Peter Wayne returned to the scene of the crime. As the forensics department investigated the scene, Peter crawled his way through the ventilation system until he reached the theater of the convention center. Crawling atop the walls, hiding in shadow, Spider-Man recorded footage through the lenses of his mask.
There wasn't much to learn; he was a witness to the events himself. Still, he wanted to find out if there was anything he had missed. He stayed out of sight of the police as he collected forensic data; he even managed to upload the security footage onto a flash drive.
On some nights, Peter would ride his motorcycle instead of swinging through the city for no other reason aside from the fact that he enjoyed the ride. Tonight was one of those nights.
In fact, he wasn't even in costume that night. Instead, he wore all-black leather and a medical mask over his face to conceal his identity.
As he rounded the corner to the alley in which he'd parked his bike, he noticed a shadowy figure beside his back tire. Peter, unafraid of a lowly bike thief, approached his ride with thunderous steps.
To his surprise, it wasn't the typical thug, it was a kid — one in his early teens. The kid acted as if he were just admiring the bike, though Peter could see the tool hidden behind his back.
"What are you doing?" Peter asked.
The kid said nothing, glaring at Peter like a cornered animal. The arachnid didn't need his Spider-Sense to know what the child would do next.
The child swung the tire iron at Peter. The spider caught it before the attack was anywhere close to hitting him; however, he was surprised by the strength behind the attack.
He's a metahuman? Like me.
"Relax, kid. I don't want to hurt you. I won't even call the cops on you."
The boy relaxed his body. Peter relinquished the tire iron, compelling the boy to lower his arm. The kid was dirty, malnourished, and didn't dare look Peter in the eyes.
"Where are your parents?"
"Dead," the boy replied plainly.
"Who do you live with?"
"No one."
"What's your name?"
The boy didn't respond.
"Are you hungry?" The moment Peter sprang the question, the child finally made eye contact with him. He nodded without a word.
"Let's go get something to eat. My treat. Though I'd like to know who I'd have the pleasure of dining with."
"Kaine. My name is Kaine."
Peter wore a bittersweet smile; the child reminded him of himself all those years ago. If not for the generational wealth, perhaps he would've been in the same position.
"Alright, Kaine. Hop on." Peter got on his bike and handed the child his helmet. Kaine climbed onto the bike and held on to Peter for dear life as they rode through the city. Eventually, they ended up at a diner downtown.
The moment the two sat down and Peter removed his mask, patrons began to gasp and gossip at the sight of the billionaire. Even Kaine was surprised.
"You're Peter Wayne..."
Peter nodded. "Last time I checked, I am. Go ahead and order whatever you want."
Kaine was more than happy to accept the offer. He'd ordered so much that it could barely fit on the table. Peter sipped on coffee, watching as the child stuffed himself full of the entire menu.
The child didn't say a word while he ate. It wasn't until his plates were clean that he finally spoke.
"Thanks... For the food."
"You're welcome," Peter said, analyzing the boy. "Do you have a place to sleep tonight?"
"Yeah...."
"Are you sure?" Peter could sense Kaine's uncertainty. Based on smell alone, Peter knew the child hadn't showered in months.
"I found a place. It's an abandoned apartment complex. One of the rooms wasn't locked."
Peter flagged their waitress and handed her his card. "That's no good. I have dozens of spare rooms. You can stay the night until we find a place for you to stay. It's up to you. I am a stranger, after all."
"That's okay... I've lived on my own this long. I can survive."
Peter looked at the child solemly. The waitress came back with his card and receipt, placing them on the table. Peter grabbed a wad of cash from his jacket and tipped the waitress handsomely.
"Thank you," he told her.
"Oh, gosh! No, thank you, Mr. Wayne!"
When Peter looked at Kaine, the boy was staring at his thumbs beneath the table.
"Well, good luck. I appreciated your company. Believe it or not, I get lonely sometimes, too. Goodnight, Kaine." Peter rose from his seat, but Kaine's outstretched hand stopped him.
"Wait! I thought you were going to insist after I declined your offer... I didn't want to seem desperate, okay?"
Peter chuckled slightly. "My apologies. Let's try that again, then."
Peter cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. "I have dozens of spare rooms. You can stay the night until we find a place for you to stay."
Kaine smiled. "That's okay," he said.
Peter smiled back at him and raised a brow. "Are you sure? It gets cold at night around this time of year. We have blankets to spare and then some."
"Well, if you insist, then fine," Kaine told him.
"Alright, come on. Let's go home."
Peter and Kaine rode through gloomy Gotham streets until they wound up at the Wayne residence. Kaine's jaw dropped upon seeing the sprawling estate up close. Part of him wished he could live there forever.
Once inside, Peter was greeted by Alfred, whose eyebrow was skeptically raised.
"And who might I have the pleasure?" Alfred asked the child, who hid shyly behind Peter.
"His name's Kaine. I offered to let him stay here until we can find him a more permanent living situation. Although I have no idea what it's like to not have a home, I know what it's like to not have parents."
Alfred was still skeptical. Nonetheless, Peter was the head of the house; thus, his word was law.
"I understand. Follow me, young man, I'll show you to one of our spare rooms."
As Alfred and Kaine disappeared around the corner, Peter immediately fled to the elevator of the estate. As he descended into the Spider-Cave, he thought of what to do with Kaine. He considered taking him to an orphanage, but Kaine gave him the impression of a child who would run away if given the chance. He considered adopting the child, but Peter was still young himself. He wondered if someone in their mid-twenties was capable of raising a teenager.
When the elevator stopped, Peter Wayne shifted into Spider-Man, and his focus was on the Scarecrow.
He spent the night studying the samples and reviewing the footage from the convention center. The samples matched the ones he'd collected previously. He watched the footage of the bloodshed until his eyes grew heavy, finding nothing of note.
All that was left was the realistic mask that the Scarecrow removed as he fled. Peter folded it inside out, finding a single strand of hair.
Though running a DNA test wouldn't give Peter the identity of the culprit, it would at least lead him in the right direction. The results showed that the individual was caucasian with German origins. This information seemed minuscule, but it would narrow down the search.
Desperately, Peter scoured through a long list of doctors of psychology, hand-selecting those that met his parameters: white male, brown hair, and German ancestry. Of course, it would be impossible to know at a glance a person's ancestry; however, a last name of German origin may point him in the right direction.
After countless hours, Peter formed a short list of white, male psychologists with brown hair who resided in Gotham, highlighting the names of those with German surnames.
One by one, Peter researched every single name until he finally found something promising.
"Jonathan Crane..." he whispered, stumbling upon a decades-old newspaper that spoke of an abused child. His father was a researcher obsessed with studying fear, such that he tested his theories on his own child. He'd died of a heart attack, and when police investigated his home, they found Jonathan Crane locked away in a pitch-black room. Despite the traumatic experience, Jonathan Crane lived a relatively normal and successful life, being a professor at many of Gotham's most prestigious universities. At least, that's how it appeared from the outside in.
"This has to be him..." Peter mumbled, barely able to hold his eyes open. He'd been awake for so many days, he'd lost count. He decided that it would be best to rest before confronting Crane; otherwise, he would risk collapsing.
Like an undead corpse, Peter shambled his way through the estate until he threw himself onto his bed. The moment his face met his pillow, he was fast asleep.
The next morning, he was awoken by his Spider-Sense. His arm moved on its own, stopping a golf club just before it smacked the back of his head.
"I knew it..." he heard a voice say. Peter turned to see Kaine holding the other end of the golf club, his arms trembling. "You're like me..."
"I let you sleep in my home, and this is how you repay me? Geez, kid..." Peter sleepily mumbled.
"You have the tingle in your brain too, right?" Kaine asked. This piqued Peter's interest.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Peter lied.
Kaine saw through the facade. Rather than speak, he threw himself onto the ceiling and attached himself to it using his fingertips. As he dangled, he smiled at Peter and said, "That means you can train me to be a spider guy too, right?"
Peter's eyes widened. He knew the child was a metahuman, but he had no idea that he shared the same powers as him.
"First of all, get down before someone sees you."
Kaine released the ceiling and landed with grace.
"How did you get your powers?" Peter asked him.
"I dunno. I got bitten by a spider, and then suddenly I could do all the things a spider can."
Peter sighed — it was the exact same origin story as his.
"Let's say that I was this spider guy. What gave you that impression in the first place, huh?"
"When I hit you with the tire iron, I gave it my all. If you were a normal guy, I would've broken your hand."
"So your second thought was to attack me in my sleep...?"
"I knew that if I hit you, you'd be fine since you're super, like me. But if you had the Spider-Tingle like me, then that means you're exactly the same as me. That means you're the spider guy I saw in the newspaper!"
Peter rubbed his head. "I was careful not to let anyone find out. To think some kid would be the one to figure me out..."
The kid is smart. You have to be if you plan on surviving the Gotham streets on your own. Still, he's too young for this life. At the same time, I can't just let him roam freely. He's reckless. Brash. Someone needs to set him on the right path before it's too late.
"You said you want to be like me. Why is that?"
"Because. If someone like the spider guy were around when my parents were killed, maybe they'd still be alive. I don't want anyone else to feel the pain that I felt on that day."
Peter once told Alfred nearly those exact words. He felt as though he'd gone back in time and was speaking to his younger self.
"I don't really have much of a choice, do I? I take it you wouldn't take no for an answer."
Kained nodded.
"Fine, then. But there are conditions. From here on out, you're a Wayne, though you don't have to adopt the name if you don't want to. Which means, you're going to act like a Wayne. You're going to go to school, you're going to study, and you're going to train. Only then will I allow you to become my assistant in fighting crime."
"I'll train and study as hard as I can. I promise," the child said with resolve in his eyes. Peter smiled at him, pondering whether or not he'd made the right choice.
Amidst all the chaos, the bloodshed, and the darkness, I've found light.
But I'm only twenty-six years old. Can I be a father figure to this child? I don't know. But I will try.
There's a darkness inside of him. I saw it when he first attacked me, even if it was for a mere moment. At the same time, there's a shining beacon of hope glimmering from within him.
He wants to be a hero.
He wants to be like me.
I can't let him down.
Before that, though. I need to find Jonathan Crane. Once he's put away, I can worry about being a father.