Chapter 10: Back to Crime Alley

WARNINGS FOR : Substance abuse (by an adult), implied abusive relationship (if you know Batman lore you probably have a clue as to who it is)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When he saw that his last delivery would take him to Park Row, Peter felt extremely disappointed. So far, his night had been relatively peaceful, most of his clients had been civilians or low level criminals all of whom had treated him quite nicely.

It would have been his first time not getting a gun pulled on him during his shift but, of course, this was Gotham. He couldn't be this lucky.

As he slowly crept northward, leaving the center of the Bowery and heading towards Park Row, most often referred to as "Crime Alley" from what he had heard around the streets, a strange feeling spread up his back and up towards his neck.

Wait a minute… was that?

He straightened up then froze, focusing on his body. He couldn't feel anything out of the ordinary, outside of the remaining itchiness of the few scars that had yet to smooth over from his old burns. Was it psychological, then? A ghostly Spider sense when he felt like he should be feeling it, just like a ghost limb for a regular human.

The thought disturbed him a lot more than what he had expected. If the Spider sense had been cut away from him completely, what had caused it? Could he ever regain it?

It felt like terrible timing but, maybe, it wasn't. Dimension travel would be the kind of events that could potentially disturb ones' abilities like this. He had to look more into it, now that he had managed to stabilize his situation a little. He should try and add it to his to do list, if he remembered.

Crime Alley was full of life when he entered it. He could hear people of various genders panting in some of the nearby alleyways, as the local brothel had apparently reopened. Several groups of gangsters stood together along the dark street, smoking, drinking and laughing. He could spot weapons on all of them. A lot of back alley deals were going on behind each group, solitary buyers coming in and out of the darkness to exchange cash for substances or weapons. All of it was very blatant, as if they didn't have a care in the world about who could spot them.

The place had not looked the same last time he had been there, and that had been before the Firefly attack. Unlike most other areas in the city, the locals here did not appear more tense after the incident but, instead, more relaxed.

His mind worked through the paradox, taking it apart like a puzzle. People here were more criminally inclined, he could smell it in from the powder in the air, the distinctive scent of drugs, which he had learned to identify from his time in New York. Now that he was focusing, he could hear people locked away inside of their apartments, civilians. Those people were still scared.

What would make criminals relax but civilians hide? The answer dawned upon him and he crossed his arms, unsettled.

Ah. Of course. There must be an ongoing investigation about the incident, and the explosives were still going off, from what he had seen on the newspapers while shopping for food earlier that day. A lot of the police force must be focused on stopping that, and if the city's vigilantes worked with them, which he wasn't yet sure about, they probably were distracted as well.

That left more time for the little guns to come out and play. The amount of cocaine he could smell alone was worrying, the substance was expensive, having so much of it in out on the street, hidden away in backpacks and large pockets, only taken out to be exchanged for a couple of bills, was a sign of confidence. Of course, cheaper substances were there too, and in even greater numbers. Thousands of dollars worth of merchandise was spread across the alley. Way too much to take out if the gangs weren't absolutely convinced that they wouldn't get busted.

Really, who could even try to stop them? There were a good fifty people standing around with guns. Even with a full police squadron, the ensuing gun fight would be a blood bath.

Peter walked into the alley, feeling several eyes follow him as he progressed. This would not end well.

He had barely made it a hundred or so feet into the long, tortuous street when he heard someone shift behind him, the sounds of footsteps falling close to his, matching them to hopefully throw him off.

Not wanting this to degenerate into yet another unfair fight, and with only a couple shots left in his web tanks, he decided to act immediately. Better show them that he wasn't an easy target as soon as possible, the faster the word spread that he could hold his own, the less he would be bothered during his deliveries.

It was something he was starting to learn about Gotham. In the streets, there was a very animalistic hierarchy among the different residents. The strongest, sneakiest, smartest and more experienced prevailed over the weak. In his neighborhood, most of the weakest gothamites had been driven out… or maybe they were the ones hiding inside, waiting for the sun to rise, hoping that it would drive the gangs away.

He had heard many gunfights at night, many assaults too. He didn't have a Spider suit anymore, there was nothing he could do about it, right?

Peter twisted around as the person behind him kept walking, unaware that they had been spotted. His hand shot up, grabbing the collar of their shirt, tugging it forward with such force that they stumbled and almost fell. It was a man, with a black jacket and dark make up around his eyes, making them blend in with the darkness off the night. He yelped in surprise as he went down.

Trying to keep his balance as to not disturb the last remaining pizza in his bag, Peter crouched and swung his leg in a wide arc. His sneakers collided with the thug's ripped jeans, giving his legs the last push they needed to fully give out. The man crashed to the ground, cursing.

"I'm not looking for trouble." Peter told him, putting his foot in the small of the adult's back, pressing down slightly. He could hear several people, also wearing black, reach for their guns. "I'm just here for a delivery. Please leave me alone."

"Fuck you!" The man spat at him, struggling his vain to free himself from the pressure he was putting on him. A dozen feet or so towards the entrance of the alley, his black clad friends were drawing various weapons.

Oh boy. This was not going as planned. Of course they wouldn't be intimidated by him. He had shown some ability to fight, but they were still eight, including the one guy groaning on the floor, and all of them were larger in size and carrying a more dangerous arsenal that he was. To them, the conclusion of the fight was obvious.

At least their group was the only one dressed in this specific way, which was probably the reason why they had stayed close to one of the alley's exits. Further down the street, he could identify several members of other gangs, most of them now having noticed what was going on. He could hear them laugh, as if this was just some sort of show.

No way he could use his webs with so many people watching, especially not now that his clash against Firefly had made the front page of several newspapers. He would have to rely on his strength, flexibility and speed, all the while attempting to look like a normal, regular teenager and also not ruin the last pizza in his bag. That meant he couldn't flip around, he had to keep his back straight.

Well, he knew what to do, now he just had to survive it somehow.

Two men came running at him, too far away from the one functioning Crime Alley lamppost to be anything more than shadows in the night. At least that meant that most of the fight would be hard to see for the other criminals in the street.

Clenching his abs and back muscles to make sure he wouldn't do any flips by reflex, Peter leaped to the side of the alley, one foot resting on the wall, immediately pushing and jumping once again. One of the two men stumbled at that, staying back, but the other didn't flinch, still charging even as the boy was flying through the air.

Not a good choice, Mr. Thug.

Peter twisted his waist, spinning on himself in the air and sending his foot crashing into the poor guy's face. He hadn't put much strength behind the blow, but it was still enough to make the guy collapse like a puppet with cut strings. Ouch.

He landed in a crouch once again, just in time for the other guy to reach him. Behind him, he could hear that several of his friends had taken their guns out but hadn't shot them yet. He understood : it was so dark right now that the bullets were likely to hit pretty much anyone standing in the alley, not just him. If they missed and got someone from another gang instead, things could go ugly very quickly.

Out of the five still standing, two other were coming at him. One had something that smelled like metal in his left hand, the other had a slight glue and wood polish scent. Knife and baseball bat.

He grabbed the foot of the second of the two initial attackers, who had finally gotten over his surprise and was now right in front of him, as he tried to kick him, stopping him with one hand. His other went to grab the man's ankle and he twisted it savagely, sending the thug's whole body into an out of control spin that ended with him crashing face first on the stone.

Some of the criminals from other gangs had started cheering him on, he noticed, cheeks flushing. He did not need this right now, it would only bring more attention to the scene.

As if caused by his thoughts, several lights started to turn on from the buildings around them, casting away some of the shadows that had, so far, kept the gun holders from shooting at him.

Great.

Civilians were watching now, from the relative safety of their apartments and squats. He would have kept on feeling terrible about it if he had the time but, as it was, knife woman and baseball bat man were already almost on him.

Thankfully, the three assaillants he had already disposed of had decided to stay on the ground. He hoped it was because he had knocked them out and not because they had figured out he was a meta and they didn't have a chance without a gun. If that last option was the right, it was smart of them as it gave their colleagues a lot more space to shoot.

Hoping the last pizza hadn't been ruined by his jumping and crouching, Peter walked a few steps back, bending his knees slightly, ready to pounce.

As the knife wielding woman struck, aiming the blade at his stomach, he side stepped her easily then slid against her back too fast for her to react.

He then grabbed the back of her leather jacket and, pretending like it was a great effort for him, swung her right into baseball man. The two collided with each other and he used this opportunity to bail.

He wasn't about to try and fight three gunmen while the whole street was watching. He heard them yell at his retreating back but, as he has suspected, none of them followed him deeper into the alley. Too dangerous for them, since other gangs were represented in greater numbers there.

Now, he just had to hope that those gangs didn't try to pick a fight with him either. No time to think, he was almost reaching another band of criminals. They were laughing at the scene he had caused, some of them clapping.

"Hey kid!" A man wearing a green hoodie and a strange patched up denim jacket covered in buttons and had, for some reason, a plastic flower on its lapel. "Wanna make some dough? Us joker boys can use a fighter like you."

A clown themed gang? He was so surprised by the concept that he stayed silent, gazing up at the man with a confused expression. Eventually, he shook himself out of it and replied as politely as he can :

"Thank you but I already have a job."

"He works for Marco's" another flower wearing man piped in, before anybody could get worked up over his refusal.

A wave of "aahs" and "ooohs" went through the older gang members present, the younger ones still noticeably confused but smart enough not to say anything about it.

"He got a good one this time." Someone remarked as he was let go. "Probably gonna last longer."

"Should we tell the boss?"

"How are you gonna tell him, dumbass? They're not gonna let you in to talk to him."

"Only the Bat and Gordon can see him, I heard."

Their talk was interesting enough for Peter to keep spying on them as he went further down the street. He was left alone by the other gangs, his handling of the earlier assault and his exchange with the clown group (he still couldn't believe that was a thing) having been apparently enough of a deterrent. Maybe they also just didn't care.

Apparently, from what he could make out as he walked away, the leader of the "joker boys" had been captured a few months back and, ever since then, kept locked away from the world. The prison's name started with an "A" but he had trouble making the full word out. Arcane? No… the second part hadn't sounded exactly like this.

As he reached the spot his GPS had led him to, he suddenly realized who had ordered the pizza and he couldn't help but feel very, very tired. He rung the bell to the correct apartment anyways, preparing for the worst.

"It's you!" Harley beamed as she swung the door open. In the street behind him, Peter could hear a group of thugs hurriedly shuffling away after spotting her. She seemed to be somewhat of an institution around here.

Unlike last time he had seen her, the woman was not wearing a firearm, both of her hands empty. She was still dressed provocatively, wearing jeans that had been cut so short they almost looked like underwear and a white dress shirt that was not buttoned all the way. He tried his best to advert his gaze, not comfortable with the display.

"I didn't think you'd ever come back," the woman cooed. "Come in!"

He really shouldn't do it. She was quite obviously unstable in some way but he couldn't help his curiosity. From the way she behaved and the reactions she got, she had some amount of influence in the Gotham underworld.

He needed information and other than the public library and spying on street level thugs during his deliveries he didn't really have any other leads.

Peter stepped inside.

Harley led him up the stairs to a gaudily decorated apartment door. Someone had wrapped a garland around the wooden frame, lights shining red and green in rhythm.

"Are those Christmas lights?" He asked, wondering if it was getting close to this time of the year. He lost tracks of days easily but remembered he had seen the date on several newspaper before. They were indeed in December, he just couldn't remember which part of the month.

"What? No that's just my door."

She said this with an incredulous grin, as if his questions had been completely incongruous. Thing was, Peter was almost certain he had seen those exact lights in a Christmas themed store a few days ago.

Well, at least they only clashed slightly with the scratched up pink paint that had been applied to the door itself.

He rubbed his sneakers on a bright green "Welcome Home" mat. Some blood had gotten on them when he kicked the thug earlier and he hoped it wouldn't stain. Those were his only shoes.

"I wanted to apologize," Harley told him as he followed her in. She didn't explain herself and instead ran off into what looked to be a kitchen, tucked right next to her front door, on the left. Her living room was on the right, dimly lit by yet some other Christmas garlands.

Her place was small and filled from floor to ceiling with things that made Peter extremely uncomfortable. On a comfortable looking pink and white couch, a dozen or so handguns were laying around. He could tell by the smell that they were all loaded.

In front of the couch, a little table held empty wine bottles and cigarette buds. He could see pill bottles scattered around the floor, some spilling over, medication spread in between knives and old newspapers that had been forgotten there. The living room was small and those two pieces of furniture took most of the space available, but Harley had still managed to fit in a small flat screened TV. It didn't seem to see much use, as the stand it sat on was covered in dust.

On the walls, the faded brown paint had been covered by various posters and artworks. In between those two things, of course, several guns had been mounted as decoration as well. Way too many of them to be legal, he thought.

Well, that it certainly cost quite a bit of money to get an arsenal this big and this was only the living room. He had definitely found something interesting there, he needed to keep digging.

Harley came back into the living room, holding two open beer bottles in her hands. She sat them down on the table with a smile.

"Come sit!" She gestured at the couch.

Peter slid off his pizza bag, taking the box out and handing it to her before carefully making his way to the seat. He took the time to pluck a few guns away and set them on the table before sitting down.

This was probably one of the worst ideas he had ever had.

He awkwardly took the beer Harley chucked at him. Droplets fell over his pants and on the couch but she didn't seem to care. She was looking at him with a huge smile.

"Thought you were dead." She said eventually. "Called in to order and the old man said the place was closed."

"Sorry?" Peter tried, holding the alcohol uncomfortably, not really wanting to drink it.

Harley nodded gravely, gulping down some of her own beer. "Very disappointing. But you survived! So I decided to throw a survival party!"

She waved her arms around, as if to encompass all of her little living room. Considering the mess it was in, Peter could only smile politely, trying very hard not to show on his face that he had noticed the dozen or so grenades under the TV stand.

"We just met, though." He pointed out.

He was completely ignored as Harley had started to dig into the pizza. It looked a bit messy but probably not as bad as it could have been, considering what he had put it through during the fight earlier. This time, it looked like it was vegan only, with a lot of spices throw on top of it.

He swirled his untouched beer into the bottle, squirming uncomfortably on the weapons covered couch.

"Um… thank you for intervening the other day." He managed to say, hoping it would open an interesting conversation. Trying to get her to talk about gangs and crime in the city was why he was here after all.

"Oh yeah!" Harley smiled. "Those idiots. They're all like that, mad because their boss is no longer the big boss." Her laugh as she finished the sentence sounded slightly hysterical and his unease spiked up once again.

Well, that was interesting intel. Maybe he had been right to follow his instincts on this one. He tried to push a bit harder:

"Do you think they're gonna try to do anything about it?"

She cackled again, downing the rest of her beer and throwing the empty bottle at the wall violently. It shattered on impact, making him flinch. Maybe he should stop before he got her more upset.

Harley plucked the untouched beer from his hands, putting a slice of pizza in it instead. She drank his bottle as well, sending it flying just as she had before. She didn't look very happy.

"Aaah…" she sighed. "'M not supposed to drink but what can you do?"

Not wanting to trigger more extreme reactions, Peter stayed very, very still. She didn't notice how pale his face had gotten, thankfully, instead grabbing a pill off of the floor and crushing it in her hand. She shoved the powder into her mouth and swallowed, grimacing at the taste.

They stayed silent for a few minutes. He felt like he was dealing with an unstable, wild animal but, really, this was just another human being. He had to remember that.

"Those guys…" She eventually told him, slurring a little. "… they're losers. They chose the wrong guy and they don't want to admit it. Not that anyone would want them in if they tried to. They suck." She repeated it a couple more times, punctuating each repetition with a snap of her fingers. "You need to be smart when you chose a boss, 'specially in Gotham."

"Oh?" Peter said, encouraging her to keep talking while still trying to sound as neutral as possible. He bit into the pizza slice, it was almost cold by now but at least it gave him some energy.

"Yeah." Harley nodded. "I wasn't smart. At least, I don't think so. People say I wasn't." She shook her head, looking pained. There was a story there, but she definitely did not look stable enough for him to ask about it. "At least the guy I chose wasn't a total loser."

Her hands were shaking slightly. She took another pill, which she also crushed and swallowed. It didn't look like a very healthy habit.

"Let's talk about something else." Peter blurted out. He wasn't feeling good making her so visibly upset, and intel wasn't worth acting like a douchebag. He grasped for conversation topics, completely out of his element.

Harley was still shaking. She had picked up a knife from the carpet and was twirling it between her finger. Her precision and speed were impressive.

"You wanted to apologize?" He managed to ask, hoping it would be enough to pull her out of whatever it was she was going through. He had to repeat himself a few times before she noticed him and, once she did, her shaking calmed down a bit.

"Oh yeah!" She exclaimed, jumping to her feet and clapping her hands together, her previous state of mind completely forgotten. "See, last time, I didn't notice but my girlfriend told me!"

She whirled around dramatically, pointing at him then putting a hand on her forehead. "I forgot to tip you!" She said, sounding absolutely heartbroken about it. Of course, he could by her heart rhythm that she was just putting on a show. She was a very good actor, he would have to remember that.

"Wait…" he suddenly had an epiphany. "Is this why you invited me in?" He shook his head right after the words left his mouth. She had also invited him to come with her last time. He could be an idiot, sometimes.

"No! I invited you because I was curious! But I do want to give you a little something as an apology."

She ran out of the living room once again, this time heading down a corridor and into what he assumed was her bedroom. She came out of it clutching a large pink and green box, which she dropped on his knees.

"You really didn't have to," Peter told her, having a really bad feeling about the kind of gifts a woman like her would come up with.

"Oh but I did! It was so much fun watching you knock their teeth out! I wish I was a meta, too…" she sighed dreamily.

He pointedly ignored that last comment, opening the present instead. Inside of the box sat a bright pink, butterfly and hearts covered sawed off shotgun. It even came with several boxes of ammo, which intimidated him a bit, considering the things had just been dropped carelessly on his lap.

"This is my third favorite gun." Harley told him. "I wanted to get you chocolates but I can't really be seen in public so I thought this would do."

"Thank you." He croaked out. He did not want a gun. He had no need for a firearm. He didn't think he could say no to Harley, though, not with the amount of weapons she had scattered all around the room.

"I'm so happy you like it." She winked at him. "I hope you have a lot of fun using it!"

"Y-Yeah."

He left pretty quickly after that, knowing that Marco would be waiting for him at the restaurant. "That's fine," Harley nodded when he told her. "Gotta respect your boss."

Her slurring had worsened dramatically, she looked about to pass out. He hoped she would be alright, as he made his way up to the roof from the staircase outside her apartment. He had stored the shotgun box into his pizza bag, not wanting to be seen with it, even if he stuck to the roofs.

The surprise of having a gun handed to him had been all he could feel at first but, now that he was (very carefully) making his way back to the pizzeria, he found himself thinking about what he could do with it. Guns had several interesting components inside of them, maybe he could try to take it apart and turn it into another tool, something less dangerous.

If he did that, he might have to find himself a soldering kit, depending on whether or not he wanted to modify the weapon's frame. He could also just try to grab the insides… Maybe he could do something with the bullets too. He had to use everything he managed to get his hands on if he wanted to survive Gotham.

He hadn't gotten as much information out of Harley than he had hoped for but what he had heard already intrigued him. The black leather gang used to rule the underworld but now the balance of power had shifted.

He had found his first contact into the underworld. Now he would have to keep digging into it. The more he learned about this city, the more mysteries he uncovered.

Gotham was the weirdest place he'd ever found himself into and, coming from him, that meant quite a lot.