Chapter Text
The Statue of Liberty’s scaffolding groaned as the battle ended, the multiverse still trembling from the strain. Doctor Strange’s cloak fluttered in the wind as the sorcerer stood at the center of the collapsing spell, sweat running down his temple.
Peter Parker’s mask was shredded, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion.
“Tell me what I have to do,” he said, his voice trembling and raw.
Strange’s gaze was heavy. “If you stay here, the fabric of the multiverse will tear apart. Every universe will bleed into the next until nothing is left.”
Peter swallowed hard, his throat tight. “So what’s the option?”
Strange hesitated, then answered with finality. “I can’t make people forget. That won’t be enough anymore. The rift is following you. The only way to save our world… is to send you to another one.”
The words hit harder than any villain’s punch. Leaving wasn’t just a goodbye, it was everything. Aunt May was gone. Ned. MJ. Everyone he had left… he’d never see them again.
Peter clutched MJ’s hand, memorizing the way her fingers curled into his, the way her eyes held tears she refused to shed. He whispered promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. Then he let go.
He looked over to Ned, his best friend, his guy in the chair. They managed to do their handshake before giving each other a hug. Peter noticed tears staining his cheeks as well as a damp spot on his shoulder and had to be careful not to hurt Ned in his embrace by squeezing him too tight.
The spell washed over the city like a storm, wiping him clean from the lives he loved most.
Peter didn't want to let go, didn't want to leave behind the only good things he had left. Peter didn't want to leave his friends embrace to go into the unknown.
But Peter was Peter. So he stepped back to look at Doctor Strange. He nodded, eyes glassy but resolute. “Then do it. Save them.”
Strange lifted his hands, ancient words spilling into the night air. The spell wrapped around Peter like chains made of light, pulling at his very being. His vision blurred. His heart raced. His body felt like it was dissolving into threads of golden fire.
For one fleeting moment, he wondered if this was death.
Then darkness.
Then… crying.
His own.
Peter’s eyes opened to a blur of light and shadow. His body was small, fragile, alien. A newborn’s. He felt strong arms cradling him, arms that trembled slightly, not from weakness but from awe.
A man’s voice spoke, soft but steady.
“Hey, little guy… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
At first, everything was noise. Blurred lights, shapes moving like shadows underwater, and voices that rose and fell in strange tones.
And then the panic set in.
Okay. Okay, Parker. Breathe. Or… cry? I guess crying is working. Yeah, that’s definitely me crying. Great. Add “screaming infant” to my resume.
He tried to move, but his arms flailed wildly. Tiny, weak, completely uncoordinated. His legs kicked like rubber bands. No webs. No strength. Just the helplessness of a newborn.
Right. So I’m… alive? Reborn? Not dead. That’s a plus. Downsides include: I’m two feet tall, can’t walk, can’t talk, and my only superpower seems to be drooling.
The man holding him, rocked him gently. His voice was calm, soothing, carrying words Peter couldn’t entirely process yet. Still, something about the tone struck Peter. Safety. Warmth. Trust. Things he hadn’t let himself feel since May.
Peter blinked, focusing harder. The man’s face came into view, clearer now. Strong jaw, dark hair, eyes that seemed… familiar. There was something about the way he smiled down at Peter, his expression playful and kind, but hiding a weight in his gaze.
“Hey there, little one…”
The crying slowed, just a little, soothed by the calm in that tone. Strong arms held him steady, rocking with a careful rhythm. The warmth of another heartbeat pressed close.
“You don’t have to be scared,” the man murmured, his voice softer than any lullaby Peter could remember. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
Peter blinked, vision blurry but slowly sharpening. Dark hair. Blue eyes. A smile that trembled as if it carried both joy and disbelief.
The man leaned closer, forehead almost touching Peter’s. “I’m your dad,” he whispered, like it was the most sacred truth in the world. “My name’s Dick. And I promise… I’ll take care of you. No matter what.”
Something in Peter’s chest ached; a memory of Aunt May, of every loss that had left him hollow. And yet here, wrapped in those words, he felt a strange calm he hadn’t known in years.
So this is it… a new world. A new life. A new family. Strange wasn’t kidding when he said goodbye.
His tiny body yawned, exhaustion pulling him under. But as his eyelids closed, his last thought carried with it something he hadn’t dared to believe in for a long time.
Maybe, just maybe, a new beginning wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
Dick Grayson had faced fear before. He’d fought psychopaths in alleys, assassins in the shadows, gods on battlefields. But none of it compared to the way his hands shook when Bruce slid the file across the table.
“There’s been a match,” Bruce said, voice steady in that way only Batman could manage. “A baby was left at Gotham General. His DNA… it’s yours.”
Dick had laughed at first. A short, sharp, disbelieving thing. “That’s impossible.”
But the evidence was right there. Genetic markers. Medical reports. And one line that froze the blood in his veins: organ failure imminent. The chair screeched against the floor as Dick shot up. “Where is he?”
“Still at the hospital,” Bruce answered. “No name on the records. They don’t think he’ll make it through the night.”
That was all it took. Dick grabbed his jacket, his keys, and ran.
The drive blurred. Red lights became suggestions. Horns blared as he wove between cars, every second pounding louder in his chest. His mind raced faster than the engine. A son. My son. Alone. Dying.
By the time he screeched into Gotham General’s parking lot, his knuckles were white on the wheel. He didn’t even remember shutting the car door before he was sprinting through the sliding glass entrance, his name spilling out in a frantic rush. “I’m Dick Grayson- I’m here for the baby- he’s my-” His throat tightened. “He’s mine.”
The nurse led him down sterile halls that smelled of bleach and fear. His boots echoed against the tile, each step heavier than the last.
And then he saw him.
So small. So fragile. Tubes and wires tangled around tiny limbs. The monitor beeped faintly, each sound like a plea for help. The baby’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, and his skin was pale, almost translucent.
Dick’s heart shattered. He’d seen death. He’d held friends as they bled out. But this? This was different. This was his child, fighting for every breath.
He stepped forward, reaching down with hands that trembled. The baby stirred at his touch, a weak cry slipping out.
Something inside Dick broke all at once. He bent low, whispering words only the child could hear. He looked at the nurse with pleading eyes. With a gentle smile and a nod Dick -slowly, carefully- picked up his son and held him to his chest. Trying to shush him and wipe away his tears, to comfort him as this tiny innocent soul deserves at least this much in case he- if he passes soon.
What happened next would later be described as a miracle, as something incredibly rare to happen and wholly unexpected.
Dick could feel the babies head twitch, eyelids shuttering slightly as the newborn whined. He couldn't help his own words as he talked to his son.
“Hey, little guy… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Those eyes opened up slightly, big and brown and wholly perfect.
Dick knew his heart was no longer his.
His baby continued crying, arms and legs wailing weakly as Dick continued to speak softly to him, rocking him as gently as he could.
Unable to tear his gaze away he noticed when those doe-like eyes seemed to focus a bit more and Dick had to squish down the precious feeling of hope. He couldn't get his hopes up. This would probably be the first and last time he would get to hold the boy however.
He would make sure that even for a short while, his son would feel treasured.
“Hey there, little one…”
It was fascinating, how such a small human could captivate his entire being, Dick couldn't help but think as he continued to look down at his son. He couldn't help it either when he slowly and gently pressed his sons chest against his own, nor the deep breath of relief he lets out.
“You don’t have to be scared,” He said. Logically he knew that this was a newborn, that there was probably no way that he could understand what it was that Dick was saying. He still said it, just in case that there was a way that he could understand. He didn't want the boy to think even for a second that he was alone. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
He craned his head down, looking at the baby once more and couldn't help but notice the awareness in his gaze. Dick made sure to remain calm, remain gentle and soft.
“I’m your dad,” He felt the need to say, to make clear that Dick was his father, that this baby was so loved already.
“My name’s Dick. And I promise… I’ll take care of you. No matter what.”
His son's face screwed up in an adorable manner as he yawned before he closed his eyes. Dick slowed his breathing along with him, happy to have this moment.
After a second he looked back up at the nurse who was looking back at him.
Dick started noticing the sounds of the machines again and couldn't help but note that they sounded better than before. Not great, but better.
Slowly, the nurse got closer to inspect the baby only to look back up at Dick with sharp eyes.
"Take off your shirt."
WHAT?
Clearly his surprise must have been shown in his gaze as the nurse quickly reassured him. "It's called the kangaroo hold, sometimes it helps in cases like these and I think that that is also happening right now." At Dick's incredulous stare he continued. "The kangaroo hold works best with skin to skin contact. So if you want to save this child, take off your shirt." The nurse pronounced the last four words each with equal importance.
Quickly, without thinking beyond saving his son, he handed him over to the nurse before taking off his jacket and shirt. He opened his arms once more to hold the boy again and couldn't help but smile at the small sigh of comfort he let out at being so close to the warmth.
They were going to be just fine.
Dick rocked him a little longer anyway, unwilling to let go, even as his own body begged for rest. You’re safe now, he thought, brushing his thumb across the soft curve of the baby’s cheek. I’m not letting you go.
The sound of footsteps drew him out of the moment. Heavy, deliberate, Bruce. A lighter tread, careful but quick, Tim. And finally, the quiet shuffle of Alfred, who carried warmth even in the coldest of nights.
They entered without words at first, their eyes falling to the sight of Dick holding the tiny bundle against his chest. The hospital lights softened the shadows on Bruce’s face, and for once, there was no cowl, no armor. Just something that looked achingly like pride.
“He looks… peaceful,” Alfred said softly, looking with slightly wet eyes at the boy. At the man who was once the little kid running around the manor, hanging in the chandeliers while laughing brightly. He couldn't believe he was here to witness that same boy turn into a man who now held his own child. For him, it was the most absolute honor to achieve.
Tim stepped closer, peering down with wide eyes. “Wow,” he whispered. “That’s… he’s yours, Dick?”
Dick swallowed hard, looking down at the baby again. His son. His responsibility. His second chance.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough but full of quiet awe. “He’s mine.”
Bruce’s hand came to rest on Dick’s shoulder. It felt steady, grounding. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. The silence between them said everything. Dick had learned years ago what every subtle shift of his face, every movement of his body meant, as if it was it's own language.
Dick looked down again, at the tiny face that had already stolen every corner of his heart. “He needs a name,” he murmured.
His chest tightened. A name carried weight. Legacy. Memory. Promise. And in that moment, he knew exactly who his son should carry with him.
“Peter,” Dick whispered. “Peter Grayson.”
Tim blinked, head tilting. “Peter?”
Dick’s throat thickened, but he managed a smile. “Jason Peter Todd,” he explained quietly. “He never got the chance to be who he was meant to be." Grief shadowed his face but it fell away when he looked back down at the baby, at Peter. "But maybe… maybe this little guy can carry a piece of him forward. A chance for something better.”
Alfred’s eyes shone with something bright and sad all at once. Bruce’s grip on his shoulder tightened, the unspoken approval clear.
Tim smiled softly. “Peter Grayson. I like it.”
The baby stirred in his arms, letting out the faintest sigh before settling again, as though he somehow understood. Dick pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head.
Bruce’s hand lingered on his shoulder. For once, the man who had always seemed unshakable looked… human. His voice was low, steady, but warm in a way Dick hadn’t heard since he was a child.
“He'd be honored.”
Alfred, stepped forward with a small, fond smile. His eyes softened as he gazed at the baby, and for just a moment, he seemed years younger. “A fine name,” he murmured, his voice thick with quiet emotion. “And an even finer father to guide him.”
Dick blinked hard, fighting the sting in his eyes. He didn’t feel like a father yet. He felt terrified. But the weight of Peter against his chest reminded him that there was no turning back and no part of him wanted to.
Tim leaned closer, careful not to disturb the baby. “He’s… kind of amazing,” he said softly, his tone full of wonder. “It’s hard to believe someone so small can already feel this important.”
Dick managed a tired laugh, adjusting the blanket around Peter. “Yeah. Amazing is one word for it.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, meant only for his son. “Life’s not going to be easy, buddy. But me and your whole family will be right here.”
Peter’s tiny fingers twitched, brushing against the fabric of Dick’s shirt, as if holding on.
The room fell into a rare stillness. No missions. No shadows of Gotham pressing at the windows. Just four people and one tiny heartbeat, wrapped in warmth that felt foreign and fragile but so desperately needed.
For the first time in a long time, Dick didn’t think about the city outside, the villains lurking in the dark, or the weight of legacy on his shoulders.
He only thought about Peter. His son. His second chance.
And as he held the boy close, Dick made a silent vow that echoed louder than any oath he had ever spoken beneath the shadow of the Bat:
You will grow up knowing love. You will never doubt that you are wanted. Not while I breathe.