Peter meets Nightwing three months into his banishment to Gotham. He’s on top of the building he’s claimed as his own, practicing some tricks and flips to get some of his excess energy out since he hasn’t managed to put together a suitable suit yet. One trick has him hand-walking across the parapet, nearly bent in half as his feet dangle in his face. The grit of the weathered stone bites into his hands, and he wobbles when a piece of rubble breaks loose and pricks his palm.
“Ow,” he mutters, bracing himself on one hand to dust the rubble off. He examines the flush of his hand, squinting to make sure the rock hadn’t pierced through the skin. It’s really difficult for him to get an infection, but with how slow his healing factor has been lately because of the lack of proper nutrition, it’s better to be safe than sorry.
The back of his neck tingles right before someone lands on the roof with a light thud.
Peter plants his hand back on the parapet and lowers his feet over his head so he’s in a backbend, arching his neck so he’s looking at the stranger upside down. A man in a black and blue kevlar suit stares at him through the white eyes of a domino mask, his dark hair flopping over his forehead as he tilts his head.
“I’m good,” Peter says, bridge-walking closer to the man. Ordinarily, he’d be concerned at how easily he’d been snuck up on, but his spider-sense barely twigs in his presence. Besides, Nightwing is one of this world’s numerous vigilantes, rumored to be Batman’s first Robin. Peter doesn’t know what he’s doing in Gotham, though. He was under the impression Nightwing has been working out of Blüdhaven for a decade now.
“How about doing that on flatter ground, bud?” Nightwing says lightly, but Peter can hear the undercurrent of nerves in his voice. Which isn’t unreasonable, considering he’s on the ledge of a seven-story building.
Peter kicks off into a flawless handstand and handwalks a little closer.
“Why, you scared?” he asks, and like the little shit he is, he tilts so he’s only standing on one hand. The steady thumps of Nightwing’s heart skips a few beats.
“Not scared, no,” Nightwing says, although he’s leaning forward, hands twitching as if he wants to dive forward and pull him from the ledge. “Just a little nervous—that’s a long fall.”
Peter looks down the alley and hums. “There’s a dumpster I can land on,” he says, shrugging with one arm. It makes him wobble, although he quickly catches himself. Nightwing’s breath hitches, his heart pattering a little louder.
“Not even Batman can survive that long a fall, buddy,” he says with a strained smile. “How about you come over here and show me more of your tricks? I saw you do a backflip earlier. It was very impressive.”
“That’s not creepy at all,” says Peter with a pout. He’d thought he’d felt someone looking at him earlier, but the thrum of his spider-sense had been so light he’d ignored it. Turns out he shouldn’t have just assumed it was someone watching him from their apartment. Now he’s on suicide-watch.
“I can show you some tricks?” Nightwings offers. Peter actually considers it for a moment. The few videos he’d seen of Nightwing had shown him performing flips like a trained gymnast. That one aerial kick from a newer video looked kinda cool and it would blend in flawlessly with Spider-Man’s bouncy fighting style. Come to think of it, Spider-Man and Nightwing fought a lot alike. Maybe Nightwing could bestow some wisdom to his fellow vigilante?
Peter handsprings off the parapet and lands lightly on his feet in front of Nightwing, who lets out a barely audible sigh of relief. The man stands from his crouch and extends a hand towards Peter for a handshake.
“I’m Nightwing,” he says.
“I know,” says Peter, like an idiot. Nightwing laughs. “I’m Peter,” he adds, shaking his hand.
“No other name?” Nightwing wonders.
“Nope. Stranger danger, dude.” Peter releases his hand and bounces a few times on his toes. “You said you were gonna show me some tricks?” he asks hopefully.
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