Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason Peter Todd isn’t fond of reality — his reality, to be exact. And, to be fair, he has little reasons to change his mind.

His early childhood consists of a father who was never there, a mother who was too out of it to mind him, and hours of fending for himself on the streets. His later childhood is only slightly better: Alfred, a safe roof over his head, access to nutritious meals, a warm bed, Alfred (because the man deserves to be mentioned more than once), access to a vast private library, warm showers, Alfred, and whatever else he benefits from by being under Bruce Wayne’s wing. Note that it is only slightly better as he met a tragic end at an early age with no one avenging his untimely death.

Never mind that he actively chose to do everything that led to his death. No one can — nor should — really blame his fifteen-year-old self for merely wanting to experience a love from the same blood. After all, he never would’ve thought that that love would taste explosively like blood and torture.

Jason learned early, although the finality didn’t came in until much later, that the worlds beyond his own are more preferable. It doesn’t matter if the worlds are presented through printed pages of a book, through acted scenes of a movie or a show, or— Or through hallucinations of his sleep.

Truthfully, he’s not a fan of dreaming. Out of the aforementioned three mediums, dream’s the one he has the most intense love-hate relationship with. Sure, not everything he has picked up of the other two media is good (he has his fair share of those he couldn’t stomach finishing because of how horrible they are), but at least he’s completely aware the entire time he’s consuming them. He can’t say the same for dreams, especially since they evade his senses without consent.

Worst of it all, dreams are the only ones that place him at the center as a main character — with everything through his eyes — and the only ones he can’t control in any way.

It doesn’t help that his dreams usually take close inspirations from his reality: morphing events until he gets some sort of uncanny valley between real and not real — which just makes everything worse.

Yet, as much as he doesn’t prefer the different worlds dreams provide, his favorite escape from his reality actually stems from there.

In that world, he’s not Jason Peter Todd. Not orphaned by a mother who overdosed, nor killed with one that abandoned him. He’s not Jason Todd-Wayne, either. Not picked off the streets after stealing tires, nor dead by fifteen. Not Robin, Red Hood, nor any other alias he has already forgotten. No white streak, no toxic green, no death to avenge, no vengeance to carry.

Instead, he’s just Jason Parker— Ben Parker, really. Jason Benjamin Parker, as it reads on an ID card he manages to glance at once, who is part of Queens College, CUNY’s literature department and who is May Parker’s husband.

But Ben isn’t just those two things, albeit Jason can argue those are probably the most important to him. He’s also Richard Parker’s brother (who eerily resembles Dick), Mary Parker’s brother-in-law (who looks like Kori, had the latter been born human), and Peter Parker’s paternal uncle.

Peter Benjamin Parker who coincidentally bears both his middle names from his dream and reality; who owns a piece of his heart from the moment Ben peeked inside his hospital bassinet; and who he has seen grow from a newborn to a toddler for the last few months.

"It’s okay, buddy," Jason hears himself console the crying toddler in his arms. He runs his hand over the latter’s back repeatedly in a combined effort to provide comfort. "Just let it out."

At the encouragement, Peter cries harder and almost wails. Ben doesn’t recoil nor move an inch away from the sudden sound that comes too close to his ear. If anything, he just holds his nephew tighter.

"I wanna go with Mommy and Daddy," Peter cries onto his neck. Jason feels his — Ben’s — heart break even further than it already has. It isn’t his and May’s first rodeo in babysitting while Richard and Mary are away for a work trip, but the first few moments after the latter’s departure never gets easier emotionally.

"I know, buddy," he says in sympathy, "I’m sorry."

"Honey." May’s sweet voice calls him from somewhere else in the house. His heart skips, as if he still hasn’t gotten used to the endearment even after years of marriage. "The cookies are ready. Ask Peter if he wants some."

Ben doesn’t even need to actually ask, as his nephew perks up as soon as his wife utters the magic word. "Cookie?"

"Chocolate chip," he informs him while wiping the tears off of cheeks with his thumb. "Your favorite."

Peter’s eyes widens with excitement. Jason wants to laugh. His — other-him’s — nephew is adorable. "I want, please."

And just like that, his eyes have dried. His parents’ departure is momentarily forgotten in favor of chocolate chip cookies.

They wind up in the kitchen with the cookies in question and their respective glasses of fresh milk. May sits across their nephew while he sits next to him. Peter’s laugh rings out their home after he notices the milk mustache that decorates Ben’s upper lip.

Ben and May share a subtle look of triumph for successfully distracting Peter from his sadness in record time.

The three of them eventually wrap the day up with Star Wars playing in the television. Ben’s arm is loosely draped on his wife’s shoulders and his fingers are interlocked with hers. Peter is comfortably snuggled between them. It’s a peace and completeness Jason hasn’t experienced for himself.

In the world he dreams of, he’s just a civilian with the most mundane life possible. Yet, he feels content and happy — much happier than he really is as a billionaire’s adopted son.

In the world he dreams of, he’s loved in a way that feels right; that is easy to accept. He loves back effortlessly, with no guilt nor reservations.

In the world he dreams of, the notion of love doesn’t scare him. It’s not something he prefers to stay caged within him — nor between printed lines of poems and classics.

A part of him wishes everything he’s done — and will do — leads to the same fate. However, with the blood on his hands and heavy weight on his back, he knows it’ll be near impossible. So, dreaming of such a life is all he has.

He’ll gladly take that over nothing at all.

Jason takes up daydreaming. If he remembers correctly, he used to do it a lot when he was younger — especially when he still roamed Crime Alley’s streets as a kid. He didn’t have the means to go to the library then, since his free time was better spent finding ways to eat. Daydreaming became a staple of distraction for him then, notably during the nights his stomach grumbled too strongly. He naturally stopped soon after Batman took pity on him, as he found other ways to occupy his mind.

He wants to place the entire blame on the galas he’s forcefully dragged into attending for his unconscious decision to take it up again. However, although they’re the primary beneficiaries with the amount of whispers about him that he has to ignore (not everyone is fond of his two-toned hair, as it apparently looks ‘improper’ and ‘unprofessional’), galas aren’t the main root of his resolve to add ‘daydreaming’ to the list of mediums he escapes his reality by. Rather, that title belongs to his favorite escape — the dreams of Ben Parker’s life.

Without meaning to, he has allowed those dreams to occupy his waking thoughts as well. More often than not, he finds himself wishing a semblance of that life seeps through his. Obviously not the part where Dick’s lookalike and human-Kori perishes in a tragedy, but for . . . everything else. (For May and Peter.)

Jason calls dibs on partnering with Dick during Selina’s gala. He could’ve easily partnered with anyone else or chose to linger alone, but a part of him wants to be close to his first brother. Not necessarily because his dream-brother came back dead some dreams ago, but because he’s now considering the possibility that his nephew from there can also exist in his reality.

It’s just rather unfortunate that the equivalent of his nephew’s parents are currently exes. Which means he has to do some cupid work before his nephew can actually exist. He’s not one to meddle with his siblings’ and friends’ affairs but, for his nephew, he’s admittedly a little tempted to start.

He wonders if his nephew will be the same in this world. Will he still have a slightly lighter hair than Dick because of Kori’s red? Will he still have Kori’s eyes? Will still look predominantly like Dick? Will he still have Kori’s curiosity and Dick’s restlessness? Will he still be named after him?

For both of their sakes, he hopes the answer to the last one is ‘no.’ From what he has gathered in his dreams, Ben Parker has actually done something deserving of being his nephew’s namesake. Jason hasn’t — and never will, as far as he’s concerned. Dick and Kori better not consider it, just because he knows both of them.

Of course, it’ll be a different story if he plays an important role in his nephew’s conception. Which means to help his nephew arrive in this world is to basically guarantee sharing his name. Fuck.

What if he drags Roy into his plan? What if he gets Roy to play cupid in his place?

Ugh. No. Absolutely not. Because that’ll mean his nephew will be named Roy or William, after Roy William Harper Jr. Somehow, that doesn’t sit better in his stomach.

He needs a drink.

"Don’t name your kid after me," Jason voices seriously without even bothering to look at his brother. He doesn’t need to, as he trusts the latter to understand that he’s talking to him. After all, there are only the two of them around since the flock that surrounded them has long dispersed.

Dick looks at him, "What?"

He catches his bafflement, but merely offers a quick shake of his head. There’s no need for him to understand it right now. He’s sure his brother will remember this conversation at the perfect time he needs to. "I’m getting us drinks."

"Hey, wait, Jason—" He doesn’t look back, nor does he acknowledge his call.

Jason looks at his watch, the one Alfred forced him to wear because it goes with his outfit. Truthfully, he doesn’t care for watches. For one, the sleeves of his long-sleeved button-up and suit jacket cover his wrists. Not to mention, it doesn’t really matter what time it is: if it’s a Wayne gala, they have to stay for the whole thing; if it’s hosted by a family friend, they leave an hour before the end; otherwise, two. Bruce had to make that into a rule after all of them skipped not even two hours into an event that one time.

Unfortunately, since Selina is a close family friend (for the lack of a better term, really), that means they need to stay an hour later than otherwise. Which, according to his watch, is still a couple hours away. He honestly doesn’t think he can survive another two hours with all the glamor and the elite all around him, even if Selina made an effort to tune all the suffocating aspects down. But, alas.

He debates asking a waiter if they have anything stronger than a champagne and a red wine, but ultimately decides against it. For his sanity, he hopes the fruit punch he grabbed some of is spiked.

He heads back to where he left Dick after one disappointing sip from his glass. And, just when can spot his brother’s lone figure at a close distance, he feels something solid bump onto him.

"Woah there, kid." It’s a boy: who is a little younger than Damian, if he has to guess purely based on the height. He miraculously steadies him without spilling anything. "You good?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that." The boy straightens himself without looking up, his eyes remaining downward as he gives himself a quick once-over. Jason feels his brother slide next to him, but he doesn’t do anything to acknowledge his proximity. "I was looking for my aunt."

Jason isn’t prepared when he finally looks up. For the eyes that meet his is green — all green. Inhumanly so.

Then comes the realization that he feels like he’s staring at a mirror.

He almost forgets how to breathe.

"Your aunt?" He echoes as his mind races. The boy can easily pass as a small version of him, save for the green that devoured everything and the slightly lighter shade of dark brown. He mindlessly passes Dick his drink, as his hands no longer feel capable of holding two glasses without dropping at least one of them. "Who’s— Do you need help finding her?"

He can’t recall any instance where he could’ve possibly lapsed in judgment and unintentionally fathered a child. Nor does he remember anyone who might try to look for him but doesn’t know enough—

No, that’s a lie. There had been one who might fit the criterion. A woman— a girl around his age— who took him in and cared for him after he woke up from a coma with no memories.

But that had been before he took a dip in a Lazarus Pit. Any child he could’ve unknowingly sired couldn’t’ve possibly—

"Oh, no, no, that’s okay!" And that’s when he sees it. Under all the physical mutations brought forth by the Pit is something that unexplainably screams Dick. And Kori. "I’m sure she’s just around here somewhere! I’ll find her!"

The boy is Peter. His nephew.

There’s nothing to doubt about it.

Does that mean the aunt he’s looking for is May? (He wants her to be, not that he’ll willingly admit that.)

Jason wants to ask a million different questions. But he can’t. Not when he can’t articulate them amidst the incoming flood. Not when the tween in front of him is obviously not exactly the same one he — Ben — helped raise. "If you say so."

There has to be something that happened between now and his latest dream about Ben Parker’s life. Something that he hasn’t seen yet and can explain how a different, younger version of his nephew is currently standing in front of him.

"Say, have we met before?" The smartest move is to watch the father and son interact, so he can gauge more information. Unfortunately, his eyes are glued on his nephew — and they’re refusing to move to have his brother in his sight as well.

Thanks to that, he supposes, he catches the lack of recognition in his nephew’s eyes and body language. "Definitely not," the boy denies easily. Awkwardly, almost. "I’m not from around here."

Jason is puzzled. Dick and Richard Parker look relatively the same, save for the latter’s need for glasses. Why doesn’t his nephew recognize his own father?

The answer comes with a sharp ache guised as a dream he has tried to forget.

"Uncle Ben." Peter is younger than he is now, but definitely older than when he cried in his arms during Richard and Mary’s joint funeral. His nephew’s eyes are red with tears streaming down his cheeks. "Can I call you ‘Daddy’ instead?"

"Peter . . ." Ben’s voice is notably uncertain. He squats down to his nephew’s level. "What— What brought this on? Is someone being mean to you at school?"

Peter sniffles. "They’re making fun of me for not having a Mommy and Daddy." Ben instinctively reaches out when a new tear slips down. His nephew unconsciously leans onto his touch. "They call me an ‘orphan’."

Guilt claws Jason’s chest, as if it’s his fault his nephew can no longer remember his father. He doesn’t know how to fix it. And, worse, a small part of him doesn’t even want to.

Chapter Text

Jason admits he can be quite . . . rash. Sometimes. More than he’s willing to admit.

He can’t always defend his rashly made choices, but his latest one joins the selective few exceptions.

"Didn’t waste time, I see," Selina greets him from the single sofa. She’s holding a porcelain cup close to her lips with one hand and scratching a black cat on her lap with another. She isn’t even a bit phased about his unannounced visit through her window in an ungodly hour.

It isn’t his first time dropping by unexpectedly in her apartment — nor is it his first time entering through her window. He has been a reluctant regular in casual tea parties with her, Harley, and Pam just because of how frequent he unknowingly crashed them.

Jason opts not to acknowledge her greeting directly. He gestures towards the black cat with green eyes. "Is that a new one?"

"Yes," she affirms as she sets her tea cup down on the side table. "Her name is Widow. Peter named her."

He raised a brow at the mention of the very reason he went there for. "And Peter?"

She doesn’t miss a beat. "His aunt named him."

He doesn’t know what to make of that answer. Aunts don’t usually name their nephews. Unless, of course, a tragedy struck the parents before a name is given. But Peter’s parents are still kicking, albeit one is currently off-world.

"His parents are still alive," he blurts.

It’s Selina’s turn to raise a brow in question. "And how do you know that for sure?" She stills her hand running over Widow, much to the cat’s displeasure. "I told you and your brother to stay away."

Jason is well aware they live in Gotham. Strange things happen in Gotham on a daily. Nothing fazes its citizens anymore, as they have collectively adopted the uncaring attitude in varying degrees. They have adapted to them unbeknownst to themselves, like they have been conditioned so without their knowledge. He isn’t excluded to that mentality and as is Selina, but . . .

He’s still hesitant to outright say he knows who Peter is because he has dreamed of him. He knows how insane it sounds. Gotham may be a city with a killer clown and a literal two-faced attorney (amongst other crazy things) disturbing the peace, but a line has to be drawn somewhere. He doesn’t know where that line will go. For all he knows, it goes right before ‘manifesting a nephew into existence with sheer will.’

"I don’t need a DNA test to know he’s a mini version of my brother," he opts to say instead. It’s a vague truth. It’s a lie through omission. He doesn’t care, just as long as it works.

Her brow stays where it is. "He’s a mini version of you."

The correction doesn’t faze him. After all, he already spent a good moment panicking at the thought that he accidentally became a deadbeat dad. "You only have me for reference." I have him and myself goes unsaid.

Although she and Dick have met enough times, both in their civilian identities and outside of them, she hasn’t met him when he isn’t wearing any of his masks. She hasn’t met him when his walls are the lowest and he’s mostly his true self. Not like he has.

Selina eventually nods once before resuming to stroke Widow. He takes it as a reluctant acceptance. The words fair enough seem to float in the air without being uttered.

Jason invites himself to the couch, only to find another cat — with a white coat and blue eyes this time — already comfortable on its backrest. "That’s a new one, too," he can’t help but blurt. He gives the cat a respectable distance.

"I highly doubt you came here just to meet my new cats," she prompts him indirectly.

He doesn’t need more than that, as it’s already deep into the night. He understands he has no time to beat around the bush any longer than he already has. Not to mention being around the elites is always more taxing than they can afford.

So, he saves the pretenses. "I want to know how Peter ended up under your protection."

Selina doesn’t reply right away, as though she’s mulling over her words. He doesn’t call it out, in fear of being forcefully kicked out before he gets any answers. He waits. "I knew his aunt since she was child." And lets the silence do the elaboration prompting for him. "That’s all you’re getting about that."

He doesn’t dwell on the vagueness. Instead, he chooses to trek on the same path, but through different means. "How did Peter end up with his aunt?"

This time, her response comes quicker. "It’s not my story to tell."

It’s just rather unfortunate that her response — or, rather, lack thereof — ultimately gives him nothing to go on again. He stares as his mind comprehends the possible implications of what she isn’t telling him. None of them appease him, as each one seems to be worse than the previous.

"Selina," he starts to say, "you gotta throw me a bone here. I just need an answer why your new stray is Dick’s literal carbon copy."

"Whether he resembles Dick, you, or Tim — it doesn’t matter. It’s a mere coincidence."

Jason’s mouth thins. While he understands where she’s coming from, given her apparent closeness to Peter’s aunt, he’s his nephew. He isn’t just her family; he’s his, too. She’s not being fair.

He just wants to trace how his nephew from another life ended up in this life. Is that too much to ask? It’s not like he’s willing to sit by and watch now that it’s implied to him that his nephew might be in danger, either.

(Strip of all the excuses, he really just wants to be in his life — and he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Not that he’ll willingly admit that to anyone.)

"I know you know that’s bullshit. You wouldn’t be so against Dick and I knowing him otherwise." He calls her bluff. "If Peter’s in any trouble—"

Her hard stare makes him halt. She isn’t trying to intimidate him — nor make him stop, per se. Rather, her stare weighs as if she’s seeing through him. Like she’s judging whether his inevitable presence around Peter will be good for the latter. At least that’s what he thinks— hopes she’s doing.

He matches her stare, as if he’s challenging her to see a flaw in the lengths he’s willing to go for his nephew. Unspoken as they may be at the moment.

(There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his nephew. He’ll gladly set the world a flame if it keeps him warm.)

Eventually, she sighs. "Fine. If you’re still hang up on this the day after tomorrow, come back for lunch. I’ll talk to his aunt."

Jason can live with that. Up until several hours ago, his nephew is either still far away into the future or a mere constant fragment of his imagination. Now that the latter actually exists, waiting two days is a small price to pay for the life he has only dreamed of.

"I will," he utters like a promise.

He never once thought he’ll be once step closer to living a semblance of Ben Parker’s life, yet here he is. For once, his reality doesn’t look as gloom as Gotham’s nights.

Jason realizes a little too late that entering Selina’s apartment through her window — like he normally does — might not be the best first impression he’ll make to Peter and his aunt. Alas, that wisdom only came to him when he was promptly pushed on the wall with a dagger pressed on his neck before he can even gather his bearings from climbing into the window.

His training kicks in before he gets a look at his assailant. Unfortunately, so does theirs. They scuffle. Amidst their dance, his ears pick up voices that sound eerily like Pam and Harley.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Strangely enough, he can also hear the crossed arms in Pam’s bemused tone.

"Shh! I’m recording!"

It is only when he successfully flipped his and his assailant’s position does he finally sees their familiar face.

It’s May. His— Ben’s wife.

Suddenly, he’s no longer in Selina’s apartment in Crime Alley. Suddenly, he’s in the Parker home in Queens. It’s just him and May, alone in their own world. "Wonderful Tonight" hums softly in the background.

"Dance with me," he offers his hand for her to take.

May chuckles at his antic before taking his hand. He guides it to rest on his neck while his hands find solace on her lower back. They sway in time with the beat of the music, content and in love.

The cool metal of a dagger being back on his neck brings him back to reality. As it seems, his wife — er, assailant — took his surprise to her advantage and retook the upper hand. He feels the blade press harder on his skin, but not hard enough to draw blood.

"What do you want with Peter?" May hisses. At the mention of his nephew’s name, something in his brain clicks. She’s the aunt Selina was talking about — the one the latter knew since the former was a kid; the one that sought the latter’s protection sometime after meeting his nephew.

(There’s a reason why he never even considered Selina as May’s counterpart in this life, even if she was the first of Peter’s aunts he met. Somehow, he knew he would recognize his wife’s counterpart the moment their eyes meet. And he was right.)

His amusement bubbles from his chest and displays as a smirk. "Hello to you, too, honey," Ben and May’s term of endearment easily slips past his lips. Although he utters it like an inside joke only he knows, it actually feels right to say. Somehow.

It’s definitely worth it, even if May hikes the dagger to the upper part of his throat. Her glare intensifies. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Nick his throat, sugar!" Harley encourages somewhere in the other part of the room. She sounds characteristically excited.

Jason holds the hand that’s gripping the dagger to prevent it from following Harley’s advice. He compartmentalizes the spark that almost makes him withdraw his hand as quickly as it touches hers. "I come in peace," he says as he lifts his chin higher in an attempt to avoid the weapon. "Selina invited me to lunch."

He watches as realization dawns her face. The dagger slowly moves away from him. "You’re the one she told me about."

He feels cold as soon she steps away from him. He attributes it to the fact that they’re no longer tussling and thinks nothing of it. "My name’s Jason," he offers his hand for her to take.

She takes it hesitantly, "Marjorie. I’m Peter’s aunt."

He takes that moment to look at her. She doesn’t look exactly like she did in his dreams, with her muscular built and hair above her shoulders. Her eyes are duller, too, like she has seen horrors he can only begin to imagine. She looks relatively the same otherwise, even if a bit younger.

Before he can say anything in response, Selina cuts in. "I see the two of you have met. Good." He isn’t sure at what point she has joined them in the room. But, based on her dialogue, she must’ve just arrived. "We can eat as soon as Peter’s here—"

"—I’ve been here, though," a new voice interrupts. Jason doesn’t need to follow the direction of its source to know that it’s the boy in question. Nevertheless, he does so because he wants to see his face again. "I heard the window open."

Had Peter been anyone else, Jason would’ve side-eyed him. He is trained by Batman and the League of Assassins. He doesn’t make detectable noise unless he wants to. And he definitely didn’t want to when he opened the window. Matter of fact, if his own sharp hearing is to be believed, he doesn’t even think it actually made any sound at all. And, yet, Peter sounds as certain as he feels. His nephew can’t be lying.

Unfortunately, no one bats at eye on his statement — as if it makes perfect sense for Peter to do what most people can’t; like it’s perfectly normal for him to. "Well, then, come and help me set up the table, kitten."

His nephew doesn’t argue, but he does ask a question before completely following Selina out of the living room. "Do I not get to meet your guest first?"

Jason’s heart swells upon hearing his nephew ask about him. Before he can stop himself, and before anyone can try to deprive him of it, he introduces himself. "I’m Jason. Jason Todd."

He watches as his nephew glances over to Marjorie, as if he’s silently asking for permission to reciprocate. "I’m Peter."

"We’re still workshopping his last name," Pam informs him. Meaningfully, kind of.

"Do I attach anything to your name?" Peter doesn’t give him time to dwell on Pam’s words. "Everyone I’ve met here so far has ‘aunt’ attached to theirs."

He gives Selina a quick warning look. He fully intended on not crossing any boundaries and merely playing his role as Selina’s friend. However, he isn’t about to pass up the opportunity his nephew just gave him in good faith. "‘Uncle’ would be nice."

"Okay," his nephew doesn’t even need a second to consider it. "Uncle Jason."

It’s not the same. It doesn’t have the warmth and adoration that Ben hears whenever Peter calls him, almost as if the title has no weight — like it means nothing, when it’s supposed to mean so much. But he’s not faulting his nephew.

It just means he has to earn the warmth, adoration, and whatever else Ben has attached to his. It’s a challenge he’s more than happy to partake in, especially if it brings him closer to the life he has only dreamed about.

Jason smiles in approval.

Chapter Text

Jason is aware of two very apparent things: while his position as Peter’s uncle is still secure, given that the latter still turned out to be Dick’s son in this life, his position as May’s — Marjorie’s — husband isn’t.

He’s aware there’s still a possibility that him and Marjorie don’t work out romantically. After all, Benjamin Parker’s life isn’t a blueprint for his. It doesn’t matter if Marjorie is literally the woman of his dreams, as romantic as that sounds. Him and Ben are different people, the same way Marjorie and May are.

Yet, at the same time, he doesn’t seem to be aware at all. Because his body reacts to her like he has known her for years.

Jason finds himself at the rooftop of Selina’s Crime Alley apartment building with only Marjorie as his company. Apparently, it’s the one place where Peter can’t secretly listen in on conversations.

"Selina told me you’re convinced Peter is your nephew," Marjorie starts their conversation off. She leans on the edge with her back, her front facing the stairs they came from.

He takes inspiration from her and leans on the edge on his side, his front facing her. "Not convinced," he corrects, "I’m sure." He pauses for a second, silently mulling over how he’ll present his case. "He looks like how my brother did when he was a kid. Acts like him, too, based on the stories I’ve heard."

Despite the mere five-year gap between him and Dick, their childhoods never overlapped. By the time he was plucked off of the streets, the latter had already began living on his own. It was only through his curiosity and Alfred’s willingness that he learned what his brother had been like during his childhood years. Thanks to those, he has no trouble picking up everything Peter has inherited from Dick.

She hums thoughtfully, "I see." She doesn’t offer anything else for a moment. Frankly, he’s surprised he didn’t receive any opposition. He might’ve not been prepared to fully defend his stance, but her lack of judgment is making him think there’s so much more that he’s missing. "Do you really want to be in his life?"

"I do," he doesn’t hesitate to affirm.

"Peter won’t be the nephew you expect him to be," Marjorie warns him. Her voice holds no ill intent behind it, nor does she sound like she’s warding him off; rather, it was neutral and flat, like she’s just stating a fact.

He would like to reply that he’s not expecting Peter to be anyone. However, he knows it’ll be a lie. Whether he wants to admit it or not, a part of him is wishing to create a similar bond with Peter like Ben did. Heavy emphasis on similar because he doesn’t want to encroach on Dick’s role in his life (something than Ben had no choice but to do with Richard gone), but he still wishes to be the first/second most important adult in his life after his parents.

Simply put, a part of him still wants Peter to be a nephew that he can treat like a son.

She’s right, of course. He can’t expect that from him. "I know." Jason shifts so he’s facing the street down below and the rundown buildings around them. "I just want him to be happy."

"As do I," she shares his sentiment. "That’s why I need you to be absolutely certain. He’s already been through so much. He doesn’t need to know how rejection feels like."

Her words hang heavily in the air. Selina’s hint about how Peter ended up in Marjorie’s care is already unideal. And the latter’s indirect confirmation about his nephew’s yet-to-be-disclosed earlier years doesn’t help his anxiety. Most especially because — as he just found out — Peter’s only nine years old. He hasn’t even reached the double digits. He shouldn’t’ve gone "through so much" already. And, yet . . .

Marjorie implies rather unknowingly that she knows what rejection feels like. He has a strong urge to ask who had been the one to make that particular feeling familiar to her. But acting on such an urge is out of bounds. After all, he isn’t Ben Parker — nor is she May Parker.

(Realistically, the best almost-guaranteed position in Marjorie’s life that may be bestowed upon him is ‘partner-in-crime,’ particularly in raising Peter. But that’s only if he manages to pass this conversation with flying colors.)

Thus, instead, he does the next best thing. He turns his head to the side and wills her to hold his stare. She does. "I won’t abandon him." He lets the promise etch into his heart— his soul. He needs her to detect his sincerity through everything she can despite the distance between them. He needs her to believe him. Desperately so. And you, he almost adds. "Whatever you’re protecting him from, I’ll be there with you."

Much to his relief, she seems satisfied with his response. Unfortunately, his relief doesn’t last long. "What if I’m protecting him from your brother?"

Jason’s blood runs cold. "Wha— what?"

He can’t say he expected that at all. Out of a hundred ideas he has thought of regarding the potential horrors Peter suffered through before arriving at Gotham, not one of them is connected to Dick. Unconsciously, despite being completely aware that he’s his brother’s son, his brain isolated Dick from anything unpleasant that pertains to Peter. He doesn’t really have an answer as to why, but he can see now how wrong it is to not to consider.

Dick might not know about Peter, but it doesn’t mean he has nothing to do with how the latter came into this world. Their reality is fucked up enough that a biological child can literally pop up through other, unnatural means anytime.

Not that his brother is blamable for how his nephew spawned in this reality without the former’s knowledge nor consent, seeing now that it’s becoming more likely that the latter is born the same way Conner Kent was.

"What if I’m keeping him away from Grayson?" Marjorie rephrases. He isn’t sure if he’s glad she did, even if it did clarify what she meant, especially since he still doesn’t know where she’s coming from.

Jason doesn’t want to show hesitation, in fear that she’ll see weakness in his sincerity, but he can’t stop himself from doing so. He doesn’t intend to keep Dick in the dark about Peter forever, regardless of how he actively avoided the other’s attempts at questioning him. He merely wants to gather as much information as he can before bringing him into the loop.

Marjorie’s question put him in limbo. He doesn’t want to build their relationship on a lie. But he can’t just give up on it, either. "If it’s within reason, I can work with it."

He hopes she at least gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Unfortunately, the lengthy silence that followed suit doesn’t seem to be in his favor. Until it’s ultimately broken, that is. "They created Peter as a replacement and as a bait for your brother."

Once more, his blood runs cold. He swears he stops breathing momentarily, too. "Who?"

"The people who hired me to care for Peter," her voice sounds tight when she responds. "Peter calls them ‘The Court.’"

Jason needs some time to process what he learned about Peter. It’s one thing to learn that his nephew from another reality manifested in this one. It’s a different matter all together to learn that that nephew was unnaturally brought to this world. Especially when he was a product of something beautiful in his so-called original world and of something sinister in the latter.

He invites himself into Selina’s apartment three days after his introduction to Marjorie and Peter. His nephew is still a little shy around and unsure of him, so he contents himself with what he has done in the past: lounging about on the couch with a book on hand. He is out of his way, but easily accessible if ever he decides to approach.

He doesn’t expect him to do so until he has invited himself over a few more times. He’s fine with that. After all, to him, he’s just a friend of his aunts; he’s not his direct family. However, much to Jason’s utter surprise, Peter does approach him on his first return visit.

The blue-eyed white cat crawls onto his lap without any warning. It’s not foreign to him, being suddenly chosen by one of Selina’s cats as a resting spot. If his memory serves him right, most of her strays have done the same thing to him at least once before she moves them to her apartment in Old Gotham. He supposes they just approve of how minimal he moves whenever he has a book between his hands.

What is unfamiliar to him, however, is the pitter-patter that follow soon after a cat has lied on him. The pitter-patter stops once it reaches the room he’s in.

"Winter?" It’s Peter, his voice is soft and low. He automatically looks up upon hearing his nephew.

Jason swallows the immediate thought about his nephew’s young age and how apparent it is with the wide, round eyes and the curious head tilt. He also pushes down the immediate reminder that his nephew is created to be a— he can’t even bear to finish that thought. "Is this Winter?" He asks, equally soft and low. He adjusts himself slowly so his nephew can get a better view of the cat on his lap.

Peter nods slowly, hesitantly. "It’s okay. You don’t have to wake him. I was just wondering where he went."

That’s supposed to be the end of that conversation, judging by his nephew’s next move. However, he isn’t quite ready to let him go just yet. Thus, against his better judgment, he tries to extend the conversation. "Why did you name him ‘Winter’?" He asks before his nephew can turn away completely.

His regret about pushing boundaries doesn’t manifest when the latter actually returns his attention towards him and stays put. "I named him after the Winter Soldier," Peter responds nonchalantly. He can’t say he recognizes the name. "He’s— He was an assassin that occasionally helped train me."

. . . And there’s his answer why he never heard of a ‘Winter Soldier.’ He’s not as well-versed in assassin monikers as he probably should — nor he thought he did. Matter of fact, up until this very moment, he thought all Court of Owls agents operated under the same name. He never would’ve thought they use different aliases whenever they’re just within the Court, even if seemed like an obvious way to go.

The reminder that Peter’s created to be an assassin only strengthens, despite his strong personal preference to not acknowledge it. He wonders briefly what his nephew’s name is within the Court, if isn’t ‘young Talon’ or ‘kid Talon’ or any of that sort. Considering his heritage, though, it is incredibly likely that his name is ‘Gray Son.’ ("A replacement," as Marjorie’s words echo.)

Jason makes a sound of acknowledgement. It was a shot in the dark to guess that he named Winter. It was an assumption made purely based on two facts: there are currently only two cats in the apartment, both of which are new, and Peter has named one of them. "Is Widow also named after one of your trainers?"

"Yeah," the affirmation doesn’t shock him. "Her codename’s Black Widow."

"Were they good to you?" He can’t stop himself from following up.

In hindsight, that’s such a wrong thing to ask. He knows firsthand how it is to train with assassins, given his time with the League of Assassins. He knows kindness isn’t necessarily prevalent amongst their presence — especially the kind that’s common amongst non-assassins and civilians-alike. But, in his defense, the fact that his nephew readily names two of his pets after his trainers gives him hope that they weren’t as unkind as his trainers were.

"More than they should, really," Peter answers truthfully. There’s suddenly a gloss over his eyes, but he shakes it away almost as quickly as it came. "They’re strict, but they mean well. They don’t want me to get too hurt out on the field."

Jason is glad hear to that. He might not be able to change the past and erase the reality that his nephew is made to be an assassin, but at least the latter’s earlier life doesn’t seem as dark as he has imagined. Although it’s still highly probable that he experienced a version of hell on Earth, at least a sliver of heaven has found him in various ways — may that be through his caretaker-turned-aunt or, as it turns out, trainers.

There is an ache in knowing he wasn’t there during the days Peter might’ve needed an extra sliver of light and no one else was around to offer it. He tries to soothe the feeling by telling himself that at least he’s with him now; that he can be there for him now.

He can make up for lost time. They’ll be alright.

He makes a mental note to find out more about these ‘Winter Soldier’ and ‘Black Widow’ Peter mentioned.

Chapter Text

Jason is proud of how far he has progressed in building a closer relationship with Peter — and, to some extent, with Marjorie, too. He supposes his frequent visits have a lot to do with it, but he likes to think another thing also plays a part. After all, it only took a few more return visits for Peter to take a complete liking to him.

The best part? He didn’t have to do anything drastic to gain his favor. He just continued lounging about with a book in hand and occupying as little space as possible. He didn’t change a thing about who he already is. And, yet, a bond still formed.

It’s definitely a welcomed change: not needing to change a part of himself to feel accepted. He didn’t need to do any training nor conditioning to harness whatever was flowing in his veins and use it for something more . . . praise-worthy.

Not that he had to do it for the Outlaws. They are a byproduct of what he had become after Robin. They don’t count for the comparison he’s trying to make to put his point across. They’re in a league of their own.

Perhaps it makes a huge difference that whatever is figuratively in his veins is inherently positive this time. Or perhaps it doesn’t — and it actually depends on the people who take note of it. Either way, his chest feels full upon processing the fact.

Peter chose him when he’s just himself. Not Red Hood. Not the former Robin. Not even an adopted Wayne. Just unapologetically Jason Todd.

"Uncle Jason," Peter calls his attention gingerly. It isn’t the first time his nephew addressed him as such, considering he’s an obedient one who never forgets the extension on everyone’s names. Yet, still, no matter how many times he has heard it, a smile fights to bloom on his face every single time. "Do you wanna watch this with me?"

It doesn’t help that he can tell warmth is slowly finding its way between the crevices of each syllable, either, albeit it’s still incredibly faint. Nevertheless, a win’s a win.

Jason extends his hand, a wordless can I see? His nephew is quick to oblige, crossing the remaining distance between them without a word. He inspects the plastic case he’s been handed. "Where did you get this?"

He sucks in a breath. Star Wars: Episode IV — A New Hope stares back at him.

"Auntie Harley got it for me."

Truthfully, science fiction doesn’t interest him as the other types of fiction. All the action — which is prevalent in the genre and is often present in the climax — just reminds him of his life. Strip of all the elements that made it fiction, it’s just a bunch of people who are fighting for their beliefs and those that they cared about — just like he does. It defeats the purpose of escaping his reality.

However, once it becomes apparent in his dreams that Peter — Ben’s Peter now — loves Star Wars, he makes an effort to watch every Star Wars movie there is. Having no idea that his nephew will somehow find his way to him, those are supposed to be his only physical connections to the life he never can have. They are supposed to be the only things he could cling onto for the life that’s so out of reach. Thus, even if science fiction isn’t really for him, he isn’t unfamiliar to the Star Wars universe.

He never would’ve thought he’ll get to watch it with Peter, just like Ben has. "I’d love to watch it with you."

Peter’s face visibly lights up upon comprehending his words. "We can start once Aunt Jo comes back!"

The feeling of déjà vu is strong when A New Hope finally plays on the TV. Peter sits in between him and Marjorie on the couch, albeit he isn’t comfortably snuggled as he always did in his dreams. Rather, he’s leaned in — like it’s his first time seeing the movie and it successfully captured his interest.

It’s a close reminiscent of the life he has dreamed of.

For once, Jason feels content.

By the time the credits ultimately roll, Peter is out like a light. Jason and Marjorie do a little "Here, let me," "That’s okay, I—" and "I got him, I got him" before their nephew is tucked in. Jason tries his hardest not to dwell on the fact that he got the chance to carry his nephew to bed — like Ben has on multiple occasions throughout Peter’s childhood.

He watches as Marjorie plants a quick kiss on top of Peter’s head. She whispers something that his ears don’t catch.

"Can I ask you something?" He asks once the door to Peter’s bedroom closed. He takes her eyes on him as a wordless permission to go on. "Why ‘Peter’?"

One of Marjorie’s eyebrows raised. "Why not Peter?" She paused, presumably to give him time to respond. However, before he can actually do, she speaks once more. "Oh. You mean why I named him ‘Peter’?"

"Yeah," he affirms with a nod.

Jason acknowledges it’s such a trivial matter to wonder about. However, Ben’s Peter has a meaning behind his name. His mind has never shared what it is exactly, but he’s somewhat aware that it’s beyond the simple ‘father’s brother’s name’ reasoning. He wonders how him and Peter still end up sharing a name in this life, despite not knowing — much less meeting — the latter until recently.

"There’s this bo— book I loved when I was younger. Peter Pan." She answers. He thinks nothing of her trip over the word ‘book.’ "Its main message has something to do with children’s innocence bringing about both their wonder and heartlessness.

"It resonated well with the four-year-old kid I met then. The one who screamed in joy when I threw him in the air while we played . . . is also the one who told me about the new killing techniques he learned with a smile on his face."

Ah.

He should’ve known. He should’ve known their shared name wouldn’t be as wholesome as it had been in Peter’s original world. He should’ve known this life’s Peter can’t have things as easily as the other. He should’ve known this life is just too dark, too unforgiving, and too unsafe for children like Peter. He should’ve known—

He should’ve known about him sooner.

Jason, if everything has been within his power, won’t leave for an extended period. Alas, not everything can be passed onto Red Hood’s most trusted subordinates. Especially if the matter is of utmost importance — and is tightly tied to his personal life. Thus, against his strong personal preference to not stay away from Peter and Marjorie for longer than three days at a time, he must.

After all, the ever-growing mystery surrounding Peter isn’t going to solve itself anytime soon.

He breaks the news of his prolonged absence gently. He starts with Marjorie first. He doesn’t give her any specifics. Not that she gives him a chance to. She quickly tells him that his business isn’t hers to know. “Just . . . be safe. For Peter’s sake.” His heart flips upon hearing that, despite the bittersweet emotions that followed.

All she offers, when he asks for a guidance on how to tell their nephew, is: "Don’t think too much."

She does have a point. Selina, despite being the owner of the apartment, is often not around as she spends most of her time in her place in Old Gotham where her cats are. Pam and Harley drop by on occasion to recruit Marjorie for their cause, but mostly to kill the afternoon with Peter. The latter doesn’t seem to mind that he doesn’t see the three often. If anything, he seems used to people coming and going; to people popping and disappearing without any word.

Jason doesn’t want to think about the possible implications of that. But, even more so, he doesn’t want his nephew to think that he has gotten up and left; that he has abandoned him. Thus, he decides to borrow from Ben’s book.

He tells Peter he won’t be able to visit for a week or so. He doesn’t give him any specifics, nor does he mention Red Hood, just that he’ll be taking care of some things outside of Gotham. Peter doesn’t react much, as he already half-expected, but he doesn’t feel comforted. After all, Peter isn’t as open about his emotions as his other self has been.

(It’s another thing about his nephew that he can’t think too deeply about.)

He doesn’t let either of them — not himself nor Peter — dwell on the conversation for long before he brings up a distraction. He asks the latter to help him bake chocolate chip cookies, aka Ben’s Peter’s favorite. It’s a long shot, especially given the differences between the two, but their similarities are abundant enough to give him hope that it might just work.

It does, in a way. Peter seems to view most things as tasks and refuses to fail at them. Baking cookies, although a mere offer he accepted on a reflex of sorts, is a task and is, ergo, a no exception. He gives his entire concentration to mix the ingredients and mold the dough to perfection.

Perhaps it would’ve been an amusing sight to see, a nine-year-old so serious with stray flour on his cheeks, had it not reminded him of Damian. His youngest brother who had to learn how to live outside the palace he grew up in and the training instilled in him. His youngest brother who, as far as he’s aware, is the only one who can relate to Peter’s early childhood to the deepest degree; who can understand what it’s like to be molded into an assassin from birth. His youngest brother who also fret over being a perfect task-doer most — if not at all — times.

Truthfully, baking isn’t Jason’s strongest suit. He has the most patience out of his brothers to learn from the best, so he’s at least confident enough that he’s a better baker than the rest of them. In any case, he hopes for Peter to taste Alfred’s cookies someday — preferably with the man in the room when he takes his first bite. For now, his nephew will just get to taste his version of the same dessert.

Jason feels Peter’s eyes stay on him as he rolls the dough between his palms. When he looks up, he expects the latter to whip his head away. Much to his amusement, though, his nephew’s eyes stay glued on him — even when they meet his.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He tries after it becomes apparent that Peter isn’t necessarily with him at the moment. He takes the delay in his response to marvel at the fact that his nephew is already subconsciously carrying out the task he merely learned a few minutes ago, as if he has already mastered it for years.

Peter’s response makes him halt — short circuit, more like. "You remind me of my Uncle Ben," he shrugs nonchalantly as he continues to flatten the ball dough on the baking sheet. He breaks eye contact when he reaches for another. "We used to bond by being nerds together."

Jason isn’t sure how to react. There was a time when he was convinced Peter from his dreams just got dropped into his reality. However, the more he learns about Peter’s early childhood and the more he spends time with him, the less he believes it. After all, one Peter can’t have two very contrasting childhoods simultaneously. The Peter in front of him and the one that appears sometimes when he closes his eyes can’t be the same.

However, as it just became apparent, Peter has knowledge of the other reality; of his other life. Just like he does. Except . . . Is it really just his nephew’s unstable dream/reality filter that sets them apart? Or is he actually from that reality?

Does Peter merely dream of being a Parker? Or is he actually a Parker?

Does he need to go back? Does he want to go back?

Jason’s reaction comes out a little breathless, having to fight his instinct to come clean; to say that he’s this universe’s Uncle Ben. He does not have the heart to lie straight to his nephew’s face and play completely clueless. "Yeah?"

To his credit, Peter merely gives a noncommittal hum. "Uh-huh." His nephew sounds uninterested in indulging the topic any further.

He doesn’t push, respecting the other’s preference despite his own contrasting. But, for both of their sakes, he hopes Peter is just a Grayson.