Oracle tapped her foot on the ground, unimpressed. "Yes, I got that impression. So? What's the reason you decided to break into my humble abode?"
"Humble?" Spider-Man's shoulders jumped with soft laughter. Oracle decided to take it as a compliment: she was proud of her set up, after all. "That's fun. But I was up for a challenge."
"Consider your challenge accepted. You wanted to talk? Then talk."
She took him in as he obviously dwelled on what to say. Average height — though a bit on the smaller end, and shorter than herself — with a gymnast's build that had been hard to pin down the first (and only) time she'd met him. Other than the mask, he wasn't wearing an especially practical suit. Where was he going to store all the things he'd need for a city like Gotham? She'd bet even the mask didn't have a built-in air purifier. The kid could do with a utility belt or a jacket…
Maybe she should convince Nightwing to have a chat. They could exchange notes on suits. Hopefully not designs, though: with the colour scheme and the webbing, Spider-Man looked like the type to appreciate the first of the Nightwing suits[1] and she'd lived through enough, thank-you very much.
Eventually, Spider-Man got his thoughts together. "You've been taking poor care of something of mine."
Oracle knew immediately what he was alluding to. "It's SOP to collect it, you know. You're not special."
"But I am," the Spider countered. Only to cringe and Oracle almost broke character to laugh at him. "My blood — it's dangerous."
"So is Superman's, but we've still got his on file."
"And is he aware of this?"
Oracle remained silent. Spider-Man hummed.
"I thought so. Who else had access to it?"
"… I couldn't be sure."
"The Oracle of Gotham?" the Spider scoffed with open derision. It was deserved: she was merely stalling for time. Scoping things out before she decided if back-up was necessary. She doubted he'd do anything heinous, but Oracle also hadn't predicted he'd simply break in and fuck with her tech. "Who else knows of it?"
"Didn't your man tell you?" she let the emphasis convey all he needed to know about his so-called relationship to Red Hood. But her hopes at unbalancing him were futile.
"That it was sent to a Dr Amal for sequencing." Spider-Man shifted, unhappiness clear in the set of his shoulders. A fragment of guilt passed through, but Oracle was excellent at ignoring it. It was her duty to keep her people safe, and Spider-Man had been an unknown quantity. "It's been dealt with."
… Noted. "I made sure the data was protected. His eyes only."
"Batman got access to it!"
"Batman's a special exception." Most of the Bats were. Oracle had long ago accepted that there was little information she could keep out of their sticky-fingered reach.
"Then you should know better than anyone that nothing stays safe forever."
Was that a pointed comment at Joker? Her grip tightened on the tonfa. If it was, she was going to beat his ass, then Jason's because who else would he have got the story from?
"There's always going to be someone who's better than you," Spider-Man continued. "Something that can break through your protections. Nothing's infallible."
Ah. No. Not a comment about her or Joker so much as her job. Perhaps no one needed to die tonight. Her grip on the tonfa loosened. Just a little.
"The risks of exposure were low—"
"But not zero!"
"You think the risk of someone getting a hold of your DNA otherwise is zero?"
"No," Spider-Man answered honestly. At least he was capable of self-awareness. "But at least in those instances I know it's at risk."
That he'd not known had been the entire point of contention, of course. Oracle pressed her lips together tightly. It was getting boring, circling around the same topic. Sure, she felt guilty, but not enough to apologise. Not that it looked like that was what Spider-Man was after.
"Where did you come from?" she demanded, changing the topic. "Meta's rarely pop up out of nowhere."
"… Hood didn't tell you?"
Honesty was the better policy here. "I tried to get it out of him, but he keeps himself to himself."
A little of the tension eased in the man. Had she perhaps played peacekeeper? Jason had better be grateful with her for that.
"Well…" amusement crept into his voice and Oracle knew immediately she wasn't going to get a straight answer. "If he won't tell, I won't either."
Ugh. So tedious. "I could torture it out of you."
That got a laugh out of the brat. "Doesn't seem like you."
"You think I'm not capable of violence?"
"Ha!" The sound burst out of the Spider, almost making her jump. "With the way you're holding that baton? No way am I getting near you. My alarm's been pinging since that elevator opened."
"It's a tonfa."
"Sure. What I meant was, you care about the facts. Torture doesn't get you facts. It just gets you pain. And I'd hope that's not something you want to create."
"Peter's more like you than he'll ever be like me," Jason told Bruce, the night after Pyg. Oracle had been dubious of Hood's assertion at the time, but begrudgingly, she had to give it to him. Not that she'd heard much of Hood trying his hands at torture… but it was the kind of thing you might hear someone say he'd done and not be surprised by it.
Your bias is showing, Barbara.
Hush. Oracle knew that. But Batgirl's declaration to her about Spider-Man and Red Hood, after he'd first appeared on the scene, might be right. "They're going to grow together," she'd said while hanging upside-down from the rafters. "I'm looking forward to it."
Oracle reserved her judgement — it was still early days yet — but she could see how Batgirl would think that way.
"Is it dangerous, at least? To Gotham," she tried again.
Spider-Man shook his head. "No… no, I don't think so."
"Not exactly confidence inspiring."
"I'm not here to give you a confidence boost," Spider-Man pointed out. "I'm here because I want my data gone."
She perched a hand on her hip. It was a bullshit power pose and the twinge of her back reminded her of that, but in the moment it felt good. "And if I don't comply?"
"Sorry," Spider-Man said. "But this? It wasn't a negotiation. It was a distraction."
And with that, all of Oracle's computers simultaneously shut down.
She screeched with surprise and launched her tonfa at him. But Spider-Man had already yanked something out of her computers and was gone, rocketing up into the rafters. Her tonfa landed squarely in the middle of a screen, the display crazing out.
"What have you done?"
Oracle was torn between the monitors and Spider-Man, perched once more in the ceiling space. Upside-down, freaky little guy that he was. It was one thing to see him pull that kind of crap through a camera, another to see it in the flesh and she agreed with Jason: it was unnerving as hell.
"They're just rebooting," drawled the menace. "Look."
Sure enough, her screens were all flickering back to life — all but the one she'd destroyed. It made no difference to her.
"Do you understand what you've just done?"
"Oh yes," he said brightly. "I've some idea. But don't worry, I made sure any vital processes were accounted for."
There's always going to be someone who's better than you.
Murder. She was going to kill the little smart ass, and then she was coming for Jason. Did he know about this? They all knew Parker was competent with tech, but to be better than her?
That was unacceptable.
… You could steal him.
"Who's helping you?"
"You think I'm not capable?" he threw back at her.
"You're an excellent engineer," she countered. "But that doesn't mean it translates to computers."
"Hey now, a girl can multitask," he joked but Oracle refused to be endeared. The demon had just taken control of her computers and done who knew what to them! She was going to fill their earpieces with unbearable static from now unto forever, the bastards! "You are super good though, I'll give you that—"
"Obviously not good enough!"
"I wouldn't take it personally," he said while Oracle was very much taking it personally. "I'm just a resourceful guy."
"Show me how you did it and maybe I'll spare your life."
Spider-Man paused, as though he was actually thinking about it. Then: "Nah. See ya later, Oracle. Next time any of you use my DNA, I'll be a lot less forgiving."
And then he was gone, shooting out the rooftop access and into the night.
Oracle screamed, right from the gut, infuriated and threw her remaining hidden tonfa at the wall. The thonk as the blade sunk into the brickwork was satisfying but not satisfying enough.
She stood for a time, breath heavy, pulse pounding. Eventually, she calmed enough to round on her computers and toss herself into her chair. Then she cracked her knuckles and threw herself into damage control.
— + —
Only when she'd trawled through every scrap of code and determined her set-up 'safe' did Oracle open the folder on 'Peter Parker'.
Empty, except for a single document named love_Karen_xo.
And on the document? A solitary but recently made selfie of the man in question, throwing up a peace sign.
If Peter ended up with her for Secret Santa, she was gifting the bugboy a crate's worth of Raid.
— + —
Gravity had become an optional extra. Maybe it was the satisfaction of a job done right, or the petty delight at having pulled one over the famed and formidable Oracle, but Peter was in a buoyant mood as he fled left the clock tower.
It was probably bad juju to feel so smug, but it felt good to know he'd deleted all the data the Bats had collected of him. And while he felt a little guilty for not acknowledging the help he'd had — thank-you zombie Karen for your service — Peter was still inordinately pleased to confirm that even one of the best of Earth G's security systems couldn't hold a candle to the combined efforts of a guy who'd learnt from the Tony Stark and the exhumed remains of his AI.
Okay, that was maybe an exaggeration. Oracle's set-up was intimidating. Breaking in had been no walk in the park. She was good. Really, seriously good…
… It was just that Tony Stark's legacies were better.
And had nine years of technological advancements under their belt, but that was neither here nor there.
All in all, his successful break in (take that, Jason the non-believer!) was a sign that Peter should put Karen's rehabilitation back on the drawing table. Ugh. So many things to fix, so little time!
But this, at least, was something Peter had corrected. With Karen's help keeping Oracle's defence systems at bay, he'd tracked down all the copies of his DNA, from Dr Amal to Batman, Red Hood and — disappointingly but not surprisingly — Skittles Robin. It seemed Peter would be having a Talk™ with Tim about friendships and boundaries.
But that was a task for another day. For now, Peter was content getting out and about.
No check-ins tonight. He'd left the comm at the safehouse that evening so Oracle couldn't track him. Peter had warned Jason of his plans, though. Vaguely. Euphemistically. But Jason was smart. He knew immediately what Peter planned to do.
"Just don't underestimate Oracle," he'd warned Peter, slouched against the shallow sink that his shitty second safehouse had in its poor excuse for a kitchen. "And if you get caught, I ain't bailing you out."
Practically the stamp of approval! Or Peter took it as such. Now, job done and his goober safely back in his chest pocket, Peter took his time heading northwards. Seated in the far south of the city, the clock tower was about as far from Park Row as you could get in Gotham, but with Peter's good mood bubbling away it hardly felt like a trek.
Easier, too. Old Gotham and a little further north, the Upper East Side, was characterised by pin-straight streets and skyscrapers. A far cry from Park Row and the Bowery's rabbit-warrens. Sure, Peter liked the challenge, but the long straights gave him opportunity to really fly.
At Sprang Bridge he stopped for a break, hauling himself up to the very top to the first tower. A trio of enormous, braided cables flowed down and up in a graceful parabola before him, their suspenders running in parallel ladders all the way along. The vibrations of traffic blurred into an uninterrupted, throaty hum, but the rush of trains sang like a distant, hazy radio, sucked away by the buffeting winds that put their utmost effort into unseating Peter. This high up, Peter very much felt like a spider at the heart of a web, the world spread out in an uninterrupted, 360° view. Like hell he was going to let a bit of wind blow him away.
The inactivity had him ruminating. It was barely a day since he'd learnt what Jason had done. Not even 24 hours. But the anger which had felt so acute and burned so brightly with betrayal had eased. Peter wasn't one to bear grudges (at least, not the kind that mattered); it was both a strength and weakness and he knew it. But he was willing to forgive Jason. Yes, it had been a galling breach of trust, followed by an even more hurtful breach of privacy, but Jason tried to make amends. And more to the point, what hurt Peter in the first place hadn't been the theft. It had been the silence.
That Jason told Peter about the tracking devices, rather than simply erasing the evidence… to Peter, that meant something. That meant a lot of something. It didn't excuse Jason's earlier cowardice, and by God had it made Peter extra furious… but that Jason owned up to it helped pave the way to Peter's inevitable forgiveness.
Thinking about Jason made Peter's good mood post-victory against Oracle deflate a little.
Was Peter… doing the right thing? He liked Jason. Liked him a lot. Sure, their friendship was nothing like the one he shared with Ned — or even MJ — but that didn't make him value it any less. Equally, he liked the life he'd made for himself in that two-bed apartment. Dog. His job (even if he still hadn't solved the NRE conspiracy). His neighbours. After months and months and months alone, Peter had forgotten how good it felt to be known. Accepted. Valued.
To leave that… it didn't sit right.
And… more than anything… Peter was worried. About Jason.
Jason's reaction to Peter saying he'd stay… that… probably wasn't normal, right? Had Peter not already realised Jason was maybe not as okay as he made himself out to be, that would have been the canary in the coalmine.
In a way, it still was. It took Peter an embarrassingly long time to understand that Jason's entire life was wrapped up in that mask. He lived and breathed the Red Hood. Peter knew now that Jason didn't have a 'real' job: when he wasn't at home he was inevitably involved in something to do with the gang. And that was all well and good for Park Row, but what space did a life like that leave for Jason Todd?
And perhaps that was a wake-up call for Peter, too. Eye-opening to see someone get swallowed up in their mask from the other side and realise you were looking at a mirror-image of yourself.
But worse than all that? Ever since that silly night where Peter embarrassed himself with pledges about cancer and going bald and type two diabetes (Godwhy did he have to be such a freak?), he'd come to realise that Jason didn't see a future for himself.
To think the man who wanted nothing more than a better future for his city couldn't factor for one where he was a part of it—
That fucking hurt. A sucker punch right to the gut.
So, yeah… Peter could have held onto that anger. Could have walked away for good when Jason put his cards on the table…
But he didn't want to.
Peter's thoughts on Jason were interrupted by an intrusion on the Web. Someone was coming up. Right in the middle of the tower.
There was a maintenance platform, about ten feet below and scarcely more than three feet wide, before the tower became too narrow for someone to travel upwards internally. The ladder to the top was caged and padlocked at the bottom, but that was hardly a hurdle for someone as sticky as Peter. He climbed down the cage and hooked an elbow through one of the bars just as the door swung open.
A middle-aged man, reedy, wearing well-worn blue overalls and a hardhat stepped out.
Peter didn't announce himself, curious to see why he was up here. It was only eight o'clock, but Peter had broken into the clock tower early to beat Oracle — who was definitely Barbara Gordon, the Wayne's 'family friend' — to the punch. But 'early' for Peter was 'late' for most other people: ergo, this was probably unusual.
For a while, the man simply stood on the tiny platform and looked out at the city. Not a surprise: when the weather chose to behave itself, Gotham really was beautiful from on high. A golden glow of lights, ramped up even brighter for Peter when he sank into the Web. Millions of lives overlaid in shimmering layers, like one of those crepe cakes, but made of LEDs.
A soft haze of sea mist glazed over the view and up so high, it could have been like any other city. But Peter knew — and felt — better. That Othered pull thrummed below the surface, throbbing with the combined love and fear and violence of its inhabitants.
A playground made for you.
Peter almost slipped into its lure when the man suddenly turned, looking straight up. Peter startled at the attention, but the man was unsurprised to see Peter.
A mild alarm rang. He thought he'd avoided the cameras.
"You're Spiders-Man[2], aren't you?" the man called out. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the bitter winds.
"Spi-der-Man. Singular," Peter corrected. "And you are?"
"What are you doing here?"
Peter frowned. "A guy can't enjoy the view?"
"You don't belong here."
"Not like I'm doing any harm." Peter set his free hand on his hip. "And honestly, my dude, trespassing is genuinely the least of my crimes."
The man — Peter decided he looked like a Glenn — scratched at his neck, a frown deepening. "You're not planning to jump?"
Ah. Did Glenn think he was staging an intervention? That… actually made a lot of sense. He climbed down a little further in the hopes of giving Glenn some peace of mind. "Nope. Or, well — I am, eventually. But that's just 'cause that's how I get around, you know?"
Glenn didn't look relieved. Then he grimaced. "My boss would like to speak to you."
"Your boss?"
"They're very interested in your work."
Peter laughed to himself. "What? They're a cape-chaser? Pass."
"I insist—"
"Sorry, dude. I'm not putting a feather in your cap so your boss can get me to sign an autograph or whatever."
Glenn suddenly turned desperate. "Please come! If you don't—"
"Jeez!" Peter jumped down, landing in a crouch on the platform railing. "Is this a gang thing? Glenn, are you in a gang? Do you need help?"
"Y-yes! Yes, it's a gang thing, you need to come with me and help me!"
Lie, Peter's instincts rumbled.
Glenn had jumped on the excuse like a lifeline. Peter was instantly wary. That wasn't even to mention the lack of reaction to the fake name. Something was wrong. He jumped back to the caged ladder, safe out of the man's reach.
"A pass on that too, Glenny-boy. But you can tell old Spider-Man all about your problems, you know? There's no one here but us."
And whatever camera had originally spotted Peter, but Glenn didn't seem to be of the mind to think of that.
"It's hard to explain."
"I'm a great listener. Lay it on me. The cause of all your woes."
"Just — come with me. Come and talk to my boss. When you do, you'll understand."
Glenn's story was dismantling itself by the second. Peter decided he'd had enough.
"Yeah… as nice as this meeting has been, I'm gonna go."
"No!"
"Bye, Felicia!"
Peter twisted on his perch, arm out to shoot his web off to the neighbouring tower, when there was a scrambling below. He glanced down and nearly slipped with shock.
Glenn had climbed up onto the platform's rails. He straddled them, wide-eyed and terrified.
"Woah — dude—!"
"If you don't come with me, then there's no point!" Glenn shrieked. His grip on the metal rails was white-knuckled.
"Hey, stop!"
Too late! Glenn toppled himself over the edge and Peter's scream matched the man's. Instinct took over. Peter dove, full force. A twist, arm out, he shot an anchoring web at the bottom of the platform as he dived, another at the tumbling Glenn-doll. Then Peter crashed into the still flailing man. He nearly fell right out of Peter's grip but the webs held true.
His other web twanged as they reached its maximum elongation and they slammed into the tower when it sprung back. Glenn's hardhat whacked right into Peter's jaw. The force of the collision would have knocked the air from Peter's lungs had he not braced for it; Glenn wasn't so lucky. His screaming abruptly cut off, replaced swiftly by a pained wheezing and gulps of empty air.
Pulse thundering with horror and relief, Peter worked his aching jaw. That was going to bruise. "Who the hell is your boss, dude?"
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—!"
"Hey, hey! You're okay! I've got you!"
Peter may as well have been speaking to a jibbering frog. Glenn clutched at Peter in terror, both legs wrapped around one of Peter's. To keep him there, Peter used another web, tethering the man to body. With both hands now free, Peter bunny-hopped them down with webs to the pedestrian lane on the bridge.
There was no one else there but Peter and Glenn. Not much of a surprise given a time. But Peter regretted now that he'd left any electronics — phone included — back at the safehouse. He'd only wanted to stay out of Oracle's sight, but now it was a serious inconvenience.
Gotta make an independent airway for him and Jason. One that wasn't set up by Oracle because Peter knew he was going to be in the doghouse for a long time after his little stunt.
Glenn was still babbling in terror, wrapped around Peter with an anaconda grip. Still feeling a little giddy himself, Peter tore away the webs and lowered Glenn down to the ground when the man's legs immediately gave way.
"You okay?" Peter demanded. He checked Glenn's eyes — it seemed the right thing to do — and saw his pupils were pinpricks, constricted with fear. Checking the man's pulse showed it was skyrocketing, but Peter paused as he saw a red lump on his neck. Right at the centre was a tiny red dot. Almost as if… "Did you get dosed with something?"
"What happened?" Glenn gasped and whacked Peter's hand away. "Who are you? What the fuck — was I just — oh God, did I—?"
"You jumped," Peter said warily. He shuffled a little away, though his senses weren't going off anymore. "After demanding I go with you to meet your boss."
"Sylvia?" Glenn gaped. "Why the fuck would I do that?"
"Beats me… Say, you getting threatened by like, a gang or something?"
"A gang?" he echoed. "No! I'm clean!"
The unease stirred again. Glenn was being truthful, on both accounts. If that was the case, then what the hell had he gone on about before? "You really don't remember what you said?"
"No! Not—" Glenn's face spasmed with new fear. "Not since I started work."
"When was that?"
"The shift starts at five."
At least three hours of lost time. "You notice anything weird before that? Anyone hanging around that shouldn't have been?"
"No, I—" Glenn tried to sit up, only to cry out in pained shock. "Fuck! My chest!"
Peter winced. "Yeah… pretty sure I may have broken a rib… or three. Sorry — better than breaking your everything, though?"
Still clutching his ribs, Glenn looked up. The bridge tower loomed, a sinister red spire so tall its end was swallowed by the the rolling sea mist.
"… I really jumped?"
"Yeah."
"Fuck." The softly uttered word was laced with horror. "Fucking Gotham, kid."
"… Yeah."
Glenn yanked off his helmet and raked his hand through his thinning hair. The bald crown of his head reflected back the warm lights along the bridge.
"Do you have a phone?" Peter asked, launching up from his crouch. "I think you should probably go to the hospital. See what — if — you've been dosed with."
For a moment Peter was worried Glenn would refuse, but thankfully he saw the sense in Peter's suggestion. The man started patting his pockets, only to groan.
"It ain't here."
"Could it have fallen out when you fell?"
"Fuck! The girls bought me that for Christmas!"
Peter grimaced in sympathy. "I think they'll be more grateful you're alive than if you'd kept the phone."
Once again Peter was gifted with Glenn's glossy bald spot as he held his head in his hands. "The fuck am I meant to explain this to 'em?"
"Maybe lead with the 'you're okay' part?" Peter glanced each way. They were roughly a third of the way down the bridge. Usually on places like these, they had — yes! An emergency phone. It was a good hundred feet away, by the tower. "I'm going to call for help."
Too busy pitying himself, Glenn didn't reply but he allowed Peter to help him get back on his feet and hobble to the phone. Peter set him down again, propped against the tower.
"Stay put. No hard feelings, just—" Peter webbed Glenn's boots to the concrete and that got the man's attention.
"Hey!"
"Call it insurance," Peter shrugged. "Just in case the urge to test gravity pops up again."
Glenn poked and prodded at the synthetic webs petulantly but wisely didn't complain further. Peter left him to it, bounding over to the emergency phone. Blessedly, it was untampered with and he got through to an operator quickly.
There was a temporary setback when the operator asked for the man's name. "Say, Glenn? What's your name?"
"Glenn?" Glenn asked. "The hel— oh. Name's Rob— Robert."
"Last name?"
"Maraini."
Peter passed on the name and heard the tapping of keys through the phoneline.
"I'm sending an ambulance to you, and police to the hospital," said the woman. "Stay where you are, the ambulances can access the bridge just fine."
Sure enough, the pedestrian lane was big enough for a van to get down. Peter stayed on the line until a pair of headlights appeared through the smog. The night had rapidly cooled, and moisture lay over everything. Even with his heated suit he was starting to feel it. He wanted to start swinging again. Retell the story to Jason and get his opinion.
If there was a drug out there that could make someone do something so drastic… No way was Peter dumb enough to try and tackle that alone.
The ambulance rolled up to them with the lights on but the sirens off — a blessing for Peter's sensitive hearing. When the paramedics — a man and a woman — jumped out, Peter was ready, relaying the information to them while the woman crouched beside Rob and checked his vitals. Her thick braids swung over her neck as she crouched, silver beads clicking.
"He doesn't remember doing it," Peter repeated, then tapped at his own neck. "I think he might've been injected with something?"
"Looks like a bug bite," said the paramedic, palpating around the site. Rob grimaced like the flesh was sensitive. "But we'll get it checked out at the hospital."
"Sure."
"Thanks for the save," said her partner. He looked up, line of his mouth grim. "Not a pretty sight when someone jumps. You did good, kid."
"Yeah," Rob rasped. "Thanks for not lettin' me turn into a pancake."
Peter's masked smile went unseen. The gratitude tonight didn't sit right… Maybe if he'd said yes earlier, then none of this would have happened at all.
And instead, you might be the dead one.
Peter didn't appreciate that his voice of reason sounded a lot like Jason. He ignored it and crouched to tear away the webs pinning Rob's feet to the ground. As he did so, he slipped out a spider-tracer and stuck it to Rob's pant leg. It might be entirely useless, and just as he'd said to Jason, they were still in the development phase, but the just in case voice suggested it was a good idea. Peter was starting to learn that it was smart to pay attention to it.
Rob refused to let Peter leave until he'd shaken his hand. "I mean it, kid. My girl's woulda been devastated — I hope."
"Any time," Peter said absently. He wanted to leave and the moment Rob let go of his hand, he was backing up. "Stay away from heights, yeah?"
Rob grimaced. "Think it might be time for a career change."
Peter laughed softly. "Good luck with that."
Then he was off, a web shot upwards to yank him into the sky as it landed flawlessly on a cable.
As he was launched through the air, the last thing he heard from the three of them was: "You think those webs only come outta his hands?"