Chapter Text
Mornings with his Dad were never predictable. Jay was, in the best way to put it, not a morning person in the slightest. Not even a coffee could get him perky for the day, but then again he had always been a pessimistic person when it came to life.
He would classify them as Something. Because there wasn't any other best way to describe it. For example, Dad was currently perched on a kitchen island chair nursing the coffee Peter had made fifteen minutes earlier. His black hair with a white stripe was uncombed and probably had been for days, a dark bruise on his left cheek—definitely received last night with how fresh it was. Jay had woken up when Peter started the coffee, quickly cooking a breakfast and served Peter before he got his cup.
"'S it good, Bug?" He asked after a crisp sip.
Peter nodded, mouth too full with eggs to respond verbally besides a hum.
Dqrin was always happy to eat food. "Delicious! Moremoremoremore!"
"Who managed a hit on your face?" Peter questioned once he cleared his first plate, going to the counter for more eggs and toast. He normally ate an entire loaf in the morning.
Dad did not look pleased about it either. "Some drunk idiot bozo." He grumbled. "You try to talk to one bar hopper civilly and suddenly he's freakin' the fuck out. Last time I ever try to be nice. Nice only gets you decked in the face and your shoes puked on."
"Boo! Gross… I do not like puke."
"You and me both, Rin. You and me both."
Peter could not believe his ears. "So it wasn't an evil villain showdown?" He was in disbelief, but saw his opportunity. "Does Babs have a video of you getting assaulted by the drunk guy? Ew wait, did you bring your pukey shoes in here?" He searched around frantically for the bio-hazard.
He got a glare in return. "Do you smell the shoes? Okay then. And don't even think about it."
"I'm thinking about it, bro. Should I make it my desktop background or would that be too on the nose?" He funneled the rest of his breakfast in his mouth, narrowly missing Jay trying to pull him to his chest. "Or I could make an edit of it and send it to the group chat? I think Dick would be all over it since he loved the last one I made of you."
"You're such a brat." His Dad followed after him, placing his dishes alongside his. "I don't understand why Babs gives you the videos. She tells me no every single time."
The ongoing edit war between them was being won by Peter, clearly.
"She knows I could hack to get it anyway. As if it's hard." Peter internally debated bringing up the topic he was leading to. The topic he's been bringing up to his family for the past six months, only to be denied time and time again. "You know, that probably wouldn't have happened if you'd just let me go on patrol with you." He said in a matter of fact tone, almost too softly in preparation for Dads response.
"We can protect them. We aren't hatchlings anymore." Dqrin crooned. He had taken offense when Dad had said Peter was still a kid the first time he asked. There was some truth to that statement, but the rest of the Bats had started younger than Peter. Not to mention the additional security alarm that screamed like a newborn goat whenever there was something shifty in the air.
Dad sighed, long and tired. Too tired. He wouldn't be so tired if he allowed Peter help him out. He wasn't useless. He had strength just below the Supers coursing through his body like a pop-up spring. If only Dad would just—
"Peter." Not Bug or Pete. He meant business.
He gulped. "Dad."
Jay opened his eyes, slowly craning his head to Peter's direction. His bright green met Peter's brown, silently searching his face and noticing the trepidation across it. He relaxed his muscles, sighing again before leaning off the counter. Dad ran a hand down his face before hissing and pulling away from the cheek.
Peter focused on the injury. Dad came home with a fair amount of injuries often, it wasn't unusual in their family for someone to enter the kitchen limping with a hiss. Hell—their bodies were littered with scars that Peter still gawked at his age and experience, old and fresh inhabiting the same body like reunited lovers. Peter couldn't get scars, yet he was the one they were trying to keep away from the family business.
The older man turned his bruise away from Peter's sight. "Like I've said, we can continue this conversation when you're sixteen. In exactly five months. No sooner."
Dqrin was uneasy.
He groaned, loudly and childishly too. Peter didn't care if he was fifteen—being repeatedly denied the same request when it logically made sense to him was barely maintaining his sanity in tact.
"Why does it matter if I'm fifteen or sixteen? What would a few months difference make. I know what it takes to be a vigilante, so it's not like I'm a newbie on the streets. Living with you guys for years also prepares a person for Gotham." His tone flattened by the end, chest tightening when Jay's expression only grew tighter—more locked off.
"Because it matters." His Dad bit out, speaking in the same sour attitude Peter had. He was firm in his opinion—had locked it in a safe and buried the key. Probably in a place he would never find.
Peter nearly bit his tongue. "Oh, yeah, 'cause that's much of an excuse. Dami's been doing this since he was ten, and I can't help out at fifteen."
The older man turned the water on to start the dishes, shaking his head as he ignored Peter.
He clicked his tongue, a habit entirely learned from Damian. "That's fine, leave me on heard. You know I won't stop."
"Go video call your damn bird before she squawks the Demon-Brat's ear off."
Peter flushed. "Her name is Karen and you know that. Don't make fun of her." He warned then stomped off to his bedroom, closing his door with a final—a little louder than necessary—click.
His space in Dad's house was significantly smaller than at the Wayne Manor, and the entire apartment was carpeted besides the kitchen. He loved it though, the beige walls they weren't permitted to paint or nail, the dryer that shook when it was on, the windows that constantly needed to be reinforced.
The teen heard him angrily washing the dishes in the kitchen, swearing under his breath.
With a quick dial to Damian's number, Peter rushed to get his school uniform on while it rang, setting it on a stack of books on his desk. At his Dad's and Pop's—he had untidy desks that were nearing hoarder level display—stacks of wired discs and tools and too much paper all gathering together. His bed in the apartment was smaller, but Peter had taken to sleeping in his webs wherever he slept.
His older brother never took more than two rings to answer.
"Karen and I would greet you good morning, but we seem to be staring at your ceiling and eyesore posters." The young man's voice spoke out, filling Peter's room.
"Peter! Peter! Activating Kid-mode." Karen twittered, saying her catchphrase that Pete taught not long after he got her.
He nearly fell over tugging a sock on. "I'm getting dressed, just give me a second!"
"Tt. You couldn't have done this before you called?" Damian didn't sound agitated—but amused, if Peter had learned his different connotations.
"Don't shit on me—Dad is already doing enough of it right now."
A pause.
"Jason is testing your patience this morning, I take it?" Damian's propped phone was suddenly in his hand, face getting closer on the call as if his glare could break in. Karen's head was tilting from left to right. "Would you like for me to retrieve you? Or take you to school?"
Peter's breath hitched. "Who are you texting right now?"
Damian wasn't deterred. "Jason. To scold him for lacking."
Peter was in frame in the next second, clothes nowhere the neat, flat ironed appearance they should be. "Damian—Do. Not. Even."
His brother raised a thick eyebrow that was identical to Pop's. "Give me one reason on why I should not educate your guardian?"
"First of all, you don't know why we're arguing."
"I do."
"No you don't. I haven't told you."
"You and Jason fight over one thing. You wish to be a vigilante." There was a smug tick to his lips.
Peter guffawed, but continued. "Secondly, you know he'll bring up that your—y'know. Childless. That it's the one thing you don't have expert knowledge in."
His brother scowled. It made Peter worried he would find a kid off the street like his Dad and Pop's and adopt it. "Incorrect. I am a pet-parent. And third?"
"Hate to disappoint, but that's all I have."
"Insufficient reasons." Damian dubbed, continuing to type away.
"Dames, seriously. Don't say anything, at least not yet. Hold off for another month if you can, sheesh."
He was perturbed, but nodded from the desperation in Peter's voice. "One month—and people say I'm not nice. Straighten your clothes, Pete. You're a Wayne, it isn't proper to look sloppy."
He fixed his clothes, "You are aware of who our other siblings are, right?"
A glint lit up in the young man's green irises. "Which is why I'm attempting my best to correct your behavior. Jason is a slob—it is important you don't turn out the same."
"He's not that messy, he just eats like a barbarian who cleans up after himself."
"Tt."
"Peter!" Karen sang, the bird had been patiently waiting the entire conversation.
"Shit! Sorry, Karen. You're the best, waiting for us to stop talking. You look well-groomed. Has your morning been good?"
She bobbed up and down on Damian's shoulder, a hint of her excitement. "Morning been good? Yes, yes. Yours? Morning been good?"
The rest of the tension in his body lessened with a sigh. "Relatively yes. I had a massive breakfast that a Victorian child would hope to feed their family with."
Damian's lip twitched. "I will write that down in your egregious list of words that come out of your mouth."
"Just a thought to consider." He threw his last nights homework into his bag, assuring himself that he finished—too busy worrying that the Bats had called in Red Hood for backup. Obviously the situation had been handled before he came into contact with the drunk who had a vengeful stomach and aim.
Karen nipped at Damian's fingers that approached her. "Peter? Home?"
"Soon, Karen. Cuddle Damian while you can, okay?"
"Mission affirmed." She chirped, scooting closer to the crevice of his neck.
Damian didn't comment.
"I will let you finish your morning without interruption. Have a good day, Pete. Message me at lunch."
"When have I ever forgotten?"
Damian tilted his head in similar fashion to Karen.
"I'll text you, O-M-G."
After rushing to finish his routine in the connected bathroom (because of course Peter got the master), Peter slung his bag over his shoulder, whipping his door open and almost stepping on the plate. The plate that had cookies his Dad slid into the oven before he stormed off. He hadn't noticed footsteps, let alone the scent of fresh cookies.
Of course he took the peace offering. He couldn't stay mad at Jay for wanting to protect him.
"Ya ready for school?" The man said as slid his feet into his shoes, pocketing the keys.
"Gotta grab my lunch." Peter never forgot the prepped lunches Mr. Penny made for the days he stayed in the apartment. Dad could cook, but the one time Peter offered to take off the work-load from Mr. Penny, he got so offended he cooked Peter's favorite meals for two weeks straight. As if to say—go ahead, try and replace me. "Thanks for the cookies."
His mornings were Something, for sure. But they were his.
-
Peter felt the dread set in the second he closed his locker in time with the school bell, signaling he was—in true Peter fashion—late to his next class. It didn't matter how he intended to be on time, or hell, even early, it was always around this time of day he found his feet lagging behind his mind.
"You're still standing here." Dqrin, the childish arachnid-soul-thingy that inhabited his conscious intoned.
"Thank you so much, Rin. I failed to notice that." The sarcasm dripped from his voice, wishing he could fix Dqrin with a flat stare.
"Then why aren't you moving?"
"Why am I not—"
"Hello! Interesting…"
"Should I be concerned Peter Wayne is talking to his locker, or is this normal behavior?" A deep voice said from behind him, drawing his attention.
He twirled around, mouth already shaped to blow bubbles as he sputtered like a fish out of water. After Damian had graduated two years ago—the mass of students gave up their alliance in ignoring Peter, unafraid without a potential guard dog. They quickly learned Peter could be the sweetest peer they met—or their worst nightmare.
Most of them kept their distance from the last Wayne still attending school, a few of the uncaring kids striking up a conversation with him every now and then.
Across from him stood a tall teenager, his hair buzzed short as he casually walked with his hands buried in the uniform. His shoulders were slouched, but not in the way that suggested he was caving in on himself; rather in the way he cared less about posture or what society thought. Both of his ears were pierced with silver studs, and his smirk wasn't impressed by Peter himself, but rather his clumsiness.
Familiar! Peter's senses sang, ringing an alert in his head that sent goosebumps everywhere. But Peter hadn't met this boy before, even with his heart that ticked up in pace.
Next to him was one of the assistants in the office, giving Peter a quizzical look of his own.
He jumbled out a lame excuse. "Oh, uh. Just making sure I have everything for class." Peter lamely tapped his locker in similar ways owners showed off their dog who successfully preformed a trick.
"You mean the one you should be in right now?" The assistant fired back, gaze narrowing.
Peter pointed at the other teen in attempt at diversion. "He's not in his class either. Can't we just call this a day? I'm really late now." He tried taking a few steps back.
Dqrin, for the most oddest reason, didn't like that idea."No! Don't leave him!"
Leave who? Peter internally questioned, but he didn't need the arachnid to respond. He knew perfectly well who Dqrin meant.
Something about the other teenage boy was calling to Peter—just as Nettie and Karen had. It felt as if a web extended from his soul and attached to the taller teenager, entrapping him in the nest of people he cared for. Peter's fingers twitched with the urge to grab. He wanted to grab this boy and hide him away—the thought ringing in his head and hitting against his temples.
"No, Mr. Wayne. In fact…" The assistant looked between the two boys, a smirk forming on his face. "In fact, you can give the transfer, Mr. Jones-Watson, a tour of the school. I'll email your teacher so your absence will be excused."
Before Peter could respond, the assistant was walking back to the office, a smile that wasn't there before spread across his face.
"I'm Michael." The other boys introduction reeled Peter back in, his throat going dry. "MJ for short." He didn't spare the leaving man a glance.
"Speak!" Rin commanded after a few moments of silence.
"You already know my name." He dumbly replied.
MJ snorted. "Yeah. Everyone knows the youngest Wayne."
A sort of awkwardness fell over them again. Pop's and Dad made it their mission to ensure Peter wasn't common commodity for the reporters and news papers, his appearance rare compared to his family. Sense finally knocked into Peter.
"You can call me Pete." He quickly corrected himself. "If you want. Or Peter. Or nothing at all, is fine. Not a lot of people bother with me around here. 'Cept Nettie. I could introduce you later at lunch?" Peter internally smacked himself upside the head.
"Who said I was going to eat lunch with you?" MJ raised his eyebrow.
He started to sweat. "Oh! Um, I figured you'd want to, since you're a transfer. Do you know anyone here?"
MJ waved him off, his smirk growing wider. "I'm just fuckin' with you, Pete. Sure, I'll have lunch with you and Nettie. I, in fact, know nobody here. So, are you going to finish this tour or are we just going to stand around and talk?"
"I could give you the tour and talk at the same time?" He suggested, nodding down the hall.
MJ saddled next to him, their pace slow next to each other as Peter led him further into the school.
"That's our gymnasium, lots of equipment in there if you're into that sort of thing. A lot of it is for show, though. Even with expensive shit the PTA purchases—most the gym coaches could give less of a fuck about actually doing their job."
The other teen snorted, unimpressed. "Good to hear that a rich academy in Gotham is still very much in Gotham."
"What made you transfer so late into the year? It's the start of March so you'll only have three months here." He made small talk, the assessing gaze of MJ reading the side of his features sending his spidey senses off kilter.
A shrug. "I took the placement exam the summer before this term—wasn't enough room for me, and I wasn't smart enough for them to make room. Enough space finally opened up, I guess." MJ bit his lip. "My Mom really wanted me to get in, it's why I took the placement to begin with. She was jumping up and down when I got the letter, so it wasn't like I could refuse."
"You? Not smart enough?" Peter found that hard to believe. If this MJ was anything like MJ from Before, then the academy needed to change their priorities. It was mournful the amount of students who bummed about without a clue about what was going on.
MJ pulled a face. "Are you trying to make fun of me?" He confronted plainly.
Peter's breathing hitched. "No—you just seem like someone who wouldn't be put on a waiting list."
MJ didn't say anything in response, allowing Peter to continue the tour in a clumsy manner. By the time they got to the end of the school, MJ had been reduced to one syllable responses or hums. Peter really thought he messed it all up before their friendship could begin, but just as he was about to lead MJ to his class, the other teen spoke up.
"Do we have any classes together?" He questioned, eyeing his schedule that was in Peter's hands.
Peter was beaming at the attention. "Yup! Three actually. AP World History, AP Chem with me and Nettie, and Gym. You missed World, but Chem should be starting in-" His senses felt the shrill of the bell before he heard it. "Now."
The hallways filled with uniformed students, all of which were restless with frowns as they went on about their day.
"Okay, creepy." MJ drawled out, sizing him up. Then just as fast as he noticed Peter's oddity, he dropped the topic. "How long have you and Nettie been friends?"
"About seven years."
"And you're sure she won't care that I'm intruding on your duo?" He asked briefly, keeping his eyesight straight and trying to remain a regular posture. But Peter could see the way he was nervous with shoulders that were too stiff—could hear his heartbeat pick up a notch.
Peter was quick to reassure him. "Oh, Nettie isn't like that! She can be sarcastic but that's kind of who we are."
"Sarcasm is your guys' thing?"
"Not our thing. We both reek of it though, and I have a feeling you'll fit right in."
MJ didn't bother to give him a response.
"I like him. He is not interested in your stupid games." The arachnid jested, prodding at Peter's pride to draw a reaction out of him.
You won't get me talking to myself again, Rin. I won't play your games, either.
Dqrin was whining. "Boo! You're no fun! Ivy would play with me."
Harley's influenced her too much.
"So this is the Chem lab," Peter said as they walked into the classroom, Dr. Lessing halfheartedly raising his hand in greeting. "Probably one of my favorite things about the academy. Dr. Less is pretty chill about experiments as long as you know what you're doing and don't blow up his room."
"Which is why you're on timeout until Mr. Wayne finalizes the finances after your little incident." Nettie appeared in front of them, long eyelashes flickering as she looked MJ up and down. She smiled a little—as if deep down, she also knew they were meant to be friends. "Who's this?"
"MJ." He introduced himself, then turned his attention to Peter. "You blew up his classroom, didn't you."
"You're not asking, are you? Why aren't you asking?"
"Anyone can sense your chaotic energy, Pete. You're sorta prone to it. I'm Nettie, by the way. I don't think I've seen you around before." She focused on the boy standing next to him, extending out her hand that MJ lazily shook.
He was casual about the interrogation, seeming uninterested in the conversation entirely. "'Cause you haven't—I'm new. My first day has been going…" He eyed Peter.
Nettie laughed, as if she understood what he was getting at. "Tell me about it. You'll get used to it though—I can tell he already roped you in. Once you're in, there's no out."
"I have no idea what you guys are talking about." Peter butted in.
"We can tell by your gaping mouth. Come sit down and stop crowding the aisle." Nettie herded them to a three-person table, pulling Peter by the arm.
Mr. Lessing cleared his throat. "You should all be glad to know we have a new student with us. Another person to perhaps help with the grading curve." He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, getting quiet cheers from the class. "Or make it more difficult for those already struggling. Mr. Michael Jones-Watson has astounding marks on his exams." The students groaned.
MJ appeared as if he was already fed up, deflating as he stared Mr. Lessing in the eyes. "Not interested in the introductions."
The teacher thinned his lips. "Alright then. Everyone take out a paper and pencil, we're going to have a pop-quiz."
The complaints only worsened, shuffling filled with glares sent MJ's way.
"Jesus fucking Christ. What a way to start my first class." MJ muttered under his breath, quiet enough meant for no one else to hear. His lips barely moved when he spoke the words—not that Peter was staring or anything.
Of course though, Peter heard everything.
His connection to the Web was something he had been working on for years, still was in fact. There wasn't a week that went by where Peter discovered something new, whether it be his allergy aversions developed because of his spider or that he could make his webs thicker on command. Most important of all was his communication with Dqrin and following Sreinn's directions. While the arachnids could be a pain in his ass half the time, they knew what they were talking about when it came to the Web.
Peter didn't have answers on why he had sudden connection with spiders, but he wasn't daft enough to not recognize that it didn't happen until after Dr. Strange transported him to Gotham. Whatever he did altered something in Peter. For good. Pops still offered a solution to find his answers—having connections to everyone as Bruce Wayne and Batman will do that—but he was good where he was. No reason to rock the boat with a dug up past and explanation when he felt the most mentally stable in a while.
With that decision, he learned to hone the new structures of his abilities instead of rejecting them. In the beginning it had been a pain to tone-down his hearing to remain around a close radius of himself, the want to branch out and natural instinct he carried in the back of his mind. But it was easier now, to mentally keep himself in the classroom when all he heard were the noises of it—no beeping car or gun firing or child wailing or-
"Peter!" Nettie whisper shouted, her brown eyes baring into his as if it wasn't the first time she said his name. "I asked if you had a pencil."
"Oh… yeah, sorry." His bag was embarrassingly messy with cords as he dug to find the pencil, pausing when the tip nearly poked him.
"Sharp!" Rin warned.
His locker was meant to help keep his bag organized, the notebooks between classes interchanging their rounds in the dark, metal box. Instead, it only made more room for Peter to store his junk.
By the time Mr. Lessing was done calling random questions, MJ had made a few doodles on the corner of his paper. It was so distinctly MJ—that Peter had to take a second to focus his breathing.
-
"Don't feel bad, Mr. Lessing is always doing that if someone pisses him off." Peter consoled once they were finally free of the grueling lesson. "One time he gave us a pop quiz because the janitor hadn't swept his floors."
"I would get used to it. He finds a reason to blame everyone at least once a year. He's good at his job though, so I guess he gets a pass." Nettie shrugged, ignoring the shoulders that bumped into her.
Peter sniffled, rubbing at his nose as the lunch preparation filled his senses. "He's alright. He teaches pretty basic stuff, like today. What do you think they're serving for lunch this afternoon?"
They both give him a are you crazy expression.
"What?" His voice was deeper since puberty, but it still had a squeaky quality to it that let everyone know Peter wasn't exactly an adult yet, either.
"Dude, you're a fucking genius and don't even know it sometimes. You will be helping me with homework this week." Nettie crisply replied, eyebrows raised with expectation. It was the same expression she wore when she was thinking about attacking him. Peter had learned.
He shrugged, a small laugh tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. "As if I don't every week?"
Rin was working double time. "Here it comes!"
She slapped his arm, barely leaving a sting behind. "Don't try to make me sound like an idiot in front of MJ." Nettie scolded, then changed direction. "I don't get why you want school lunch, too. You already eat Alfred's and Lola's."
"Because food is good and I'm a growing teenage boy?" With a constant hunger thanks to the spider bite. He left that part unsaid.
And as unsaid it went, the truth buried itself somewhere in the middle of Peter's chest, the sensation burning. The amount of times Peter had to stop himself from admitting the truth, at least part of it, was pathetic. Only because his mouth would hang open and sounds would stutter out—only for the words to fall apart before they could be formed. Nettie would take enough pity on him to fill the silence, never asking but always aware.
Nettie cringed at his response.
"Who is Alfred and Lola?" MJ questioned from in between them, slowing his pace so he could glance at the two of them.
Peter smiled, pulling him back in to match their walking pace. He tried to ignore the way his setules automatically stuck to MJ's arm, unlatching them before the other teen could notice Peter's locked grip.
"You have lots to learn, my friend. Lots to learn. They're our respective grandparents." Then he got a bright idea. "Hey, would you want to meet up at my house with Nettie this Wednesday? That's usually when we get our homework done."
"By house he means manor." The girl clarified. "They have faster computers than the library—and the butler, Alfred—always has the best snacks already made by the time we get there."
"Not sure if that's my kind of scene." MJ tried to avert.
Peter knew how it appeared. Another spoiled rich boy trying to rub in his wealth to the others around him. MJ had always hated the rich, monologues about the financial inequality when there were billions of people living in poverty. Word essays that Peter hated he couldn't remember bar for bar—but so impactful that even the de-aged spell couldn't erase the impact it had on him.
MJ had every right to say no.
Peter would do everything in his power to convince him otherwise.
"Alright, just- let me know. We could have your rides covered if you needed it."
"I have a truck I drive."
Great.
Peter wanted to melt away. "Oh, that's nice. How old are you anyway?"
"Sixteen. You two?"
"Fifteen and seventeen."
Nettie hummed, peering at MJ's schedule. "Lucky, you have history with Pete. I just sit there all alone like an idiot."
"You're the one who changed your schedule around." Peter admonished. "Maybe if you didn't want Guitar, you shouldn't have chosen it last year."
Nettie shook her head. "I didn't know they would change half the schedule around! Besides, one class let me know my hands should never touch an instrument again. The regret has settled since." She handed the paper back to MJ, nodding at him. "Will we be seeing you at lunch?"
"No one else has tried to invite me." MJ slyly agreed, saying yes without sounding desperate.
They entered the gymnasium, students socializing before they had to get dressed.
"That's another thing you'll get used to. Everyone's been in their own little groups since kids. I'm surprised Pete here even talked to you."
"He did try to get out from giving me a tour. Too busy talking to his locker, I guess."
Peter covered his face. Fucking Dqrin.
Nettie stuttered, mouth agape before clicking it shut. Her eyes moved back and forth between the two, shaking her head at Pete. "Of course you were, ya freak. Have you been checked for schizophrenia like I suggested? Why do you keep doing that?" Then at MJ, "I'm surprised you're still talking to him at this point." And walked towards the girls locker room, leaving no room for argument or giving Peter a chance to defend himself.
She was used to Peter's oddness by now, but still found it bizarre when strangers weren't affected by it.
MJ snorted. "Not a first-time incident, I see. Should I be concerned, or is this normal behavior for you? Like blowing up the lab."
Peter answered honestly. "Maybe both?"
"Why do I think you're about to blow my life into chaos?" MJ crossed his arms, his muscles visible under the long-sleeve.
"Psh, what?" Peter's voice went up a notch. "Have ye some faith, MJ. We only just met."
"Precisely."
-
Gym went by differently than the other days. For obvious reasons, since MJ was there to join them. Nettie kept most of the conversation flowing without a hitch, talking about the promotion her parents got and how much money she's saved from her job. Her hopes were to get a car by the time she graduated, one that would be her own—car payments and gas and all.
It wasn't until he felt MJ on his right as they walked around the auditorium (since it was quite literally freezing outside) for the second time that it clicked he wasn't dreading his life as he always did in Gym. Nettie made is bearable, but it had always felt as if there was another missing.
MJ wasn't the quickest to chatter back and forth with the two, but eventually, the younger teenager had the new Gotham Academy student talking freely. Nettie parted from their small group to get water, winking at Peter with a small wave.
What was that about? He thought, overlooking the thumbs up she gave him.
"This is probably my worst day of school so far." MJ admitted, his voice monotone in attempt to mask emotion.
"Friend is sad! Help!"
"Is it not what you expected at all, or do you miss your friends? Or something else?" Peter tried to extend more room for him to talk.
MJ huffed, looking at the high ceiling of metal bars and reinforced binding that could only have happened because of generous donations from the wealthy parents.
"Both," He admitted. "I thought it would be less Gotham—hell, less New Jersey. But everyone in here acts the same. Miserable. Building is just cleaner. And their heating system is better, but anyone could guess that from the ratio statistics between wealthy and poor schools." MJ went on, "I thought the rest of the school year would be with the people I know. Instead the academy just had to send that letter."
That made perfect sense. "It was whiplash, I mean who gets accepted with three more months left? You would think they'd have you finish out the year and join here this August. What about your friends?"
"They would be saying "told you so" right about now."
"How about I tell you a secret about this place that no one knows? To cheer you up a little."
"Not even Nettie?" MJ wasn't convinced.
Peter conceded. "Okay, everyone except me and Nettie."
"Are you going to tell me even if I say no?"
"Why would you say no?" He flailed his hands about.
"How can I be sure this secret won't weigh heavily on my mind and affect every decision I make hereon out?"
"Dude."
"Okay, just tell me."
-
"So… your Lola and butler share recipes and make lunches for the both of you. And you still get school lunch?" His eyes were wide with the amount of food surrounding Peter enough to feed a five cavemen.
"That's what I said! Two of the best cooks in Gotham and you want to eat that crap." Nettie was glowing as if she found a new appreciation for MJ's presence.
They enjoyed doing that as well in his past universe, from what Peter could remember. Gang up on him whether it was to tease about his mismatched socks or to properly take care of himself in the ways Aunt May hadn't noticed. His spider senses sang with elation now that the three of them were all together again, the need to run to release his rising energy.
Nothing could stop the smile that spread on Peter's face. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't try to diss on the school food. This is like—top tier preparation and execution." He gestured to the plate below him. "These cheesy sticks? I would die for them. And stop calling Mr. Penny my butler, he's like a grandpa to me."
"You're dramatic. See a doctor about your appetite." The teenage girl rolled his eyes. "And even if he's like your grandpa, Mr. Wayne is still writing his paychecks."
"No, this lunch is the best I had at any school, I'll give you that. But you're seriously going to eat everything?" MJ wasn't convinced. "Can you physically fit all of that into your stomach?"
"Challenge?"
Peter started to dig in. "I take that as a challenge, but the answer is—I might even get an ice cream cup after." He patted his stomach. "It's a never-ending pit."