#spiderman x dc

[awhoreintheory]

I need someone to write a feral 14-year-old, freshly dead uncle, angry at world, pre-vigilante Peter ending up in gotham

Because??? Can you imagine the chaos???

Peter gets dragged into DC, maybe a switch up of the circumstances on how he ends up in gotham? I'm thinking like. Either a futuristic science thing or magic, and Dink's DNA is placed in it (deliberately or not) and it's supposed to pull the closest alternate variant, but it malfunctions and knabs whatever shares the DNA

Peter falls through a portal and immediately starts cursing people out, maybe he punches someone, who knows

"Who is this spicey teenager and why are they calling me a bitch?" And Bruce looks at him and he's literally his first Robin

OR flip the angry grieving teen and you can have a complete shut down??

Honestly, however you think a newly super powered and grieving teen would react in general

[tinydefector]

Who's portal is that.

DC X DP X Spider-Man

Just a silly little thought I thought of becuase I thought it be fun putting these two together in having to deal with being in gotham city.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: swearing, hints to Constantine being a slut

NEXT

________________

The night sky over Gotham City was shrouded in heavy clouds, casting the city in an eerie glow. A faint green shimmer flickered in the distance as a figure swung gracefully from rooftop to rooftop, keeping pace with a glowing flying one beside him. Behind them, a dark shadow leapt from gargoyle to gargoyle. The faint whoosh of a grappling hook shot past them.  

"Do you mind! not glowing like a freaking neon sign?" Spider-Man hissed, flipping mid-air to avoid a batarang that whizzed past his head.  "Excuse me," Danny shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm, " you're swing around in a bright red-and-blue costume like a walking target!"  

“First off,” Peter replied, landing on a rooftop and immediately launching himself back into the air, “it’s called branding. Second, this is your fault!” Danny stopped mid-flight to glare at him, hands glowing with ectoplasmic energy. "Oh, sure, because I totally wanted to get sucked into a random vortex that dumped me into this hellscape, of all places! This city's like a goth kid's fever dream!"  

"Hey, I’m not judging your aesthetic preferences,” Peter quipped, swinging from building to building, his webbing snapping taut as he narrowly avoided a batarang that embedded itself in the brick beside him. "You know," he called out to the white-haired kid flying beside him, "I feel like you're not appreciating my quick thinking here!"

Danny, glowing faintly with ectoplasmic energy, shot him a glare as he zipped past Spider-Man. "Quick thinking? Are you a complete moron? Who the hell sees a swirling green portal and thinks, ‘Hey, this looks fun! Let’s dive right in!’?" Peter shot a web at a nearby gargoyle and gracefully vaulted over a rooftop. "Okay, in my defense, I thought it was one of Doctor Strange’s portals! You know, the guy with the magic hands? They’re usually pretty safe! Emphasis on usually."

Danny groaned in frustration, narrowly phasing through a fire escape ladder before materializing again. "Well, congratulations, genius. You didn’t just jump into some magic hula hoop!"

“Yeah, because this is so much calmer than my usual Thursdays,” Peter quipped, twisting mid-air. "Besides, if the portals are so dangerous, maybe slap a warning label on them next time, huh? Something like, ‘Danger: Do Not Touch, May Cause Interdimensional Headaches.’ ”

Danny rolled eyes, his frustration mounting as he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, sure, like I planned for some random spider-themed idiot to get sucked into the summoning mess I got dragged into!. This is totally what I wanted today.”

“Hey, watch it, Casper,” Peter shot back, landing on a rooftop before somersaulting off the edge. "I didn’t exactly ask for this either. One second, I’m swinging through Queens, and the next, I’m in Emo New York’s. Seriously, does no one here believe in streetlights?"

“Don’t call me Casper!” Danny snapped, his glow intensifying as he blasted through an old billboard. “Neither of us want to be in a Tim Burton fever dream!” Peter flipped onto a water tower, perching casually for a moment as he fired a web at a pursuing caped hero, snagging his grappling hook mid-swing. “Hey, I don’t know who Tim Burton is, but I’m gonna assume that was an insult.” He glanced at Danny. “Also, can we talk about your powers? Because I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’re breaking every law of physics I know.”

“Yeah, well, so are your webs!” Danny shot back, “How do they even work? What’s the tensile strength? Are they organic or synthetic? Because if they’re organic, that’s really nasty.” Peter gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know my webbing is a marvel of scientific engineering! I made it myself, thank you very much. And it’s not gross—unlike your weird glowing hands. What even is that, radioactive ghost goo?”

______________

 

Elsewhere…

John Constantine paced rapidly across the creaky wooden floor of a dimly lit room, the flickering glow of candles casting jagged shadows on the walls. His trench coat swayed as he moved, his muttered curses barely audible over the sound of heavy rain pelting the windows. The smell of burnt herbs and incense filled the air, but none of it calmed the rising panic twisting in his gut.

"This is bad. This is really bad," Constantine muttered, running a hand through his disheveled blond hair. His other hand clutched a half-empty flask of whiskey, which he occasionally sipped from between frantic incantations and muttered expletives. "Bloody cultists. Fuckinn idgits. Why can’t anyone leave well enough alone?!"

The summoning circle etched into the floor before him still glowed faintly with green energy, the remnants of whatever dark ritual had taken place before he had managed to intercept it. but he could feel the unmistakable, oppressive energy lingering in the room. It was heavy, suffocating, and distinctly ectoplasmic. 

The cult in question had been small, disorganized, and apparently suicidal. They’d tried to summon Pariah Dark, the ruler of the Infinite Realms, a being of unfathomable power and danger. Constantine had assumed they’d fail, as most cults do. But no. Somehow, the idiots had pulled it off. Or at least, partially. The problem was, Constantine had no idea if the ritual had worked as intended. He doubted it. If Pariah had been fully unleashed, Gotham would already be a smoking crater, and Constantine would probably be dead, considering the Ghost King owned a significant chunk of his soul. Still, the energy of the summoning lingered, and Constantine could feel it spreading across Gotham like a thick fog. Something had gone wrong, and that was almost worse than it going right.

"You bloody morons," Constantine hissed, kicking over an empty chair. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Summoning the Ghost King? The fuckin Ghost King?" He paused, taking another swig from his flask as he leaned against the table cluttered with occult books and ritual tools. His fingers drummed against the wood as he thought.

Constantine had dealt with many terrifying beings in his time, but Pariah Dark was one He wished to put behind him and never talk about again. It had taken the combined might of the Realms to imprison him along with Constantine having a small part in distracting the ghost in the first place, and there was no way Constantine or anyone else wanted him walking free.

"Right," Constantine muttered, "Time to call in the cavalry."

---

Wayne Manor - The Batcave

Bruce Wayne was at the Batcomputer, sifting through a series of reports about strange energy spikes across Gotham. The spikes had started a few hours ago, coinciding with sightings of two unusual figures who were dodging his team with surprising skill. One seemed to fly—glow, the other swung through the city with an agility that rivaled even Nightwing’s. Whoever they were, they didn’t belong in Gotham. And Bruce wanted answers.

The comm in his cowl buzzed. Before Alfred’s voice came through. “Master Wayne, you have a rather… agitated call coming through. It’s Constantine.”

Bruce’s fingers paused over the keyboard. “Constantine?”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred replied dryly. “He sounds, as usual, like he’s moments from catastrophe.”

Bruce frowned. Constantine rarely called unless things were dire. “I'll handle it Alfred” He tapped a button on the console, patching the call through. “Constantine,” Batman grunted. “What is it?”

“Bats! About bloody time” Constantine’s voice came through, frantic and hurried. “ Alright, listen to me very carefully, mate, because we’ve got a massive problem on our hands. And by ‘our hands,’ I mean your city.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. His voice dropping lower “What did you do?.”

Constantine “ i aint done shit!. There was a cult, don’t ask me why, cultists are always bloody morons and they decided to summon the Ghost King.”

“The Ghost King?” Bruce repeated, his voice calm but edged with suspicion. “What is that? Some kind of demon?”

“Worse,” Constantine said. “The Ghost King is the ruler of the Infinite Realms. A proper deity. The kind of being that makes demons piss themselves. His name’s Pariah Dark, and he’s the nastiest ghost you’ll ever meet. World-ending levels of bad. And here’s the kicker: I think the sod’s been unleashed on Gotham.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s true, why isn’t the city in ruins?”

“I said I think,” Constantine snapped. “Something’s wrong. The energy’s all… off. It’s definitely the Ghost King’s signature, but it’s not as destructive as it should be. That’s the only reason we’re still breathing. But trust me, mate: if he’s here, it’s only a matter of time before things go sideways. Its either His powers have been drained which if that's the case we are on limited time”

Bruce leaned back slightly, his mind racing. “What do you need from me?”

Constantine sighed. “First, I need you to avoid pissing him off. If Pariah Dark’s awake, the last thing you want to do is fight him. Second, I need access to every bit of information you’ve got on what’s been happening in Gotham tonight. Weird sightings, strange energy spikes, anything that looks remotely supernatural.” Bruce’s fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, pulling up data. “There have been reports of two unidentified individuals moving through Gotham. One appears to be glowing. The other swings on some kind of webbing. My team’s been tracking them.”

Constantine groaned. “Bloody brilliant. Bats i could kiss you for being the Paranoid fuck you are, The glowing one. That’s the Ghost King. And if someone’s with him, well, they’re probably just as much of a problem.” Bruce’s voice remained steady. “You’re certain?”

“Of course I’m bloody certain!” Constantine snapped. “I can feel it. The energy’s radiating off him like a bloody beacon. I’d bet my soul on it.” There was a beat of silence. “Oh, wait,” Constantine muttered bitterly. “He already owns part of that.”

Bruce’s hands paused, brows pressing together before he spoke again. “Explain.”

Constantine sighed heavily. “Long story short? I owe the Ghost King a bit of my soul. It’s… complicated. But if he’s here, he might decide to call in that debt. And if he does, I’m royally fucked. That’s why I need to trap him.”

Bruce sits back in his chair with a sigh and he tries to relax into his seat. “And how do you plan to trap him?”

“That’s the tricky bit,” Constantine admitted. “It’s not like trapping a regular ghost or demon. Pariah Dark’s power is off the charts. I’ll need a bloody arsenal of spells, relics, a fuck tone of salt, rosemary, dragons blood, blood blossoms and aloe vera and if you’ve got one lying around a miracle.”

“I don’t deal in miracles,” Bruce said flatly. “But I can help.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Constantine muttered. “Just don’t let your bloody sidekicks get too close to him. If they piss him off, we’re all dead.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Understood.”

__________

Peter stopped pacing and crossed his arms, giving Danny a look. "You know, you’ve been pretty chill about the whole ‘I’m the king of ghosts, and I got summoned by some random cult’ thing. Is this, like, a normal Tuesday for you?"

Danny snorted. "Look, when you’ve spent the past two years fighting evil ghosts, rogue hunters, and the occasional interdimensional tyrant, this kind of thing doesn’t even crack the top ten weirdest days I’ve had." Peter raised an eyebrow. "Top ten weirdest, huh? That’s impressive. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or concerned."

"Little bit of both," Danny muttered. Peter leaned against a metal pole, watching as Danny’s glow flickered for a moment before dimming again. Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, so, if we’re gonna figure this out, we probably shouldn’t be walking around looking like, well…" He gestured to their costumes. "This."

Danny glanced down at himself, still in his black-and-white ghost suit. "Yeah, you’ve got a point. As much as I hate to admit it, looking like a glow stick might attract the wrong kind of attention." Peter smirked. "Yeah, you’re a little conspicuous. And I’m not exactly subtle in red and blue spandex. But i can get away with saying its a cosplay"

Danny rolled his eyes and stood up, brushing himself off. "Fine. Hang on." He took a deep breath, and in a flash of light, his ghostly suit disappeared, replaced by a simple black T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. His white hair and glowing green eyes shifted back to his human appearance black hair and bright blue eyes. He looked younger, smaller, and far less intimidating.

Peter froze, staring at him. "Wait. WHAT?" Danny blinked at him, confused. "What? What’s the big deal?" Peter gestures wildly. "You—you just changed! Like, full-on transformation! You looked older, taller, and now—" He pointed at Danny, his voice higher in disbelief. "Now you look like a teenager."

Danny crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "I am a teenager. I’m sixteen."

Peter’s jaw dropped. "Sixteen?! You’re SIXTEEN?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Danny asked, clearly unimpressed with Peter’s reaction.

Peter ran a hand through his hair. "You’re telling me you’re sixteen, and you’re the king of ghosts. At sixteen, I was just trying to survive high school, and here you are ruling entire dimensions?"

Danny smirked, rather amused at Peter's panic over the situation. "Life comes at you fast, huh?"

Peter groaned, shaking his head and leaning back as he remembered what he had recently been through. "Man, I thought I was stressed out at your age."

Danny shrugged. “You’re not that much older than me"

Peter hesitated, scratching the back of his head. "Well, technically, I’m twenty-two. But thanks to a little thing called the Blip, I kind of skipped five years of my life. So I guess I’m still seventeen in a way? It’s… complicated."

Danny stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Wow. Okay. So we’re both freaks of time. Good to know." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled $50 bill. "Anyway, I’ve got about fifty bucks on me. Not exactly enough to solve this mess, but it’s something. Wanna get burgers?"

---

Constantine was cursing his luck as he stepped out of a cab in Gotham's East End, his trench coat already soaked from the rain. He could feel the Ghost King’s energy growing fainter, which meant either the being was hiding or his powers were finally stabilizing. Either way, Constantine knew he didn’t have much time. He lit a cigarette and pulled out his phone, dialing Batman again.

"Any updates, Bats?" Constantine asked, taking a long drag. "Because if the Ghost King’s energy gets any more stable, it’ll be nearly impossible to trap him."

Batman’s voice came through, calm and level. "We’ve located an individual matching the energy signals." Constantine let out a sigh of relief. "Good. don’t engage. If you make the wrong move, you could end up pissing him off. And trust me, you don’t want to see this guy pissed."

"I don’t plan on engaging unless it’s necessary," Batman replied. "But if this Ghost King is as dangerous as you say, we need to act quickly." Constantine exhaled a plume of smoke. "Right. Just keep your distance, and I’ll be there soon. We’re gonna need a bloody miracle to pull this off."

When Constantine had finally found Batman they stepped into the abandoned warehouse, the bats cape billowing slightly as he moved through the shadows. Behind him, Constantine followed, cigarette in hand and a look of barely concealed panic on his face. The remnants of ectoplasmic energy still lingered in the air, faint but unmistakable.

“This is it,” Constantine muttered, glancing around the room. “He was here. I can feel it.”

Batman’s sharp eyes swept the area, noting the disturbed dust on the floor and the faint. “They’ve moved on.” Constantine cursed under his breath, flicking ash onto the floor. “Bloody hell. I was hoping we’d catch them before they bolted.”

“They’ll be back,” Batman said, his voice calm and measured as he moves around looking at the slight setup in the corner. “This isn’t a random hideout. They’ll return.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you so sure, mate?”

Batman glanced at him, his expression unreadable under the cowl. “The boy He’ll need to rest soon, and this place is familiar, they have already scooped it out. They’ll come back.” Constantine sighed. “Alright, fine. But we can’t just sit around twiddling our thumbs. If the Ghost King realizes I’m here, he’s going to come after me. And I don’t fancy another round with him.”

Batman ignored the comment, his mind already working. “We’ll set the trap,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Constantine gave him a skeptical look. “You’re planning on trapping the bloody Ghost King with what, a net? This isn’t some garden-variety ghost, mate. He’s a deity. You’re gonna need more than a fancy grappling hook to take him down. Like i said a fuck tone of Salt” Constantine said grabbing the bag of it he had brought. 

“I’m aware,” Batman replied, moving to examine the scorch marks on the floor. “That’s why you’re here. You said you had a plan.” Constantine muttered something under his breath, then reluctantly pulled a small, ornate box from his coat pocket. It was covered in intricate runes, glowing faintly in the dim light. “This,” he said, holding it up, “is a containment box designed to trap spiritual entities. It won’t hold him forever, but it’ll buy us time. If we can get him near it, plus the other stuff I've bought too. It might, just might be enough to contain him long enough so i can make a deal with him or maybe banish him back to the realms”

Batman studied the box for a moment, then nodded. “Set it up. I’ll handle the rest.”

Constantine smirked. “You’re awfully confident for a bloke with no magical experience. Alright, Bats. Let’s hope your preparation is enough to stop an interdimensional ghost king. Because if it’s not, we’re both screwed.”

------

Danny and Peter had bolted from the diner, the stolen burgers clutched tightly in their hands as they tore down the wet streets. The cashier’s shouts faded into the background, drowned out by the sound of their pounding footsteps and the rain slicking the pavement. Peter had been mid-bite when Danny grabbed him by the arm.

“Whoa—hey! I was eating that!” Peter protested, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel and half stuffed with the burger. “Yeah, and you can finish it while we’re not being chased!” Danny snapped, his free hand glowing faintly green as he phased the two of them through a chain-link fence. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Peter huffed, clinging to his burger like it was a lifeline. “I could’ve handled it, you know. escape artist here!” “Right,” Danny muttered, dragging him through an alley. “Because nothing says ‘stealth’ like a guy in red and blue spandex with mustard on his face.”

“Hey—!”

Before Peter could argue further, Danny pulled him into his ghostly form, phasing them through a solid brick wall and into the backstreets. They were invisible and untouchable now, slipping through Gotham’s shadows like ghosts—because, well, one of them was a literal ghost.

“Just get us back to the warehouse,” Peter grumbled, licking ketchup off his hand. “I’m starving, and this burger is the only good thing that’s happened to me all day.”

When Danny phased them back into the warehouse, the first thing Peter noticed was the eerie silence. The second thing he noticed was the faint hum of energy vibrating in the air. His Spider-Sense screamed at him, but before he could say a word, Danny froze mid-step.

The glowing green of Danny’s ghost aura intensified, and in a flash of light, his human form flickered away. In its place stood… something else. Peter’s jaw dropped as he stumbled back, clinging to his half eaten burger. Danny or whoever this was didn’t look like the snarky teenager he’d been running around with. This was something entirely otherworldly. 

Danny’s form was taller now, his presence almost overwhelming. His white hair glimmered like freshly fallen snow, cascading down to his shoulders, and his eyes burned an unearthly, glowing green, deeper and more intense than before. An ice-like crown floated just above his head along with the floating aurora shimmering, while a cape of flickering starlight billowed behind him, even though there was no wind. His pale skin seemed to glow softly, and across his cheeks and arms were faint freckles that looked like constellations.

He didn’t look evil. If anything, he looked eternal. Ancient. Like something out of a fantasy novel, the kind of being that could step off the cover of a book as a god or a king. But Danny didn’t seem to notice or care. His glowing form flickered slightly as his eyes dropped to the burger that had been in his hands, landing unceremoniously on the floor inside the glowing summoning circle that now caged him.

“No…” Danny whispered, his voice reverberating unnaturally, as if layered with echoes from another world. His gaze locked onto the destroyed burger, his expression a mix of disbelief and betrayal. “No, not the burger.” He dropped to his knees, staring mournfully at the fallen burger. “I was so hungry,” he moaned, his voice still layered with that eternal echo. “It was right there. I could taste it.”

The Dark Knight’s imposing figure emerged from the darkness, his cape sweeping behind him as he approached the summoning circle. Constantine followed close behind, looking both impressed and deeply concerned by the glowing, ethereal figure trapped in the sigils. “Bloody hell,” Constantine muttered, staring at Danny. “That’s him. That’s the Ghost King.”

“Excuse me?” Peter growled, his voice rising with agitation. His Spider-Sense was still buzzing like mad, and the fact that Danny was trapped in some kind of magical cage was making his blood boil. “You did this? You trapped him?” Batman’s piercing gaze shifted to Peter, who was still clutching his burger like a feral dog protecting its last meal. Peter stepped in front of the glowing circle as if to shield Danny. “He’s not dangerous! He’s just a kid!”

Constantine snorted. “A kid? That thing in there’s no kid, mate. That’s the Ghost King. Ruler of the Infinite Realms. A being with enough power to wipe this city off the map if he wanted to.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, Before Constantine or Batman could react, Peter crouched low, his body tensing like a spring. His mask was still off, and his expression was fierce, like a wild animal protecting its territory. He lunged forward, aiming a web at Constantine.

“Oi, what the hell—” Constantine yelped as he rolls to get away from the web. Peter didn’t stop there. He fired another web at the edge of the summoning circle, trying to disrupt the sigils. The glowing lines sparked as his webbing hit them, but they held firm.

“Stop,” Batman growled, stepping forward. “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”

“Neither do you,” Peter snapped, flipping backward to avoid Batman’s outstretched hand. Constantine groaned, rubbing his temples. “Bloody hell, kid’s gone feral.”

The warehouse was a mess. Peter had put up a valiant fight, but, as he quickly learned, going toe-to-toe with Batman wasn’t exactly a winning strategy. He was now webbed and tied to a metal support beam, arms crossed and glaring at the Dark Knight, who stood nearby with the stoic calm of someone who had done this a thousand times before. Constantine was in front of Danny, cigarette in hand. "Hello, Pariah," Constantine said lightly, exhaling smoke. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it, like a man trying to act calm in front of a tiger. "Nice skin. Little young for you, though, innit?"

Danny froze, his glowing eyes snapping up to fix on Constantine. For a moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted over Constantine, taking in the trench coat, the cigarette, the smug smirk. And then Danny's face twisted into an expression of pure, genuine offense.

"Wait a minute," Danny said, his voice echoing slightly with that otherworldly tone. He pointed a glowing hand at Constantine, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to place a face to a name. "Are you... the Soul Whore guy?"

The room went silent. Even Batman raised an eyebrow.

Constantine blinked, his cigarette frozen halfway to his lips.  "You know, the guy who goes around selling bits of his soul to anyone with a checkbook and a half-decent sales pitch? You’re kind of infamous in the Infinite Realms. Everyone’s heard of you." He tilted his head, his expression growing even more incredulous. "I mean, we all knew you were a mess, but I didn’t think you were is much of a mess."

Constantine stared at him, his mouth working like he was trying to come up with a response but couldn’t quite form the words. Peter, still tied up, looked between them with wide, confused eyes.

"Wait, wait, wait," Peter said, his voice cutting into the silence. "What do you mean, 'Soul Whore'? He looks like if Mr Strange ended up homeless!" Danny ignored him, his glowing eyes narrowing further as he seemed to piece something together. His jaw dropped suddenly, and he took a step closer to the edge of the circle. "No way. You’re that dumbass, the one who slept with Pariah Dark. Aren’t you?"

Constantine froze. His cigarette fell from his lips, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint crackle of the summoning circle’s magic. Peter’s jaw dropped. "WHAT?!" Danny threw his hands up, his glowing aura flaring slightly. "Holy crap, it is you! You’re the guy who hooked up with Pariah Dark and put him in the Sarcophagus! I thought that was just a rumor."

Constantine’s face paled, his usual cocky demeanor evaporating as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, now hold on a second—"

"He slept with the ghost king you fought and won against?!" Peter shouted, his voice rising with disbelief. "Are you serious?! He’s serious, isn’t he?!" He turned to Batman, who, to his credit, looked as stoic as ever. 

Danny, meanwhile, looked like he was having the time of his life. He crossed his arms, grinning like a cat who had just caught a particularly juicy mouse. "You know, I heard the stories, but I didn’t actually think it was true!"

"It was—look, it’s complicated, alright? It wasn’t my bloody fault!" Constantine tries to defend himself forgetting for a moment that this was the Ghost King he had trapped. Danny snorted. "Sure it wasn’t. That explains why half the ghosts in the Realms call you 'the Soul Whore.' You’ve got a reputation, dude. And not a good one."

Constantine groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Christ, I need a drink." This wasn’t Pariah Dark. This was something else. And whatever it was, it wasn’t bound by the same rules. 

And that terrified Constantine.

[isle-of-davalon]

Are there any prompts that aren’t written about as often in the Spidey x dc crossover fandom?

I want to write something, but I just can’t seem to come up with anything interesting :( any ideas would be appreciated!!

[canthandlethishit]

i love how there’s this subtle jab at technological advancement between universes in mcu x dc fics

[n0-1r]

my favourite genre of spidey-in-gotham is where he transmigrates due to the snap and now he has the avengers and co. in his brain

[the-autistic-spider]

could you please recommend some spider-man x dc

I've read dark matter and it was good

so if you know anymore please recommend

[danilights2021]

Awwww♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

If Jason is Uncle Ben, then that really recontextualizes the "With Great Power, comes great Responsibility" as a barbed dig at Bruce for having all the power of Batman and as their Father, but never seem's to take responsibility for his Rogues, his Parenting, and the various bad habits that he's trained into each of his kids. It's the kind of poetic little insult that doubles as very great advice that Jason would cook up and get embroidered into a sweater that he would only wear in the safety of his safe houses.

Like, imagine all of the Uncle Ben level advice that Jason would have given to a young Peter that are all just insults to the rest of the family but also double as Really good Fucking Advice that they can't exactly Unteach him.

"When Your appearance gets you down, just remember that their is always someone who looks way more ridiculous." Is said while staring straight past Peter's head and straight at the picture of Discowing that is hidden in plain sight among his Scrapbook wall.

"Always have a backup plan, even when you think you have it in the bag" he says while thinking of the Time Babs invited Dick on a date to a restaurant that one of her regulars recommended, only to discover it wasn't wheelchair accessible when they get there.

"Rest well In the short term, so that when you have to go on those long stretches of studying, you can go that little bit farther and smarter." while remembering Tim. Just Tim. Existing.

"a well placed joke or quip can make someone's day, but remember when a situation is serious enough, to treat it seriously." remembering Steph reflexively making an ill timed joke at someone's funeral and having to apologize so fucking hard.

"Your personal interests shouldn't come second to an assignment, always take a moment to enjoy the simple pleasures." Remembering Damian in the beginning of his time as Robin trying desperately not to pet all the cats along his patrol route until one day Jason caught him in a massive pile with all the Alley Cats in a 3 mile radius in a single Alleyway. He still has the helmet footage.

"Being stealthy can help you escape bully's, but remember to stop being stealthy when among friends." Thinking back to when Cass kept accidentally scaring everyone, even Bruce, because it would appear she would pop into existence out of nowhere but had been standing there the entire time.

"Be the light that your friends can look up to, but not so bright as to overshadow their own qualities." Remembering when Duke, while still getting used to his powers while training to become the signal, had accidentally unleashed a full power light show over his entire body and had Flash banged everybody in the Batcave.

[c1nnam00n]

me seeing that my fav character barely/doesn’t have any fanfics OR imagines

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug like angel

I bet on losing dogs

It's been a while since you left the manor.

Around a year or so.

Since then you'd come back to Gotham to fight anomalies and stop by to secretly steal some of Alfred's food and come back home immediately.

You would see some of the Batfam watch you while you were in costume.

They'd be interested in the new vigilante.

You'd always go out of your way to avoid them.

You noticed how they seemed interested.

You hated that.

Where was that interest years ago?

You'd swing away and leave before they could ever get to you.

You hated how it seemed that now they were interested.

You hated how you could see Bruce's calculating stare, probably trying to see if he could adopt you.

You hated how you could see in Dicks eyes how he would see your flips and tricks and look amazed.

You hated how you could see Jason try up to you and talk to you.

You hated how you could see Tim trying to see your watch, which seemed like the technology was years ahead of theirs.

You hated how you would see in Damian's eyes that he was in awe.

You hated how much you yearned for this years agoAfter a while of hiding, you realized you should probably get your stuff.

So you would sneak into your room once in a while to grab your stuff and quickly come back.

You once almost got caught in the kitchen eating some of Alfred's food because you didn't realize he was there.

It was a hot summer noon and you and your friends were hanging out again

It was in celebration of no longer being around your "family", or "sticking up to the big bad wolf" as Hobie would say.

The day right after you had left the manor, your friends blew up the group chat, excited about how you had finally left that household.

They were so tired of having to see you sob and be angry over them and their unfair treatment of you.

They weren't tired of you, they could never be, they were tired of how they treated you.

They hated how they treated you like nothing when you were so sweet.

You would always care for everyone, you'd always cheer everyone up.

They didn't deserve you.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, you guys went to band practice and ended up going to get ice cream and walking around malls and buying things (you paying, ofc)

It was nice.

Usually, you hated shopping, it was boring and you didn't have anyone to go with so it was always lonely for you.

That was until you realized how fun it was with friends.

You guys went universe hopping at different malls, avoiding your universe mostly because you hated seeing all the merch of Gotham's vigilantes.

And you didn't want them to see you.

You tried to avoid the thought, you didn't want to think about them.

You guys spent a while together, before deciding to head home for a bit.

You went to your and Miguel's apartment and immediately ran to your room (which was the guest room turned into your room) and fell asleep immediately.

You woke up a couple of hours later.

You decide you should go visit him in his office like you usually do.

You were used to coming in there and just being in his presence and just being near him.

When you first met him years ago, you didn't want to like him.

You avoided him like the plague.

You didn't want to get attached to him for fear he'd turn out like Bruce.

When you finally got to know him, which was a few weeks later, you realized he was nothing like Bruce!

Yeah, like Bruce, he could be scary, mean, brooding, and quiet sometimes, but unlike Bruce Miguel treated you like his daughter.

He would take you out to eat.

He'd remember your birthday.

He'd celebrate your talents and interests.

He'd come to your performances and concerts.

Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

He treated you like the light of his life, like how you'd seen other dads look at their kids!

The same way Bruce would look at your brothers...

You pushed away that thought, you wanted to go to his little cave.

You went through a portal, not realizing how you had your watch broken.

As soon as you felt yourself glitching, which was not normal, you felt yourself hit a brick wall.

Shit.

You looked around for a moment.

Gotham.

You shouldn't be here.

You didn't wanna be here.

You decided to patrol for a bit, you might as well deal with some things for a bit before heading home.

You sort of missed it here.

You went around looking for anomalies, and thankfully there weren't any.

You stopped a couple of petty crimes.

You saved someone getting mugged and felt a slight pain at your side and decided to ignore it, for now you needed to get home.

You booted up your watch, only to realize it wasn't working.

It started to rain and you got worried, what would you do now?

You didn't know if anyone here had the tools to fix this.

And then you remembered you did know some people.

Your family.

You hate to do this, but you need to get home.

So you started making your way to the manor.

You tried to swing but you were too tired and felt sick whenever you swung due to your side hurting.

So you ran.

The rain was making it hard to see.

Your mask was making it hard to breathe, so you took it off.

Only for your hair to stick to your face and make everything worse.

Great, now you have to be around your family and be sick the next day. Thanks, spidey luck.

When you finally got to the manor and identified yourself, it seemed like the manor door swung open.

Inside was Alfred, who was looking at you like you were a ghost.

"Master Y/N?" He stood there in shock.

He could smell a slight metallic smell coming from you.

"Hey." you visibly cringed at how casual you sounded and how your voice cracked.

He quickly signaled for you to come in, seeing how drenched you were.

Alfred watched as you walked in and just stood there awkwardly.

You didn't know what to say or do.

For all they knew, you had been missing for a year.

You had grown an inch or two, and you were still in your suit.

Your skin was paling, but you didn't know why.

Then the realization hit Alfred.

You were the vigilante.

The one that would show up every once in a while to stop people who cause trouble.

The one that made the family lose many hours of sleep investigating the mysterious spider.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to cry and hug you and make you stay at the manor.

He knew he had to call the others.

As soon as he was about to speak up, you swiftly cut him off

"I need help right now. Could you please call the others and ask if they could help me?" you asked him, practically pleading.

"At your service, Master Y/N" He turned away and started calling the others.

You smiled and mentally prepared yourself for the awkwardness that would happen between you all.

It felt like hours later when everyone got there. You were scared.

Everyone was patrolling when they got the call that you were home.

Jason thought it was a sick joke from Alfred, that was until he got to the manor.

There you were, on the fancy couch, looking sheepish.

Dick ran to hug you in a bear hug, catching you off-guard due to you never receiving a hug from him.

You didn't even hug him back, you just wanted to go home.

As soon as he sat you down, you started talking.

"I need everyone's help." you started, gesturing with your hands for everyone to listen.

"Why are you in a Araña costume?" Tim asked, pointing out you still being in your suit.

"I'm Araña. Anyways-" You tried to get back on track, only to keep getting interrupted.

"You're Araña?! Do you know how dangerous that is?! you could've gotten hurt!" Bruce spoke up.

"listen," you started "I just need slight help, and I'll be on my way home. I'll get out of your hair, I swear."

Everyone sat down to listen and you spoke up

"Okay, so I need to go back home, and my bracelet thing to make me go there is broken. I need to use your guy's computer to see if I can contact Miguel or Peni to fix it. I'll leave once I'm done."

"And why should we listen to you? You walked out over a year ago, why should we help?" Damian tried to put you down, only to be smacked in the back of the head by Jason.

You could hear all of your brothers bickering at once.

You put your head in your hands.

You just wanted to go home.

"Can you guys shut up?" You dragged your hand across your face and everyone became quiet.

You took a deep breath.

"I need to use your fancy computer. I need to contact someone. Just let me inside for a bit, someone will come to pick me up, and I'll leave. Can someone lead the way?"

You finally got to the giant bat computer.

The same one that you wanted to see so badly as a child.

It only took 10 astonishingly long minutes to get there.

What made it worse was you walking slower than usual, and everyone insisted on helping you and staring at your side.

You didn't know what was going on, and you didn't want to.

You just wanted to go home.

Once you were in front of the bat computer, you tinkered around with your watch for a bit, trying to get the USB drive out of it.

After a minute or two, you finally got it out.

It would've taken less time, but everyone was watching you and that made you anxious. You were also slightly drowsy for some reason, which didn't help at all.

You saw how beat up it looked and hoped it would still work when plugged into the computer.

After 10 agonizingly long seconds, Lyla popped up.

"LYLA!" you hopped up and down, you could finally go home!

"Y/N! What's going on?" You could hear and see her glitching.

"Uhm, I'm kinda stuck in my universe, and I don't know how to get back! Oh god, I should've listened when Miguel gave those classes on what to do in case the watches broke instead of napping-!" You started rambling and pulling your hair, a trait you got from seeing Pavitr doing so often.

"Y/N, breathe. It's alright, I'll contact Miguel and tell him what's going on, also why are you bleeding?"

You looked down to see what everyone was freaking out about.

Turns out you got stabbed, must've been the adrenaline hiding the pain.

"huh. so that's why it hurt." You passed out and the last thing you saw and heard was everyone freaking out about you.

When you passed out, Bruce immediately called an ambulance, this wasn't something he could fix by himself.

He needed Leslie's help.

He shoved you into the batmobile and made his way to her clinic.

You were dying.

He didn't want to lose you, not again.

You were lying out on the car seats.

Your brothers were in the seats behind you.

Usually, they'd be bickering about the lack of space or who gets which seat, but they were worried.

About you.

You woke up an hour later.

You were laid out on a hospital bed.

You were sweaty, cold, and tired.

You just wanted your dad to go home.

You had a couple of monitors around you, along with some wires connected to them.

As soon as you sat up, which took a lot of strength, you felt yourself get dizzy.

After the sensation of the room spinning wore off, you saw everyone surrounding you.

You could hear people talking, but everything was loud and muffled.

You covered your ears like a child.

You were so tired.

You wondered if Miguel was on his way.

You saw a woman with white hair and a doctor's outfit walk in and start talking.

You tried to focus, and you did, but it was kinda hard.

You felt a slight, familiar humming coming from the hallway of the surgery room.

It took a couple of minutes, but everything was heading back to normal.

That was until you looked down to where the cut was.

It was gross looking and probably infected.

That's when you heard it.

"We are going to have to take the blade out, alright?" The operator said, putting on her gloves.

You could see the vague outline of Miguel's costume out the door.

He was running.

He was running for you.

"Wait, not yet!" you exclaimed, still half asleep.

Miguel was almost at the door, and the operators started to take out the blade anyway.

You screamed in pain.

"I WANT MY DAD!" You tried reaching out for Miguel, only for Bruce to reach out and try and grab your hand.

"I'm here, it's alright." Bruce would never admit it, but he was glad you still called him your dad.

It surprised him though, you'd always call him father.

You pushed him out of the way. "Not you! DAD!" Miguel finally made it past security.

He immediately took hold of your hand despite your family's surprise.

Tears were streaming down your face.

You hugged Miguel tightly.

You cried more. You just wanted to go home.

You ended up passing out from the pain.

oof this was bad sorry

again im hafl asleep so lkke igmore eveey spellung mistake

taglist(please lmk if i forgot you!):@bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n @welpthisisboring @itsberrydreemurstuff @lovebug-apple @crazycaoticsimp @bellethesleepypotato @blackhood1229 @jsprien213 @sirenetheblogger @awawage @holybatflapexpert @vanessa-boo @ryuushou @whiskeygirl7 @seemeee3 @inojinieeee @oliviaewl @djpuppy-kittens @w31rd3rg1rl @br33zy-blizzardz @eyeless-kun

[hazzymayy]

Boop 🌟

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[tinydefector]

Who's portal is this? 2

DC X DP X SPIDER-MAN

[Decided I was working on and editing this instead of dealing with my emotions over finding out what happened to my mum and over the fact I legally still can't talk to any of my friends over it]

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, mention of wounds, mention of death.

Masterlist

PREV

______________

The tension in the warehouse was thick enough to cut with a knife. Constantine still looked like he was trying to process his entire life’s choices, Peter was glaring at anyone who moved too close to Danny, and Batman stood silently, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the summoning circle.

"Alright," Danny finally said, breaking the silence. His voice still carried that layered, eternal echo, but his tone was casual. "Can I come out without you guys freaking out? Because, like, I could’ve escaped this thing five minutes ago. But I’ve been too baffled by this whole ‘Pariah Dark booty call’ situation to bother. And I'm pretty sure he's bleeding out” Danny states while pointing at Peter 

Batman’s gravelly voice cut through the bickering. “If you could’ve escaped, why didn’t you?”

Danny gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, I just said why. I was baffled, Stunned this feels like the Electric boogaloo part two ” He gestured vaguely to the summoning circle. "Also, this thing you guys slapped together? It’s not exactly Ghost King-proof. I mean, it’s good, don’t get me wrong—it would’ve probably stung like hell to break through it earlier, but it wouldn’t have actually held me. It’s like trying to hold a bear with spiderwebs. Annoying, sure, but not impossible. No offence Spiders"

Peter makes a noise of offence followed by Constantine groan, muttering something under his breath about how he hated kids.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I promise not to destroy anything, melt anyone’s face off, or turn Gotham into a ghost dimension. Just let me out, and we can all chill. Deal?”

Batman stared at him, his expression unreadable as always. After a long, tense pause, he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

Danny grinned. "Cool. Thanks, creepy Gothman." With a casual step, Danny walked out of the summoning circle like it wasn’t even there. The sigils flared for a brief moment, sparking angrily, but Danny seemed unbothered. His aura dimmed as he left the circle, and in a flash of green light, his older, regal form disappeared.

In his place stood a very unimpressive 16-year-old kid in a black T-shirt, jacket and jeans, his hair now messy and black, his eyes bright blue with a green shimmer to them. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he looked around the room with the kind of awkward energy only a teenager could pull off.

"Ta-da!" Danny said, grinning. The silence that followed was deafening. Constantine’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth. Batman’s stance shifted slightly, just enough for anyone who knew him to see that he was recalculating everything he thought he knew about the situation. 

Peter, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly, “Fun, right?" His jaw clenched as he tries to move, his shoulder aches like no tomorrow and at this point all he wanted to do was sleep off his injuries from before this mess.

Constantine blinked, pointing at Danny like he was trying to make sense of a bad joke. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re the Ghost King? You’re a bloody child?!"

Danny frowned, crossing his arms. "Okay, rude. I’m sixteen, thank you very much. And technically, I’m only half-ghost."

Batman’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife. "Explain."

Danny shrugged, his casual demeanor making it clear that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain his situation. "Alright, fine. So, hi, my name’s Danny." He raised a hand in an awkward little wave, like he was introducing himself in a high school classroom. "When I was 14, my parents—who are kinda nuts, built this weird ghost portal thingy in our basement. I decided it’d be a great idea to mess around with it, and, well…" He gestured to himself. " tada! Half-ghost."

"Anyway, long story short, I spent the past two year fighting ghosts, saving my town, blah blah blah. Then, a while back, I accidentally dethroned Pariah Dark. don’t ask, it’s a whole thing and now I’m the Ghost King. Which, honestly, is way more responsibility than I signed up for."

Constantine rubbed his temples, looking like he was on the verge of a breakdown. "So, let me get this straight. You’re a 16-year-old half-ghost who somehow became the ruler of the Infinite Realms because you… what? Got lucky?"

Danny grinned. "Pretty much!"

Constantine groaned, looking at Batman. “You’re hearing this, right? It’s not just me?”

Batman’s expression didn’t change. "I’m hearing it."

Danny clapped his hands together, clearly trying to move things along. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, can we focus on the important stuff? Like the whole ‘us being stuck in your horror city thing? Because I’d really like to get out of here before Mr. Soul Whore over there starts trying to sell pieces of himself again."

Constantine bristled.

The bright, sterile light of the Batcave flickered faintly across its rocky walls, illuminating the room in a pale glow as Alfred worked with calm precision on Peter’s injuries. The young man sat on the edge of a medical table, his spider suit pulled down around his waist. His face was a mess—black eye swollen shut, cheeks scraped and bruised with pieces of concrete and glass shards in bedded, and lips still lined with dried blood. His body wasn’t much better. 

His torn suit had shown a litany of injuries before it had been pulled down: fractured ribs that had already started showing the deep purple, green and yellow bruising up hid torso, the nasty red handprint of a chokehold bruising his throat, burn marks left by an explosion, and countless cuts and lacerations. The most pressing concern, however, was the bullet wound in his dislocated shoulder.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, pulling his arm away instinctively before Alfred gave him a stern look.“Hold still, please,” Alfred said firmly. “I can’t help you if you’re squirming.” as Alfred pulled the bullet free with a pair of forceps, the sound of metal hitting the small surgical tray echoing through the cave.

 He exhaled sharply as the butler pressed a clean cloth to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “It’s better out than in, young man,” Alfred said softly, his voice calm but tinged with concern. “Though I must say, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

Danny leaned against the edge, his expression softening slightly as he took in Peter’s battered state.

“You look like crap,” Danny said bluntly.

“Thanks,” Peter deadpanned. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

Danny grinned faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

Peter shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’ve had worse.”

Danny gives a small nod before ghosting away over to where Constantine stood impatiently waiting for Danny.

Alfred’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression betraying his worry. His hands moved with expert care as he cleaned the wound. “This is far more than just another day, young man. You’re concussed, your ribs are clearly fractured or broken, and you’re covered in burns, bruises, and lacerations. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still conscious.”

The butler begins readying a needle and thread so that he can stitch The bullet hole closed. “Forgive me this will hurt, I don't currently have local anaesthetic on hand. Do hold still, young man,” Alfred apologies as he begins the stitching process. 

Peter winced but didn’t argue. “It's fine, it wouldn't help anyway, and you don't have to stitch it, it will seal itself in two days, I have an enhanced healing factor” Peter explains but it doesn't stop Alfred.  

“And give your injuries the chance to get infected, not a chance”  He knew Alfred was right, despite having enhancements it didn't stop Peter from getting sick, and he knew if he got an infection it would be hell having to cut it out again. It makes him shiver remembering the last time he had to cut out infected flesh. 

His Spider-sense was still buzzing faintly at the edges of his mind, a constant reminder of just how close he’d been to death tonight. 

“I’m almost finished.”

“Feels better not having the bullet grinding against my shoulder every time I swung,” Peter muttered through gritted teeth. His voice was thick with exhaustion, and his words slurred slightly from the concussion. “But, uh, yeah… still hurts like hell.”

Alfred gave a small, dry chuckle as he worked. “I imagine it does. Though I must say, I’ve seen soldiers in better condition than you after a battlefield skirmish.” His tone betrayed a trace of worry, his sharp eyes scanning the young man for further injuries. 

Peter didn’t respond, too focused on managing the pain and the throbbing in his head. He winced again as Alfred moved to examine his ribs. The bruising spread across his chest in ugly shades of purple and yellow, and every breath came with a faint wheeze.

“This is unacceptable,” Alfred muttered under his breath, though his words were clearly directed at someone else. His sharp gaze flickered briefly to where Bruce stood a few feet away, stoic and silent as always. “This boy is barely standing, and yet you brought him here in this state? I thought better of you. This young man is barely standing, and yet you saw fit to fight him as if he were one of your rogues.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his arms crossed as he watched from the shadows. He knew better than to argue with Alfred when the butler was angry, and right now, Alfred was rather angry.

Peter tensed slightly, his good hand clutching the edge of the table as his gaze flickered toward Batman. He still hadn’t forgiven him for the fight and, frankly, he wasn’t sure he ever would. Batman had outmaneuvered him, taken him down like he was nothing more than a common thug, and Peter’s pride still stung almost as much as his injuries. 

 he knew that if he hadn't been through dealing with all the villains that had ended up in his world, then being thrown about by the portal he had jumped into, swung halfway across a city with a bullet in his shoulder he had dislocated, and then getting slammed into a wall by Batman before spun up in his own web. He winced when the older man took a cautious step closer. He knew if he was in a better state he would have whooped the goth furries ass. 

Peter, despite his condition, couldn’t resist shooting Bruce a glare. He tensed visibly when Batman stepped closer, his entire body going rigid like a cornered animal. “Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice sharp despite the hoarseness in his throat. “Stay the hell away from me, we’re not friends.”

Batman stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You were a threat.”

“A threat?” Peter scoffed, glaring at him with his one good eye. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, man! I was trying to protect Danny. He's been the only thing I've had since I got thrown into this hell hole, so forgive me for not asking questions when you trapped him”

Batman didn’t respond, his silence only fueling Peter’s frustration. Alfred, however, gave a pointed look at his employer before turning back to Peter, his voice softening once again. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped slightly, though he was still visibly tense. He muttered something under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor as Alfred resumed his work, carefully stitching the bullet wound closed.

---

Danny and Constantine’s argument had been steadily escalating, their voices growing louder with every passing second. The two of them were standing by one of the Batcave’s many monitors, their gestures wild and exaggerated as they bickered.

“Would you shut up for five seconds?!” Danny snapped, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he threw his hands in the air. He was back in his human form, looking every bit like the irritated teenager he was, but his aura still flickered faintly with ectoplasmic energy. “Look, Cults do crap, that's kinda their gimmick, there's not much I can do about it, I'm still learning how to keep my Core from spinning out of control! There's only so much I can do, you should be grateful you got me and not Pariah!”

Constantine scowled, jabbing a finger in Danny’s direction. “mate! You’re the one prancing around as the bloody Ghost King, drawing attention from every creep and cultist this side of the multiverse. You think I wanted to deal with you? Hell no!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being a baby ghost. you’re apparently the guy everyone in the Infinite Realms calls ‘Soul Whore’ why don't you go sell another piece of yourself ” Danny shot back, crossing his arms. 

“You little—” Constantine cut himself off, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. “Listen here, kid. I don’t care what kind of fancy crown you’ve got floating over your head or how many ghostly kingdoms you rule. You’re still just a snot-nosed brat playing dress-up—”

Danny’s aura flared, and he took a menacing step forward. “You wanna say that again, John? Because I don’t think I heard you the first time.”

“Boys,” Alfred called out sharply from the medical table without even looking up from Peter’s wounds. His tone was clipped, the kind of calm authority that immediately demanded obedience. “If you’re quite done arguing like a pair of schoolchildren, I’d suggest you find a way to help this young man and yourself get home.”

Danny and Constantine both froze, exchanging sheepish glances before muttering simultaneous, reluctant, “Sorry.”

Peter snarls again when Batman takes another step into the small medical area Alfred had set up to treat Peter, the young man bares a tiny set of fangs at him. 

Bruce paused, his unreadable gaze meeting Peter’s. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone react to him with hostility, but there was something different about the way Peter looked at him. It wasn’t just anger, it was defiance.

“Calm down, mate,” came Constantine’s voice from the background. The magician was leaning against the Batcomputer, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the faint protests from the Batcave’s air filtration system. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s got to count for something.”

“Shut up,” Peter snapped, not even looking at Constantine. “I don’t want to hear it from you, either.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Touchy, aren’t we? Must be the concussion talking.”

“Can you guys take your argument somewhere else?” Peter grumbled, his voice dripping with irritation. “I don’t need a commentary track while I’m getting patched up.”

Alfred turned his attention back to Peter, his face softening slightly as he began picking the glass fragments from Peter's face. “You should be in a hospital,” Alfred said quietly, his tone more gentle now. “You’re in no condition to be running around rooftops, let alone fighting.”

Peter gave a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as his ribs protested. “Yeah, well, hospitals aren’t exactly Spider-Man-friendly. Besides…” He shot another glare at Batman. “I wouldn’t be here at all if someone had left us alone.”

“This young man was clearly in a life-threatening battle. Concussion, fractured ribs, glass embedded in his skin, burns, a bullet in a dislocated shoulder and God knows what else. And yet here he sits, instead of in a hospital bed where he belongs.” Alfred sighed heavily, his gaze flicking to Bruce. “I trust you’ll handle this properly, sir. Because if you don’t, I’ll be having words with you later.”

Bruce gave a small nod, his attention still on Peter. 

“I don’t do hospitals,” Peter repeats, his voice hoarse as he glances at Alfred. “They’d ask too many questions. I’ll heal. I just… need time.”

Peter groaned, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the table. This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights of his life.

Alfred sighed, clearly unhappy but unwilling to press further. Instead, he focused on carefully removing a shard of glass lodged in Peter’s arm. Peter hissed again, his body flinching reflexively.

“You’re lucky,” Alfred said with a softer edge. “The bullet in your shoulder didn’t hit anything vital. Though how you managed to swing around with it still lodged in there is beyond me.”

Peter gave a weak, humorless smile. “Yeah, well… adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.” he tenses again as Batman walks past the table trying to take a Proper look at Peter's injuries.  

 

Alfred glanced between them, his brow furrowing. “I assure you, he only wishes to help.”

Peter’s laugh was bitter, almost feral. “Yeah, sure. I've already been shot at by a SWAT team, and been beat to shit. So go nuts, it's not going to keep my Spider-Sense from blaring like a tornado siren. Your a threat to me Even if your trying to help, ”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

It wasn’t just the fight that had Peter on edge, it was the way Batman moved, the way he loomed over him like a shadow, the way his presence filled the room with an authority that made Peter’s stomach churn. It reminded him too much of Osborn. The cold, calculating gaze. The unrelenting drive. The willingness to go too far to get what he wanted. 

It made Peter’s skin crawl.

Alfred, sensing the tension, shot Bruce a pointed glare before speaking again. “ I understand your hesitation, but I assure you, he is not your enemy.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? Tell him to stop staring at me like I’m some kind of science experiment, and maybe I’ll believe it.”

Before Alfred could respond, a loud crash echoed from the far side of the cave, followed by raised voices.

“I’m telling you,” Danny’s voice rang out, “you don’t need to keep babysitting me! I’m not gonna blow up Gotham or whatever you think I’m gonna do!”

“Oh, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, Your Majesty,” Constantine shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re a bloody half-ghost kid with the power to wipe out entire dimensions. Forgive me if I’m a little cautious!”

“I’m not gonna wipe out dimensions!” 

“Once is enough, mate.”

The argument continued, growing louder and more heated as Danny and Constantine bickered like a parent and child who had been stuck in the same car for too long. 

Peter turned his head slightly, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. “What’s their deal?” he asked, wincing as Alfred cleaned another wound on his arm.

Alfred sighed, clearly unimpressed with Danny and Constantine’s antics. “ Mr. Fenton and Mr. Constantine appear to have different approaches to… resolving conflict.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered. “I can see that.”

Bruce, who had remained silent up until now, finally spoke. “ Constantine is trying to prevent a larger catastrophe.”

“By yelling at him?” Peter quipped.

“Look, I get it, okay? I’m scary or whatever. But I’m not Pariah Dark, and I’m not gonna start some ghost apocalypse, plus I'd rather not hurt my Human friends. What I actually want right now is a burger!”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re a walking bloody nuke.”

"Ignore them, it is for the best, I'd like you to take these, you're not allergic to Oxycodone?" Alfred asked gently, handing Peter a cup of water and what looked like a handful of painkillers. Peter doesn't answer, just throws them into his mouth along with taking a massive mouthful of water to wash them down. 

"If it’s alright with you, I’d like to know how you ended up in this dreadful state." Alfred paused, glancing up at Peter's battered face. "You don’t have to say anything if you’re not comfortable, but it might help you calm down and rest."

Peter hesitated, his shoulders tensing slightly as Alfred reached for another piece of glass embedded in his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. "It’s… complicated," he said softly, his voice hoarse and raw. The handprint on his throat made every word feel like gravel scraping against his vocal cords.

Alfred gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I’ve found that most things are, Mr. Parker. But I’ve also found that talking about them can make things a little less so."

Peter looked at Alfred for a moment, his guarded expression softening slightly. There was something about the older man’s calm demeanor, his steady hands, and his genuine concern that made Peter feel… safe, even here, in the middle of a cave owned by a man who had beaten him in a fight.

Peter exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the table. "Alright," he said quietly. "I guess it’s better than sitting here in awkward silence."

Alfred gave a small nod, continuing to work. "Take your time, lad."

Peter swallowed hard, his throat aching. "I was trying to fix something I messed up. My life it was a mess. Everyone I cared about, everyone who knew I was Spider-Man, they were in danger because of me. Because of something I did."

Alfred’s hands stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking up to Peter. "Go on," he encouraged gently.

Peter took a shaky breath. "There was this… spell. A way to make everyone forget who I was—forget that I was Spider-Man. It was supposed to fix everything. But something went wrong, and it broke the multiverse open. Villains from other worlds. Worlds that weren’t mine, started showing up. People who knew Spider-Man, but not my Spider-Man. I fought them, tried to send them back, but…" He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. "It didn’t matter. They kept coming."

Alfred’s expression softened, but he said nothing, letting Peter continue at his own pace.

Peter’s fists clenched. "The worst part was… I thought I could save them. I thought I could fix them, make them better, so they wouldn’t go back to their worlds and die fighting Spider-Man. And maybe I did. Maybe it worked for some of them. But…" He swallowed hard. "It cost me everything. My aunt—she—"

His voice broke, and he looked down at his lap, his hands trembling. "She died. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, smart enough to stop it."

Alfred’s hand rested gently on Peter’s uninjured shoulder, "I’m terribly sorry for your loss," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

Peter nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to continue. "After that, I didn’t have a choice. I had to go through with the spell. I made everyone forget me. My best friend. The love of my life. Everyone. It was the only way to fix it."

Alfred’s hand lingered on Peter’s shoulder for a moment before he returned to tending to his wounds. "And that’s when you ended up here?" he asked gently.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I thought it was a portal to take me somewhere safe, one of the wizards I was working with tried to get me away before they forgot. One minute I was in New York city, trying to figure out where I'd go, and the next thing I knew, I’m falling through some portal and landing in Gotham. And then Danny caught me" He shot a look towards Danny. 

Alfred finished cleaning and stitching the last of Peter’s wounds before stepping back, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "There. That should hold for now. But you’ll need rest, young man. Proper rest, not whatever adrenaline-fueled nonsense I imagine you’re used to." Alfred hands Peter a set of clothes. “Forgive me the closest to your size of clothes is Red Robin, he will most likely be here later” Alfred explains to Peter. 

Peter gives a small nod before slowly moving, pulling the cover across so he could get dressed in something more comfortable. He still tenses and watches Batman like a hawk after he had dressed, not wanting the older man too close to him while he was in the state he was.  

Batman reminded Peter of two people: Norman Osborn’s manic intensity lived in Batman’s ability to dissect everything with cold precision, in the way he always seemed to be two steps ahead. That same suffocating control, that same aura of dominance it put Peter on edge, made his heart race and his fingers itch to fight or flee. 

But then there was Tony. The way Bruce carried himself, the unrelenting drive to fix every problem, the subtle weight of grief behind his every word and action, it was so much like Tony Stark that Peter’s heart clenched every time he looked at him. It stung, deep and raw, like an old wound being torn open.

And that combination, Osborn’s menace and Tony’s absence, was too much for Peter to handle.

Batman took a slow step toward him, his cape brushing the floor like a shadow reaching out. Peter stiffened instantly, his body going rigid, his breaths coming faster. His good hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

"Peter," Bruce said, his voice low and steady. "I need to ask you a few questions. I need to know—"

"Don’t," Peter hissed sharply, his voice raw and filled with tension. He flinched back, his eyes wide and wild. His Spider-Sense wasn’t buzzing, but his instincts were screaming at him to move, to escape, to run. 

Batman stopped, his expression unreadable behind the cowl, but Peter could feel the weight of his gaze. It bore down on him like a physical force, and Peter couldn’t stop the way his body shook under it. 

Peter’s voice rose slightly, his tone cracking. "Don’t come any closer."

Bruce frowned, his jaw tightening. 

"I said don’t!" Peter snapped, his voice trembling. His entire body was trembling now, his chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. He looked like a cornered animal, his eyes darting between Batman and the exit, like he was calculating how quickly he could escape if he needed to.

Bruce raised his hands slightly, a gesture of calm, but the movement only made Peter shrink back further. His mind flashed with images of Green Goblin’s twisted grin, of Tony’s lifeless eyes, of his own failures piling up like bricks on his back.

The tension reached its breaking point when Peter let out a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his ribs as his body twisted instinctively away from Bruce. The sudden sound drew Danny’s attention like a shot.

In a blur of green and black, Danny darted to Peter’s side, standing between him and Batman like a shield. His eyes glowed faintly, his aura flaring just enough to be intimidating without being outright threatening. He was back in his human form, but the protective energy radiating off him was unmistakable.

"Hey, back off," Danny said, his voice sharp and firm but not angry. He placed a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him. "Give him some space, okay?"

Peter flinched again, his good hand gripping Danny’s wrist as if to anchor himself. His breaths were still shallow, his eyes flicking between Bruce and Danny. "I’m fine," he muttered, but his voice was shaky and unconvincing. "I’m fine, just—just stay over there."

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and anger, finally stepped in, his tone clipped. "perhaps it would be best to give the young man some time to recover before bombarding him with questions. He’s clearly been through enough."

Bruce hesitated, his gaze lingering on Peter for a moment longer before he gave a curt nod and stepped back. He turned toward the Batcomputer, his cape sweeping behind him as he moved. Constantine muttered something under his breath about "bloody drama" and returned to fiddling with a spell book, but Danny ignored him, his focus entirely on Peter.

"You good?" Danny asked quietly, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as his aura softened.

Peter exhaled shakily, leaning back against the table. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was still weak. "I just… he reminds me of someone. Two people, actually. And it’s—" He broke off, shaking his head. "It’s stupid. Forget it."

Danny tilted his head, his expression calm but curious. "Not stupid," he said simply. "But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to."

Peter gave a small, grateful nod, his grip on Danny’s wrist loosening. "Thanks."

Danny smiled faintly, stepping back but staying close enough to be reassuring. "No problem. Just let me know if you need me to, like, phase you out of here or something."

Peter huffed a weak laugh. "I’ll keep that in mind."

The Batcave was a strange mix of eerie quiet and low mechanical hums as computers whirred and analyzed data in the background. the two teenagers currently sitting on one of the metal tables.  

Danny and Peter were engrossed in their food, wolfing it down like they hadn’t seen a meal in weeks. Neither of them seemed to care about the pressure in the room or the watchful eyes of Batman, who stood at the far end of the cave, his expression unreadable as always. Constantine was somewhere off to the side, muttering curses under his breath and chain-smoking like it was his last day on Earth.  

For Danny, this was just another weird day in a long line of weird days. For Peter, however, it felt like his entire world had collapsed in on itself.  

He sat there, shoveling fries into his mouth with the speed of someone too exhausted to bother with manners, his usually sharp mind dulled by the overwhelming weight of everything that had happened. His Spider-Sense had been buzzing like a never-ending alarm the moment he’d arrived in Gotham. It hadn’t let up. not for a second, and it was starting to fray his nerves.  

Peter was cranky, tired, and emotionally wrecked.  

It wasn’t just Gotham. It was everything.  

The other Peters. Aunt May’s death. Strange’s spell. The portal that had dumped him here. It all felt like one gut punch after another, and now, on top of everything, he’d been bested, humiliated, really by Gotham’s caped crusader.  

Batman.  

Peter glared at the man from across the room, his jaw tightening as he bit into his burger. It wasn’t just that Batman had captured him—it was *how* easily it had happened. Less than 24 hours in this city, and the so-called “Dark Knight” had already gotten the better of him.  

Peter was *Spider-Man.* He’d gone toe-to-toe with aliens, super soldiers, and literal gods. Sure, Captain America had gotten the drop on him once, but that was different. That was Cap. This was a guy in a bat costume.  

And yet, here he was.  

The weight of it all made his chest ache, a cold, hollow feeling settling deep inside him. It reminded him of when he’d been dusted in Tony’s arms, helpless and scared and completely out of control. He hated it.  

Danny, sitting next to him, didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he was too busy enjoying the food to care. He shoved the last bite of his burger into his mouth, licking his fingers clean before leaning back on his hands.  

"Man," Danny said, finally breaking the silence, " the food’s not bad."  

Peter turned back to Danny, his frustration still evident. "How are you so calm about all this? Aren’t you even a little freaked out?"  

Danny shrugged again. "Eh, not really. I mean, have been in strange situations”  Danny had moved on from his burger and was now lazily sipping a soda, his feet kicked up on the table as if they were just two kids hanging out in a diner.  

But Peter? Peter was done. He was exhausted—no, more than that. He was emotionally wrecked. Everything had gone wrong. Aunt May was gone. The other Peters had disappeared back into their own worlds. Doctor Strange’s spell hadn’t fixed anything, and now Peter was stranded in this grim, alien city that radiated danger. His Spider-Sense hadn’t stopped buzzing since he got here, and it was driving him to the brink of insanity.  

It felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, like there was a constant whisper in the back of his mind telling him something bad was coming. When Batman stepped closer, Peter glared at him, his lips curling back in a warning hiss like a feral animal. He didn’t care how ridiculous it made him look. He just wanted the man to stay away. 

“Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His body was coiled tight, ready to spring. “Just don’t.”  

Danny raised an eyebrow “Alright. Sheesh. Someone needs a nap.”  

Peter didn’t respond. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing shallow and uneven. He hated this. He hated feeling cornered, trapped, and helpless. He hated that he couldn’t even turn to Karen for comfort.  

His suit’s AI had been offline since he’d arrived in Gotham, and every time he reached up to tap his earpiece, hoping to hear her calm, familiar voice, he was met with silence. It was a small thing, but it made the ache in his chest worse. Karen had always been there for him. Always.  

And now she wasn’t.  

Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He needed to get away. He needed space, somewhere to breathe, somewhere to escape the weight pressing down on him.  

His eyes darted upward to the high, cavernous ceiling of the Batcave. Without a word, he shot a web and launched himself up, his movements quick and fluid.  

Peter didn’t care what they thought. He swung up to one of the higher ledges, far above the main area of the cave, and began weaving his webs. His hands moved automatically, the repetitive action calming his racing thoughts as he constructed a makeshift hammock.  

It wasn’t much, but it was something familiar. Something safe.  

When he was done, he collapsed into the hammock, the tension in his body finally easing as he stared up at the jagged ceiling above. For the first time in hours, his Spider-Sense dimmed to a faint buzz.  

Peter curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around himself as he closed his eyes. He didn’t cry. He was too tired for that but the ache in his chest didn’t go away.  

He missed Karen. He missed May. He missed home.  

[isle-of-davalon]

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR “DARK MATTER” BY MYSTERYCYCLONE CHAP 43

Doodled a little bit of Peter from @mysterycyclone’s amazing fic “Dark Matter” (yall pls go check it out) Im pretty sure this scene is from chap 43 if i’m remembering correctly!!

Pls ignore the fact he doesnt have the full suit drawn out yet 😔 my process is always doing the anatomy first before clothes because it helps me understand the form better (and if u can’t tell i love drawing the figure LMSKSKD) also pls ignore the feet i need a bit more reference to draw them 😔

Hoping i’ll be able to finish this in a day or two :)

[canthandlethishit]

I need Spiderhead spiderman to meet When in : don’t drink the water Tim

they can bond over

- squishy bones (and lack of)

- wall climbing

- radioactivity

- spider/bat whisperer

[nyra-42]

Just me . . . reopening tumblr for the third time in the last 30 minutes checking to see if anyone posted anything new since I checked 5 minutes ago.