the rather simple living area, but even that was organized perfectly. 

The second half of the apartment, the one next to the entrance, was more unusual. It consisted of a mix of workout gear, shelves packed with crates and boxes, and three workbenches. The closest of those was covered in small tools and robotics equipment, one other had weapon cases strewn around it and the last held the horrifying machine Jason had dubbed his Craft-It-All. A mannequin stood in front of it, with what looked like a bodysuit wrapped around its fake torso.

His mouth fell open as soon as he spotted it. 

It was still barebones but there was no way he wouldn't recognize his own design. 

His teammate had already started working on the spider suit. Good. He was only a few days away from being done with scrapping the Iron Spider and the sooner he began working on implementing the technology into another suit, the more powerful he could make it. Still, he hadn't expected it to be this far along, or for Jason to have put so much effort in making it. The first layer of the outfit was almost finished, and he could see the start of the second layer neatly folded next to the demonic sewing machine. It had only been a few days, and he knew it would have taken him at least a week to get the same results. Maybe he had just discovered the reason behind his neighbor's chronic lack of sleep.

"I guess I'm gonna make us some food." Jason sighed, closing and locking the door. "Might as well, we'll be there for a while."

"You think?" Peter walked up to the mannequin, bending closer to look at the finer details.

He tried to memorize how everything looked. Between his memory and his enhanced fine motor control, he generally needed very little practice before he could replicate a pattern. This was definitely higher quality than what he would have pulled off without any help, but it wasn't so far out of his skill level that he wouldn't be able to copy it. He would need to upgrade his own sewing machine to something more appropriate to work with the tougher materials, but he figured he could manage a passable imitation.

He, however, would not be getting carried away and ending up making another monstrosity to rival the Craft-It-All, no sir he wouldn't. He was a reasonable young man, and if he was starting to feel a little bit competitive at the idea, well there was nothing wrong with day dreaming.

Unaware of the fact his new teammate had started drafting up mental plans to build a machine to surpass his own, Jason took his stove out and set it on the table between the couch and the TV. He had a box of eggs and a stick of butter in his hands and, despite his many issues, looked a lot more competent at this whole adulting thing than Peter had ever felt. Of course, he was older and, going by his relationship with the Bats, he had to have been living on his own for a few months at least, perhaps more. It made sense he'd know a lot more about being independent.

The man noticed him staring and took the opportunity to speak, not even looking as he dropped generous chunk of butter into the pan and prepared their breakfast.

"I want to know every detail of your little trip with Wayne." He sounded just as serious as he had been earlier, as if it was normal for a teenager like him to try and fight with one of the richest men in this world.

"The guy is that bad, uh?"

Peter turned away and glanced at the workbenches, feeling a familiar itch, not on the back of his neck but in his mind. He hadn't expected so many shiny tools to just be laying there. It was incredibly tempting to go and take a closer look at them.

The first desk he had noticed, with all the robotics and fun looking toys, monopolized his attention enough that he missed Jason's answer. He couldn't identify all of the equipment on it, but one of them looked very familiar. It was vaguely gun shaped but too bulky to be an useful firearm. He picked it up absently, noticing the slight damage on its side. Part of its plating had been dislodged by a hit or a shot of some kind. He dismantled it easily, noticing some of the inner mechanisms had been pushed out of place by whatever had impacted them. Ah. So it was one of those. He didn't think his teammate actually had one. He hadn't seen him use it before, but if he had been trained by the Bats, he would know how to move with this.

"Nice grappling gun." He complimented, still distracted and only vaguely noticing Jason's head shooting up in alarm.

The man might be worried about some of the more dangerous parts hurting him while he tinkered, but Peter was careful. He was long past sticking his finger into springs or wires. Those had destroyed his skin more time than he could count, and he was getting tired of his hands turning into shredded meat. There were plenty of expensive looking tools around the apartment. He figured using them was better than giving the floor a new paint job. Red was his partner's favorite color, but blood was oh so difficult to clean for someone on a budget.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Red Hood narrowed his eyes, still stirring and making sure his eggs didn't stick to the pan.

"Fixing it. You already have everything out anyway."

He carefully replaced some of the more damaged mechanisms with the spare parts Jason had prepared. The older vigilante had been pessimistic and overshot with the amount he took out. Some of what he had intended to put in that grappling gun was unnecessary, and would risk making it slower and heavier. Peter's hands moved almost on their own, adjusting and tweaking its insides until he felt satisfied. By the time he was done, he had a plate of freshly cooked eggs in front of him. 

He blinked. Uh. He hadn't even noticed the food was ready. He reached for it immediately. He felt hungry constantly, but most of the time he ignored it, pushed it to the back of his mind until it was a low, dull buzz. That technique didn't work so well whenever he was handed anything that wasn't unseasoned ramen.

Ugh. And he used to love noodles too.

"What the hell did you do?" His coworker turned the grappling gun in his hands, then poked at the damaged parts on his workbench. "Why did you take all of that out?"

"You didn't need everything." Peter shrugged, digging into his food eagerly. "Funny tool you got, looks very familiar."

By that he meant it looked almost identical to some of the gear he had seen the Bats using. It would be hard to compare them from a distance but, once he got his hands of it, he could see a clear resemblance. Going by its inner workings, the gun had around the same range, pulling strength and strain resistance as the grappling tech he had seen used by the other vigilantes. He hoped it hadn't been stolen, although that wouldn't have been much of a surprise, and would have been a lot easier to sneak out of the Bats' headquarters than a motorcycle.

"I don't use it that much." Jason frowned down at the tool, gauging its weight for the third time since Peter had finished messing with it. "It's lighter. Did you really just take shit out?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes for once. "Obviously I also moved some parts around." The eggs were pretty good and he hadn't tasted butter in forever so it was a bit hard to focus on anything other than his tastebuds. A little bit of seasoning went a long way, he really should invest on replacing his dwindling stash of salt and spices. "I told you making stuff like this is my thing."

"You said you were good at robotics." Jason flipped the grappling gun to his other hand. "This is a bit different." He mimicked shooting it at the ceiling, then twirled it dramatically.

"Robotics, engineering, whatever." Peter waved his hand, feeling a bit embarrassed. He was used to being around people like Ned and MJ, who had long grown used to his ability to pick up new skills. "Honestly, there's a lot I still need to learn. Physics, for example. I'm pretty decent at it but I barely understand some of the more advanced stuff. Biology is another one."

If he focused on them, he could likely master both topics in a few years, but that wasn't particularly unique. Being mentored by Tony Stark had taught him early on he was far from the only technologically gifted person in the world. 

"You really are something. How the fuck did you not get poached, again?"

The guy who saw my potential died and then everything went to shit for a bit, he thought.

"It's not anything special." He said. "I mean, look at your stuff, you built most of it, right?"

Jason followed his gaze to the workbenches and the various projects on them. "Sure, I did." He admitted, although he still looked at Peter with an odd expression. "But I was taught how to do that."

And there it was, his connection to the Bats. He didn't seem to hide it much anymore, not after their last encounter with the group. He still hadn't said anything directly but what he was implying was as close to a confession as one could get. The tools weren't similar simply because he had taken to stealing them from Wayne Tech and Batman got his designs from them. He had learned directly from the source how to make his own gear.

Another hint towards them being connected. Wayne, the mysterious foster father and the former urban legend. All three could be the same person. The pieces fit.

Until he found some type of evidence, he couldn't prove it but he was starting to believe it all the same. His instincts were rarely wrong, even without his Spider Sense.

Hm. His friend looked like he was in a good mood, and they were here to talk. Might as well ask him.

"So how old were you, anyway?" He said, finishing his plate and handing it over to Jason, who had replaced the stove with a bright red plastic basin.

He got an unimpressed look in answer so he figured he needed to be a bit more blunt. After making sure the room was secure (which earned him another annoyed glance because of course Jason had checked his apartment hadn't been bugged), he tried again.

"How old were you when you became a vigilante?" Just to make sure he would get an answer this time, and at the risk of being too forward, he added: "As young as Robin?"

His neighbor's head snapped up so fast he wondered if the man had any latent metahuman abilities. They stared at each other in silence, the only sound coming from the wind outside and the droplets of water falling from the older teen's hands. It was cold in their apartments, a roof wasn't much protection from the weather when it was so extreme. Peter tugged on the straps of his sweatshirt, suddenly nervous. He had been sure he had read the situation correctly but, if he was mistaken, his words could be taken as an insult. 

"You figured it out, then." Jason said, his voice as blank as his face. "Fuck."

He had gone completely still, one hand holding his half cleaned plate and the other still in the middle of dipping a sponge into soapy water. Peter felt a bit bad for him, but was also extremely relieved. He had been right. He hadn't offended his partner. His hands relaxed and he let go of his shirt. You still got it Parker, at least your brain isn't completely broken.

"It was a bit obvious."

He grimaced when his attempt at making it seem like not that big of an issue made Jason's calm mask crack. His friend looked upset and there was an odd glow to his eyes, an edge of panic. Not the right thing to say. He had to fix it, fast. He tried to smile.

"But only because I saw you with them. I heard you talk to Nightwing at the Pits, and I also saw you two together. Back before we officially met, I got you guys pizza."

The panic turned to anger and the black-haired teen resumed scrubbing the dishes, almost breaking one of them in the process. "That was before that dickhead decided to become an ass licker." He glared at Peter. "Can't be the only thing, spit it out."

Not wanting to have a repeat of the previous night, the younger boy complied, standing up and moving closer to lean on the side of the couch.

"It's the way you talk about them," he explained, "like you know them." Another glare forced him to add: "Of course I know you don't like them, but that was a bit of a clue too. You feel really strongly about them."

About one of them specifically. The leader of the vigilantes was the target of most of the animosity Jason held for the Bats. The Red Robin guy couldn't be far behind, though, considering what had happened when they last met. Shooting someone was worse than talking about them behind their backs. Of course, he didn't doubt Batman would also have ended up with a bullet in the chest if he hadn't managed to block or dodge every single one that had come his way.

"That's putting it mildly." The rogue paused, leaving the dishes half finished, and wiped his hands on his pants. "Fuck. I need a smoke. Do you mind?"

Peter shook his head and waited for the other teen to open the window and roll a cigarette before he talked again.

"I think the only way to figure it out is to spend a lot of time with you." He shrugged. "And also to be unlucky enough to attract the Bats a lot."

"And you are very good at attracting attention." Jason growled, tense and annoyed. Taking a first hit of nicotine seemed to relax him slightly, which wasn't the healthiest but still better than them fighting again. "Do you do it on purpose?"

"I just have bad luck." He admitted, moving to sit on the back of the couch. He wanted to reach up for the ceiling and pace around, a habit he often indulged when he was on his own. "Stuff happens to me all the time. It's like the universe hates me."

His coworker snarled. "No, you go looking for it. Don't tell me a normal guy in your position would have gone off to that little fiesta with the plant bitch." The tobacco didn't take all of the edge out of Red Hood's voice but he was nowhere near the state he had been in the previous night. Small victories were still victories.

Peter figured the guy was right, sort of. "Yeah, I guess I do look for trouble."

They were both lost in thought.

He didn't want to push his friend too hard, not so soon after one of his episodes. He didn't know enough about them, had no idea if they left lingering symptoms or if they completely vanished after he calmed down. Better safe than sorry. He tried to give himself some time by looking up. The roof was sloped and had several visible wood beams crossing across it, more so than in his own room. He noticed a punching bag attached to one of them, with a mechanism to lower it dangling a couple feet off the ground. He was really itching to get up there. Gravity was overrated.

"So." Jason breathed out a cloud of mist and smoke, his voice back to normal and his heart steady. A few snowflakes fell from the open window to land on his hair and shirt. He ignored them. "Wayne. The fuck did he do to you?"

I could say the same thing. Peter bit back the thought, leaning further back, to an angle that would have been uncomfortable for a regular human. On his own, he often forgot that his sense of balance was just as enhanced as his strength or speed.

"Well, I met him when I went to the library." He recalled, casting another longing glance at the ceiling. "But I met his son first. Creepy little guy."

Wait.

If Wayne was connected to Batman, despite how ridiculous it seemed, Damian might be involved in vigilantism as well. He remembered his first and only meeting with the current Robin and how shocked he had been to see he was only a kid. The two boys were around the same age and they had the same build. He shivered at the thought of that unhinged goblin being let loose in Gotham. For his sanity, he really hoped his theory was nothing more than a weird conspiracy. He could already picture himself being stalked by a masked version of the child, who had been a tad too interested in him.

If he's part of it, he must have been gathering information. He might not care that much about me.

Damn it, that was another point towards the Wayne family and the vigilante team being one and the same. He leaned back even more, reaching up to cover his face with his hands. For once, he wanted his instincts to be wrong.

"Of course the brat is creepy," Jason nodded with a smile, "he's his son."

He was very confident for a man who might have been raised by the same person he made fun of. There was something Peter could have said about rocks and glass houses but he managed not to blurt it out. Nice one, Parker. Look at you not being overly impulsive. Instead, he kept the peace by diligently recalling the previous afternoon.

"I was making an account to get some books, so the kid followed me to the front desk. I guess Wayne thought he got lost and I brought him back to the entrance. He said he wanted to thank me and help me get to work. I was late." The ceiling would have been fun to walk on. It was so sad he had to act like a regular, functional, human being.

"And you just said yes?" His friend was almost done smoking and looked at him with immense pity in his eyes. Typical Gotham behavior. Whenever they thought an outsider was being naive, Gothamites would get that expression on their face. Peter had become very familiar with it over the weeks.

"I mean, his son was there. He also acted pretty nice." That didn't help his situation. If anything, his coworker looked even more astonished. "Not the son. Wayne. He was acting alright. He drives like an insane person, though. I can't believe he did that with his kid in there."

"Wayne doesn't care about his kids." Jason said in a somber tone, which really didn't help Peter with his conspiracy theory problem. "Everyone knows he can just adopt another if one of them dies. He's just that kind of asshole."

That was probably the most loaded thing the metahuman had ever heard in his life and all he could do was nod, keeping his mounting frustration off his face. At this rhythm, the little creeper he met at the library would indeed turn out to be Robin. Of course, the universe couldn't give him a good night's sleep without adding a metric ton of crap to his already very long list of problems. Was he going to have to worry about a pint sized vigilante trying to stun or drug him whenever he had his back turned?

"Maybe." He said, very politically indeed. "Either way, his kid tried to grab me at some point, but I avoided him." He made no mention of the Spider Sense, there were many other metahuman traits he could use to explain why he reacted so fast. "Wayne wanted me to drink some water. I didn't."

Jason's face relaxed noticeably after he added the last sentence. The man really thought he was an incompetent baby, lost in some kind of dark hellscape. Well, Gotham was sort of a hellscape, but he was as far from a toddler. With Ivy giving him a first hand experience of being poisoned, there was no way he wouldn't be suspicious of someone he didn't know handing him a drink.

"Yes, I know." Peter scowled, straightening up. "I'm not as hopeless as you think."

He cleared his throat, let out a slow, long breath. Getting annoyed would only make things worse. It was a lot easier to keep his temper when he wasn't feeling like a zombie. He resumed his story, which sounded a lot more lame than he remembered it. Without explaining he had supernatural instincts, and might be considered a bit of a seer, the whole ride had been relatively boring. "Wayne insisted on dropping me at work. When we went out of the car, he wanted me to shake his hand." Another instance of his friend tensing, and another one of him relaxing when he added: "I didn't."

Really, how innocent did Jason think he was?

Then, he had stepped into that car so maybe he deserved some of that disbelief.

"That's pretty much it." His tale over, he stood up and headed back to the workbenches. There were other trinkets there he thought he had recognized. One of them might have been a stun grenade, and Tony had never allowed him to work on those. After the man was gone, May had been sure to keep him away from any kind of explosive. He grabbed it and was delighted to discover that it was, indeed, a flashbang.

"You really didn't let him touch you?" Jason insisted, following him and narrowing his eyes when he noticed what he had just picked up. "Please don't mess with that one."

Peter carefully put the item down, switching his attention to a strange metallic glove, laying on the other end of the table. It was long enough to reach his elbow when he slipped it on. Tensing his fist caused blades to slide out of its sides; they were slightly curved but sharp enough to draw blood, and very well maintained. He felt their blunt end press on his skin, scratching it without drawing blood. He was significantly smaller than Red Hood, using one of those couldn't be a very comfortable experience for him.

"Are you going to play with everything?" The vigilante was a lot less patient than usual. The guy rivaled Gordon in the sleep deprivation department, which explained his mood swings.

"You can't blame me." The teen pointed his armored hand at Jason, who was now closing the window. He wagged his finger and grimaced when the metal blades dug further into his flesh. Yeah. Not comfortable at all. "You left all your best toys out in the open." He looked down at the malfunctioning weapon. "Mind if I take that apart?"

To his surprise it turned out that no, his friend did not mind and he was allowed to tinker as much as he wanted. As long as he allowed the rogue to watch what he did, he was welcome to look at everything in the room, save for the stun grenade.

He soon found out a large part of the everything in question consisted of an endless supply of firearms and explosives. By the tenth incident of him opening a case only to be faced with an intimidating, most definitely illegal, assault weapon of some kind, he limited himself to what was already out. The workbench had plenty of tools attached to it and he gleefully sorted through them. His favorite so far was a tiny dart gun, small enough to be hidden within the palm of his hand, but stinking of chemicals so potent they could put an elephant to sleep. Straight out of a movie. He peered at it for a little bit too long, and his nose started to itch. The smell of it got to him. He gagged.

"It's my turn now." He, with great resilience and strength of spirit, put the poisoned darts down and looked up at Jason. "Let's talk about the Bats."

The rogue did not react well to the mention of the vigilantes. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself off the front door, which he'd been leaning on, started to pace, hand going to his pocket, where he usually kept his lighter and smoking kit. His other fist opened and closed compulsively, moving up to grab his hair. He was trying to keep his emotions under control without blowing up again. The anger was back, tainting the air, but it was still nascent.

He looked like he had it covered for now. Nothing Peter had to say would make the situation better. He decided to play for time and focused back on the pile of equipment he'd gathered. Next in line was a gas mask similar to his own, albeit looking as if part of it had been melted off. The red metal bulged like wax, and its lower half was severely corroded. He whistled, poking at it. The damage had not been caused by heat. Perhaps acid? A very potent toxin, designed to eat through anything? His elbow brushed against the bladed gauntlet and he ended up picking it up again. He had been given the all clear, there was nothing stopping him from taking it apart and stopping it from torturing its user whenever it was activated.

"There's a lot I can't tell you." Jason sighed, after walking back and forth around the apartment at least a dozen times.

Peter looked at him. The young man had moved away and was now standing under the window, moving to open it again. Apparently he needed to smoke more than once to get through what he must think was going to be an interrogation. The teenager slipped his fingers away from the small catch in the plating he'd meant to test the strength of and rested his chin on the palm of his hands, leaning over the many different tasers, weapons and scanning devices. He was very careful not to touch any of the more damaged ones, getting shocked wasn't fun.

"You don't really have to tell me anything." He clarified, feeling oddly calm, despite what he was about to say. "I just meant how you went and shot one of them."

Jason's hand stopped briefly but finished its movement and finished pushing the glass panel upwards. A blast of cold air ran through the room, which they both ignored. "What about it?" He asked, taking his lighter out. "They were going for you. Do you expect me to be a good Christian boy? Turn the other cheek and all that?"

The window rattled. A small pile of snow toppled down and spilled inside. Too much anger.

Giving the former rogue time to calm down had worked so far, he might as well keep doing it.

Peter grabbed the gauntlet and returned to taking it apart. The blades were easy enough to get out once he'd found the mechanisms that secured them; those were only accessible from the inside and it took a bit of maneuvering to get to them. The weapon had only one type of trigger, unlike his own web shooters, so it wasn't that difficult to figure out how it worked. The large amount of equipment he had available to make his task easier helped too. He'd been making himself suffer taking the Iron Spider apart with only tweezers and whatever gear he'd managed to scavenge or afford. He only had to step across the hall to get access to a proper workstation.

By the time he put the last blade down, all of them neatly aligned in front of him, Jason had calmed down, although he was now on his third cigarette.

Peter didn't remember him smoking quite so often before they started clashing with the Bats. It wasn't good on his lungs, he had to buy back Barbara's books as soon as he could. One of them had to have an example of a healthy coping mechanism. Tobacco worked for now, and he decided this was his best opportunity to keep talking. He had a hard time stopping himself from tweaking with his little project and settled on moving slowly and mechanically, eyes aways from his hands. As long as he was careful, he didn't really need his eyes. His other senses could pick up the slack.

"I'd rather they don't attack us in the first place." He said, trying to make some more space in the gauntlet for the blades, which he had yet to reinsert. He almost burned his hand in the process. His Spider Sense saved him at the last second. "But if they do again, I'd probably just leave. I don't want to deal with them."

"You want me to do the same thing." Not a question. Jason didn't sound like he approved.

Gotham appeared to Peter as one of those cities that needed several active teams to keep safe. With the numbers they had, the Bats must have all of the days of the week covered. He imagined Batman, Nightwing and that Red Robin guy led the patrols, with the kids following along and backing them up. Back at the Pits, they had only sent one of the three older men to face him. Securing Bane couldn't have been much safer but still, they hadn't wanted to let the younger vigilantes confront two potential villains, one of them a metahuman.

With three team leaders, they must be working in shifts and share coverage of the city. Even that wasn't enough to stop every single incident, and he himself had ended up in his fair share of street fights. He had also seen infamous criminals such as Ivy and Harley walk around without care. There was enough white noise in town to cover an entire underground arena, and likely a dozen other illegal ventures. Even with Spider-Man and Red Hood coming into play, taking out the other crime fighters was a very poor idea. Gotham was less of a bomb waiting to explode and more a massive field of landmines constantly in the process of blowing itself up.

He tried to explain his opinion diplomatically.

"You told me yourself you wanted to be a vigilante. You can't do that if you pick fights with people on the same side as you."

First attempt, not as smooth as he wanted it to sound but not too bad for him.

"We are not on the same side." Jason scowled.

The cold wind was beginning to wear him thin. Peter wished he'd brought something a bit warmer than his usual indoor clothes. It was already frosty enough in his room that he was worried about Ivy's plant and had ended up wrapping his blanket around the pot, hoping it would help it survive. The temperature was even worse here, with the window open. He couldn't wait for spring. Patrolling was always easier in spring. People were in a better mood too, unless they had seasonal allergies.

"We're not on the side of the criminals." He said sternly, cutting his day dreaming short. "I'm done with the cage fighting, and you have to stop with the drug lord thing."

As we agreed.

"Maybe. But. We're on our own side." Jason's mouth leaked smoke again. It curled up in fascinating patterns, mixing with the falling snow. "A third side. We're not with the Bats."

"Sure." He didn't hold the local vigilantes in the best regards since they'd tried to electrocute, drug and kidnap him. He was perfectly fine staying away from them. "But even then, we're not their enemies. We can ignore them, I think that'd be good."

His friend glared up at the window, perhaps imagining the Bats were on the other side of it. He brushed some snow off of his shoulders, perfectly comfortable in the cold. "They aren't going to ignore you. Batman took a personal interest in you and he isn't about to let it go." He looked deadly serious. "The guy gets really fucking obsessed with things."

Peter slipped the armor piece back on and closed his hand. The one blade he'd replaced so far slid out smoothly, giving his arm plenty of space to sit. Much better now. He repeated the process a few times, noticing a tiny delay. Nothing he couldn't fix. "You sound like you know him well."

Jason called him a rather rude name. He ignored it. "Fuck off with that." His partner told him, exasperated. "You know I used to be Robin."

"Sorry." He shrugged, getting back to messing with the gauntlet. "So he gets obsessive?"

"You have no idea. If you've caught his interest he won't let you go until he's satisfied."

His friend sounded sad and angry at himself for feeling bad in the first place. Peter was coming to terms with the fact he had somehow landed into the middle of the biggest family feud this side of the multiverse. Worse, he'd gotten so involved he was condemned to having to deal with it. He missed his simple family life with May. They had their moments, and high school had been difficult to navigate, but only one of them partook in heroism, and they never tried to kill or capture each other.

If Wayne was Batman, and if he did in fact get obsessed with things, as Jason described, he could see who Damian took from. His only hope was that his theory was wrong. He could deal with one civilian stalker and one vigilante stalker, having both of them liable to follow him at night was a bit too much for him, even if half of the duo was only twelve.

"That's creepy." Another blade went into the gauntlet, he pushed it into place and secured it. "Still. We're not going to fight them. If we see them, either we ignore them or we get out."

He heard Jason's heart rate speed up in anger and their eyes crossed. He held his gaze, feeling as if he was putting on a very good impression of a confident, calm person. Practice really did make perfect.

"This isn't an argument." He said. "It was and still is a condition for me to work with you. We are not going after other vigilantes. Sure, we're not on their side. We don't answer to them, we don't trust them. I can get behind that. But we're not about to send someone else to the hospital when they could be out on the streets helping people."

The window closed with a bang.

He quickly put anything vaguely sharp away, off to the further side of the work area. Jason still had a tenuous grasp on his temper but it was better not to risk it.

"They do not. Help people." The young man breathed out. He began pacing again, took a butterfly knife from one of his desks and started flipping it between his fingers. The maneuvers got more elaborate as he began talking again, visibly struggling with keeping his temper. "They fuck everything up."

Peter tried to imprint every detail in his mind, so he could lay them down on paper later. This wasn't uncontrollable rage, not yet, but he recognized that odd light in his partner's eyes. He was distant, as if he wasn't fully in touch with reality, listening or seeing something else, superimposed on the world around him. Hallucinations? That would make his condition significantly more complex. Had Nightwing not told him the symptoms had an unnatural cause, he might have assumed this was an illness. He had met and helped several civilians with similar behavior.

It was artificial. That meant it had to have a cure, or at least a way to reverse engineer it. He tapped his fingers on the wooden workbench, sticking, freeing, sliding them along. He had to watch carefully. Listen. 

Accelerated heart rate.

Shallow breathing.

Sweating and some minor shakings of the hands.

Dilated pupils and-

The eyes.

He moved immediately, getting closer to Jason, who was still walking. He stood a few feet away from him, and found out that, yes, he had not imagined it.

Red Hood's eyes were glowing.

No. Not glowing. Not exactly. He couldn't see any light reflecting off his skin, and his pupils looked as dark as they should be. The color had changed, though, going from a lighter, slightly faded green to a vibrant emerald. The shade was so intense his irises seemed to shine. Double damn. A spell causing this was more and more likely. Glowing eyes and magic went together like burger and fries. Or ice cream and cookies. Or-

Stop thinking about food, Parker.

"Back off."

Jason growled, moving forward as if to push him. Staying close wasn't a good idea.

He went back to his seat and rested his hands flat on the table. Pushing too far now would be a mistake. The room was full of dangerous explosives and firearms. Their neighbors wouldn't take well to their lunch being ruined by a shootout, they might even get evicted.

As if he'd read his mind, the other teen headed to his front door, grabbing and sliding his jacket on, then storming out. Peter followed him silently, and they ended up standing at the top of the stairs.

"Stay in there." His teammate pinned him down with a glare. "Fuck with whatever you want, don't blow up the place." He ignored his protests and spoke over his reply. "I need some time to think. Don't worry, I won't shoot anyone."

Watching him stomp down the stairs, Peter considered whether or not he should listen to his partner. He was not in a good state, and his condition was actively influencing him. Still, he was able to speak and he hadn't gone through with attacking him. Following him and getting spotted might cause him to completely blow up, and there were a lot more innocent bystanders walking around during the day. This could be a test. He thought he was perceptive enough to notice if his neighbor got involved in a fight. If he did, he would have to start sticking with him more often, to ensure he didn't get himself into trouble. If he didn't, then he had been right about one thing. Giving Red Hood space was a good way to let him calm down on his own, before he got so worked up he could no longer be reasoned with.

In the end, his need to be alone won out and he dipped into his apartment.

The plant looked alright. He adjusted the blankets around it and checked it wasn't too cold. If it died, he thought Ivy might track him down and murder him in revenge. Not much he could do now, save for buying a space heater he didn't have the budget for. 

It only took a few seconds to find his notebook and pens and he was soon back in Jason's room.

He cleared himself a spot on the couch, noticing for the first time the books scattered on the cushions. He read some of the back covers, surprised to see most of them were from completely unrelated genres. There were more vehicle magazines than anything else, but he found several American classics as well as foreign literature, science fiction, theater plays and even a translation of an ancient legal document from East Asia. Interesting. Everyone had hidden depths. Going to the library together as friends didn't seem so unlikely now.

It felt a bit odd to be sitting in someone else's apartment alone, but he hadn't missed the number of locks on the door, and was fairly certain Jason would not usually leave it open like this. His mood was bad enough that he hadn't taken the time to before he left, and he must have wanted him to sit in there to stop anyone else from sneaking in. He didn't need to stay in the room to ensure nobody broke in, he could have heard it through the walls, but he still had to finish fixing the bladed gauntlet, and there were a good dozen other items he wanted to take a closer look at.

But for now, he had to focus for a bit; put his observations down before he got distracted.

The first line of the first page was very simple, a single word.

SYMPTOMS:

Peter started writing.

Notes:

Pit Madness is so inconsistent in comics istg so I guess that's my spin on it.

Peter actually has fun for once. Also yes he LOVES all of the bat gadgets. Jason thinks he might as well make use of his pet tech genius.

OK I am SICK of not writing action but I have to wait until the showdown I planned and it makes me SO sad. I just want to skip straight to violence.