Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jonah Jameson would never be someone Peter liked. Not just because of the Spider-Man thing, but also because he was a terrible boss. Peter spends most days in meetings with the man, mentally preparing for them. He usually avoids booking anything else on those days too; they’re infrequent enough that it doesn’t usually cause him any trouble.

Today was one of those unfortunate days. Peter had woken up early to check the images that he was going to show Jameson and call them again. Although more images meant more money, Jameson had always been pissier when he brought in more and was more likely to insult his skills enough that Peter allowed the price drop to occur; just so he could leave sooner. So here he was, walking to the bugle, mentally preparing himself for getting shouted at and insulted, and probably being paid much less than he’d otherwise accept. Whatever, money was money. 

A few bouts of Jameson shouting later, and Peter was walking back to his apartment. It was a shoddy studio on the outskirts of Queens. Rent wasn’t exactly cheap, but it was affordable enough, and it was just on the wrong side of shady, which meant Peter managed to get the apartment without much question as to why a 16-year-old baby faced an ID saying he was 21. Peter only felt a little guilty about it, since what else was a twice-orphaned, enhanced teenager with no proof that he existed to do? The walk from the bugle to his apartment included a sneaky hop on the turnstile and a painfully boring subway ride, then a bitterly cold and just as painfully boring walk from the station to the apartment. 

He was walking out of the station when a flash of short white hair went by in the corner of his eye. He would’ve frozen if it weren’t for him being in New York and knowing better. The familiar colour had him reeling, subconsciously shoving the part of his brain that thinks into the back of his head, running on autopilot as he got home, got changed, and swung out into the city that never sleeps.  

Peter has no idea how long he spends swinging around; he takes down muggers and would-be rapists with a practiced ease (if he were harsher than usual, nobody would know, certainly not Peter); he walks home with a couple single parents with toddlers clinging to him and him making quips and jokes; he stops a couple near collisions; and he saves more people from actually life-threatening situations than he usually does on his patrols. Maybe it’s that he’s not properly there during the patrol; maybe it's because he follows as many screams as he can, hoping and praying that when he gets there, that haunting white hair won’t be the one causing the issue—or maybe part of him hopes it is. Part of Peter hopes that he will find Skip Westcott doing to some poor person in an alley what he’d done to him all those years ago.  

He doesn’t find Skip. It gets to 2 a.m., and he’s cold and so tired that he just wants to go to sleep forever. He doesn’t want to deal with this, not now. It makes sense that he’d be out. Peter Parker, the boy he’d assaulted, doesn’t exist anymore; he didn’t do anything. But Peter remembers it, remembers everything about those days with Skip, and remembers the hot showers he took to try to scrub the feeling of the man off. That’s all Peter wants to do now, too. So, he heads back.  

He’ll admit that he’s still very out of it when he gets back to his apartment. His window is propped open as usual, meaning the very little heat it would’ve kept in while he was gone was lost. That was okay. He goes into the bathroom and stays under the scalding water until it turns cold (not as long as he’d have liked it since those mea1ger 3 minutes didn’t do anything to curb the fog clouding his mind).  

The fog was ever-growing, and Peter was seeing shadows in the corners of his room. He decided right then that there would be no sleep for him. He climbed back into the Spidey suit and pulled on a plain T-shirt, Stark Industries sweatpants, and a pair of sweatpants.  

Whenever Peter got like this (and it happened way more than he’d like to admit), his hair always itched against his neck; he wanted it short and he wanted it gone; even the shortest he’s ever had, it wasn’t short enough to curb the bone-deep panic. His heart was racing, and he felt like he could hear everything. The suit barely muted it; the reverse hearing aids barely helped either; or the suit’s built-in binder wasn’t enough pressure. He could hear the heartbeat of a man four blocks away. He heard a gunshot and could smell gunpowder. He heard the landing of Daredevil at that scene. He could hear Gwen’s tapping on her leg as she did homework, hear the click of the Lego in Ned’s room, and smell the smell of skin growing back on Deadpool. He could feel everything. The one thing he didn’t notice was his movement, the rise and fall of his chest, and his own rapidly beating heartbeat. He didn’t notice the way his shoes didn’t fit properly over the boots on his suit; he didn't notice how he was leaving the apartment until he was swinging, his hood up and suit barely visible but still swinging. In the corner of his eyes, he swore he could feel a familiar stare; he swore he could see that stupid white hair.  

Peter swung around the whole city in panic. He barely registered, swinging across the Hudson, the heartbeats of the people in cars below being filtered through the technology in his ears but not registered. He doesn't register the click of phone cameras, and that means he doesn't register when the air around him changes. He's swinging into a city, and the smog in the air is suffocating as the fog in his mind thickens. Skip is there, in front of him, and suddenly he’s 12 again. He just wants to go home. God, he’d do anything to be home right now.  

He doesn’t notice when he backs into an alley and pulls his hood down to try to breathe; he doesn’t notice the sound of him crashing into a dumpster; he doesn’t feel it. He only barely takes notice of how there are no stars in the sky before he passes out. 

***

Dick never expected the sound he heard in the alleyway to lead him to an honest, godly child. The crash had drawn him away from where he was putting his bags in the back of his car. He’d half expected to be mauled by a hungry raccoon, but something told him it sounded more human, and his self-sacrificing streak a mile wide meant he didn’t spare a second thought about walking into the alley to attempt to help whoever the drunk or high person was. Instead, he found a child; there was no way he was older than 14, and he had his face planted in the dumpster.  

He took a few moments to figure out what to do, eventually settling on walking closer and trying to wake the kid up. That didn’t prove too difficult since, as soon as he stopped putting effort into concealing his steps, the kid snapped up and whipped his head around, brown eyes meeting Dick’s. Both of them inhaled sharply; why the kid did, Dick had no idea, but for him, it was those eyes. He recognized them and would recognize them anywhere. His mind flashed to that summer, when he’d gone out to Metropolis, needing to get away from Bruce. He’d met Mary, a girl with brown eyes and hair that matched. A girl who Dick had been with no worry of Bruce tracking him and disapproving or approving of—a girl he’d loved for 6 months, who he’d celebrated his 18th birthday with, who he’d truly cared for.  

When Dick looked into the scared, wide, brown eyes of the boy that was staring at him, the boy with a dirty sweatshirt on and weirdly pattered boots, the boy with odd, red hearing aids, the boy with blood staining his entire being, the boy with brown curls so dark with blood that they were nearly black, Dick was reminded of exactly what happened with Mary and his love from Metropolis. He looked at the boy, and in his mind, he knew exactly who he was. His heart broke, shattered into pieces, because if he was right, then the kid was 16, not 14, and the kid had been through something to get him into this state, and Dick hadn’t been able to help. Distantly, he wonders if Mary is nearby if maybe they were on the way to see him, and if something happened to them. Never mind that Mary didn’t know where he lived; never mind that the girl he’d fallen for would’ve never spontaneously shown up with a son she’d never told him about.  

The kid’s eyes were still wide as they tracked his every movement with a caution that had Dick’s heart breaking even more. What had he missed in his son’s life that left him like this? He reached out his hand slowly.  

 “Hey, kiddo, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” He waited a moment for the kid to respond; he just tilted his head, his eyes hardening. “You look like you’ve been through some stuff; my apartment is right here.” He gestures to the building. “I’d like to help you; you can sleep, and I can grab you some food.” He knows this is a long shot and knows that if the kid is half as much of a street rat as his appearance suggests, his offer will be shut down without a second thought. Some part of Dick hopes that happens if only to prove that the kid has some sense of self-preservation. He doesn’t reject it immediately; instead, he stares instantly, those hardened doe eyes so familiar that it leaves an ache in his heart. The kid seems to be about to respond, but a 

A piece of rubbish is dislodged from the dumpster, and it knocks on a larger piece of metal that clangs on the ground and startles the kid so hard that he jumps up and knocks his head in the process, definitely cutting it if the blood on a sharp part of the dumpster is any clue. He didn’t want to move, if only to not scare his kid more, but when he saw those wide eyes flutter shut, he reacted in seconds—a sense honed by years of being a vigilante—rushing forward and catching the small boy in his arms before he even brushes the ground. 

For a while, Dick sits there and cradles the knocked-out boy. He attempts to run his hands through the hair, but the dried and wet blood leaves it sticky and coats his hand in red. His heart was beating out of his chest as he carefully lifted him and walked into his apartment building. He risked the bag he’d brought down on the sidewalk, hoping it wouldn't get stolen but not minding entirely if it did: the kid, his kid, was more important than some random gifts he’d bought for his siblings. 

He walked up the stairs slowly, being careful not to jostle the kid too much; he didn’t want him waking up and panicking too badly. When he got into his apartment (thankfully without anyone seeing him because he had no idea how he’d explain that away), he put him down on the couch, not thinking about how the blood would stain the upholstery or truly caring about that.  

Dick had to take a few long breaths before his mind stopped racing enough for him to think straight. There was a kid on his couch—his ex-girlfriend’s child, possibly his own. Said the kid was also bleeding. As soon as that particular thought popped into his mind, he rushed towards the kid, kneeling next to him to figure out what was wrong. He didn’t know how he was going to do anything without waking the kid up or further hurting him, so he sat back and just stared at the kid for a little bit longer. The panicked fog in his mind had barely started to clear when the kid groaned, and he saw his eyes snap open before darting around the room in a way that wasn’t foreign to Dick (with a family of paranoid vigilantes) but was painful to see on his son’s face. His eyes finally landed on Dick, and he stiffened. Did he know that Dick was his dad? Had Mary told him about him? Was that why he was there? Where was Mary? The questions raced through his mind as he saw the sad recognition in his kid’s eyes, and that was another thing. Dick did not doubt that this kid was his. It wasn’t something he could explain without sounding crazy, but it was like his subconscious was screaming at him that the kid was his. Eventually, he was snapped out of his thoughts by movement, and he was quick to place a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from sitting up without applying too much pressure. He didn’t want to freak him out too much, though, so he spoke softly.  

“Hey, Kiddo, you’re injured; if you move too much, you might make something worse.” The kid stared at him (God, he wanted a name so he could stop calling him The Kid) but seemed to get the message and stopped trying to sit up. He smiled. “I’m Dick.” He paused, but there was no reaction. Mary had only ever called him Dick, never Richard, so where was that recognition from before? “It’s short for Richard.” There it was. His eyes widened ever so slightly—so little that anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed it. There was a long pause before Peter spoke, his voice hoarse in a way that had Dick wondering yet again what the hell had happened to him.  

“I’m Peter.” He didn’t give a last name, though neither had Dick, to be fair. He smiled, trying to reassure the kid, now known as Peter, that he wasn’t going to hurt him.  

“Okay, Peter, I’ve got some first aid stuff in my bathroom; would you be okay if I checked out whatever’s made you bleed like that?” He furrowed his brows, looking down at his shirt, and his eyes widened when he saw the blood stain. He lifted his sweatshirt and cringed at seeing how ruined the shirt underneath was. There was a tear through the fabric showing off a wound—not deep enough that Dick was about to pick him up and take him to the hospital, but bad enough that he was furious at whoever had done it. It was a stab wound. Someone had stabbed his son. He tried to hide the anger in his eyes, but it didn’t work, and Peter flinched.  

“I’m not mad at you, kiddo, just whoever did this to you. Do you know who it was?” Dick quickly held up his hands to reassure him. He just got a blank look in response. “No, okay, that’s fine. I’m going to get the first aid kit now; are you okay to stay here?” Peter nodded, and he took a breath before getting up and walking to the bathroom. He was a little worried about the kid running while he wasn’t watching him, but that was probably for nothing, right? Still, he found himself moving quickly to grab the stuff he needed. He grabbed the first-aid kid from the bathroom and also grabbed a t-shirt that Tim had left last time he was around, as well as a hoodie to replace the stained sweatshirt. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Peter had stayed put—well, mostly. He’d sat up and pulled off his sweatshirt, staring at the bloodstain on the light fabric with annoyance in his eyes. He didn’t recognize the brand on it, Stark Industries. Might there be a start-up in Metropolis then? He’d have to look into it. When he walked into the room, the kid put the sweatshirt down and looked at him, tilting his head. Dick settled in front of him.  

“Can you take off the top, kiddo? I can’t clean it with it on.” He noticed how Peter tensed as soon as the words came out of his mouth, and he frowned. He was too young for any of this.  

“Is it okay if I don’t?” He sounded so unsure, and Dick felt horrible for asking at all, even if it was necessary. He made a face, 

“Sorry, Kiddo, I want to make sure that it doesn’t get infected.” He furrowed his brows and shook his head. Instead of taking off the ruined t-shirt, he pulled it up above the wound, not moving it any higher than that, and shut his eyes as he peeled the fabric off from where the blood had dried. The lack of noise at what was painful had Dick’s hair standing on edge; why was his kid quiet when in pain? Who had hurt his boy? While he cleaned the wound, Peter stayed just as quiet; he could just see how he was clenching his fist, but other than that, there was no sign that he even felt it. He tried to keep up a conversation, though, to try to distract him. 

“So, where are you from?”  

“New York,” he mumbled. Dick frowned. Where is that? He voiced his question, and Peter stared at him like he was insane for not knowing, “Across from New Jersey.” He made a face that told Dick he carried the same sentiments of many citizens that thought of New Jersey being terrible, though most of that was related to the Gotham (and previously Blüdhaven) side of the state. In any case, the place he was describing was where Metropolis was—in New York a district? He tilted his head. 

“I’ve never heard of it; is it in Metropolis?” Peter stared at him incredulously.  

“There’s a city called Metropolis.” Woah, okay, that was a red flag if he’d ever seen one.  

“Can I check you for a concussion, kiddo?” He furrowed his brows. “I think you might be a bit confused; do you know where you are?”   

“Your apartment!” he laughed.  

“Yeah, but what city?” Peter just stared blankly,  

“You mean your accent is real?” He seemed horrified. “I’m in New Jersey?” Dick just stared at him; he thought his accent was fake.  

“Yeah, kid, you’re in Gotham.” Peter blinked at him, now looking even more confused. 

As the conversation went on, Dick stitched and wrapped Peter’s stab wound, checked him for concussion (he seemed fine despite the blood in his hair, but that just made him worry more), and managed to find out that the red, high-tech-looking things on his ears were hearing aids. Dick looked at them for a long time; the design wasn’t anything he’d ever seen, which was odd considering that Wayne Tech had the most advanced technology in most industries, including disabilities.  

After a while of talking, Dick could see that Peter was getting more and more tired. He gave him the t-shirt and hoodie, and Peter pulled them all on, shivering despite the windows being closed. He probably ran cold. In any case, Dick grabbed the only food he had in his cupboard, a can of spaghetti hoops and some bread, and heated it for Peter before going to bed. He hadn’t really wanted to leave Peter on his own, but he’d stayed put before, so he was just praying that he’d stay the whole night too.  

Dick couldn’t sleep much that night; kept awake by thoughts about the son he never knew he had. 

Chapter Text

When Peter woke up, it was to the sound of movement behind him. He didn’t recognize anything he was hearing, so he forced himself to do as Natasha had taught him when waking up in an unfamiliar setting. He slowed his breathing and kept his eyes shut, using his other senses to figure out what was going on. He reached out for his hearing like Matt had taught him, and it took a few painful moments to realize he had turned his reverse hearing aids off. Unfortunately, while his ears were ringing from three gunshots in different parts of the city going off at almost the same time, he'd failed to notice the man who'd previously been in the kite behind the couch he was on, moving and crouching in front of him. He didn't even realize he'd opened his eyes until they focused on the strangely familiar figure. Oh, yeah. His father's looks are alike. Slowly, things flooded back to him, and he had to reach up and turn on the reverse hearing aids in order to even be able to think. As the world was reduced to just the apartment (building), he finally registered that the man, Dick, was speaking. He focused on that and tried not to think about what had caused the freakout in the first place; he really didn't want to be thinking about Skip right now.

"Oh yeah. Hearing aid. Right. Hey, bud, can you hear me now?" Peter just nodded, trying to get his bearings now that his plan to fake sleep had failed. He sat up slowly, much to Dick's chagrin, if the face he made was anything to go by. "Good, that's good. Are you hungry? You seemed to have had a rough night, hm?" Peter could spot that digging for information a mile away, so he just shrugged, as if that wasn't the understatement of the century. Oh yeah, rough night, like he hadn't gotten freaked out about his abuser getting out of prison because he didn't exist, to the point that he'd gone out and somehow ended up in an alley in a city in New Jersey and being found by a guy who looks identical to his dad and doesn't know where New York is. Dick seemed to resign himself to not getting any information out of him, and he stood up, walking back to where Peter assumes the kitchen is and coming back with a plate of eggs and toast.

"My, uh, my fridge is pretty empty, so this is the only thing I could make. Sorry Buddy." Peter shook his head, willing his voice to work.

"No. It's good. Thank you." He spoke softly, his ears still sensitive, despite the noise cancellation. Dick smiled and started eating his own food. He sat on the floor in front of Peter, and he felt bad since it was his bloody stuff that was taking up space and probably ruining a perfectly good couch. After a while of sitting in silence with only the sound of cutlery on plates to fill the gap in conversation,

"So, um, Peter, what are you doing in Gotham?" Peter cringed, not really knowing how to answer. He shrugged.

"It wasn't really by choice," he said plainly, trying not to wince at the way Dick's expression morphed into something much more openly concerned.

"Are your parents not around?" Of course, he'd want to know that. Peter knew he looked almost identical to his dad, minus the brown hair and brown eyes that he'd gotten from his mom. Dick must think he's his secret child or something, though he looks a little young for that to be plausible.

"How old are you?" Peter asks before he can stop himself, and Dick looks so startled.

"What? Um, 34. Any particular reason?" So younger than my dad was, but not too young for him to think it's plausible that I am his kid. He shrugged, not giving an answer, and Dick just sighed.

"Do you want to take a shower?" Peter checked over himself, and if he was honest, there was nothing he'd want more than a shower. After his trip into the dumpster yesterday and the general stench of blood coating him, he nodded. Dick smiled and said he'd get it ready for him, and he went to the same room he'd gone to last night to fetch the first aid kit, supposedly the bathroom. For only a moment, he sat and thought about actually staying, letting the clone of his dad take care of him, thinking he's his real kid until he realized that Peter wasn't, but he shut that idea down immediately.

He stands up, grateful that the food from both last night and just now was helping the stab wound and that he'd managed to heal the small cut on his head before Dick got more suspicious. After making sure that Dick wasn't about to walk out of the bathroom and see him, Peter made his way over to the window and opened it. He made sure to grab the bloody t-shirt he'd been wearing (protecting his DNA was instinctual at this point), as well as the t-shirt and jumper that Dick had given him. He felt slightly bad for taking them, but he figured the man would probably feel better if he knew that Peter had extra layers. After one final look at the living room, he climbed out the window and slowly scaled the wall, jumping down into the alley where he'd been found the night before and running.

***

Dick finally moved. He'd been standing, staring at the empty sofa and open window for what felt like hours (even if it had only been a matter of moments). He lurched forward to search the apartment and even looked at the ceilings. Peter was gone.

"Fuck." He combed his hands through his hair and took a long breath, the tug of his hair bringing him back into the moment. This was fine. It's not like a heavily out of it kid who was definitely his son had just run away, probably out a window with no fire escape on the 5th floor of a building... Oh wait. He went over to the window and looked around before finally settling his gaze on the alleyway below. Nausea pooled in his stomach as he more than half expected to see a crumpled body.

There was nothing there.

He let himself breathe a sigh of relief before stepping away from the window and trying to decide what to do next. The smart thing to do was tell Bruce. He'd be able to trace where Peter went, and they'd be able to get him back and keep him safe. The idea of his son being out on the streets of Gotham alone sent another wave of nausea through him. He didn't want to get Bruce involved yet. No, he'd just be suspicious and probably treat Peter like a threat. He'd be an "unknown variable," and Dick was not about to let his son be hunted like a criminal. Okay, fine, no Bruce. Then who? Tim would snitch on Bruce without a doubt; he followed B's outlook so clearly that it was scary. Dick paced, unpacked, and repacked his bag for the manor while he thought. He was just finishing the bag when a thought hit him.

Babs.

How the hell did he not think of her sooner? And she owes him a favour. Dick takes a moment to just sit on the edge of his bed before grabbing his phone and clicking the contact at the top of his list. She picked up after three rings, answering in her usual somewhat sarcastic, somewhat perfectly genuine tone.

"Hey, Dick, what's up?"

"Uh, hi Babs. I need that favour from you." He heard her kiss her teeth, then sigh.

"Yeah, I knew that'd be a mistake. What do you need, Boy Wonder?" He froze. What was he going to say? 'Oh, hey Babs, yeah, so I know you've been my best friend since I was like 13, so crazy thing, I have a probable son who would've been born when I was 18, and I'm going to need you to stalk him through Gotham so I can find him, bring him home, and be the father I've never been to.' yeah no. He took a moment to think. His mind brought him back to Peter's eyes, that deep brown that he recognised without a second thought: "Dick?"

He snapped out of it and said, "Yeah, still here. Would you look into 'Mary Parker’ for me, please? She lived in Metropolis the last time I saw her." Babs paused before speaking.

"Are you trying to stalk an old ex?" He sighed and dragged his hand down his face.

"Yeah, something like that. Just... don't tell B." She hummed, "Alright, thank you, Babs." He hung up before he could say anything to raise her suspicions. It's not that he didn't want her to know; it's more that he wanted to be sure. He looked at the bag on his bed and shoved his phone into his pocket. The longer he avoided the manor, the more suspicious B would be.

***

Dick parked in his normal spot but didn't go up to the front door. He knew almost everyone would be out at this time—Bruce at work and the rest of his family at school—but the thought of being ambushed by any of them had his head spinning. Instead, he walked around the side of the manor and knocked on the side door. A very cautious-looking Alfred opened it just a crack, then, upon seeing him, opened it completely, stepping away so Dick could go in.

"Master Richard, you haven't come in that way in a long time. Is something the matter?" He shrugged, sitting at the breakfast nook and watching as Alfred prepared tea. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

"I just wanted to avoid Bruce; in case he was home." The older man hummed, bringing over two mugs of tea and sitting down opposite Dick. This was a familiar routine, even if it'd been a while since they'd last done it.

"Has this got something to do with why you didn't arrive last night, despite staying inside your apartment the whole night?" He huffed out a laugh, taking a sip of the hot tea. Of course, Alfie would have checked his tracker just because he wasn't at dinner.

"Yeah, it does. Uh, I found something out, and I'm not really ready to tell anyone, let alone B." Alfred looked at him with something calculating behind his eyes.

"Would you like to tell me, then?" Dick stared at the man. Alfred was basically the grandfather he never had. When Bruce (or Dick himself) was being unreasonable, Alfie would just tut, sit them down for tea, and let him rant. When Dick left but was still homesick beyond belief, coming in through the side door and having tea became a monthly routine. Eventually, as Bruce and him improved their relationship again, the need to hide from him diminished, and so went their teatime. That didn't mean everything Alfred had learned about him had faded. No, Dick knew better than to think the old man had forgotten anything. He took a steady breath, and the comforting eyes of the butler lulled him into a slight sense of security.

"I think I have a son..." The man didn't react with more than a raised eyebrow. He wasn't judging him; Dick knew that much. "He's, uh, he'd called Peter; he's got these big brown eyes and dark fluffy hair; I think if he tried, he'd have perfect curls; he's really smart. He had these hearing aids. But they weren't anything like what I've seen before, and I'm so sure he must've made them himself; he has the dimple on one side like me, and he tilts his head when he's listening." He rambled on about the things he'd noticed about Peter in the short time that he'd seen him. Alfred watched with an unreadable expression, somewhere between fondness and worry." And he sleeps curled into a ball, and, when Dick finally runs out of things to say, he looks at Alfred, the fear and worry hitting him full force as he tries to bite back the painful pricks of tears in his eyes.

"Master Richard," he says softly, trying to keep the man from spiralling too far. "Your boy sounds wonderful; is there any reason why he isn't here with you? Is he with his mother?" He tried to hide a wince, but one look at Alfie's expression, pinched in concern, shows he wasn't successful.

"He-- I found him in the alley next to my apartment; he'd crashed into the bins and passed out, and I saw his face, and I just knew. He opened his eyes, and, God, Alfie, they're exactly like hers... I just knew. I knew he was at least hers, and he was alone and terrified, like he was seeing ghosts. I couldn't leave him, so I took him into my apartment. I just made him spaghetti hoops and toast and gave him one of Tim’s old shirts and a hoodie, and he just watched me the entire time." He shoved his head into his hands, letting out a groan—whether out of frustration or something else, he didn't know. "He was there this morning when I woke up, still sleeping, so I made breakfast, and he was so scared... That look in his eyes broke me. He ate, but when I went to grab another change of clothes for him so we could talk, he ran."

There was a moment of silence before Alfred spoke. "You know who his mother is?"

"Yeah, I do. I haven't spoken to her since he would've been made." He cringes at his own choice of words, and it gets a small twitch on Alfred's lips: "I called in a favour from Babs for her to see where his mom is now."

"Are you going to look for him?"

"Absolutely, I cannot let him live on his own in Gotham. He was so disoriented when he woke up the first time. His accent is like Metropolis, but it's not quite. He said he was from New York. Wherever that is, he didn't know what Metropolis was. He looked at me like I was insane when I asked him where New York was; he said it was across the river from New Jersey, but... well, you know." Alfred is standing to pick up the mugs and wash them quickly. "It's like, I know he's mine, Alfie; I just know. But if I told B without any proof that he'd treat Peter as a threat, I have no doubts about that."

"What makes you so sure?" He grimaced.

"He moved like Clark does; even with how disoriented he was, his being weary of his own strength was ingrained in him. He purposely slowed down and made himself use less strength than he has." Alfred made a similar face to the one Dick just had; it was no doubt something he'd picked up from the old man when he was younger.

"You believe Master Bruce would treat your son, his grandson, as a threat because he is a metahuman?" Dick pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Not if he knew for sure he was, but he doesn't. I don't have any proof other than this gut feeling... I won't let Peter be hunted down by bats. Not when he's already in a completely unfamiliar place." Alfred nodded; he understood but didn't really agree. The old man might know everything about Dick, but don't let it be said that Dick doesn't know almost as much about him. Dick just sighs; at least he knows Alfred won't tell Bruce. He goes up to his usual room and puts his stuff away, somewhat wishing that he had just cancelled this visit entirely so he could look for Peter properly. He flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

***

When Peter climbed down the building, he ran as fast as he could, pulling his hood up so no one could see his face as he ran further into the foul-smelling city. Eventually he stopped seeing so many people, and those he did see pointedly avoided looking anywhere near him, so he slowed down and walked slowly, listening in to try to find the most stable of the many abandoned and probably condemned buildings around him. He really should've been paying more attention, though.

As he walked past an alley, he was too busy listening to the creaking foundations of a particularly unstable apartment block to notice the ping of spider sense before he was brought rudely into the present by the sound of safety clicking off of a gun, much too close to his ear. He never turned around, but a hand on his shoulder and a voice that was also uncomfortably close stopped him from doing that.

"Uh, uh. Empty your pockets; no need to turn around, kid." Peter decidedly did not do that. Forgetting that he'd had to deactivate his suit last night when Dick wanted to patch him up, Peter turned around anyway and swung. He managed to hit the guy, and the accidental extra strength he used meant he was out cold. The only problem was that the gun had gone off, and Peter was not actually wearing any of the protective layers he thought he was. Thankfully, it only grazed his side (ruining another two items of clothing as the blood started to pool); if he had been any slower, Peter doubts he would've gotten away so easily.

He looked down and groaned, reaching down and bending the gun into an unusable arc before tossing it into the dumpster (using his sleeve in order to avoid fingerprints). After a second of debating himself, he decided that the guy was asking to be robbed himself, so Peter went through his coat and took a couple 20s from the various mismatched wallets that he'd, no doubt, robbed from other poor, unsuspecting victims. When he was happy with the money he'd grabbed, he wandered off to find the building he was listening to before he'd been so rudely interrupted. He wasn't planning on staying in the one that sounded like it was a few moments from crumbling to pieces, but there was one nearby that seemed perfect for Peter's purposes, so he hobbled along to that one, figuring the much worse one would be easier to spot. It took him around 10 minutes longer than it would've if he wasn't currently limping along with a bleeding bullet wound, but he got there with very few issues. The door was boarded over, as were the first few floors' windows; that wasn't much of an issue, as he made sure nobody was listening and stuck to the side, walking up and slipping in through a window at the top.

The apartment he got into was small, dingy, and otherwise unpleasant, but Peter enjoyed the cobwebs in the corners and the fact that there was still some (very dusty) nature. He used the bloody and very much destroyed t-shirt to wipe off the couch, then said a silent apology to Dick as he ripped up the hoodie, he'd been given into strips to wrap the graze in his side. He barely acknowledges the sting, and he makes sure the puck that holds his suit is secure in his pocket before passing out.

Chapter Text

When Peter woke up, it was to the familiar sound of an explosion. He'd been dreaming about May, which was normal by now, but what wasn't normal was that his ears were still ringing. His heart was racing, and he was trying to calm himself down. Still, the ringing in his ears was too real, and despite being able to see the dusty abandoned apartment he was sitting in, the sting of the gunshot from yesterday and the assault on his ears made him doubt it was a dream. It took too long for him to properly remember the events of last night (the night before?) and think about how he'd ended up in an unfamiliar place. He met a guy who looked exactly like his dad did when he was younger and got shot when trying to find shelter. Great. After a few minutes (or hours?) of sitting and trying to keep control of his breathing, he went to find a high spot to think for a while.

Cautious that nobody was watching, Peter climbed out the window he'd come in through and scaled the walls. He'd half a mind to stay on the roof of his apartment building, but it was too short, and he could hear the telltale sounds of a drunken argument heading his way. He didn't want to risk some random drunk men seeing him do his silly spider shit, so he hopped the roofs, heading in the other direction to the sound of any people he heard. He ended up settling on one of the tallest buildings he could get to without drawing attention to himself. He sat on the edge and swung his legs; he used just a little of his stickiness to avoid falling (even if he knew he could catch himself if he did) and let himself zone out; he turned on his reverse hearing aids to as high as they'd go (Tony would be so disappointed that he didn't have a proper name or acronym for them), so he blocked out most of the noise past his little bubble. He sat there and enjoyed the peace as he watched the sunrise.

***

Many people believed Jason was heartless. They thought his attitude towards killing and general jaded nature meant that he didn’t care about anything. He’d have thought that his drive to keep kids in the alley safe and his willingness to do anything for that goal would disprove this thought; it didn’t.

Jason had spent a lot of time in the alley, from being an alley kid himself to now being the area’s only vigilante. He’d seen a lot of shit. He knew about the darkest depths of the cruelty of the place, and it was only natural that he’d have been desensitized to it. He probably wouldn’t have lasted this long if he hadn’t.

All that being said, there was one thing that would never not haunt him. Seeing alley kids, most of the time kids that he knew, sitting on the edge of the highest roof they could get to with their legs hanging off the ledge as they looked down at the dingy alleyways below, made him nauseous. The nature of the place meant that it wasn't even always in the dead of night when Red Hood was out to protect them. People minded their own business, even if that meant ignoring a child about to end themselves. Maybe that’s what made it so difficult to compartmentalize it—that he wasn’t only subjected to it as Red Hood—the badass, fearless crime lord—but also as Jason Todd, the former alley kid who knows what it's like to just need to leave—for everything to just end—but also knows, more than others, how death wouldn’t be the escape they needed, how it wasn’t the end of anything. When he’d first come back, he was catatonic, filled with grief and anger, and he never processed what being dead was actually like. Even now that he had a strong support network and people who practically begged him to talk to them about anything, he’d never wanted to sort through what it was like, let alone place that dread and fear in his family. The point was simple: Jason would drop anything if he saw a figure on a rooftop, no matter what.

That’s why, despite it being way past his patrol ending, despite being covered in fresh blood from the would-be rapist he’d just beat up, despite having left his bike in a less-than-ideal spot, he was sprinting across roofs to get to the silhouette of a kid; he couldn’t be older than 14. When he got close, he kept his movements loud and telegraphed, trying to get the kid to turn and face him. When he was on the roof, he could see more of him. He was brunette, but the dirt and blood (?) that knotted his curls made them look black, especially in the dim light. The kid didn’t make any sign that he’d heard him, so he spoke in a way that he hoped was authoritative but non-threatening. The voice modulator in his helmet didn’t help, but it didn’t seem to matter as the kid still didn’t make any sign that he’d heard him. He carefully moved forward, reaching his hand out to grab the kid’s shoulder, but the kid finally turned just before he could grab him and pull him away. When he turned, Jason was stuck. He stared as the teen reached up and pressed a button on a device on his ears, but his thoughts of 'oh, a hearing aid, makes sense' were distant as he continued to stare at the carbon copy of his older brother. The kid’s doe brown eyes widened slightly, and he frowned in a way that was so clearly Dick that it threw him off. Eventually, the staring got too much for Mini Dick, and he spoke, his voice deeper than Jay was expecting.

“You’re that Red Hood guy, right?” The question didn’t ease any of the tension locked in his shoulders. The kid was still on the edge of the roof, just turning slightly with his head tilted as he asked. All Jason could see was Dick. He took a breath to dispel those thoughts. The kid’s probable paternity wasn’t the main issue here. He could hound his brother about safe sex when there wasn't a kid sitting on the edge of one of the tallest roofs in the Bowery.

“Yeah, kid, that’s me.” He started moving ever so slightly closer so he’d be able to grab on to him if he fell. “Let's get you away from the edge, huh? We can talk about it.”

The kid frowned again in thought (and god, wasn’t that just like Dick?) before he seemed to realize something, and his eyes widened.

“Oh! Oh no! That’s not why I'm up here, I swear! I’m just thinking, Mr. Red Hood!” He was quick to clarify, but it did little to rid the anxiety that was pooling in his gut or the green trying to creep into his vision at the idea that someone hurt his probable nephew enough to push him to a roof. He took another breath, moving closer.

“How about you do that thinking a little away from the edge? Even if you aren't planning anything,” something he certainly didn’t believe, “you could still fall. It’s not safe so close to the ledge, Kiddo.” He made a face at the name but sighed and moved away from the edge, sitting on the ground in the center of the roof with a raised brow.

“Better?” The sarcasm was clear, and Jason was wondering just how much more like his brother the kid could get. He sighed and sat down too, keeping the kid within grabbing distance without getting into his personal space.

“So, what’s got you up here?” He elects to ignore the previous comment from the kid and receives an eye roll in response.

“I think better when I'm high up.” He shrugs, and Jason fights not to let out a snort.

“So, you decided it was a good idea to go out at 4 a.m. and sit on the tallest roof in the district so you could think?” He kept his tone level, but the unimpressed stare translated well through the helmet. The kid just shrugged. “Look, kid.”

“Peter,” He corrected,

“Peter, it’s not safe here. You seem like a good kid.”

Peter scowls. “I’m 16.” Jason was trying hard not to scoff. It must show somehow, because Peter raised a brow. “I am.” How old was Dick? When did this happen? Was he dead when he was born? Did Dick know? He snapped himself out of it and focused on the current moment.

He raises his hands in a placating manner, earning yet another eye roll from the teen: “Even so, you’re under 18, so you’re a kid.” He ignored the scoff and carried on, “You seem like a good kid; try to keep yourself a little safer. Staying on rooftops at stupid o'clock in the morning is no way to do that.”

“I can take care of myself.” There was a defensive note to his tone that wasn’t there before.

“I don’t doubt that, Peter, but this is a crime alley, and you’re not from around here, so you need to be more careful.” Jason tried to be considerate. He knew how, rightfully, defensive Alley Kids could get about taking care of themselves, even when they knew he wouldn't be sending them off into the 'foster system' (more like a glorified legal trafficking system, but that's not what's important right now), so he kept his voice level and unjudging, especially since the kid didn't have the same context that the usual kids did. Peter said nothing; he just stared at Jason with a deciphering look before groaning and nodding.

“Okay, fine, whatever, Mr. Red Hood.” It was as insincere as it got, but Jason counted it as a win anyway. He checked the time and sighed.

“When was the last time you ate?” Peter’s expression changed to a confused furrow of his brows.

“Uh, this morning, I think, maybe yesterday morning." Jason sighed again and stood up, reaching out his hand to help the kid up.

“Seeing as it’s currently 4 a.m., I’m going to take a guess and say it was yesterday. Come on, I’ll get you something. Are you a fan of Bat Burger?” The confusion changed from shock to skepticism.

“Uh, what’s that?” He grinned under the mask. Suck on that Dickwing. I get to be the one to introduce your kid to Bat Burger.

“Fast food place. Come on, we’re taking the fire escape down.” Peter rolled his eyes (he did that a lot, huh?). but followed him down the building and into the nearest Bat Burger.

They ordered, with Jason getting twice what Peter had asked for, then just a coffee and a milkshake for himself, much to the distress of the teen. He was quick to assure him it was fine, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. The kid eventually relented, and once they sat down, his hunger became apparent as he wolfed down the food like he was starving. He probably was, so Jason saved his judgment, instead taking out his phone after mixing the coffee into his milkshake.

BatChat

Duke: Whatever, man, no need to be so rude.

–Unread messages–

Dick: @JasonTodd, where are you? You’re out really late.

Dick: Did something happen?

Bruce and Jason report

Babs: He’s been on a roof for a while. I think he’s with someone.

Dick: Let us know when you’re going to be back.

He sighed before responding, very much about getting his payback for their annoying worrying and creepy stalking.

BatChat

Jason: You’re freaking creepy. The lot of you

Jason: I’m fine; I'm at Bat Burger with a new alley kid.

Dick: Hey, you’re the one who went offline without warning for hours!

Dick: You’re responsible for this.

Jason: You’re one to talk about 'responsibility', Dickwing

Jason: You know you should always be safe and use protection.

Dick: WHAT

Jason: I just think it’s important that you’re reminded of that.

Babs: Where the hell did this come from???????

Jason: You know, I'm just looking out for my brother, making sure he’s safe.

Dick: I feel like this is the most you’ve ever willingly used this chat for, but I'm not happy about it.

Dick: You realize that I'm 34 years old?????

Jason: Sure

Bruce: Please stop spamming this chat.

Tim: Jesus Christ, I didn’t need to see any of that.

Jason: Stfu pretender

Tim: middle-finger:

Now that his revenge was taken care of, he looked back up from his phone to see that the kid had finished the food on his plate and was looking skittish.

“I’m not about to call CPS on you, Peter.” He only relaxed a little.

“Why are you helping me?” Ah, there it is: good old trust issues. Jason sighed before he answered, looking at the kid carefully and memorizing every familiar feature. There’s no way the kid wasn’t at least related to Dick (and he knew that was a long shot).

“I help the alley kids. If anyone tries anything with you, you find me, and I'll take care of it, alright?” He looked skeptical, and even though he nodded, the hesitation made Jason doubt he’d be doing that. He shook his head tiredly. “You don’t have to trust me, but I can help. Before you go disappearing, I'll draw you a map of the safest spots in the city. There are a few shelters around here, but you should only use the Martha Wayne one. The others are fronts for human trafficking.” He grimaced at the face Peter made. “There are a few soup kitchens too, but it's safer if you only use the ones sponsored by the Wayne lot.” Peter tilted his head and nodded.

“I’ve got somewhere to stay, but I'll keep that in mind.” He didn’t doubt that the kid had somewhere to stay. He seemed to be the resourceful type, but that didn’t mean it was safe, and it certainly didn’t mean he had a way to get food.

“Even so.” He took a napkin and started drawing important points. “If you’re ever hurt, there’s a free clinic not too far from here. Dr. Thompkins is safe. She won’t ask questions. If you need somewhere warm and safe to stay for a bit, the library up in Old Gotham opens early and closes late. The librarian’s a friend of mine. She won’t mind you hanging there for a while. The trip’s long, but if you get the train from Burnley, it’s pretty easy to skip the fares.” He finished the map and handed it to Peter, and the kid took it and folded it carefully, putting it in his pocket. Now that they were in decent light, Jason could make out what he was wearing: grimy sweatpants and a sweater with ‘Stark Industries’ on it, whatever that was. The sweater had a bloodstain on the hem and one at his side. Both were low enough that they were mostly covered, but they just made Jason more anxious about whatever his nephew had gotten into.

“Uh, thanks, Mr. Red Hood.” Jason scoffed and ruffled the kid’s hair, earning an indignant huff.

“Just Red Hood, Petey. No need for formalities.” Peter rolled his eyes as he stood up and grabbed the tatty bag. "Wait, kid, before you go." He reached into his pocket and put a patch with a very specific design in the kid's hand. "It'll stick to whatever you decide to put it on; put it somewhere visible; nobody with half a brain cell will try to mess with you once they notice it." Peter looks down at the patch, a red 'V' thing that he doesn't seem to recognize in the slightest. He nodded and put it in his pocket before leaving, saying nothing else. Jason sighed and checked his phone, sending a message to Babs saying he wouldn't be back to the cave because he wasn't about to message Bruce for that and sending one to Alfred about missing dinner. He stood up, stretched, and left, heading for his safehouse on autopilot while his thoughts were stuck on his older brother's little clone and meeting him on a roof.

***

After Red Hood's little distraction, Peter decided not to go back to the apartment. He figured he could find it again, and he needed to get supplies. He made sure he still had the $60 from the guy who shot him and headed to the closest convenience store. When he walked in, the smell of gunpowder assaulted his nose, and he walked straight back out, not willing to fund whatever was going on behind the scenes at that store.

The same thing happened to him in three other stores until he decided this side of Gotham wasn't going to turn up any non-dodgy stores and he was going to head to Old Gotham for that library anyway, so he glanced at the map he'd been given and eventually found the Burnley station through a mix of that map and listening for the usual sounds of the underground. The barriers were laughably easy to get past, and the probably underpaid guard just watched it happen with no interference, which gave Peter a pretty decent idea of what this city was like. He turned on his reverse hearing aids as soon as he got past the barriers, not willing to assault his ears with the sound of a probably under-maintained underground system. The screeching of the wheels on the tracks was enough to give him a headache from above the surface, let alone being inside the thing. He looked down at his map, then at the faded board with the lines, and stared until he realized he did not know what he was doing. He didn't trust Gotham at all (for good reason), so when someone cleared their throat next to him, he snapped around. He was met by the slightly startled eyes of a mustached man in his late 40s, maybe early 50s, with rectangle glasses and almost completely gray hair. Peter raised his brow and took a step back, in case the man was trying to look at the board that Peter was blocking. He wasn't particularly interested in getting on the bad side of anyone in this place, even if it was an old man who looked to be on his way to work. After a few more awkward seconds, the man shook himself out of his shock (that was recognition in his eyes; why did he recognize him?) and smiled softly in a way that felt wrong coming from a stranger in this hostile city.

"Ah, are you lost, kid?" He stared because that was mega suspicious, then spoke as plainly as he could, distrust clear in his eyes.

"No." He turned to walk away but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, wait, sorry. That was suspicious. I just ask because I know how unhelpful this map can be. Do you have a particular place you're heading?" Peter took the hand off his shoulder and made sure he stood tall enough to hopefully look his age. Either this guy wanted to kidnap him or he was going to call CPS, and he didn't want to deal with either of those things. However, he didn't want to get properly lost, so he just shrugged. Old Gotham seemed like it was probably a big place, so as long as he didn't mention the library itself, he could probably use the help.

"Um, Old Gotham." The man's expression was unreadable, and it was throwing him off. His heart was beating at a mostly normal rate, but that meant nothing.

"I'm heading that way, too. I'll show you the trains to use." How much more suspicious could one guy get? Noticing how that had sounded, the man sighed.

"I'm not going to kidnap you, kid. God knows I've dealt with enough children for a lifetime. There was a glint in his eyes that Peter couldn't possibly know meant one of those kids was who he suspected Peter's dad was. He sighed, but the obnoxious ticking of the clock on the wall and the scathing sound of a train approaching reminded Peter that there was probably a time limit on the offer, and, well, it's not like Peter couldn't escape if he was kidnapped.

"Yeah, okay, sure," he shrugged, and the man smiled again.

"Just stick with me then." Peter wondered what part of the city he was from. His accent was very much jersey (much to his dismay), but it differed from both Dicks and those he'd met in 'The Bowery', as Red Hood had called it. He easily stuck with the man. The station was nowhere near as crowded as what he was used to in Queens, and with his reverse hearing aids turned on, the horrible sounds of the subway were mostly reduced to normal people's levels.

The train stopped, and a few people came out before everyone else flooded in. It was early, but Peter would guess it was so full because of a commute to work. There didn't seem to be many places where people worked in The Bowery, so they probably commuted (if they worked at all). He pulled his sweater over his hand before taking the pole for support, keeping the man in sight. He somewhat wanted a name but didn't want to risk having to give one, so he didn't ask. It was easy to block out the sounds and smells of those around him by focusing on the man instead. He stared to the side of where he was sitting with one hand on the pole and one in his pocket. He'd shoved his money into his shoe, but he could feel the patch that Red Hood had given him. He took his eyes off the man to examine the patch. Just a red, slightly weird-looking, and wide 'V'. It vaguely matched the symbol on his chest, but Peter hadn't been able to get that good of a look at it since the jacket was covering it as well as the table when they were sitting down. He checked the back, figuring it would have some easy application since most street kids wouldn't have access to an iron or thread or be willing to waste those resources on something like a patch. Sure enough, there was a peel-off backing that covered a seriously sticky backing. He thought to himself before putting it in the pocket of his sweatpants. It's not like he had any other trousers to wear, and his shirts had a much higher rate of being ruined. Once happy that it probably wasn't going to fall off, he looked back up to where the man was sitting. He'd been watching what Peter was doing, and he narrowed his eyes. Hood had said people wouldn't screw with him if they saw the patch. So was the man realizing his kidnapping plan was stupid? Or was the symbol known for something else? Either way, he said nothing, just smiling that out-of-place smile before looking away, and Peter went back to staring blankly at the window behind him.

After a few stops, the train got less crowded, and Peter could've sat if he wanted, but he didn't, leaving them for people who needed them more (like he didn't have healing a bullet and a stab wound). It was only a few minutes after that before the man stood up, signaling Peter to come with him, which Peter did. He then looked at the napkin map and walked slightly in front of the man as they headed out of the station, intending to head straight to his destination and lose the man. It must be Parker's luck acting up again, as every turn that Peter made was man-made too. Sure, he might've been going to the same place, but what was more likely was that he was being followed. By the time he'd gotten to the library, he was panicking slightly and went around the block once to make sure he wasn't being followed. Instead of going with him, the man went straight into the library, and Peter cursed. He took a few breaths, standing out of sight of the glass in the doors, before pushing it open and going in. At the reception desk, there was a woman with long hair and glasses talk to the man from before. He tried to slip past without being noticed, but the man did notice and called to him.

"Hey, kid." He cursed and turned around, hands in his pockets, as he walked over to the desk.

"Um, hello. Thanks for letting me know where to stuff." The man smiled.

"No problem, I'm Jim." God damned Parker's luck

"Good to meet you, sir," he said as plainly as he could. At the expectant look, he sighed, "I'm Peter." He gave nothing more than that, looking between the librarian, whose name tag said 'Barbara' and the man—Jim—before looking into the rest of the library. He smiled at the librarian and asked, "Um, is it okay if I use a computer, ma'am?" He asked as politely as he could manage, earning a snort from the lady behind the desk.

"It's just Babs, Peter, but yeah, no problem. Do you want a library card or just a guest login?" He shrugged, knowing his luck that a card would require ID that he just didn't have.

"Guest login, please." She nodded and wrote something on a post-it note before passing it to him,

"The computers are in the middle over there." He nodded and left as soon as he could, his spider-sense blaring *watching, watching, watching* at him in a way that was going to give him a headache. He sat at a computer that left him with the reception desk in view and sighed. He logged on but couldn't concentrate on anything with the headache he was getting, so instead he just stared at the computer. After a few minutes, the man left, and he was left with just 'Babs' watching him. He tried to look a few things up, but nothing he searched turned up any results. No Blip, no Battle of New York, no Avengers, and no Iron Man. He found out about 'The Justice League' that was this place's version of the Avengers, but that was as far as he got before Babs called someone and he heard 'street kid' and 'patch' before he logged off and was out of the library in a few moments.

Chapter Text

When her dad had left, Babs continued to subtly watch 'Peter', he'd said the name hesitantly, but she couldn't tell whether that was because he was hesitant to give it to anyone or because it was a fake name. Either way, it wasn't like shew had anything else to call him so 'Peter' it was (unless she was going to call him 'Dick's Kid' but that was maybe not the best idea). While she watched him, she could tell he was being somewhat skittish: he kept looking over at the desk and if she didn't know any better, she'd think he could tell she was watching. The other thing that stood out to her about him (you know, other than him being a brunette version of her best friend) was the patch on his pants. He'd clearly spoken to Jason and was probably the kid he'd stayed out late for so he might know more than she did, especially since he'd actually sat down with him and maybe even talked. So, mind made up, she looked away from Peter to pick up her phone and call him. She saw a message from him saying he wouldn't be going back to the cave and swore before relaying it to the main GC (a bit late) then calling him. She was so wrapped up in waiting for Jason to answer the call (or maybe Peter was just that quiet) that she didn't even notice he was packing up to leave until the call was answered and she couldn't really stop him without risking being hung up on.

"Barbie." His greeting was plain, and she swore silently as Peter bolted.

"Jason," she greeted, pulling up security cameras on her computer and tracking what way Peter was going. He didn't seem to be heading to the station again, instead slowing down once he was 'out of sight' of the library and walking towards the department store, "What do you know about Dick's clone?" There was some silence on the other line before a tired sigh and the sound of him sitting down.

"He made his way to the library then?" She just hummed, watching the camera opposite the main entrance of the store Peter went into, "If it's any help I don't think he's a clone. He's 16 which, as much as I don't want to say it, mean's Dickie is old enough." She frowned at that, much more familiar with Dick's reputation in his early adult life than Jason was. She went back on the cameras and got a frame that was most of his face.

"Hey, Jason." She got a suspicious grunt in response (she wouldn't dare admit it to him, but Jason sounded more and more like Bruce every day), "Have you ever heard of Mary Parker?" There was silence for a moment as Barbara brought up the image of the woman she'd been researching for Dick and the still from the security camera.

"I vaguely remember something, but it must've been pre-everything. I think I remember Bruce complaining? It was just when I arrived and just after Dick had left for the first time." She hums, the two images were scarily similar; she thought Peter looked like a younger Dick but with the image of Peter’s probable mom next to him it's even more clear, "Barbie?" She snapped out of it.

"Yeah, that fits the timeline. I'm pretty sure she's Peter's mom, and I think Dick knows about him--" She was interrupted by an angry sound from the other end of the call, and she was quick to try correcting herself, "No, I mean he found out about him recently. he called me yesterday to cash in a favor and asked about her... Jesus Jason he's practically a 50/50 split of them." She could tell he relaxed slightly but the terseness in his tone when the spoke told her Dick wasn't entirely in the clear yet.

"If he knew about him yesterday, why did I find him sitting on the roof of one of the tallest roofs in the entire Bowery?" She sucked in a sharp breath.

"Maybe he ran? Dad said he looked injured and there was a lot of blood on his clothes," She was interrupted yet again.

"The fuck do you mean, 'Dad'? Jim knows?" She sighed,

"He was on the train this morning, spotted him looking lost and figured he'd try help the random child out... obviously he recognized that he's Dick's: I mean, as much as he looks like his mom, if you've not seen her, he's like a brunette, brown eyed, Dick." Jason paused.

"He's brunette?"

"...Yeah?"

"Shit. His hair was practically black when i saw him, it was sorta dark but i didn't think that it was all blood."

"BLOOD?" she asked, completely caught off guard. Sure, his clothes had been bloody, but she hadn't seen enough to be concerned in his hair...

"Yeah." There's a moment of silence and Barbara takes a moment and reads through the stuff she'd gathered on Dick's ex. She hadn't paid it much mind when she'd assumed he was just reminiscing but reading through it now made her blood turn cold.

"What the fuck." She didn't swear too often so it wasn't weird that Jason took so long to respond but she was so caught up reading that she barely recognized the long silence.

"Is this still about the blood?" She blinked and tore her eyes away from the article.

"No, no. Jason, fuck, Mary's dead. Like, long dead. She died when Peter would've been a few months old--" She takes a breath, reading through the article and attached obituary again, "She died in a car accident—Jesus, Jason. Peter was supposedly in that car." There's a long silence on the other line and she's half prepared to see that he's hung up but when she checks he's still on the line, "Jay?" She murmurs, cautious and somewhat cursing herself for being so careless about not just a child, but a related child's death. There was a long exhale and she almost wanted to congratulate him on it but she knew that that'd only end badly so instead she waited for him, clicking through the file she'd made for Dick and trying to decide whether or not she should send it all to him, on the off chance he was actually just curious about his ex and hadn't met Peter. Her decision was interrupted by Jason's tight voice.

"He was in the car?"

"According to the report... he's got a death certificate and all. The car went into the bay when they were in Gotham to visi-- Oh god." She felt sick. Jason, for his part, still hadn't hung up but he'd also not contributed anything else to the conversation. She closed the tab and took a breath, but Jason beat her to it.

"Do we bring it up to Dick?" Babs drops her head into her hands, staring at the screensaver which is an old photo of her, Dick, Bruce and her dad, before any of this would've happened. It was no wonder that her dad recognized him. He has Dick's smile, and frown and dimples. All the things she could see when she was watching him on the computers. If he knew he'd probably be beyond happy to know he had somewhere to stay and could be going to the library more often; if he didn't... well, she could be introducing him to his 16 year old, the only remnants of a woman Babs was sure she'd heard him wax poetic about when drunk, while also having no documented identity that she could see.

"I don't know. We uh, I could wait until he asks me about the woman? That might buy us time to figure out if he knows but..."

"But if you told him and he didn't know he'll blame himself entirely..., was he even in Gotham when it happened?" She shook her head, thinking of the timeline before remembering that Jason couldn't see her.

"No. He was with the Titans by then."

"Don't tell him until he asks then. It's not worth his stupid mopey face. If we figure out that he knew then that's different but..." he trails off and she can't help but agree.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll let you know if I find something else. Let me know if you see him again? Especially the part about him being on a roof, Jason." He tsks like a scolded child but sighs anyway.

"Yeah, yeah. Cya Barbie." He hangs up before she can respond but she's honestly more surprised that he hadn't hung up earlier in the conversation. Part of her was worried enough to want to check the cameras around his safehouse or tell Cass to check on him, but that would probably alert more people than either of them really wanted to know. It was bad enough her dad knowing possibly before Dick himself did. Instead, she made a program to keep track of Peter wherever possible, maybe she could work out where he was staying? If not, it was fine because she's been keeping track of her best friend's child.

***

When Dick read the message from Jason, he was too relieved that his brother was okay to really consider the possible reasons for his out of character text. That was until he was grabbing (late) lunch from the kitchen and saw Alfred who was sitting on his chair in the corner of the kitchen and reading something on his phone with a sour expression. He looked up when Dick came in and raised a brow,

"You have seen Master Jason's message." it wasn't a question, but it made Dick pause. Usually, Alfred ignored their teasing or outright told them to stop if it was interrupting something,

"...Yes?"

"Hm." Good to know where Bruce got that particular habit from. He took the sandwich he'd come in for and sat at the breakfast nook, now unsure if he'd missed something. He took out his phone and didn't get told off, which told him that it was what Alfred wanted him to do. When he checked the messages again, he realized he hadn't seemed to miss anything until it dawned on him. He stood up, almost dropping his sandwich but having the thought of putting it down on the plate before he raced out of the room to somewhere in the manor with a better connection. He called Jason immediately with only one thought in his head: Peter.

The only logical reason Jason would've sent something so out of character was payback; payback for what? For not telling him about his secret son, probably. His brother didn't know that he didn't know Peter existed before yesterday...

Fuck

Jason didn't know that he didn't know about Peter. Dick had to take a long breath as he waited for the call to connect. He was standing in the entrance hall, ignoring everyone as they came in from various after-school events. When Jason didn't pick up the first time he swore and called him again, pacing the hall much to the concern of Bruce who'd come back from work, but he'd left after Dick had waived him off and Alfred had called him away from the hall. It was 4 by the time his call was answered, and he didn't even bother to let him finish his opening complaint.

"C'mon Dickwing, what the hell are you calling me f--"

"Where is he?" There was a long pause, Dick's voice was strained, and he was holding back from shouting, not really wanting the rest of his family to figure it out quite yet.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He had to take a long breath to soothe the anger burning in his stomach. He didn't get angry like this anymore, not at the manor, not when he was with people he cared about. never mind that one of those people had run away from him. He'd failed him, his boy. "Dick?" Jason's voice was still sharp and annoyed, but he could hear the slight concern that he'd just gone quiet. Jason (as much as he regretted it) was one of the only family members who knew what his anger looked like.

"Where is my son, Jason?" All concern of him being pissed and thinking Dick abandoned his kid went out the window as he tried and mostly failed to reign in his temper. There was a heavy pause and Jason sighed.

"All I know is that he's in The Bowery somewhere, probably crime alley. Babs probably has cameras on him." He let out a breath and nodded to himself, heading to his room. He'd call Babs then head out to find his kid. He stiffly ignores the fact that Babara, his best friend, knew and hadn't said anything. Rationally, he knew she probably only found out today from Jason or yesterday when she looked into Mary-- fuck, Mary. Did she know where Peter was? He sat on the edge of his bed and hung up on Jason without saying anything else. His focus wasn't on being angry. It was on finding out what Babs knew. He called her and put the phone on speaker as he climbed his bed to hang from the beams. He'd always felt better when he was higher up. She answered and he had to just sit in silence for a few moments.

"Dick?" Her voice was, rightfully, concerned but he paid no mind to it.

"What did you find out about Mary?" He couldn't bring himself to ask about Peter yet, even though Mary might end up being the worst of the two (what if something had happened to her and he hadn't ever said a proper goodbye?). He couldn't help the waver in his voice.

"Oh shit, Dick..." She seemed like she didn't want to say it which really didn't bode well for anything, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm god damn sure, Babs. What happened the mother of my kid?" He didn't snap necessarily, but it was enough. That (with the additional mention of his kid) had her sighing, and he heard the telltale sounds of her typing.

"I've got a file for you. It's got a few articles and, um," She paused thinking it over, "and her obituary." There was a moment of tense silence as Dick stared at the notification, of the phone under him.

"Tell me, please?" He asked and his voice was so soft that she couldn't deny him.

"She um she was in a car accident; the car went off into the... into the Gotham Bay." There was more typing and some shifting around, "Dick, Peter was supposedly in the car with her. Neither body was found but-- well it's the Gotham Bay and there were no reports of Peter showing up again. uh, Peter isn't his birthname... uh," She seemed to not quite know how to explain that or why she thought it was or wasn't relevant so she just moved on, "but he didn't give Jay, dad, or me a surname so I can't check by that." He bluescreened and dropped off the frame of his bed, snatching his phone to read the article and not really registering that Jim knew, which was terrible for his not letting Bruce know thing. He read the article again and again.

Metropolis Mother and Child Drowned in Gotham Bay

The car of Metropolis born, Mary Parker was found in the Gotham Bay, it is believed that Mary was traveling with her 6-month-old child. Despite no bodies being found, due to the nature of the bay and their being missing from their usual activities in Metropolis, the two have been declared dead.

Dick didn't know how to react. The mother of his son and his son had supposedly died, probably while trying to get to him-- he hadn't even been in Gotham at that time. What would Bruce have done if she'd turned up at the manor? God. Peter was clearly still alive... did that mean Mary had survived too? He wanted to believe that he really did, but something was telling him that it was wishful thinking. Did he even want to see her again? He dropped his phone and dropped his head onto his pillow. Alfred had given him fresh sheets when he arrived yesterday, so they were still crisp as he laid down. He ignored the vague sound of Barbara's concerned voice, and he would've felt bad for that if he wasn't already drowning in the guilt of being the cause of his family's deaths. Distantly he realized that Babs had hung up.

It could've been minutes or hours (maybe days, but he didn't believe his family was capable of leaving him alone for that long) before he was pulled out of his guilty spiral by a knock at the door. Alfred walked in before he could mutter 'fuck off' and he sat up, if only not to annoy his only ally (that was cruel, and he knew it. Barbara and Jason were clearly on his side, on Peter's side, but that didn't matter to him at the moment)

"Master Richard." Alfred's voice was soft and sympathetic as he'd expect, "The rest of the family are eating dinner at the moment, I assumed you might not want to partake with the news you have received but there is food in the kitchen should you be hungry." He felt like crying, he didn't deserve this. Peter might've escaped death, but Mary hadn't, and he seriously doubted that surviving meant he'd been through all good things. The file Babs had sent showed that Mary had no living relatives. What had his kid been through because he wasn't there to help him. "Master Richard?" The soft voice of his grandfather shook him out of his thoughts again and he had to take a deep breath in. He didn't know how to deal with this, with the anger and hurt and guilt. He didn't want to repress it-- that felt wrong to Mary and Peter, but he couldn't allow himself to show it in front of his family, not when that would only serve to confuse their views on him... not when it would take time and thought away from finding Peter. And that was what he needed to do, wasn't it? Find Peter so he could make up for all the time that he'd missed. To get him somewhere safe and comfortable where Dick would be able to protect him and help him through whatever had happened to him. He'd have to get a bigger apartment... maybe he could move to Keystone with Wally? FUCK, Wally! How could he forget that--? He took another long breath and stood up, grabbing his phone and stretching.

"Um, I'll grab something quick. I need to find Peter." He got an approving nod from the butler before he left the room in a beeline for the cave. He stopped through the kitchen just long enough to grab a few leftover sandwiches from the covered tray. He managed to narrowly avoid Cass and Damian who were both looking for him and got changed in record time. He sped out the cave on his bike and beelined for crime alley. He muted his comms to avoid anyone listening in, only barely thinking rationally enough to realize that not wearing them at all would be stupid, especially if he found Peter in trouble and needed some kind of backup.

When Nightwing got to The Bowery, he hid his bike and scaled a fire escape for a better vantage point. He could move smoother and uninterrupted across the roofs and hopefully it'd been easier to spot Peter. (Distantly he hoped the height would clear some of the fog threatening to cloud his mind. He didn't want to face Peter like this and scare him away, Nightwing was a second chance of meeting his son for the first time. Without that confusing recognition that he'd had before.

It took less time than he would've expected to find a figure, that should be familiar yet was, sitting on the edge of a roof. As he approached, he could see the back of the same sweatshirt he'd been wearing before. When he landed on the roof he tried to make his footsteps as loud as possible, hoping his hearing aids were turned on so as not to spook him. Nightwing was all too relieved when instead of flinching off the building in surprise, he just snapped his head around. His kid's eyes widened slightly as he tried to keep his voice calm and his body language open,

"Hey, Kid, I'm Nightwing. Could you move away from the edge for me?"

Chapter Text

Dick couldn’t help the way his heart was racing as he waited for his kid to move back off the edge. His hands stayed tense at his side, ready to grab Peter if anything were to happen. It felt like years before he moved, standing up (giving him a heart attack) and moving into the centre of the roof, sitting down with his legs crossed. He looked at Dick with a raised brow,

“Beter? What is it with you vigilantes and being paranoid about this?” His relief was too much for him to say anything: the urge to spill everything on Peter so strong that he didn’t trust himself not to do it if he opened his mouth. Instead, he took a seat opposite him, trying to ignore the awkwardness. “You good?” He was so much less tense than he’d been at Dick’s apartment, and he had so many questions; how was the stab wound? Where were the clothes he’d been given? Where did those shoes come from? He took a long breath and nodded.

“I should be asking you that, kid” he kept his voice at a slightly higher volume than he usually would to make sure he could be heard over the various gunshot sounds, screaming, shouting and other sounds of violence that were common in the district. He was hyperaware of the red that wrapped around his ears and the way he’d tilted his head as if to hear better. In some ways it reminded him of Clark, but it was so different at the same time that he didn’t think he could even compare it. There was a lot he didn't know about Peter, and he wanted to figure it all out; more importantly, he wanted Peter to be the one to tell him. The kid just shrugged at his comment,

“I’m good, I just think better when I’m higher up.” Sure, Dick could definitely relate to that, but he also had training in what do to if he ever fell off; he had backups for his backups— Peter didn’t. God that was a terrifying thought, what if he’d fallen? What if he’d found him like that – nothing but a splat on the dirty pavement, “—re you?” He snapped out of his thoughts, eyes focusing on the alive child in front of him.

“Pardon?” He didn’t hear anything that had just been said

“I asked who you are.” Oh, yeah, he hadn’t introduced himself.

“Nightwing, what about you?” Of course, he knew his name, but Peter didn’t know that... why was he making that face?

“Nightwing? Like the thing from Batburger?” He paused, what?

“Uh?” Peter’s expression turned to overjoyed in a moment

“Oh my god they named it after the vigilantes? That’s– That’s so stupid!” He laughed and Dick was sat there trying to figure out what was funny enough to warrant this.

“Well, yeah? The entire chain is based on vigilantes and rogues.” He stared, shocked.

“The Rogues too? Isn’t that like, irresponsible? Like doesn’t it encourage them?” He hummed,

“Yeah, but there’s not much we can do about it. It’s a Gotham staple.” Peter nodded,

“Weird. This is a really weird city. Oh, and uh I'm Peter.” He tugged his sweatshirt to adjust it but ended up wincing and Dick eyes focused on the second blood stain that hadn’t been there before and was too far from where the stab wound was to have come from that,

“Peter, are you hurt?” His eyes widened and he looked down at his side then his front which was definitely a red flag.

“Uh, yeah? It’ll chill though I sorted it out.” He really doubted that the fact the blood stain from the side wound seemed to be getting larger was really not helping his case.

“I’ve got first aid stuff here; would you mind if I checked it?” It was better than saying he didn’t trust that he’d done a proper job at it, especially because Dick was very sure that Peter would be able to do it properly if he had the right equipment for it. Peter looked very hesitant but after poking his side and hissing Dick really wasn’t about to give him a chance to deny the help, so he took out the kit and only relaxed when Peter seemed to realise that he didn’t actually have a choice and pulled his shirt above both wounds. The stab wound that Dick had sorted out yesterday was still wrapped in the same, now bloody, bandage while the other, unspecified, wound was wrapped with what looked like the hoodie torn into strips. He tried to hide the way he cringed at that. There was no way that was at all sanitary and all that was racing through Dick’s mind was how badly infected it might be. Peter rolled his eyes,

“It’s what I had. It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” he sighed, trying to find the end to peel it off.

“Yes, yeah. Better than nothing.” He agreed as he found it, “sorry, kiddo.” Peter didn’t even flinch at what was surely painful. The cloth was caked in blood, not all visible from the outside thanks to the thickness of it. He'd had the sense to put it with the fluffy bit facing out which really wasn’t helping the way his heart ached. Why did he know how to do this? What had he been through? Being stuck in his thoughts meant Dick was hyper focusing on his and Peter’s movements so when, at a particularly stuck part, Peter winced the smallest amount, he stopped and looked at his tight expression. The face staring back was so painfully familiar, he didn’t know how to feel about it. Didn’t know how to feel about knowing that his kid’s expression of attempting to hide his pain was the same as his own. Peter should never have any reason to make that face.

“Sorry.” he murmured, and Dick wanted to scream.

“It’s okay, it hurts, I get it.” There was a long pause as Dick peeled the rest of it off. The wound looked a few days old but that couldn’t be the case, he hadn’t had it when he’d checked him before, “How did it happen?” He asked as softly as he could manage without giving away any of the rage he had bubbling inside him. Peter looked hesitant and that just made the worry worse.

“I um got shot—” his eyes widen and Dick guesses he must’ve had a more open reaction than he’d thought because Peter looks worried, “It’s uh it’s not a big deal, I just, uh, I was mugged and I didn’t have anything on me but uh the guy didn’t believe me so uh yeah.” He spoke quickly, maybe to avoid Dick making any assumptions before the story was finished, “It’s just a graze, it’s fine.”

“Peter if you got shot you need to go to a hospital.” The flash of terror in his eyes makes Dick regret even suggesting it; with how he’d been acting and reacting before, Dick should’ve guessed that hospitals would be a no go, especially if his guess of meta-abilities of some kind was correct.

“No hospitals. I’ll manage.” he looked like he was about to try leave with the now bare wound and Dick was fast to try appeasing him.

“Okay, okay. No hospitals, but let me wrap it properly, yeah? You’ll just make things more difficult for yourself if you leave with it unprotected like that.” There was a tense moment of silence while Peter considered his options, but he eventually nodded and relaxed back into the spot he was in, sitting cross legged as far away from the vigilante as he could while still having the wound be accessible. They sat in silence apart from the few hisses of pain that the kid couldn’t manage to hide. In an ideal world, dick would’ve scooped Peter up and brought him to the manor, or at least the cave, so Alfred could stitch him up; in an ideal world his son wouldn’t be hurt like this in the first place... but this wasn’t an ideal world and trying to get Peter into even just the cave would probably only serve to destroy the tiny trust that had been built. It was huge that Peter was trusting him enough even for this, and – as much as he hated to admit it – that was probably thanks to whatever Jason had done with him earlier in the day. After a few more minutes of the awkward, painful, silence, Dick finished with cleaning and rewrapping both wounds. As soon as he was done, Peter stood up and took a few steps back.

“Uh, thank you, Mr Nightwing.” he said, eyes flickering between watching him and looking for the easiest way to leave (the fastest would be to jump so Dick was praying he had more self-preservation than that).

“Anytime, kiddo. You come up here a lot?” He shrugged noncommittally, Dick sighed and stood up. He could tell when something was a lost cause and Peter was clearly done with the interaction, “The fire escape is that side.” He nodded to the wrought iron on one side of the building and Peter was quick to disappear down it (quicker than he realistically should’ve been able to with that wound in his side).

***

Peter knew he was being followed. He knew that the quite *Watching, Watching, Watching* from his spider-sense meant Nightwing was following him but what made him anxious was that. He didn't know why. Had Red Hood said something? Was he doing something wrong with how he was trying to fit in... did he know his dad? His thoughts stayed in that spiral the entire time he was trying to lose the tail. It took a while longer than it would’ve if it was some random person following him, but that was to be expected. He barely managed to lose the tail by making a few too many unpredictable turns in a block of too close alleys.

As soon as he noticed the whispering from his spider-sense had stopped, he made a break for it, going down any empty alleyways and following his intuition until he arrived back at his rundown apartment. He hadn’t come back since he left in the morning, and it was just as awful looking (and smelling) as it had been that morning.

He took the time now that he was awake and no longer bleeding out to look around properly. It was a shitty studio that had probably cost more than it was worth when it was being used. There was a mattress that Peter didn’t trust in the slightest on the floor by the boarded-up window, the (probably dirtier) couch that he’d passed out on, a door to what was presumably a bathroom and a small kitchenette. All the appliances were broken but not beyond repair. If he could get electricity in he could probably get at least the fridge working—he had more experience than he’d like to admit getting Wi-Fi, cable, and water into apartments that shouldn’t have actually had access to it (living with no identity as an unemployed 16-year-old was hard, okay?). He didn’t mind that a few spiders had moved into the corners, there was one that was empty that he could maybe make some kind of makeshift hammock web to sleep in. He’d have to buy some cleaning supplies though and the $40 in his shoe was going to be stretched thin.

As he tried to make the couch a little more comfortable for the night, he decided he’d go back to Old Gotham tomorrow to get anything he’d need, hopefully that’d mean he’d find places that at least weren’t so obviously criminal fronts to buy from, and maybe the quality wouldn’t be so shit (though the way the city was, Peter somewhat doubted that). He turned on the reverse hearing aids and tried to settle in to sleep his second (third?) night in the city full of death.

***

When Dick lost Peter, he was stuck between impressed and horrified at his son’s skills. He had no idea how he’d even known that he was following him, let alone known how to evade him. He spent a few minutes (an hour) looking around, just in case something had happened to him, but he was finally caught up by Jason in just his domino and usual Red Hood gear flagging him down while sitting on his bike against the wall, cigarette in hand. He resisted the immediate urge to scold his baby brother for that, but he knew it wouldn’t do anything. Instead, he found himself leaning against the wall with a sigh and holding his hand out for one. Dick tried to ignore the guilt that his brother knew what he meant and passed him both a cigarette and his lighter. Jason had been there when Dick was angry at Bruce, he’d seen parts of him that not even Alfred knew about, and it weighed down on him. They stayed in silence for a while, smoke drifting up into the smoggy city, ready to not make a single difference.

“...Sorry, Jay.” he said, voice soft in contrast to the reply, his helmet was off so his there wasn’t the computerised harshness, just his usual rasp. A side effect of the pits making him grow up.

“It’s fine.”

“No, no. I said you wouldn’t have to deal with me like this... you’re my brother, not my therapist.” That got an eyeroll beneath the domino.

“Don’t be a Dick, N. I get it, if I suddenly found out I had a son who was supposed to be dead from a summer fling 16 years ago, I'd be a bit thrown off too.” He sighed and went back to the silence for a reason. Thinking about Jason now instead of Peter, Jason who’d practically raised himself, who’d been on the street long enough to know not to trust anyone. Was Peter like that? Had he raised himself? It didn’t make sense; nothing made any sense about this.

“Yeah, okay.” Jason stomped out his cigarette and Dick followed soon after, the two landing in a much more comfortable silence.

The silence only lasted for a little longer, their breaks could only last so long after all. They were interrupted by the telltale sounds of their comms connecting. Dick finished his cigarette and stretched his arms out while Babs told them what was happening. A group of teens were causing issues after robbing a store on the edge of the Bowery.

“Thanks, Barbie.” Jason said as he put his mask back on and went for his bike, Dick readied his grapple and they both took off.

***

Navigating the subway the next day was much easier now that he knew where he was going. Once again, he skipped the turnstiles and made his way down to the same dirty platform as before. He relied mostly on the vague muscle memory since the only signs for the platforms were either caked in too much dirt to make out, graffitied over entirely, or just rubbed off with age. It was inconvenient but Peter had a good idea that Gotham wasn’t exactly a popular tourist spot and definitely not this part of Gotham so there wasn’t much reason to fix the signs when the majority of people using it were already familiar.

He saw the man, Jim, again at one of the stops in the ‘Upper East Side’ but managed to narrowly avoid being spotted as he got on the other car. He didn’t waste any time getting out of there when it got to his stop, but this time didn’t avoid getting spotted, the sharp pang of *Watching* had him sprinting out the station.

As he wandered about, he realised that many of the shops in Old Gotham were just as obvious fronts as they were in The Bowery, just with less shitty products. He sighed to himself as he walked from store to store, trying to find things he needed. He had a mental checklist in order of what he deemed important; Backpack, Food, cleaning supplies, water, and a new shirt. He didn’t know how far $40 would get him so he settled for the cheapest option he could find of each thing (not that he wouldn’t have done that anyway). Eventually he’d managed to get something for each thing on his list. He had a pack of bottled water in the bottom of the backpack he’d bought, a large pack of peanuts, a thing jar of peanut butter, a pack of crackers, and carrots. As well as that he’d found some very cheap cleaning supplies that he’d stuffed into the backpack along with everything else. He’d grabbed a t-shirt from the Dollar store too since, even if it was more common than he’d like to imagine, walking around in a bloody t-shirt was stupid. In total he’d spent $36 which was more than he’d have liked to have spent but everything was necessary.

He stuffed the remaining $4 back in his shoe and tried to avoid drawing any attention with the overfull backpack. He didn’t quite manage, however, as while he stared longingly at some pastries in a window, he caught a duo staring at him, the blonde was watching him directly while the darker haired guy was attempting to be more subtle. It didn’t work due to the low alarm of his spider sense, and he decided to get out of there. He wanted to go back to the library but didn’t know if it was safe to. The librarian had been watching him the whole time and, sure, he did look quite shifty, but still... he sighed and started towards where he remembers the library being.

When he got in the librarian from before wasn’t at the desk, there being instead a teenager with bright dyed hair sitting at the desk. She did a slight double take when she looked up at him and he ducked his head, embarrassed that the overfull bag was drawing so much attention to him, but he stuck it out and made his way to a computer in the furthest corner. He was on edge until the *watching* finally subsided. He pushed his bag under the desk and went about researching, turning the reverse hearing aids on in an attempt to stop him listening into what the teenager at the desk was doing. It was just making his anxiety rise and he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

***

Harper could swear she just saw a young Dick Grayson walk into the library. She was here just as a favour to Babs while she sorted some stuff for Oracle in the back room and a kid with a stuffed backpack walked in. He ducked his head as soon as he saw her look at him but there was no hiding that face. Sure, the hair and eyes were wrong, but he was so close to the photos she’d seen the few times she’d been up in the manor that it threw her off.

She texted Babs about a kid coming in to use the computers and tried to keep an eye on him but realised how tense he looked (like he was preparing to flee at any second) and decided to not focus on him and instead just wait for the response from Babs.

She got the response faster than expected in the form of the door to the back opening and her wheeling out with wide eyes.

“Where?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper, Harper raised a brow but gestured to the corner where the kid was searching something and looking more and more distressed as he did. Babs logged into the computer and checked up on what the kid’s screen was. The searches were full of things that neither of them recognised, Harper having turned to Babs after not understanding and getting just as bewildered of a look.

Search History – Computer B1

Iron Man

Tony Stark

Tony Stark Iron Man

Hulk

Steve Rogers

Date

Who is Captain America

Gotham

Why is Gotham so fucked up

Are curses real?

Scarlet witch

Doctor Strange

Wizards

With each search the kid seemed to get more and more frantic, searching things that must’ve been related but that neither Harper not Babs could decipher the links between. Who the hell was Iron Man? Who was Tony Stark? Who was Steve Rogers? Who was Captain America? None of these people were anyone that they’d heard of but if the kid was searching for them then they must’ve had some kind of importance? Eventually the kid just stopped searching and leaned back in the chair, eyes glued to the screen and tense int he same way that he was when Harper had been watching him earlier... that was strange, could he tell they were watching him? As if on que his head snapped around and his eyes met hers. Babs was also looking, and he waved awkwardly before turning and shutting off the computer. Both women held their breath as he looked ready to bolt but he slowly made his way to the desk and smiled in a way that was so painfully fake that it ached.

“Uh hello Miss Babs.” He said, voice tight as he attempted to hide the clear anxiety.

“Hey, Peter,” Peter, hm? Cool. “Were you looking for something in particular?” He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pant pockets. There was a patch that Harper recognised as Jason’s. Who else knew about Dick’s mini-me? Did Dick? She snapped out of it when Peter spoke again,

“Ah uh, just looking for schools... yeah.” Babs, for her part, took the lie with grace, not even acknowledging that she knew it was false.

“Yeah? Did you find anywhere in particular?” He shrugged again, clearly not having thought that far.

“...No.” he didn’t offer any more information, not wanting to be caught in his lie. To give him credit, if she hadn’t known that he wasn’t looking at schools she probably wouldn’t have been able to tell he was lying. The anxiety was clear but that could be easily plaid off as being a new kid in Gotham: it was a pretty crap city to be unfamiliar with. Babs hummed and reached into a drawer, both women noticed how he tensed up at that and Harper couldn’t help but be grateful that he at least had some sense. You don’t survive in Gotham by trusting just anyone, even if Babs happened to be one of the few that he actually could. Obviously, she didn’t bring out a gun and Harper raised a brow at the Gotham Academy pamphlet (the one that she knew had a scholarship application form inside of it too).

Peter took it, much less tense now that he knew he wasn’t going to be shot by the librarian and tilted his head. Babs made a sort of wounded noise that Harper could only assume was due to it reminding her of Dick? Whatever the cause, Peter had heard it and looked even more ready to run than he had at the beginning of the conversation – which was saying something. He nodded as Babs explained something about it, but it was pretty clear that he wasn’t listening anymore and as soon as she was done speaking, he was gone. Harper was just surprised that he actually took the pamphlet, especially since he was so on edge and it was obvious (to her at least) that a tracker had been put in it... though, maybe not since it wasn’t normal for people to assume a librarian of all people is putting a tiny tracker on their person, even if they don’t trust easily.

Chapter Text

Babs didn’t know how to feel about that interaction with Peter. It was... strange, for one thing, but also concerning. Who were those people that he was looking up? They were clearly important to him, if how worked up he got over not finding any results was any indication, but there was nothing on them. Were they villains? The names of people in some kind of trafficking ring... woah, okay, calm it, Babs you’re starting to sound like Bruce. She took a long breath and looked over to Harper who was shelving some books as a way to give her some space to think through everything. Peter had felt the need to lie about what he was searching, and he was good at it. Even with her training, she didn’t know if she’d have figured it out without knowing that it was beforehand. This in of itself made her wary of whatever the connection was between him and those people; hence the Batman level paranoia.

She was glad she’d given him the scholarship form, if he actually handed it in then she’d be able to get at least a little bit more information on him. Something told her that he wouldn’t be very forthcoming on that though and the chances of him actually submitting the form were low. Did he even have anyone to sign it?

“Babs?” She looked to Harper who was standing at the desk with a raised brow, she sighed, “Does Dick know? I mean, it’s an assumption but Peter looked far too similar for it to be a coincidence.”

“Yeah, he knows. Dick found him in the alley next to his apartment a few days ago but he ran away. We know he’s living somewhere in crime alley but none of us have been able to track were exactly.”

“How many people know?” Harper asks incredulously.

“Me, Dick, Jason, Alfred, my dad, and now you.” she nods then pauses brow raised incredulously,

“Your dad knows? Before Bruce?” Babs sighs.

“Dick was very specific about not wanting Bruce to know... unfortunately my dad saw him on the subway and, well, he looks too similar to Dick for him to have not made the connection. He’s not looking into it, as far as I can tell, which is good.”

“And you have? Looked into it, I mean?”

“Yeah. There’s a death certificate for both Peter and his mom but their bodies were never found.” Harper stayed quiet for a long moment before getting off the counter and grabbing her bag.

“Jeez,”

“Yeah.”

“Was giving him the scholarship pamphlet a good idea if Bruce doesn’t know? Doesn’t he know the names of all the students he pays for?”

“Just their names, Peter doesn’t have a photo on the system yet, so he doesn’t really have reason to suspect...”

“Unless his name is Peter Grayson?” Barbara just sighed and nodded, she still didn’t know his surname, “Just, don’t get me involved, yeah? I’m all for it; getting to know Mini Dick once everyone else knows, but I don’t wanna be involved before that.”

Babs couldn’t blame her; she was only vaguely a part of the family and if she’d had the choice, she also would’ve have gotten involved until at least after Bruce had been informed. That was a lie, Dick was one of her best friends and she’d have been offended if she’d been told after Bruce if she was being honest with herself. She nods,

“Yeah, no worries. I wasn’t planning on you getting involved anyway.” She looked around the library and sighed, “You can get going now, I'm just going to set up the children’s area for the playgroup then read for a bit.”

“Alright. See you, Babs.”

“Thanks for the help.”

***

Peter was antsy by the time he got home, his spider-sense had been blaring that he was being followed from the library to the subway and he’d only barely managed to escape in the rush hour jam. He’d ended up stuck between an annoyed businessman, a gross smelling teen and a woman who seemed completely done at the idea of spending however long she was on the train for, trapped between a bunch of guys. Peter tried to appear as non-threatening as possible, without also making himself a target, which, with the stuffed backpack that he’d had to put between his legs with a leg through each strap just in case. (It’s not paranoia if at least 4 people ‘subtlety’ attempted to snatch it before he’d done that), wasn’t easy.

The apartment was still as rank as it had been before, something in him was grateful that it gave him something to do but at the same time, he sorts of wished it had magically been cleaned up. He’d never liked cleaning. Although Peter was sick of having to deal with magic and the implications of his apartment being magically cleaned were not something he wanted to deal with.

With his slight crisis for no reason out of the way, he finally started cleaning. He kept the food in his bag, not trusting any surface of the place before he cleaned it.

It had just passed midday when he got back but by the time it was finished the sun was setting. He’d put the food away on the counters (the cabinets were rotting, and they’d probably break if anything heavier than a fly sat in them). He switched his shirts and used the deodorant he’d swiped from the dollar store, it hadn’t felt good, but he needed it, and Peter could only imagine how he’d end up needing that last $4.

He emptied his backpack and the pamphlet that the librarian had given him fell out. He stared at it for a moment. The cover showed what was clearly some kind of private school, posh gates and a large gothic building that didn’t resemble at all what a school looked like in his head. He debated picking it up, he really missed school. Is it school that he missed or his friends? He decided that that question was best saved for another day and picked it up. The inside was full of posh people buzz words, ‘impressive facilities’, ‘focus on business literacy’. When he’d been looking for a school, May had offered a similar private school, it was way out of their budget but so were any non-public schools. The issue was that it was business focused when Peter had always been more of a science minded kid, so they found Midtown (which was easier to get a scholarship for and had a bus running near enough to his house).

This ‘Gotham Academy” reminded him of the first school, but he doubted there’d be anything as ‘safe’ in the stem fields, especially when you brought how many of the Gotham rogues had doctorates into it, (it was on the Wikipedia article okay?). He read through the pamphlet and absentmindedly headed out the window to his usual roof. He wasn’t as careful as he’d usually be with climbing walls, but he knew that if someone had spotted him, his spider sense would go off.

By the time he finished reading through all of it he was sitting on the roof, legs swinging off the side. The tuition at the end sent him reeling and he was once again reminded that he didn’t have anything in this world. Whatever hope he’d had of maybe getting slightly back to normal was crushed. He leant back, listening to the sounds of the city, the too frequent gunshots, the shouts, the curses, the revs of motorbikes, and the swish of grappling hooks. It was almost familiar.

If he pretended Batman had the same heartbeat as Matt, and Red Hood had the same as Frank. He could almost pretend he was home, in New York, the New York where people knew him. He could almost pretend that May was waiting for him to get back. He took a long breath and looked up at the sky, the stars weren’t at all visible; the Gotham smog too thick for that. He winced as the sound of an explosion reached his ears and he had to force himself to try to centre his hearing and focus on himself instead of listening for May’s heartbeat. He was so lost in trying to stave away a panic attack that he didn’t notice his spider sense’s warnings of *Coming, here, Watching, Friend, Worried* until there was a hand on his shoulder.

He startled, flinching away and scooting back away from the edge and the unknown person who’d taken a step back after seeing how he flinched. Peter reached up blindly to turn on the reverse hearing aids and as (most) of the background sound faded away he was finally able to hear the voice of whoever was speaking to him, it was familiar, but his eyes were clamped shut so he couldn’t tell.

“Hey, kiddo, I need you to breath for me, yeah? You’re okay. I promise.” There was something itching at his mind, but he couldn’t help himself as the word slipped out of his mouth,

“Dati?” He asked, voice cracking. The silence was suffocating, his breathing barely managing to slow down as the distraction of realising where he remembered the voice from covered up the fear that had been rushing through him from the explosion and unexpected touch.

The silence stretched on for a while until he managed to get his breathing to a controlled pace and finally opened his eyes. Standing above him was Nightwing, Peter could practically see his wide eyes through the whites of his lenses. He froze when they made eye contact and took a shaky breath, looking away.

“Oh.” he managed; voice hoarse.

“Y-you,” The vigilante swallowed, “Are you alright, kid?” He nodded, shutting his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah,” he looked back up at where the man was standing cautiously above him, this was twice he’d called a random man ‘dad’ in the last week, “Sorry, uh, for that. Your voice jus—” he waves his hand vaguely, feeling dizzy from how little oxygen he’d got in the last few seconds(?) minutes(?). Whatever it was it was making it hard for him to articulate what he was trying to get across. Nightwing gave him a soft smile and just nodded,

“It’s okay, kid. Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Peter frowned but, thinking over what state he must’ve been in when Nightwing found him, he figured it was probably a reasonable question, even if he was repeating himself.

“I’m fine.” He repeats, this time sitting up and stretching out his back.

“You got a new shirt, hm?” He asks and Peter looks down at the, now dirt covered, t-shirt which he’d bought earlier.

“Yeah. There was a dollar tree on the way to the library.” It’s not strictly the truth since he’d gone to Old Gotham specifically for the clothes, but he figured it was a safe bet to not tell the vigilante everything.

“Oh yeah?” He sat down a few feet away from Peter, far enough to give him space but also close enough to grab him, should the need arise, “You find anything interesting at the library?” He shrugged, not knowing how much he should really be telling the stranger. Just because he’d called him dad didn’t mean he actually was his father.

“I was just looking at schools, the librarian gave me a pamphlet for Gotham Academy but it’s way outta my budget.”

“Yeah? What is your budget, kiddo?” He picks up the pamphlet from somewhere and starts looking through it, which was weird but whatever.

“Zero dollars, zero cent,” The man snorted, “I had a scholarship for my old school.” Why on earth did he say that? He doesn’t even know if Midtown exists here, or if it’s the same type of school.

“That’s good. Scholarships are great. Gotham Academy has a scholarship program run by The Wayne Foundation; you know?” He pulled out a slip of paper that Peter hadn’t noticed in there before and passes it to him. It was a simple enough form, he read over it while Nightwing spoke, “So you didn’t go to a public school? What school did you go to?” He definitely didn’t want to tell him the name of the school so instead he settled for something vaguer.

“Uh, it was a STEM school. I’m good at science.”

“Really? That’s pretty cool.” He nodded, trying to ignore how genuinely interested the man sounded,

“Yeah, it was pretty cool. I liked school.” He was getting more and more disappointed as he read through the form. It required parental permission, signatures, and a bank account which was... less than ideal in his situation. It made sense but it was a barrier and the hope that maybe he’d be able to go to school were well and truly crushed now. There was a silence as he stared at the form.

“You good there?” He asked, voice soft and it took that to realise his eyes had flooded with tears. God, why was he being so emotional?

“I'm fine.” He grits his teeth and wipes his eyes, random bursts of emotion like this had always just made him dysphoric, and it hadn’t helped that his (not spider suit) binder had stretched out and didn’t feel like it was doing anything.

“Is there something wrong with the form?” He shrugged, again not really wanting to give up information to a vigilante who might try report it to CPS,

“Uh, can’t fill in most of it.” He says dryly putting the form on the ground and sitting back.

“What can’t you fill in?” he asks, looking down at the form as his eyes widened slightly. Peter paused, not willing to answer that, “It’s fine, you don’t have to answer.” he backpedals, probably having seen his expression.

There was another long pause and Peter went to stand up. He had a (mostly) clean apartment to get back to now.

“Wait.” Nightwing stood up too, “Wait. Um, you want to go to school, right?” Peter nodded, crossing his arms “Okay, okay, uh. Are you free tomorrow? I have a... friend, who can get all the information and stuff done for you.” he narrowed his eyes, taking a step away from the vigilante

“For what?” He asked, voice harsher than it’d been the whole week.

“For nothing,” he raised his hands in surrender, “nothing owed, okay? I just wanna help m- a kid get back into school.” Peter doesn’t relax, he could easily be lying but his heart is steady if not a little too fast for comfort.

“And if i am free tomorrow? Where do I get this? What happens?” Nightwing lets out a sigh of relief, even if he hasn’t confirmed that he’s agreeing it’s still better than the harsh distrust.

“The library? Just around midday, yeah? I swear this isn’t a trap, kid. I just care about you, uh, I care about all the kids in Gotham.” He rolls his eyes,

“Is that not stealing Red Hood’s thing?” He asks not relaxed but less suspicious of the bumbling vigilante. If it’d been a trap, he’d probably have it more worked out than this. He sighed and smiled fondly. It almost looks like he wants to ruffle his hair, odd.

“Maybe.” he looks around, the sun is gone, and the moon is rising high in the sky, “It’s late, Peter, you should get home, yeah?” He nods and stands, heading for the fire escape if only to avoid a panicking vigilante.

“Cya, Nightwing.” He says, slipping down with ease and immediately heading for a route that’d lose a trail, but his spider sense remains quiet, and Peter realised he’s not being followed him this time.

***

As much as Dick wanted to tail the kid back to where he was staying, just to make sure he got there safe (and that wherever he was staying was safe), he had calls to make and he really couldn’t waste 20 minutes trailing after the kid and end up losing him anyway.

He turned his comm back on and ignored the shouting from various members of the family. None were addressed to him, so he assumed Babs took the hint that he’d found Peter and let the lack of noise from him go unnoticed. He tapped to change to a private call with Babs and when she joined, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“What happened, Nightwing?” She was still cautious of names on comms despite her end being almost entirely safe (unless she was working from the library for whatever reason), “Is he okay?” There was no codename for Peter, so it made sense to just not mention him by name.

“He’s fine? Physically at least,” He sighed, maybe he should’ve taken some time to process the last however long before calling, “He said something about going to look up schools in the library? You gave him the scholarship pamphlet?” There was silence on the other line for a moment.

“He was looking up some names? It’s—” She sighed, “none of them seemed to exist. Not from what he found and nothing from when I was looking. And I was going to tell you about the form. I didn’t think you’d see him so soon, that’s what? 2 nights in a row?”

“Yeah. He was on the same roof. He was having a panic attack? I think...”

“Dick?” Her voice went soft, and he took a long breath,

“He called me Dati. His eyes were shut, and he was panicking but he heard my voice, and he called me Dati—” He had to stop on the bridge he was swinging across, taking a few breaths as Oracle processed,

“How did he explain it? Does he know your identity?” He could tell that she had other questions but also knew that those wouldn’t be anything he’d actually be able to answer.

“I don’t think so. He looked really surprised when he opened his eyes and it was Nightwing rather than whoever he was expecting,” He was expecting you. He tried to ignore that voice in his head, “He said my voice reminded him of someone.” There was silence on the other end and Dick finally felt comfortable moving again, starting his grapple back to the cave.

“What did he say about school?” He was honestly relieved at the change of subject; he still hadn’t fully processed the implications of Peter calling him that. He was then hit by the memory of what he’d said, and he swallowed,

“Uh, I might’ve, maybe, offered to get everything sorted for him with that because, reasonably, he can’t fill most of the form in.” Silence, “O?”

“You know this is going to mean that B will find out, right? I do most of the checks to make sure nothing has got out, but B does his own too.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, settled on a roof a few blocks from the cave entrance.

“Yeah. I was going to talk to him after patrol.”

“Really?”

“I just want my son safe. If getting him into school is where that starts, then I'd do anything.” He jumps down and finds where he stashed his bike, getting on and heading for the Batcave.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” The call ends and his ears are, yet again, assaulted by the noise of the main comms.

He pulled into the cave and sighed seeing Batman stood at the computer, knowing he couldn’t avoid the conversation anymore. He makes his way up to the computer and taps Bruce on the shoulder.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.”

Chapter Text

Peter was more than hesitant to actually go to the library; for all he knew there was some CPS worker, or anyone else, there to just grab him. He wasn’t about to go quietly though, and he was more than prepared to expose himself as a ‘meta’ as they call it here if it meant getting out of a bad situation.

He was deciding whether to go or not the entire way back to his apartment, all night, as well as all morning, and even as he got into the subway to old Gotham. He didn’t trust Nightwing. Why would he? But the idea of being able to go back to school was just too tempting so here he was, outside the Gotham Public library at just past 1. He’d been standing outside for longer than socially acceptable before finally pushing open the door.

He had his hood up as he walked in, trying to spot whoever was there for it before they spotted him... unfortunately the desk was next to the entrance so both Babs and none other than his dad spotted him as soon as he came in. His eyes widened and he tried to back track, but it didn’t work. Seeing the look of pure relief on his dad’s face mad him freeze long enough that he knew he couldn’t leave without at least saying something.

Letting his hood slip back down, he made his way over to the desk, hands in his pockets and refusing to meet Babs’ or his dad’s eyes.

“Kid,” The relief in his voice was palpable and Peter couldn't help but wince. He’d left the man with nothing to indicate where and why he’d gone, or if he’d be safe.

“Uh, Hi.” He nodded awkwardly, not sure what to say. He knew it was not his actual dad, but seeing that familiar face at the same age as he was in most of the surviving photos was almost too much, and he had to turn to stare at the desk itself.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He just nodded, what else was he meant to do? Sorry, dude, you’re an alternate universe version of my father who’s actually super dead?

It took a long few moments of silence for Babs to finally say something, her gaze ‘subtly’ flickered between both Peter and Dick,

“So, Peter. Are you here for the computers again?” He shook his head, looking around the library quickly but only seeing a guy around his age napping on a couch. Did Nightwing lie? He found himself taking an unconscious step back, wary of what this meant for him. Dick clearly knew Babs, they seemed to be talking for a while before he got there and Peter had assumed that she was the ‘friend’ of Red Hood’s that he’d mentioned which meant it’d make sense if she knew Nightwing, sort of, but not how his dad this man, was involved.

“I was told to meet someone here,” He mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hated this, he was tired and sweaty, and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry for a while. Dick made a face as his eyes scanned over Peter, making him self-conscious. After what felt like far too long, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Peter only tensed because he knew how bad this city was, but his spider-sense was quiet so he knew the man meant no physical harm, at least. He held out the paper.

“No strings attached. If you get in; if you don't... I just want you to have a shot. Okay?” He narrows his eyes, taking the paper and reading over it. It’s the scholarship form, basically filled in. If he had to guess, the address was the apartment he’d started at. He stared at it for a long few moments, taking in the man's full name (Dick Grayson not Parker). Something tugged at his memory, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was, so instead of dwelling on it, he wrote his name in the blank space for it. He hadn’t given his surname to anyone in this world, so it made sense that that was the only part left blank.

He took a pen from the pot on the desk and scribbled Peter Parker, on the line. His STEM focus showed through in his handwriting, always more like Tony and Bruce’s than Steve or Foggy’s. His was more chicken scratch that belonged on a blueprint than the neat curves of an essay writer. He couldn’t help but notice Dick’s handwriting. It wasn't smooth and neat but not as messy as his own. The letters were sharper than they’d usually be and there were a few abandoned dots above certain letters like he’d gone to write an accent but remembered at the last minute that it wasn’t necessary. Did he speak or write another language?

Peter couldn’t help but stare at it longer than necessary: suddenly struck with the thought of if this was what his dad’s handwriting looked like; He had only been able to work with Dr Conners for a short amount of time and (as shameful as it was to admit) he didn’t even remember whether or not they looked through his dad’s notes.

“Peter?” There was a soft voice, and he nearly jumped, snapping himself out of the spiral as he looked up at Babs.

“Where do I hand this in?” He asks, ignoring the clear questioning look on her face.

“Just give it here. I can submit it for you as long as all the info is correct.” He nodded and passed the paper, clearly ready to bolt. Peter moved himself out of the way of the attempt from Dick to put his hand on his shoulder, stepping back again. He didn't trust either of them. He had been betrayed one too many times to be so open and the only reason he’d given them his name was because he obviously didn't exist in this world and it’s not like they’ll find any info from that.

“Um, thanks.” He said, turning to face Dick and ignoring the barely hidden hurt in his expression., “I'm gonna go now.” He nodded and practically sprinted out.

***

Babs stared down at the form in her hands, eyes glued to the name. Dick was too scared to ask but he knew it was coming, and he knew it was better to get it over with sooner rather than later. She handed it to him without question and when he saw the name written there his heart broke. If he wasn’t sure who Peter was before, then he was now.  The words ‘Peter Parker’ stared back at him with an unending barrage of memories. Memories of the brown-eyed woman who he fell in love with properly. He took a long breath in and let Babs take the paper back to send off to admissions. He let himself slump into the chair beside her and tried to focus on bringing himself back to the current moment. Babs let him have the time in silence, busying herself with various tasks while Duke, who’d been napping in a chair after his patrol, stared tiredly between them both. Dick wasn’t prepared to explain anything that was happening but there seemed to somehow be some recognition in his eyes and he looked between where Peter had run out and the two adults.

"Dick?" He asked, still tired from patrol but Babs just shook her head as Dick stared down at the floor, his focus completely on the paper that confirmed everything he'd been thinking about. Duke narrowed his eyes but still stood up and stretched. His gear was hidden well enough and he knew the night-shift would collect it from the roof that night anyway so he was ready to leave.

"Have a good day, Duke." He nodded at Babs, glancing at Dick for another moment before leaving. When the library door shut, Dick slumped back,

"The whole family is gonna know by tomorrow at this rate." Babs just nodded and rolled over to him, moving herself onto the couch beside him and letting his head drop on her shoulder.

"You spoke to Bruce?" It wasn't really a question, after yesterday it was guaranteed, Dick wouldn't be surprised if she'd been watching on the cameras but he indulged her anyway, just to get his complaints off his chest.

"He reacted as expected. I'm just glad Damian is staying with the Kent's because we were both shouting." She hummed, Dick and Bruce's fights were well known within the family, mostly because you could hear them from most places in the manor but Dick had done well in avoiding starting an argument at its full extent around the youngest. He groaned and shut his eyes for a long moment before looking at her.

"I don't know what he wants from me! He spent half the time shouting that I should've been more suspicious and shaming me for 'putting the family at risk' as if it's not my own son! He expects me to treat him like some kind of time-bomb trap! I didn't even tell him that Peter's probably a meta because god knows how he'd take that! He was half ready to track him down and drag him into the cave as it was!" He stood up and paced for a little while.

They stayed in the relative silence of the empty library for nearly an hour as Dick paced and occasionally mentioned something specific that Bruce had done, while Barbara let him be. She'd known him since they were young and she knew how to handle him when he was upset.

"What if Peter doesn't ever want me in his life?" She hummed, realizing he'd gotten stuck in thoughts unrelated to his original problem and it was probably time to pull him back in.

"Then that's his choice. You've still got the chance to look after him, at least a little bit, as Nightwing," He grimaced and she amended it, "but it's not going to come to that. Even if he doesn't want you as a dad he's already shown that he's not entirely opposed to being connected to you in some way." He sighed yet again and Babs lifted herself back into her chair so she could bump him out of his thoughts. He smiled but it was clearly strained and she relented, going back to the desk to start packing up.

"C'mon, boy wonder, let's get some food and you can stay at mine if you still wanna avoid Bruce." he smiled more sincerely this time and leaned on the desk while she packed up and they headed out. They went back to Bab's apartment and ordered food, ending up talking about random things and eating, ignoring their texts and just enjoying the company of each other.

***

Peter had never had to deal with this before. Sure, May wasn't exactly well off, and sometimes that led to groceries being limited to store-brand and necessities only… but she'd always made sure to not buy the same things every week. He'd always had some kind of meal available to him for dinner, he'd never had to eat the same lukewarm, sticky, peanut butter on already stale crackers. Sometimes it was a good snack but it was sickly and not something he'd ever wanted to eat for every meal.

To say he was sick of it was an understatement. The carrots had been a lifesaver but they weren't enough to curb his urge to eat something warm and comforting.

That's how he found himself in the line for one of the Wayne-funded soup kitchens that Red Hood had mentioned and drawn on his tissue map. He got there when the line was most of the way down the street but that seemed to be early enough because behind him the line went even further. It took nearly an hour of standing in the cold to get in but it was all worth it for the heating and smell of warm food. He couldn't bring himself to care about the stench of unwashed bodies, instead he focused on the floor in front of his feet.

The building was one large hall with benches and a station for the food. it was almost full already Peter found himself reaching for his hearing inhibitors a couple of times due to the noise, before realizing each time that they were already on their highest setting. The comfort that came from the warmth of the room was almost completely wiped out by the sheer volume of shouts, fights, and even murmuring.

He was so distracted he nearly got butted out of line as it was his turn but he managed to keep himself steady as he grabbed the tray and a sealed water bottle. He ducked his head when he noticed the blonde volunteer who was serving him staring a little too calculatingly and headed into a corner further away from the fights and hopefully out of view of the volunteers.

He opened the bottle and sighed as the condensation cooled his hands, he wiped it on his face in an attempt to cool the stressed flush then shut it and put it behind him. The food was some kind of stew and a piece of stale bread. The carrots were soggy and the meat was tough but he couldn't bring himself to care, instead, he mopped the leftover broth with the bread, letting the chew distract him from a fight that had broken out nearby.

He tried to ignore the shouts of volunteers and encouragement from people around the two. His ears started to ring, high-pitched and disorientating. Worse was when his spider-sense suddenly screamed at him to move and he narrowly avoided getting slammed by one of the men who'd been thrown across the room. He tipped over his water and it soaked into his top, sticking to his skin as he stood up suddenly and tried to calm himself down.

Walking out of the building as his spider-sense blared and the ringing in his ears got more high-pitched and was replaced with the sounds of life across the city; the swing of a grappling hook, two friends watching a movie, and laughing, police sirens and phones left ringing, a few stumbling drunk men, the stomping of boots on gravel, the smell of gunpowder. The louder the sounds from outside, the harder it was to notice where he was going. The blaring of his spider sense sent him stumbling away from something he hadn't consciously recognized.

He whimpered as he backed into a wall, his vision fuzzy as the sounds of the city overwhelmed him and he barely managed to keep himself upright. The gunpowder's smell got closer while the stench of beer got worse and he shut his eyes tight.

For a moment Peter was in his childhood bedroom. May and Ben were out but he was not home alone, Skip was babysitting him, but he'd always hated that word, he was too smart to be babysat, so instead he was 'hanging out' with Skip. And he was showing him a magazine he'd brought with him but Peter just wanted to read the weekly space magazine. He was sitting against the wall, shutting his eyes so as to not see the images on the page, all the while that voice was whispering in his ears. He shook his head but instead hit the wall, meeting gritty brick instead of the smooth wallpaper in his room and there was no longer the feel of hot breath against his neck. He snapped out of the memory.

When everything finally faded out and he was able to (somewhat) think again, he was on a dirty gravel floor, he couldn't hear anything properly but that was probably for the best. He blinked and looked down, realizing his knees were bloody, and scratched along with tears in the new pants he'd bought, his shirt was also torn and that's all he thought about, not the why or the how, just the result of whatever had happened that he'd blocked out.

"…This was a new shirt." He muttered, voice breaking as he let himself slump properly against the brick wall behind him.

"I'll get you a new shirt." A modulated voice responded and he jumped, eyes looking up for the first time and he saw Red Hood, crouched a meter away from him, he blinked, his mouth opened and closed a few times but he just shrugged and took a long breath. Finally, he looked around him, he was in an alley, it was dark and the rain had just started to pour, it covered the weaker scent but the smell of blood was pungent and he was not sure if it was his own, Red Hood or some unknown party's. Really, he was too out of it to be able to put anything together, not that he'd admit that. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.

"Uh, I'm gonna go now." he tried to stand, wobbling but not falling. Hood seemed unhappy with the development and he stood too, quick enough to make Peter flinch. He sighed and took a step back,

"I'll take you to the clinic, they'll have clothes there." He stared blankly at the masked man.

"I'm not going to a clinic. I just need to sleep."

"Kid—"

"Don't 'kid' me." Peter snapped, his voice hoarse from overuse, he was shivering and there was blood on his fists, he wiped it on what was left of his shirt, trying to ignore the way his stomach dropped at how exposed his binder was.

"Okay. Okay." Red Hood shrugged off his jacket and threw it next to him. Not hearing the telltale buzz of a tracker, he picked it up, put it on, and pulled it around himself.

"I'm going home."

"Okay. Will you let me walk you?" He didn't want him to but Peter knew he was in no state to defend himself so he just nodded. He took a breath and listened for the sounds of the surrounding area. He slowly made his way towards it, staring at the floor and keeping an ear on Red Hood too. It took longer than it usually would but he gets there.

"You can leave now." He could tell the other wanted to say something but held his tongue.

"Get some sleep, kid."

"Whatever." He waited til the sounds of boots moving were actually gone before sticking to the side wall and climbing. By the time he got in he was exhausted beyond belief, barely registering anything. There were a few moments of awareness as he curled up into the warmth of the brown jacket and was able to notice properly the taste of bile and blood in his mouth before he fell soundly asleep.

***

The unplanned night off was really what he'd needed. Dick had been pushing himself with staying out later as Nightwing, just for a chance to see Peter and ensure his safety, but he was getting older and it had put too much strain on himself.

His sleep on Barbara's couch was the best he'd had in a while and he managed to wake up in a good mood despite the crick in his neck. He stretched and folded the blankets he used, putting them back in the basket and moving to the kitchen where he made coffee for himself and Babs. His phone was sitting, untouched, in the cutlery drawer where he'd left it last night and, while he was tempted to check it, he decided to leave it for a little longer and made breakfast for Babs. He'd gone to sleep earlier than he usually would but he knew she'd have stayed up to help the rest of the bats. Despite being the one to constantly preach that they should take more breaks, there was rarely a night where the oracle wasn't coordinating in some way (something they were more than a little reliant on, not least due to their awful communication skills as a family).

He made toaster waffles for her and put them next to the coffee, ready for her when she finally emerged from her room, meanwhile, he sat on the counter and snacked on cereal that he knew for a fact was only there because of him. He glanced at his phone as it buzzed. He'd only left one chat unmuted and his eyes widened as he remembered this and scrambled for his phone.

There was a thread of messages from Jason from last night and he scrolled through, regret pooling in his gut as his heart almost stopped. Babs chose that moment to come out as he was staring at his screen, horror etched into his expression.