Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One moment Peter was talking to Doctor Strange begging him to solve everything when everyone else was either dead or in danger because of him and the next he woke up in the dark. 

Peter felt the glass walls all around him and a primal urge to move now. 

Instincts took over and Peter was only vaguely present for split seconds. Glass in his skin, splinters in his palms, shouting. Blood. Blood. He was bleeding from his head. From his right temple and his jaw. His face was throbbing and he had trouble opening his eyes. He was so cold that he wasn’t even shivering and a deep sense of danger, danger, danger thumped in his chest. 

Then nothing until he stood soaked on the street watching the rain try to clean him off. 

He looked at his fingers. A nail had fallen off and the rest was bloody and broken unevenly. 

Peter looked up. Everything was dark and the few people around barely glanced at him. 

Peter took a step, then another until he was in the middle of the street where any car could hit him but no one, including himself, felt the urge to get him off the road until his head cleared enough for him to find temporary shelter.

Peter walked some more and, without thought, closed his eyes underneath a half-roof near an abandoned storefront. The alleyway itself was as dirty as everywhere else and held a scent that was a mixture of piss, spoiled food, and blood. He fell asleep on his stomach and his face barely turned away from the asphalt as he lay between two dumpsters. 

Peter should have been cautious about sleeping in public. Still, either no one saw him or they did and didn’t dare to get close to the bloody body of a young boy that looked as if he had been thrown carelessly as a warning to others with limps thrown about in ways that should neither be comfortable nor possible to recover unaided from.

The next day seemed a bit brighter and clearer. Not so much the weather but Peter’s face had stopped throbbing and his mind was at least less scrambled even if there was a vague sense of danger everywhere he looked. He looked down at himself and how pitiful he looked with stiff, brown spots from where he had bled and dirt almost everywhere else. It was glaringly obvious in his ruined white dress shirt and dark gray dress pants. 

Peter put a finger in his left ear. The sound was muffled, but he couldn't find anything in it, and it was the wrong side for it to be because of the blood in his hair. Maybe it was impacted ear wax. It was gross and disorienting not to be able to know where all the sounds came from and be surprised when something wasn't picked up by his right ear at all but the right told him about it in full volume. 

Peter looked up at the tall buildings. Even the huge building had a giant red W and they all seemed to lack color. Almost everything around him was gray and looked as cold as Peter felt down to his bones. Peter was in different clothes and in a different place and he had no idea what he had escaped from. He just had to survive until he could figure out his next move. If he could go back to Queens. If he even should.

Peter gave his outfit a look again. He needed to be careful to not awaken too much attention and looking like he just came back from the dead would do the opposite. 

Peter checked his pockets but they were empty and his expensive dress shirt did not have any pockets. Was that a brooch on the left side of his collarbone? It seemed expensive and not like something someone would give a teenager casually. 

Peter smiled. Even when Peter was sent into unknown places Doctor Strange was looking after him. 

Peter took off the brooch. It depicted a nightingale in song. The details were impressive and it looked golden all over. Peter wet his cleanest thumb with his tongue and tried to remove all the dirt he could from the brooch and the brooch soon gleamed brightly. Not supernaturally but it was a close thing. 

People moved around outside the alleyway and Peter put the brooch in his pocket. A pretty thing like that would be stolen in a matter of minutes in Queens if he wasn’t careful and the general lack of carefree joy around him didn’t make Peter think his chances were any better here. Even the way everyone either ignored him or looked down at him with a raised nose didn't remove his suspicions that someone could and would take it off his hands.

It did probably awaken suspicion for him to walk around with his hand in his pocket but the brooch was too large to subtly walk around within his hand and his pocket was barely big enough to store the brooch when he took a few steps. 

Peter assessed his shirt next and decided it was a lost cause. The blood had already dried and he would make it worse if he tried to clean it up in the surrounding puddles. One of the sleeves also held several giant tears from when he got out of the glass chamber. 

With nothing else to do Peter walked out of the alleyway and kept his head down when he wasn’t searching for somewhere to either clean himself up or sell the brooch.

Hours passed like that and Peter soon knew he was far away from anything he knew. The first neighborhood he had woken up in had seemed incredibly dark and had disgusting alleyways but in generally good condition, and the next had seemed a little more colorful with a lot of stores with mostly clothes Peter had seen on wealthy people and people trying to imitate them. 

It was as if he had entered a new world again when he walked over a bridge where there was only a road and no sidewalk but other people walked there so Peter took a chance. The world before the bridge had been fine. Not great or happy but depicted a place with more money than Peter had ever had and somewhat care for their environment, but the farther he walked the more paint flaked and the more people seemed ready to jump him. The good news was that he stood out less with his messy and bloody appearance. The horrible news was also that he stood out less with his messy and bloody appearance. 

Even the pawn shop in front of Peter looked a little bloody and very worn. A huge window that advertised necklaces, rings, and watches was thick and had bars in front of them that looked sturdy even with the rust on them. Or Peter hoped that it was just rust. 

Someone had clearly wanted the building to seem very intimidating as even the handle was put up high on the very tall door. 

Peter walked in. 

The wooden floors were nice and it all smelled clean and of leather and metal. Not quite what Peter preferred but it was far from as unpleasant as outside the shop.

The man behind the counter sent Peter a stern look. 

“I have both security cameras and a loaded pistol,” the middle-aged man spat.

“Okay.” Maybe Peter should just walk out and find another place to sell the brooch. Selling it felt a lot like stealing after all even though he had woken up wearing it. Maybe it would be the key to some kind of ally and Peter was ruining it by pawning it off?

The man gave Peter another once over. “Or are you here to buy anything? That shirt looks expensive and I’m sure your mommy and daddy would hate for you to be here for too long after raising hell all night.” 

Peter looked down as he shuffled his feet. “I’m here to sell actually.” 

The man didn’t answer for a few long seconds before Peter looked back at him. 

“Well, what are you selling, boy? I don’t have all day.” 

“Uh, yeah, of course, mister. Here it is.” Peter pulled the brooch out of his pocket and the man’s demeanor changed immediately. He seemed almost juvenile and had a clear spark in his eyes.

“Arh, yes, a little pocket money for the little sir then? I can see from here that I can give you a good 50 dollars.” 

Peter looked down at the brooch. It looked far more expensive than that and Peter felt a heavy weight in his stomach. 

“Silly me, that’s nothing for you of course. 100?” 

Peter just stared. He had never even been to a pawnshop before as either a seller or a buyer but he thought that they had to inspect the items first and then give a price that couldn’t just be doubled. 

“What did you have in mind if 100 isn’t enough for you, kid?” 

Peter looked up at the man. He was very tall and very broad with his extended stomach and wide shoulders. 

“300?” Peter said when it was clear the man was waiting for Peter. 

“300? 250 dollars and we have a deal.” 

Peter furrowed his brows. The man still held a playful spark in his eyes and Peter got the distinct feeling that even 300 would be too little for a brooch like this. 

Peter looked down at the man’s hip and saw the pistol and smelt the gunpowder in the air. He didn’t dare ask for more than he had already but he would hold firm. 

“300 or no deal.” 

The man laughed and hit the counter with a surprising amount of strength. “A little businessman, huh? Learned from your old man?” 

Peter didn’t answer, he simply took in everything he could about the man. 

“Well, okay, boy. Just rob me blind, why don’t you?” 

“300,” Peter repeated with as much strength as he could but even his firmest voice sounded like that of a prepubescent child. 

“Let me look at that a little closer before it comes to that.” The man’s hand extended towards Peter. 

Peter almost laid it in the man’s hand when the feeling in his stomach and the smirk on the man’s lips stopped him. 

“No, 300, or I walk.” 

The man rolled his eyes but relented when Peter took his hand back and headed for the door. 

“Fine, fine.” The man didn’t wait for Peter to come back, he simply opened the cash register and took out ten 20-dollar bills. 

“You’re missing 100 dollars,” Peter said. 

“You’re so right.” The man smiled but Peter could see the resentment behind the man’s eyes. 

It was okay though. Peter didn’t need the man to like him to give him his money. 

The man held a firmer grip on the money than he had to but Peter got his money and quickly stuffed the bills into his pocket. It was only when Peter walked outside that he wondered if it was all pawn shops who didn’t give the customer a receipt or something to get their item back. 

Peter looked at the window and saw the man put the brooch in the window with all the necklaces and watches. 

The sign next to the brooch informed him it was selling for 2000 dollars. 

Peter was about to walk past the shop farther down the street when a tingle made him look a little more carefully. Four men were waiting in the alleyway for Peter to walk past and Peter felt sick when looking at them. No one pawned anything for the fun of it and most people had cherished their items for years before having to tearfully depart from them, and these men were waiting to steal the money from those poor people. 

If Peter had been in his suit right now he would have given them a piece of his mind no matter how freakishly tall three of the men seemed to be and the last one was quite tall too with over a foot on Peter. It would awaken attention if he fought and won those men and Peter would be penniless and beaten for nothing if he didn't win. 

Peter instead walked on the other side of the street for almost an hour before he finally arrived at a thrift store. All the items smelt musty and some even smelt of old sweat but Peter found one pair of jeans, one pair of joggers, 4 T-shirts, and a dark green hoodie in very good condition that all only smelt of the shop itself. Unpleasant but not horribly so. He even found a nice wallet that was only slightly worn on the outside and a mostly black backpack that seemed to have originally had a black and yellow logo but now it was just black with lines of yellow in a seemingly random pattern.

Peter had paid the cashier with a 20 dollar bill and got 5 dollars and some change back before he stuffed everything into his backpack and as subtly as possible put the money in the wallet and the wallet in his backpack. The cashier didn't notice anything as she inspected the 20-dollar bill. 

Peter put the backpack on his front as he walked out of the shop. No one would be able to sneak up on him and his right ear and steal from his backpack now. 

Peter looked around for somewhere to change his clothes quickly and without an audience and he eventually settled on checking the different alleyways. The first one held a group of teenagers who were drinking either whiskey or vodka. Peter couldn’t see from a glance and was not brave enough to give them a second one. The next alleyway held several men who seemed calm and mostly just talking while smoking cigarettes but Peter still didn’t want to change his clothes in front of them either. Finally, after almost 10 minutes Peter found an empty alleyway that held dumpsters for Peter to hide behind. Peter sighed at that thought. He had fallen so far that he was now celebrating changing his clothes behind a dumpster. 

Peter walked over behind the biggest one and pulled the jeans and a red and black striped t-shirt out of his backpack. 

Peter hadn’t checked the clothing sizes in the thief's store. He had simply just held it in front of him and guessed as the store hadn’t had a changing room and not all the clothing items had a tag anymore.

He should have checked as all his new t-shirts were a size 8, 10, or unmarked and the pants were a size 7. Peter had never been a wide boy but he wasn’t the size of a child at 17. Peter looked around at everyone walking past the alleyway and at the tall dumpsters. Or maybe he was the size of a child here where everyone was a giant.

Peter was both relieved and horrified when the pants were a little loose around his waist but fit lengthwise and the t-shirt should probably have been sized down. Peter decided not to think about the implications of that and threw away his ruined dress shirt and stuffed the fancy size 6 pants in his backpack. They were mostly intact and only needed minor repairs and a wash. 

Peter only gave himself a few minutes before he walked out to find somewhere to buy socks, underwear, and something to eat. All the while also looking for somewhere to stash his belongings and sleep. He could probably have found a homeless shelter but the last time he had looked in a mirror he had looked too young for any shelter to not call CPS and with no papers to detere them. Peter would not take a chance before he was decently confident that he would be left outside of that mess. Peter's heart hurt at the thought of someone looking for him but Peter quickly shook that thought out of his head. He seemed to have been some kind of experiment and that either meant that Doctor Strange had done something to make Peter appear in a different place or some evil scientist had kidnapped Peter. 

Peter looked up at the sky to evaluate what he should do now. He didn't know what time it had been when he had woken up that day but he had assumed it had been very early morning from the darkness but it was already getting dark and colder after Peter had been awake for less than 5 hours. 

"This is some crap," Peter said in a great deal of rebellion. Aunt May would give him a disappointed look if she heard him say that but he was tired, and hungry and would do anything to have someone genuinely care about his language at that moment. 

Feeling a little taller after his almost explicit language, Peter walked down the street with a backpack on his front and a hard look at the different residences and stores around him.

He found a sign telling him he was about to enter Park Row with graffiti over it telling him someone renamed it Crime Alley. Peter turned left to walk down a street called Oak Street which had no foreboding nickname and found a building with gunshot holes all over including through all the windows with one only having shards left. 

Peter was about to get away from that building as fast as he could when he looked closer at all the other buildings. They all had gunshot holes and the only ones that looked better than this one were inhabited. 

Peter looked up at the first building. There was a giant sign welcoming him to Good Ham but Peter didn't think anyone had used that building for longer than he had been alive. 

Peter took off his backpack and pulled out his hoodie. He had already had goosebumps from being near Crime Alley but now they were making themselves even more known as he put the hoodie on the window shards and hopped in with all his belongings. 

Dust flew up as soon as Peter landed and his chest soon felt sore from coughing. Every step after that brought up more dust but Peter checked every room for non-spider and non-rat inhabitants. There was none and although Peter wasn't the biggest fan of living among rat dropping he could have found worse shelters to squat in.

Peter debated leaving some of his money at his new shelter but decided against it. He wanted neither rats nor humans to find his money. He checked the backdoor next to where there had once been a walk-in fridge but the door was locked and Peter couldn't find the key anywhere. Next, he tried the front door but it had been secured shut with boards at some point after the glass door had been broken. 

The old meat displays were filthy with dust and droppings but they would be a good place for him to place whatever food he could find. Peter lifted his hand to run it through his hair as he thought about all he needed to buy when it was stopped by the dried blood in his hair. 

Peter sighed. So much for walking around like a normal boy when he had to go out to find and buy groceries and cleaning products. 

Chapter Text

The grocery stores were not the same as he was used to, or maybe it was only this less fortunate neighborhood. No matter the reason, the store was tiny and had dried mud all over the linoleum floor, and it got all over Peter’s dress shoes. 

Peter could respect the dedication to the goth aesthetic with products such as Bat Wings' Chickenwings, which were, fortunately, just normal chicken wings that Peter could unfortunately not prepare without an oven; GothLambs, which seemed to be normal white sheep and lambs on the picture; and dark-themed cleaning products. Peter just bought the generic brand of universal cleaning spray, dish soap, single-use cloths, sponges, toilet paper, and a flimsy plastic bag for his first trip. The flimsy bag came out again for the second trip but Peter still stuffed most of his cans of peaches, green beans, mini sausages, pears, and carrots in his backpack, and he still didn’t dare to carry the bag with the rest of the cans as well as bottled water, plastic forks and garbage bags by the handle. 

The trips would have been nightmares if Peter hadn’t had his strength. He almost felt refreshed after he had eaten a meal and drunk straight from one of the giant bottled waters as he sat among the dust and ate.

Peter felt pride bubble in his chest as he cleaned the meat displays and the floor. Peter looked around for any second level, but there had either always been an impressively high ceiling, or the second floor had fallen at some point. Peter studied the corners that held evidence of the second theory. 

Peter found a bathroom close to the walk-in fridge. The water didn’t work, and Peter decided to close the door indefinitely after smelling it for only a few seconds. 

No bathroom didn’t necessarily mean that Peter had to be a slob. He scrubbed himself down with water and too many cloths to get the blood out of his hair and off his skin. Peter had weirdly not sweated as much as he would expect after walking for at least 4 hours, but he wasn’t unhappy about that, and he was able to keep his t-shirt on and just move it to each side to clean his shoulders.

He was a little unhappy about the shirt being big enough for him to do that but didn’t let it stop him from arranging the unused t-shirts and joggers into the meat display with his food. 

Now that he looked presentable, he could try to find a way to sustain himself. He had used 40 dollars and most of the change from the thrift store to buy his food and cleaning supplies, and he was still missing a blanket and something to fill the gunshot holes in the walls and windows. Peter was still hungry, but he had only bought 2 cans of each variant, 20 cans total, and 19 left after his meal. If he ate one more before bed and then 3 a day, he would still only have enough for 6 days after today, and it would still be boring meals that wouldn’t fill him up enough. 

Peter looked in his wallet. He had about 245 dollars. It was a lot of money, but it wouldn’t last him long enough if he ate for even 25 dollars a week. Peter calculated quickly. He had enough for almost 10 weeks if he didn’t buy a blanket, anything to insulate, or shoes that didn’t dig into his toes. 

Peter looked at his feet. He also needed socks and, more importantly, underwear. 

Maybe Aunt May would forgive him for using the f-word now. 

Peter instead pulled himself together and walked out the window in search of at least a blanket, underwear, and socks. 

“Go back to Crime Alley, scum. You’re not welcome in Newtown,” a nice-looking man shouted when Peter was only 20 feet away from Good Ham. 

Peter looked straight into the man’s soft brown eyes and answered, “No,” before walking further into what he now assumed was Newtown. The borders between the two places were unclear, but Peter thought that he had settled down right outside of Crime Alley. 

The streets that were definitely in Newtown seemed marginally cleaner than the streets around Peter’s shelter. Newer, too, but less sturdy. They were built fast and could fall almost as fast. 

A store that looked like it was filled with fast fashion came into view, and Peter found a 9-pack of socks and two 6-packs of underwear. It was only when he looked up at the cashier that he remembered he was in a land of giants, and he changed his size medium underwear to size small. There was a child on the cover playing with a cardboard sword in a homemade red cape, a blue t-shirt, and the underwear photoshopped either white or black, depending on the package. He debated about the socks too, but after comparing his feet to a few different brands of two-pack socks, he relented and bought those in a small size too. 

Blankets were easier, and Peter got a fleece blanket with red robins on it, of all things, but it was the cheapest for something that Peter had any hope of keeping him warm tonight, and Peter was able to keep on a happy face when he had to give up almost 63 dollars. 

Peter felt almost like a robot as he walked back to his shelter, again, just to leave the blanket and clothes before exploring the city once more for some way to earn money. 

Newtown was unfortunately empty of job opportunities, and the glares were almost as uncomfortable as the weirdly pitiful stares when looking at him. 

Those sympathetic looks would have been enough to make Peter feel like a small child, but coming from adults that all seemed to range from above average to freakishly tall made it even worse. 

It was only when Peter saw someone angrily yelling at their toaster through the open window that Peter realized what he could do for work. People threw things out all the time, and while he didn’t know where the recycling site would be, he was sure that he could find parts that people didn’t want anymore and Peter could fix some of them up. The streets in Queens had occasionally held furniture and electronics that the owner didn’t want in their house or to make an effort to get rid of, and Peter had quickly learned how to do minor fixes and resell. His capabilities had initially been limited to sanding chair or table legs down to equal sizes or changing to wire or cable if they had been broken. Often, he has simply taken it from something with an intact wire or cable but other problems and given it to something that only had a broken wire or cable. Sometimes, he had even kept the broken item to salvage other parts of it. 

Peter looked around the streets of Newtown, and he soon found a store for minor electronic purchases. He had only hoped to find extension cords so he would have material for future projects, but there was even a small and cheap set of tools and a large roll of duct tape. Peter knew that the tools would not last even close to 100 repairs, but it was the best one for the price, and hopefully, he would have a better plan when the tools were too worn out or broken to use anymore.

Peter walked past the house with the toaster, but unfortunately, the toaster was still in the kitchen, and the kitchen smelt deliciously of toast. Peter put a hand on his stomach as it growled at him to get its fill, too. 

“Sh,” Peter whispered while looking down at it. He knew that he was hungry. He could feel the hunger just fine without his body literally verbalizing it. 

Peter hurried away from the delicious scent to drop off his purchases before he found himself looking on sidewalks and alleyways for any electronics in Crime Alley.

The sun was going down before Peter decided he had searched enough for now. Peter didn’t know what kind of people came out after dark, but mostly, Peter just wanted to come home and eat his cold can of sausages before trying to fix the flashlight, tablet, and two toasters that he had found. 

It was also only in the privacy of an alley before he would go back to Good Ham that Peter realized some other things about his body. Mainly that he wasn’t just short but small overall in a way he hadn’t had the energy to think about when peeing earlier that day. 

He looked small and prepubescent, without much hair on his legs or arms. Peter felt under his arms and felt horror at feeling nothing but soft skin. 

This just meant that Peter had to do an even better job at keeping off the radar of everyone willing to call CPS. Peter felt unease bobble up as he thought about how he would avoid such a fate. 

“Fucking fuck hell shit!” Peter cursed so venomously that a man passing by stopped by Peter’s alley, and Aunt May would have given Peter the frenzied eyebrow or the scowl of impending wrath if she had heard him. 

“You okay, kid?” 

Peter sent a quick look over his shoulder. The man was looking nice but dangerous with at least one gun on his person and white and black hair despite his youth. 

“Yeah, I just dropped something.” 

“You just show it who is the boss then!” The man even gave an approving thumbs up with half-closed eyes before looking more serious with entirely open eyes in Peter’s peripheral view. “Are you sure that you’re okay?” 

“Yeah.” Peter bent down to pick all his loot up. “I’m just going home.” 

“Do you need help getting home?” 

Peter almost glared at the man but stopped himself with the knowledge that the man either didn’t mean to sound like he was trying to learn where Peter lived to do bad things to him or the man didn’t have good intentions and was armed. The man didn’t awaken any major spider or human warning signs in Peter, but he could never be too sure. 

Peter put the tablet and flashlight in his backpack and stood up with the two toasters in his arms over his backpack. He tried to look at the man, but the toasters were blocking most of his view because of the awkward angle. 

“No, I can walk the 5 minutes by myself.” 

The man gave a simple wave and walked briskly in the opposite direction Peter was about to walk for at least 20 minutes. 

Peter let himself let out a single sigh of relief before he walked back to Good Ham to eat and see what he could salvage from the electronics. 

The canned sausages were mushy, and Peter almost felt hungrier after eating them, but it was at least something to sustain himself, and he even smiled when he looked at the toasters. One of them needed a new spring, and the other seemed to have rusted beyond help almost everywhere. Together, they made a functional toaster and a piece of metal garbage. He was almost so proud that he didn’t want to sell it, but he would rather be able to buy toast than have a toaster but no bread. Peter looked around at his cleanish abandoned home. He didn’t like the thought of having a toaster but no electricity, but he would just have to deal for a while. 

Peter had no idea what time it was, but it had to be too early for Peter to be as tired as he was. Peter usually was awake until the early hours if he didn’t have to go to school the next day, and he often slept less than 7 hours on a school night and a little over 8 on the weekends. Now it was dark, but it hadn’t been enough hours for it to be more than 10 pm, and Peter was almost falling asleep where he was sitting. 

Peter decided not to think about how kids needed more sleep than almost adults and instead chose to believe it was just all the new things he had seen that day. New experiences and environments were exhausting.  

Peter finally took off his dress shoes and his socks. They were both wet at the toes from where he had gotten blisters, and they had broken sometime in the last 24 hours. Peter put a tiny bit of water on the old socks and cleaned and dried the broken blisters before he put on two pairs of his new socks and his hoodie before he laid down behind the meat display with his backpack as a pillow and his blanket over him. The ground was chilly through his clothes, and his heart skipped a beat at every sound or movement, but he quickly fell into a restless sleep that lasted until the sun came up. 

Peter ate a can of peaches the next morning before trying to salvage the flashlight and tablet. He couldn’t know if any of them, or the toaster, worked without any electricity, but he was decently sure that the flashlight was a bust.

At least the tablet had hope of working when he found out how to recharge it, but Peter was unsure if it would be sellable.  

Peter’s tablet was simply too ugly for him to think anyone would give him the amount that he wanted. The intact places of the casing had scuff marks, and the screen had some lines too, but they were so thin that Peter had to concentrate to feel them. The ugly part was where the casing had broken, and Peter had repaired it with half-melted metal from a soda can that Peter had found in the dumpster, as well as a lighter that couldn’t hold a flame for more than a few seconds at a time. 

Peter was almost happy about it. He wasn’t in a situation to say no if someone would buy it, but having it meant that he had his way of writing things down among his things or anywhere else where he didn’t have to be scared of getting mugged if he sat down for too long. However, he knew that he couldn’t use the internet unless there was somewhere to do that without fear of someone beating him with briefcases or whatever angry business people did in this city. 

Where would he even find somewhere to sell these anyway? 

Peter almost smacked himself. He chose to blame it on the lack of food and very troubled sleep for not realizing almost everywhere had a public library.

Chapter Text

Peter had braved the streets of Newtown and Crime Alley with his backpack, a clean gray T-shirt, and the jeans from the day before. Not many people looked at him as he walked past, but the ones that did seemed unable to take their eyes off him. It was exhausting as every step, every look, and every breath activated his spider-sense, and the lack of sound localization made Peter feel on each. 

Peter had cleaned himself up to his best ability the day before and hadn’t noticed any caked blood when he had brushed his hair with his fingers or when he cleaned himself up with water and a cloth that morning. However, he still did not know how neat he looked to everyone around him.

Peter looked down at his dress shoes. They might have been a reason for the looks. 

There was not much he could do, and he braved Newtown, hoping to find anything to help him search for the library. He was almost sure that there would be one with how nice everything before the bridge had looked, and everything started to look less rundown the further he got away from Crime Alley. 

Newtown didn’t hold any useful maps. The only map he found was an overpriced map of North America a whole that he had thought about buying for a moment, but he then remembered that he only had 130 dollars to his name and a bottomless pit for a stomach. 

Peter almost stopped to literally smell the roses when he reached a giant botanic garden with Newtown behind him and next to a sign welcoming everyone to Gotham Zoo.

‘Gotham?’ Peter thought. That must be the name of either another neighborhood or the whole city.

Then Peter thought of the names of the many things he had seen so far. GothLambs could be named after another neighborhood, even if it was sold in Newtown, but Good Ham was a little too on the nose and was either in Newtown or Crime Alley.  

Peter let himself have three whole seconds of disappointment. Peter knew puns and could whip out the funniest ones on the entire continent, but these were just…  

Peter shook the disappointment off and looked around for his next clue. Now that he was outside the populated neighborhoods, he could see far farther in the distance and saw a Ferris wheel peeking up over the outer roofs of Newtown. He was about to walk in the opposite direction when he saw that a little more to the left, there was a sign informing him that he was close to the Gotham Train Station. He would cheer if he wasn’t trying to keep a low profile. And he was too hungry. Peter was so incredibly hungry on only two salt-filled meals a day. 

Peter puffed out his chest once more and marched closer to the train station. It had looked closer than it was, but Peter would not be deterred. Where there was public transport, there were often maps—either pamphlets with superficial information or city maps for sale. 

He walked past the Knight’s Dome Sporting Complex and held his head high as some people looked at him as he walked past.

The sounds of trains were almost more than his overly sensitive senses could take, but he walked into the Gotham Train Station and finally found a map. 

There weren’t any detailed maps of the city, but he found a map of the different neighbourhoods and some noteworthy places for five dollars. There was a library between the Gotham Botanical Garden and Cherry Hill Park. His feet hurt, but at least he could rest them soon, and with his super healing, he would be pain-free in no time. 

The Gotham City Public Library looked huge and grand, with Greek-inspired pillars and grand windows, and the inside was just as impressive. The dark desks and chairs looked old but sturdy, and everything was clean.  

Peter limped to the front desk, where a teenage girl sat behind it with a concentrated furrow between her eyebrows. 

“Hello, miss.” Peter looked down when she looked up at him with piercing green eyes. “Do you have any computers?” 

“Sure, of course.” The girl’s eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment. “If you walk past those shelves, they’re right by the windows.”

Peter turned around to do just that but turned his eyes on the girl again. “Is there a password? And do you have any chargers for tablets that I can use?” 

The girl smiled at Peter. “You need a library card for both of those things. It’s only a five-dollar fee.” 

Peter thought about it momentarily as he looked into her green eyes, which were framed by her dark brown hair. “Okay, I’ll like that, but I don’t have any ID on me.” 

The girl tilted her head as she looked at Peter. “There’s no need for ID, just the cash, a name and an email adress.” 

The girl furrowed her eyebrows when he told her his email and even more when he told her his last name, but she shrugged and typed it in. Only minutes passed after that before Peter had a brand new library card, and he found a computer near an electric outlet to charge his tablet and see if the toaster would work. 

Peter sat down, plucked in the tablet, and tried to boot up the computer. It was boxy, and the fan started with a low hum as soon as the computer turned on. Peter was quickly asked to pluck in his library card user and code, but the computer took an eternity afterward. 

Peter was disappointed, but at least it gave him time to take his shoes off carefully. 

“Are your shoes bothering you?” a woman interrupted him. 

“Yeah, you know how it is when you’ve walked around all day, miss,” Peter mumbled before looking up and seeing a red-haired woman with clear blue eyes and a smile. 

Peter was about to smile back when he saw her wheelchair. All the blood left Peter’s face so fast that he only saw black for a second. 

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have said that!” Peter stood up without knowing what his next move would be. 

The woman laughed, and Peter could see how all her smile lines had evolved over the years. “It’s more than okay. Are you okay, though? You look a little faint. Maybe you should sit for a moment.”

Peter nodded as he sat down in the hard chair. “Yes, I will do that. Sitting is probably for the best.” 

Peter almost smacked himself, but at least the woman seemed amused. Peter let himself glance at her quickly. Her legs were atrophied while her arms were impressively toned. 

The atmosphere was awkward as Peter kept thinking of things to say that wouldn’t offend someone in a wheelchair. Peter had always thought he was generally a good person, but this proved he was not. 

“Are you better now?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m still so sorry.” 

The woman waved her right hand. “It’s nothing, and I would rather not have people walk on eggshells around me.”

“Okay,” Peter’s voice squeaked. “So, what can I do for you, ma'am?” Ma'am seemed to be appropriate for a woman who looked to be in her late 30s or early 40s. 

The woman seemed to like ‘ma'am’ far less than ‘miss’ or Peter’s thoughtless comments. 

“I was just checking up on you. Hannah is new, so you might have had any questions that she couldn’t answer.” 

Peter thinned his lips. Something else seemed to be behind the woman’s intentions and wide eyes. Maybe the teenage girl, Hannah?, had said something, but Peter didn’t know what he could have done wrong already. 

“I’m fine.” 

"It's not every day a minor asks for a library card without a guardian present. Are you waiting for yours?" 

"Both are at work right now," Peter hurried out. He hoped it was the weekend so she wouldn't start wondering why he wasn't in school.

The woman frowned in displeasure, and her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. 

Peter fidgeted under her intense stare and turned to the computer as soon as it was logged in. 

“Oh, you’ve figured out the computers. Remember, you can always ask for Babs if there are any issues. 

“Okay, miss Babs,” Peter mumbled as she wheeled away in her electric wheelchair. 

As he looked down at it, the date seemed utterly wrong. He had expected it to be October 2024, like in his universe. Instead, it was August 12th, 2010. Huh, it had been his birthday two days before in this universe. 

Peter shook his head. He had to concentrate instead of getting sidetracked. 

Peter clicked on the only icon that looked like it could be to the internet when he couldn't find any browsers he knew. This Browser was called Waterslide, which was weird, but the icon looked like two waves meeting. The search engine resembled Google somewhat in color, but it was named Infinity. Fortunately, Infinity seemed to work similarly to Google, and he found out that, yes, this was actually a place called Gotham. Peter had only heard about Gotham as a nickname for New York City, but this place was actually in New Jersey. 

Then came the even more brutal truths. There was no Maybelle Parker or Maybelle Reilly. Peter had to take several deep breaths, but eventually, he searched for everyone else he knew. None of his friends or classmates were here. Some would have hits, but it was never the right person. Even his old school didn’t exist. 

There was no Tony Stark, no Pepper. Peter even tried to search for Morgan Stark, but there was only a 2008 wedding announcement. 

Peter tried searching for Stark Industries and almost cried when the page loaded. 

Show results for Wayne Industries. 

No, he didn't want to search for that. He wanted Stark Industries. 

Peter stood up and paced until he felt the judgemental eyes of a nearby college-aged man. 

Okay,  Peter had to remember what Aunt May had taught him. There’s no use stressing about the things he can’t change. He just had to focus on the things he could do. He was clearly in some weird universe like the other Spider-Men had come from. He knew that, and he knew that there were differences in each universe, and this one just didn't have anyone he loved or even remotely knew. He couldn't know if there was another Peter around the corner, but he did know that he needed a source of money to survive until he found out his next long-term actions. 

'Repair Jobs' showed Peter the websites and numbers of professional handymen, but Peter found a site for cheap jobs after what felt like hours of searching random keywords. 

The website seemed suspicious, but it was the best he could find. Multiple ads on the site sponsored it at such a rate that they didn't take a cut of what he earned, and his profile would be free.

Peter inhaled deeply before making a profile and sighed when he realized he couldn't simply use his email like he had given Hannah. 

He opened a new tab, and there was no Gmail, Outlook, or Hotmail. Fortunately, '[email protected]' was available and would be easy to remember, as it was almost the same as he had told the teenage girl at the desk. 

Peter went back and tried to finish his profile on the site. 

Do you have anything broken in your house? Then you need me! I can fix everything from toasters to air conditioners. I have my own tools, so you only have to think about letting me in, and then I’ll fix whatever you need. 

Peter looked at his short text. He feared that this would either amount to nothing or get him killed. 

He would at least not have hired himself. He lied and said he was born in 1992 but kept his birthday to create his profile, but he had no profile picture or proof of his qualifications.

Peter looked through the odd jobs people needed fixed and felt hope bloom in his stomach when he saw someone needed help with an old heater. 

George Green from Newtown wrote back quickly, and Peter smiled when he was asked to come by a little after three the next day. 

Peter looked at the charging tablet, which turned on when he tried. Some pixels were still black, but it worked almost perfectly after resetting the settings.

Peter’s cheeks hurt from his broad smile when he set the time and date on his tablet. He left the tablet to charge while researching everything he could about heaters. 

Hours passed, and the red-haired librarian, Babs, if Peter remembered correctly, came to check up on Peter twice. Peter could feel her confusion fall off her in waves, but she didn’t comment on his searches. She only lingered until Peter looked over at her and smiled. 

Peter felt almost high as he put on his dress shoes and walked home to dream about filling his stomach with more food than he had had in days. 

Peter's stomach bobbled, and his entire spine tingled when he arrived at Mr. Green’s house. The house was modest but well kept, and the garden seemed to have been mowed recently. 

Peter knocked on the door, and a smiling man answered. The man’s eyes were blue and friendly. They widened for a second, but he didn't turn Peter away for not looking 18. Even Mr. Green's full head of light gray hair awoke cozy feelings in Peter behind all his nerves and tingles.

Peter smiled back, and the man’s crow's feet pointed directly to his gleaming eyes. 

“Welcome. You must be Peter,” the man said. “I’m George Green.” 

“Hello, Mr. Green.” 

Mr. Green chuckled and moved from the door to let Peter in. “Just call me George.”

Peter nodded but knew he would never call a grown man that he was working for by his first name alone.

The kitchen was clean, and the floor smelled faintly of citrus. 

“A smart boy like you would already know, but my heater has been acting weird lately. It won’t heat the room, but it sure will heat itself and make concerning noises.” 

Peter nodded. That was generally what Mr. Green had told Peter the day before. Peter looked over at the portable heater that Mr. Green had moved to the middle of the kitchen floor, right in front of the kitchen aisle. The heater was so big that Peter wondered how he would have moved it, so Mr. Green had to be very strong, with or without any powers.

“Okay, I’ll look at it right away.”

Peter only had to look at it for a few minutes before he knew he was right. The filter was about an inch and a half thick, but the lint made it over two inches, and some dust flew into Peter’s face when he removed it. 

Peter let out a few coughs before he looked at Mr. Green. 

“Do you have any other filters?” 

“No, I don’t. Should I?” Mr. Green’s eyes were wide and seemed to take everything in while he constantly changed which leg he leaned on. 

Peter looked down at the filter as he considered how to phrase it without being disrespectful or making Mr. Green seem even more nervous. Peter eventually decided there was no better way to say it than the simple truth and looked up at Mr. Green again. 

“Yes, you should. I’ll clean the filters out to the best of my ability, but you must change them every three months or so for this model, especially if you haven’t used it over the summer.” 

Peter had only known this fact when he had searched it the day before, but he was proud of how sure he sounded. 

“I see. Thank you, Peter. You seem like such a smart boy.” 

Peter smiled as pride filled his chest. 

“Do you need anything to drink while you work?” Mr. Green asked. “I have orange juice, soda, milk, and of course, good old water.” 

Peter would love to drink anything other than room-temperature water, but he declined. “I think I better be done with this and get some of that dust off me before I drink anything. Although, can I have a bag for the lint, please?” 

Mr. Green nodded sagely. “Of course, I should have known better when working with such a professional.” 

Peter grinned boyishly before he looked down at the filter and removed as much of the dust and a tiny bit of dirt as he could as soon as Mr. Green gave him a plastic bag. Peter cleaned inside the heater, too, before returning the filter and starting the process for the other filter. 

The whole operation took half an hour and by the end Mr. Green’s formerly clean floor and Peter's entire front were full of dust and dirt. 

Peter sneezed and was about to apologize when Mr. Green interrupted his thoughts. “Do you need a shower, Peter?”

Peter looked over at Mr. Green. The offer seemed earnest, and Peter’s spider-senses were just as activated as always. 

“No, it’s okay. I don’t have any clothes to change into here anyway.” 

“I can try to find something,” Mr. Green offered. 

Peter removed a piece of lint from his t-shirt and put it in the bag. “No thanks.” 

“Well, if I need anything else in the future, you can always bring some clothes to wash off the grime of hard work.” 

Peter looked up at Mr. Green. “Thank you, maybe I will.” 

Peter left soon after for the first but far from the last time in the coming weeks. Something always seemed to die or break on Mr. Green, and it was always nice to see the man. Peter had initially thought he would only go to the library a few times a week, but that changed after only a few days, and the long distance to the library became a daily ritual to schedule times with Mr. Green and the few others who needed something fixed.

Babs always seemed to be there no matter what day Peter came by. There were even days when Hannah or someone else seemed to be alone in the library, but then Babs would eventually greet Peter with a smile and an inability not to ask Peter about his well-being. She would drive past whatever computer he was at every time he went to the library, and he hadn't seen her do it to other visitors. 

Peter was secretly insulted and hurt about the implication of someone checking up on him when he was borrowing a public computer and charging cables. Still, he kept coming back and eventually saw Barbara's name tag with a hand-drawn smiley face as she asked him if he needed food or water. She even offered Peter a change of clothes, which he would never take her up on. 

Peter never took Mr. Green up on the offer of a shower either. Mr. Green only offered once more when a bag of flour fell on Peter as he put a cupboard door back on its hinges, but Peter often enjoyed a glass of juice or milk and the occasional cookie on his way out with a nice tip. It was a slow quiet from the fast and confusing world of Gotham where the days grew shorter and more confusing every time Peter looked. 

Truth be told, sometimes Peter wanted to bring clothes to have a warm shower, but Peter always found it too presumptuous to bring his clothes with him to do a relatively short repair job. The lack of a warm shower made everything else seem more special, including when he had asked to use Mr. Green’s bathroom. Just using an actual toilet and then washing his hands and forearms had been a fantastic experience. He had even washed his face with water and dried it with the inside of his T-shirt.

Chapter Text

Peter was at the library. There were no new job offers, and no one had accepted his offers from the last few days. Perhaps people had caught up to his age, or everyone with the money to spare for potentially unqualified repairmen had already done so. 

He almost wrote to Mr. Green. He may need something, and Peter would do nearly anything for a full meal by now. Mr. Green would be nice about it if the job was something Peter couldn’t do, and he hadn't even been mad the one time Peter had arrived late for an appointment. 

Peter’s feet gave a twitch. The blisters had been getting worse for days now and would occasionally burst just for a new one to arrive next to the open wound, and Peter didn’t see it changing anytime soon with how little he was eating. Super healing was only useful if it worked and was a pain on a fixed budget. 

Peter’s dreams of multiple full meals seemed far away. He had not earned as much as he had hoped by repairing people’s appliances, and he had to cut down to only eating one can a day on his 12th day of two daily meals. The canned food barely counted as meals calorie-wise and disappeared quicker than they should, but it had been something to fill his stomach and give him a little more energy to go on fighting.

Peter looked at the computer screen with tears in his eyes. He had no food left and only 44 cents in his pocket when he woke up that morning, and no one wanted to hire him on the website. 

Peter pulled his hands up into his sleeves. Everyone around him wore thin shirts or dresses while it was still August, but Peter felt a chill even more profound than the one he had woken up to in the glass chamber on his first day in Gotham. 

He wanted to figure out his long-term plans, but his head would hurt, and he would get lost in his thoughts every time he tried. Even now, his thoughts wouldn’t allow him to concentrate on his next cause of action if no one hired him tomorrow. 

Peter was startled when he felt a hand on his left shoulder. His chest squeezed painfully as he took in a startled breath, and he let go of a shaky exhale before looking at Babs. 

“I asked if you were okay, honey,” she repeated. She sounded concerned. Looked it too.  

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

One side of her mouth lifted, and she let her thumb run over the edge of his collarbone. “Can I get you some food?” 

Peter had said no every other time. He should say no now. He couldn’t repay her, and he could take the hunger. His stomach didn’t even rumble at him most of the time anymore. 

Peter swallowed and ignored how even that pulled on his dry lips. “Okay.” 

Babs’ eyes widened. “Okay?”

Babs’ face changed into a determined look before she talked again, “Okay, well come on.” 

Peter unplucked his tablet and put it in his backpack before he stood up carefully and walked on his sore feet. 

Babs’ wheelchair usually drove alarmingly fast between the many corners of the library. Still, she was moving at a similar speed to the average walking speed now, and even that made Peter’s breath shudder as he limped on pained feet in his fancy dress shoes. The breathlessness felt almost like the asthma he had had before the spiderbite.

Babs guided him in a room to the left and behind the front desk and pointed to a nearby chair where Peter sat gratefully and put the charger on the table. Babs drove past him to a nearby fridge. 

He should walk out while she had her back to him. She wouldn’t use her resources on him then, but she would ask why he did that the next time she saw him. He could never go back to the library if she did that, and then he would die of starvation just because he couldn’t say no to her offer of food. 

Peter forced the thoughts down when Babs turned around with two sandwiches. 

“Any allergies?” 

Peter shook his head as he looked at the sandwiches. They looked store-made and far more expensive than anything that he would have bought for himself. He tried to assess which one had been the least expensive, but they looked almost identical and were the same brand. 

“Ham or veggie?” she asked. 

“Either one is fine.”

She stared until he surrendered to her will.

“Um, ham, please.” 

Babs smiled brightly, and Peter had a sandwich in front of him in less than two blinks. 

Peter’s hands tingled as he looked at the food. It was right there. He could take it. 

“Eat.” Babs looked pointedly at Peter and slowly brought her sandwich to her mouth. 

Peter did the same. His stomach had been quiet for hours, but suddenly, he couldn’t stop himself from almost inhaling the sandwich. 

“Slow down,” Babs ordered, but Peter couldn’t stop until the sandwich was gone. 

The ravaging beast inside of Peter disappeared when the sandwich did. He sat for a moment, feeling dizzy with how little oxygen he had inhaled between bites and the embarrassment from Babs seeing him like this. 

Peter looked at his hands. There was a bit of mayonnaise on his thumb, and the beast reared its ugly head as it begged him to lick it off. It was sustenance—something he couldn’t afford to throw away.  

Nausea moved from Peter’s sternum to his throat. He thought it was just because of the overwhelming emotions, but then he gagged and ran towards the trash can next to the door. 

Peter let out a few tears as he lost everything in his stomach, both from the force of expelling the barely chewed sandwich and the embarrassment of it all. 

He was vaguely aware of Babs moving towards him and painfully aware that she was seeing and hearing everything. 

“Oh, honey, it’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry, miss Babs, you’ve been so nice. I’m sorry,” Peter choked out before he gagged a few more times, with only dribble landing in the trash can at his efforts.

“Nothing to apologise for. Come, let's go to the bathroom to clean you up.” 

Peter shook his head but let himself be herded when Babs grabbed his elbow and drove towards the public bathroom. 

Peter walked in and bent down to gaggle from the sink before spitting it out. The water was occasionally filled with toxins from rogues, but Peter would rather be poisoned than have bile in his mouth. Babs looked at him with big, sad eyes as he tried to clean the inside of his mouth until he pulled himself away from the sink to close the door. 

Peter looked into the mirror when his mouth was as clean as it would get and saw himself for the first time in 16 days. 

The mirror was broken down the middle with spiderwebs of broken glass on either side.

Somehow, someway, those facts made it easier to acknowledge that the skeleton with dry, pale and freckled skin was his reflection.

Peter had never been a particularly wide boy. He had had too much energy as a child despite his asthma, and he had to eat so much to stay a consistent weight after the bite that Aunt May had thought he had worms for months. Those had been terrible months of stool samples, pills, and blood work that he had rarely been able to get out of.

Fortunately, doctors did not check for radioactivity or spider DNA when checking one's blood percentage, vitamins, or infection numbers, and Peter ended his months of de-worming with only the memory of a sore stomach and the guilt of his aunt having to fight tooth and nail with her insurance.

But even the guilt of the money he had run through and the sheer amount of time he had to dedicate to feed himself had never stopped him from looking healthy despite his slimness.

Now, he was not even just skinny. He looked malnourished, with pronounced cheekbones and the barest amount of baby fat in his cheeks. His eyes somehow looked both sunken and protruding. His eyes had been dark brown the last time he checked before he arrived in Gotham, and now they were closer to a honey brown. 

Peter looked at his limp and thin hair, ran a hand through it, and watched as it stayed slightly lifted. Peter pressed it down again, and it stayed that way, making his cheeks seem even thinner. It should have made him look older, but he looked too tiny and frail for anyone to believe he was anything but a child. 

His hoodie hid his torso, but the neck that emerged from it looked so thin that he reminded himself of a bobblehead, as if his neck would break under the weight of his skull at any moment. 

He thought about going out to see Babs to apologize again, but she would try to get him to eat more food that he couldn’t repay her for. Perhaps even her sandwich that she shouldn’t waste on Peter, but he doubted that he would be strong enough to resist if she offered. 

Peter unlocked the door and opened it just enough to look out. Babs wasn’t in his immediate sight, and Peter’s spider-senses had been a constant buzz that had only been getting louder for weeks, and it couldn’t be trusted to save him from anything anymore. If everything was a threat, then nothing was a threat. His spider-senses were just as pronounced when he was led to the bathroom now that he was leaving it. 

Peter took a deep breath and hurried out of the library. His heart seemed to beat faster and faster the farther he walked, but he kept going until he reached the outer doors. 

“Peter, wait!” Babs yelled, and Peter looked around before he saw her driving towards him. 

Peter opened the door. “I’m really sorry, Miss Babs!” 

He ran down the steps. His vision blurred, but he took it one step at a time until he was near the botanic garden. 

Peter sat down on the bench to catch his breath. 

An older couple on the bench beside him gave him a suspicious look, and he looked away when he gingerly smiled at them. 

They continued to throw bread at the doves, and Peter salivated as he looked at the stale bread.

He looked wide-eyed as the pigeons silently ate all the offered bread. He swallowed as he imagined himself pushing them away and getting his fill. 

Peter remembered himself with a startle and instantly walked towards Good Ham away from the judgemental looks and tempting bread. 

Peter looked up at the sky. It was getting darker, and he was almost sure that it was around dinnertime by now. He could nap or sleep the whole night and then devise a plan when he woke up. 

He had just promised himself to find a way to eat tomorrow when he saw his salvation in a crying woman. 

Peter had never known how to keep to himself at the best of times, so seeing a distressed woman almost crying at a piece of paper was more than Peter could ignore even in his distressed state. He had been ready to sleep before, but he now had a fire in his soul that could sustain him for a decade. 

“Are you okay, ma’am?” Peter walked towards her with even steps and showed his hands. Knowing how to seem harmless in most situations in Crime Alley was essential. 

The woman smelled of gunpowder and worry as she looked up from her paper. “I'm fine.” 

Her heavy eyelids, slightly red eyes, and flushed cheeks said otherwise. Even her tired smile worked against her favor. 

Peter looked down at the paper and tilted his head at the words. It was an acceptance letter for a private school after someone, presumably the woman's child, had been waitlisted last spring. The books had been paid for and would be ready for collection on the first day of school, but the uniform was her responsibility to acquire with the fixed allowance before the woman would have to pay the rest out of pocket. 

The woman saw where his stare was located and removed the paper from Peter's field of vision. 

Peter looked back at her. “Is the uniform expensive?” 

The woman thinned her mouth briefly as her eyes moved back and forth over Peter's face. 

“Yes,” she settled on. 

Peter nodded and took a painful step closer to her. He could understand, and then he had an incredible idea. 

“Do you have 20 dollars?” He asked brightly. 

The woman furrowed her eyebrows. 

“No.” 

“Can you get some in an hour from now? I think that I have something that could help!” Peter was a little too loud, and the woman looked around at all the passersby before lowering her head towards Peter. 

“I'm not going to buy my 7-year-old drugs. Especially not from another kid.” 

Peter moved his head back. “Drugs? No, I would never sell drugs. Drugs are bad, and I was the best in the DARE program at my school.” 

Peter huffed out his chest, but the woman seemed unimpressed.

Peter moved his head forward to speak quietly to the woman. “I'm trying to sell you my shoes.” 

The woman looked down at his muddy dress shoes. 

“They're a little tight on me, but they're really nice, I swear,” Peter hurried out and used his sleeve and a nearby puddle to clean them off. 

“You're selling me the shoes that you're currently wearing?” 

Peter nodded and gave her a wide smile. 

“What would you even go home in?” 

Peter was both happy that she cared about the state of his feet and a little miffed that she maybe had the money on her this entire time.  

“That's nothing to worry about, ma'am.” Peter sent her a bright smile, and the woman looked down at Peter's shoes and then at her paper. 

“Okay, meet me here in an hour, and we will see if we have a deal.” 

“Yes, okay, see ya.” Peter was barely less loud than before, but no one sent them any looks. 

Good Ham was 10 minutes away, so he had to work quickly. First, he took off his awful, but admittedly nice looking, shoes and let his socked feet breathe for a few seconds before he changed his socks into his least used pair and collected his roll of garbage bags and duct tape. The result was double layered bags on each foot with half a roll of duct tape and an attempt to make something that looked vaguely like a bow on each shoe. 

Hopefully, no one would look too closely at his feet, and hopefully, it would be enough to keep him warm and protected from the occasional piece of glass around Gotham. 

Peter used a little of his drinking water to clean the outside of the shoes. They were nice and black as soon as he cleaned them, and Peter thought they would shine if he had any shoe balm. Their only flaw was a single scuff mark on the tip of one of the shoes, which Peter hoped the woman and her son wouldn't mind. 

Peter then collected his water, toothbrush, and toothpaste to clean his mouth and spit in the least smelly dumpster near him before walking towards the woman with a spring in his steps.

Peter arrived with 5 minutes to spare, and the woman was already present and looking uncomfortably around herself. 

Peter waved at her when she looked in his direction, and she lifted her hand towards him but didn't otherwise move.

“You're not going to buy drugs with this, right?” she asked nervously. 

“No? Why would you think that?” 

She gave him a once over again and lingered on Peter's feet. 

Peter extended his hand with the shoes in the flimsy bag he had bought his first full day in Gotham. 

“Money, please.” Peter sent her a closed-eyed smile, but she hesitated when he opened them again. 

Peter shook the bag again to bring back her attention back to him from where it had strayed to a spot behind him. He was almost successful when the woman paled, and then a heavy hand landed on Peter's right shoulder. 

“Staying out of trouble?” A deep and modified voice asked. 

Peter turned his head and looked up until he saw a red bucket-helmet-thing over a giant man’s head.

“Yes, just selling something,” Peter said. 

“Really?” The man’s voice was a mockery of curiosity, and he seemed to look right at the woman.

“No, come back!” Peter called when she fled without the shoes and with her money. 

The man’s hand tightened around Peter's thin shoulder. 

“What are you doing selling drugs in the middle of the street, kid?” 

Peter huffed and crossed his arms. “I'm not selling drugs. Why does everyone think that?” 

The red thing on the man's head didn't leave room for any facial expressions, but Peter knew precisely what face the man was making from his silence and head movements alone. 

“What were you selling then?” the man asked, reaching for the plastic bag in Peter’s hand. 

Peter moved his hand away, but the man persisted. 

“Jeez, it’s just my shoes.” 

The man stopped reaching for Peter's bag to look down at Peter's feet. 

“Just put your shoes back on instead of whatever is on your feet.” 

Peter turned his head up to glare at the man. It was an awkward position, with the man being the tallest man on the whole street and standing right behind Peter.

“I like my current ones better, thank you very much.” 

The man turned Peter around by his shoulders to admire the homemade shoes from another angle. 

“They do look… original.” 

Peter looked down at his masterpieces. “I made them myself. 

“I can see that.” The man tilted his head. “Can you even take them off?”

“Of course I can,” Peter snarled. He could probably only take them off with a knife or scissors, but that was neither here nor there. 

“Can I pay you to put your functional shoes on again?” 

Peter shook his head determinedly. 

He needed the money, but he didn't want to put those stiff and tight monsters on his feet again. Taking them off was always a relief, but putting them on only became worse the longer he let his feet stand without the shoes. Also, it was weird for someone to want nothing for the money, but Peter mostly just liked his homemade shoes better. 

“I did scare away your customer, so let me at least buy them off you.” 

Peter glared up at the man. “That woman needed the shoes. What will you even do with children’s shoes?” 

The man sighed. It sounded weird through the mask, but Peter's glare didn't falter for a single moment. 

“That would also be a nice apology to her.” 

Peter tried to study the man for any deception, but the mask hid too much. Peter sent him a look from top to bottom before deciding.

“Do you have 30 dollars?” The woman had only needed to pay 20, but she had been far less annoying. Peter had probably been the annoying one between himself and the woman. 

“Yes, kid.” The man patted his pockets before finding a plastic bag with several bills—more than enough to pay for several wallets in the thrift shop. 

“Here, Kid,” the man said, handing Peter two 20s.  

Peter took the money and handed over the bag. “My name's Peter, not kid.” 

The man was startled at those words but didn't otherwise react. 

Peter gave the man a few seconds but then opened his mouth again. “And do you have a name?” 

“I'm not going to reveal my identity because of some shoes.” The man took the bag and looked down at it. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw only the shoes.

“Not your actual name. Your made-up name.” 

The man looked up at Peter. He seemed stunned but eventually mumbled. “Red Hood.” 

“Nice to meet you then, Mr. Red Hood.” 

Peter smiled at the man. Red Hood deserved a smile even if he was weird, annoying, and looked scary. 

“Just Red Hood, Red or Hood, and you too, Pe-Kid.” 

“Well, I'll be on my way then. Remember to deliver those shoes.” Peter tried to walk past Red Hood but was stopped by an arm. 

Peter looked pointedly at the hand on his arm. “Please remove yourself, sir.” 

“Are you doing okay, kid? I've seen you around lately, and now you're selling your shoes.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “I'm fine. I hated those shoes.” 

“How are things at home?” 

Peter huffed. “Are you some kind of therapist under that mask? Are there even vigilante therapists?” 

Peter could practically feel the amusement in waves from Red Hood's whole being. “You would be surprised about what they get up to, but I'm not one. Just concerned.” 

Peter pushed Red Hood’s arm away and stepped away from Red Hood. “Be concerned somewhere else. I'm busy.” 

Red Hood grabbed Peter's arm again. “Too busy for an apology meal?” 

Peter looked back down at the hand on his arm. “Yes, and I'm a little young to be taken on a date by whoever you are.” 

Red Hood looked up into the sky and muttered, “At least your mouth has nothing wrong with it.” 

“That is such a gross thing to say to someone.” Especially someone who looked as young as Peter currently did.

Red Hood's head snapped back. “You're gross. I meant your snark.” 

Peter smirked before looking back at the hand on his arm. “Can you let me go now, or are you kidnapping me?” 

“I'm not kidnapping you. I just want to know that you're safe at home.” 

“Still creepy.” 

“Fine!” Red Hood let go of Peter. “I'll figure out ýour home situation on my own then.” 

Peter didn't say anything about that, but Red Hood seemed to realize how that came out all on his own. 

“Look, here,” Red Hood stuffed another 20 dollar bill into Peter’s hand. “Buy yourself some food. Preferably high-calorie. I’ll see you around.” 

Peter barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes but turned around and walked towards the nearest grocery store a street or two away. He may need to invest in more calorie-dense foods rather than his halfhearted attempts to cover the different food groups. Having a regular bowel movement didn’t mean much if you were dead. 

People mingled around Peter, and his senses tingled as always, but he still looked behind him occasionally to see nothing out of the ordinary. At most, he would get shouldered when he stopped walking fast enough for the other people on the street, but he kept looking until he reached the grocery store and let his eyes decide on the chips and chocolate. 

He had puked and needed salt. That was at least what he told himself, and as soon as he was out of the grocery store, he ate a handful of chips with seasalt before remembering that he had to eat slowly. The next handful was slower, and Peter forced himself to put the open bag into his backpack before walking home with nothing to distract himself but the strange feeling that something was watching him but never being quick enough to catch it. 

Peter looked around again. It was just paranoia. 

A hand pulled him into an alleyway so fast that his eyes blacked out for a moment, and there was a sharp knife under his chin when he came back. 

“Empty the bag, kid.” 

Peter tried to look down at the knife, but it was directly under his chin. 

“Do I look like I own anything of value?” 

The man behind him scoffed, and another man emerged from the shadows. 

“You just came out from the grocery store. You have money, food, or both.” 

Peter tried to resist, but his super strength wasn’t that super anymore, and he only succeeded in digging the knife further into his neck. 

Peter lifted his arms while the man behind him dug the knife into Peter’s skin. He slowly found the zipper and pulled it down when there was the loud sound of a motorcycle in a limited space. 

“What the-” the man without a knife started before he turned and tried to run down the alleyway when there was a shot and then a pained shout. 

Red Hood hopped off the motorcycle and looked at Peter and the man with the knife. 

“Let him go.” 

The man with the knife scoffed, but Peter could feel the knife shaking. 

“One step closer and the kid gets it.” 

Red Hood lifted his gun while the man farther down the alleyway kept groaning. 

“Ready to risk that?” 

Peter’s shoulders rose as the man’s other arm moved behind him, and he was pulled several inches off his feet as the man walked backwards towards the street. 

Red Hood pulled the trigger again, and Peter landed painfully on his stomach when the man let him go with a loud yell. 

There was another shot, and the man screamed. 

Peter looked and saw blood coloring the man’s left upper arm and another shot had hit the man’s shin right below the knee. 

Peter was startled as he looked up at the vast distance between their faces. 

“You okay, kid?” 

Peter nodded. The gun was smelling so strongly of gunpowder that Peter almost gagged. 

Red Hood put a hand towards Peter but grabbed the back of his hoodie when Peter didn’t react. 

“Light. No wonder that creep could carry him,” Red Hood muttered under his breath as he put Peter back on his feet. 

“Thank you, sir,” Peter mumbled. His whole face tingled with an adrenaline rush, and he felt faint. 

“Sure thing. No one messes with the kids on my side of the alley.” 

Peter nodded. “Okay, thank you, I’ll, um, go.” 

Red Hood shook his head. “Narh, you’re looking too pale for me to let you do that.” 

Peter shook his head back at Red Hood, but he lost his grip on balance and was only stopped from falling into the wall by Red Hood gripping his upper arm. 

“I know a good clinic.” Red Hood let go of Peter’s arm and looked at his feet. “Free too and no need for ID or parental consent.” 

“No, thank you,” Peter heard himself say, but he couldn’t feel the sounds coming from his lips. 

“Then let me buy you a meal, then. I’m sure your groceries aren’t looking well after being thrown on the ground with you on top of them. 

Peter looked and saw his chips lying spread over the entire alleyway. He looked down and unzipped the backpack slightly to see that the other bags had exploded open in the crash, and chips were everywhere in intact or pulverized pieces. Peter zipped the bag again. It would not be the first time he ate stale or mushy chips. 

Peter looked at the two men. They had stopped screaming but were both crawling in opposite directions with blood leading a trail towards them. 

“Should we help them?” 

Red Hood let out an unamused huff. “Yeah, right. They’re lucky I didn’t shatter their ankles or try to hit their femoral artery.”

Peter looked back at Red Hood, and his head finally cleared enough for him to understand that Red Hood was able and willing to kill or permanently disable someone on purpose.

Red Hood turned his face away from the two men and looked back at Peter. “So pizza or burgers?” 

Peter shook his head again and stayed standing without help this time. 

“I didn’t take you for a Chez Vous guy, and I doubt they have any tables available, so burgers it is.” 

Peter shook his head again but was led by the arm towards Red Hood’s motorcycle. 

“I thought that you didn’t kidnap kids.” 

Red Hood turned his face towards Peter, and Peter liked to imagine there was a proud and dangerously wide smile behind the mask. 

“I only said that I wasn’t kidnapping you earlier.” Red Hood pulled out a helmet and patted the seat. “Now hop on the bike, so we can eat before it’s too late unless you want me to drive you back home after we've eaten.” 

Peter gingerly walked towards it, and Red Hood lifted Peter easily and thereafter pulled the helmet over his head. 

“Mind putting the backpack on the right way while we drive?” 

Peter slowly did as Red Hood asked before Red Hood jumped on the motorcycle in front of him, and they were driving down the street. 

The speed and the wind were addicting as Peter held his arms tightly around Red Hood’s torso. 

Peter and Red Hood arrived at a fast food restaurant outside Crime Alley. It was nowhere as busy as it would have been at this time in New York, but there were still two lines of tired adults and minors counting their change. 

Red Hood held Peter’s shoulder and steered him towards the slightly short line. No one even batted an eye at Red Hood standing there in full gear like citizens would have if any of the Avengers had done so. 

Red Hood steered Peter towards an empty table 20 minutes later with Peter’s shoulder in one hand and their large tray in the other while Peter held their drinks. 

Red Hood had bought a burger, a large box of fries, too much ketchup for anyone to eat, and an apple juice for both of them. Red Hood didn't give Peter a choice of drink beyond what kind of juice he wanted, despite soda being on the menu, but Peter couldn't find it in himself to complain. 

Peter reached for his burger and barely took hold of it when Red Hood looked at him with his helmet around his head, but the face piece was taken off and showed a red domino mask. 

“Eat slowly.” 

Peter nodded. The words sounded familiar, but his brain was buzzing too much at the thought of food to think of anything else. 

Peter took a fast bite and put the burger back on the tray while he chewed at Red Hood’s general aura. 

The buzzing only disappeared when Peter finished his burger and a quarter of his fries. The nausea came back, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as before. 

“Just sit still for a while, kid.” 

Peter nodded gingerly while Red Hood finished his tray, which motivated Peter to eat a few more fries when the nausea subsided.

Red Hood took hold of Peter’s bag, and Peter was too exhausted to protest. He only looked on as Red Hood took the remaining eight packets of ketchup and put them in the bag. 

“Ready to go home?” 

Peter nodded and pulled his weak legs under himself. He felt both stronger and weaker. He finally felt full, but the adrenaline was gone, and his body was fighting to digest the whole meal. 

“Lead the way.”

Peter looked up at Red Hood and shook his head silently.

Red Hood deflated a little but didn’t protest. “Yeah, that’s fair. Thank you for joining me, and please get home safely.” 

“You too, and thank you.” Peter smiled widely and earnestly at Red Hood. 

Peter stumbled down the street after that, and he somehow got home safely and fell asleep on top of his blanket. He slept soundly for the first time in so long and dreamed of ice cream and a comfortable bed.  

Peter yawned the next day from under his blanket and wondered when he had pulled a few T-shirts under his head.

Chapter Text

Peter was in a great mood that morning. He had slept amazingly, his tablet had somehow survived without any more damages than it already had and he had eaten several handfuls of chips. 

He walked out into the street a little before 9 according to his tablet and saw Red Hood standing like a brickhouse on the other side of the street. 

There was an almost perfect circle of space around Red Hood that spanned around 5 feet on each side. He looked around constantly but stared directly towards Peter when he saw him. The circle of space moved as Red Hood did and a lone car stopped driving as soon as Red Hood stepped on the road and only started to drive slowly when he was on the pavement in front of Peter. 

“Hello, sir,” Peter said as he looked up. 

“Hello, Kid, and stop calling me sir,” Red Hood said as he looked around at everyone on the street.

Peter sent him a huge mischievous smile. “Okay, Mr. Red Hood.” 

Red Hood sighed and looked back at Peter. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“Eh?” Peter tipped his head slightly in confusion. 

“You’re not able to be changed or reformed.” 

Peter had known what it meant, he just hadn’t expected Red Hood to use such a word. It seemed completely opposite of someone walking around with leather pants and shooting strangers. 

Peter mentally scolded himself. He should not be so judgemental. Red Hood could have a whole library of classical works and a book club with Babs for all Peter knew. 

“Were you waiting for me?” Peter asked. Then his thoughts caught up to him and horror took the strength out of him. Red Hood had saved him and bought him dinner yesterday and was now coming to ask for a favor. He seemed against children selling drugs but he could want Peter to shoot someone. He said that the men yesterday were lucky that he didn’t permanently cripple or kill them but maybe he just made others do that? How many bullets was a fast food meal and saving from a mugging worth? Red Hood had also given Peter 30 dollars more than he asked for for the shoes. 

Peter came back to reality to Red Hood snapping his fingers in front of Peter’s face. 

“You with me?” 

Peter nodded. 

“Okay, good, well I wanted to talk to you about something and I just finished for the night.” Peter looked up at the light gray sky. 

“Can we talk at your house?” 

Peter looked back at Red Hood and shook his head. “No, I don’t want to show anyone where I live.” 

“Of course not, oh, see there’s a nice alleyway, let’s talk there.” 

Red Hood took a hold of Peter’s forearm and pulled him back to the alleyway that had come from. Fortunately Red Hood didn’t seem curious and just let go of Peter’s arm when he stopped walking and leaned on the giant dumpster that Peter had pushed to hide Big Ham’s broken window. 

“We need to talk about last night.”

“I don’t want to sell drugs!” Peter spat out. “Please don’t make me!” 

Red Hood looked at Peter for a moment and sent a quick glance towards the street before he looked back down at Peter. 

“I don’t want you to sell drugs either.” 

“Okay good, because I don’t like it when people smoke drugs.” 

“I promise that I don’t like people… smoking drugs either.” 

Peter felt jittery as he prepared himself for how to get out of whatever Red Hood wanted from him, and if he couldn’t then Peter would just run. He had the energy to run after eating a whole meal yesterday and he ate several handfuls of almost crunchy chips today.

“I just want to tell you that it’s okay if everything’s not quite okay right now. I won’t judge you.” 

“Okay,” Peter let out in a breathless whisper as he looked intensely at Red Hood’s every movement. “But I am doing okay.” 

Red Hood didn’t offer an answer; he simply stared Peter down.

“I really am! I make sure to eat plenty every day.” Sleep, water and wishes were always a reliable alternative to any meal after all. “And I have a nice home.” 

“Sure, and a mother who does your laundry and a father who mows the lawn.”

“People don’t have lawns near Crime Alley,” Peter giggled childishly. 

“Crime Alley’s a dangerous place to live for kids like you.” 

Peter lifted his shoulders as he inhaled deeply. “Good thing that I don’t live there then.” 

The borders were unclear but Peter was almost sure that he didn’t technically live in Crime Alley. 

"Semantics.” Red Hood reached a giant arm forward towards Peter. This would be it for him. He would have his skull crushed by a giant fist and unable to heal if the intact scratches on his neck were any indication. Red Hood seemed calm but maybe that was his technique when killing someone instead of just shooting them in the arm or leg. 

Red Hood’s hand made contact with Peter’s shoulder and his mask looked directly into Peter’s eyes.  

“Everywhere in Gotham is a dangerous place for kids like you. You’re living alone and starved. Anyone could hurt you.” 

“I would fight back if anyone tried.” 

“Yeah,” Red Hood said. It started to sound too sorrowful for Peter’s comfort.

Peter’s shoulders would have risen even more if Red Hood’s hand hadn’t weighed one of them down. “I’m not weak. I can fight.” 

“I know, but you’re vulnerable out here. You deserve to be safe.” 

Peter’s hands curled into fists. “I can protect myself. No one can sneak up on me. Ever.” 

Red Hood’s hand tightened painfully for a moment but Peter didn’t flinch. “Not even when you’re asleep?” 

“Yes, even when I’m asleep. What are you even talking about?” 

Red Hood seemed to be filled with questions and statements. Too many for him to articulate and Peter found himself just annoyed with this whole conversation. 

“Did you want anything? I can’t pay a lot but you can get the extra money back from yesterday if that’s why you’re bothering me. I knew it couldn’t just be for free with you.” 

Red Hood sounded almost strangled as he responded, “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Okay good, then can I go now? I have things to do.” 

“What things?” 

Peter glared. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.” 

Peter was proud of how well he stood his ground against such a huge adversary but a childish part of him wanted to run away and hide when Red Hood’s anger came out in his voice. 

“Do you want to die? Is that it? Do you want to go out there and fucking die?” 

“No!” Peter yelled back but it sounded feeble. 

“Then let me help you!” Red Hood stopped for several breaths that seemed to slowly take most of the anger out of his body. “You can trust me. I won’t hurt a kid, but there’s people out there who would hurt a kid for the fun of it, Peter.” 

Peter’s breath got stuck on his throat. It was the first time that Red Hood had said Peter’s name and it sounded so devastated. It was as if he was talking to someone else at that moment. Someone who was hurt that he couldn’t save. 

“I know there’s bad people, but I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now.” 

Red Hood’s hand stopped feeling like a leash on Peter and more like it was Red Hood’s only anchor. 

“And you’re doing so well, Kid. I just want to help you.” 

Peter knew that Red Hood would just argue and then Peter would argue back but the adrenaline was slowly leaving his body again and Red Hood seemed to be carrying the weight of the world. 

“Do you need a hug, Mr. Red Hood?” 

Red Hood didn’t look like someone who liked hugs but Peter knew that sometimes it was the ones who looked the least like they wanted one who needed them the most. 

“Yes.” 

Red Hood let his hand move from Peter’s shoulder to his upper back but he didn’t use any force. He simply waited for Peter to move closer to Red Hood and then let the other hand land on Peter’s greasy head. Peter tried to get his hands to meet around Red Hood’s lower back but he was unsuccessful. 

It was a little awkward with Peter’s backpack on his front but they made it work. Peter even found himself relaxing as he smelt the crisp, metallic linen smell of Red Hood's laundry detergent. 

“Are you feeling better, Mr. Red Hood?” Peter asked into Red Hood’s sternum. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

Red Hood didn’t pull away so Peter didn’t either. 

Red Hood’s stomach gurgled and Peter let out a delighted giggle in surprise. 

“Are you hungry?” 

Red Hood didn’t answer but he twitched slightly.  

“Or does your stomach just hurt?” Peter looked up and Red Hood’s hand fell from his head to his scapula. 

“Yeah, it hurts.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. It sounded truthful but also like Red Hood was hiding something with just that simple answer. 

It was suspicious and Peter shouldn’t trust an almost stranger but Red Hood had saved him and insisted on feeding him. Peter would have done the same if he had seen a child as Spider-Man. Peter wasn't a child, not really, but it was like something had changed inside of Peter when he came into Gotham. He felt more mature than he did as a child in his own dimension but also like he had the same childish urges to cry and find reassurance in others to a higher extent than he did in his own universe.

Red Hood leaned on the dumpster behind him with Peter still in his arms. 

Peter pondered for a moment. Red Hood seemed to be emotional behind his literal and figurative masks, but could Peter trust him? Peter had wondered less than 10 minutes ago if Red Hood would try to make him sell drugs or kill someone but now that seemed laughable. 

Peter made up his mind and looked steely into the mask with his right cheek squished into the bottom of Red Hood’s chest. 

“How would you make me pay you back for something?” 

Red Hood’s head moved backwards briefly but looked down at Peter again before answering, “Depends on what it is and your situation I guess but I generally don’t want things from kids.” 

Peter nodded in understanding but he had to be sure. “You said generally. What would a kid have to do to have to pay you back and what would they have to pay or do for you?” 

Red Hood right hand pulled briefly at Peter’s hoodie. It seemed to be more of a way to distract or reassure himself than anything else. 

“My nephew once dropped my wallet in the toilet and I made him fish it out and dry the bills for me. He also had to explain why they looked like that to the bank.” Red Hood looked at the wall in front of him. “He almost cried when he touched the wet leather.”

Peter wondered why Red Hood used a plastic bag if he had a wallet but maybe he just used the plastic bag when he wasn’t dressed like a civilian. Peter had never carried much cash as Spider-Man but maybe he would have done the same if he had.  

“That doesn’t sound like payment.” 

Red Hood looked down at Peter. “Oh believe me, it was. I got so many pictures that it didn’t matter that I had to throw out the wallet.” 

Peter huffed into Red Hood’s chest. “What would you even use those photos for? Blackmail?” 

“No, they’re just for me.” 

Something stuck a cord in Peter’s chest. 

“Where is he now?” 

Red Hood looked away from Peter and his hand gripped Peter’s hoodie tighter. 

“Not here.” 

It could have been a non-answer to not reveal the nephew’s identity and his association to Red Hood but Peter felt like he knew what it all meant. Especially as Red Hood’s heart started to beat faster but his arms seemed to loose their strenght. 

“Do you need to sit down?” 

Red Hood audibly swallowed behind his mask before answering, “Where do you want me to sit, Kid?” 

Red Hood was still annoying but Peter found himself wanting to both help the man and share a little bit more of himself with him. It would also be cruel to force him to sit on the asphalt with piss and cigarette butts everywhere. 

“You can sit in my house for a while. Just until you’re feeling okay and then you can go home and sleep.” 

Red Hood let go of Peter instantly but unhurried. He then stopped leaning on the dumpster and stood up straight. 

“Lead the way.”

Peter walked around the dumpster and was about to take his backpack off before Red Hood took off his west and laid it on the bottom of the window for them to climb through. 

Peter threw his right leg up to reach the window sill and pulled himself through with his hands and carefully pulled himself through without touching the sharp edges of the broken glass. 

Peter hurried towards his pile of the dirtiest clothes to hide them while Red Hood pulled himself through the window with surprisingly ease for someone his size. 

Peter threw the clothes into the walk-in fridge and hurried out to stand next to his blanket again. 

“Over here,” Peter called. 

Red Hood stopped looking around all the dirtiest corners and came over with one giant step after another. 

“Cute blanket. I didn’t know that you were a Red Robin fan.” There was something in Red Hood’s voice that made it sound rehearsed but all Peter could focus on was the words. 

“I mean, the food’s okay. Do they have actual pictures of birds now?” 

Red Hood let out a short and mocking laugh. “I’ll tell him that you said that.” 

Red Hood was clearly very tired from being awake all night and probably fighting more people than just the ones who tried to mug Peter. 

“Sit on it,” Peter ordered. 

Red Hood gave a salute and sat on the blanket while Peter found the chocolate from yesterday. 

“Here, you seem like you need a little.” 

Red Hood looked intensely at the chocolate or at least Peter thought he did. It was very hard to know for sure when he couldn’t see his face. 

“I’m not going to eat your snacks.” 

Peter looked down at it. It had been a cheap brand so maybe Red Hood was used to buying a better kind. The man did have the money to throw 60 dollars at Peter and still had money left yesterday so he was probably used to fancier things even if he spent time in Crime Alley. 

“You can take it. It’s bought with your money,” Peter mumbled but Red Hood would not be persuaded but he did at least sit and relax while Peter ate some himself. 

Eventually there was a snore from behind the mask. Peter thought it couldn’t be comfortable to sleep leaning on a shelf but he also had no illusions of moving Red Hood without the vigilante waking up. 

Peter tried to clean a little more but there was not much to do except moving the dust from one corner to another and Peter still needed to go to the library to see if he could get any work today and hopefully Babs’ late shift yesterday meant that she would either not come in to the library today or would have another shift that started after noon. 

Peter looked at Red Hood. He seemed peaceful and Peter felt badly about leaving him but there was not much more he could do if he didn’t want to wake him up. 

Peter instead left the chocolate by Red Hood’s hand and jumped out of the window. 

The daytime vigilante was jumping around on rooftops when Peter walked away from Crime Alley. The vigilante didn’t seem to have any destination in mind but just swung and looked around.

Peter gave him a wave when he looked at him and the vigilante gave one back with a slight frown on his dark lips. They stared for a moment before the vigilante shook his head and kept moving.

Peter had seen him before and Peter should probably already have known who it was but he had been caught in a circle of just surviving. 

He would definitely research a little bit about them if Babs wasn’t in the library now that he knew how he would be eating for a little while. 

Peter arrived and didn’t see Babs anywhere and couldn’t hear her wheels but he could never be sure. Sometimes it seemed like she would just appear if you thought about her for too long. 

Peter hid from even Hannah and creeped towards the computers. 

Unfortunately Peter had only gotten one message that said that Helen Smith from Bowery had already gotten someone else to sand down her table, but there were a few new jobs to apply for. 

Peter looked around the library again. There were still no Babs but Peter was still wary as he started his research on the local vigilantes. 

He started with Red Hood. The only one he knew the name of and he did not recognize the man that was described. Sure the various articles wrote that Red Hood didn’t officially kill anymore but there were several kills over the years that were suspected to be on him. It could be anyone else but the possibility still made Peter unsure if he should have shown Red Hood his home even if Red Hood didn’t seem like the kind to kill Peter in his sleep. 

Peter huffed at that thought. Peter would wake up instantly if someone came in while he was sleeping. 

Red Hood was also the reason for the lowered crime rate. The police seemed to have always ignored Crime Alley but they had an legitimate excuse to not patrol as often anymore with the rates of kidnappings and drugs being much lower now than it had been in over 10 years.

However Red Hood was ultimately just a human man and he too had to sleep at some point.

Peter searched for the daytime vigilante and was met with articles about him. Signal was said to be the embodiment of the Batman signal but people were unsure how accurate that was. 

He also had several light related powers but none of the articles could agree on what they exactly were. Some said he brought light, some said he took it away and others said he could turn invisible because of how light hits him. The only thing any of them agreed on was that he was primarily active during the day and he worked with Batman despite Batman being wary of metahumans, humans with powers, in Gotham. 

Peter sighed. It would take forever to figure out anything about him but at least Peter could try to figure out who this Batman was.

Batman seemed to be a special character. Dark and brooding with ominous nicknames such as the Caped Crusader but most people agreed that he was a good influence on Gotham despite his fluid morals about who could be physically beaten in the name of justice and who couldn’t. 

He had also gotten a lot of allies in his almost 29 years of being Batman.

Peter had to read that again but several sources wrote the same. Batman had really been active for almost 29 years and was still going out almost every night.

Peter then had to make sure that he wasn’t imagining things when he read that half of the allies are thought to be the sidekicks that Batman had acquired when they were children. As in real children under the age of 18. The first one even looked around 9 in his bright colored speedo and manic smile as he kicked a gun out of someone’s hand. 

At least Batman didn’t seem to have hired any other children since the last Robin stopped around the same time that a new Vigilante by the name of Wolf Bat arrived 6 or 7 years ago. Wolf Bat looked quite similar to Batman except with a domino mask instead of the cowl, so even if he wasn’t the last Robin he did seem to be associated with him in some way. 

Then there was Red Robin and Peter wanted to groan at the realization of what Red Hood could have meant by Peter’s blanket. At least Red Robin looked very cool in both a domino mask and a cowl. Red Hood only had a helmet-bucket-thing and Peter would have to make sure to say that if Red Hood was annoying again.

They were all really cool even if a name like Orphan was kind of depressing and Batgirl was confusing as she seemed to change not only her hair color but also her build and height a couple of times. He didn’t think it was a case of Batgirls from multiple dimensions, so maybe it was simply just multiple people like it seemed to have been with the Robins. Peter couldn't be sure but it seemed likely as there was not multiple different Batgirls active at the same time.  

Peter stared at the pictures side by side when he heard the sound of wheels and looked around to find the source. 

Babs looked directly at him and looked concerned. 

“Are you okay after yesterday, Peter?” 

Peter nodded. “Yes, of course. Oh, look at the time. I’ll just go.” 

Peter barely had time to press the power button on the computer before he ran towards the door. Peter could take many things, but he couldn’t take how awkward it would be to look at Babs. 

“Peter, wait!” Babs yelled. 

“Sorry, Miss Babs!” 

Peter ran past the front desk and Hannah yelled annoyedly at him, “No running in the library.”

“Sorry!” 

Peter ran all the way to the botanic garden again. There were no judgemental elderly couples this time but Peter still walked towards the edge of Newtown to find the cheaper grocery stores. 

He looked up at the sky that had started to darken into the late afternoon and hoped that Red Hood got home safely before he looked in front of himself again to walk. 

Peter eventually reached Good Ham with his backpack full of cheap white bread and the most sugary cheap cereal that Peter could find and his hands occupied by two heavy bottles of water. Peter would probably be constipated for a long, long time but at least he would be alive. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Red Hood asked from behind Peter when he had just thrown the water through the window. “I even asked Signal to look for you as soon as I woke up alone hours ago.” 

Peter turned around to look at him. 

“Finding work. What are you doing here?” 

“Finding you. I thought we talked about it and how you will be stabbed if you’re not careful here and exploited worse by sick fucks seeing a vulnable kid elsewhere.”

“I will just have to be careful then.”

Red Hood’s hands rose to his head and it seemed like he wanted to rip his hair out until he realized it was covered. 

“But you’re not careful. I could have snuck up on you so many times. You don’t notice anything that’s happening around you.”

Red Hood took a step towards Peter. 

“Death is not even the worst thing that can happen around here.” 

“I will just die or kill myself if someone gets me then,” Peter huffed as he lifted his leg to go through the window. 

“Don’t, just don’t joke about that.” 

Peter sent Red Hood a look over his shoulder before he hopped through the window. “Who said it was a joke?” 

Red Hood hopped in as soon as Peter had taken the bottles of water and was putting them by his blanket. 

“I think you should turn your attention to the other children who do actually live in Crime Alley,” Peter told Red Hood. 

“I give them plenty of attention. You just need a little more right now.” 

Peter shook his head. “No, I don’t. Maybe you can just adopt a whole team of orphans and then you can stop pestering me.” 

Red Hood sighed. “First of all, I don't think that you should be left alone. Truth be told, I should probably keep you on a tighter leash.” Peter sent a glare. “Second of all, most kids in Crime Alley have parents or at least someone taking care of them, and most of them don't want to leave their families.” 

Peter crossed his arms and leaned back. “So you care about them not needing you to babysit but not me.” 

Red Hood continued as if Peter hadn’t spoken. “And it's so much better to give a whole household a better situation than just taking a kid out of it and leaving everyone else. Maybe even leaving siblings to fend for themselves.” 

“Very noble. I am absolutely impressed but I don't need anything.” 

Red Hood sniffed behind his helmet as he looked at Peter's cleanest clothes. “Are you sure?” 

Peter threw his arms to his side and scowled with his hands in tiny but hopefully deadly fists. “Are you saying that I smell?” 

Red Hood stared so vigorously through his helmet that Peter almost expected him to shoot lasers out of the helmet holes. “You stink .” 

Peter gaped at those words. 

“If you won’t allow me to keep you alive, can I please give you some other clothes to starve to death in at least? Or at least wash the clothes that you have? I'm not even sure the stink will get out by now but, please, let me try.” 

“So you can steal it?” 

Red Hood lifted his head with his inhale and tilted it on his exhale. “You can't seriously believe that anyone wants your clothes. It smells like it hasn't been washed in weeks despite you clearly having multiple shirts.” 

Petet huffed. “Fine. You can wash my clothes or whatever.”

“No new clothes?” 

Peter shook his head. “No, I'll buy warmer ones soon.” 

“And if you can't?” 

Peter set his face in a stony expression of a set mouth and lowered eyebrows. “Look, if I can't before October then you can give me all the clothes you want.” 

Red Hood somehow looked more serious despite the mask. “You won't survive until then unless you get help.” 

“Yes, I will.” Peter tightened his hands into fists but Red Hood simply took him by the wrist. 

“Look it yourself. You’ll die out here one way or another” 

Red Hood was a large man and Peter's wrist looked tiny and fragile in his grip. 

Peter could barely look at it. His veins were visible in a way that a child's shouldn't be and his skin looked even more waxy next to Red Hood’s dark gloves. 

Peter pulled his hand back. He didn't even have to use any strength as Red Hood simply let it go at the smallest sign of resistance.

“I won’t.” 

The red mask somehow looked so devastated that Peter had to look away.

"I'll find the rest of the clothes," Peter said and went to find the smelliest clothes from the walk-on fridge. 

Chapter Text

“I bought presents,” Red Hood announced when he hopped through the window the next morning.

Peter initially thought the presents were only his cleaned clothes and a bag that smelled like curry, but then Red Hood started putting up rat traps.  

Peter both resented and loved that Red Hood had even thought of that. Peter had never thought too much about his living situation as he had not been sick since the spiderbite but he suspected that he was not safe from E.coli right now as he felt the scab on his neck with dry fingers. 

Peter walked over to the clothing bags and was met with the crisp, metallic linen smell that Red Hood’s shirt had smelled like yesterday. It was almost enough to distract Peter from how the clean clothes had multiplied into 6 t-shirts, many more socks and briefs, and two pairs of jeans. Some of the especially smelly clothes had even lost their seemingly permanent stains and worn patches, and Peter had somehow gotten a red hoodie with a black bat on it. 

“What’s the deal with all these clothes?” 

Red Hood simply stood up from laying the last trap and took the clothes away from Peter and put the clean clothes in the meat display. 

“Don’t ignore me. Why are there more clothes and where did that hoodie even come from?” 

Red Hood looked up. “Grew out of it?” 

“When? When you were 10?” 

Red Hood pulled the hoodie out in front of himself and tilted his head both ways. “I could probably have fit into it until 13 or 14.” 

Peter walked over to Red Hood and looked directly into Red Hood’s chest that was eye height before looking up until his neck hurt in order to send Red Hood a judgemental look. He barely reached the bottom of Red Hood’s ribs but he hoped that it both made his point and looked at least somewhat intimidating. 

Red Hood lifted his hands and almost elbowed Peter in the forehead as soon as they weren’t close to his chest. “Don’t look at me like that. I had a pretty big growth spurt after 15.”

“Sure, and you just happened to have a hoodie that looked like the opposite of your current colors. You didn't even take the salestag off.” 

“What?” Red Hood said and quickly checked the hoodie over before he huffed in Peter’s direction. 

Peter sent a smug grin back. That would show Red Hood for lying to him.

“You’re such a little shit sometimes,” Jason muttered. 

Peter put his hands on his hips and looked up at Red Hood with firm eyebrows and lips. “You’re a big shit then.” 

Red Hood tried to hide the little huf of laughter that escaped him but Peter heard and his eyes narrowed and his mouth fell into a scowl. 

“Okay, big shot, care to share a meal?” 

“No.” Peter looked pointedly away. “You can’t even eat without looking like you’re wearing a balaclava. Red Robin is much better.” 

Red Robin’s mask was really not better. The black domino mask barely hid anything and Red Hood’s red domino mask from when they ate burgers together, but Red Hood was also being annoying.

“You’re so right, I guess that I’ll just have to eat this myself then.” Red Hood took out two take-out food containers. Peter felt himself drool at the mere thought of eating whatever it was, and all his restrictions fell away as the lid opened and the sight of food arrived. Peter took three deep breaths through his mouth before he remembered to close his mouth. 

“Oh, you want some?” Red Hood asked and Peter couldn’t take his eyes away from the containers enough for him to give any indication of annoyance or gratitude. 

Red Hood walked over to Peter’s blanket. “Come here, kid.” 

Peter ran to Red Hood and sat in an Indian style pose and silently waited for a container and a plastic spork. His chest felt too light for his body and he felt like he could float away at any moment. Especially when he felt butterfly wings as he looked down in the container and saw the chicken curry. 

“I ordered the mildest they had so your stomach won’t be too upset, but I thought that you would probably like something a little different.” 

Peter looked up at Red Hood with wide eyes and nodded along to his words. “Yes, thank you.” 

Red Hood had taken the face piece off his helmet while Peter had been busy goggling the dish. Red Hood’s mouth thinned and Peter could see the upper part of his eyebrows tilting in a sad expression. 

“Eat.” 

And Peter did. He barely remembered to slow down enough for him to not puke again but he still got full too quickly and had to stop while a little less than half of it was left. 

“You ate so well,” Jason praised and gave Peter three hard pats on his head. It was a little demeaning but he appreciated the intention all the same. 

“I can’t eat the rest,” Peter mumbled sadly as he looked at the food. He had to fight to not let his eyes water at the thought of it going to waste. 

Red Hood reached over to pat Peter’s bent knee. This was fortunately less hard. “Let’s have a little food break and see if you can eat more later.” 

Peter looked up at Red Hood who took his own container off his lap and put Peter’s container next to it. 

Peter wanted to protest but he sat silently as Red Hood reached for the dry shampoo. 

“Do you know how to use this?” 

Peter took the spray silently and sprayed himself once before he cringed away from the intensely cold feeling.

“You can't do it that close to your head.” Red Hood shook his head but sounded fond even through the voice modulator. “Just lean forward and we'll both figure out what to do with that mane.” 

Peter obediently did as he was told and it almost felt familiar and comforting as Red Hood’s hands moved confidently through his hair. The spray was still cold but less so with some distance and it smelled vaguely of tropical flowers. 

“There, now you just need to shake it around with your hands and you’re all better.” 

Peter reached up to do that. His hair didn’t feel oily when he was done but it didn’t quite feel clean either. It just felt powdery. 

“Thank you.”

Red Hood smiled warmly and it looked both exactly and nothing alike how Peter had imagined it. Red Hood seemed so sharp around the edges but he was also caring and doing so much for Peter. Red Hood's superficial nasolabial folds were obvious when he smiled. They made him look much softer and human than when he wore the full helmet, and Peter could only hope that the folds had mostly come from smiling. 

“I don’t know how to ever pay you back.”

“Just be safe, okay?” Red Hood frowned slightly and his nasolabial folds deepened slightly with that too. “I know some people who could take care of you properly and not have you sleep on the floor with a Red Robin blanket and your bag as a pillow.” 

“I can take care of myself,” Peter protested but it didn’t hold the same bite as it usually did. “And I’ll literally kill myself if you call CPS.”

Red Hood leaned back. “Okay, no talking about killing yourself. Especially in that sad little voice. I like you alive, and I didn’t mean CPS. I’m not a monster.” 

Red Hood really wasn’t a monster. He was just a killer and maybe a crime lord. The Wikipedia-like page had been a little vague about if it had been a rumor or confirmed and Peter didn’t want to ask anyone about it. 

Red Hood played with the edge of his sleeve. “You could also crash at one of my safehouses. There's a fridge and a bed at least.” 

Peter looked wide-eyed at him. It was a very nice offer but simply too much. “You're already doing too much. I can't just intrude like that.”

“It wouldn't be an intrusion.” Red Hood sounded almost meek even with the growling voice but Peter stood firm. 

Red Hood’s shoulders fell and he looked at something in the face piece of his helmet before putting it back on. “Can I trust you to not kill yourself in the next 12 hours?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Good. I’ll be back tonight before I start my patrol. Be here and eat your curry and your bread.” 

There was no more bread. The rats had already eaten from and shat in the bag and they had then tried to get into the cereal before Peter had heard them that morning. There seemed to be less rats but they were almost as hungry as Peter was.

Peter looked at the chicken curry containers. Red Hood had put his face piece on but there was still a tiny bit left in his container. Would Red Hood throw it out? Peter feared what he would do if he discovered such delicious food in the trash. 

Red Hood looked over at the food too. “You can eat my leftovers.” 

“Thank you,” Peter smiled. 

Red Hood gave him a last look before he jumped out the window and Peter was alone. 

He couldn’t let the food stay unprotected with the rats around him but he couldn’t eat it at that moment either. 

Peter leaned down and sniffed his hoodie. It did really smell like it had been worn for over 2 weeks and Peter started to feel nauseous as he noticed the stink all over himself. 

Peter did a quick washdown with water and the back of his dirty t-shirt to take the worst of the stink and then he washed again with a cloth and more water before he dressed himself with nice and clean clothes. It was comforting and felt secure in more ways than just keeping out the chill and hiding the bruises that Peter was getting from the slightest bump. Even Red Hood's grip yesterday had left a few fingers behind on his arm. 

Peter put the sleeve to his nose and enjoyed the feeling and smell of fresh laundry until he heard a rat squeak and he stomped over to the containers before the rats could even think of taking it away from him. The rats may have been here first but if they even touched one piece of rice then there would be rats on the menu. 

Peter put Red Hood’s leftovers with his own and put the now half full container on top of the meat display while he thought about his options for a moment. 

He didn’t want to sit and eat while he was on a public bench somewhere but he still decided to bring the container with him. He could buy a new sandwich for Babs, and she would probably also be more receptive if she saw that he had his own food. Peter smiled at the thought of being in the library with less fear. 

Not no fear as there would always be the threat of her wanting to talk about why Peter was losing weight and eating faster than his stomach could handle but less fear all the same. 

Peter tried the first two grocery stores on his way from Good Ham and towards the library but both grocery stores only had sandwiches that looked mediocre at best. They would be more than okay for him but Babs’ sandwiches had been really nice. 

Peter was almost ready to give up when he saw the bodega near the zoo. There were many customers in general since it was Saturday and they all left the bodega with delicious looking meals when it opened at 11. There were even some sandwiches that looked really nice from where Peter was staring as subtlety as he could from a bench.

“Hello, sir,” Peter greeted as soon as he walked over to the worker. 

“No charities, boy,” the gruff man spat with a slight Italian accent. 

Peter blinked at him in confusion. “Okay? Well, can I buy a turkey sandwich?” 

“It will be 6.50.” The man didn't move before Peter had found the money and reached on his toes to properly give it to the man. 

“Hm,” the man hummed as he counted both the bills and coins and then checked the bills again. “It will just be a few minutes.” 

It did only take a little over 5 minutes for Peter to have a sandwich and the man seemed to stare Peter down with his thick and dark eyebrows and calculating eyes. 

“It's good to see street kids looking clean and having some cash.” 

Peter blinked in confusion again before hesitatingly saying, “Thank you, sir.” 

“Hm, now scram.” 

Peter did hurry out of the shop after that but not because the man had seemed particularly mean, only unfriendly, but rather because he needed to give Babs her sandwich before her lunch began. Peter smiled at that thought. She would be able to choose what to eat now and the rest either tomorrow or for dinner, and they would be closer to equal again. 

There was someone other than Hannah at the front desk today. Peter had seen him sitting with Hannah or Babs on the weekends but had never talked to him. 

“Hello, what can I do for you?” The guy asked. His eyes were warm and brown just like his deep brown hair and tan skin. 

“Is Babs here today?”

“Barbara? Yeah, she's in the back. Why do you need her?” 

Peter looked down at his feet and kicked the air lightly. “Nothing, just curious.” Peter looked up at the young man before talking again, “Can you tell her that I'm using the computers?” 

The man looked Peter over and his lips widened into a friendly smile with slightly crooked but charming teeth. “Oh, you're Peter? Yeah, I'll definitely tell her that you're here.” 

Peter didn't know how he felt about someone he had never introduced himself to knowing his name but he simply thanked the man and walked over to the computers to look for work. 

He had just accepted a job with Mrs. Andersen the next day and Mr. Green next week when Babs’ voice greeted him. 

“Peter, it's so good to see you.” 

Peter looked behind himself to the corner that Babs usually used to get to the computers. 

“Hello, Miss Babs.” Peter quickly took the sandwich from the desk and hurried over to her. 

“Here,” he hurried out and held out the sandwich with both hands. “It's turkey. Like the one I tried to eat.” 

Babs didn't reach out for it so Peter put it in the hand that she didn’t control her wheelchair with. 

“You don't have to eat it now but maybe for dinner or something. I don't know. You had two with you the other day so maybe you would like an extra one today too.” 

Babs reached over to take Peter's hand. “Thank you, Peter. That's really sweet but I don't want to take any food from you.” 

“But I owe you.” 

Babs gave Peter's hand a squeeze. “You don't owe me anything and I have brought my own lunch. You can eat the sandwich with me if you want.” 

“I have my own lunch too,” Peter protested.

Babs gave him a critical once over and focused particularly on Peter's red hoodie. It almost reached his mid thigh and almost covered his thumbs completely but he still felt exposed with her eyes on him. 

“Will you eat that with me then? 

Peter used to eat every 2 hours as a teenager but now he felt overly full at the thought of eating only 3 hours after his last meal. 

He still nodded his head and closed the computer down properly with a full logout and then shutting the computer down with a click and unplucked his tablet that had died after days without being charged.

Babs pointedly took out a salad as soon as they reached the lunch room while Peter collected forks for them both. 

Her pointed look only disappeared when Peter pulled out the food container and slowly ate. 

“It looks like you'll have a sandwich for dinner tonight then,” Babs smiled. 

“The sandwich is for you. You can eat it or throw it out if you want to.”

Peter really hoped that she wouldn’t throw it out and if she did then he hoped to never find out about it. 

“I've already taken my chicken out of the freezer this morning. It's far better that you eat it.” 

Peter looked down at his chicken curry. “I think that I have dinner plans.” 

“Really?” Babs was stretching the word out to its limit with her disbelief.

Peter pushed around a piece of chicken. “Yeah, it's just someone who comes by sometimes to feed and annoy me.”

Babs put her sandwich down and her tone changed in an instant. It had been disbelieving before but now it radiated suspicion. “Who is coming to your house? Is it an adult?” 

Peter's eyebrows furrowed as he stabbed a piece of chicken. “Yeah, why?” 

“Look at me.” Peter felt like there was a black hole of empty space that destroyed everything inside of him as he looked at Babs’ piercing eyes. “Who is it?” 

Peter’s brows slanted and his mouth turned down. “Can't we just eat?” 

“No, I need to know that there's not someone hurting you.” 

Peter looked back at her with fire in his eyes. “He would never hurt me.” Except for the marks left on Peter's arm, but Red Hood couldn't know how easily Peter bruised lately. “He just said that he is just trying to keep me safe. He wants all kids to be safe.”

Babs’ shoulders lost some of their rigidity but she still looked firm. “Who is it?” 

Peter started to stand up. “This was a mistake. I'm sorry, Babs. I hope that you like the sandwich.” 

“Is it Red Hood?” she asked and looked straight at the bat symbol on his hoodie. 

Peter looked at her with his hands on the table and his knees and hips still bent in preparation to stand up entirely. “How did you know?” 

Babs smiled and she looked relieved. Would it really be better for Peter to be associated with an accused crime lord than some normal guy? Peter had expected a librarian to be more against associating with a potential criminal. 

“Sit down and eat. I'm sure Hood will be annoyed if I'm the cause of you not eating your curry.”

Peter sat down gingerly. “Yeah, probably. Is it okay? You're not going to tell anyone that he gives me food?”

Babs reached over the table and gave Peter a pat on his hand. “Red Hood has been helping out when he can for longer than you've been alive and he is a good guy to know for a kid. Although I would rather you didn't live in Crime Alley.” 

“I don't technically live there,” Peter said as he held eye contact with a piece of rice with two dots.

Barbara just sighed but began to eat again. 

The rest of the meal was awkward but they did both get full and Babs waited patiently for Peter to collect himself enough to eat the rest of the container despite it taking Peter close to an hour. 

Peter looked around the kitchen. There weren’t many appliances but the ones that were there looked really nice. The fridge was huge and the microwave looked like it could do far more than Peter remembering microwaves doing in the 2010s. 

It was only missing a toaster but when he looked around again he realized he couldn’t very well sell his scuffed up toaster with a duct taped cord and Peter didn’t know if it even worked. Maybe it would also be a little gross to eat something that was prepared in a street toaster. 

“Should we put the sandwich in the fridge?” Barbara asked. “Then you can eat it for lunch tomorrow.” 

Peter looked over at her again. “It's for you. You can eat it tomorrow.” 

Peter found himself pouting just the tiniest bit when she spoke next. 

“I think that I'll stick to salads for a bit. I do sit still a lot of the time.” 

She laughed good naturedly but Peter could see the deception in her truths. 

Something bipped from Babs and she gave Peter another smile. 

“Duty calls. I'll be in the back if you need me.” 

Peter lost track of time and only remembered it when his head hurt and he could not concentrate on reading anymore. He had at least learned a lot about both Wayne Enterprise and how to fit a heating system from 1994. He was a little sad that he couldn’t say goodbye to Babs who was still in the room directly behind the front desk and she couldn’t be disturbed according to not-Hannah, but he counted his losses and simply left when he saw that it was already a little after 5. 

Peter hurried out of the entrance doors. He had no idea when Red Hood would stop by and Peter didn’t want him to worry him unnecessarily. Peter felt a little breathless as he moved as quickly as he could without outright running. 

He was fortunately left alone as he walked as fast as his annoyingly short legs could move. He was simply just one of surprisingly many people getting home after a long day and he was anonymous in the way everyone was when no one stood out and no one cared. 

Peter turned a corner and saw several figures swinging from roof to roof. A red, purple, black, and blue figure that hurried as much as the others but had a confident and calm energy to him until he looked down and saw Peter. 

The figure hurried down the roof while the rest kept moving and kept his eyes on Peter as he moved closer. 

"Peter?" the figure asked in a hushed voice as soon as he was a few feet away. Peter could see he was wearing black too and one of the domino masks that so many vigilantes wore around here. 

'Stranger?' Peter would have asked back if he hadn't been feeling like his entire body stopped working at the intense look. Peter had not had a good look at the other figures on the roof but he was almost certain that it was some of the other vigilantes in Gotham, so this man had to be one too. This man who somehow knew Peter’s name. 

The figure came a foot closer and devastation was clear despite the literal mask over half his face.

"Is it you?" The stranger took a hold of Peter's shoulders and seemed to take in every detail.

"Do I know you?" Peter cringed internally. "Personally I mean? You're of course fighting crime and all."

The stranger let his hands fall off Peter's shoulders. "No, I guess not. I'm sorry."

The stranger looked Peter all over and zeroed in on every little piece of Peter’s features when there was a buzz coming from him. 

“Yes, I’m on my way,” the man said but didn’t take his eyes away from Peter. 

“-wing!” Peter heard shouted from the figure with a buzz. 

The man looked at Peter and took several steps back before he ran away through the crowd and swung up on a roof. 

It was only when Peter tried to walk away that he noticed the whole street staring at him, and he ran until he could see Crime Alley before he forced himself to walk for an entire street before he turned to walk into the alleyway by the broken window.

Hopefully Red Hood would be by soon to protect him from whatever was wrong with the blue vigilante and maybe even tell Peter why he knew Peter's name. 

An hour passed and Peter stopped being worried about vigilantes finding him and just plain worried. Also hungry, but he was mostly worried about what Red Hood was doing with the vigilantes running around so close to Crime Alley and Newtown.

Peter looked all over Good Ham to at least dull his hunger and almost cried when he found his box of cereal. 

The rats had gotten into it while he had been way but it would be okay. Red Hood often brought food and Peter could pay for the meal this time if Red Hood wouldn't or couldn't bring any food.  

Peter collected all the dropped cereal and cleaned the linoleum floor as well as he could with water, worry, and dish soap. The result was a little sticky but had still taken long enough for Red Hood to have been here already. 

Peter went over to stare out at the waning moon in the twilight. It was mostly full and sent its light down on the alleyway in the quiet evening, but Peter did eventually pull himself away to wash himself down before climbing into his joggers, a slightly used t-shirt, and a pair of socks over his duct tape shoes. 

Peter could still go out and find a grocery store that was open late but he didn’t want to leave. Red Hood would be by at any moment and Peter just had to stay up for long enough. He had to know that Red Hood was okay. He wouldn't just not come by for no reason. 

The chill filled every corner and Peter did as all the other spiders did and went to find warmth. He eventually fell asleep with his face pressed down into his red hoodie.

Chapter Text

Peter woke up with a deep pain in his stomach and cold sweat. He laid on the cold floor with the blanket wrapped around himself as tightly as he could but the cold sweat didn’t disappear and his hands felt twitchy with hunger. Peter turned around the other way on the cold floor but nothing helped him feel less exhausted, annoyed and so incredibly worried. 

He looked at his tablet. It was 6:32 am and he might as well just get out of bed now instead of waiting for his 7:00 alarm. 

He had to know if Red Hood was okay but he had no way of contacting him. All their meetings had been random or on Red Hood's terms. Maybe Peter should have gotten a phone and a telephone plan somehow without money or an identity. Maybe Red Hood could have even helped. 

Peter had considered trying to create a false identity when he first came to Gotham. It had sounded nice and he could probably have done it with a friend's help, but he had not even tried for fear of the social services working differently in Gotham and not wanting CPS breathing down his throat if he had just suddenly appeared in their system. Not to mention that anything illegal would have been flagged in the library computers instantly. 

It had seemed so much better to simply not exist in the eyes of the law, but now it meant that he had no way of getting help for Red Hood if he was stranded out on the streets somewhere. 

Peter shook his blanket aggressively at those thoughts before he put it on top of the meat display in the hopes that nothing touched it before tonight. 

He then cleaned the linoleum floor again with water and anger. 

The floor was still a little sticky from the dish soap yesterday but Peter was proud and finally decided to wash up and put on clean clothes.

Peter let himself sniff the soft t-shirt and comfort himself with the red hoodie as he looked at the time. 

Red Hood would be okay. He had to be.

Peter was just about to doubt himself when something caught his attention. 

Like a sunbeam on an overcast day there was movement by the window at 7.24. 

“Red Hood!” Peter cheered and ran towards him. 

Red Hood’s movements were slow and deliberate. He didn't seem to wince but he could hide so much behind the helmet. 

“Hey, kid, you're up early and the place looks nice.”

“Thank you,” Peter took Red Hood's left hand in both of his. “But are you okay? You said that you would be here last night. Was there any trouble? Were people after you? Did you-” 

“Shh,” Red Hood put a finger to Peter's lips. It smelled… unfortunate and bloody. “I just got a little carried away with something but it's all good now. I even brought some breakfast.”

Red Hood, finally, took his finger away and brought out three mini tortillas from inside of his west. They held the logo of some kind of gas station and they looked heaven sent. 

“Thank you,” Peter whispered in awe as he was given one and turned his eyes away as soon as it was clear that Red Hood would be giving him two or all three of them. 

“You need them more than me, kid,” Red Hood tried. 

“I can buy some food myself. I still have a lot of the money that you gave me for the shoes.” Peter looked up at Red Hood. “Hey, how did that lady react when she got the shoes?” 

“Lady?” Red Hood looked to the side for a moment before looking back at Peter. “Oh yeah, her. She was very happy to get them.” 

Peter looked at Red Hood and how he analysed the edge of his clothes very carefully. 

Peter found the strength to keep his eyes away from his tortilla even as the smell of the toppings tried to lure him in. “You're lying.”

“What? No, I could never lie to you.” 

Peter looked down at the hoodie and the food.

Peter had thought that Red Hood had seen him as some kind of friend despite their age difference but he wasn't taking anything that Peter said seriously and he kept lying . 

Maybe Peter was being irrational. He knew that he was overly tired and hungry but every part of him kept asking if he was just some charity case that could be strung along with food and lies. He could ask Red Hood he feared that he wouldn't be able to accept the answer.

Peter blinked a few times to hide the extra shine. “Stop lying.” 

Red Hood huffed and walked further into the room. “Is this really because of the shoes? I promise I'll get them to her and her weirdly tiny child-sized feet.”

“They were for her son. He's starting school soon.” 

“I thought it had already started, but I'll get them to her soon, I promise. You can trust me.” 

Peter set his chin in the hopes that it wouldn't wobble but it did so anyway when he spoke. “You don't trust me. You know where I live and everything else but I don't know your name or your face. I don’t even know your real voice.” 

Red Hood took a step forward. He was limping and Peter didn’t know what to do with the feelings of anger and worry battling inside of him. “Kid, you know it's not like that.” 

Peter took a few steps back. “Where were you?” 

Red Hood stopped. “I can't say.” 

Peter knew that. He had also lied and kept secrets as Spider-Man but it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. Red Hood was one of the only people who talked regularly to Peter and he didn’t want Peter to know anything about him. He didn’t even want to let him know when he was hurt and needed help. Peter had been so lonely, scared and hungry and maybe those things had made him put too much into the relationship he had with Red Hood. 

“Go away, Hood.” 

“I'm not going anywhere, kid.” 

Peter looked around and walked towards the window. “Then stay. I don't care, I have an appointment in Bowery anyway.” 

Red Hood breathed in to say something when Peter took his hoodie off to put on the window sill. 

Peter could practically feel the heat from Red Hood’s look and the atmosphere went from uncomfortable to suffocating.

“Who did this?” Red Hood asked and took one of Peter’s arms in his hand and his whole being seemed to vibrate.

Peter looked down and he could see the fingers among his blue and yellow marks. “It’s nothing,” Peter insisted. 

“It doesn't look like nothing.” The light around Jason was weird. It made him look almost green in his anger. 

“Was it one of those appointments ? Did they hurt you?”

“What? No, no one has done anything to me. You’re hurt.”

Peter's arm looked like a stick in Red Hood's hold and Red Hood didn’t move a muscle as Peter tried to rip his arm out of his hold.

“I’m an adult. You’re like 8 and you have fingers on your arm. I don't even know how hard someone has to.. You can't let people hurt you. Not like this or in any other way.”

Red Hood's grip intensified as the green did from beneath the helmet. 

“Let go,” Peter ordered. 

“No!” Red Hood spat back. “You're being so fucking stupid. I just-” 

Peter gave a wince when Red Hood's grip tightened even further and like a switch Red Hood threw Peter's arm away and backed away. 

“I'm so sorry. I hurt you. I hurt you just now.”

Peter walked forwards as Red Hood walked backwards. “It's fine. You barely held my arm.” 

Red Hood seemed to barely relax before Peter reached an arm out and Red Hood looked at the reddened skin next to the finger marks. 

“Stay back!” Red Hood ordered and Peter finally stopped pursuing him. “I just need a minute.”  

Peter stood helpless as Red Hood stayed in the corner and tried to calm himself. Red Hood only seemed to get more upset every time Peter tried to move closer.

Peter let a few tears fall but he brushed them away angrily with his arm until he collected the older, still smelly hoodie and put it on before he went to jump through the window. 

"Don't go!" Red Hood demanded as soon as Peter had put a leg through the window.

Peter turned his head around. Looking. Assessing. Wondering what Red Hood would do now. 

"Look, I know what you're doing, but I can't let you go out and do that."

Peter let out a snort. He hoped Red Hood could feel the condescension from the deepest parts of his soul.

"There's no reason to go out and do that."

It was interesting to see such an intimidating figure shuffle his feet and avoid eye contact.

Peter simply turned his head around to look out the window. "I really need to go before I'm late for my appointment."

Peter had almost launched himself through the window but was pulled back by a hand on his shoulder. 

He turned his head to look up at Red Hood with another sharp look but his feet were still pointed towards the window. 

"Look, kid, I'll pay you whatever you need if you won't go out to your... appointment."

Peter could almost taste the bile in Red Hood's voice but it didn't clear anything up.

"Not that your money isn't a nice offer," Peter tried to get out of Red Hood's hold. "But my client is waiting for me. I have a reputation to uphold."

Red Hood's fingers clamped down so hard it was a little painful.

Peter huffed but decided to talk sense into Red Hood one last time. "Look, I'll be back in maybe 2 hours. It usually takes about an hour and a half to walk over there, do my thing, and then walk back. We can talk about whatever this is when I’m back."

"Usually?" Red Hood moved his head closer to Peter. It would probably have looked intimidating to most but Peter had fought all kinds of villains and had never been particularly scared of helmets. "You've done this a lot before?"

'Oh, God,’ Peter would never get out of this conversation.

"Yes, I've become quite good with my hands in the last month. Can you let me go now?"

"Month?" Red Hood's tone startled Peter. The voice modulator didn't leave a lot of room to emote but Red Hood managed to sound devastated through it.

"Yes?" Peter said when he decided there was nothing more to say. "I really have to go now but I can take care of whatever you need too if that's why you’re all in my ass. I’ll even do it for free if you pay for materials.”

Red Hood let go of Peter and threw himself back a few steps with huge arm movements. “No!” 

The nice thing to do would be to find out whatever was wrong with Red Hood now that he could stand to be near Peter again. Especially as the big movements couldn’t be good for his injuries.

Peter went with the less selfless option and left so he would only have to walk swiftly while trying to shake Red Hood off. Peter knew he was being followed even when the shouting and motorcycle stopped sounding from every corner but he was eventually alone and ate his mini tortilla on the way.  

The fix up was a little harder than expected. It only took an hour to fix Mrs. Andersen's heating system and 20 minutes to walk back to Good Ham with the distinct impression that there was someone watching his every move for most of the way back but no one was there when he looked around. 

Peter tried his best to walk calmly and as unseen as possible but he started to run when he reached the alleyway by the broken window and heard the angriest sobbing he had ever experienced. It brought him through the alleyway and among the dumpsters with only slight bumps before he stood in front of the broken window.

Peter didn't know if he had expected Red Hood to still be at his home when he arrived but he had definitely not expected him to be making a mixture between crying and yelling-like sounds without his helmet.

"Are you okay, Mr. Red Hood?" Peter asked awkwardly as he jumped through the window.

Red Hood straightened up quickly and looked up at Peter with a devastated expression and a red domino mask that looked moments away from falling off. Red Hood put on his mask on properly before he hurriedly walked over to Peter. Red Hood’s hair was black with a tuft of white in the front. Peter hadn’t even known that Red Hood had some kind of poliosis. 

"You're back, that's good. Are you hurt?'"

Peter backed into the nearest wall when Red Hood seemed to want to stare at Peter's backside.

"I'm fine." Red Hood seemed unable to stop following Peter. "Look, can you stop?"

Red Hood stood still and nodded. "Yes, of course. I knew stuff like this happened but you don't need to do this. Please, don't do this anymore. It's not right for someone so young and it's dangerous."

"Why do you even care so much about what I do? I can take care of myself."

Red Hood was silent for a moment before he moved in front of Peter's window and stuck his head out. There seemed to almost be a green glow about him again before it disappeared with a couple of deep breaths but his shoulders stayed raised and Peter could see how his blood was pumping harshly through his veins.

Red Hood stared at the dumpster outside. "It's not right! You're too young to consent to things like that."

Red Hood didn't just sound mad, he sounded furious. Unfortunately Peter didn't always know when to back down.

"Consent to what? Fixing some old ACs and tables is hardly a hard, adult decision."

Red Hood's shoulders fell. "ACs? Tables?"

Peter should really not roll his eyes while a dangerous man was blocking the only exit. "Is that some kind of crime to fix things for money? I thought that you would be more accepting of money under the table."

"Is that your only job?" Red Hood turned his head to stare at Peter. The green glow seemed to have faltered entirely but suspension fell off of him in waves instead. 

"Yes? What else do you think I was doing?"

"Nothing," Red Hood hurried out in a way that told Peter that it really wasn't nothing.

Peter used to be curious but now he was just tired.

"So, when's your next job?"

Peter sighed. "I don't know. Whenever someone contacts me."

Red Hood nodded in wide and slow movements. "Of course."

"So any repeat customers? Maybe someone from Crime Alley?"

Peter finally pulled himself away from the wall and walked towards the meat display and saw the blanket still laying safe and completely ratfree. "What's with all the questions?"

“Nothing, I was just wondering if I could meet the people paying for a child to come to their home alone.”

Peter turned his eyes back on Red Hood. “Not everyone's trying to get me, you know.”

Red Hood's head turned to Peter's arm and tired knees. 

“No, only some.” 

Peter threw him a glance. “You’re still not off the hook. Have you at least taken care of your injuries?” 

Red Hood walked over to Peter to pull up his sleeve. Red Hood’s stare sharpened and his mouth thinned at the growing marks where he had hit himself in the alleyway. 

Red Hood had a calm rage to him but he still answered with a polite, “I’m fine. Barely even hurt.” 

Peter sighed as Red Hood analyzed every mark. “You smell like blood.” 

Red Hood looked up from Peter’s arm and sent a self-satisfied grin. “Maybe it hurt a little bit but Thompkins took care of it.”

Peter pulled his arm back. 

“I’m glad you’re better but I still don’t tolerate you lying to me and you’re not tracking down my clients.”

Red Hood sent him a dangerous grin. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Peter sighed and went for his tablet that he had left behind when he was walking over to Mrs. Andersen. It was a little after 9.30 and Peter was already ravenous but didn’t want Red Hood to follow him to the library. 

Peter scuffed. “I’m going. You can sleep here or leave to get treatment.” 

Red Hood took a hold of Peter’s arm again. “No, you’re not. ”

Peter pulled at his arm again. “Let go of me, I’m going to the library, not war.” 

Red Hood didn’t seem to believe Peter anymore than Peter was believing Red Hood today so they instead had a stalemate that Peter hated that he seemed to be losing. 

It ended with Red Hood sitting in front of the window while Peter messed around with the tablet. He had never given Solitaire a chance before but the tablet was changing his mind rapidly. 

There was a snore while Peter was on his 3th playthrough and the tablet had almost died. He looked up and Red Hood was still sitting with his arms crossed and his head thrown at an uncomfortable looking angle against the wall beneath the window. 

Peter walked over to lay the blanket over Red Hood and looked as Red Hood’s head moved towards Peter momentarily before it went limp behind him again.

Peter did try to use his Spider-Man stickiness but he didn’t have the strength to do more than just stay in the same spot and it felt like he could fall the one inch between his feet and the floor at any moment when he tried. 

Peter instead packed his things, finished the last Solidary playthrough, packed the tablet, and then moved as silently as possible behind Red Hood and through the window. 

The snoring stopped momentarily when he landed on the asphalt but started again after a few seconds and Peter left in a confused but irritated mood. 

Red Hood was clearly hurt and should go out for more treatment or at least sleep in a bed instead of guarding Peter’s window. It was also really sweet, but annoying, that Red Hood wanted to ensure that Peter was safe in his own way. Not that Peter needed any safeguarding. He had been 17 in his own universe. Practically an adult and Red Hood looked 30-ish but often acted 16 so they were probably about the same anyway. 

When Peter walked past Newtown, he thought Red Hood had followed him for a few streets, but there were no red figures around any corner. Peter just shook his head and kept going. He needed his sandwich, a good nap, and hopefully, the opportunity to convince Red Hood that Peter knew what he was doing.

Chapter Text

Peter arrived at the library around 11. The day-old sandwich was delicious, and the company was great. Babs didn't initially eat when Peter did, but she relented when it was clear that Peter felt awkward at her just staring at him eating. He finished the sandwich in less than 45 minutes. It was his best time all week. 

Peter didn't want to return to Good Ham immediately after the meal. Red Hood was either still sleeping, or he wasn't, and Peter would have to deal with Red Hood being pissy about Peter leaving in the first place.

There were many books that Peter hadn't even looked at the covers of, but he still decided to go to the computers. Peter had learned some about Wayne Enterprise, but not enough, and he knew next to nothing about the Wayne family. 

Bruce Wayne had a lot of less-than-stellar attempts at wit despite being 53 years old, but Peter calmed his concern with the knowledge that the company seemed to be mostly run by a business manager and the 30-year-old Tim Drake. 

Other than that, it was mostly just photos from galas and charities and talks about Bruce Wayne having stopped adopting and fostering after the then ten-year-old Damian Wayne came home to him 15 years ago. Apparently, this Bruce character had adopted a lot throughout his life, and Peter decided to research the children individually. 

He started with the youngest, Damien Wayne, and he went up the ages that the kids had gone to live with Bruce Wayne. There wasn't much difference between the children's younger years of more charities and galas before the kids mostly went to do their own thing. Most dramatic was when he read about the glossed-over death of a 15-year-old Jason Todd in January 1993.

It had been 17 years, but Peter would have thought there would have been an explanation for why he died. Shouldn’t rich people have bodyguards and taste testers or something to prevent sudden deaths? Tony hadn’t had any bodyguards, but he was a hero, so Peter doubted that anyone would have tried to kill or kidnap him, but a 15-year-old heir to more money than God himself probably needed one. 

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to read about Jason Todd, so Peter reached the final Wayne child for the day, Richard Grayson.

There was a neat link on a Wikipedia-ish site that took Peter directly from Jason Todd’s short page to Grayson’s much, much longer page. Peter had expected much of the same as there had been about the other children but he was wrong. 

Some basic information about Grayson was available, but even those were surprising. For example, a picture of Grayson at a function a few years ago was included. 

He kind of looked like the pictures of Peter’s dad but also very different, and the ages would be wrong. Peter's parents had been in their early thirties when they had him and in their mid 30 when they died, and this guy, Dick, was currently 38. An age that Peter’s father had never reached and with a different haircut, smaller waist, and broader shoulders that destroyed any theory about the around seven doppelgangers that everyone was supposed to have.

Peter was also sure that his father had only been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or had worked towards it, while Grayson had 12 confirmed previous occupations as an adult. Some were skilled and some unskilled, but it was still a lot. 

Peter felt faint at that list and then looked farther down to see Grayson’s childhood occupations. He was initially an acrobat with his biological parents from 5 until their untimely death, and then he worked as a newsboy when he had been living with billionaire Bruce Wayne for a year. 

Peter knew that some parents made their kids have jobs solely to learn responsibility. However, it was still surprising that Bruce Wayne let or made a ten-year-old, relatively newly orphaned boy work as a newsboy for months, and then Dick worked as a golf caddy for a year. Peter couldn’t remember Wayne doing that to the other kids, but maybe he had either changed his mind or the other kids hadn't had public jobs. 

Peter leaned towards changing his mind as Grayson didn’t have any official job as a teen until he started a successful comic book series at 16, which is still going strong to this day. He even started a second one dedicated to his son when Grayson was in his mid-twenties, until his four-year hiatus from both series in 2003.

Grayson’s current occupation is as a comic book writer after only six years as a police officer, and Peter blinked as he tried to understand when Grayson had had the time to go to the academy. 

Peter read on while a high schooler was complaining about summer homework in the back. 

Grayson finished the academy when he was 27, and a few years before that, he graduated from law school. There wasn't any information about him using the degree before applying to the police academy, but he must have. It would be stupid if he had finished a fancy degree and not used it at all. 

Then again, Peter couldn't decide if this late-30s man was earning too much for him to spend or if he was being sponsored by Bruce Wayne. Peter looked up at the occupations again. Wayne had made Grayson work as a child, but Peter could read between the lines and see that Wayne had pulled some strings to get Grayson’s first comic book published. 

Concentrate, Peter, he scolded himself and read on as the high schooler cried about To Kill a Mockingjay in the background. 

Grayson became a father on October 23rd, 1993. 21 years old was young but not overly so even if the site made it sound like it was a teenage pregnancy. Grayson and the mother were confirmed to have broken up by March 1996. 

Grayson had later had a short marriage with a red-haired woman with orange-ish skin after they had been an item for years. At first her skin had looked like a successful fail at spray tan but he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was to read that she was from another planet. 

Koriand'r was seen with Grayson for a short time after the wedding in July 2003 and the death of Grayson’s son in August 2003 - 

Wait, Grayson’s child died? Peter hoped he was okay now after losing both his brother and now his son. Peter had been sad when his uncle and aunt died but he couldn’t imagine the pain of losing both your siblings and your child. 

but she then disappeared from the media completely until the couple filed for divorce in January 2004. 

The site provided a surface-level explanation of Grayson’s almost complete disappearance from the public eye for over a year, and the few pictures of Grayson showed him looking very thin and tired, but Peter found himself needing to know more about the whole situation. 

Peter went out to the homepage and typed in Richard Grayson August 2003. 

There has been an villian attack at a local school in Blüdhaven during a summer program while Grayson had been on duty. 23 out of the 60 children present had been injured. Thirteen of those had recovered at home, ten had recovered in the hospital and one had died in the PICU 4 days later. 

One of the articles had even posted a picture of a boy with wires and tubes all over and a breathing tube stuffed down his throat. The bandages centered around a temple and the boy had black, swollen eyes and a purple nose in a stint. 

Bandages snaked themselves up from everywhere from under the hospital blanket and the almost paperwhite skin the few places that weren’t bruised or bandaged made the boy look like a half finished painting. Peter would always be horrified about people sneaking into hospitals to take a picture but his heart broke at the knowledge that someone broke into the PICU to take a picture of a child. Or maybe it had been someone working at the hospital. 

Horror filled Peter’s entire torso at those thoughts but he only teared up when he read the dehumanising text about the boy. 

Peter Patrick Grayson, 9, 1 day before death . 

Peter should stop. This was all morbid and disgraceful to a dead child but he felt like he had to know what happened next. 

Another article described Richard Grayson’s public screaming match with a nosy reporter a week after the pictures of Peter Patrick Grayson had been published. There had only been one death and the boy had Grayson's last name but Peter hadn't realized that it had been Richard Grayson’s son in that picture. No wonder the man had been a mess. 

Then there was another grotesque article. 

Reporters had waited in front of the graveyard at the funeral until Grayson’s police colleagues had chased them away. Peter wanted to cry at the thought of a grieving father going through that but he held back. Maybe some cops were corrupt but everyone deserved to grieve in peace and Grayson hadn't had any controversies related to his job. At least not ones that Peter could find any information about. 

It had been a closed coffin. The child’s parents had wanted the world to remember him as he was and not what he became right before death. 

Peter let out a horrified and loud gasp when he saw what looked like it could have been his old school picture put next to the coffin. The hair was a little thicker and darker but the face was the same and the eyes were hidden behind thick glasses. Just like it had in his own school pictures. 

Peter lifted a hand to the left side of his head and he tried his best to convince himself that the scars there were simple childhood bumps and bruises. Even though they didn’t match his own childhood scars. Maybe he had been born with a cranium that didn't quite line up, and it wasn't the evidence of a fractured skull under his fingers, and maybe the thick scars among his hair were just from an unrelated injury. 

Peter ran towards the bathroom and looked at his own reflection as Peter Patrick Grayson was tattooed to his eyelids. 

Peter looked exactly like a starved and haunted version of the uninjured Peter except for his left ear. Only the lower half of it was intact, and it was ugly, but it worked far better than the right one when he snapped his fingers next to it. 

His hair was thinner than it had been the last time he studied himself and barely less oily, but he could see how it wanted to wave like it had in the picture of Grayson’s son.

The article was years old. Peter did the math. It took longer than it should but he eventually calculated it and then recalculated it, but Peter Patrick Grayson should have been a few months away from 17 if he had survived and barely anything in a grave as he hadn’t. 

Peter looked back at himself, but why did he look so much like the child? 

Peter didn’t remember everything from his first day in Gotham, but he remembered enough. He had wondered if a scientist had kidnapped him. Maybe someone had kidnapped the corpse of this dimension’s Peter? 

Would that mean that Peter had stolen a child’s second chance of life, or was he inhabiting a dead body? 

Tears filled Peter’s eyes, and he fell to his knees as the shot of adrenaline left him confused and overstimulated. 

“Are you okay in there?” The doorknob turned with no luck. 

“Fine,” Peter sobbed. 

“Can you unlock the door, honey?” 

Peter shook his head. He just wanted to be alone. 

Babs tried to coax him out for several minutes before everything quieted down for either two seconds or two hours. 

“I'm back,” Babs told him. 

Peter just kept shaking. His hands, his face, everything tingled, and nothing was his. He couldn't even breathe right. 

“You're hyperventilating. Breathe into your hands.” 

Peter tried but his hands shook too much and they weren't even remotely his anyway and the black frame around everything was getting thicker and darker. 

The door clicked and opened to Babs’ sorrowful expression just as there was a startled scream and then Red Hood somehow appeared in a domino mask. 

“I thought you said you kept the door closed because he's a runner, Barbie,” Red Hood threw over his shoulder as he went down on his knees in front of Peter. 

“Hey, kid, you look like ass.”

Babs sent Red Hood a sharp look but Red Hood barely paid her any mind. He only reached behind himself and received a paper bag for his troubles before Babs drove away to calm the crowd behind them. 

“What's wrong?”   

Peter shook his head vigorously. 

“I don't believe that there’s nothing wrong. Did something happen?” 

Peter shook his head. 

“Hm, lying.” Red Hood made a click with the negative space in his left cheek and put the paper bag over Peter's mouth. “Just breathe.” 

Peter was slowly breathing a little slower when he saw several eyes on him again. 

Red Hood stood up and turned towards the audience. “Fuck off! Go to a circus if you want a show!”

Red Hood went farther into the bathroom, closing and locking the door before he turned back to Peter, and his shoulders fell into a slope.

Peter started to hyperventilate even more in harsh and loud breaths even when Red Hood put the bag back over his face.

“I'm dying.” Tears fell like rivers from Peter's eyes and nose, and he started to sweat all over. “I'm dying, I'm dying.”

“Just breathe,” Red Hood ordered. “You're not dying if you're breathing.” 

“I can't, I'm dying.” 

Peter's hands started to tingle, and his heart felt like it was beating too much. It would give out at any moment, and it only reacted more erratically when Peter realized it. 

“Heart attack,” Peter forced out between breaths. 

“You're not having a heart attack,” Red Hood declared, but his shoulders still stiffened when he felt Peter's chest first over the hoodie and then directly over his t-shirt. 

Peter cried harder. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.” 

He wasn't even sure if he was apologizing for making Red Hood see him die, for taking over some dead child's body, for being rude all day, or for sneaking out. 

“It's okay, kid. Whatever you did is okay.” 

“No!” Peter shook his head, and then the rest of him shook. 

Red Hood tried to make him say what he sensed like the TV always showed when someone had a panic or anxiety attack, but it didn't do anything. His body was floating, and his eyes kept going black. The only sensations were the sound of wheezing and the feeling of death creeping in. 

“Just let me die,” Peter begged when it was clear that the pain was just being stretched out, and he would die anyway.

“No.” Red Hood looked around the bathroom. “Should I get Babs for you?” 

“No,” Peter cried weakly into the bag. “You can't. Just stay. Don't go. I don't feel so good.” 

Red Hood's hand gripped Peter's t-shirt tightly before letting go and pulling out from under the hoodie. 

All Peter would see was Red Hood’s sweaty two-colored hair. 

Peter kept struggling through his breaths as Red Hood took one of his hands and put it over his chest. 

“Just follow my breath, okay?” 

Peter nodded. He slowly regained something resembling composure as he followed Red Hood’s exaggerated breaths. 

Peter stopped seeing black everywhere, and an overwhelming calm came over him. 

“Your mask is black,” Peter mumbled into the paper bag. 

Red Hood sent a smile. “Yeah. Like Red Robin’s.” 

Peter took a few more breaths before Red Hood removed the bag. 

“Better?” 

Peter nodded. He was both embarrassed and exhausted. 

“Want to talk about whatever that was?” 

Peter shook his head. 

“That was really scary.” Red Hood was talking to him like Peter had talked to particularly emotional victims and scared children as Spider-Man, and Peter realized this was the first time he had heard Red Hood without a voice modulator. “Do you need a hug?” 

Peter shrugged. 

“Can I touch you?” Red Hood asked. 

Peter nodded, and Red Hood took hold of his hands, although Peter could barely feel it. 

“That was really, really scary. Has that happened before?” Red Hood's head kept making slight movements back and forth as he took in every minuscule movement that Peter made. 

“Don't know. Maybe. I'm sorry.” 

Red Hood let go of Peter's hands and gripped his shoulders tight enough for Peter to feel. “None of that, okay?”

Red Hood gave Peter a slight shake. “No apologies.”

Peter nodded, and tears started to fall in a more controlled manner. 

“Do you need anything?” 

Peter shook his head. 

“Okay, then let me drive you home.” 

Peter nodded, although he had no home to go home to—just Good Ham with its cold floors and loneliness. 

Red Hood stood up and pulled Peter up too but he faltered when he tried to stand on his legs. Maybe the body was finally decaying after over 6 years. 

“Wow, easy.” Red Hood put an arm around Peter's shoulders and Peter put his arms around Red Hood's waist and hid his face in his chest. 

The cramped space of Red Hood's shirt worked almost as well as the bag but Red Hood still asked, “Can I carry you?” 

Peter didn't know what to say. He wished that they were just at Good Ham already. 

Peter nodded. 

“Good, just hold on tight while I check my mask.” 

Peter just held on tighter and pressed his face as hard as possible against Red Hood's stomach, which had a thin layer of softness over a hard board of muscle. 

“There we go,” Red Hood said as soon as the helmet was securely on. “And up you go.” 

Peter was pulled up with a grunt from Red Hood and Peter ended with his thighs on either side of Red Hood's chest and his face in his shoulder. His butt leaned on Red Hood's forearm while Red Hood's other hand was pressed against his back as soon as they left the bathroom. 

They walked by the front desk, and not-Hannah gave Red Hood Peter's backpack. 

“Here, sir,” the young man said with a wavering voice. 

“Thanks.” Red Hood's voice felt nice as it vibrated next to Peter's ear and he leaned back as his hand briefly let go of Peter's back. 

Red Hood looked somewhere else while Peter did his best to be invisible in Red Hood's neck. 

There seemed to be a silent exchange that went over Peter’s head, both literally and figuratively. 

“Call me when you know,” Red Hood ordered. It was said without the almost explosive anger he had had for the crowd earlier but it was simmering just below the surface. 

There was another silent exchange before Babs said, “Get home safely.” 

Peter pressed his nose into Red Hood's neck until he could feel the pulse beating against his face. 

Peter didn't remember much from the ride home except Red Hood trying to convince him to go to his nearest or coziest safehouse. Peter kept shaking his head, and Red Hood only stopped when Peter started to cry hoarsely.

There was a promise of something somewhere in their interaction but Peter didn’t know who of them promised what, and he only felt the world around him again when Red Hood laid him down on his blanket and laid his giant west and giant arm over him. They both smelt like gunpowder, blood, and safety. 

A hand brushed over his hair as Peter fell asleep. He dreamed of nothing but emptiness, and he listened to Red Hood finally falling asleep again after a long night of the repeated horrors that Peter knew he would never be told about.

He was safe for just a moment despite all the wrongdoings that he had done. 

Chapter Text

Peter woke up warm as the day turned into early evening. Warmth filled his every pore as he lay under the warm hooded west and over the thin blanket. He felt Red Hood's breaths on the right side of his face and heard the snores clearer when he turned his head to look at the black and white hair.

Red Hood was still wearing a domino mask despite having his face pressed into his arm as he lay on the cold floor. He looked completely careless and exhausted.

Peter sat up and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes with lazy movements when Red Hood sat up as soon as his arm had moved from on top of Peter.

Red Hood looked Peter over before he violently rubbed his face and stretched his back, giving several painful-sounding cracks. The mask must have been glued on to withstand vicious fights in both sun and rain, but it was still strange to see how much force Red Hood could use, and it still stayed on.

"Feeling better?"

Peter suddenly remembered how they ended up here and he turned his eyes to his lap and blushed brightly. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Red Hood groaned. “None of that.” 

Peter gave Red Hood brief looks but he couldn’t stand to look at the man for more than half a second at a time. 

“Why were you sleeping here, and on the floor?”

Red Hood gave a deep hum. “Maybe because you’re a flight risk.” 

Peter gingerly changed his position and evened out the wrinkles in the west in the lack of anything better to do. “I’m sorry.” 

“Maybe you should be a little sorry about that,” Red Hood muttered. 

Peter’s head fell down further before he looked at Red Hood with wide eyes. “How are your injuries? You shouldn’t have slept here. Especially when you’re injured.” 

Red Hood moved into another painful sounding stretch. “Probably.” 

“I’m so stupid,” Peter whispered to his hands. 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing, are you going to, um, Toolkins?”

“Thompkins?” Red Hood looked up but kept sending Peter looks. “Maybe, but I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem that important right now.”

Peter huffed and glared at Red Hood. “It is important. You’re hurt and jumped in and out of a window and carried me.”

Peter stilled. “You carried me through the window.” 

“Sure did right after driving us both with you almost limp and I then slept on the cold, hard floor.” 

“You should go get your leg checked out now.” 

Red Hood laid down somehow both slowly and knocking his head on the floor. 

“Are you okay? Did you just pass out?” 

Red Hood turned his head to look at Peter. “Eat some candy and leave me alone to wake up. I’m old and tired.” 

Peter sat up straighter. “Candy? Where?” 

He hadn’t had candy in forever. Maybe for an entire month before he woke up in Gotham. 

Red Hood’s mouth widened into a smile. “Gummy bears in the left inner pocket. They might be slightly squashed, so I hope that you don’t mind.” 

Peter had already put several gummy bears into his mouth. “I don’t mind. I haven’t eaten since 11 or 12.”

Red Hood furrowed his brows. “What? Who gave you food? You can't just accept food from random people.”

Peter looked down at the gummies. “But it's okay to accept candy from strangers?”

Red Hood scoffed. “I'm not a stranger.’

Peter chewed as quickly as possible to answer without candy in his mouth. “We met this week.” 

“I think it was more like last week so I'm definitely not a stranger.”

“Yeah, sure we're practically family,” Peter mumbled as he reached out for another gummy and looked up when Red Hood didn’t answer immediately. 

Red Hood's face seemed sad before he hid it with an inhale and a smile. “Ready for a family trip to the clinic then?” 

“Family trip? Can’t I just get the doctor for you?.” 

Red Hood stretched again. There were no cracks from his back but he did groan dramatically and hold his side and leg. “You’re right. I’ll just have my injuries checked here. I hope that I don’t get an infection.” 

Peter sighed. He knew exactly what Red Hood was doing and the worst thing was that it was working. 

“I can go with you.” 

Red Hood sat up on his knees. This time without exaggerated groans but he did wince when he leaned on his hurt leg. “You should get some tests too. I’m worried that you could have caught something from...” Red Hood froze for a moment before he continued. “You do live in an abandoned butcher shop after all.” 

Peter kept looking down at his hands and the west. “Or maybe I just need to clean more.” 

“You clean plenty, kid. This almost looks livable despite the pests and rats.” 

Peter gave Red Hood a sharp look. “The spiders are not pests!” 

Red Hood looked taken aback but brushed it off quickly. “Sure thing, I should have known that you’re a real spider fanatic.”

“Maybe you should apologize or I’ll make them wrap you in their webs.” Peter looked down at his fingers from both angles. “You are constantly intruding on me and my roommates after all.” 

Red Hood’s face moved in a way that told Peter that he was rolling his eyes beneath the mask. “I didn’t know that you were that enthralled with spiders. Did they even live here before you or did you bring them in?”

“You’ll never know but you can just call me Spider-Boy.” 

Red Hood’s breath caught weirdly at that. “Yeah, I’m not calling you that.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t protest when Red Hood stood up and changed the subject. 

“So, the clinic?” 

Peter refused to look at Red Hood until he stood up and tilted to the side a tiny bit before he corrected himself. Peter looked up and Red Hood smiled but he winched slightly as he pulled Peter up straight. 

Peter’s eyes went straight to Red Hood’s shirt. It was black but a spot seemed more deep black and wet. 

“I thought that you only hurt your leg. How hurt are you?” 

Red Hood looked down. “Oh, that? It’s nothing.” 

Peter analyzed it for only a moment before he looked up at Red Hood with widened eyes and downturned eyebrows. “Did I open something when you carried me?” 

“Narh,” Red Hood tried. “You weigh less than some of my guns. So let’s get to the clinic as soon as possible and then feed you.” 

Peter was at war with himself at the reminder of food. He rarely didn’t think of food lately. Everything was either about the possibility of getting food or actively eating but Red Hood was hurt and it might have been his fault. 

Peter tried to think of something horrible so Red Hood could counter with the actual truth and they could both relax. 

“Did someone shoot you?” 

“What? No,” Red Hood denied but Peter’s face fell. It sounded like a lie. Someone had shot him and Peter had been annoyed that Red Hood hadn’t come the night before. Peter didn’t deserve someone worrying enough about him to sleep on the floor when he was this ungrateful and unobservant. 

Peter bit his bottom lip and walked away from Red Hood and the still warm blanket and west. 

“I wasn’t shot in my stomach,” Red Hood called after him. 

It sounded like the truth but Peter could hear the implementations even with his limited hearing. Red Hood hadn’t been shot in his stomach and he was hurt at least in his leg too. 

“Food.” Red Hood called and Peter looked behind him instinctively before he remembered to look away. 

“You shouldn’t cry about me, you little shit.” 

“I’m not!” Peter yelled back. As he tried to keep his shoulders from moving too much. 

“Please don’t cry.” Red Hood said and went over to pat Peter’s back with a little too much force. “I’m so bad at the mushy stuff.” 

“You’re great at it!” Peter counted. “You’re so nice.” 

“Thank you, kid, but it’s nothing to cry about.” 

Peter turned around and automatically put his arms out and Red Hood threw his arms around Peter without a thought, lifted him high up and then gave him a squeeze. It felt like a choreographed dance that Peter couldn’t remember ever learning. 

“What, no, put me down,” Peter panicked. “You’re bleeding and should just sit and I’ll get food and then we can go to the clinic or I can get the doctor to come here.” 

Red Hood put Peter down but his lips pressed together as he looked out the window. “You’re not going out there alone.”

Peter held Red Hood’s arm in a firm grip. “You’re hurt.” 

Peter looked back at the shirt. The bloody spot didn’t seem to have gotten bigger but Peter couldn’t be entirely sure. 

“Can I please look at it?”

“No.” Red Hood shook his head. “It would be really weird for you to look at my stomach.” 

“So, the clinic?” Peter looked away at Red Hood's words. “And then food. Anything you want.” 

Peter tried his best to make his eyes big and hopefully hard to deny anything. “How hurt are you?” 

“So you don’t want food?” Red Hood tempted but Peter looked away again. 

Peter wanted to argue some more but at the same time he also just wanted Red Hood to be patched up already. 

Peter pulled Red Hood towards the window.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

The clinic was looking old but entirely unharmed in a way that buildings rarely were in or close to Crime Alley. Even the sign was whole and Peter had seen people in far better neighborhoods destroy things like that for fun. 

There were a few people in the waiting room but they all seemed occupied. A very thin woman was eating noodles and reading a magazine with a plaster on her arm and a rugged man was looking at his phone and the door on repeat. 

“Hood, what are you doing back?” an elderly and willowing woman greeted him. She looked about 87 and had thick glasses and a slow gait. 

She then looked down at Peter. “Oh, you brought in a patient. I’m Dr. Thompkins.” 

“Hello, I’m Peter.” 

Peter looked up at her for a moment. He didn’t know if he was more worried about what she might find out if she looked at him for too long or worried about her running a clinic in this neighborhood at her advanced age. 

Red Hood looked down at Peter before he talked quietly to Dr. Thompkins. “I’m here to get my stitches looked at.” 

Thomkins looked almost bored until Red Hood hesitatingly added, “and do whatever test he would ever want. No questions asked and he doesn't want me to know.”

“Any tests?” 

Red Hood nodded. “Any test and treatment. No invoice, just a bill if needed.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. There seemed to have been some kind of implication in that interaction and Peter didn’t like that he couldn't understand what it was. 

He would definitely not get anyone examine or test him after finding out that he stole a child’s second chance of life, but he didn’t think it was that strange for a homeless child to ever get checked out. It must have only become strange after Red Hood’s additions as Dr. Thompkins hadn’t been surprised about Red Hood bringing in a dirty and underweight child in too big clothes. 

“I’m not getting tested for anything,” Peter protested. “We’re here for his injuries.” 

Dr. Thompkins nodded but Red Hood looked defeated. 

“Is he coming to the examination room with us?” 

Red Hood seemed to be calculating as he looked at Peter. Up and down. Left to right.

“Will you get a few blood tests done if you can go with me?” 

Peter wanted to go with Red Hood. He felt like he needed to know the extent of Red Hood’s injuries but he couldn’t let someone take his blood and figure out all his secrets. Peter didn’t even know if this body’s powers were bred, created or somehow a part of his soul or consciousness. Most technology in Gotham seemed far behind the world that he left behind but there could be advances in fields that Peter didn’t know enough about. 

“No.” 

Red Hood sighed but didn’t protest. “Remember we’re getting pizza after this.” 

Peter wouldn’t have left Red Hood even if the police came and asked for Peter personally but the promise of delicious food would have cemented him to the floor even if he had wanted to run. 

Peter waited in front of the examination room as Red Hood and Dr. Thompkins closed the door to the room and every sound was too muffled for Peter to hear anything even with his left ear against the door. 

They were in there for far longer than Peter liked. The rugged man left when another equally rugged man arrived and the thin woman took a nap in her chair just as a group of older teenagers arrived. 

Dr. Thompkins looked at Peter as soon as she and Red Hood came out after almost 45 minutes.

“We can do some tests now. Red Hood can come with but he doesn’t have to if you don’t want him to. He doesn’t have to know the results either.” 

“No, thank you, Dr. Thompkins. I appreciate it but I don’t need it.” 

Red Hood sighed but steered Peter out of the clinic and to the motorcycle with a hand on Peter’s back. 

There was a silence between them for most of the ride but it was neither especially awkward or uncomfortable after Peter accepted that Red Hood would not push him anymore for now. 

Peter had unfortunately never been able to just be and his mind would always wander if his mouth couldn’t. 

“What’s on your mind, kid?” Red Hood asked as he finished his pizza at Peter’s place.  

Peter shook his head. “It’s nothing really.” 

“You’re not eating your food,” Red Hood supplied. “And you’re looking very occupied while looking out at the empty alleyway.”

Peter shrugged.

“You can tell me anything. I’m sure that I have done or thought worse than you are doing right now.” Red Hood laid down on his back with his feet peeking over the edge of the blanket.

“It’s silly.” Peter looked at Red Hood and laid down next to him. Peter’s feet were not even close to the edge of the blanket and he considered moving down so they would be but decided it would be both awkward to do and awkward to talk to Red Hood if their heads were that far apart. 

“Cool.” Red Hood’s mask was as expressionless as always but the lifted lips seemed encouraging enough. 

“Okay,” Peter started. “So you know Bruce Wayne, right?” 

Red Hood lifted his torso with the arm closest to Peter. “Yes.” 

“I was just wondering if, um.” Peter let out a slightly high-pitched hum before looking into Red Hood’s mask. “Is he as stupid as he seems?” 

Red Hood seemed to freeze entirely for a moment before he let out a loud laugh and fell back on his back again. 

Peter sat up and turned his back to him while Red Hood tried half-heartedly to stop laughing. 

Peter didn’t offer a reaction when Red Hood sat up, moved his legs right behind Peter, and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Sorry, kid, really, I was just not expecting that. You were looking all angsty so I thought that I would have to kick some butt or hide the butts you had kicked.”

Peter let out a ‘humpf’ and crossed his arms. Red Hood waited patiently until Peter relented. 

He turned back to look at Red Hood again and continued, “It’s just he seems so dumb in the media but do you know if it’s a Paris Hilton or London Tipton situation?”

“I don’t know who this London Tipton is but he’s probably not as stupid as many think that he is. However he can definitely be stupid.” 

“Wasn’t he in med school at some point?”

Red Hood lifted his hands by the elbows. “What can I say? I guess that he knows what he doesn't want.” 

“He didn’t buy his way in, right?” Peter asked and tried to study Red Hood’s body language. It was loose and friendly but Peter felt as if Red Hood was hiding something but then again so was Peter. 

“Narh, he must have studied at some point to get in and he has kept Wayne Enterprise alive until now.” 

Peter nodded. At least he now knew that the man holding the monopoly of so much of Gotham wasn’t a total idiot even if his business manager and son were probably doing most of the work. 

They enjoyed the quiet for almost 10 minutes as Peter went back to eating. Or at least Peter tried to as Red Hood kept sending him glances. 

“What?” Peter asked. 

“Nothing, I just have a weird question too and you have to answer now that I've enlightened you on Bruce Wayne's lack of intelligence.” 

Peter nodded and waited. 

“Are you perhaps related to any acrobats? Like did your mother have an affair with an acrobat or something? Or a grandmother?” 

Peter frowned and furrowed his brows as his heart beat in his chest. Grayson had been an acrobat born from other acrobats. “No? I at least don't hope that my mom or any of my grandmother's cheated.” 

Red Hood nodded along and Peter relaxed with the knowledge that Peter Grayson didn't even look like Dick Grayson. 

“Why?” Peter stretched the word for almost 2 seconds. 

“You just look like someone I used to know.” 

Peter looked around as he searched for a response. In the end he landed on “Okay.” 

“So,” Red Hood asked only moments later. “Are you ever going to share your full name with me?” 

Peter looked up at Red Hood. “Are you ever going to share yours?”

“You already know it. Hood comma Red.” 

Peter looked up at the ceiling. 

He did not really exist here so the truth about him could shake people off the scent of him being a bodysnatcher. 

“Parker.” 

“Your name is Parker? I thought it was Peter.” 

Peter looked back at Red Hood. “It is. Peter Parker.” 

Red Hood stared rather intensely. “Your name is Peter… Parker.” 

“Yes? It's just a normal name.” 

Red Hood looked away when he answered, but he still seemed haunted. “Yes, of course. It's just a normal name.” 

Peter felt like he had said exactly the wrong thing and quietly ate as much as he could and then sat quietly when Red Hood finished the pizza. Apparently there were no leftovers when Red Hood knew that Peter would be fed regularly.

Red Hood’s phone buzzed, and he took it out. His whole being seemed to freeze momentarily before he pressed the screen twice. 

“Hello, what do you know?” He asked rather rudely to whoever was calling him. 

Peter couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the phone with his right ear to it, but he felt like he knew what it was about from how Red Hood was looking at him. 

“Okay,” Red Hood said with a stony expression as he looked down at his other hand but his voice wavered. “Should I call him?” 

Red Hood looked back at Peter. “Yeah, I’ll arrange it.”

Peter felt like he was being assessed as he watched Red Hood’s conversation. 

“Bye, Barbie.” Red Hood sounded like a rock that could take any amount of pressure from almost all angles but if he was pressed just right, or wrong, he would crumple. 

Red Hood stared at his phone for a moment before he sniffed once. “Fucking allergies, huh?”

“Was it bad news?” 

Red Hood sighed. “No, it was great news. I’m just feeling weird.”

Peter stared at Red Hood. 

Red Hood looked back at him and glanced at the pizza boxes. “Think about what you want to eat tomorrow morning while I make a call.” 

Peter watched as Red Hood went to the other end of the room and called someone. 

He was glad that Red Hood seemed to have friends that weren't 9 years old but it was still rather sudden and seemingly spontaneous that Red Hood had gotten a call and now he was calling someone else. Presumably to arrange whatever meeting was needed but it still felt strange. 

Peter blinked a few times as Red Hood stopped the call and walked back to Peter and the blanket. 

“Finally ready to see one of my places tomorrow?” 

Peter had the distinct impression that he didn’t have a choice. 

“Aren’t you meeting up with someone?” 

“ We’re meeting up with someone.” 

Peter didn’t answer at first and Red Hood sat down in front of him and the pizza boxes again. “I don’t want to pressure you, but I need you to do this for me.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows but then remembered what Red Hood had said a few days ago. There were people who could take care of Peter and Red Hood had probably decided it was time after the stunt Peter had pulled at the library and how he had refused to get tested at the clinic. 

Peter could fight it. He wanted to but he would accept it if this was what Red Hood wanted and if it turned out badly then Peter would just escape one way or another. Red Hood would never have to know any of it. He could just think that he saved another kid and concentrate on all the other ones as well as the eternal wheel of crime and horror. Peter knew where the train station was and if that didn’t work then he could put the body to rest. 

“Okay.” The heaviness inside of Peter didn’t even allow him to shed any tears and the chill froze his limbs in place. 

Red Hood smiled relieved and full of so much joy that Peter could have choked on it. The pizza suddenly felt like an anchor in his whole body. 

Peter tried to find anything to say so Red Hood wouldn’t know that Peter knew what tomorrow would be about. 

“Are you going out tonight?”

“No, I’m staying in tonight. Someone else got Crime Alley covered for the night.” 

Peter wanted to believe that it was just a moment of clarity from Red Hood and he was taking his health seriously. Peter did not believe that and simply laid down on his half of the blanket. 

“Are you already tired?” 

Peter simply laid his head on his arm and ignored Red Hood taking a glove off and feeling his forehead. “You’re not warm but you did have a very long day, kid. Sweet dreams.” 

Chapter Text

Peter laid on a pillow and under a soft and plain blue blanket the next morning. He turned his head slightly and let the like crisp, metallic linen lull him into a sense of safety and comfort. It smelt so nice that he almost didn’t notice laying on his scroungy Red Robin blanket. 

He opened his eyes and saw Red Hood lying next to him in a black sleeping bag with an arm out to lay over Peter’s forearm. 

Red Hood’s skin under the mask must be irritated and almost as dry as the cracking skin on Peter’s hands but he looked completely peaceful until Peter tried to sneak his arm away. 

“Hungry?” Red Hood mumbled and threw an arm over his eyes.

Peter was still for just a second until he realized what was happening today and the sense of comfort turned to dread “Sure.”

Red Hood removed his arm and turned to look at Peter with furrowed his brows at Peter’s lack of an enthusiastic answer or childish refusal.

“What do you want to eat? I can grab anything for you.” Red Hood looked at something behind him. “Well, anything that’s open at 7 am or we can just go over to my place now and I can cook something simple.” 

“Food here is fine.” 

Red Hood moved closer still half inside his sleeping bag and his back made a few sounds as he did so. 

“What do you want to eat?” 

Peter shrugged. 

Red Hood sounded much more awake after moving over the floor. “Pancakes?” 

Peter looked intensely at a corner where he had not cleaned the dishsoap away completely until Red Hood sighed and drove away with strict instructions of Peter staying until he was back. Red Hood did have a tendency to walk to the other end of the alleyway everytime Peter had to wash himself so Peter reluctantly did so before Red Hood arrived with pre-made waffles from either a store or his own fridge. At least the red hoodie brought some comfort even with Peter’s warring emotions. 

The waffles could have tasted amazing or horrible. Peter didn’t really register anything other than the feeling of moving through oil and only had the energy to eat two waffles at Red Hood’s insistence before it was time to go at 8.20. 

Red Hood drove them both to a very worn but clean street in Crime Alley. Peter hadn’t even thought that there was anywhere this nice in Crime Alley. Dr. Thompkins’ clinic had been a nicer building by itself but all the surrounding buildings had looked minutes away from falling down while all the buildings around this place looked far more sturdy. There weren’t even any visible bullet holes around the street.

Red Hood jumped off the motorcycle with a fake cheer. “Well here we are, kid.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Off you go,” Red Hood ordered lightheartedly. 

Peter jumped off slowly. He wanted to enjoy every second he had left with Red Hood but if he couldn’t enjoy them then he could at least prolong them. 

Red Hood held the outer door open for both of them and quickly overtook Peter on the stairs. 

“You’re too slow,” Red Hood laughed. 

Peter didn’t even have the energy to pretend to believe his laugh. All he had energy for was looking up at Red Hood as he ascended the stairs. 

“Are you doing okay?” Red Hood asked as Peter waited for him to unlock the door to his apartment. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“If you say so.” Red Hood guided Peter through the door by a hand between his shoulders. 

“Home sweet home,” Red Hood said with another burst of fake cheer before taking off the helmet and kept his domino mask on. Peter took off his own helmet and gave it to Red Hood when he reached out a hand. 

The apartment was spare but looked relatively lived in. There were two pillows laying crookedly on an old couch and a forgotten glass on the coffee table. 

Even the half wall between the living room and tiny kitchen looked nice. 

“Do you live here?” Peter asked. 

“Sometimes, it is my nicest place and I had hoped to be here more often but I don’t think that’s going to happen anymore.”

It was the most truthful that Red Hood had been since they went on the motorcycle. The knowledge was enough to distract Peter until there was a knock on the door and Red Hood left the awkward silence behind as he answered it. 

“Nightwing,” Red Hood greeted monotonously. 

“Hey, Hood,” a nervous voice greeted. 

Peter kept looking at the wall. There was a messy drawing of a spider in a frame next to an amazing painting of a seaside. The painting could really have been in a museum while the spider drawing looked like it belonged in either a forgotten drawer or a garbage can. 

“Kid, come over here,” Red Hood called. 

Peter looked at the front door but found Red Hood and Nightwing of all people by the couch. It took Peter a moment to understand what was different and realize that Nightwing wasn’t wearing a voice modulator.

“Hello, Mr. Nightwing.” 

Nightwing sent Peter a hopeful smile. 

“How are you?” 

“Fine,” Peter mumbled. 

“Nice.” Nightwing nodded and gave a little nod. “You look better.” 

“Thanks.” Peter then looked over at Red Hood. “Why is Nightwing here?” 

Red Hood took a deep breath. “He’s just going to ask you some questions.” 

Peter wanted to ask more. Mostly about why Red Hood was biting his bottom lip that hard and why he couldn’t look at him for more than a second but Peter couldn’t find any words before Nightwing spoke again. 

“Is that okay, Peter? Can I ask you some questions?” 

Peter looked back at Nightwing. There seemed to be a weird weight over everything and even just Peter’s name seemed to weigh a ton in Nightwing’s mouth. 

“I guess, I just don’t know why. Are you a psychologist or something when you’re not fighting crime or staring at me weirdly on the street?” 

Red Hood studied both of them but didn’t comment. 

Nightwing let a surprised half-laugh-half-huff go. “No, I’m nowhere close to a psychologist.” He let out another huff that somewhat resembled a nervous laugh before just focusing on Peter. “How’s your sight? Nothing blurry?” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “No? I haven’t hit my head lately if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Red Hood stared at Nightwing briefly. “He does wheeze when running, though.” 

Nightwing looked at Peter and his sunken cheeks.

Peter looked between both men. “Are you two trying to sell me or why are we talking about my eyes or lungs? I would be a really bad organ donor and I don’t like drugs.” 

Nightwing looked disturbed and Red Hood just sighed. “You’re not being sold or becoming a drug mule. We’re just curious about a few things.” 

“Cool.” Peter gave a thumbs up and tried to walk away when Red Hood grabbed the hood of his hoodie and pulled him back. 

“Stay.” 

Peter glared up at Red Hood before he gave a deadpan response. “Woof, woof.” 

Red Hood gave a small but genuine smile, but it still looked kind of sad. 

“Why are we here?” 

Red Hood slowly found his words. “I promise that I’ll tell you very soon, and we can get some food later today. Whatever you would like.” 

Food sounded good. Peter’s stomach was trying to make up for lost time even though it couldn’t house enough yet. 

“Pizza?” Peter asked and looked up at Red Hood with big, brown eyes. 

“Again?” Red Hood asked but then just shrugged. “Fine, I doubt any pizzerias are open before five but I’ll see what I can do. You just have to let Nightwing ask his questions and whatever else that he needs to do.” 

Peter sighed. “Fine.” 

He looked back at Nightwing who looked spooked but quickly recovered and sent Red Hood a glance before looking back at Peter again. 

"Can I check something?" Nightwing looked so genuine that Peter found himself agreeing without knowing exactly what he was agreeing to.

Peter thought for a brief moment that Nightwing was going to kiss him, which would just be gross, Nightwing was old enough to be his dad. 

He held Peter's face between his hands instead. The light touch on Peter's chin felt intimate but was fortunately gone even quicker than it started.

Then Nightwing checked Peters’s hair and lingered for a long time somewhere behind his left temple. Peter sent Red Hood a disturbed look but his heart calmed when he saw that Red Hood wasn’t reacting to the strangeness. He looked on closely but it seemed more out of curiosity than worry. 

Nightwing then analysed Peter's hands. Every finger was evaluated and Peter froze in his inability to understand what Nightwing wanted. The few scars on his palms barely looked like anything and didn’t need that amount of scrutiny. He had barely noticed them himself since he woke up in Gotham. 

Peter only reacted when Nightwing tried to pull up Peter's shirt.

“Hey!” Peter pushed Nightwing away with a twist of his heart. He could have really hurt someone if he had used that amount of force when he was at full strength but right now it was more of a hard touch. 

Nightwing put his hands up and widened his eyes. "Sorry, sorry, I was just checking if you had your scar from your appendectomy."

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. He had never had appendicitis in his own universe but he found himself feeling his sides from the sheer conviction in Nightwing's voice. For a moment he didn't find anything but then his hand found the scar like a magnet to pure metal when Nightwing uttered a soft, "Your right side. Right over your hip."

The scar was tiny and hidden between two greenish marks but it was undeniably there and too precise to be from anything other than a surgery. 

It was pink as if it had only been a few months since he had a deep incision and stitched up with steady and professional hands. Nightwing must have known the former Peter very well to know exactly where the scar was. 

Peter looked back up at Nightwing with his heart pounding loudly in his ears but Nightwing just sent a relieved but pained smile. 

Peter turned to look at Red Hood but he walked away from them. 

“He’s okay,” Nightwing tried to reassure him but Peter still followed Red Hood and saw him leaning on a dresser with his head down. Peter didn't think that he had ever seen a grown man look so small before. 

“Mr. Red Hood?”

Red Hood's head lifted and he sent Peter a small smile. 

“Hey, kid. What's up?” 

Red Hood's eyes looked red but his cheeks were dry. “Are you okay?” 

Red Hood nodded and sent Peter a watery smile. “Yeah, what would even be wrong?” 

Peter squared his shoulders before he spoke again. “Why are you trying to get rid of me if it makes you this sad?” 

Red Hood turned fully towards Peter. “Don’t ever say that.” 

He walked over and went on one knee so he was only a little taller than Peter and put his big hands on Peter’s shoulders as they fell from their squared position. 

“Is that why you’ve acted differently since last night?” 

Peter nodded but didn’t let his stern expression fall. 

“Kid, no. I would keep you in bubble wrap forever if I could. You’re so tiny that I could fit you in my pocket.” 

Peter tried to achieve some kind of eye contact despite the mesh in Red Hood’s mask. “Why are you sad then?” 

Red Hood swallowed. “I’ll tell you in a few days. Okay?” 

Peter looked down at his hands. “So I don’t have to go until then, right?” 

“No, you don’t, and I would really like you to stay here in this apartment for a while.” 

Peter looked around. It looked very cozy with a wooden dresser and forest green walls but Peter didn’t want to share a twin bed with anyone. “Where would I even sleep?” 

Red Hood stood up and quickly towered over Peter. “I can show you.” 

Peter nodded and they walked back out to the living room where Nightwing was doing a very bad job of pretending he hadn’t been listening as he followed them to the next room. 

The walls were white but the room looked younger with red bedsheets and a cartoon version of Red Robin on a poster over the light gray dresser. 

“Oh, Little Wing,” Nightwing let out as he saw the room. It was filled with too much sympathy for the little room. 

“None of that right now,” Red Hood forced out but Nightwing’s mouth and eyebrows kept their downturned positions. “I already know.” 

Peter looked at both men as Nightwing leaned up against Red Hood. It wasn’t quite a hug but it looked like something they had done 1000 times. 

Red Hood said something quietly but they were on Peter’s right side. Peter turned his head to look at the blank white walls behind him and coincidentally had his left ear closer to them. 

“I think so, I really, really think so,” Nightwing whispered. 

Red Hood’s hands turned into fists but loosened with a few nods when Nightwing whispered something else even quieter. 

“Who’s ready for pizza?” Red Hood asked at a louder volume. 

Peter was both confused and uncomfortable with the atmosphere but he still raised his hand up in the air in an instant. The waffles hadn’t been very filling and although he was still confused and full of emotions they were less dominating now that he knew that he had a little longer with Red Hood. 

Nightwing smiled fondly at him while Red Hood just looked pained. 

“I’ll be off then. Better get those pizzas soon. Can you keep,” Red Hood stopped talking for a second. “Peter company while I get some pizzas?” 

Nightwing’s fond smile turned sympathetic as he looked at Red Hood. “Of course.” 

It was very awkward to be in the living room with Nightwing. Peter felt both like a zoo animal and a prized possession as Nightwing couldn’t keep his eyes off of Peter’s every move. Peter could only look at the spider drawing and beautiful landscape for so long before he relented and turned to Nightwing. 

“How are you?” 

Nightwing startled as if he had thought that he was invisible. “I’m good, how are you?” 

“Still fine.” 

“Right.” Nightwing shuffled his feet before looking at the drawing. “Do you like spiders?” 

Peter looked at the drawing again. Maybe it didn’t quite belong in the garbage but it was still ugly and spiders didn’t have upturned and red mouths. “Yeah, they’re cool.” 

“I think so too.” Nightwing looked at Peter from the corner of his eye before talking again. “It’s just annoying that people call them bugs instead of arachnids.” 

Peter turned towards Nightwing with widened eyes and a childish rush of emotions. “You know about spiders?” 

Nightwing’s smile widened impossibly. “Yeah, but I can always learn more.” 

“Did you know that all spiders can make silk, but not all of them can spin a web?” 

“No, really?” 

“Yeah!” Peter nodded. “It’s true.” 

Nightwing smiled. He seemed both amused and intrigued. “That sounds so unfair for the poor non-web spiders.” 

“Yeah, but it’s okay because they use it for other things.” 

Peter and Nightwing had turned the conversation into non-spider related subjects by the time Red Hood arrived in a better mood with three frozen pizzas. 

Red Hood had also picked up a thermometer but Peter had no idea how he could know Peter’s temperature from how he jammed it into Peter’s cheek. Both Nightwing and Peter sent Red Hood a look at that but they didn't have time to protest too much as the pizzas were ready less than a minute after.  

Peter got a pizza all to himself as he sat between Nightwing and Red Hood on the couch. Nightwing finished his own while Peter couldn’t quite do so and Red Hood ate his leftovers.

Both Red Hood and Nightwing yawned several times but tried to keep it from each other. Peter was still tired from yesterday but it seemed like both men were used to being up all night and sleeping half the day away. It was already past noon and clearly long past both of their bedtimes. Red Hood had been sleeping this morning but perhaps he had had trouble falling asleep or still been tired from the day before too. 

Red Hood hid a yawn as a stretch. “You should probably get back soon, Nightwing. It’s a long way to Blüdhaven.” 

Nightwing hid his own yawn as an even more dramatic stretch. “I’m staying in Gotham for a little while.” 

Red Hood pressed a hand on his tired eyes. “Of course you are. I hope you ask to stay here so I can kick you out.”

“Is Blüdhaven far away?” Peter interrupted. He knew vaguely of Blüdhaven but hadn’t taken the time to check any maps online. 

Nightwing seemed startled at Peter’s question. Perhaps it was something that everyone should know if they lived in Gotham. “Only a 33-minute drive. Have you ever been there?” 

Peter pondered for a moment what would be the best cause of actions and ended with the truth. “No.” 

Both Nightwing and Red Hood shared a look and they suddenly didn't seem tired anymore. 

“Have you lived there long?” 

Nightwing looked at Peter for a long moment and looked far too serious for basic background questions that Peter could have found through a quick internet search. “Yes, about 12 years but I still come to Gotham regularly.” 

Red Hood and Nightwing seemed to be looking for some sort of reaction in Peter who simply blinked up at Nightwing. “Okay, you seem really intense about this but I’m glad that you like Blüdhaven.” 

Red Hood and Nightwing shared another look over Peter’s head. 

“Maybe we should visit there sometime, kid,” Red Hood said slowly. 

“Wouldn’t it be really weird for people to see you drive around in full gear?” 

“Batman does it,” Red Hood countered. 

Peter narrowed his eyes and turned his head to look at them both so many times that he felt a little dizzy. “What’s up with that anyway? Doesn’t the Batmobile have a license plate for people to look up? It’s not much of a secret identity if you can just look up the plate.” 

Red Hood cleared his throat. “That’s a good point.” 

Peter suddenly couldn’t remember if Red Hood’s motorcycle had a license plate and usually he hoped that no one drove around illegally but it would probably be the best in this situation. 

“I heard you like Red Robin,” Nightwing interrupted Peter’s heavy thoughts. 

Peter looked over at him. “He’s fine. I think that I saw him around Gotham a few times but I see Signal more often.” 

Red Hood sounded shocked when he asked, “So he’s not your favorite?”

Peter studied Red Hood’s black mask, it looked just like Red Robin’s, and thought of the fresh poster that hung in the guest room. 

“No, I think you are my favorite.” 

Red Hood looked like he just entered Nirvana while Nightwing’s smile turned a little forced. 

Peter looked around the living room to get away from the adults’ big emotions. 

“What do you do when you’re home? There’s nothing to do around here.” 

There was no TV or games anywhere. Not even training equipment to keep Red Hood fit. 

“That’s not true,” Red Hood argued and pulled Peter up from the couch. “See there are lots of books.” 

Peter looked over and saw everything from The Iliad, to Frankenstein, to Stephen King at a quick glance. 

“Anything that you would like to read?” 

Peter looked at the titles again. “I’ve always wanted to read Alice in Wonderland by myself.” 

Red Hood took it down and gave it to Peter. It looked well-loved and well-worn. 

“Thanks, I’ve only ever gotten it read for me.”

“Do you remember who read it to you?” 

Peter looked over at Nightwing. “My uncle, why?” 

Nightwing looked over at Red Hood before he sent Peter a warm smile. “No reason. I’m just curious.” 

Peter looked up at the books again. They were an unexpected mixture of literature but Alice in Wonderland and the whole series of Narnia still seemed misplaced. 

“Have you read a lot to your nephew too?” 

Red Hood’s mouth lifted into a smile. “Yeah, mostly Peter Pan and Charlotte's web, but I did read a poem to him a few times.” 

“That's nice. Does he like poetry?” 

“Not particularly. He wasn't in a position to tell me to shut up and it needed to be said.” 

Peter knew what Red Hood wanted him to ask from his downturned face, but it felt like a trap and Peter didn’t know if he could fall into it in front of both Red Hood and Nightwing. The silence kept getting heavier and Peter eventually asked the dreaded question. 

“What did you read?”

Red Hood smiled wistfully. “Do not go gentle into that good night.”

Peter already knew the answer but the question was still needed. 

“Did he go quietly?” 

Red Hood looked right at Peter. “There were no sounds of rage, but he fought until the end.” 

Nightwing let out a pained but quiet noise somewhere on the couch.

“I'm sorry.” 

“Me too.” Red Hood’s eyes seemed to hold an ocean behind the mask. He breathed heavily and then braced hinself before continuing to talk, “I read some Sara Hendersen Hay too. For A Dead Kitten. It seemed to fit.” 

Peter nodded. “It sounds like it did. You sound like you were a good uncle. I would know. I had a good one too.” 

Peter couldn’t see Red Hood’s eyes but they somehow could still shine with more emotions than could be written in all the books in the whole building. 

“I’m glad to hear that, Kid.” 

Peter went over to the couch and read while Nightwing and Red Hood had a strangely civil fight about just about anything and everything. It ended with both of them falling asleep but Peter was too occupied with Alice’s adventures to do more than a glance and then fall back into the rabbit hole. 

The men eventually woke up and they both refused to acknowledge falling asleep while accusing the other one of snoozing all day. Peter had never had siblings but he imagined that it would be similar to this. Although probably at a younger age than both Nightwing and Red Hood seemed to be. 

“What will you even feed Peter?” Nightwing asked. He seemed almost addicted to saying Peter’s name as many times as possible. 

“I don’t know. Whatever he wants.” 

Nightwing sighed. “Have you just been feeding Peter Batburger and pizza?” 

“And chicken curry,” Peter piped up. 

Nightwing still seemed disappointed when he answered. “That’s at least something. I’ll just be a moment and then you can both eat some actual food.” 

“Oh god, you’re cooking some weird Eastern food, aren’t you?” 

Nightwing just smirked and walked out the door after putting a long sleeved t-shirt and thin pants over his vigilante suit.  

“Had any sweet dreams?” Peter asked when the front door closed. 

“Yeah. Nightwing left me the fuck alone to eat junk and I didn’t have to fear that you would sneak out as soon as I fell asleep.” 

“I stayed while you and Nightwing slept, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, you did.” Red Hood looked over at the book on the coffee table. “Not feeling Alice in Wonderland anymore?” 

“It was fine.”

Red Hood looked intensely at the book and then at Peter. “Do you want me to read some to you?” 

Peter leaned his back on the couch cushions. “If you want to.” 

Red Hood went for the book in a hurried movement and sat back as he found where Peter had put the bookmark before he started up with a practiced voice. 

It felt a little childish to be read to but also very nice that Red Hood even wanted to read to him. Red Hood even made silly voices for several characters and Peter couldn’t stop his amused laughter even as most of the voices sounded the same. 

“I’m back,” Nightwing announced just as Red Hood had told Peter about the Red Queen’s garden. 

Peter looked over at him briefly. His mask was slightly askew and he sent both of them a huge smile. 

“Just keep reading, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

The silly voices unfortunately stopped with Nightwing in earshot, but Red Hood kept reading until dinner was ready.

“You really need a dining table, Hood,” Nightwing complained as he filled his own and Peter’s plate before going over to the couch. 

“And put it where?” 

Nightwing and Peter looked around. The space wasn’t cramped but it would be with even just a small table and a few chairs. 

Nightwing sat on the couch and put Peter’s plate on the middle of the coffee table.

“Sit, Peter, I hope that you like the tochitura. It has been a while since I cooked anything more than TV dinners.” 

Peter looked at the colorful meal. It had eggs, bacon, pickles and sausages that colored the pork stew beautifully. 

Peter took a bite just as Red Hood sat on the couch with his own meal. Peter couldn’t remember tasting anything as delicious as this roasted pork stew and the bell peppers, cucumbers and lettuce complimented the meal beautifully.

“Do you two like it?” 

Red Hood moved a thumbs up up and down, and an approving head nod while Peter nodded excitedly until he had swallowed everything in his mouth. “It’s amazing, Mr. Nightwing. How long has it been since you cooked last?”

Red Hood seemed unable to sit still and Nightwing’s eyes turned a little sad. “I haven’t cooked in 7 years, Peter.”

“7 years?” Peter’s eyes widened. “I would eat home cooked meals every night if I could cook like this.”

Nightwing sent Red Hood a wry look. “You hear that? Peter would eat my cooking every night if he could.” 

Peter chewed a bit of bell pepper. “Of course, it’s very good.” 

“I’m just glad that you’re eating some vegetables.” 

Red Hood sent a middle finger in Nightwing’s direction. “Maybe you should just leave if you’re just going to insult how I feed the kid.” 

“I’m staying here forever.” 

Peter looked between both of them unsure if this was the start of another playful fight or not. It seemed playful on the surface but there was something brewing beneath. 

“I can leave too. It will be dark soon anyway.” 

“No!” Both men responded simultaneously and the sudden tense atmosphere seemed to have stopped as Peter stuffed more stew into his mouth with wide eyes. 

They didn’t read any more Alice in Wonderland after dinner. All three of them just talked instead, and it was nice and felt almost domestic. Peter sometimes wanted to just sit and bathe in it but both Red Hood and Nightwing had an unbelievable ability to lure an answer out of Peter if he had been quiet for too long. 

It was almost sad to see Nightwing go out the door a little over an hour after dinner but it allowed Peter to collect the bravery and ask as politely as possible to borrow Red Hood’s shower. 

Red Hood practically ran around to find a towel and a giant t-shirt for Peter. He even brought some plastic bags to put over Peter's duct tape shoes when he refused to cut them off.

Peter had to shampoo his hair four times before it felt clean and the t-shirt looked like a dress on him but it made him feel a bit more human and the comfortable feeling followed him into bed only an hour after that.

It had felt surreal after weeks on a cold floor. The duvet crinkled slightly as they always did when they were freshly dry and everything was soft and nice. Red Hood had offered to read more of Alice in Wonderland but Peter started to yawn before he could get up to collect the book.

Red Hood brushed a hand over Peter’s head. “See you tomorrow, kid.” 

Peter smiled back. “Goodnight.” 

It was only as Peter drifted off to sleep that he remembered that he had his next appointment with Mr. Green tomorrow.

The thought lingered in his mind, but sleep overtook him before he could come up with a plan to calm or distract Red Hood tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Peter woke up after a long night's rest, feeling ready for the day. He thought he heard Babs talking in the middle of the night, but he had no idea why she was in Crime Alley. He even heard her voice briefly when Red Hood came back from his patrol, but Peter fell asleep before he could do more than register the noise. 

Peter looked at a stack of clothes when he woke up. Red Hood must have collected it at some point, and the cleanest t-shirts, underwear, socks, and one pair of jeans lay on top of the dresser when Peter felt himself come back to consciousness. He didn't know how to think about Red Hood collecting the clothes from Good Ham and then coming into the guestroom without Peter noticing, but he appreciated not having to wear his clothes from yesterday and changed out of Red Hood's giant t-shirt and into a similar outfit as yesterday except with jeans instead of sweatpants, and he found his red hoodie laying in a hamper. 

When he came out of the bedroom, he saw Red Hood sprawled on the couch. Peter cautiously removed the still lukewarm coffee cup from Red Hood's grip and put it on the table before he went into the kitchen to find breakfast. 

Being somewhere with a working fridge was amazing and Peter almost ate the cheese without any bread before remembering his manners. There was so much in the fridge and the cupboards from Nightwing’s grocery shopping the day before. 

Bread, butter, and cheese tasted like a little piece of heaven while Red Hood changed his position in his sleep. 

Peter looked over at him. Peter would probably not be able to take on more jobs until Red Hood and Nightwing talked to him about whatever they wanted to so Peter wanted to at least finish his last job with Mr. Green. 

Peter wrote a quick note for Red Hood and left it next to the coffee cup. 

Going to Newtown for a job. I'll be back around 1 pm :)

The walk was nice and Gotham was having surprisingly nice weather without rain and the sun peeked out through only slightly gray clouds. 

Peter even heard some birds chirping and a stranger smiled at him nicely. Today would simply just be a good day. 

Peter liked Mr. “Just call me George” Green. The man always tipped well, had home-baked goods almost every time Peter came by, and the fix-ups were often quickly done. The nature of them had changed a little through Peter’s time of knowing the man but there wasn’t a huge difference in time between taking care of a heater that was on its last leg or installing a new ceiling lamp.

Mr. Green also seemed lonely every time Peter visited. He still had pictures of his ex-wife and former stepkids hanging in the living room and hallway and a sad look every time he or Peter looked at them. 

“I taught the little one, Sarah, how to ride a bike, you know,” Mr. Green said. 

Peter just nodded. The girls looked around 5 and 9 in the newest picture he had of them. 

“She’s in her senior year now. Smart girl, she’ll probably get into a nice college.” 

Peter looked up at the man but didn’t know what to say. The man sometimes talked about them as if they had died and Peter couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen them for so long even if he wasn’t married to their mother anymore.

Mr. Green looked down at Peter and sent him a sad smile. “Well, we better get going. I’m sure that you have a lot to do other than humor an old man.” 

Mr. Green let out a few huffs in a sad imitation of laughs. 

“It’s okay, Mr. Green. I don’t really have other plans for today.” 

It wasn't strictly a lie but not quite the truth either. Peter did want to be back at Red Hood's place before 1 just in case Red Hood woke up before that. 

Peter looked up at the wall clock. It was barely 9 am and he just had to leave at 12.15 at the latest to be back before 1. 

Mr. Green straightened up before answering. “Really? That’s great but we better get going anyway.” 

Peter was shown the door from the kitchen to the garage before they both walked through.  

It was decently clean and the car stood proudly beside the new tires. The small windows didn’t give off much light so Mr. Green had to turn the lights on despite it being a lovely day outside. 

Peter walked in and had to look for a moment to find the carpoint. It was old but looked as if it had at least a few more cars left to lift in its lifetime. The new tires looked only slightly worn and Peter decided to not think about where Mr. Green had gotten those. 

The work was easy in that it wasn’t challenging mentally and hard in that he needed to be efficient but his strength was barely more now than before he got more consistent meals. He let out a few grunts as he took the old wheels off but otherwise it was a relatively quiet affair. 

Mr. Green looked curiously at Peter through it all besides going to the kitchen to get some juice when Peter started on the final wheel.

Peter felt faint and sweaty as Mr. Green came back and Peter didn’t want to linger for too long today but some orange juice sounded heaven sent at that moment. 

They sat down on Mr. Green’s garden furniture in the garage and Mr. Green enjoyed his beer while Peter downed his juice. Not even the weird salty taste was enough to deter him. 

Mr. Green just smiled when Peter finished his glass and came back with a refilled glass. This one didn’t have the same salty taste. 

“So, Peter,” Mr. Green started. “Have you gotten comfortable with life in Gotham by now?” 

“It’s okay,” Peter mumbled but then remembered his manners and spoke loud and clear. “I mean, yes, it’s very different from before but it’s great. I love helping people.” 

Mr. Green’s smile widened. “That’s great, Peter.” 

Peter looked down at his hand near Mr. Green’s on the table. Peter pulled his hand away gingerly and rested it in his lap. 

“There’s something else I need help with if you wouldn’t mind.” Peter looked up at Mr. Green who looked as nice and almost grandfatherly as always. 

“Sure, what do you need?” 

Mr. Green stood up and waved for Peter to follow him. It was only when Mr. Green went to the bedroom that Peter stopped walking. 

“What do you need help with in there?” 

Mr. Green turned around and sent the same warm smile as always. “Just looking for something.” 

“Okay.” Peter took a step away from the door but Mr. Green followed him out. 

Peter’s senses had been going wild since he arrived in Gotham and they had only gotten worse as the days passed but every other sense was trying to make themselves known now. 

Mr. Green went over to Peter and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re such a smart boy, and so mature for your age.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Green.” 

“Call me George. I might pay you but I see us as equals.” 

“Thank you.” Peter tried to make his legs move but they wouldn’t listen. 

“Do you want to sit on the couch or bed for a little bit?” 

Peter's hands started to shake. “No, it’s okay. I actually have another appointment soon.” 

Mr. Green’s eyes widened and the hand tightened on Peter’s shoulder. “Another appointment? I thought that you were free all day?” 

Peter’s mouth started to dry out. “I forgot. Sorry. I just forgot.” 

“It’s okay, Peter, I’m sure they will understand. What kind of appointment is it?” 

Peter’s breath shuddered. “I’m repairing a-.” He had to think of anything plausible but his brain was too busy trying to get away mentally to think of anything. “a ladder.” 

“A ladder? Smart boy.” Mr. Green’s other hand found their way to Peter’s behind and played with the extension cord that he had used as a belt since his second week in Gotham. 

“Thank you. Can I go now?” 

“No, I have a better idea.” 

“I really need to go. My father will be worried.” 

A cold shine fell over Mr. Green’s usually warm eyes. “What would it take for him to not care? 50 dollars?” 

Peter tried to take a step towards the front door but Mr. Green’s hand was tight around the extension cord and Peter’s shoulder.

“I don’t do things like that. I’m sorry.” 

“Hm, didn’t think this would be your first time, but I’ll make it worth it. An extra 100 if you're a very good boy and then we will never have to speak of this again.”

Peter tried to say something but his tongue wouldn’t form words as soon as Mr. Green removed his hand from Peter’s shoulder to open his pants and then lead Peter's hand to Mr. Green’s growing erection. 

“You’re so smart and so cute. So helpless.” 

Some vague part of Peter hoped that there wouldn’t be anything on his clothes when he eventually left this house. Another part cursed himself for getting himself into this situation when he had already learned about the intimate horrors of men from Skip. 

“Can we take this in the bedroom?” 

“No.” Peter somehow knew it would be even worse on the bed. 

“Please? I have my big bills in there.” 

“No.” 

Having Mr. Green listen to him made it feel like this was his choice. That he just had to say no harder and everything would stop. His words got stuck and his brain kept asking if Mr. Green would just take and take if Peter tried to deny him everything. 

“Tell me that you like me touching you.” 

Peter’s mouth didn’t want to form any words and Mr. Green pressed his hand harder against Peter’s front and used Peter’s limp hand to touch himself. 

Even the shadows seemed to get bigger while Peter tried to get as far away from his body as possible. 

“You’re my helpless little boy, aren’t you?” Mr. Green asked shortly before he finished over Peter’s hand. 

Then there was a loud sound. It startled Mr. Green and his hand off Peter and Peter wiped his hand on his pants when Mr. Green let his soiled hand go and zipped his pants.

Several loud sounds followed and they only got louder until Mr. Green went to unlock and open the door as much as it would with the chain still on. Peter hadn’t even known that the door had been locked. 

“What can I do for you, young man?” 

“I'm here to collect a little boy.” 

“There's no kids here.” Mr. Green let out a jovial laugh. 

“Can I look?” 

“No, please leave.” 

“Kid, are you in here? I was sent to collect you by Red Hood.”

Peter’s brain finally started to work and he walked over to the door on stiff legs. 

Red Hood didn’t have his mask on but Peter recognized him instantly from both his voice and lower face. He looked vaguely like Bruce Wayne with his mostly dark hair and light eyes. Red Hood was also just as wide-shouldered but more rough around the edges and about two decades younger than Bruce Wayne looked currently. 

Red Hood’s green eyes widened when he saw Peter through the gap. 

“Are you okay?” 

Mr. Green looked over at Peter. “Of course he is. He was just repairing something. Right, Peter?” 

Peter didn’t answer. He simply stood and waited for anything to make sense again. 

Mr. Green's eyes softened. He looked kind if someone weren't looking closely enough. “Do you know this man, Peter? I just wanted to protect you from strangers.” 

Peter knew somewhere in his mind that he needed to get the chain off to get to Red Hood but he simply reached out and tried to achieve some sort of comfort through the gap in the door. 

Red Hood squeezed Peter's hand before letting go. “Come, we’re going home. Just come out and then we will go home.” 

Peter nodded. He didn’t know exactly why he was acting like this. It was as if he was still a little kid trapped in a room with dirty magazines and dirtier hands but this time he didn't have to walk home alone.  

Red Hood guided Peter to his motorcycle. It looked to be thrown on the grass.  

“Ready to go home, kid?” Red Hood asked and Peter simply stared. His heart was racing but his body seemed to understand that he was out of danger. Red Hood would protect him and he could just relax. It suddenly didn’t quite feel like anything today had happened. It had just been a horrible movie that Peter would do his best to forget about.  

Peter jumped on the motorcycle behind Red Hood as soon as they had both put on store-bought helmets. Peter held Red Hood tightly and tried to forget what had happened. 

They both got off the motorcycle in front of Red Hood's apartment without anything dramatic and they both ascended the stairs. 

“We should talk about your habit of disappearing.” 

Peter looked up at Red Hood. His mouth felt full and every sound tasted like acid. In the end he could only mutter, “Shower, please.” 

Red Hood’s eyebrows furrowed. He looked almost the same now that Peter could see his eyes, but he was much easier to read with his whole face exposed. 

Peter went for the shower and only stopped scrubbing when his dry skin started to peel everywhere and the water ran pink. He put on clean clothes and the half dirty sweatpants made him feel a bit more mobile as he looked down at his dirty clothes. He only owned a few pieces of clothing, but he could never wear any of the clothes on the floor again. Maybe Peter could find a dumpster the next time Red Hood slept or went on patrol. 

Peter hid the clothes behind the toilet and washed his hands twice before walking out to Red Hood with wet duct tape shoes that seemed to rub off the skin of Peter's feet with every step.

“No, you don’t need to come,” Red Hood hissed in his phone. “The tests won’t be ready until tomorrow when O and RR comes over.” 

A voice yelled loudly through the phone before hanging up abruptly, and Red Hood looked up at Peter. 

“Looks like Nightwing is paying us another visit.” 

“Why is he angry?” 

Red Hood pulled off some invisible lint from his clean t-shirt. “He’s not angry. Just worried and annoyed with me.” 

Peter didn’t know how to feel about that. He hoped but doubted that Nightwing was worried about something unrelated to Peter if he was coming over so quickly after Peter came back.

“Hungry?” 

Peter wasn't sure he could even feel hunger right now. Mostly, he just felt numb and slightly nauseous. He slowly shook his head and glanced around the living room. It was as he had left it, but everything seemed different now. 

Red Hood's face fell when Peter looked at him. “Sit on the couch and I'll get you something easy.” 

Peter walked stiffly over to the couch near the armrest and the kitchen. 

Red Hood went to the fridge and collected a small plastic bottle before walking over to stand in front of Peter. “Here, someone we know recommended this and Nightwing picked it up at the pharmacy yesterday.”

Peter looked at the bottle with hollow eyes. It advertised itself as a medical protein drink. One 150 ml bottle had 360 calories and almost 14.5 g of protein. Not quite as many calories as a full meal, but far better than nothing and much quicker to ingest. 

Red Hood had shaken it and was now pulling the cap off before handing it over to Peter. “You have to drink it. It's half past 12 and I don't know when you last ate.” 

“I had bread and cheese this morning.” 

Red Hood seemed to attempt a smile, but it just looked like a grimace. “That's good, but you still need to drink this.” 

Peter gingerly took a swing of the drink. It tasted how he imagined strawberry milk did, but it was thick and almost made him gag. 

“Don’t down it like that. You’ll puke.”

Peter didn’t throw up, but it was a close call. 

Nightwing opened the door just as Red Hood was taking the empty bottle to the trash can in the kitchen. 

“Peter’s drinking those? Good. Drink however many you can, Peter. I will buy as many as you want.” 

Peter would rather not have another one, but he appreciated the offer. 

Nightwing stopped walking near Peter. “How are you today? I heard you took a little walk while Red Hood snoozed.” 

“Yeah.” Peter pulled his arms closer to himself. It was barely September if he was remembering correctly, and everyone else wore thin shirts and jeans without issues, but Peter missed wearing a hoodie and wanted a jacket even more. 

Nightwing looked at Peter's arms from a distance before looking back at Peter’s face. “Do you want a blanket?” 

Peter nodded, and Nightwing went somewhere behind Peter and came back with a thick blanket and wrapped it around him. 

Nightwing’s hand lingered in the air over Peter’s head before he pulled it back and nodded to Peter’s arm. 

“Can I look at that?” 

Peter lifted his arm to look at the red marks. His arm was sore, and Peter ran his fingers over the growing bruise. “No, it’s okay.” 

Nightwing bit his bottom lip. The words seemed to pain him, but he still asked, “Can Red Hood?” 

Red Hood looked hopefully at Peter from the kitchen and Peter gave a slight nod. 

Red Hood sat on his knees in front of Peter and gingerly felt Peter’s forearm and wrist. Front and back but he had only hit his arm or been grabbed too tightly. There weren’t any new fingerprints, but Red Hood and Nightwing didn’t seem to care, and Nightwing studied Red Hood's every move like a hawk. 

“Follow my finger.” 

Peter followed Red Hood’s finger as it moved even though he had no idea why Red Hood was worried about his head and Peter tried his best to not close his eyes when Red Hood lit a flashlight into his eyes. 

Red Hood finished his examination and sat down next to Peter on the couch. 

“Did he hit you? Gave you a weird drink?” 

“No.” 

Red Hood nodded. “Okay.” 

Neither Red Hood or Nightwing seemed to believe Peter so he changed the subject as quickly as possible. “Can I know your name now that I've seen your face?” 

Red Hood and Nightwing looked briefly at each other before Red Hood looked back at Peter. “Jason.” 

“Nice to meet you, Jason.” 

“Nice to meet you, too.” Jason’s voice held a weird weight but Peter was distracted from it when Nightwing spoke. 

“People call me Dick.” 

Peter let out a surprised snort, and the numbness disappeared for a moment. “What? That’s not very nice.” 

Peter watched as his lips rose in amusement. “It’s a nickname.” 

"Nice to meet you, Di-, Mister Dick," Peter stumbled. It simply felt too mean to refer to anyone as Dick despite knowing it’s his preferred nickname.

"Just Dick is fine."

“Okay, Dick.” Peter had to look away as he said Dick’s name. “Am I going to see your face too now?” 

Dick looked speechless as he slowly raised his hand to his mask before Red Hood hissed, “Library.” 

“Right.” Nightwing nodded and threw his hand down before sitting next to Red Hood.

Peter didn’t know what to do with himself and the growing numbness as Dick and Jason seemed to have a mostly nonverbal conversation with a few no’s thrown in by both of them before Jason stood up. 

“Taking a leak. Be right back.” 

Dick shook his head in Jason’s direction while Peter just stared. 

Jason was gone for several minutes before Dick pulled his phone out. Peter had never seen such a small cell phone before. 

“I guess you haven’t seen this kind of phone before. You can see the button here, but otherwise, you do almost everything on the screen.” 

Peter simply stared some more but nodded when he remembered that most kids probably hadn't seen that kind of technology before. He didn't have to fake wonder as his eyes widened as he took in how few buttons it had or how the screen responded to touch. It was almost like a small tablet, but much smaller and much more reactive, and it could presumably call and text. 

“I downloaded a few movies for you in case you’re getting bored of all the books. I have The Empire Strikes Back and the two newer ones. Revenge of the Sith and The Clone Wars. They came out in 2005 and 2008.” Dick looked at Peter closely at that. 

Peter smiled as excitement replaced the heavy numbness. He hadn’t even thought about what media was around in Gotham, but knowing that they had Star Wars lifted a part of Peter’s spirit that he didn’t realize was being dragged down.

“Can we see some of them?” 

Dick nodded. “Yes, of course. What do you want to watch?”

Peter extended his neck as Dick pressed his phone. “Can we watch The Empire Strikes Back? It’s my favorite one.” 

Dick looked up at Peter before looking back at his phone. “Of course.” 

There was still an entire cushion between them but Peter didn’t try to move closer. 

Dick looked over at him and leaned slightly towards Peter with the phone and Peter’s heart skipped a beat and he leaned back into the armrest as the fear struck him with lightning. Peter forced himself to visibly relax after the surprise left him. 

Dick looked intensely at Peter and carefully and with obvious movements reached only the phone towards Peter. 

Peter took the phone. “Don’t you want to watch it too?” 

“I’ve watched it already.” 

Dick went over to the bathroom and was about to knock when the door opened with a loud slam, and Jason stormed out. 

“Move, Dick!” Jason growled and moved with heavy steps and grapped his Red Hood helmet from the bookshelf.  

Dick followed Jason to the door and held his arm back. “Where are you going? Something happened and Peter needs you here.” 

Jason pulled his arm out of Dick’s grip and stormed out the door. “I’ll kill him.” 

Peter didn’t even pretend to look at the phone as the men fought.

“Who?” Dick followed a step out of the door before he yelled down the stairs. “What happened now?” 

The outer door closed with a bang and Dick went back into the apartment and carefully closed the apartment door. 

“Watch your movie, Peter. I need to make a phone call.” 

Peter turned around to look at Dick as he walked over to stand in front of the doors to both bedrooms before he walked towards the bathroom and froze in the doorway. 

Dick’s breaths were shallow as he glanced back at Peter, his eyes lingering for a moment before he looked at something on the bathroom floor. He turned and disappeared into the bathroom with a soft click. Peter was still holding Dick’s phone and sat frozen as he heard curses from the door. Dick kept his tone low but the undercurrent of anger was unmistakable, rippling out like a dense, suffocating fog through the whole apartment. 

The bathroom door opened when Peter was thirty-five minutes into The Empire Strikes Back, and Dick went to the kitchen for a garbage bag, emerged from the bathroom with it filled, and left it in Jason's room with composed steps. He looked at the bedroom door with a hard stare before he crossed the living room and sank onto the opposite end of the couch as he tried to force a calmness over himself.

Peter flicked his eyes from the screen to Dick. “Is Jason okay?” 

Dick bit his lip for a moment before he answered, “He will be. He just had some urgent business.” 

Peter looked back at the phone. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Jason was running out so shortly after Peter had come back to the apartment. 

“Where is he going?” 

“He had to take care of something, but I talked to a few friends to help him out.”

Peter paused the movie. “I don't want him to do anything stupid.”

Dick looked over at the front door. “Me neither but we just have to wait until he's back.”

Peter bit the left side of his bottom lip. “Is he okay with us being here without him?”

Dick took an audible breath. “He's more than okay with you here but we can go over to where I'm staying if you want to. It might just be a little crowded right now.” 

“I want to stay here and make sure he gets home safely.” 

“Me too.” Dick looked around the living room. “How are you?” 

“Fine.” Peter looked down at the phone. It had gone on standby and it requested a code when Peter tried to turn it on. 

“Do you want to talk about today?” 

Peter shook his head furiously and was about to lay the phone on the coffee table when Dick sighed defeatedly and spoke. “The code is ten twenty-three.” 

The Empire Strikes Back started up again and Peter looked at Dick fiddling with his thumbs. He sat entirely still as soon as he saw that Peter carefully moved a little closer to him. 

Peter knew that Dick was trustworthy. He had proven himself to both Gotham and Blüdhaven and Jason trusted him but Peter’s heart was still in his throat as he moved closer to Dick inch by inch until there was barely more space between them as there had been the day before. 

“We can watch it together now.” 

Peter looked up at Dick briefly who nodded with a small smile, but there was a raw hurt behind his eyes when he looked tenderly at Peter. 

Peter kept holding the phone up until Dick warily suggested putting it on the table leaned up against Red Hood’s cold coffee cup from that morning. 

They watched the rest of The Empire Strikes Back, and Dick tried to entice Peter to either eat a full meal or drink another protein drink. Dick then tenderly peeled a mango for Peter with practiced hands and only ate a piece himself when Peter insisted. He instantly peeled another one when Peter flickered a look where the juicy mango pieces had been.

Peter couldn’t remember anyone ever having the time or care to peel a fruit for him after he was old enough to do it himself, and it made him feel a little warmer as they started to watch Revenge of the Sith. It was engaging, and Peter must have watched it before, but it still felt like the first time.

After that, Dick went to the kitchen to make dinner while Peter continued where he and Jason had left off of Alice in Wonderland the day before. 

Dick didn’t want to leave Peter alone in the apartment, so he made a simple but delicious meal with the groceries he had bought yesterday. This included warmed corn on the cob with butter, which Peter couldn’t get enough of as soon as he tasted it, and Dick encouraged him to eat it with as much butter as possible. 

After that, they watched Clone Wars on Dick’s phone, and it was fine. It was not as bad as Peter had a feeling it would be, but it was far from his favorite media related to Star Wars. Dick didn’t seem overly interested in it either. 

The movie stopped, and Dick seemed almost relieved, while Peter was disappointed that he had nothing else to distract himself from thinking about Jason or Mr. Green. 

Peter looked around for anything to take his mind off those thoughts. 

Peter looked over at Dick. “Want to play Hangman?” 

Dick barely missed a beat. “Sure, I think there’s some paper somewhere around here.” 

The games turned into simply trying to make the other guess what they had drawn. Dick was very good at proportions but seemed about as bad at everything else as Peter was. 

Jason didn’t come back no matter how many drawings they did and Peter reluctantly went to bed around 10 pm. He didn't even argue too much as he couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore and even saw completely black for a moment when he stood up too quickly and Dick refused to draw more with him. 

Dick didn't brush his hand over Peter's head as Jason had done the day before. He only sent longing looks and a promise that everything would be alright before he prepared to sleep on the couch. 

Peter fell asleep quicker than he expected but his dreams were muddled and confusing. Everything moved too fast and every hurt was his fault but his duvet would lay on him everytime he woke no matter how much he kicked in his sleep. It was odd and the cold side of the duvet would sometimes greet his body when he woke from another nightmare before he fell asleep again. 

Chapter Text

Peter startled awake at the sound of the front door opening in the early morning. He ran to the doorway of the guestroom in his t-shirt and underwear to look at Dick standing ready in his Nightwing suit just as Jason walked in with heavy steps and looking as intimidating as always in his Red Hood helmet. 

Dick changed from purely guarded to pulling Jason into the apartment by his arm and shutting and locking the door. Dick seemed to stare Jason down silently despite being at least a couple inches shorter than Jason. 

“He’s dead,” Jason breathed out as Peter turned his left ear towards them. “It took a while.”

Peter’s hearing had been excellent since the spiderbite and the left one was still far above average but he was sure that he had heard wrong when Dick’s confident and even voice said, “Good.” 

Jason looked strong but tired in the darkness. “How's the kid?” 

Dick's rigid posture fell at that question and there was a strangely vulnerable element to Dick's whole being that he hadn't let Peter see the day before. “Peter is ignoring it all. You were right. He only trusts you to comfort him.” 

Peter took a step back. He wanted to disappear in his bed and forget that he had ever heard anything but he stopped moving when he bumped into the door.  

Both men looked in Peter’s direction when the door hit the wall. 

“Are you awake?” Dick said softly enough to not wake a sleeping child but loud enough to call the attention of anyone awake in the tiny apartment. He wasn't quite rigid but looked far from vulnerable in an instant. 

Jason took his helmet off and walked towards Peter and the sudden wave of relief at seeing Jason’s tired and naked face and the sudden memory of what had happened the day before hit Peter hard enough to make him stagger a few steps backwards. 

He didn’t realize that he was sobbing before the tears started to irritate his skin and he was too busy hiding himself in the dark room and behind his hands to be embarrassed about crying in front of both Jason and Dick. 

Jason left the helmet on the half wall between the kitchen and living room as he walked over to Peter with extended arms. Peter slowly moved closer but he stiffed when the arms tried to shield him from the darkness. 

“I'm here. Just let it out,” Jason repeated as he lifted his arms away from Peter and looked down as Peter hugged himself and leaned against him. He smelled like cheap body soap and Peter felt ready to crawl into his skin.

“He won't hurt you anymore. Okay? He can't hurt you anymore.” 

“I don't know why I’m crying,” Peter whispered into Jason’s clean shirt.  

“I know why I am,” Jason said with a wet sniff.

Peter vaguely registered Dick trying to give them a moment alone but it was a small apartment with an almost entirely open kitchen that did little to muffle Dick’s quiet sobs. They were almost too quiet to hear even without any other sounds but the pure agony tasted like sulfor on Peter's tongue. 

Peter let himself cry for several minutes but took a few steps back and looked up at Jason with widened eyes when he remembered of Dick’s and Jason’s earlier words. “Did you kill him?” 

“Why would you think that?” Peter hated that Jason wouldn't just give a straight answer but at least he wasn't making Peter explain who he meant. 

Peter took a step away from Jason. “Why did you kill him?” 

Jason looked pale and feral in the darkness. “You know why.” 

Dick’s sobs had stopped too and Peter was almost certain that he had creeped over to observe every move Jason and Peter made. 

Jason breathed deeply and slightly too quickly. “He deserved far worse. He could have hurt a lot of more kids.” 

Peter looked away from Jason. “Did he hurt anyone else?” 

Jason's hand lifted and hovered awkwardly near Peter’s head but let it fall when Peter made no move to accept it. 

Peter wanted to ask again but Jason's breath was still too loud and too quick as he cleared his throat several times. 

“Only you. He only directly hurt you from what I could see.” 

“That’s good,” Peter mumbled. “But you shouldn’t have killed him. No matter what he did.” 

Jason let out a sniffle that he tried to hide with his hand and Peter turned his head to look at him with widened eyes. “What’s wrong? Did you lie? Did he hurt someone else?” 

“It’s nothing.” Jason let his hand fall from his face and shook his head. “Nothing for you to worry about.” 

Peter blinked a few times while looking at his feet. He took a deep breath and looked into Jason’s eyes with the sternest look he could. “If it’s about me then I deserve to know.” 

Jason took a deep, but shaky, breath and Peter just knew what he would say. Peter was too young. Let the adults handle it. It’s really nothing for Peter to worry about. Dick could show him another movie or Jason could read another chapter of Alice in Wonderland but Peter didn’t want distractions anymore. He wanted answers. 

“I would rather know now than wonder about it. If he uploaded videos of me on the toilet or something then I deserve to know before the cops break down the door thinking that I killed him.”

Jason took another shaky breath and moved the hand farthest away from Peter in front of his mouth and bit his index finger. 

Saliva filled Peter’s mouth with the dry feeling and his heart pumped the adrenaline through Peter’s body. 

“He filmed me, didn’t he?” 

Jason nodded. Defeated. Shameful. 

Dick’s renewed sobs shouldn’t sound so helpless and Jason shouldn’t look that beat down. It was Peter who had been stupid and now he couldn’t stop wanting to know exactly what he had missed.

“What did he film?” 

Jason shook his head and Peter took a step forward and pushed Jason’s stomach. “Tell me! What did he film?” 

“I couldn’t look at it. It was on his computer but I couldn't watch it. It just looked to be just you eating or fixing things like changing the filters in the heater or evening out table legs, but also-”  Jason stopped talking but Peter knew exactly what he wanted to say. 

“The bathroom?” 

“Yes. One video.” Jason had never looked so defeated before and Peter didn’t know what to think. It felt gross knowing that someone wanted to look at him peeing but somehow it was even more disturbing knowing that Mr. Green and maybe others liked to see him do mundane things. Had Mr. Green felt things every time Peter had lifted something? Changing the filter in his heater had been the first time Peter had been at the house and he might have felt something even then if he had kept the video. 

“Oh,” Peter settled on as he sat down on his bed. 

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Jason said. “You have to believe me. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t protect you.”

“Everyone will look for those videos now,” Peter realized. “It will become a huge scandal and now everyone will want to look at me and-” Bile almost escaped Peter’s mouth. “Touch themselves.” 

Jason raised his hand to touch Peter’s hair but Peter pushed the hand away. “It’s your fault!” 

Jason nodded. “I should have stopped it.” 

Peter let out an angry grunt and stood up to pace the room with Jason’s gaze following him. 

“You didn’t-” Peter took a hold of his hair and pulled tightly. “I’m not mad at you for what he did.” 

“But-” Jason tried but Peter was too mad to feel bad about interrupting. 

“Because of you the videos will be more interesting for- for pigs and other people. It will never stop.” 

“I asked someone to take the videos down!” Jason hurried out. “Or I know two people who are working on it.”

Peter stopped pacing but his fingers were still painfully tangled in his hair. “They can get them down? Forever?” 

“They will!” Peter knew such things weren't quite that easy. Everything lived forever on the internet even when it was deleted it could still live on someone’s harddrive and the dark web had backups. 

“Are they looking at the videos too?” 

Jason stared for a moment. “Only to find them.” 

“Okay, they can try.” 

“Good.” Jason sounded relieved and finally removed his hand from his face. 

There was still a bitter taste in his mouth and Peter suddenly remembered how he had eaten or drunk almost anything that Mr. Green had given him after the first week in Gotham. He had been blind and desperate for every comfort he could get his hands on. 

Peter could already feel the bile as he gagged from the thought alone. “Did he mess with my food?” 

Jason looked down at Peter with tears filling his eyes and his bottom lip quivering and exhaled shakenly. 

Peter swallowed the nausea down. “What did he do?” 

Jason closed his eyes and shook his head. 

“What did he do?” 

Jason’s entire face contorted as he kept shaking his head. 

“Did he drug me?” 

“No,” Jason let out. He sounded strangled as if he had just jumped with a noose around his neck. 

Dick walked over to them on slightly unsteady legs and looked at them through the darkness with damp cheeks that he hurriedly dried with his sleeve. “I don’t think that you need to hear more, Peter.” 

“I deserve to know.” 

Dick’s nose wrinkled and his nasolabial fold became much more obvious even in the darkness. “Yes, but you don’t want to know if it’s what I think it is.” 

“It can’t be worse than my imagination.” 

Dick’s mouth moved but his lips didn’t part. It was as if he was tasting the words and doing his best to not throw up.

“Did he pee in my juice?” 

Jason looked up into the ceiling. “No.” 

Peter couldn’t think of anything worse than being tricked into ingesting pee or poop. Peter looked at Jason's devastation and Dick’s resigned expression under the mask and Peter just knew. He didn’t need to ask before he ran past Jason and Dick to fall painfully on his knees in front of the toilet and threw up. Every piece of evidence would have been digested already but Peter needed to feel cleansed. 

“It was on me and in me,” Peter cried into the toilet and the echo screamed it back out of the toilet. “Everyone will know that that was in me.” 

Had Mr. Green prepared it before Peter came over or had he touched himself when he left the room? Had he looked at Peter while doing it or had he just had his imagination? What was worse? 

“They’re taking the videos down,” Jason said from outside the guest room door. 

“It’s already too late,” Peter cried. He could feel Dick hovering right outside the bathroom but no one came to rub his back as Aunt May had done when he was sick or carry him to the couch with a bucket like Uncle Ben had done. 

Peter looked back at Dick. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Dick seemed a little shaken at those few words. Maybe it was in the way that Peter said them or maybe Dick knew what Peter meant even if he didn’t himself. 

Dick looked over at Jason and then back at Peter with an unreadable expression. “We can leave Crime Alley, the city or move to a whole other country. Whatever you want, Peter.” 

Peter just shook his head and Dick cautiously walked around him to collect and dampen a whole handful of toilet paper. 

Dick went on his knees just out of reach of Peter and extended the paper to him. “You can get whatever you want in this world. I’ll make sure of it. Whatever you want.” 

Dick shuffled a little closer to lay the toilet paper in Peter’s right hand as non-threatening as possible. “Whatever you want or need. Your- I’ll make sure of it.” 

Peter washed around his mouth and spit in the toilet before he flushed it all down. “I don’t want to eat ever again.” 

Dick’s lips tightened into a line for a moment. “Everything you want that doesn’t hurt you.” 

Peter crawled into the corner by the toilet. “I just want to disappear.” 

“It will be okay,” Jason promised from outside the bathroom. Peter could only hear him from the echo but he could still feel how heavy Jason's every word was. 

Peter lifted his head. “I hate you! Everyone will know because of you. It’s your fault.” 

Jason choked outside the door but he started to breathe again before Peter could wonder if he had literally killed Jason with his words. 

Peter turned to look at Dick. “Can we go to where you're staying? I don't care if it's crowded.”

Dick’s face was hidden in the darkness and under the mask but his incredulous tone of voice told Peter exactly what expression he was making. “Do you really want that?” 

“Yes, take me away. I don't care where it is.” 

“We can go to Blüdhaven if you want. It’s much less crowded and you can borrow my or Damian's bedroom while I take the couch.”

Peter didn’t even think it over. He knew where the train station was in Gotham. He could leave whenever he wanted to in Gotham but Blüdhaven was an uncharted  territory. 

“No, just wherever you’re staying in Gotham.” 

“We can go after breakfast.”

“Now, I don't want to be here anymore.”

Dick looked at Peter and then at Jason wildly. “Okay, we'll go. Whatever you want.” 

Peter pulled himself away from the toilet and stared at Jason leaning against the guest room. 

“I'm sorry, Peter.” Jason sounded like a little boy who had cried himself out and was now watching something precious disappear in front of his eyes.

Dick walked past Jason into the guestroom and collected the clothes that Jason had folded and laid on the dresser for Peter. 

Dick rearranged the clothes and a blanket in his arms as he walked out of the room. “Are you sure about this? There’s probably something that you should know first.” 

Peter almost cried again but the anger kept it at bay when he looked at Jason. “I don't care, let's go.” 

Dick wrapped the blanket around Peter's shoulders and sent Jason a last look. “Okay, Peter, my car is nearby.” 

It was nearby and it was probably illegal to park that far onto the sidewalk but there was no parking ticket when Dick pulled the dark tarp away from an expensive car with darkened windows. 

Peter was steered towards the seat behind the passenger seat and he didn't have the energy to do more than note the seat was surprisingly high up and felt weird but secure. 

Dick took the fallen blanket and threw it over Peter’s legs and laid the clothes on the passenger seat as soon as Peter had put on his seat belt. 

Peter's anger redirected as they drove through the night. He jumped twice in his seat. “Why am I in a car seat?” 

Dick looked at Peter through the rear view mirror. “It's a booster seat.” 

Peter huffed. “Why am I in a booster seat? I'm not 5.” 

“You're 9, Peter. 9-year-olds should be in booster seats and you’ll be in one until you’re both over 4 '9” and over 80 pounds ”

“I'm not a baby. I can sit without a booster seat.” 

“You might not be a baby but you're still a child.” There seemed to be a lot unspoken in Dick's words but Peter was tired and the car informed him that it was 3.43 am. 

“I'm going to make a quick call.” 

Dick pressed something while they drove over a large bridge. 

“RH is back at the home base, unharmed, clean but distressed. Babywing and I are going to the manor.” 

“I'm not a baby,” Peter protested from the back as he got his second wind of anger. 

“Someone needs to check in on RH.” 

There was a static as a response but Dick seemed to understand it anyway. 

"Thank you. I'll update you on when the talk should happen. Be safe.” 

Peter crossed his arms and fell as far down in his seat as he could. The anger slowly left him and he was left feeling embarrassed about not only Dick and Jason knowing how stupid he had been but also his behavior since he woke up. 

“I’m sorry for being difficult,” he mumbled. 

Dick’s eyes were sad even through the mask as he watched the road. “You’re not being difficult. You're just reacting to it all and Jason and I know that.” 

Peter sat up straight to watch as much of Dick’s face as possible. “A murder will be in the newspapers and then everyone will know what happened. Jason shouldn’t have killed him.” 

“We’ll make sure that people won’t know even if that man is in the papers. I don’t think that there’s any computer that our tech friends can’t hack into remotely.” 

“There could be downloads.” 

Dick glanced into the rearview mirror. “Maybe, but they’ll take care of it.” 

Peter looked out the door window. “He still shouldn't have killed him. Murder is bad."

Dick sighed. "Maybe." 

"I don’t think that I hate Jason for it. I’m just mad.” Peter didn't hate Jason and he might hate himself a little bit more than before for it. He should hate someone who chose to kill someone else. Revenge wasn't the answer and especially not to avenge Peter.

“We could call him. I’m sure he would want to know.” 

Peter shook his head. “I can’t talk to him right now.” 

“I’ll call him at the manor but he would love to hear it from you too.” 

Peter's every limb weighed him down as he looked back at Dick through the tiny mirror. “I’m too tired. I'm just so tired of it all.” 

Dick’s breathing became very loud and he held none of his usual spark as he looked at the dark roads. “I know, Dulceață.” 

They were both quiet after that as Peter looked out the door window. The trees looked orange in the night and let out to let Peter see giant grounds. “Are we lost?” 

Dick looked out the window by his door. “No, we’re going straight to the manor.” 

Peter looked at Dick as he looked around the grounds and made a right turn. There was something nervous about him and Peter found himself pulling the door handle as they drove. The door didn’t open and Peter frantically kept pulling the handle. 

“Peter? Peter, don’t try to open the door while we’re driving.” 

“It’s locked. Why did you trap me?” Peter’s heart beat too loudly for him to hear anything but the unwavering car door and he couldn't see anything through the growing darkness until Dick raised his voice. 

“It’s a child lock! You’re not trapped!”

Peter looked up at Dick. He had parked on the side of the road and turned around to look at Peter from the driver seat. 

Peter kept breathing heavily. “The door’s locked.” 

Dick looked over at the door. “Yes, it is. Do you need some air before we drive the last few minutes to the manor?” 

Peter could barely think but he nodded when Dick repeated the question. 

The air was fresh. Far fresher than the air in Crime Alley, Newtown, and Bowery. It was even cleaner than anywhere Peter had been in New York, and his heart stopped beating quite as quickly as he took another breath and he could stand without leaning on the car before long. 

“Better?”

Peter looked up at Dick and nodded before looking at the trees again. “What kind of manor are we going to? Is it some kind of hotel?” 

Dick got a glimmer of mirth in his concerned expression. “It sometimes feels like that but it really is somewhere I spent a lot of time at as a kid.” 

Dick lost his mirth as he looked at the dark trees but there was a soft glow to Dick’s features when he looked at Peter. 

Peter felt like he needed another 10 minutes in the open air but he also wanted to disappear into a bed where no one could see him or talk to him ever again. He looked over at the car and walked over to it silently with Dick on his tail. 

Peter jumped in the car and tried to not feel patronized about the booster seat’s existence. “Can you disable the child lock?” 

Dick’s eyes didn’t leave Peter as he watched Peter buckle his seatbelt. “You can’t jump out of the car.” 

Peter’s eyebrows tilted and his eyes widened as he looked at Dick. “I won’t. I just need to know that I can.” 

Dick closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine.” 

The door gave a click as Dick pressed something without any light. 

Peter looked at the door too. It seemed very easy to disable the lock. Peter had never had to know anything about child locks before but he had always thought it was much more complicated than a simple switch in the door.

Dick closed the door and jumped into the driver’s seat to drive them through the dark roads. Every tree looked the same and the roads seemed to have constant little turns but Dick steered the car expertly through it all. 

They eventually reached a giant fence and Dick pressed a button to the left of his steering wheel to make the gate open. 

The building was huge and imposing and an elderly man opened the front door as they drove past him towards an empty space to park. 

Dick stopped the car and went over to open Peter’s door before he spoke with a gentle tone. “Do you know where we are?” 

Peter looked out the window towards the huge and dark building. “Some kind of manor.” 

“This is where we’re staying tonight.” 

Peter looked back at Dick. “I know. It's very cool.” 

Dick took a couple of deep breaths before he spoke carefully, “It’s really bad timing but I need to talk to you about something before we go in.” 

Peter’s heart started to beat a little quicker again but it was nowhere as bad as before. “What is it?” 

“This is Wayne Manor.” 

“Wayne Manor?” 

Dick’s expression was earnest and serious as he analyzed every tiny detail of Peter’s face.  “Yes. Do you know the Wayne family?” 

“I read about them. What does that have to do with anything?” Peter asked. He didn’t want to admit it but some part of him knew it already. This was Wayne Manor and Dick said that he had spent a lot of time there as a kid. Peter just didn't want to connect the dots.

Dick bit the inside of his cheek but then released it. “We’re staying at their place. There’s plenty of room for you.” 

The last piece finally clicked and Peter looked up at Dick. “You’re Richard Grayson?” 

Peter’s brain was sluggish. It had been for weeks but he was smart, he should have noticed. Dick had dark hair, just like Richard Grayson. Dick was athletic and moved like a man in his 20s but looked like a very well kept man in his 30s and there had been several pictures of Richard Grayson swinging in chandeliers as both a child and as an adult. There hadn't been any chandelier pictures after Dick had turned 32 but Peter should have known. 

“Yes.” 

Peter couldn’t breathe as he tried to get away but the seat belt tightened every time he made a sudden move. “No, you can’t be.” 

Dick seemed to almost vibrate in his inability to act as he watched Peter struggle. “You need to breathe, Peter.” 

“You don’t know anything about me.” 

“I know you.” 

Peter shook his head and felt as his brows furrowed as his desperation rose. “You don’t. I’m Peter Parker not Grayson.” 

Dick’s breath shuddered for a moment before he recovered.  “You can be Peter Parker if you want to be.” 

“Don’t patronize me,” Peter sneered between his laboured breaths. 

“I’m sorry, Peter, I didn’t mean to patronize you. How do you even know that word?” 

“I know things and I’m not your son. Your son is dead and I’m not him.” 

Dick’s breath shuddered again and had to lean on the car door but he collected his unsteady feelings quickly. “Okay, you’re not. That’s fine.” 

Peter pulled at the seat belt. “I’m not him.” 

“That’s fine. Just concentrate on breathing.” 

Peter looked out the windshield as he tried to rationalize it all and make Dick stop talking. “Your son is dead and so are my parents so we’re neither of them.” 

The words had come automatically and without any of the panic that had infected Peter’s entire body for the last couple of minutes. Some people cried years later about the death of their parents but Peter could only remember caring about it in an abstract way. He had often cared that others had parents and he didn't but they had died when Peter had been four and he barely had any memories of them. They were mostly just a concept and another thing Peter couldn't have that others did. It changed nothing that this universe’s Peter had parents who had loved and lost him. Nothing except Peter not wanting to trick anyone into thinking he was him and not wanting anyone to know what a poltergeist he truly was.

Dick caught Peter’s attention again with some big hand motions but fortunately didn’t startle Peter with any touches. “What makes you think that your parents are dead?” 

Peter looked up at Dick. “They have been dead for years.” 

Dick took an extra breath. It seemed almost like he did it just to prove that he could. “Your father’s not dead, Peter.” 

“Yes, he is!” Peter yelled and tried once more to unbuckle his seatbelt but his hands wouldn’t cooperate. “You’re not him. Take your mask off and prove that you’re not him.” 

Dick didn’t move for a moment but then he pulled painfully at his mask. The skin was left red even through the darkness and Dick’s slightly tan skin but it was undeniably Richard Grayson in a blue and black vigilante suit and tousled hair. It was really him and Peter was trapped somewhere with the father of the child he had stolen life from. 

Peter pulled at the seat belt but it only seemed to tighten around him with every sharp movement. 

“Let me go,” Peter screeched as he kept pulling fruitlessly at the unyielding polyester. 

“You need to breathe.” 

“I am breathing just fine,” Peter answered even as his lungs wouldn’t expand entirely.

Dick held the door tightly. “Can I help you with the seat belt?” 

Peter sent Dick a toxic look. “No, you can’t touch me. Don’t touch me.” 

“I won’t touch you. I promise. I just want to unbuckle your seatbelt.” 

Peter kept shaking his head as he looked down at the seat buckle. His fingers finally cooperated enough for him to press it and he could breathe a little easier without anything restricting him. His breathing became less forced and his heart started a more steady and calm beat as he sat in the seat. Peter was almost certain that the early morning sun and rustling trees disappeared for a few moments. 

“It’s fine, Alfred,” Dick called over the roof of the car. “It has just been a long night and Peter’s feeling anxious and tired.” 

Peter looked up as the elderly man from the front of the house took Dick’s spot in front of the door. His hair was just as gray and short as Mr. Green’s but his blue eyes held something different than Mr. Green’s had. Peter looked closer at Alfred for more similarities but he looked to be around Dr. Thompkins’ age instead of late 50s or early 60s and he was willowry instead of stocky. He was also oozing posh British energy with his every word.

“You look hungry, young master Peter.” 

“I’m not,” Peter mumbled. He didn’t think that he could eat anything at that moment, but he feared that he might be eternally at least a little hungry between every meal. 

“I do have a nice meal waiting for you and Master Dick.” 

Peter shook his head. “No, thank you.” 

Dick moved somewhere near the passenger seat. “Would you like to see Alfred cook it, Peter?” 

Alfred barely spared Dick a glance before looking back at Peter. “You’re more than welcome to observe as I cook. ” 

Peter’s stomach let out a gurgle and Peter jumped out the door just as Alfred moved to the side. Alfred closed the door as soon as Peter took a step away from it with the blanket around his shoulders like a giant cape with his naked legs sprouting from beneath and ducttape shoes barely protecting him from the harsh ground. 

Alfred and Dick herded Peter through the manor and into the bathroom to brush the taste of vomit away from his teeth before Dick and Peter went to the kitchen to brew and drink chamomile tea and watch Alfred cook salmon and potatoes for them to enjoy. Alfred had initially wanted to make a creamy spinach sauce for the fish but had an uncanny ability to know just as Peter’s stomach turned at the thought of ingesting dairy from an open container. 

Peter could barely keep his eyes open when he had finished the meal and lazily reacted as warm hands guided him towards a bedroom somewhere on the first floor. Peter was usually very diligent about brushing his teeth before bed but he was dead on his feet.

A hand tucked the heavy blanket around Peter and whispered to him just as he fell asleep, “Lachhi tjiri rat, draga mea.” 

Chapter Text

Peter slept alone for a few hours. Kind of at least. 

There were eyes on him every time he closed his own and they all leered and laughed. He was just walking around Crime Alley and seeing Jason standing with his guns but no helmet or mask when suddenly Jason told him to look down. Peter would then see that he wasn’t wearing any clothes and then he would look up and the eyes followed him. His hands would fall limp every time he tried to hide himself and then he would wake up with a cry. 

“I’m here, îngeraș,” Dick would say every time Peter woke up. Sometimes it helped and sometimes Dick’s eyes would be startling in the darkness. They were really, really blue. 

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Peter cried. It was similar to what he had said the other four times he had woken up to Dick’s face but this time he felt too exhausted to keep any of his emotions in. 

Dick brushed his hands over the madras right next to where Peter’s arm was. “It’s okay, I’m in the room right next door.” 

Peter looked at his closed door and then the window. He could hear nothing in the night except the twigs that brushed over the window. 

Peter looked back at Dick. “How did you hear me?” 

Dick’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at his own hand in thought. “I was in the hallway.” 

Peter knew there was something to say about that but Peter was too tired and his thoughts were too muffled to think about Dick walking around the hallway instead of sleeping. 

Dick looked up at Peter again. “Do you want to talk about that nightmare?” 

Peter wrinkled his nose and let out a quiet grunt as he shook his head. 

“I can get you something to drink?” 

“No, thank you.” Peter looked around for any way to know the time but the curtains were thick over the window and there were no watches anywhere. “What time is it?” 

“A little before 7 am, you should try to sleep a bit more.” 

Peter's heartbeat was uncomfortably loud and he felt jittery all over. “I don’t think that I can.” 

Dick rearranged himself from his spot next to Peter’s bed. “I want to try something then.” 

Peter was close to moving himself closer to the wall but Dick had done nothing to scare him except being really weird the first time they met and trying to look under his shirt for scars the second time. Maybe Peter did have some cause for concern now that he thought about it, but he laid still anyway. 

Dick waited for an answer but simply pulled his phone out when it was clear that Peter wasn’t going to give one. Dick didn’t even have to search before he started to read. 

“Close your eyes and make yourself comfortable and snuggle down deeply in your soft and comfortable bed.”

Peter found himself doing as he was asked. It couldn’t hurt to humor Dick. 

“Take a deep breath in through your nose, and gently breathe out through your mouth. You feel calmer with each breath that you take.” 

Peter fell asleep slowly in the next 20 minutes and somewhere between two breaths.

Peter woke up slowly at first and then all at once. He wasn’t on the floor of Good Ham nor in the guest room of Jason’s apartment. 

The walls were a dusty impure red, almost purple, and the carpet was plush and gray. The bed itself would be huge for even an adult and Peter was much smaller than he had been before Gotham. 

“Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?” A voice asked from the doorway. 

Peter looked up and for a moment he didn’t understand why he was looking at Richard Grayson in a pyjamas bottom and no shirt. 

“I’m okay.” Peter looked around as he remembered where he was. “Did I wake you again?” 

“I had trouble sleeping anyway.” Dick walked into the room carefully but stopped before he was within arms reach of the bed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Dick let his shoulders fall in a sluggish movement. “It’s fine.” 

Peter looked around the room with new eyes and a calmer mind than he had the last times that he woke up. The room was impersonal but grand.

“How are you feeling?”  

Peter looked back at Dick. “Fine, a little tired.” 

“You had a long night.” 

Dick himself looked like he had a longer night. His skin was clear and his eyes bright but they looked even bluer and bloodshot in the daylight and with the dark shadows beneath them. Even his stubble made him look more worn. 

“Ready for some food? Alfred is just about to cook up some brunch.” 

Dick left Peter to change and had somehow changed his own clothes before Peter came out into the hallway with a blanket around his shoulders. Dick led him to the bathroom and then the kitchen. 

Alfred wasn’t in the kitchen but didn’t argue when Dick informed him that he was about to cook at 10 am. The food was delicious but Peter felt almost entirely full from just the sheer embarrassment when he couldn’t help checking every piece of egg even that had just seen Alfred cook. They offered him bread but Peter vigorously shook his head when he saw that it was homebaked. Alfred didn’t look like Mr. Green and he didn’t act anything like him but he was still a stranger and Peter was in a strange place with people he barely knew. At least the water felt safe. 

“Just eat a bit more,” Dick begged but Peter kept shaking his head until he finally gave up. He had eaten more than he had before meeting Jason but he knew that he was not eating enough. It was barely enough for a normal child and he had both a vicious metabolism and had no more weight to lose.

“I must insist that we do a quick physical checkup if you’re done with breakfast, Master Peter.” 

Peter hadn’t been awake enough to really note it in the early hours but hearing someone call him Master Peter just sounded wrong. First of all, he was just Peter, a normal guy who may or may not have been bitten by a spider in this universe, but second of all, Master Peter sounded almost biblical. Or at least made him sound like some weird priest. 

“Why?” 

“It's important to know where we're starting out so we'll know how much you are improving. You are of course welcome to take all the time you need to eat before we do any of that.” 

Peter looked at Dick but he just nodded at Alfred's words. 

“Fine,” Peter sighed and jumped off the tall kitchen chairs to follow Alfred through the hallways and reluctantly laid the blanket on the only chair in the room when asked. 

“Usually I would recommend you take off your trousers while weighing you but I can see you're quite cold.” 

Peter was freezing but the allowance was probably more because Dick looked horrified as soon as Peter's arms were on display in the daylight and had no strong emotions to hide anything behind. 

The wall was cold as Peter leaned on it. 

“A little over 4 '1” feet,” Alfred commented. Peter thought it sounded really short but neither Alfred nor Dick sounded alarmed.

Dick congratulated Peter. “Wow, you were under 4 '1” feet when you had your appendix removed. You’ve grown so much.” 

Peter didn't know how he was supposed to react to that but his half-hearted, “Wow, that's nice,” seemed to have been the wrong answer. 

Peter turned back to Alfred. “Can we get the weight done with? I want my blanket back.” 

Alfred nodded and guided Peter over to a manual weights that looked almost identical but nicer than the one that the school nurse had had at Peter's school. 

“Hm” Alfred hummed as he turned the two squares up and down the two metal poles. 

“How much did Peter weigh before, Master Dick?” 

Dick immediately answered with a speed Peter could never hope to have when asked about his own weight. “Almost 51 pounds.” 

Alfred somehow both looked displeased and stone faced. “He weighs 30 pounds, 11 ounces now.” 

“30?” Dick let out as if he was being strangled. “He has lost 20 pounds?” 

Dick in- and exhaled shakenly before he walked over to give Peter his blanket back and without a word went out into the hallway. 

The sobbing was quiet. Obviously not meant to be heard by anyone and Peter didn’t know how to act like he wasn't hearing it so he simply turned his right ear to the door and then he didn’t have to pretend anymore. Peter counted another 43 seconds before Dick walked back into the room with a smile and only slightly red eyes. He sent Peter a relieved smile but worry was still coloring Dick’s every feature. Peter sometimes felt like Dick was convinced that Peter would disappear if he blinked for too long and he was always incredibly happy to see Peter simply breathing. It was flattering but stifling. 

Alfred moved towards a small cabinet as soon as Dick closed the door. 

“Please sit down. I need to listen to your heart. Master Jason informed both your father and I that your heartbeat is irregular when you’re distressed.” 

Alfred sounded so convinced that Peter was actually Dick’s child and Peter didn’t have the energy to deny it when he was wondering what his heart would sound like now. Peter hadn’t known that his heart was affected but it made sense if he had lost almost half his body weight. He wanted to just get the check-up over with but he couldn’t help sitting with his back pressed tightly against the backrest. 

“Alfred will make sure that he doesn’t touch you unnecessarily. Right, Alfred?” Dick looked over at Alfred as he turned around with a stethoscope. 

“Quite.” 

Peter leaned forward silently and lifted his t-shirt when Alfred asked. The air was cold and Dick’s gasp was loud when Peter’s back was bared. 

Alfred seemed to agree with whatever that gasp was about as he gave off a displeased hum before putting the stethoscope into his ears and then let go of another one as he listened to Peter’s back for over a minute. 

The minute was long and cold but Peter had thought that he would be more bothered by the touch but Alfred did make sure that Peter was only touched by the cold metal and his blanket made him feel hidden even as his back was bare. 

“You did so great,” Dick praised as soon as Peter could pull his t-shirt down properly and wrap himself in the blanket. 

Alfred had to search for a smaller cuff when the first childcuff was too large, but he frowned even deeper when he measured Peter’s heart rate and blood pressure. Peter had thought that 53 was an excellent heart rate but maybe it meant something different for adults and children. He did however know that a blood pressure at 86/54 couldn’t be great even without Alfred’s sharp eyes and Dick’s despondent look as soon as Alfred had announced the numbers. 

“Has he had signs of syncope?” 

Peter had no idea what syncope was but it sounded serious from the way that Dick said “yes” as if he was admitting to a heinous crime. 

Alfred’s eyes seemed to hold an ocean of wisdom as he looked at Dick. “Perhaps we should find some footwear for Master Peter before we proceed.” 

Both Peter and Dick looked down at Peter’s duct tape shoes.

Peter’s feet suddenly itched as he looked down at the dirty tape. The attempts to make something resembling shoelaces were unrecognizable with all the other tears and dirt. 

Peter looked up at Alfred. “Do you have any shoes that would fit me?” 

Alfred found a pair of scissors with a flat surface on one of the blades. “I’ll find something. Would you like me or Master Dick to remove your shoes?” 

Peter reached for the scissors. “I want to do it myself.” 

Neither Alfred nor Dick seemed happy about Peter doing it himself but they didn’t argue as Alfred left the room with an order to put the flat blade against his skin. Peter tried to make a few cuts but couldn’t get a good angle and he quickly felt lightheaded from having his head down. 

“Peter, Peter, can I please help you?” 

Peter looked up at Dick. He was still sitting at the side of the chair like he had done since Alfred listened to his heart and Peter hesitantly nodded. 

Dick seemed excited about it but he still moved slowly to Peter’s feet and carefully held Peter’s heel as he made a cut by Peter’s ankle. 

The socks were stuck to Peter’s feet and Dick left Peter’s feet to bring a tiny bucket and fill it with water and bring a few cloths. “Can I use this? It’s just so I won’t open anything up when I remove the socks.” 

Peter nodded. He hadn’t really thought about the possibility of him having a lot of wounds on his feet but it was clear that he had when the sock finally let go and Peter felt and saw how raw his feet were. His feet were almost entirely pink and there were superficial wounds all over that took a bit of the joy out of Dick’s eyes before he started on the next foot. They didn’t smell as badly as Peter had feared but they had a strange odor. 

The second foot was freed from the duct tape shoe shortly after Alfred returned with nail clippers and a pair of green slippers adorned with a yellow R in a black circle. Dick looked like he was about to kiss Peter’s feet, resembling some strange Cinderella, as he gently applied band-aids to each small tear in Peter’s skin and clipped his brittle but lengthy toenails.

The entire interaction left Peter feeling odd. While he didn’t feel unsafe with Dick touching his feet—perhaps partly due to how Dick constantly looked up and waited for Peter to nod before continuing—there was something strange about having someone care for his feet so tenderly. It wasn’t entirely negative, but it was different, making Peter briefly forget that this life wasn’t truly his own. 

Dick almost looked disappointed when Peter’s feet were properly bandaged and his feet had lost a lot of their redness in the open air. 

Peter put on a pair of soft slippers as soon as Dick moved away from his chair. His feet felt slightly overstimulated but the slippers were soft and were just what Peter’s feet needed.  

Peter couldn’t stop himself from waving his feet in the air as he felt the plush fabric against his skin. The moment stopped when he looked up at Alfred and Dick who both held soft eyes as they looked at Peter being childish. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled and looked down to get away from their stares.

“It’s more than okay, young Master Peter. You never have to apologize for enjoying your youth in harmless ways.” 

Peter still refused to look at them and asked his lap, “Are we done?” 

“I need to draw some of your blood, Master Peter.” 

Peter looked over at Alfred with a startled look and shook his head so fast that he almost fell to the ground but leaned back properly when Dick tried to touch his shoulder.  

Dick hurried over to kneel next to the chair and his hands hovered near Peter but didn’t try to touch him again. “You weren’t scared of needles before. Did something happen before? Do you need me to hold your hand?” 

Peter looked over at Dick and shook his head much slower. 

“What’s wrong then? You’ve been without so much for so long that we just want to know where to start.” 

“No blood test,” Peter mumbled. 

“You have to. It’s necessary." 

Peter looked over at Alfred but only received a sage nod before he looked back at Dick and Peter tried his best to show his desperation to get out of this. He expected Dick to relent. Dick had been willing to leave Jason to cry helplessly just because Peter asked him to and he said that Peter could have anything in the world.

“No blood tests,” Peter repeated when Dick kept his steady stare. 

Dick hummed at Peter's stubbornness. 

“You can’t look at my blood,” Peter tried again. 

Dick’s eyes narrowed slightly but the corners of his lips turned upwards. “Is this because you're meta? We know that already.” 

Peter's eyes widened as he looked at Dick. 

“How do you know that?” Peter whispered. 

“Peter, I've known that you're a meta since you were 6. I've trained you to reel in your powers since you were 6 too.” 

This was a lot to take in. This universe’s Peter had apparently been born with powers or at least something had happened to give him powers at a much earlier age than Peter had in his own universe. 

“You got them from your mother, Mary,” Dick continued. “She didn't actually know that she had the gene until you got your powers but she had increased flexibility without the drawbacks of hypermobility and slightly increased speed.” 

“But isn't there a no meta rule in Gotham?” 

Dick sighed. Not quite dramatically but it was still loud. “There used to be an unofficial one, but that changed years ago, and even before that it wasn't actually illegal to be a meta. Batman made sure of tracking down dangerous metas and didn’t want the rest of the Justice League to stir up trouble in Gotham, but he has never been the mayor so he has never been able to implement an official city wide rule. Signal is a meta too and Batman knew and accepted that before we knew you were one too.” 

“This is a lot to take in.” 

Dick brushed his hand over the armrest of the chair. “I’m your father, Peter. I know almost everything about you.” 

Peter tilted his head and gave Dick a wry smile. “If you know so much then you won’t need my blood, right?” 

Dick let out a huff but his eyes seemed more amused and fond than annoyed. “Nice try, Alfred needs to draw your blood no matter how much I think that I know about you.” 

Peter could run out of the room. Maybe he could even outrun Alfred and hide from Dick but he would never escape entirely from the maze that they called a home. 

Dick tilted his head too and turned his palm up on the armrest. “You want to hold my hand while he draws your blood?” 

Peter crossed his hands and tucked his hands as close to his body as possible and looked up at Alfred. 

Alfred didn’t look particularly amused or annoyed. “You decide when we proceed, Master Peter, but you will not leave the room before you let me draw your blood.” 

“My blood is radioactive,” Peter said. He didn’t himself know if it was an attempt to get away from the blood test or as a warning but neither Dick nor Alfred seemed to change their minds. 

“Blood is generally a biohazard, but I’ll keep your radioactivity in mind.” 

Alfred lifted a judgemental eyebrow in Dick’s direction and Peter’s arms loosened at the uncontrollable giggle at seeing Dick panic at Alfred’s disapproval. 

“I swear that I’ve never told him that his blood is radioactive.” Dick looked over at Peter with just as frantic eyes. “Your blood is not radioactive.” 

Peter did not hold Dick’s hand as Alfred drew Peter’s blood after an almost 10 minute stalemate, but the offer was nice and made Peter feel warm as Alfred used vial after vial to collect the blood from the inside of Peter’s elbow. Peter didn't really need anyone to hold his hand but he was close to taking it when he realized that Alfred was neither a nurse nor a doctor. He was also tempted when Alfred was done and had trouble stopping Peter’s bleeding. 

Alfred said that the almost uncontrollable bleeding was probably because he lacked vitamin K. It sounded fake and Alfred hadn’t even taken Peter’s blood out of the room, but Peter could eat some broccoli or eggs if that made everyone happier. He would eat whatever was needed to make everyone stop worrying about his eating habits. 

Dick showed Peter around the manor after that. Most rooms were boring and they were all posh but he was happy that he didn’t meet Bruce Wayne or Peter Grayson’s astonishing number of aunts and uncles. 

The only excitement was when he found a computer standing on a mahogany desk. The screen was sleek, black and only slightly thicker than Peter was used to seeing. 

“Screens got a lot thinner in the time that you’ve been gone.” 

Peter didn’t comment but just sat in front of it and was about to turn it on when a grandfather clock chimed. 

“It’s time for lunch,” Dick informed him. “You can look at the computer after or we can find some of your toys.”

Peter didn't answer. He simply turned around and tried to remember the layout as he followed Dick towards the kitchen. It made it easier to pretend that he wasn’t nervous about eating. 

Peter wanted to eat everything on his plate and he knew that he desperately needed it. The chair felt harder than it should and both Dick and Alfred had reacted to his heart as if he would die at any moment. 

Peter tried to eat the yogurt but it had been opened and could have had anything in it and the sandwich had too many ingredients that made Peter uncomfortable to think about. Peter did eventually eat spaghetti and meat sauce but he couldn’t eat nearly as much as Alfred and Dick wanted him to. 

Dick sat patiently with him at the kitchen table after Alfred had come back with several protein drinks and then left Dick and Peter alone to fight through at least one of them. 

“They’re just until you can eat more food, and they aren’t dairy based,” Dick promised. “It's juice based and you like juice.”

Peter felt like a child as he tasted the drink. “It doesn't taste right. I can't drink it.” 

Dick looked so pained as if every moment Peter wasn't eating or drinking was another step on a sharp knife. 

“You have to try. Please, try.” 

Peter tried a tiny sip more and shook his head. “It doesn't taste right. I can't drink it.” 

Even the way Dick blinked looked like a struggle. “I'll find something else for you.” 

“I'm sorry for being difficult.” 

Dick didn't let himself cry in front of Peter but he did emit such profound sadness that Peter didn't think any author could ever come close to describing it.

“You're not being difficult right now. You're just hurting and scared.” Dick’s head fell to his chest and his hands held the kitchen counter tightly. “I'll find something. Your dad will find something for you so you don't have to be too scared to eat.” 

Peter didn't think he was scared of food. It was more that every thought of what was in it disgusted him and made his whole body tingle uncomfortably, but he couldn’t be scared of food. 

“I'll try to do better,” Peter promised and almost threw up when the thick drink passed his lips. It was thick like he imagined that to be and he felt dizzy and saw spots with how hard he tried to force it down. 

Dick rubbed his eyes with his left hand and made tired groans before speaking. 

“Stop, Peter, don't do that.” Dick looked so worn and tired. He had been full of life once. Every picture of him was bright before this world's Peter died and Dick seemed to have found something resembling happiness before Peter Parker came and ruined it all. 

Peter was also tired and worn down. Everything was hard and Peter couldn't even eat or drink anything without his thoughts attacking him and now Dick was being worn down by it all too. Maybe it would be better if Peter had just disappeared before he had hurt people in this universe too. Hopefully his heart would just give out and save everyone from the trouble and Dick could finally be happy again. 

He didn't mean for tears to spring into his eyes and he tried to keep the sniffles at bay but one slipped through and made Dick look up at him. 

“Oh, draga mea, I know it's hard. We'll figure it out. I promise.” 

Dick would be the happiest if Peter could just force his mind to be silent and Dick wouldn’t have to see someone treat the body of his child this badly. Dick probably needed a hug but the thought of anyone caging him in made Peter’s skin crawl. 

Peter instead extended a thin and frail hand towards Dick and one would think that Dick had received a priceless gift when he took Peter's hand. Peter hadn’t wanted Dick to touch his hand before but it was easier to accept it when Dick looked like he needed it rather than doing it for himself. 

Dick's hand felt huge and warm around Peter's. Like a warmed blanket after having been out in the cold or a kiss on his knee when he had scraped it when learning to ride a bike. 

His hand was also careful. Peter's skin was dry, frail and almost entirely unable to stop even minor bleeding and wounds. His hands were already a scripture of foreign writings telling everyone how it would break when he was just moving his fingers. 

“We'll figure it out,” Dick promised and brought Peter's hand to his steady heart as if the reminder of a strong heartbeat would fix Peter's. Peter didn’t even have time to panic about his hand being forced to touch someone else before the heartbeat calmed him down but Dick still loosened his grip almost completely when Peter’s hand gave a twist and only held a little tighter when Peter did it too. 

Peter almost believed that Dick could do anything at that moment. He almost believed that Dick believed that too until he was searching for the computer room an hour after they left the kitchen and he heard Dick crying. 

“He's dying, B, I got another chance and he's dying anyway.” Dick was looking up at a huge man in his 50s. The man was both tall and broad and somehow looked nothing like Bruce Wayne despite Peter recognizing him from the countless pictures on the internet. 

“You're doing your best. You're much better than I ever was,” Bruce said. He sounded and looked like a giant glacier. Strong and able to freeze everyone over if they tried to best him but Peter feared that he might just be the heatwave to melt Bruce into nothing but undrinkable water. 

“But it's not good enough. He passes out or get this faraway look constantly, and I don't think he realizes it half of the time. Soon he'll fall and hit his head or his heart will stop completely. I can’t watch him die again. I can't. I can't,” Dick cried. Peter walked a little closer and saw how Dick crumpled into Bruce's frame. Dick wasn't a tall man but he always tried to look strong for Peter just like Bruce was trying to for Dick now. 

“Maybe it's time for the NG tube.” 

Dick nodded into Bruce's chest. “Yes, it is. He'll hate me and it will bring his emotional progress back to zero but he'll be alive. I hope.” 

Bruce's hand brushed carefully over Dick's upper back, and he didn't look anything like the bumbling man that the internet had described. “He'll be alive.” 

“He's so scared and sad, B, and I don't know how to fix any of it.” 

Bruce looked down at Dick. It was so tender that it could have been any father with a young and scared child. “No father wants to see their son hurting like this.” 

Dick looked up at Bruce. “Thank you for helping me. I couldn’t do it without you and the others.” 

Bruce's big arms moved and pulled Dick into his chest until Peter could only see Dick's lower back and legs. “You just worry about him and I'll take care of the rest, chum.” 

Peter didn't want a nasogastric tube. Even the thought of one felt violating and he could never check every ingredient before it was pumped down into his stomach.

Peter would have denied getting one if he was asked, and protested it immediately if he was told to get one, but he couldn't ignore the terror and sorrow Dick was feeling. 

Peter would try harder. He wanted to eat. It was just hard right now. 

Peter turned around and decided to find his room. He needed to think and maybe sleep for a few centuries to figure out what to do with everything that had happened today.

Chapter Text

Peter woke up on his right side feeling like his heart was jumping out of his throat when he felt his whole bed shake.

Dick took a step back as soon as Peter was awake. "I'm so sorry for scaring you, ursuleț, but I had to wake you in time for dinner."

Dread replaced the surprise at that. Peter was hungry, but he didn't know if he could eat enough for Dick and Bruce to forget about the possibility of a nasogastric tube.

"Has Alfred already cooked it?"

"No, of course not. We're going down and looking everything over before he can cook."

Peter knew it was weird for him to be this obsessed with seeing the ingredients and wanting to know everything that went into his body, but Dick made it sound almost normal as they walked towards the kitchen.

"Is Alfred coming to cook soon?"

Dick looked at Peter with so much hope that Peter already knew that he would be disappointed with Peter.

"He will not come in unless you want him to. Come, let's check everything in the kitchen to see if there's anything that you would like."

Peter narrowed his eyes and tried to find any sense of it all in Dick's face or the kitchen counter until Dick walked over to the fridge and opened it wide.

"Come look, Peter. Does anything look good?"

Peter walked over and looked at the huge array of food as Dick opened the second fridge door to show the organized but tightly filled selves. Peter had never seen that much food outside of a grocery store and he had no idea where to start until Dick began to take things out of the fridge at random.

"How does this look?"

Peter looked down at the large flowering broccoli head. "It looks green."

"Is green good? Safe?"

Peter looked up. "I guess. I don't know."

Dick tilted his head. "Would it be easier if we found some food that you can eat raw? Probably not the broccoli but other things?"

Peter pondered for a moment. Eating something raw meant that he wouldn't feel the need to supervise as many steps. "I think so."

The hope in Dick's eyes became even brighter as he looked into the fridge and then the different shelves and pulled everything out that could be eaten raw. Apples, carrots, cashew nuts, pre-packaged pastrami, blackberries, cherries, strawberries, and hard cheese.

Dick had also pulled out some kind of soft cheese too but put it back as soon as Peter's mind started to tell him all the ways that things could be hidden in there before someone had put the paper back around the cheese. Dick put it back in the fridge while Peter quieted his thoughts enough to accept the unopened packets of crackers.

"Can I just eat all of this for dinner?"

Dick looked at the huge array of different foods. "You can eat a charcuterie board every day if that means that you eat something. I've talked to a doctor friend about your blood work, and you're deficient in almost everything. Including B12 and vitamin K which the cheese has a lot of according to the internet. Although we are picking up some multivitamins, thiamine and vitamin B for you tomorrow."

Peter looked over at the mountain of food too. "Won't Alfred get mad if I eat all his ingredients?"

"He can get mad at me then. I'm your father and I say you can eat this. Bruce doesn't mind either and if he does then I can pay for all of this just fine. Just like I'll get any kind of protein drink for you if you can't eat a full meal."

Peter knew that he was really almost an adult. He had been thinking about college before he ended up in Gotham and he should be over it but the thought of another protein drink made him want to stomp his foot.

"Do I really have to drink those?"

Dick's eyes dimmed and his voice was haunted as he answered, "You have to get enough calories and vitamins and they have a lot of both. We can try a few and then we can have them stocked in case you can't eat enough. Please try a few for me."

The drink would instantly remove all sense of an appetite and that would simply not do before the meal as Peter almost felt excited at the thought of purely eating pastrami, apples, cheese, berries, and crackers like a wealthy and fat mouse.

"Food first. Then I will try a few but I won't finish any."

Dick opened drawers and pulled out two huge platters. "Good choice."

It all came together quite nicely and Peter collected the cheese knife and put the cheese on a platter while it was still in its packaging. "Can we make every meal together?"

Dick stopped arranging the pastrami, also still in their packages, on a platter to look at Peter with a nostalgic expression but nodded determinedly. "Definitely. I'll find you for every meal and then we can make it together. Just you and me."

It felt like a little bit of weight left Peter's shoulders. He was almost excited to see what Dick and he could make for breakfast tomorrow.

Dick continued to arrange the food as Peter watched. "Are we eating it here?"

Dick started to wash the berries and apples under Peter's watchful eyes. "We can eat in the dining room if you want to. Bruce and Alfred would love to join too, but they can both wait."

"Isn't Bruce Jewish?"

Dick looked over at the meat and cheese. "Kind of, but he was also raised as a Christian and he is an atheist now."

Peter could probably delay meeting Bruce to another day but he would feel bad about hiding from the owner of the house and he also didn't want to be surprised when meeting such an intimidating figure.

"I'm not sure if I completely understand if that means if he can eat dairy and meat at the same time but they can both join if they want to."

It took a few trips to bring all the food into the dining room and Dick went to collect Bruce and Alfred while Peter opened the cheese and pastrami before he stole a few strawberries. Dick caught him but smiled proudly at Peter's theft while Alfred and Bruce looked at the food display.

Bruce looked even bigger now that Peter was in the same room as him and he didn't seem to get much smaller as he sat down.

Peter looked over at Dick before he slowly looked back at Bruce. "Hello."

"Hello, chum," Bruce answered and gave a smile that somehow both seemed impersonally polite and warm like a bonfire. "Do you know who I am?"

Bruce probably wanted Peter to say something about him being his grandfather but he wasn't really his grandson so Peter settled on, "You're Bruce Wayne."

Bruce didn't even blink as pain passed over his expression for less than a blink. "Yes, I am and you're Peter."

Peter had seen other kids run to their grandparents and fall into tight embraces when they had been apart a week or two and Peter couldn't imagine that Bruce wasn't secretly hoping for the same from how almost all his kids had hung off him as both children and adults in pictures. Peter instead just focused on his meal.

Peter could still not eat as much as Dick clearly wanted him to but he could taste a little bit of everything and actually enjoy eating. Dick had unpacked crackers for the boards but let one stay intact for Peter to enjoy on his own, but the best surprise was when Dick promised him that he could eat a whole block of cheese for breakfast if he wanted to tomorrow. Peter felt such joy at the offer that he honestly had no idea what Alfred's or Bruce's reaction were. Peter dismissed wondering about their thoughts on it as they didn't comment on it once when the adults started talking or when they tried to pull Peter into the conversation.

Peter simply ate and tried not to feel small and strange in a room with a stranger, an almost stranger and a man that he met a few days ago. He was grateful for having met Bruce and seen that he was not scary but Peter still pulled his eternally loyal blanket around himself a little tighter when someone looked at him.

Then came the dreaded part of the board being mostly eaten and Peter knew that he would have to try the protein drinks down into his full stomach.

Alfred collected the platters and Bruce lingered for a moment as Peter sat on his tall chair but Bruce left when Dick gave a twist with his head.

Peter did taste the protein drinks that Dick brought but even the one that advertised itself as applejuice flavor tasted strange and not at all like he liked his juice.

"You try it if it's that good for me," Peter bit when Dick kept pestering him to continue to take another small sip. Maybe an unorthodox charcuterie board wasn't sustainable but it didn't make the creamy drinks any easier to ingest.

Dick immediately walked out of the dining room and came back with a clean glass. He put it on the table next to Peter, poured a little bit of the drink in it and drank it. Peter knew that parents often ate their kids' leftovers even if they had touched it with their mouths or shared cups with them but he couldn't remember anyone doing that to him. Dick hadn't shared his saliva with Peter but he hadn't been the least bit bothered by drinking something with Peter's saliva in it.

Dick's mouth turned down, his eyebrows both furrowed and rose, and he blinked as the taste hit him. "Oh, okay. I can see why you're not crazy about that one."

"So I can stop drinking them?"

Dick took a gulp of water. "Sorry, Tati, you really need a plan B if there's nothing you want to eat."

Peter sighed. "Is there any other kind that doesn't taste like bad vanilla or too old juice?"

"I've thought that you would have tried one of the berry or chocolate ones by now. You used to love chocolate milk and everything berry related."

The blackberry one was surprisingly fine. Not great but the texture mixed with the taste didn't make Peter want to gag and Dick allowed Peter to put a bit of water in the chocolate one until the texture was fine even though it made the taste very bland. He would rather be free from them entirely but at least they didn't make him gag, and Dick promised that he would only look for those two when he was picking up vitamins for Peter.

"Are we putting the ones that I can't finish in the fridge?"

Dick looked at the 3 half-filled bottles that Peter and Dick had tried.

"I would usually say yes immediately. Down with food waste and all that but I can't see you actually drinking them when they have been opened."

Peter felt a faint flush rise in his cheeks. "You're probably right."

Dick looked back at Peter. Let's put them in the fridge for now and someone else can drink them. Probably me."

Peter shook the embarrassment out of his head and collected his courage to ask Dick a much needed question. If it ended badly then he would simply pull the nasogastric tube out.

"Are you going to force an NG tube on me if I can't keep up with eating or drinking them?"

"How do you even know what that is?" Dick inhaled deeply. "Do you remember having one in the hospital?"

"No, I just don't want one."

"I don't want you to need one either, but you've lost a lot of weight, and our family doctor friend Dr. Thompkins agreed that you might need one if you lose any weight in the next couple of days."

Peter's shoulders fell from his ears. He was relieved that he wasn't being forced to have a nasogastric tube in the upcoming days but hearing Dr. Thompkins' name brought up an even more urgent subject.

"Dr. Thompkins? From Crime Alley?"

Dick put the cap on the bottles. "Yes, from Crime Alley."

Peter looked down at his hands. "Has Jason been checked out by her lately? He was injured a few days ago."

Peter looked up when Dick didn't answer immediately and was greeted with a soft smile. "Jason's fine."

"Good."

Dick tilted his head as he looked Peter over. "We can visit him or he can come over here if you want to see him for yourself. He's only a phone call away and he keeps asking about you."

Peter decided to check for bumps on the expensive wooden table. He missed a lot of things about Jason but it had also only been a day since Jason took a life. "I don't want to see him."

"I was just about to call him myself. Do you want to stay here while I do that? I can put it on speaker."

The plan about a phone call was an obvious lie. Peter didn't even have to look at Dick to see the lie seething out of his pores but Peter nodded anyway but denied the phone being on speaker. If he could hear Jason then Jason could probably hear him.

The dial tone only sounded once before Jason's voice was on the other end. Peter couldn't hear what Jason said but he still felt almost nostalgic at the familiar notes of Jason's voice.

"Yeah, he's here and starting to eat a little bit more. No, he hasn't eaten everything on sight since you know." Dick let out a huff. "No, I can't just feed him candy. He's anaemic and deficient in almost everything except sodium. Dr. Thompkins said so too."

Peter moved closer to Dick as silently as possible but he knew that he had been caught when Dick did a poor job of inconspicuously looking away. Sometimes it was a wonder how Dick had succeeded in being a vigilante for almost 3 decades.

"I'm sure he does too."

Dick's quick glance told Peter exactly who Dick was talking about but Dick didn't seem to be saying anything too bad.

Peter pulled Dick's sleeve and was greeted with a curious look and silence.

Peter was still mad but hearing Jason's voice was the closest he had felt to complete calmness all day. "Can you ask him to bring my green hoodie tomorrow? I'm cold."

Dick's eyebrows furrowed. "Sure. Did you hear that, Jason? Green hoodie."

Peter pulled at Dick's sleeve again. "He needs to wash it first with his laundry detergent. Then he can come."

"Of course. Jason, Peter is saying you need to do his laundry and bring it here."

Dick looked far too happy for Peter's taste as he talked again after Jason's muffled voice stopped, "Yes, here, at the manor, but really bring the hoodie. He's very cold even with his blanket while the rest of us are sweating."

Dick looked down at Peter. "Jason's asking if he can buy some other clothes for you too or maybe either he or I can collect some of your clothes from Blüdhaven. You need outside shoes and an actual belt too."

Peter looked at the wide wall with its old and expensive decorations. "He can buy whatever, but no red hoodie and he can collect the dress pants that I arrived in Gotham in. Then he has an excuse to come again."

Dick's smile fell just as the phone did in his grip. It didn't quite fall but it was close. "Dress pants? When were you wearing those?"

Peter had said too much and the only thing convincing him that the world hadn't stopped was Jason's intrigued voice blasting from the cellphone.

"I woke up in Gotham in them but they were dirty and damaged so I put them away for later."

Dick's breath seemed slightly laboured as he stared Peter down. "Where are they now?"

Peter kept staring at the decorations. "In my backpack. In the bedroom."

Dick lifted his phone to his ear again. "Hang on a moment, Jason."

Dick lowered the phone from his ear. "Did you wear anything else? Where is it now?"

The desperation in Dick's voice was stifling. "I'm sorry. I don't know where it all is anymore. Jason bought my shoes but he said that he would give them to a lady when school started."

"Yes, what else? The blazer and dress shirt? Do you have those somewhere?" Dick looked down at his phone and muttered into it, "Two fucking seconds, Jason."

Peter looked at Dick for only a moment. "There was a blazer?"

Dick licked his bottom lip. "Yes, a blazer over a dress shirt. I can show you a picture later, but where is the rest?"

Peter's breath hitched. "I'm sorry. I threw the shirt out and pawned the nightingale brooch. It looked expensive. I'm sorry. I didn't even ask for a receipt."

Dick shook his head but held his intense stare and a voice far more professional than he had ever used around Peter. "That's fine. It was yours anyway. Do you remember who you sold it to and where you threw the shirt out?"

Peter tried to explain where the pawn shop was. Dick found several pictures of different streets on his phone when Peter admitted to not remembering any street signs. A lot of the pictures looked like they could be the same street and the details were hazy, but Dick helped him narrow it down somewhat with pictures and pointing at different places on a map on his phone.

Dick lifted his phone to his ear. "You got that? The Grayson brooch was pawned around Sprang Bridge, he doesn't remember what side, and the shirt in a dumpster by something called Good Ham. Give them to Tim. Thank you. Bye."

Peter looked nervously at Dick's serious form. "Was it an heirloom? I shouldn't have sold it."

Dick waved his free hand but still didn't quite sound like himself as he spoke, "I was ready to never see it again."

Dick called someone else soon after. "Hey, it's Dick. I have a lead for you. Peter still has the pants he came back in. I'll put them in the cave and Jason is tracking down the shirt and the brooch right now. No blazer."

Dick's breath hitched as the receiver said something in a serious tone and his voice broke as he answered, "I know. Turn on the video feed when you check it and I'll keep you all updated on anything else he says. See you."

Dick's eyes looked wide as he stared at Peter. It almost looked like he was somewhere or sometime far away before his eyes focused back on the present place and time. "Do you remember the day that you came back?"

Peter wanted to deny everything and just go back to talking about eating too little or Jason coming over, but Dick deserved to know what happened to his son's body. Maybe he had never gotten closure about Jason Todd's body only to lose Peter Grayson a decade later. Peter just had to hope that the knowledge would bring Dick more satisfaction than grief.

"I remember some things. It felt like a freezer and there was glass everywhere, but I don't know how I got out."

"Was it by Sprang Bridge too?"

"No, I had walked for a while before that. It was dark but people were still out."

Dick swallowed and sounded almost hoarse as he asked as Dick rather than Nightwing, "Would you be able to point it out on the map? I can try to help again."

Peter looked at his hands and his brittle and short nails. They had barely grown in weeks and kept flaking off at the tiniest pressure. "Maybe. I don't know."

"I know it's hard but you've helped so much already and I didn't think that you would remember anything at all."

Peter took Dick's cellphone when it was offered to him and found the map to recount his steps but he could only narrow it down to most of the Upper East Side. "I think that it was the northern half, but I don't know."

"It's a great start. We'll find it."

"Is it really helpful? It's such a big area."

"It's very helpful. Much better than all of Gotham."

Dick's hand howered in Peter's direction for just a moment before it fell on the backrest of the nearest chair and Dick let his thumb rub over the hard surface for a moment before looking at Peter. This felt worlds apart from the earlier questions even though the tone was almost identical. "Do you remember how long you were out on the streets before Jason saved you from that mugging?"

Peter briefly wondered if there was anything that Dick and Jason hadn't discussed about him but answered quickly, "A little over 2 weeks. I woke up on August 10th."

"Of course it was August 10th," Dick muttered just loud enough for Peter's good ear to pick up before he straightened up. "Wait, you said you were on the streets for a couple of weeks after August 10th?"

"Yes, I checked the date a few days after and it was the 12th by then."

Dick took a step towards Peter but stopped himself from crowding his personal space. "What day do you think today is?"

"September 2nd or something like that. I haven't checked a calendar lately."

Dick blinked like one of those creepy dolls that May's aunt had had before she died. "It's September 20th."

"What?" Peter reached for Dick's phone and stared at the date on the lockscreen. Monday September 20th 2010.

"How can I lose over 2 weeks? It doesn't make sense."

"You've been through a lot for over a month." Dick looked away with pale horror at his own words.

Peter secretly agreed. A month sounded much worse than a few weeks, but he ignored his feelings about his lack of time management and asked, "When did Jason help me from the mugging? It has only been a few days, right?"

"He said that it was on September 12th."

Okay, so Peter hadn't lost a lot of time after he met Jason. Only before. That had to mean something even if Peter could swear that he had known Jason for less than a week.

Dick took in Peter's startled expression but it seemed to be more for Dick's benefit than Peter's that he supplied, "Dr. Thompkins said that reduced memory and fatigue are symptoms of different deficiencies. It's reversible with proper nutrition, Peter."

Maybe it usually was but both Dick and Peter knew that something had been done to the body to keep it intact and then revived after 7 years. Something that might have lasting effects or it could be nothing at all.

"What are you checking the clothes for, Dick?"

"Everything that can tell us where you were."

Peter wondered if Dick and whoever was helping him had checked the dress shoes too. Peter had cleaned the shoes off before he went to sell them but maybe there had been traces of something that had survived the rain and Gotham's mud until Jason bought his shoes. Maybe they had even checked the duct taped socks and bags that Peter had left behind earlier.

Dick took his phone back and started to text with an impressive speed. Peter tried to look at the screen as he typed but only read the words 'camera' and 'August' before the text was sent and the phone was put back in Dicks pocket.

Dick worked his jaw for a few chews of air before he looked over at Peter. "Want to show me the pants?"

Peter didn't answer but instead led Dick to the room he had been sleeping in and pulled the pants out of the backpack. They were crumpled, dirty, and smelled a little musty but Dick held them like they were precious gems and took in every piece of dirt and tear.

Dick swallowed and looked at Peter with wide eyes. "This is really helpful. I'll just be a moment and then we can watch a movie or I can show you the training room. Dr. Tompkins said you could exercise with supervision."

Peter would rather just go to sleep after two serious talks and watch Dick having an emotional reaction to clothes, but he found himself agreeing to see a movie and was led to a room with a giant TV on the wall, a couch and a few armchairs.

Peter hadn't seen DVDs without any wear in forever and the Wayne's had a lot. He was pulled towards Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen but he was also too tired to deal with Dick potentially not wanting Peter to watch a PG-13 movie. Gotham seemed like it would be rated R or NC-17 or but Peter could see Dick wanting to shield Peter's eyes from transformers destroying everything and if there was a naughty joke or two in there.

Dick walked over to the couch and sat on one end just as Peter put a DVD into the DVD player.

Dick seemed almost haunted but he smiled brightly when Peter sat only a short distance away from him. They were almost sitting as close as they had the first day in Jason's apartment. Peter eventually found himself laying his head on the opposite armrest and he barely had to curl his legs to not touch Dick or burn himself on the warm glow he emanated.

Neither Peter nor Dick had been sleeping well for over 24 hours and neither of them saw more than 40 minutes of the movie before they fell asleep to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone with Peter restfully taking up most of the couch and Dick leaning back into the arm- and backrest with a snore.

Peter barely dreamed and the few dreams he had were confusing but not overly frightening, and he barely registered waking up to low talking while laying under two warm blankets.

Peter was just about to fall properly asleep again when he heard an alarm blaring somewhere in the distance. He couldn't locate where it was without a sense of sound location but it sounded muffled and could be close by.

"It's activated."

Peter lifted his heavy head and looked around to see Dick glued to his tablet in the doorway.

"Wha' 're you doin'?" Peter mumbled.

Dick was unable to pull his eyes away from his tablet. "Just checking something."

Peter looked closer at Dick and saw both the earpiece and the melancholic acceptance in his eyes when he looked back at Peter.

Peter yawned so big that his jaw gave a slight crack. "Did something happen to the other vigilantes?"

Dick looked down at the tablet again. "No, they're just checking up on something for me."

Peter looked at the darkness outside and rubbed his eyes. "In the middle of the night?"

"Yeah."

Peter's sleep-altered brain needed a few moments to understand it, but Dick's wistful eyes were definitely watching some kind of video.

"Why aren't you out doing all that then?"

Dick looked away from the video and tried to smile brightly. It looked more like a warning light than anything warm. "And pull myself away from my favorite little man? I'm much more needed here." Dick's eyes found the video again before he quietly repeated with a soft touch down the left side of the tablet, "I'm much more needed here."

Peter sat up with a groan. "I'm going to bed."

Dick took a step away from the doorway so Peter could come through with one of the blankets wrapped around himself, and Peter could swear that Dick was looking guilty as he wished him a good night and a demand to brush his teeth.

Chapter Text

Not even eating half a pound of cheese and a yogurt cup could make Peter stop studying Dick’s tired but proud smile. Peter had slept okay with only minor nightmares after he had brushed his teeth and gone to bed but Dick looked like all his limbs weighed a ton. 

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” Peter blurted out as soon as the thought had hit him. 

Dick’s smile fell as his confusion rose. “Yes, I have a job. Two if you count being Nightwing. Why?”  

Peter looked down at his few uneaten strawberries. “It just seems like you have dropped everything to spend all your time with me. Won’t you lose your jobs?” 

Dick moved a little in his chair. “I just said it was a family emergency. I was ahead of the deadlines already but and I don’t really need the money even if I wasn’t.” 

Peter looked at Dick with a sharp look. Not needing the money? “Why are you working then?” 

“I wanted to.” 

Peter looked back at his yogurt. It was too early in the morning to even think about someone only working because he wanted to. Being a vigilante didn’t pay more than compliments most of the time, and sometimes it was more insults, but Peter would have used a lot less time on a lot of things if money wasn’t a problem. 

Maybe Peter shouldn’t be too surprised. He was staying at a manor right now that the grandfather of Peter Grayson owned, so it wasn’t unreasonable to believe that Dick either had connections or an allowance that was far more valuable than a police officer’s salary. It was just surprising for Peter to be connected to someone like that. Every day had been a struggle for as long as he could remember and vacation days had been far inbetween for both May and Ben. 

Dick started to tap on the table in front of Peter. 

Peter’s head jerked up. “Hm?” 

“You were gone for a few minutes there. Are you okay?” 

“Of course.” Peter stuffed another spoonful of yogurt into his mouth. It delicious on its own and Dick had encouraged Peter to sprinkle some nuts over it when Peter. The nuts crunched slightly between his teeth and he started to just eat them raw when there was no more yogurt. 

Dick looked dubious but didn’t comment while Peter ate the last few nuts. 

“Hey, Dick.” Peter looked up from his empty plate to look around the whole kitchen. “Do you know if Jason’s friends have gotten rid of the videos?” 

Dick looked even more tired as he answered, “They have.” 

Peter pushed his plate of nuts around the counter. It made satisfyingly annoying sounds.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’ll listen to whatever you want to say.” 

Peter looked at Dick and saw how far the corners of his mouth had moved down and to each side and his titled eyebrows. Dick looked as pained as his voice had been. 

“What is there even to talk about? It happened and you say the videos are down and I just have to believe it.” 

Dick still looked pained but he persevered after an exhausted sigh. “Your uncle Tim and aunt Barbara are coming by soon and you can hear more about it from them if you want.” 

Peter’s head gave a jerk back at the mention of those names. Hadn’t there been a redhead in pictures of Dick as a teenager and young adult? Peter hadn’t put too much weight into it at the time and forgotten it with the other realizations that day but it couldn’t have been Babs , right? Babs couldn’t know Dick. 

But Babs knew Red Hood, and maybe even his real name and face, and Red Hood knew Dick. 

“Barbara from the library?” 

“Yes.” 

Peter wanted to be mad at them letting Babs see him like that but there wasn’t a good scenario either way. 

All he could see was the image of both Tim and Babs watching him on video. Babs who he knew and who had been so kind and fed him and Tim who was a stranger that only existed in photos. They had both seen him being ignorant and used. He must have looked so pathetic and stupid as he accepted everything at face value.  

Peter’s heart was beating too quickly but he was too numb to react. “Has everyone you know watched the videos?” 

“No, only Babs, Jason and Tim.” 

Peter’s breath was labored and his shoulders rose as he stared an old scar on Dick’s collarbone down. “Have you?” 

“No.” Dick shoulders looked strong but exhausted as he looked at Peter. 

“Will you if they resurface?” 

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed and he bit his bottom lip before answering. “I will watch them if you really want me to.” 

Peter felt a flicker of hope light itself in his chest and his heart seemed to calm a little. “But you won’t, right? You won’t watch them if I don’t want you to?” 

Dick looked like he was holding the sky on his shoulders but Peter’s words seemed to have given him the strength to carry it a little longer. Although his words sounded very rehearsed as he spoke. “I don’t want to watch them at all. I would rather just let you tell me whatever you want to.” 

Dick’s hands moved and looked uncomfortably sticky from a bit of jam from the bread he had eaten but he ignored it to give Peter another searching look. “Is it okay that I don’t want to watch them?” 

Peter didn’t answer immediately and he could see how the sky seemed to weigh Dick a little more down as he waited for an answer. “It’s nice that I have someone who won’t watch them. I don’t want to watch them either.” 

Dick’s eyes lit up but still looked serious as his mouth lifted as his weary shoulder’s did. “You can always count on me, Peter.”

Dick reached a hand an inch closer to Peter but didn’t try to touch him and Peter had never been simultaneously more and less happy to have someone that devoted to him. It was suffocating and much more than Peter deserved but also felt needed in the confusion of his current existence. 

“Thank you.” 

Dick’s face looked elated from Peter’s lukewarm gratitude but Dick his entire body still looked exhausted from the reminder of the videos. 

“When are Babs and Tim coming over?” 

“They have a few things to take care of but they could be ready tomorrow, but you really don’t have to listen to any of it. I’ll have to but you can just be in your room.” Dick looked hopeful at those words and Peter realized that Dick might be the one who didn’t want Peter to know too many details. It must be painful for him and Peter once again realized how much of Dick’s life currently revolved around Peter. 

Dick was barely focusing on feeding himself because Peter needed to be pushed at most meals and he seemed to haunt the hallways in case Peter needed him in the middle of the night instead of sleeping. 

“Maybe we can ask them how far they are tomorrow and then decide.” 

Dick seemed almost proud at Peter’s suggestion. It seemed like everything Peter did or said were either a knife in Dick’s chest or the best thing that had ever happened. 

“Of course.” Dick looked at Peter’s empty plate. “Still hungry?” 

Peter shook his head but ran his finger over the crumbs on the plate and crunched it between his teeth. 

Maybe Peter wasn’t a poltergeist who had possessed a dead child but rather a cuckoo that had pushed Dick’s egg out of the nest and was now sucking the life out of him. 

Dick looked exhausted from Peter's problems and it seemed like there was next to nothing that would convince him that Peter wasn’t his dead son. It left a sour taste in his mouth but Peter knew that he needed to exploit Dick a little bit more to get out of his life for good.  

Peter set his chin and turned his face away from Dick. “Is there magic in this world?” 

Dick leaned forward to gawk at Peter’s profile. “As in ‘is there happiness’? Because there is. We’ll find it for you.” 

Peter turned a little more away. “No, as in do you know any magic users? I need someone to check on me magically.” And then send him back to where he came from so Dick can either get his son back or everyone can finally move on. 

Dick leaned back but Peter could feel his stare boring into his head. “We’ll find someone to give you a check-up, but why do you need it? Did someone else say or do something weird to you?”

“No.” 

Peter had no idea how he would explain it all to whatever magic user Dick knew but he would find a way and then everything would be okay. 

“Can I know what you need to have checked out?

Dick already thought that Peter was misguided so he might as well just tell the truth. “I need to get your son back.” 

“ You are my son. I wish that you could just accept that.” 

“Then you have nothing to lose.” 

“I don’t know if we should do that right now. You’ve had some very hard days, a hard month really. Don’t you want to just recover for a bit? Jason’s coming over with your clothes today and then we can do whatever you want.” 

Dick looked like the stereotype of a dad at that moment. Firm, protective and willing to have Peter hate him a little bit if it meant that Peter wouldn’t do anything that he deemed as stupid. Dick would never help Peter disappear out of his life but maybe someone else would. Someone who was willing to do frightening things for Peter. 

“You’re right. I’m tired and cold.” Peter observed Dick’s expression and it was clear that Dick didn’t completely trust Peter’s words but maybe he would humor Peter enough for him to get away with his hazardly planned scheme. “When is Jason coming over?” 

Dick’s body relaxed slightly but not completely. Perhaps he thought that Peter was humoring him too. “Right after lunch. Are you looking forward to seeing him?” 

“I’m looking forward to not having to carry a blanket everywhere.” Said blanket was wrapped a little tighter around himself and smelt all wrong and not as safe as it had in Jason’s apartment. 

“He’ll bring so many hoodies and fuzzy socks for you. You’ll never have to be cold again.” 

Dick looked like he meant his impossible promise and it hurt Peter’s entire chest. 

Peter couldn’t bring back Dick’s son without hurting him but he could at least give Dick some of what he wanted and just exist while they waited for Jason to arrive later today. 

Peter didn’t think that he was a good cook but Dick made it easy to make stuffed red bell peppers for the whole household while Bruce worked in his home office and Alfred was out collecting Peter’s vitamins. Dick said there were usually a few more ingredients in the bell peppers but they tasted very well with just tomato sauce, ground beef and both whole and cut bell peppers.

Dick even sat next to Peter when he sat in front of the oven for the entire 20 minutes they needed to bake, and Peter’s chest fluttered when Dick smiled down at him. They ate just the two of them in the kitchen. Peter had never said anything but Dick seemed to know how draining it had been to observe multiple people at dinner the evening before. Alfred and Bruce only came into the kitchen as Peter and Dick were finishing up and complimented the meal. There had been no need for disgusting protein drinks and Dick used tape to seal the bottle of multivitamins, thiamine and vitamin B and let Peter hide the bottles in his room when he asked.

It felt so domestic and Peter had almost forgotten his plan to leave this universe when the clock struck 12 and Peter went from feeling like a beloved prince to a ragged criminal. 

Dick didn’t seem to notice the shift in Peter’s mood and simply herded him towards the sitting room to wait for Jason while Alfred cleaned the refractory dishes that they had used. 

Peter swung his legs nervously and harshly on the couch as the food weighed his entire body down. Dick had wanted him to eat more and Peter was suddenly glad that he hadn’t tried harder.

Nervousness disappeared to give space for anger as the minutes passed. Jason had killed a man in revenge and left some of the blood on Peter’s hands. Peter would never recover from indirectly killing another person and he knew that there was a reason that he hadn't seen a newspaper in days. 

Jason opened the door to the sitting room with his hands full of bags and an air of tension, and suddenly none of the nervousness or anger mattered. 

Jason didn’t deserve a hug but every piece of Peter hungered for the safety of his warmth and smell and Jason let out a loud ‘oof’ as Peter’s head punched the air out of his lungs. 

Jason’s arms moved but they didn’t try to encase Peter and instead just swung the bags a little. “Good to see you too, kid.”

Peter couldn’t hear what Jason was feeling through the breathlessness and he was too scared to see it for himself. He also feared that Peter’s anger would come back and burn him into nothing. 

Peter knew that Dick was watching every breath they took but for once the feeling of eyes in his neck didn’t mean as much as what was right in front of him. 

Jason’s entire chest rumbled as he spoke. “I really missed you.” 

Peter finally pulled himself away from Jason’s torso to look up into his worn face. “ Oh .”

“You really thought that I wouldn't miss my little deathwish?” 

Peter took a few steps back and looked down at his slippers. Jason was being vulnerable so he could be too.

“I thought you were disappointed in how I acted. How I am acting right now. That I’m still angry with you and then hug you.” 

Jason let go of the bags he had been carrying and crouched down to look Peter in his eyes. Jason's knees made cracks but he didn't seem to notice them. 

“I wish that I could say that I would have acted differently now. I wish that I was what you needed, but I’m not sorry for punishing that man.” Jason looked over Peter’s shoulder. “Can we have a moment alone?” 

“I'll get some snacks for later,” Dick answered tensely somewhere out of Peter’s field of vision and the sound of his footsteps became quieter and quieter. Dick had barely let Peter be out of his vision for bathroom breaks and now he was leaving Peter with Jason. 

Jason looked back at Peter when the door closed. “You can be angry with me. It’s okay. I was angry too and I didn’t think of the consequences.” 

“You killed someone because you were in a rage?” Peter didn’t know if he hoped the answer was yes or no. Jason killing someone in a rage would make it easier to digest. Maybe Peter could even convince himself that it wasn’t Jason killing someone then, but it would also mean that Jason could kill someone else at the drop of a hat. 

Jason inhaled deeply and ran his hands over the edge of his black shirt. Jason stood up with another crack. “No, I knew what I was doing. I’m not a good person, Peter. I have done terrible things but it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.” 

Peter felt completely speechless but could force out a few almost impossible words. “You love me?” 

Jason smiled so worn and so softly. Like a ragged rock that was halfway smoothed over by the constant waves. “Of course, and I would have kept you all to myself if I could.” 

“I would have loved that. You’re so nice.”

Jason’s tight shirt would be baggy before long if he kept pulling it like this. “Maybe I could steal you from Dickie-boy for a bit when we have figured everything out. Would that be okay for you?” 

Peter didn’t know what would happen in the future. How everyone would act when they finally accepted that Peter wasn’t Peter Grayson and that he was a leech that broke everything that he touched, but none of that mattered at that moment. Jason loved him. Jason had loved him before everyone started to think that he was Dick’s son. “Yes, I would love that.” 

Jason’s smile looked too young and hopeful on his face. He had stress lines but they disappeared as he smiled so brightly that Peter almost had to shade his eyes from the warm beams. 

“We will have so much fun and everyone will know who the favorite uncle is.” 

Peter smirked. “I thought that you said that you didn’t do mushy stuff.”

Jason’s face turned teasing but he still looked fond when he tilted his head and looked right at Peter. “You really are a little shit sometimes.” 

Peter’s smile just grew as his hands tightened into fists in excitement from finally having someone see him . Not a dead child but who Peter was. 

“You like me calling you a little shit?” 

Peter nodded. “It’s what you called me before Dick said that I was his son.” 

“It is.” Jason’s eyes were still brighter than the sun shining in through the windows. “Although I’m not sure how much your dad likes me calling you that.” Jason cracked another smile in another memory. “I called you a little bastard about 10 years ago and Dick almost banned me from seeing you ever again.” 

Peter took a step back. “You knew Peter Grayson?” 

Jason’s smile fell in his confusion and the stress lines came back when he furrowed his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes. “It’s so weird hearing you talk about yourself in the third person, but, yes, I knew you. I’m your uncle as you should know after researching the whole Wayne family.” 

Peter’s brain was running through everything he knew. He could almost hear his metaphorical computer fan noisily trying to cool everything down. “But Jason Todd is dead. Are you another Jason?” 

“No, I’m Jason Todd, and please never say my full name like that again. It’s fucking creepy.” 

Peter looked around the room and looked at all the dark haired, pale-skinned boys and men in most of the pictures. “But he died .” 

“I got better.” 

Peter looked back at Jason with a wide mouth and lifted hands. “How does that even make sense?” 

“You got better.” 

Peter’s arms fell as well as his expression. “I’m still not Dick’s dead son.” 

The actual possibility of someone coming back from the dead at least explained why multiple people were so accepting of a dead 9-year-old coming back from the dead after 7 years. “I’m not like him at all.”

Jason looked pained but determined. “You're still you. Just with a few more bumps and bruises. You'll heal just like the rest of us did.” 

Peter looked at his nails. They were still brittle but new ones would grow in eventually. “I’m not him.” Peter’s face crumpled and he had to force the tears at bay. “I thought you liked me for me and not for him .” 

“I did, I do, but you haven’t changed as much as I did when I died. You were almost the exact same before that happened. It was almost like meeting you at 5 again even if I didn’t realize it at the time.” 

It was strange talking to someone who felt so much like Peter did. Someone who could say that he had died but couldn’t say what happened the last day before he went to the manor. Peter could almost relax in the familiarity if it wasn’t for Jason admitting to thinking that Peter was Dick’s son. 

“I’ll never be like him.” 

Jason swallowed. “That’s okay. Dick thinks so too.” Jason’s shirt was pulled at once more. “We just want you to be safe and happy. Everything else can wait.” 

Peter swallowed too and stood up as straight as possible. He tried to feel grown and mature as he stared up into Jason's face. “You want me to be happy?” 

“Yes, more than anything.” 

The sunshine bathed Peter’s ugly ear and let him listen to the soft sound of naked branches swaying in the wind before he enacted his plan. 

“Do you know any magic users?” 

Jason’s eyebrows lifted before they went down almost into his eyes. “Who are you trying to curse?” 

“I’m not cursing anyone, I just need someone to check something about me.” 

Jason looked over Peter’s entire body before standing up. “Did someone else do something to you? I promise to not kill them if you don’t want me to.” 

Peter ran a hand through his hair and looked up into Jason’s face. “No, I just need someone to bring Dick’s son back. It would make everyone happy.” 

Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly in soft confusion and worry. “ You’re Dick’s son. His only biological son. You are him.” 

Peter sighed. “No, I want to bring back his actual son. Not me being a clone or whatever.” 

“You’re not a clone. We checked.” 

Peter sent a startled look. There had been a chance that Peter had been a clone? Who would even clone a 9-year-old? What was wrong with this universe?

Jason looked anxiously at the door. “Can we not talk about this right now? Dick will kill me if I say too much while he’s not here.” 

Peter didn’t want to be cruel but he would be if it meant that everyone could get their lives back and not have their life force stolen by a stranger. He would never have acted like this before but just like he felt more childish than before Gotham there was a foreign cruelty in him too. “You owe me.” 

Jason’s shoulders squared and he looked entirely indestructible until Peter looked into his eyes. “I do, but I can’t let you run away to some stranger again.” 

“You can come with me.” 

Peter had no idea how he would explain it all in front of Jason, but he would find a way. 

Jason sent another desperate look at the door. “You need to talk to Dick about this.” 

“It would hurt him too much. We can’t tell him about it before we know for sure.” 

“You sound exactly like him.” 

“Who?” 

“Who you used to be.” Jason looked away for a moment and then added in a lighter voice. “Well, Dick too. You’re like two peas in a pod sometimes.” 

Peter scuffed. He doubted that he sounded anything like a 9-year-old from 2003 and he definitely wasn’t anything like Dick.

“Then take me to whatever magic user that you know. I’ll stay by your side if I can just be checked out and we will know for sure that I’m not Dick’s son.” 

Peter waited for Jason to answer and followed Jason’s gaze and looked at Dick’s firm jaw in the open doorway.

“Can’t you just let yourself recover for a few days?”

Peter shook his head as fast as Dick’s eyes turned almost dead.

“Fuck it, fine, you can take him after Babs and Tim have explained what we all found out last night, Jason.” 

“What are you talking about, Dickie?”

Dick looked over at Jason. “Maybe Zatanna can convince him about who he is and if not then we’re back at square one. I can’t have him run off and maybe she will know how to help with his memory fog and lost time.”

“Are you really okay with this?” Jason asked. “What about the library incident? You were pretty torn up hearing about it.” 

Dick exhaled. “It’s fine. Just tell me when it is and I'll be there.”

Peter had wanted Dick to not even know of the magical examination and Peter had definitely not wanted Dick present for it, but Peter was far too surprised at Dick's lost patience to argue at that moment. 

Jason walked towards Dick with obvious and slow steps. “Are you really okay with all this? I know how you must feel.” 

Dick had a simmering fury as he looked at Jason. “You have no idea how I feel.”

Jason took a wary step back as Dick stormed further into the room lay several bags of trail mix on the coffee table. 

“You’re right,” Jason said with the voice of a little brother. 

Dick's eyes stopped looking quite as volatile but they still looked almost dead and with an almost invisible flame of something as he stared at Jason for a moment, and Peter almost didn’t recognize Dick’s voice as he said with the same demeanor as a wounded veteran, “I’ll be in the training room. Call me on the speakers if you need me, and he better be here and fine when I come back.” 

Dick sent Peter one last fragile look full of anguish. The cloud of hard annoyance left for just long enough that Peter could see the guilt shining through before Dick turned around to walk out the door. He left without another word and closed the door with an uncomfortable silent click. 

Peter looked nervously at the door as the heavy steps echoed through the twisted hallways. “Should we follow him?” 

“No!” Jason hurried out and threw an arm in front of Peter only to take it back when Peter flinched. Jason cleared his throat and stood in a forcefully relaxed pose. “Dick just needs a moment to take it all in. He had a hard night.” 

The sound of footsteps were gone but Peter couldn't stop looking at the door. “He usually seems so calm and collected.” 

Jason let out a surprised snort before he answered with an almost collected tone, “He tries his best for you.” 

Peter didn't like the sound of that any more than all the other times he was reminded of what an endless hole of anguish he had become for Dick. 

He shook the self pity out of his head and looked up at Jason with firm shoulders and unsure eyes. “Did he mean it when he said that we could go to see the sorcerer?” 

Jason looked down and somehow looked even more unsure at Peter’s question. “I guess.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment before Jason looked down at Peter. “Ready to meet Tim and see Babs again tomorrow?” 

Peter was still looking at the closed door. “Do I have to? Dick said earlier that I didn’t.” 

Jason hummed. “Then you don’t, but I don’t have a choice and they'll probably be here at the manor either way.” 

Maybe it would be nice to know more about what had happened to the body he inhabited no matter how mortifying it was to have Babs and Tim see him after he had been so naive.

Peter looked up at Jason who looked down at Peter with a nervous smile. It had been nice to see Jason again and Peter wasn’t ready to let him go quite yet no matter how conflicted he felt about the last few days. 

Peter took a handful of Jason’s stretched out t-shirt to ground himself as he asked, “Will you be here until Babs and Tim come over?” 

Jason almost looked like he wanted to cry. “I’ll stay for however long you want me to.” 

“Thank you.”

Jason looked around the sitting room and then back at Peter and how he held his shirt. He looked slightly misty-eyed as he asked, “Want to read some more? Or do you want to see what I brought?” 

Peter let go of Jason and went for the bags to fish out the green hoodie that he had bought during his first days in Gotham and only turned back to Jason when it was securely on and he could finally let go of the blanket. 

“Sure, let’s read.” 

Jason sat in an armchair and Peter took up the whole couch. He ended up so safe and warm that he laid with his face squeezed in the space between the seat cushions and the backrest and his legs and arms sprawled out while Jason read Charlotte’s Web for some odd reason. Not that Peter could complain too much as he felt quite relaxed and almost fell asleep as soon as Jason left the room for a bathroom break a few hours later. 

“I’m baaaack!” Dick called before there were loud hurried steps. “Peter! Fuck, Peter!” 

Peter pulled himself up just before Dick could touch him and saw Dick’s wide eyes and pale face. His cheeks were still flushed from recent exercise and his hair damp from a shower, and he almost crumbled in on himself as he took several steps away from Peter. 

“What happened?” Jason yelled as he flew back into the room. 

Dick was breathing heavily but it was slowly calming down and straighting his back. “Nothing, nothing, he just looked…” Dick swallowed and almost looked green and Peter saw a persistent tremor in his hands. “It looked like he was...”

“Fuck, yeah, of course.” Jason took a hold of Dick’s shoulders and squeezed tightly until Jason’s knuckles became white but Dick didn’t seem to mind or even really notice. “Do you need some air?” 

Dick shook his head. “Just a scare. I’m fine.” 

Both men looked over at Peter’s shocked expression. 

“Sorry, I’m just being silly,” Dick tried to laugh but his breath was still labored. 

Peter looked between both men before he asked, “Did I scare you?”

Dick tried to smile but it was weak. 

Peter still wasn't sure who to focus on as he asked, “How?” 

Jason gave Peter a searching look. “I know that you found articles about the Summer Attack of 2003. Dick was there as you got shot.” 

“You really read that?” Dick looked haunted at that thought. Peter could no longer see his hands shake but he still looked pale. 

“How do you know that I read that, Jason?” 

Jason almost threw Dick at a nearby armchair before putting his hands on his hips and moved his head at almost every word. “You did let the computer stay on while you had the most terrifying anxiety attack I’ve ever seen. Of course we looked for whatever triggered it.” 

“Oh.” Peter looked down before looking over at Dick. “I can see why that would be traumatizing.”

Dick seemed to have shaken most of his panic off and was now hiding his face in his hands. “You shouldn’t have seen that article. Fuck, you shouldn't have seen me freak out either. I get it if you’re feeling even more unsafe with me now.” 

“I don’t feel unsafe with you.” Often confused and worried but Dick had really only been weird the first two times he had met him and proven himself to be very trustworthy ever since. 

Dick removed his hands. “Really?” 

Peter had just opened his mouth when Dick made some sharp movements with both hands. “Wait, no, don’t answer that if you don’t want to. This is a safezone.” 

“Yes, not unsafe, and I’ll try not to lie like that again. It was just comfortable.” 

Peter could see the guilt coloring Dick’s face again and he looked around for anything to stop Dick from looking like that. Peter jumped over to the abandoned bags of clothes as soon as the laid eyes on them.  

“Jason found a lot of hoodies for me. See!” Peter pulled up a blue hoodie at random and he knew it was the right choice when Dick’s eyes lost most of their heavy weight and they instead were practically glowing as he took in the color.

Dick looked and sounded like he was in awe at the sight of the blue hoodie. “Do you like that one? Do you want to put it on?” 

“Sure, let me just take this off.” Peter took off the green hoodie and pulled on the newer blue one over his head with his back to both men. “And there.” 

Peter turned around and showed his covered hands. “It’s a bit big but at least my hands won’t be cold.” 

Dick held his left elbow and covered his mouth with his left hand. Peter didn’t understand what that expression meant until he saw how the light in Dick’s eyes changed. It looked just like how Peter looked at a kitten or how Aunt May had looked at babies. 

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m not cute,” Peter protested and crossed his arms. Unfortunately the oversized sleeves just made Dick’s eyes smile even more and Peter could see a flash of teeth behind his fingers. 

Peter looked at Jason for help but Jason just looked at Dick with a satisfied expression. 

Peter had been betrayed once more by his only confidant in this strange universe and he walked away from them to look at himself in the dark window. He stood like two apparitions melting into one in the glass and they were both absolutely adorable in their oversized hoodie that made them look both healthier and younger. Fuck. 

He let his arms go and saw a black version of Nightwing’s markings on his chest that ran all the way down over his covered hands. This was so embarrassing but at least he could hide in the hood while Dick practically cooed from his armchair.

Chapter Text

Peter didn’t want Jason to know just how paranoid he was about almost all food, but at least Jason didn’t make a big deal out of Dick and Peter cooking some kind of pasta dish that Dick found the recipe for on his phone while Jason was ordered to just sit and watch.

It went well for the most part but Peter had looked over at Jason and when he looked back and Dick had already added the store bought pesto and suddenly the green paste could be anything. 

Peter tried to ignore it until they had finished dinner and then his heart started pumping and all he could see was the possibilities of what was on his plate. Dick wouldn’t do anything but maybe the pesto had already been open or it was the wrong thing entirely. Peter hadn’t even checked the plates when Dick took them out of the cupboard. 

“When are Bruce and Alfred coming down?” Jason asked. 

“They’re not eating with us,” Dick replied as he served everyone. “Come make a plate, Peter.” 

Peter walked over and tried to find any flaws on any of the plates. They were all equally mysterious and the dish crawled with possibilities in the pot. 

Jason leaned on his elbows in Peter’s peripheral vision. “Have they done something?”

“No, it’s just easier for Peter if he has less people to keep an eye on while eating. The internet says so too.” 

Peter could feel Jason’s eyes on him as he looked at the plates. His blood was pumping through his veins and his mouth went dry as he imagined how it would feel to eat from any of the plates. 

“I thought you were joking when you said he wasn’t eating everything in sight.” 

Dick waved a hand in Jason’s direction and took a step closer to Peter. “Can’t choose a plate?”

Peter wanted to explain how he could almost see everything crawling in the dish but no words would come out. 

Dick looked around and quickly tapped on his phone before looking over at Peter. “Do you want me to taste test it for you?” 

Peter shook his head. Dick didn’t know the dangers lurking in the shadows of every piece of pasta and how they were making Peter nauseous from just looking at them. His tightened as the seconds passed and he couldn’t breathe. 

Dick took the plates out of Peter’s field of vision. “You don’t have to eat any of that. We have the protein drinks for this, remember?” 

Peter just shook his head again. He didn’t understand why this was happening right in front of Jason and Peter had been eating so well all day. He had even eaten a small handful of nuts after he had gotten over the worst of the embarrassment of being seen as cute. 

“You have to eat or drink something,” Jason said. 

Peter kept shaking his head and tears threatened to leave his eyes.

Jason leaped into Peter’s field of view and suddenly Peter was trapped between two grown men and their eyes followed him even as he backed away. The lights were too bright and the jeans were scratching him with every step he took. 

“Breathe, Peter,” Jason ordered and took a hold of Dick’s arms when he tried to get closer to Peter. “You’re hyperventilating again.” 

Peter’s hands started to tremble inside of the oversized blue hoodie but they succeeded in hiding Peter from the world for a little while. 

It wasn’t as bad as the library but Peter still felt exhausted and embarrassed when his hands fell and let him look at Dick and Jason again. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter sniffed as he looked at the plates of food with cold and dried pasta with dry clumps of pesto. 

“Nothing to apologize for, draga mea.” Dick looked longingly at the few feet separating them. 

Peter didn’t ask or wait for permission. He simply turned around and hurried out of the room before either man could stop him. 

His bed couldn’t protect him from the world forever but it could do its best as he threw the blanket over himself and ignored it when Dick came into his room half an hour later. 

“Do you feel better?” 

Words would still not form easily in his mouth and he didn’t know if he should nod or shake his head. 

Dick was sighing outside of the blanket. “You liked the chocolate and blackberry drinks. Should I get one of those?” 

“No, go away.” 

Dick was silent for a moment and he sounded as if he was rehearsing in a foreign language as he asked, “Would it be easier if Jason brought it up for you?” 

“No.” 

Peter’s heart had just started to pump a little slower when he remembered the threat of the NG tube and his tears started up just as his heart tried to run away and his brow and hands started to sweat. 

“I’ll just wait here for you to feel better.”

Peter let out a jagged breath. “I want to be alone.” 

Peter thought that his own breath had become even more labored without him noticing when he heard Dick talk with a thick voice, “Okay, I’ll check on you later, Peter.” 

Peter just tried to become even smaller under the blanket as he heard the bedroom door open and close. 

His dreams were full of eyes like always but everything he touched was contaminated and it seeped into his naked skin. 

“The camera’s rolling,” a strange voice whispered and then suddenly there were cameras everywhere and hands started to come out of every surface until Peter woke up to an uncomfortable wet feeling. 

His entire body was drenched in sweat but it was only when he sat up that he noticed the moist feeling on his madrass. 

He didn’t know what to do. His heart was still beating and every instinct in his body told him that he needed to escape, so he did. 

He fell the last few steps down the stairs and lost his slippers but he kept going in the hope of escaping from the confusing but terrifying feeling. His legs started to run and his heart beat even quicker which only intensified the terror further until the manor was smaller in the pitch darkness. 

His stomach growled. It was still recovering from starvation but it had started to expect three small meals every day and it was angry after one entirely skipped meal.

His spider senses started to become even louder than everything else after having been sated into a low hum all day. The stars were shining and the almost full moon was blinding him as he ran and fell over every piece of grass and rock. There were no voices and every silhouette disappeared when Peter turned around to look but something was triggering every nerve in his body. He just ran until he couldn’t run anymore and the cold seeped through his wet socks and soaked clothes. 

Then it was just darkness as he laid under a pine tree panting, cold and hungry. He longed for Dick's kind, and sometimes slightly too intense, stare and even kinder words. Maybe that would make him feel a little safer and stop the world from spinning so quickly even if they couldn’t touch without his heart forgetting how to beat properly.

His head just spun around until he didn’t know what way was up and his hands started to grip at everything around him instinctively and he felt his jaw work. 

Peter blinked and woke up in an unfamiliar room with a huge blanket around him. He looked to the side and saw an expensive bed with expensive sheets next to him as he laid on the floor. 

He stood up and walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back to see the sun shining just over the horizon from a much lower angle than it usually was when he woke up in the morning. He must really have been tired yesterday to sleep early enough for that and his nightmares had somehow been both more grounded in reality and more confusing. He must also have been kicking violently in his sleep again because he wasn’t wearing any pants or underwear and he had to look for a little while to find a pair of large pajama bottoms. 

Dick was sitting right outside the door and looking tearfully at his phone when Peter opened it. 

“Why are you lurking in the hallways?” 

Dick dried his tears quickly and put his phone in his pocket before giving Peter a once-over. “Just keeping an eye on you. Are you feeling better?” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “I guess.” 

Dick sent Peter a smile that looked more like a grimace. “You’re talking. That’s good.” 

Peter gave Dick a once-over too. He was dressed similarly as he had been yesterday and looked unharmed. There was no reason for Dick to act this concerned just because Peter had slept in the wrong room. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Peter pulled his t-shirt up from under the hoodie to brush his tongue with the fabric. “And what is that taste?” 

Dick didn’t answer Peter but instead asked his own question. “Do you remember yesterday evening?” 

“Not really, didn’t I go to bed early?”

Dick looked terrified at Peter’s words. “I guess you could say that. Come, you need a shower, then we should get some food and vitamins in you, and then Alfred will have to check up on you.” 

Peter followed Dick as he walked away. His left ankle hurt but he persevered. “Why do I need to have to be checked out again? Wasn’t I just tired?” 

Peter could see how Dick was trying to find the right words even with his back to him. “You were scared and sick.” 

“My mouth doesn’t taste like throw up.” 

“Right, yeah, it wouldn’t. Let us get you clean and then we can go to the kitchen.” 

Peter tasted his mouth a little more. “Did I eat something weird?” 

Dick turned his head to look at Peter in the corner of his eye but didn’t answer until they were in front of the bathroom. 

“I’ll get you some clothes.” 

Peter looked down at his hands while Dick was away and the little nailgrowth that had been was gone and replaced with dried blood on his fingers. He turned his hands around to look at his green palms with scratches all over. A bit of grass fell off his sleeves as he turned his hands around. 

“Here,” Dick said as he put a pile of clothes and a large towel in Peter’s hands. 

“Did I lose more time?” 

Dick bit the inside of his cheek before nodding his head. “Yes, at least a few hours.” 

Peter’s chest started to hurt again and he wasn’t sure how long he could hold the clothes with the revelation. 

Dick didn’t look completely like he believed his own words as looked at Peter with soulful eyes. “It will be okay.” 

Peter tried to find the answers in Dick’s open and pained face before he hesitantly asked, “What is happening to me?” 

Dick looked split and like he was also trying to find answers in Peter’s face. “You were very hungry and cold, but you’re okay now and we’ll make sure that you keep being okay.” 

Peter looked down at his legs. “Did you take my pants off?” 

“Kind of, I-” Dick’s eyebrows furrowed and looked away uncomfortably. “I guided you through the door and then checked when you were done. You had peed in your bed.” 

Peter frowned and hugged himself with a blush. “I don’t pee my pants. Ever. Stop lying.” 

Dick’s words were far too rehearsed as if he had to tell it to himself 1000 times. “Peeing the bed is a very normal reaction for children after what you’ve been through.” 

Peter’s thighs felt slightly sticky but he refused to accept that it could be pee even as he opened the bathroom door and closed it in Dick’s face. He did need a shower but not before he checked every corner for anything that wanted to look at him. There was none but he still checked again after brushing his teeth and looked at his mud covered face and clumpy hair. He kept the pyjamas bottoms on as he washed everything else on his body and only pulled them down when he absolutely had to at the end of the shower and then quickly dried himself enough to put his underwear on and then dried the rest of his body.

The jeans fit lengthwise but were much wider than Peter. Fortunately Dick had also brought the belt that Jason had bought so Peter no longer had to use his loyal electric cord to keep his pants up. 

Peter opened the door and looked right at Dick leaning on the opposite wall. 

“Come, let’s find your vitamins and eat something before I have to deal with the hamper.” 

Peter just nodded. Getting his clothes washed quickly was for the best with how soaked the pyjama bottoms were. Not to mention that his hoodie was full of dirt and grass and his t-shirt was sweaty and even grosser. 

Dick and he made a simple omelet with only 3 eggs and neither cheese nor milk and Peter could barely contain himself as it cooked in the pan. The monster in him wanted to reach down and eat the egg-mixture raw even as it solidified in the hot pan. He didn’t even pay the proximity to Dick any mind as he stared the eggs down until Dick eventually gave him an uncut apple to tide him over while he kept watching the pan with hungry eyes. 

“What quarter do you want?” Dick asked and tried his best to not elbow Peter in his face as he cut the eggs with the spatula.  

“Can I have half?” 

Dick was blinking a little faster than usual as he looked at the small pan. “Maybe in a little while. Let’s just start with a quarter each for now.” 

Peter almost wanted to cry at being denied food but he still collected himself enough to tear his eyes away from the pan enough to send Dick an accusing look. “Why?” 

Dick looked down at Peter but had to look away before he could answer, “Jason said that you might eat too quickly even after the apple you ate last night. You can have another quarter when you’re not as hungry as you’re right now.” 

Peter hated how much sense it made, but he still chose the slightly bigger quarter and happily ate until the raveging monster inside of him quieted down. He wasn’t keen on a lot of salt anymore but it still tasted a little bland without any. 

“I had a weird dream,” Peter said when the last piece of egg was gone from his plate. 

Dick swallowed and looked at his own plate with widened and frightened eyes. His breath even hitched a little as he asked, “What was it about?” 

“It was just weird. I think that I ate grass or bark in it.” 

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed and tilted as he looked at his own plate. “You must have been very hungry.”

Peter was about to ask why Dick sounded so heartbroken about a weird dream when Dick’s phone started to vibrate. 

Dick stood up from the table with stiff movements. “You can eat another quarter while I answer this.” 

Peter did collect another quarter and ate almost all of it while Dick called from right outside the kitchen. 

“Thank you for finally answering.” Dick huffed into the phone and said several things that sounded like swear words. “I don’t know how to explain it another way. He was just unresponsive and eating literally everything in sight.”

Dick started pacing while Peter ate. 

“Apples and some eggs, why?”

Dick looked at Peter through the doorway as he listened to the other end of the call with a blank expression. 

Peter couldn’t hear Dick’s response but it seemed angry from his facial expressions alone before he turned around and ran his sleeve over his eyes.

“Alfred will do a little blood test when he checks up on you and then we will check your blood sugar again in a few hours,” Dick announced when he came back to the table. 

“Why?” 

Dick ran a hand over his chin and jaw. “You have been without a lot for a long time. We just have to make sure that your blood sugar isn’t too high now that you’re eating again.” 

Peter barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “I lived on 90% carbs before Jason did a friendly kidnapping. I’ll be fine.” 

Dick looked at Peter’s empty plate. “I know, we just have to be safe.” 

Peter brightened up with another thought. “Does that mean that I can’t drink the protein drinks either?” 

Dick’s lips lifted slightly in a more genuine smile at that. “There’s really not a lot of sugar in those. They’re mostly just vitamins and fat.” 

Peter was way too tired to deal with this amount of disappointments. 

“Come, it’s a little early but Dr. Tompkins agreed that we should check your vitamins after I gave you too many carbohydrates and calories at once.” 

Peter didn’t think that he had seen that amount of self hate outside of a mirror, but he had no idea where to start to address any of it or how Dick would react if he pointed it out at all. 

He knew that his next words would do the opposite than take that look away but there was no way that he was going to accept anyone prodding at him otherwise. “Can Jason be there while Alfred takes my blood and does whatever else he needs to?” 

Dick took a deep breath before answering. “I’ll send him down while I deal with the hamper.” 

Jason looked nervous in his longsleeved t-shirt while Alfred just looked tired as they both came down down almost 10 minutes later. Peter personally thought that the formal attire would get uncomfortable or tiring after a while but Alfred look pristine as he expertly took three vials of blood from the other arm than before and ended with a little strip to put in a tiny handheld machine. 

“128,” Alfred announced as if that meant anything at all. “Fine for having just eaten but we’ll check again in a few hours.” 

“Dick said something about water retention too,” Jason said over Alfred’s shoulder as soon as the bleeding had stopped.

“Can I see your feet, Master Peter?”

Peter shook his head. He just wanted a nap and to be ready to listen to what Babs and Tim had to say about everything and then probably have his blood sugar checked without anyone touching him ever again. 

“Can I see your feet?” Jason asked with such a kind voice that Peter was speechless for a few seconds. 

Jason was almost always careful with Peter in general so it wouldn’t hurt to have him touch his feet again. Peter gave a slight nod that amounted to a relieved smile from both men. 

Peter thought that his feet looked fine but Jason looked at them very closely when Peter took his socks off and removed the bandages that Peter had forgotten to before his shower. 

The wounds looked just as raw as they had before but Jason seemed more focused on poking different parts of Peter’s feet. It almost felt like a very weird massage but there was no muscle relief to be found. 

“Is this water retention?” Jason asked as he felt around Peter’s ankle. 

“No, he probably just sprained it yesterday.” 

Peter could almost remember something about a fall but he had to be sure. “Did I fall down the stairs yesterday?” 

Jason and Alfred looked at each other before looking back at Peter and Alfred gave a curt nod.

Peter pulled his sleeves up and looked at the different colors on his arm when they throbbed. His arm was looking at stained glass by someone without direction or talent but beautifully told the story of every unhealed bump Peter had attained including a deep purple color where Alfred had drawn blood less than 2 days before.

Jason seemed transfixed on every bruise but especially the fingermarks when Peter looked up and the spell only broke when Peter let his sleeve fall again only to have his sleeve rolled up again to have his blood pressure measured. 92/55 and a heart rate of 58. Jason seemed almost as clueless as Peter felt but Alfred seemed satisfied with the numbers. 

They even accepted it when Peter tapped out of having his heart listened to again. This amount of touch while being as sleep deprived was already too much. 

Dick was waiting for them outside the medical room and almost attacked Alfred with questions. “Is he well? Is the blood sugar too high? Is his heart failing?” 

Alfred put a comforting hand on Dick’s tense shoulder. “The blood sugar was fine and his vitals are improving. We will know more about his vitamin levels in a few hours.” 

Dick nodded as he bit his lip and then sent Peter a relieved smile. 

“What now?” Jason asked over Peter’s left shoulder. 

“Babs and Tim are already waiting for us.” Dick never wavered his intense stare at Peter. “Are you joining us? You really don’t have to.” 

Peter nodded when no words would come out through the nerves of both meeting Tim and seeing Babs after what had realistically been less than a week but felt like it had been forever. He had hoped that he would have shaken most of the wave of feelings off by the time they reached the sitting room but the few minutes did nothing to his nerves before they reached the open door. 

“Hi, Peter,” Babs greeted him and heightened every nerve in Peter’s entire body with a single word. 

“Hello, Peter,” Tim greeted too and the nerves got even higher until Peter had to look to make sure that Jason was still behind him and he finally had enough bravery for a little wave. 

Tim looked over Peter’s pitiful silhouette with his bright blue eyes. “Do you know who I am?” 

Peter feared that Tim meant on a more personal level but he knew of Tim enough to nod at the wellstyled dark-haired man in his expensive pants and white button down. Maybe it had even been tailored to make Tim look even more professional as he sat in front of the wraith of Peter Grayson. 

“How are you feeling?” Babs asked and Peter had no idea where he would even start if he knew how to explain even a quarter of everything. 

Peter looked up at Dick as they walked further into the room and finally got saved from having to speak. 

“Peter is tired. He had an… episode last night.” 

That was one way to say it. 

Dick sat down and fiddled with his fingers. “Not quite syncope. He, um, looked pretty similar to the videos you two found around Gotham.” 

Peter looked at Dick with wide and betrayed eyes before he looked at Jason for answers. “What videos?”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows for a moment before they rose and his eyes widened. “Not that kind of videos!” Jason waved his arms. “Babs and Tim found surveillance footage of you from your first few days in Gotham. You didn’t look to be all there.”

“Come, let’s sit,” Jason said when Peter started to sway on his feet and guided Peter towards the couch where Dick was without them ever touching. 

Peter took a hold of Jason’s sleeve as soon as they were sitting down with Jason closest to the door and Peter in between him and Dick who stared at Peter’s tight grip for a moment before pointedly looking away. 

Peter thought that he was brave but he felt too naked and vulnerable to do anything except stare at his knees as he asked, “How did you find me on surveillance videos?”

“We found footage of you throwing the dress shirt out and then traced your steps through various cameras. You walked quite far your first few days,” Tim said with an even voice, and it sounded like the kind of voice a CEO used when presenting the yearly sales. It made what Peter was almost sure was a crime sound reasonable. 

The impersonal tone was just enough for Peter to look up at Babs and Tim and see Babs’ grim expression and Tim’s practiced poker face. 

“Did you find the shirt?” 

Jason shook his head next to Peter. “I was too late but it’s okay I found the brooch in some dinky pawn shop thanks to Tim and Babs’ creepy ability to follow people through cameras retroactively.” 

Peter was still full of too many emotions but hearing that the brooch had been found lifted a weight that he had forgotten that he was carrying. “You found the brooch?” Peter looked back to Dick and exclaimed excitedly, “They found your family brooch. I’ll pay you back. I promise.” 

Dick somehow looked both happy at being acknowledged and devastated at Peter’s choice of words. “I did tell you that it was okay. I gave it to you and you don’t have to pay anything back. I made Jason find it because I wanted to.”

Peter knew a lost cause when he met one and looked back at Jason. “How much was it?”

Jason wrinkled his nose and did a little hum. “Far more than you will be able to pay for in the next 10 years, and I’m sure that Dick would rather have a hug or something than the money.”

Peter looked back at Dick. It was probably true that all Dick wanted was a hug from his son’s body and Peter felt the nerves awaken as his free hand twitched and his grip on Jason’s sleeve tightened. 

Dick’s face looked deeper and more sorrowful than an entire ocean. “Don’t hug me to pay anything back.” 

“But the brooch?”

Every piece of jittery energy left the room with Dick’s deep exhale.”You can throw it in the ocean if that means you don’t feel like you owe me. Just don’t ever think that you have to hug or anything else to pay someone back.” 

Peter crinkled one eye and tilted his head to the side. “You don’t want me to hug you?” 

Dick’s expression fell further and for a moment it was just Dick and Peter in the room with everyone else both far away and right next to the action. “I would love it but not like that.” 

Dick looked away and the moment took the curtain away from everyone else in the room and suddenly Peter was painfully aware that he was among three adults who had seen him at some of his worst moments and another one who he was hurting by his existence alone. 

Peter pulled at Jason’s sleeve until he could grip the whole arm itself with both of his own arms. He wanted to ask too many questions for him to just choose one and his heart was beating too much for him to even utter the first words. 

Jason leaned forward to look at Dick. “I didn’t mean it like that, Dick.” 

Peter was getting tired of having to turn his head constantly to hear when Dick was talking but he did so anyway to hear him say, “I know. I just needed Peter to know too.” 

“Are you okay to continue?” Babs asked and Peter nodded even though he knew that he would probably never be okay with any of this. 

“The earliest video shows you wandering around in the Surf District before sleeping for over a day but we don’t know where you where before that”

Dick said something but Peter couldn’t turn his head quickly enough to catch the words. 

Babs looked thoughtful. “Maybe, we’ll check Ace Chemicals but there’s no footage for hours around the Surf District on the 6th.” 

“6th? He woke up on the 6th?” Dick said loud enough for Peter to hear with his bad ear towards him. 

Peter looked around at all the adults. “What’s wrong with the 6th?” 

Peter didn’t understand why so many dates in August had such big meanings but then he remembered what the article had said. There has been an villian attack at a local school in Blüdhaven during a summer program while Dick had been on duty. 23 out of the 60 children present had been injured. Ten of those had recovered in the hospital and one had died in the PICU 4 days later.

"Oh, the attack." 

The attack must have been on the 6th and Peter Grayson must have died on the 10th. Of course such a day had to be on Peter Parker’s birthday.

Tim and Babs looked at each other before Babs said with the same kind of voice that she had used to get Peter to eat her expensive sandwich half a lifetime ago. “Yes, it was the day you went into a coma.” 

Jason let out an awkward laugh. “You won’t believe the shit birthdays Steph and I had that year.” 

Peter looked down at Jason’s trapped arm and played with the strong fingers. He had read their birthdays online but he couldn’t remember even the month anymore. “I’m sorry.” 

Jason let out a long exhale and Peter looked up just as he threw his head back. He used his free hand to brush back his bangs and widened his eyes at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Jason let out a sigh before he looked back at Babs and Tim with a groan. “Can we skip to the elephant in the room instead and talk about the fucking empty casket?” 

Peter turned towards Dick and had to ignore Dick’s empty look at the floor. “The casket was empty? Was it all just a fake funeral?” 

Dick turned to look at Peter but his eyes kept changing where to focus on Peter's face. Left eye. Right eye. Whole face. Left eye. Right eye. “It was real. Or I thought it was real and we only opened the casket a few nights ago and the intruder alarm was still working.” 

Jason seemed to get a green glow about him again but he still let Peter hold his arm tightly as he digested the words. Mostly thoughts about how he couldn't really blame them for having an alarm on a casket when someone did in fact steal the body, but there was an important question on Peter's mind too. 

“Why did you think that I was your son if the grave was intact?” 

Dick looked so pained but still so incredibly sure of himself as he looked at what Peter had let the body become. “I would always recognize you, Peter. I could be deaf and blind and I would still know it was you. Always.” 

That was a very intense statement and it sounded both crazy and dumb. The much healthier option would have been for Dick to have moved on years ago. It had been 7 years since his son had died and he was talking like he had been waiting for him to come back during all of them despite thinking he was in the ground.  

However Dick had been right in a strange way. His son’s body did get revived. It did come back damaged and not the same at all but alive and he had said Peter’s name as soon as he had seen him from a roof when Peter had been starved, dirty, and without Peter Grayson’s glasses. Dick must have studied Peter Grayson’s face often to recognize him through all of that. 

Peter looked at the rest of them with ringing ears. Dick had seemed sure but something had held him back from approaching Peter until Jason had let him into his apartment and even then it had been to check his scars, and now everyone thought that he was a dead child. 

“I’m still not Peter Grayson,” Peter protested. 

Tim gave him an unsettled look. “You are 100% you. The DNA test says so.” 

Dick startled beside Peter at that but he ignored it to look over at Babs for answers. “A DNA test? How could you even get any of my DNA?” 

“Dick gave Tim one of your milk teeth a while ago and Jason gave him your cheek swab.” 

“What?” Peter looked around at everyone present. “When would he have gotten that?” 

Jason’s free hand moved towards Peter but fell to his own knee before he could intrude on Peter’s personal space even as Peter was holding the other arm hostage. “I swabbed your cheek the day Dick came to my apartment. Right before we ate frozen pizzas.” 

Peter didn’t know if he felt more stunned or violated at Jason taking a cheek swab without Peter knowing what was happening. That at least explained why Jason had seemed to be stabbing his cheek more than measuring his temperature that day, but it also proved that Peter couldn’t trust anyone in this dysfunctional family and every time he thought that he had found someone who was on his side they made him take his drenched pants off or collect his DNA without his consent. 

Jason let out a sigh as Peter gave him his arm back forcefully. 

“I’m still not Peter Grayson. Just think of me as a weird clone or something.” 

Jason had said that he wasn’t a clone but maybe it would make it easier for Dick, Babs and Tim to accept him as something foreign if he said that he was one. 

Peter looked back at Dick to see his reaction. Dick’s eyes were sharp and his eyebrows were slanted in worry. “You weren’t cloned and we will figure out what happened to bring you back.” 

“We will,” Tim echoed with clear eyes and only seemed slightly wary of Dick’s reaction. “Babs and I can hack pretty much anything and everyone of us can find everything else on the field.” 

The words kept turning in Peter’s mind. It was hard to think over the ringing in his ears but Peter persisted until they finally landed on some way to ask about any of this. He wanted to know everything but at the same time the things that dominated his thoughts weren't who had done what but rather what had happened when he wasn't paying attention to the world around himself. “Did you see what I did during my memory gaps?” 

No one answered for a while and Peter anxiously looked between all of them in case there was an answer in their faces or a whisper only his good ear could pick up. 

“You were really secure in that butcher shop,” Jason mumbled. “I think that I saw you in that state once but I thought that you were mad about me stopping by with how you were pacing and grunting. You were fine when I stopped by later that day, and I don’t think that you could get out of the butcher shop in that state now that I think back.” 

“I was grunting?” 

Jason looked away in shame. “Grunting or humming. I’m not entirely sure what to call it.” 

Peter had to wait for the ringing in his ears to quiet down before he could look at Dick and ask, “Was it like that last night?” 

Dick was breathing heavily and he looked young and helpless even as every sign of aging was so much more obvious without his giant smiles. "Yes, you were looking for something to eat."

Dick hadn't said he was looking for food. He was just looking for something.

Peter looked down at his scratched-up hands again and thought of the grass and bark in his dreams. He felt drained and waned like a newspaper clipping that had both been bleached in the sun and then drenched in the rain.

"I'm going to take a nap."

"Of course, Dulceață. You are looking a little pale." Dick held so many layers in his every expression but Peter could still see both the hope and pain with every micromovement of his lips. "I'll wake you when it's time to check your blood sugar."

"Blood sugar?" Tim asked just as Peter stood up on unsteady legs.

"Yeah, I fucked up with his food," Dick said just loud enough for Peter to hear as he stood up too. "Peter, can I please walk to your room with you? You're not looking so good."

Peter turned around but his irritation disappeared with the genuine worry in Dick's whole being. "Okay, but I just want to nap alone."

Dick walked right behind Peter up the stairs and he lingered in the room for a few minutes until Peter didn't feel quite as faint and found the strenght to order Dick to leave. The sheets were fresh and should be warm but the room felt a little colder as soon as Dick closed the door between them.

Chapter Text

The nap did wonders but Peter’s eyes felt dry when there was a knock on the bedroom door. 

“I’m awake,” he groaned when Dick knocked again. 

Dick had the little blood sugar machine in one hand, the little cylinder of strips in his other, and a fond expression when he saw Peter’s tired face from under his duvet. 

Peter put his hands over his face as he turned it down into the madras with a tired groan and then a yawn. “Why are you here?” 

“It has been two hours since you ate. We need to check your blood sugar.” 

Peter was too tired to be difficult and simply took the offered alcohol wipe and cleaned his index finger. He barely registered the switch of the alcohol wipe to the lancet when Dick offered it. 

“It hurts less if you poke the side of your finger. Just press the button and then the needle comes out.” 

Peter tried but it was hard to purposely poke a needle into his finger even though he had been through far worse things than this. He gave up when he barely scratched himself and gave the lancet back as he barely bled a single drop of blood. 

“I’m sorry, draga mea, the strip is going to need more than that.” 

Peter glared at his finger. “You do it then.” 

“I can check my blood sugar too, but we really need yours.” 

Peter let out another groggy sound. “No, you can just stick the needle in me.” 

Dick sat down next to the bed and looked up at Peter with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. “You want me to do it for you? I can touch your hand?”

Peter just wanted to sleep a little more and he had no patience for this kind of emotion right now. “Yes, just do it or get someone else if my blood sugar is that important.” 

Dick sat up straighter. “No, I’ll do it.” 

Peter moved his hand in Dick’s direction. “Don’t make this weird.”

Dick nodded as he took Peter’s hand and carefully re-viped the other side of Peter’s index finger and Peter felt a twinge of pain as Dick used another lancet efficiently.

“102,” Dick announced as the machine bipped. 

“What does that even mean?” Peter asked before burying down into his pillow. 

“That your body could take all the carbs that I’ve given you.” Peter could hear Dick putting everything on the floor. “I’m really sorry that I put you in danger. I thought that I was doing the right thing with your food.” 

“Oh my god, Dick, I’m not going to die because of an apple.” 

Dick exhaled from his nose. “Probably not, but Dr. Thompkins told me about refeeding syndrome and it can make your body produce too much insulin that eats your vitamins and can really, really hurt you. I’m really sorry that I didn't ask her enough before finding food for you.” 

Peter pulled his face out of his pillow to look at Dick with tired eyes. “I really don’t think that I’ll die if I eat a cracker.”

Dick’s mouth thinned into a thinner line. He had too full lips for them to ever become very thin no matter his facial expression. “I just can’t risk that, Peter.” 

Peter would have frozen if anyone had done it to him at that moment but he didn’t even have to think before he lifted his hand to pat Dick’s hair. It wasn’t a ruffle, and it wasn’t soft strokes, but instead what Peter had thought people meant when he was much younger and they said that they patted a dog.

“Sorry, that was really weird,” Peter mumbled and tried to pull his hand away from Dick’s hair but Dick’s head followed him . 

Dick looked a lot less downhearted when Peter glanced at his face. “It’s okay. You can pat my head if you want to. I already feel a little better.” 

Peter was slowly losing the soft feeling of sleep and realized that the cold was a little farther away as he touched Dick’s head and it hadn’t been uncomfortable beyond the prick when Dick held his finger before. “Can I try to hold your hand?” 

Dick looked up at Peter’s face and the parts of his arm that he could see over his head and then at his own hands. “Do you really want to?” 

Peter nodded. He was truly curious if he would find a warm campfire or a lighting strike when they touched. Holding Dick’s hand in the kitchen had been fine before but it felt like it had been an eon ago. 

Dick lifted his hand and offered it carefully to Peter who let go of Dick’s hair to take it. No planets fell or angels sung as Peter touched Dick’s warm hand with its hard calluses between soft skin, but it was instead warm, comforting, and let his heart beat calmly. 

“Your hands are really soft,” Peter mumbled without his usual fully awake filter. 

“Yours could be too if you ever use any of the lotions around here,” Dick quipped but didn’t seem to mind as he looked at their hands. 

Peter’s hand was getting cold and tingly from laying over the edge of the bedframe and he pulled both his and Dick’s hand onto the madras and slightly under the warm duvet. 

“Are you cold? I could get you a blanket,” Dick offered. 

“It’s fine,” Peter said instead of trying to explain how he felt the pull in his whole body as Dick’s finger’s slacked the tiniest bit. Maybe he should just  let go of Dick’s hand entirely to get the pain over with and say that he wanted to just sleep the day away. This wasn’t his dad and he had no idea how old was too old to hold a grown man’s hand for comfort like this but 17 felt more than old enough to stop it. Especially as Peter couldn’t remember ever starting it.  

“You’re looking very thoughtful there, Tati.” 

Peter quickly tried to find something that he could be thinking about and asked, “Did you all talk some more after I left?” 

Dick’s fingers tightened a little around Peter’s small hand but they weren’t restricting. “A little. We mostly just talked about where you could have been taken and how you could have been removed from the casket. Your casket was quite unique but it didn’t have marks from the removal of the lid so it had to have been calculated.” 

Dick sniffed and Peter studied his face. His cheeks were red from earlier crying and the skin around his eyes looked red from repeated rubbing. “Babs and Tim are looking into the mortician and church right now.” 

“Sounds hard.” 

Dick mouth tightened again. “You have no idea.”

Dick seemed to crumble a little into himself and Peter couldn’t help feeling like this was all his fault even though most of it happened years before he came into this universe. 

“Will you tell me when you find out what happened?” 

Dick’s hand gave a little twitch even as his face didn’t change. “You’re too young to worry about all of this but yes. You deserve to know what happened to you.” 

“I’m not too young for any of this,” Peter tried but Dick didn’t seem to know what he meant as he looked at the lump where their hands were connected. 

“You are. I was also too young at 9 but at least you have so many people who will support you.” Dick looked up at Peter. “Everyone just wants you to be safe and happy. You know Babs and Jason, but everyone else is rooting for you too and Tim was very excited to see you today. I’m sure that he was even too nervous to sleep much more than we did last night.” 

“I don’t know about that. Tim didn’t seem that affected.” It had been nice to not have everyone be as emotional as Dick or angry as Jason could get but it didn’t change that Tim seemed quite calm through it all. 

Dick’s legs moved a little to change how he was sitting on the floor but made an obvious effort to not move either of their hands. “Tim just didn’t know what to do with himself after seeing you. You were actually quite close before and he understood sides of you that I never could.” 

Peter turned his head to look at Dick from another angle at that. “I thought that you knew everything about your son.” 

Dick smiled as he looked to somewhere far in the past. “I did know everything possible but I didn’t understand it all. Tim and you had a few hobbies in common, and Tim and I are about the same intelligence wise but Tim was always much more like you in how he uses it. We never got you tested but you were very smart.” 

“I took an online IQ test once. It said that my IQ is over 180.” Peter was just about to say that it was clearly untrue but Dick smiled and interrupted before he could. 

“Sounds about right. I really don’t know where you got it from.” 

Peter waited a few breaths to find his words. “If I’m so smart then you should listen more to me.” 

Dick was pulled out of his spell at Peter’s words. “Yeah, probably.” 

Peter might as well be a little mean if Dick was already feeling the weight of so much. “Have you called the sorcerer yet?” 

Dick’s voice was thick as he spoke, “We will today. She can be a little hard to get a hold of at times but we will find her and get her to do whatever you want of her.” 

Peter looked down at his pillow and chased his own warmth. “Thank you.” 

Dick tightened his hand around Peter’s for a moment before loosening it again into what it was before. “Of course, I did say that you could have whatever you wanted that doesn’t hurt you.” 

Dick had to change his position again before he asked, “When will you be ready to see her?” 

“I don’t know. Today, I guess.” 

Dick nodded and exhaled from deep in his lungs. “We will see if she had time today then.” 

Peter's hands grew clammy and the thought of what Dick's answer could be but he had to know before he saw the sorcerer. “Does it make you angry that I want to prove that I’m not your son?” 

Dick shook his head. “No, just really sad and scared. Does it make you angry that I keep saying that you are?” 

“Yes,” Peter answered but didn’t let Dick’s hand go. 

Peter could see in Dick’s eyes that he wanted to say something mushy. Dick would tell him that he was glad that Peter could get angry or that Peter was the reason that he wasn’t angry himself, but fortunately no words came from his soulful eyes. 

Peter’s stomach made a sound and Dick instead focused on that. “Hungry?” 

“You’re not going to think that I will die if I see a piece of pasta?” 

“Dr. Tompkins sent me an extensive list of what I can feed you for the next couple of days and how many calories that you are allowed and how many you need to eat in a day.” 

Peter sighed. “Sounds like an eating disorder to me, but at least I can eat something.”

“And she said that I have to stop pressuring as much as I am to eat more.” 

Peter moved to sit up. “I suddenly like her a lot more.” 

Dick gave Peter’s hand a last squeeze before he pulled his hand and the warmth away. “I knew that you would like that. Come, let’s eat a pre-approved meal.” 

Dick had ideas for low carb meals and while none of them would have killed Peter neither did the block of hard cheese and some pastrami that he decided on. It was delicious and only made better by Dick calling the sorcerer Zatanna. Unfortunately both Jason and Dick would be present and Zatanna would come by around 8 pm. Peter would rather just meet her alone but at least she could talk some sense into both men when she saw who Peter really was. 

It was enough for Peter to keep his mood up as he walked back into the sitting room at Dick’s insistence and he saw Tim with a beautiful camera on the couch. Babs had already left and Peter had thought that Tim would have too. 

Peter tried to move smoothly but he stumbled almost noiselessly and Tim’s head flew up in Peter’s direction. 

“Hey,” he said as soon as his eyes focused on Peter in the doorway.

Peter had talked in Tim’s presence before but suddenly felt too shy and gave a little wave and a timid smile. 

Tim looked almost as unsure as Peter felt as he asked, “What are you doing here?” 

Peter looked around before looking back at Tim with wide eyes and mumbled, “I think that I live here now. I’m not completely sure.” 

Tim inhaled as he nodded. “I’m also a little unsure about that.” 

Peter fiddled with his sleeve as he tried to look like he was looking into Tim’s eyes despite them making Peter feel like he was looking directly into a flashlight. “What are you doing here?” 

Tim looked down at his camera and looked up quickly to make sure that Peter’s gaze was on it too before he showed it off. “I was just about to go out to take some pictures of the grounds.” Tim looked up a few more times. “Do you want to join me?” 

Peter thought about asking Dick or Jason if he could but dismissed that thought with a wave of disdain. He could do whatever he wanted and nodded determinedly at Tim and tried a little harder to at least look at his face. 

Tim’s face changed into a wide smile and suddenly he didn’t look like a hardened, but also nervous, business man in his form fitting shirt and stiff pants but rather a young man seeing the sun after months of polar nights. 

“Cool,” Tim waved Peter towards him and looked excited as Peter took a few steps closer and then a few more when Peter took in some of the details of the camera. 

The camera was simply beautiful. “It looks expensive.” 

Tim kept glimpsing at Peter but received none of Peter’s attention. “It’s a Canon EOS 7D digital SLR. It came out this month.” 

“Cool,” Peter breathed out and his fingers felt tingly as he imagined how it would feel. The weight of it and the rough and smooth parts of it. How it would feel to press the buttons and look at the pictures on the little display and then later on a computer. 

“Do you want to try it?” 

Peter found the strength to look into Tim’s eyes and felt his mouth widen into a huge smile. “Can I?” 

Tim’s eyes sparkled just as much as Peter’s had every time he has been near a LEGO set. “Of course.” 

Peter reached his arms out and even took another step closer when their combined arm lengths wouldn’t allow for a safe transfer of the camera. 

Peter turned the camera on and listened as Tim explained the different setting from a safe distance and Peter took hurried steps as soon as Tim was done. Peter remembered belatedly to put the strap over his neck as he walked so one would think that he would drop such an expensive item, and he had to be reminded by Dick by the front door to bring the puffy jacket that Jason had got him and put on a pair of the shoes that Jason had bought. That in itself took far too long as Jason had bought shoes both the exact size that Peter Grayson had used and a size up. Peter only allowed himself a single moment of resentment for even the child size 13 being loose enough for Dick to find insoles for him. 

The battling feelings of having tiny feet and excitement about still having the camera around his neck was enough for him to forget about everything else for a moment but he remembered just as Tim opened the front door.

Tim had cared for Peter Grayson but he was still a stranger and Peter suddenly just wanted to hide away from all interaction with people he had known for a few hours. He looked down at the camera. It was a miracle that Tim even allowed him to hold it and he would let Peter take a picture or two with it, but it would be unfair to even ask Tim if he could take pictures without him. 

Peter looked back at Dick. Maybe Tim would be okay with taking pictures inside wherever Jason or Dick would like to be? Then it would be a little safer and Peter could still see the camera in action. 

Dick looked back at Peter and tilted his head the tiniest bit as he studied Peter looking up at him with slightly raised shoulders and downturned head. 

“Can I go outside with you?” Dick asked and put on his jacket as soon as Peter nodded shyly. 

Peter used at least half of the empty SD card to just take pictures of the grounds with Tim guiding but never seeming too annoyed about someone else using his expensive camera. He even declined the one time that Peter forced himself to ask if he wanted it back, and Dick was leaning up against the manor every time Peter looked back at him. Jason soon joined to just look at Peter and talk with Dick, and the last unease left Peter’s body. Both men looked radiant every time Peter looked back and a little taken aback like they were watching a movie long forgotten. 

The pictures turned out beautifully but the hours taking them and forgetting about being an imposter and all the unwelcome experiences Peter had in Gotham were magnificent. Even the sun seemed a little brighter as golden hour arrived and Peter didn’t even protest when Dick gave him a blackberry protein drink when none of the possible no-carb-child-friendly meals sounded worth the effort after walking around the manor grounds for hours. 

Peter had fun with Tim but he was also glad when he got to find a few moments alone as everyone other than Dick and Peter went to the dining room. Jason offered to stay but he couldn’t resist the allure of Alfred’s pot roast that had been cooking while Tim and Peter had taken pictures. 

“What are you going to eat?” Peter asked when the door to the dining room closed. 

“I’ll drink your taste testers,” Dick said but seemed almost as unenthusiastic as Peter was every time Dick tried to give him one. 

Peter and Dick had finished half of their respective drinks when there was a knock on the door, and Peter heard Dick open the door before he exclaimed through the echoing hallway, “Zatanna, it’s so good to see you.” 

A slightly raspy female voice answered, “You invited me, Dick. Almost begged me to come look at your son, and I had to see for myself that you’re not losing your mind.” 

Dick walked away from the door to let the guest in. “I know. You’re just a little early. I’ll get Jason and Peter and then we can meet in the party room. Do you know the way?” 

Peter thought that the female voice, Zatanna, must have either nodded or shook her head as there was no other sound than heels on the hard floor before the door closed and Dick came back into the kitchen. 

“Drink,” Dick ordered. 

Peter took another sip but he was mostly full and Dick looked like he regretted ever telling Peter that he wouldn’t be begged to finish a meal anymore. 

“Come, let’s see if we can pull Jason away from the pot roast.”

Jason ate vigorously when they opened the door but he left the pot roast with longing eyes when they told him that Zatanna had arrived. 

“You don’t have to come,” Peter said even though he felt like he would need Jason’s support to even walk through the doorway to ‘the party room’. 

Jason’s eyes lingered even as they could no longer see the door to the dining room. “It’s fine. There will be other pot roasts.”

Chapter Text

Zatanna was beautiful. There was no way around it. She was beautiful in a slightly frightening way with her elegant features, dark hair, and pale skin. She was almost Dick's height, and Peter was starting to really resent how tiny he was. He had been starving for a month, but how had Peter Grayson been this small at 9? Actually, he had been three-quarters to being 10 years old, and he should have been at least a few inches taller and not forced Peter to crank his neck this much to look at the frightening sorcerer.

The only non-threatening thing about Zatanna was how she was dressed like a stage magician. Although she lost some height when she took her tophat off, she was still too tall and striking.

"Good to see that Dick isn't just hallucinating you. What can I help you with, Peter?"

Peter had to gather his courage, but his voice still sounded meek as he said, "I need you to prove that I'm not Peter Grayson."

She looked back at him when neither of them commented on his demand. "Okay, who are you then?"

"Peter Parker."

Zatanna sighed and somehow looked down at Dick and Jason despite both being taller than her. "I'm not a psychiatrist."

"Just check him out for split souls or alternative dimensions or something. The whole-" Jason waved his left hand. "Magic thing. He did come back from the dead after 7 years, and he is having blackouts."

"Come here, Peter," Zatanna said with a much kinder voice than she had used with Dick and Jason.

Peter honestly thought that she was just humoring all of them at first. She waved her arms and mumbled under her breath, but it seemed very performative and did nothing. Then he felt something pull at his core, and his breath shuddered just as Dick started to yell at Zatanna.

Everything was much calmer when he blinked next. He was sitting up against the wall by the door while Jason was hovering uncomfortably close to his face, and Zatanna was pouring over a book.

"Welcome back, kid. You just had to scare me and your dad half to death, didn't you, you little shit?"

Peter still felt a little woozy and blinked lazily as he tried to uncross his eyes before he did a few fast blinks and forced everything into focus. "What happened?"

Jason leaned away from Peter and threw a glance in Zatanna's direction. "Zatanna hit a sore spot, but it's fine. She figured out a few things about you and where you've been."

Peter's eyes widened. Had she already found out about it? Could he be fixed, and then everything would be okay again?

"You'll have Peter Grayson back?"

"We're still at that?" Jason made a weird sound from his throat as he exhaled out of his nose.

"Not the time, Jason," Dick spat from somewhere in the room, and Jason threw a finger to his left. Peter couldn't see which one with how quick the movement was and how sluggish he felt after having his mind invaded, but he was almost sure what finger it was.

Jason looked at Peter firmly. "Yes, we have you back. She can even heal you a little."

"What? No !" Peter looked over at Zatanna. "I'm from an alternate universe. You have to remove my soul from this body before I destroy everything here."

Zatanna looked up sharply. "I'm not going to kill you."

Peter stood up on unsteady legs and ignored Jason's hovering and Dick materializing in his peripheral vision. "I'm from another universe. You have to check again."

If only she checked again, then she would see the rotten part of Peter infecting this sweet, dead boy's body and life, and maybe if they moved quickly, everyone could be happy without the infestation of Peter Parker.

Zatanna looked over at Dick before she sighed and walked over to Peter. "Think of the world you came from."

The second magical check-up went similarly to the first one, except Zatanna seemed to avoid whatever had triggered something in Peter last time, and Peter did his best to think of everything that he remembered from before Gotham. He thought about Aunt May, Doctor Strange, and his uncle. His uncle definitely had a name, but too many names came up, and his face kept changing in Peter's mind. That was a thought for later; he just had to think of his friends. There was a girl named MJ, Gwen, or Lian. He had had male friends, too. Ned, and he was almost sure that he had known someone named Harry. All of them were very smart and brought out the good sides of Peter. Some were almost in technicolor and stood out brightly in Peter's mind. Still, nothing was as bright as his memories of swinging around as Spider-Man and meeting heroes from the Avengers, other teams, and the ones who primarily worked alone. They were all bright, mostly in primary colors or the blackest of black, and they stood out everywhere.

"I can't feel anything except your body being weakened. You'll heal on your own, but I can speed your recovery along."

Peter felt even more drained than before. His nap earlier that day had probably been the longest uninterrupted sleep he had gotten in a week, but walking around with Tim had been the most physical activity he had done in days, and Zatanna's looks into his head had taken the rest of his sparse energy. "Won't I just return to my own universe if my body fails me here? Then you can get the real Peter Grayson back."

Dick paled over Zatanna's shoulder, and Jason took a hurried step towards Peter but stopped himself from saying anything when Zatanna spoke.
"No, your body would just die, and even if you're really someone else, then you would too."

"He's not someone else." Dick looked at Peter with huge frightened eyes. "You're not someone else. Don't hurt yourself. Please."

Peter didn't want to frighten Dick or Jason, but he needed to know everything before Zatanna had to go. He just had to trust that she would be truthful and not lie for the Waynes. "Could you bring Peter Grayson back? It's okay if I get lost if he can come back."

Zatanna's blue eyes looked calculating but not necessarily untruthful. "Not if you're not him."

"Then don't heal me. I'll find a way to bring him back myself, but your magic could make it harder."

Jason hurried into Peter's line of sight by pushing Zatanna hard and uncaring. "Kid, hey, you're saying some really frightening things right now. Please let Zatanna do the spell for now. I loved you before we knew who you were. You said that yourself, and I really like you, and I love you, and I would be really, really sad if you died. Dick would also literally die if you died again."

Dick nodded vigorously, but Peter only looked at Jason. "I wouldn't die. Not really."

"Fuck, is this how everyone else feels every time I say depressing shit?"

"Peter," Zatanna said over Jason's shoulder. "You will lose nothing by letting me heal you."

Peter stood his ground. "No, you don't believe me, and I won't let you mess with my head."

"I'm not trying to do anything to you." Zatanna used calm hand movements, but he saw some of what she could do, and he took a sharp step back until he was up against the wall.

"Or you know who I am, and you're just lying to me for them! I know the truth, and I won't let you change that!" Peter was breathing heavily, either in anger or breathlessness.

"She's just trying to help," Dick said but kept his respectable distance from Peter.

Peter looked for a way out. They probably wouldn't stop him from leaving the room, but how would he ever leave this life? How would he ever explain anything when no one listened to him?

Peter's eyes couldn't focus as he finally accepted that there was no way out. No one would ever believe him. No one took a teenager seriously, and it was ignorant to think that anyone would believe a 9-year-old any more than that. The anger left him even quicker than it had arrived, and suddenly, he was nothing but an empty shell.

"Peter, are you there?" Dick asked in a hushed voice as he moved closer to Peter with wide eyes and bent knees to be closer to Peter's height.

Peter looked up into Dick's kind but unrelenting eyes. He had such a pure expression, but no one in this room would ever let Peter wash his hands of this life.

Peter was so tired that he went a little cross-eyed again as he looked at the bright light that was Dick with his slight signs of aging but still objectively more beautiful than Peter could ever hope to be in this or any other universe. Dick's straight nose and dark eyebrows somehow made his oval face look softer and friendlier. Even his eyelashes were long and almost feminine and inviting anyone to look into the blue eyes and see what Dick wanted the world to see shine from them. Dick's gaze and warmth attracted everyone around him to find a bit of comfort, but Peter feared that he was really a Venus fly trap, and Peter would either get eaten or kill the plant if he ever let himself be too comfortable.

"Can she try to heal you?" Dick asked sincerely. Almost everything he did seemed genuine and an attempt to help Peter with what he thought was best for him. Dick was wrong, but he didn't seem untruthful in any of his actions.

"No."

Dick looked like he was about to protest for a moment but visibly came to some conclusion as he looked at Peter's slumped position. "Of course, it would be difficult to let someone invade your mind like that, and it's hard to be told that you're remembering your life wrong." Dick bit his bit as he blinked at a few spots near Peter. "But you did so well with letting Zatanna find out who you are. I'm very proud of you."

Peter sent the best stink eye he could as Dick's figure doubled for a moment before he took charge of his eyes by blinking a few times. The air was too thick and seemed to weigh Peter's limbs and eyelids down. "She didn't figure out anything. She's just a liar who says what you want to hear."

Dick's whole chest moved as he breathed and looked at Peter with eyes that could tell a thousand stories, and Peter had no way of knowing if any of them would be lies. "Jason and I haven't told Zatanna anything other than what I told her on the phone earlier that you're back, and we needed her help."

"Liar," Peter muttered but knew it was weak as Zatanna's words weighed him further after over a month of almost constant fighting.

He pulled himself up by leaning on the wall and shuffled out of the room. He wanted to glare at them all for trying to trick him into letting her mess with him, but he was too worn down. All he wanted was someone to take his hand and tell him it would be okay. He wanted to let someone embrace him and listen to their heartbeat. Someone who wouldn't force his heart to beat out of his chest but instead calm the world down into a soft song of comfort.

No one stopped him, but their eyes followed him until he closed the door behind himself. He didn't have to fear the trap anymore. He had already fallen into it and had to accept his and everyone's fate of such a bad omen being stuck here. Perhaps Peter Grayson would be gone forever, no matter what Peter did. Perhaps it was even a kindness to his alternative self to let him only doom himself and die before he knew what a curse he could be to everyone around him. Peter didn't think that he longed for death, but he did long for the peace that Peter Grayson must be feeling now and the lack of guilt of spreading death and destruction everywhere he touched.

The manor was grand but incredibly creepy, without any voices filling the gloomy space. It was as if every corner was waiting to lure Peter in and show him all the ways the wealthy either got their wealth or kept it, and there was simply no way that there hadn't been a few deaths in the house over the years.

The evening air was cold, and Peter huddled in on himself as he sat by a tree near the front door. The chill was enough for his nerves to calm down and his eyes to stay open. His fingers grew cold and his shoulders started to shake as the minutes passed into almost half an hour.

Dick almost stepped on Peter as he walked into the garden with hurried steps, but he looked down just in time. "Oh, there you are. I was getting worried."

"I'm not going to go all mangy dog on anyone tonight just because I won't let Zatanna mess with my head any more than she already has."

Dick nodded with wide eyes and his lips in a line. "Good to know."

Peter turned to look back at the dark grass and felt the air shift before something was waving next to him.

Peter looked up and saw an adult and puffy jacket being waved around. He gratefully took it and put it on. It felt the slightest hint of body warmth and grew even warmer before a few minutes passed despite its massive size over his tiny body. Peter could let his legs fall into a more relaxed position as the front door opened and closed behind him again.

Dick was wearing a long and sleek jacket and fiddled with his fingers as he came back out. "Can I sit next to you?"

Peter looked up at Dick for a second before he patted the ground next to him.

They simply sat and enjoyed the air for a few moments before Peter broke it, "Why are you here?"

"Just wanted to check up on you" Dick looked around the grounds before he turned back to Peter. "Do you want to talk about what happened in there?"

Peter shrugged. "There's not much to talk about."

Dick looked over at the same tree that Peter was focusing on. "I think there is, but we can talk about whatever you want, and maybe we can get Zatanna to come back again and see if she can help with your natural healing. You'll be okay with the meal plan and rest, but I'll feel better knowing she has done all she can."

Peter pulled the jacket even more around himself. "No, you'll just have to live with me like this and the possibility of me eating like a rabid deer."

"A true little Bambi," Dick concluded. It should have felt patronizing to be compared to a fawn, but Dick sounded more factual than anything else.

"Did you call your son that?"

Dick hummed. "No, that's probably one of the few things I haven't. Cass and Bruce did, though."

Peter could barely imagine the kind of kid that everyone saw in him. Peter Grayson must have been a very miserable child for anyone to think he was anything like him, but they still had cute nicknames for him. "How was he?"

"Happy. Almost always happy."

Peter looked over at Dick and saw how far away his eyes were as he looked at the dark grass. "I'm not like that, and you don't seem that happy either."

Dick looked over at Peter, and his smile was somehow both sorrowful and full of hope. "I'm getting there."

Peter looked down at the oversized sleeves. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know it's hard for you, and you're doing amazing."

Peter huffed. "You all just think that I'm crazy."

Dick took just long enough for Peter to have to look at him to make sure that he was still there and was met with Dick's emotional blue eyes. "I don't think you're crazy, but just very confused."

Peter didn't know how he was supposed to answer that. Every word in the English language felt wrong, and his "Thank you" was weak. 

Dick leaned back with his arms behind him and looked at Peter's feet. "How's the ankle?"

Peter sighed as he studied his feet, and his voice had fallen almost entirely silent as he answered, "Fine."

"It doesn't hurt?"

Peter shook his head and kept looking at his feet even as Dick turned his eyes on him. He was still exhausted and could feel it again, even in the chill fall air.

"Does something else hurt?"

Peter shrugged. Nothing hurt, but at the same time, everything did. His heart, his lungs, his feet. Every breath seemed like a struggle, with every exhale where everything was trying to stifle him and every inhale here where the cold air was making his lungs spasm.

"Anything that I can do?"

Peter's words failed him, and he just shook his head again.

"Can you tell me what hurts?"

Peter shook his head.

Dick inhaled deeply and sounded pained as he asked, "Is everything that happened in there making it hurt on the inside?"

Peter didn't want to answer, but his sudden sniff said enough, and his sudden need to dry his eyes would have told the rest if Dick hadn't already known.

"You can cry. Just let it out."

Every breath hurt in a way that wasn't just physical as he tried to keep all the disappointment out of his body. How much he had let himself hope that the fight would be over soon, and how far he fell when he remembered that nothing was ever easy for him.

Peter also wanted to tell Dick how unfair he was being. Dick refused to believe a word that Peter was saying, but expected Peter to believe everything that he said, and now he was once again too understanding about Peter's emotions when Peter couldn't understand his own reactions.

"Do you want to hold my hand again?" Dick asked. "Maybe it will make you feel better."

Peter opened his mouth, but none of the sounds were comprehensible, and he instead just reached out with an arm. They were already doomed, and Peter could be selfish for a few minutes. Maybe it would even give him the strength to do whatever he had to do to help Dick and the rest move on.

It should have been awkward with Dick having to fish for his hand while trying not to grip Peter's arm, but Peter couldn't notice much more than how nothing would stop the onslaught of feelings that wouldn't leave his chest, throat, and head. Dick found Peter's hand in the long sleeves and pushed both Peter's and his sleeves up for them to share some of Peter's.

Dick's hand made Peter's emotions even harder to control but also easier to bear, and every little stroke with Dick's thumb sent something pleasant from Peter's knuckles to the rest of his body.

"I'm so sorry that you feel like this. I wish that I could do something to make you feel better."

Peter huddled around his legs again, even though he was no longer cold, and looked at Dick. The sight and relative safety of having his legs against his chest made speaking easier. "You could believe me."

Dick's eyebrows tilted, and his mouth went into another line with his full lips. "I know how you feel. The rest of the Bats didn't believe me either when I first saw you."

Peter furrowed his brows and leaned slightly back as he forgot to cry. "What? But they're just as convinced that I'm your son as you are. At least Tim, Jason, Babs, Bruce, and Alfred seem to be."

Dick's lips lifted a little. "Yeah, now, but I stopped in the middle of a mission to stare at a kid, and when it was over, they asked why I stalled. I said that I had seen you, and they were this close-" Dick put up two fingers with his free hand with almost no space in between, "to send me away to get a very serious mental evaluation."

Peter's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Dick nodded. "Yeah, they thought that I had either just imprinted on a random boy or I was hallucinating until Jason admitted that you existed and looked exactly like my Peter, but he still made it difficult for me. You won't believe the hoops that I jumped through in the hope that Jason would allow me to see you again, and he still only did when he was almost completely sure about who you are."

"But none of you are ever going to believe me." Peter sniffed and dried his cheeks when the tears started again at all the things he didn't know nearly enough about and all the ones he couldn't make others believe.

Dick's thumb caressed Peter's knuckles a couple more times. "It will be okay, but I know it can be overwhelming here. I can be overwhelming."

Peter nodded.

"I could just listen and not say anything as we sit here and just be whelmed."

Peter put his face on his bent knees. "I don't want to talk anymore."

Dick's hand squeezed Peter's once more before he carefully touched every knuckle with his thumb repeatedly. "We can just sit."

Peter couldn't find anything to say to explain how furious and grateful he was for all Dick and the others did. They were his saviors and his downfall, and he felt shame every time he let himself bask in their care and every time he denied it. He instead just gave Dick's hand a squeeze of his own and let the night air into his lungs.

Peter soon felt sleepy despite the fresh air and let himself be guided to the bathroom to brush his teeth with closed eyes and then pee alone before he walked behind Dick to his bedroom. He barely had the coordination to remove the jacket before falling into his bed, still fully dressed.

"Night," Peter mumbled into his pillow as the duvet was laid over him.

"Noapte bună, draga mea."

Peter was asleep before Dick had time to close the bedroom door.

Chapter Text

Peter had dreamed of Aunt May that night. They had made pizza that was only slightly burned, and they both laughed while eating it. It had been pleasant and almost healing. 

It was also enough for Peter to feel like he got whiplash when he woke up in a world without anyone he knew. Peter was the one who had left everyone else, but it didn’t feel like it, and he couldn’t even visit the graves of everyone he knew and loved. Aunt May would have gotten one long ago if Peter had stayed behind. Peter could only hope that she had been laid to rest and didn’t wonder why he had never visited her. Maybe the spell also worked on ghosts, and she would never know why she spent so much time and money on him. 

“Did you sleep well?” Jason asked when Peter came into the kitchen. It was probably the first time that Peter had been there without Dick. 

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. “I slept really well.” 

Jason blinked a few times. “I remember a good night’s rest looking slightly different than that, but okay.” 

Peter just sighed. “Good sleep and bad reality.” 

Jason sounded like a deflating balloon as the words hit him, but he stopped it by clearing his throat. “I get that, and I’m sorry that it wasn’t like you hoped it would be with Zatanna.” 

Peter finally found the strength to send Jason a stink eye. “Don’t act like you’re sad about being told you’re right. None of you will ever listen to me again now that your friend said what you wanted to hear.” 

Jason should have looked cozy in the faded Yale t-shirt and newer sweatpants, but he looked like he was one step away from stepping on a mine. “Zatanna is barely Bruce’s friend, and she’s more of a distant aunt several times removed to Dick and I.” 

Peter sat at the kitchen table and rested his chin on his hands. “Good for you.”

He looked up at the clock. It was a little after eight, and Peter didn’t feel hungry, but he knew that he had to eat something and Dick wasn’t there to help him. Perhaps that was for the best to both let Peter pretend that he didn’t cry once and hold Dick’s hand twice yesterday and perhaps also for one other thing. “What are you eating?” 

Jason looked down into his half-filled bowl of still crunchy cereal. “Quaker Ohs Cereal.”

Peter leaned forward to look down at the bowl. There was so much sugar, and it would taste great even without milk. 

“Do you want some?” Jason asked and was already walking over to the wall cabinets. They were so high up that Jason almost had to stand on his toes to reach the sugary cereal, but Peter knew he could probably crawl up there and get it some other time. He could almost imagine the taste and the feeling of eating sugar behind Dick’s back until he saw the bag. It was opened. 

Peter knew that it was silly. Jason was literally eating the cereal right now, and no one in the house would do anything to any of the food, not even vigilante life or weird surprises like playboy Bruce Wayne being friends with a sorcerer would make them do something to specific cereals in the hope that Peter would ask for some. Especially when he had been banned from even eating strawberries with sugar, and the chances of Dick materializing as soon as Peter put any of it in a bowl were above zero. 

Peter leaned back into his seat and let his arms fall. “Nevermind, no cereal for me.” 

Jason looked back with hopeful eyes, and his arm still extended. “No cereal? Why can’t you eat cereal?” Jason looked back at his bowl. “Oh, you remembered the re-feeder thing. I almost forgot about that.” 

Peter nodded. Momentarily forgetting about refeeding syndrome is much less embarrassing than Peter just wanting sugar and his illogical fears ruining it for him. 

“I can see if we have more cheese for you to eat like a medieval king, or I can make some eggs for you. I ate a few earlier today, and there is half an egg carton left.” 

Peter looked at the used pan. There was still grease and a bit of egg on the bottom, and Peter had no idea how to explain the need to clean it first. He knew logically that Jason had only just cooked, and it wouldn’t hurt for Peter to get some fried or scrambled eyes in the same pan. Maybe that would let people briefly forget Peter's brokenness, or perhaps he should just skip breakfast. 

“Have you seen Peter?” a familiar voice asked, saving Peter from having to explain anything. 

“Good morning to you too, Dickface.” 

“Oh, there you are,” Dick smiled as he saw Peter sitting at the table and ignored Jason shaking his head at him. Dick was too happy for how Peter’s world had gotten a little darker. 

“Yeah, here I am.” Peter almost wanted to cry again. Here he would be forever. No one would help him find a way back to his own world, no matter how bleak everything was there. They wouldn’t remember him, but he would be able to look at the familiar sights. 

“Hungry?” 

Jason went for the fridge. “I’m making him breakfast right now.” 

Dick looked over. “In a dirty pan?” 

Jason grumbled, “He will not die because of my leftover egg grease. I’ve fed him before you even knew he was back.” 

Dick almost looked hurt at that. “Of course.” Dick’s chest rose in a breath before he looked over at Peter with a slightly more brittle expression. “Is that okay with you?” 

Peter looked back at the dirty pan. He knew he couldn’t eat anything from it, but he also wanted to have a moment without being reminded about how childish he was—which was probably not the most mature reaction either. 

Peter bit his lip as he thought it all through and tried to find the most painless way to get a meal without embarrassing himself. “Can we just boil the eggs? Probably hard-boiled for me.” 

Jason furrowed his eyebrows. “Okay, that sounds fine. I think that Alfred has some egg cups around here somewhere.” 

Dick walked further into the kitchen and found the mentioned eggcups quickly and put them in front of Peter while Jason found a small pot and filled it with water from the tap. Gothamites never drank the water from the tap, but expensive filters and boiling the tap water seemed to neutralize whatever the rogues could put in the water tanks. 

Peter wondered if he could just let Jason boil the eggs for him. No, it would just be a waste of eggs when Peter was already not feeling up for eating, and he would not eat the eggs if he couldn't see them through the whole process. 

Peter walked over to the stove and looked at how it was only an inch or two under his shoulders and then looked at how it only reached somewhere under Jason’s and Dick’s hip bones. 

Jason found a wooden step stool, and Peter stepped up to look at everything from a slightly more dignified height. “How tall are you two?” 

“I’m 6 '1”,” Jason said and sent Dick a sharp smile. “And Dick’s a tiny, little man at 5 ‘10”.” 

Dick threw his hands up with only his elbows and scoffed. “I’m literally an inch over the national average, Jason.” 

Dick and Jason looked down at Peter on his stool in front of the stove. Dick elbowed Jason enough for him to let out a huff as Dick talked, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being short.” 

Jason massaged his side. “Yeah, it’s totally cool. We need more short men, but your dad was short until he was around 18, so you could get taller too.” 

Dick’s smile looked a little weird at that reminder, but Peter didn’t pay it any mind as he turned on the heat and waited for the water to boil. He still hoped to get back into his own almost adult height in his own universe no matter what genes Dick could have given his son. 

Peter hadn’t realized it before he looked back at the pot, but something was different from this angle. “Why are all the knives gone?” 

“Being washed,” Jason said after a beat, with a slightly higher voice than usual and almost a twinge of British. 

Peter turned away from the barely warming pot of water. “ All of them?” 

Dick’s voice was also weird when he replied, “Yes, all of the knives are somewhere else where only Alfred can find them. I don’t even know where they are.” 

Peter shook his head at them. He would never understand anyone in this house and carefully put the eggs into the water with a spoon as soon as the water started to bubble. “Do any of you want some boiled eggs?” 

Dick’s eyes followed Peter’s every move. “Yeah, I could eat two too.” 

Peter waited a few minutes to put an additional two in the water with his own two eggs and stood still in front of the pot until Dick’s eggs were soft-boiled and his own were hard-boiled. 

Jason’s bowl of cereal looked a little gross with how mushy it had gotten, but he ate it as Peter and Dick ate their eggs.

“What do you want to do today?” Jason asked as soon as Peter swallowed the last spoonful of egg, and Dick came back with some toast for himself. 

Peter shrugged. 

“Do you want Tim to come over again?” Dick asked.

Peter turned his eyes towards him and crossed his arms. “I don’t care. It’s not my house.” 

It had been nice walking around with Tim, and Peter wanted to long for it again, but everything seemed meaningless when he knew there was no way home, and he had done his duties of feeding the body for now. 

Dick pulled a corner off his toast. “We just want you to be comfortable.” 

Peter cracked one of the eggshells into smaller pieces. He had a lot to say about this whole situation, but even his emotional mind knew that saying even a quarter of it would bring nothing but trouble. He was also unsure how well he would take it if he heard more about how much he should believe Zatanna’s lies, but he felt like he had to ask, ”What did Zatanna tell you after I left yesterday?” 

Dick hummed, and Jason started to run his finger over the hem of his t-shirt before he opened his mouth. “She thinks that she can figure out where you were taken to, kid.” 

Peter nodded. That was at least useful. “Can I go too?” 

Dick’s mouth widened into a line as he shook his head slowly. “No, you’re not going back to whatever lab experimented on you. You’re staying here with Jason or me while the rest find it. I never want you anywhere near that place.” 

Peter should have seen that one coming. He couldn't remember anything other than the feeling of glass and feeling almost entirely frozen despite waking up in August, and he was currently starved and small. This wasn’t even really about him. This was about the body of Dick’s son being taken, and Peter had woken up and left the laboratory immediately. It shouldn't matter to Peter who or what had experimented on Peter Grayson, but it did, and Peter wanted to prove to them all that he could help. He just had to prove to them that he hadn't been lying or was delusional first. 

“I’m going outside. Alone.” Peter collected all the eggshell pieces to put into the trash as he imagined the things he could figure out with the fresh air in his lungs. “Can I have some paper and a pen or pencil?” 

“Sure, are you drawing?” 

“No.” 

Dick went out of the kitchen and came back with a pad of paper with a W symbol on the top, two pencils, and an eraser. “I also brought this. It’s not the same one you used before, but an over-the-counter inhaler is better than nothing in the cold weather.” 

“No.” Peter didn’t say more and glared at Dick and Jason as they tried to make him take the inhaler. Inhalers generally tasted weird, and Peter didn’t need one. His lungs were just more crusty in the cold. 

“Peter, I heard your breathing when we were outside yesterday,” Dick reasoned. 

Peter leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms once more, and scowled up at Dick. “When did you even have time to get one?” 

Jason cracked his neck by moving his head to each side. “I bought it after the library incident, and you wheeze when you run, so I thought it might be good to have a few on hand.” 

Peter looked at the little plastic inhaler. “Will you leave me alone if I take it with me?” 

Both Jason and Dick nodded, and Peter groaned but took the inhaler as well as the paper, pencils, and eraser before walking out the front door with the shoes and jacket that Jason had bought. They were too warm and soft to forget intentionally. However, it still felt bittersweet as he put the inhaler in his pocket and felt the sturdy lining that wouldn't let Peter lose anything unintentionally. 

He walked a small distance until he could hide behind the tree nearest the front door and try to figure out his muddled thoughts and memories without anyone being able to watch him from a window. His memories slowly became a little clearer as he drew a rough timeline of the events leading up to ending up in Gotham when he heard a rustle. 

Peter looked around everywhere. Dick and Jason had seemed to agree not to disturb Peter, but perhaps they had changed their minds only minutes later. What did he even know about them other than the will to believe in resurrected children and Jason breaking and entering homeless kids’ residences and giving them too much money and food? 

Peter eventually found the source of the sound, and his rough timeline and fears could be forgotten for a minute as he saw a 9-pound cat come out of a bush with a regal aura. It had huge ears and white legs on an otherwise black body, and its white-tipped tail flicked as it turned to look at Peter with wise and ancient eyes. 

Peter reached his hand towards the cat from where he sat, and its white mouth opened in a crunchy meow before walking closer to Peter. 

The sniff was quick before it leaned back to give Peter a judgemental look. The next sniff was longer and ended with the cat rubbing its cheek on Peter’s hand and then letting him touch the rest of its body. 

The fur was shiny and slightly coarse, and the body seemed thinned with age. However, it looked like it was cared for, and the purr was strong as it forced its head into several spots on Peter’s body. 

Every stroke over the cat's sleek body was incredible. The fur was nice, and the purring felt lovely, but the best part was how safe and comfortable Peter felt as the cat forced him into petting it. There were no feelings of his heart beating out of his chest, but instead, he felt calm as he could touch someone without worry. 

“You’re such a good-looking cat with your tux,” Peter praised as the cat walked around Peter’s body. “Oh, I mean good-looking boy. Can I call you Tux for now? Just as a nickname?” 

Tux gave a slow blink in approval and then gave another meow when Peter didn’t pet him with both hands. “Your family is so lucky to have such a beautiful and cute cat like you.” 

Tux’s purr grew in volume, and Peter smiled at the acceptance in his eyes.

Tux eventually fell asleep on Peter’s legs, and he carefully grabbed the pad of paper to collect his thoughts and hopefully remember a little more about how he ended up here, even as Tux snuffed a little in his sleep. 

Peter had several confusing memories of overlapping events that couldn’t happen simultaneously, but he eventually figured out enough for it all to make some sense before Tux woke up with a stretch and, unfortunately, left Peter's lap. 

“Do you want to check the manor grounds?” Peter asked, and Tux looked at him with wise, yellow eyes.

The grounds were not very exciting, but it was nice to check them out, and Tux followed him everywhere. Tux didn’t have a collar, but it was still too evident that he had a home for Peter to let himself dream of having this loyal companion with him long-term, so he would have to enjoy it for now. 

“Mrrrew,” Tux said right before a bird flew out of a bush. Yellow eyes followed the wings as they soared over the grass and away, and Peter couldn’t help but look up to steal a bit of Tux’s joy at the sight. If he couldn't have his own, he could pretend for a bit with his furred companion. 

Tux made similar but few sounds as they looked at different parts of the grounds and saw a few insects. Tux ate a beetle when they reached one of the outer fences before suddenly puffing up his tail and back fur and letting out a venomous hiss. 

“What’s wrong, Tux?” Peter asked as he looked all over the garden. There were no dogs or birds of prey anywhere to scare a cat. 

Peter followed Tux’s gaze to a bush a little away when he heard footsteps from somewhere. Peter wanted to call out and ask Dick not to follow him, but Tux’s reaction was not that of someone who was annoyed about someone ruining their fun. Tux was a cat, but animals knew these kinds of things, and if Tux was scared or mad, then Peter should be too. 

Peter looked around once more to find the source of the footsteps and the rustling. They were getting louder, but Peter couldn’t figure out where they were coming from, and they would start and stop at odd intervals.

“Dick, is it you?” Peter asked quietly. It was too quiet for anyone to hear if they were much farther away than Tux, but he still listened for a response. 

Peter’s spider senses had been haywire for so long that he had forgotten to listen, and they were screaming at him right now, asking him to either take the threat out or run from it. 

Peter kept looking around and carefully bent down to lift Tux before he decided on a direction and just ran. He didn't even know if he was running towards the manor or away from it, but he needed to get them both away. 

His legs pumped as he tried to listen to anyone following him. Tux’s angry claws didn’t feel that sharp against his puffy jacket, but his low growls pierced Peter's heart. 

Tux let out another hiss and a loud growl, and Peter knew that someone was nearby. Someone he couldn’t see and could barely hear, and his only defense was currently a cat that he barely knew. 

“Dick! Jason!” He screamed. Whoever was following him already knew where he was anyway, and maybe, just maybe, Dick or Jason hadn’t respected his wishes and would come running at any second. “Help! Jason! Dick!” 

His lungs started to spasm as he ran and screamed, but he ignored it. The memory of asthma attacks was nothing against the danger he felt. “Help!” 

Tux kept fighting against his hold, and Peter let go in the hope that he could run faster than Peter could. At least one of them would be safe then. 

Peter was sure that there were footsteps and eyes on him. It felt like the ones that had sometimes followed him when he was walking around the streets of Gotham. It wasn’t just his imagination or Dick, someone had been following him for some reason, and he didn’t know why they would or why they hadn’t done whatever they wanted when he had been vulnerable and alone. 

“Peter!?” several familiar voices yelled. They sounded far away, but they had heard him and could find him. 

“I’m here!” Peter yelled and could almost cry when he saw the manor to his left and Jason, Dick, Bruce, and Alfred running directly toward him. None of them had even taken the time to put on a jacket, and Dick wasn't even wearing shoes, but Alfred was carrying something long. 

“What’s wrong?” Dick asked just as Jason mumbled, “Is that Alfred?”. 

Dick was the closest one to him, but Peter went straight for Jason’s midsection and hid his face in his t-shirt. 

“What happened?” Dick asked. 

Peter’s nerves quieted down even as his lungs kept spasming. “I thought there was someone following me. I don’t know. We heard footsteps near the fence.” 

Peter could feel Jason’s movements as he moved his arms, but no one tried to touch him. 

“I’ll have a look,” Alfred announced, and Bruce gave a simple hum before two footsteps were hurrying away. 

"You believe me?" Peter asked into Jason's t-shirt. 

"Of course," Dick answered. It sounded like he was being slowly strangled as he looked at Peter. 

Tux started to rub against Peter’s leg, and he found the strength to let go of Jason and fall to his knees in front of the brave tuxedo cat. 

"Thank you." It was as if the knowledge that they believed him made everything a lot less scary. It was almost like it had just been a dream, or maybe Peter had just heard a fox and was imagining the rest.

Dick took a deep breath before he talked much more like he usually did. "How are you doing now?" 

"Better. It was probably nothing."

"Let us hope that," Jason said, and Dick nodded when Peter looked at him too. 

"But we'll believe you next time, even if it is nothing." 

Peter nodded. He didn't feel emotional anymore, but it was still hard to breathe. 

Dick studied Peter's chest for a few moments. “Where’s your inhaler?”

Peter could feel the inhaler lying in his pocket but still mumbled, "Gone.” 

Dick shook his head and pulled an inhaler out of his pocket, and shook it with a few soft clangs. “Here, use this inhaler.”

Peter shook his head and stroked the cat’s soft fur. “I don’t need one. I haven’t needed one in almost a month and a half.” 

“Stress can make your asthma worse, and I would rather nip this in the bud while you can still talk.” 

“Dick’s right, you’re wheezing really badly right now,” Jason said as he moved from leg to leg. 

Peter sighed and took the inhaler when his breathing whistled almost as loudly as Tux’s meows. 

“Do you remember how to use it?” 

Peter glared but clumsily put the mouthpiece in his mouth and pressed the button. The taste was even more bitter than Peter remembered, and he had to remove it to cough as his throat protested the medicine. 

“We’ll get you the prescription ones when you’re legally alive again,” Dick promised. “And some anti-inflammatory pills for the colder months, so you won’t have to use an inhaler much anyway.” 

Peter would rather just be left alone, but having a less foul inhaler also sounded good.

“Please do another one and hold your breath,” Dick asked as if he knew how hard it was to do just that when both the medicine and the asthma made it hard to breathe in the first place. 

“Just do it, Kid.” 

Peter stared Jason down and then looked at Tux, who seemed to judge him for his childish behavior. Peter wanted to argue that he had been fine for over a month without being tortured by the ailments from his past. The fact that the weather was getting colder and Peter’s asthma before the spider bite had been worse in cold weather was just a weird coincidence. 

“Meow,” Tux scolded, and Peter reluctantly took another dose, held his breath, and counted to twelve as quickly as he could. 

Jason looked over at the front door. “You and Dick should go in while I help Bruce and Alfred look around.” 

Peter quickly shook his head. “Stay.” 

Jason furrowed his eyebrows in Dick’s direction, who stood still for only a second. 

"Do you want me to stay?" Dick asked, and Peter felt bad when he shook his head instantly. Jason being there was enough for now, even though Peter still couldn't decide his feelings about anything that had happened. He wasn't even entirely sure what Jason had done to that man. 

"I'll find them, Peter." Dick walked over the grass with heavy steps and socked feet. Peter could only hope that Dick's feet wouldn't become too cold. 

“Another dose, kid,” Jason said just as Peter debated whether he was still mad at Jason for killing someone and believing in Zatanna’s lies.  

Peter took another dose and then almost threw the inhaler at Jason before going to look for everything that he left by the tree with his now working lungs. Jason was still there every time Peter glared back, but he still had to check twice on the way to the tree and kept his eyes on him on the way back. 

Jason opened the door for Peter, and the cat instantly ran in. “You can’t go into people’s houses, Tux,” Peter said. 

Jason seemed startled at the name but shook it off. “It’s fine. He’s a former resident.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he believed Jason, but he didn’t want to argue and potentially lose time with Tux. 

Tux instantly went to the sitting room and jumped into Peter’s lap when he sat down next to him, while Jason went for the nearest armchair. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Peter shook his head and started to pet Tux. Each stroke made Tux close his eyes, and the fur felt nice between his fingers. 

"I'll just make a quick call then," Jason announced. He pulled out his smartphone and started a conversation without any greeting. "I have your cat. Yeah, he walked to the manor and attached himself to Peter.” 

Peter almost didn’t register Jason’s eyes on him as the cat lifted his chin high for scratches. 

“Yeah, it’s absolutely adorable, and it’s too bad you can’t see it.” Jason sounded fond, and Peter was almost ready to stop when Jason hissed into the phone, “No, you can’t come over. I know it’s your cat, but Peter shouldn’t be overwhelmed by new people literally every day. Someone can bring your cat over later, or we can do an exchange outside.”

“Is it Tux’s owner?” Peter asked as the cat rubbed his cheek against Peter’s fingers. 

Jason nodded. “Yeah, it’s Damian, his human.”

“Does he want him back?” Peter rubbed one of Tux's white paws as the claws kept revealing themselves and hiding with every movement. 

“Yeah, but it’s fine.” Jason looked to the side as he muttered into the phone. “No, you shut up.”

“Can you say thank you to him from me?” 

Jason looked at him. “Um, sure, Peter says thank you.” 

Jason sighed. “Damian says you’re welcome.” 

“Can you-” 

Jason cut him off. “I can just put it on speaker.” 

“Okay.” 

Jason froze. “You want to talk to Damian?” 

Peter nodded, stroked the cat’s soft fur, and enjoyed the vibrations of the purrs. 

“You’re on speaker, so behave,” Jason hissed directly into the speaker before he tapped on the screen. 

“You’re the one who hasn't behaved a single day in your miserable life, Todd,” a young but adult man spat back venomously before it changed into something entirely proper and polite as Jason put the phone on the coffee table. “Hello, Peter.” 

“Hi,” Peter said towards the phone, but he had to stop himself from biting his nails.  

“It’s good to hear from you,” the voice answered. 

Peter was quiet for a moment before awkwardly forcing out an almost silent ‘thank you.’ 

“Is everyone at the manor treating you well?” 

Peter nodded. “Mm-hmm, especially Dick and Jason, but I’m still mad at them.” 

“Understandable, they can be fools, but at least you have Alfred the cat to keep you company for now.” 

Peter looked down at the senior cat. “Is his name Alfred?” 

“Yes, it is. He’s named after Alfred, the butler.” 

“I’ve just been calling him Tux.” 

Damian's breath hitched, and he was silent for a moment. “So I’ve heard. It’s a good nickname, and I’m sure he would appreciate it if someone called him that again.” 

“Thank you.” 

The voice was still polite, but there seemed to be a lot brewing under the surface. “You can visit him anytime that you want to. Alfred, the human, can call me if Todd or Grayson are being difficult and I can bring Alfred, the cat, to you or bring you to visit him or my other animals.” 

“Okay, thank you.” Peter wondered why Damian was referring to Dick and Jason by their last names. Especially as the only Damian that Peter could think of was Bruce's youngest child, and Damian’s cat had once lived in the manor. There were a lot of years between Damian and Dick, but Damian referred to Peter by his first name, and there had been almost as many years between Damian and Peter Grayson. 

Damian was still stoic, but he sounded almost vulnerable as he added. “I can visit you too if you want.”

“Okay, maybe.” 

“Hm,” Damian let out. 

Peter looked up at Jason as the silence stretched through the room. 

“So, update on the whole thing, someone spooked Peter by the fence, and Bruce, Alfred, and Dick are out there looking for criminals right now while you pet puppies or whatever you do on a Thursday.” 

“You couldn’t have led with that? Did Alfred at least have his shotgun with him?” 

Peter’s eyes widened as he looked between the phone and Jason. “Alfred has a shotgun?” 

“Alfred, the human, does.” 

Peter let out a huff. “Yeah, I got that. I didn’t think the cat was firing a gun.” 

Jason tapped his temple with his index finger three times before pointing at Peter. “Yes, no kitty firearms here, although…” Jason looked pointedly at the phone. 

“Yes, that would be a sight," Damian said sagely as if Jason had made perfect sense.

Alfred the cat yawned and laid his head on Peter’s thigh

"But he brought the shotgun, right? Otherwise, I'll have to come and take the threats out myself." 

"He brought it, and Dick is on the warpath. He didn't even have time to put shoes on before running after them." 

"I'll just continue on my studies then. Goodbye, Todd, and I will see you, Peter." 

"Bye, Damian," Peter said as loudly as he could, but it was barely enough to make Alfred the cat's ear twitch. 

Jason put his phone back in his pocket as soon as Damian hung up and leaned back in his armchair. "Then there were two."

Peter nodded and turned his eyes to the paper pad to decide how much of his rough timeline he could salvage. There weren’t many legible words, but he could figure it all out again before everyone returned to the manor. "I need to work on this." 

Jason waved and pulled his phone out again before tapping away in a game or a rapid conversation. "I'm here if you want to talk, and Dick will be in the second you call for him." 

Peter just nodded and made a few adjustments to the timeline. 

Chapter Text

Peter had seen pictures of Damian when he researched the Wayne family a lifetime ago. He had seemed almost cold when he wasn’t aggressively heated about something, but he sounded almost soft as his voice called from the echoing hallways.

“Alfred,” the voice of a young man called through the echoing hallways of the manor. 

Alfred, the cat, instantly jumped from Peter’s lap with a raised tail and spry feet. Peter looked over to Jason to ensure he also heard the voice, and Peter followed him out the door to the sitting room to see Damian and Alfred reuniting in front of the front door. 

Damian looked soft as he lifted Alfred, the cat, and then he was all hard edges and scrutiny when he saw Peter. His eyes were like toxic pools as they looked at Peter’s thin hands and pale cheeks before his eyes looked like thick gases attacking Jason’s face. 

His voice was quiet, but it only made every sound weigh even more in the otherwise peaceful home. “What the fuck did you let happen to Peter?” 

Peter stepped back and took hold of Jason’s shirt at the acidic tone. 

“You’re scaring him, Damian.” 

Damian’s toxic eyes turned back to Peter and lost the edge of their sharpness, but they were back as soon as he looked at Jason. “I thought that you were taking care of him. Why does he look like he’s fresh from a dungeon?”

“Damian, he arrived this Monday, and it’s only Thursday, and he was in an awful state before that.”  

“I lived on the streets,” Peter piped up and stepped back to hide behind Jason as soon as Damian looked back at him. 

Damian’s face kept its hard surface, but his eyes projected emotions as quickly as Peter could blink. “Yeah, you've been in Gotham since August 6th, right?” 

Peter nodded, but it was Jason who answered.

“Babs and Tim think so, and you know it, so just get your cat and stop scaring Peter.” 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Peter. I was just surprised about the state of you.” 

Peter had thought he looked much better now that he washed his hair and wore clean clothes daily, so this was just insulting. Peter would have said something if the space behind Jason wasn’t so much safer than looking directly at Damian. Jason was simply too real and warm through his shirt to let go of, even as the adults seemed to forget that Peter had a fully working ear. 

“He’s better now, Damian, but I told you to stay away for a reason.” 

“And how would I know that? Everyone other than Cassandra, Brown, Thomas, and I know everything, and the rest of you just say that he’s alive and think we wouldn’t want to know despite our demeaning pleas.” 

Peter pressed his face into Jason’s back to collect enough courage to speak up. He just needed a few moments while the conversation kept going around him. 

Jason sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Damian. This isn’t about you or anyone other than Peter and what’s best for him.” 

Peter took one last breath of the smell of Jason’s laundry detergent and stepped to his left to look at Damian, but he only remembered letting go of Jason’s shirt when Damian’s gaze was back on him. “Did they really not tell you anything?” 

Damian looked less angry but still very unhappy as he answered, “No, they did not.”

“Not even why Jason killed-.” Peter attempted to say his name, but it got stuck in his throat, and he tried to calm himself down enough to let the words on his mind escape by rubbing his hands. 

“I did not know that Todd killed anyone recently.” Damian didn’t sound judgmental, but he still felt an intensity as he looked back at Jason. “Did something happen while Peter was in your care?” 

Jason oozed self-loathing to the degree that Peter was sure it would have stuck to him like slime if he was still touching him. “Yes.” 

Damian made his few words sound like a threat. “What happened?” 

Peter looked up at Jason and shook his head aggressively, but Jason didn’t spare him a single look as he looked at Damian with empty eyes. “Peter wouldn’t want me to tell anyone.”

Damian’s back straightened even more at those words, and Peter couldn’t help feeling both exposed and pathetic as Damian took in how he was drowning in his hoodie and how thin his hands and neck were. It was so thin that it was a wonder that it could carry the weight of the dark bags that greeted him every time he looked at his face in the mirror. 

“Was it your work in the paper? On Sunday the 19th?” 

Jason stood still, but his face spoke enough for anyone to know, and Peter couldn’t help but ask his urgent question: “It was in the paper ?” 

Jason shook the heaviness off himself and looked at Peter. “No, not that! Only my, um, work.” 

“Show me,” Peter demanded and tried to look strong as he stood on his twig legs and felt like a breeze would knock him off his feet. Alfred, the cat, seemed to think so as well. He jumped down from Damian’s arms and rubbed against Peter’s legs. 

“No.” Jason looked sorry for his answer, but it was not enough to falter as Peter looked up at him with betrayed eyes.

“I’m not just some stupid kid you can keep in the dark.” 

“I can tell you what it says, but you really shouldn’t read it.” 

“What’s the difference if I read it or you tell me?” 

Jason looked as caring as he had for weeks but also firm. Red Hood wasn’t just a mask but something inside him that came out as he looked down at Peter. “You don’t need to know the details.” 

“How can I ever forgive you if I don’t know what you did? What everyone apparently knows that you did and somehow knows is because of me?” 

It was a sobering thought. Someone was dead because of something that Peter had let happen for weeks, and he could never bring the man back no matter what he did. 

Jason didn’t answer immediately, and Peter looked at Damian for answers but only received a head shake. Peter returned to the sitting room and stopped when Alfred, the cat, didn’t follow him. “Come on, Tux.” 

Alfred didn’t even spare Damian a look before he followed Peter on nimble feet. 

“Looks like you’re not getting your cat back, Damian,” Jason said as Peter closed the door with narrowed and sharp eyes directed at Jason. 

Peter heard a door open only minutes later, and he hoped it meant that Jason was back and ready to show him exactly what the article said. It was instead Dick with his soaked socks and the appearance of someone who had been through a windmill as he checked up on Peter in the sitting room. 

“Change your clothes,” Bruce demanded from the hallway, but Dick only looked to be considering it when he saw Peter sitting quietly with Alfred, the cat on his lap. 

“I’m going to be right back, okay?” 

Peter nodded and pulled Alfred the cat a little tighter against his chest as they sat in an armchair, and he looked up at Bruce and Alfred, the human. 

Bruce looked calm and collected as he studied Peter’s body language. The man had taken in several kids around Peter Grayson’s age at death, and Bruce was clearly trained in how to handle them. “Can we stay here, or do you want us to go while your father isn’t here?” 

“You can stay,” Peter answered, resting his cheek on Alfred, the cat’s furry shoulder. Alfred, the cat, moved his forelegs a little to grip Peter’s shirt, and it felt weird but nice as his shoulder blades moved against Peter’s chin. 

“Can we also come in?” Jason asked from the doorway, and Peter nodded a little more determinedly. Jason constantly proved himself annoying and did not respect Peter’s wishes to know everything about his situation. Still, he was also receptive to Peter’s emotions, and there were over enough of them at that moment. Damian had also seemed much softer around Peter than Jason, so perhaps he would reveal something more. 

Peter waited until Damian and Jason were sitting on the couch before pulling his legs up for Alfred, the cat, to rest on. “I’m sorry, can you go outside for a moment, Bruce and Alfred? I just need to ask Jason and Damian something in private.” 

“We’ll be right outside until you’re ready for us,” Bruce said before both men walked out. 

Peter looked back at Jason as soon as the door closed. “So, how did you kill him?” 

“I’m not sure Dick would like me to-” 

Peter wanted to shout, but it would be unkind to the incredibly patient cat in his arms. “How did you kill him? I deserve to know.”

Jason looked at Damian, and there seemed to be some understanding. He finally answered when he looked back at Peter with unrealistically green eyes. “Beat him up and stabbed him with a knife and a wrench.” 

Jason said it so clinically, but he couldn’t imagine it would have been quick if he had used a wrench, and Peter had no idea how someone could stab someone else with something as relatively blunt as that. 

Peter looked down at Alfred’s yellow eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know, but thank you. Can I see the article now?” 

Peter could almost laugh at Damian’s deadpan, “He’s like a bloodhound.” 

“I’m not,” Peter mumbled and looked up as there was a knock on the door. 

“Can I come in?” Dick asked from the other side. 

“Yes,” Peter called back. He looked on sadly as the louder volume made Alfred jump out of his lap. At least he didn’t go for Damian and instead jumped onto the nearest window sill to overlook the grounds with a regal energy around him. 

“It looks serious in here,” Dick commented as he walked in with clean socks and less wild hair. 

“We were just talking.” Peter pulled his knees up against his face and looked Dick up and down. “Did you read the newspaper article about the 19th?” 

Dick’s didn’t even blink. “Yes, I read it, and no, you shouldn’t.” 

Peter would have to find a way to read it himself, but he could pretend to let it go if it meant he could get something else answered. “How many know it’s because of me?” 

“I don’t know, Peter. Damian definitely knows now that we’re talking about it in front of him.” 

Peter looked at Damian, with his straight back and cold eyes, which looked out of the same window as Alfred the cat's. 

“Do your other siblings know?” 

“We didn’t tell them anything other than that you’re back, and you were alone for over a month, so they probably don’t know even if they’ve read it.” 

Everything was too much, and Peter looked longingly at Alfred, the cat. He wanted to go over there and feel the fur between his fingers, but he didn’t want to annoy the cat too much. 

Dick took a few long steps over to the couch and took one of the expensive and fluffy pillows, and reached out to Peter with it. Peter took hold of it soundlessly and confused until he felt slightly calmer about having something to hold against his chest. It wasn’t nearly as good as holding a cat, but he could squeeze the pillow as much as he wanted to without fear of hurting anyone or anything. 

“Did you find something out there, or do you all think I’m even crazier than you already did?” 

Dick walked over to the armchair a little over an arm's length away from Peter. “We don’t think you’re crazy, and this talk can wait a little if you’re not ready yet. I can get you a snack first or something.” 

Peter shook his head. “No, I want to know now.” 

“Okay, we can do that, but we can pause anytime you want, okay?” 

Peter nodded and hid his mouth in the pillow. It was mostly smooth, but the little texture felt nice against his lips and the bottom of his nose. 

“Can Bruce and Alfred also come in? They don’t have to, but they might know details that I don’t.” 

Peter looked up and saw that the two men really weren’t in the room yet, and the door had been closed firmly behind Dick when he had arrived. “They can come in.” 

Jason opened the door for them, and Peter’s nerves grew even more as soon as the men entered the room. 

Dick called Peter’s attention back to him with his following words and held his attention with his firm eyes. “The thing that happened outside is very, very serious, okay?” 

Peter inhaled shakenly. This was when Dick told him that this was the first and last time that anyone believed anything that he said. No one would believe a boy who thought that people were watching him and insisted without proof that he was from an alternative dimension. 

Bruce and Alfred sat down silently next to Damian, and Jason awkwardly lingered by the armchair next to Dick. 

“They escaped, but the cameras facing the street caught sight of a car and a few masked men jumping the fence, and they left as soon as you reached the manor.” 

Emotions clashed in Peter’s chest: horror at someone really following him and wanting to do unknown things to or with him and relief that someone else knew that they were there. He wasn’t just paranoid, and the others could watch for the dangers with him. 

“How long did they watch me?” 

Dick’s face tightened. “A little over an hour.” 

Peter had been in his own little world of cats and had plans to explain where he came from, and those men had almost succeeded in taking him. He needed to be more responsible and not let himself fall into childish moments of carelessness, but he didn’t know how. It was like his mind had reverted into a child’s and taken his ability to focus and not get distracted by the odd piece of happiness he could find. 

Dick leaned forward in his armchair and put his hands together. “We’ll find them.”

Peter looked over at the rest of the men, who all nodded but as determinedly, but each one left a different impression. Alfred looked like a hardened soldier preparing to take down someone in enemy territory, Bruce resembled a shadow poised to consume the evils of the world, Jason held some of the manic green glow he had experienced a few times, though it wasn’t as wild as when Peter had repaired Mrs. Andersen’s heating system, and Damian appeared almost gleeful about the prospect but still radiated an aura of protectiveness as he glanced at Peter. 

“I don’t understand what they want with me.” 

Peter didn’t want to ask directly and his silent request for answers was met with a tense silence and uncomfortable looks until Jason broke the uncomfortable silence. 

“Dick’s right, we will stop them, but you can’t go out alone for a while.” 

Peter nodded at Jason’s words. He didn’t feel a want to be alone ever again. Alfred the cat had warned him but there was nothing that he could have done if Peter had been taken or killed. Peter had even asked to be left alone outside and he had made sure that Jason and Dick couldn’t watch him from the manor and he had no way of knowing how long it would have been before someone had gone out to look for him if they hadn’t heard him calling. Maybe they would have thought that Peter had run away and never looked for him in the right places. Dick had said that they had cameras around the grounds but perhaps the people knew where they were and could avoid them if they weren’t actively chasing someone. 

“That’s okay.” Peter pulled the pillow even tighter against himself. “Thank you for coming and believing it when I said someone was out there.” 

“We’ll always come,” Bruce said with his low and slightly growly voice. Peter hadn’t seen any pictures of Bruce smoking but his voice sounded like it had been strained for years. 

Dick inhaled so deeply that his shoulders rose. “There’s something else too, have you noticed someone following you when you lived on the streets?” 

Peter didn’t want to think about that. It felt too real and lonely to think that someone could have taken him when he had been completely alone or pushed Jason as far away as he could. Jason hadn’t been far away but still far enough for Peter to have disappeared without Jason knowing for a while, and maybe the trail would have gone cold long before Jason would have even known to look for him. If he even would have looked at all. 

However someone had followed Peter today and he had felt eyes on him for a long while before that. “Yes, a few times. I didn’t really see anyone.” 

“What does that mean?” Bruce asked with calculating eyes. This wasn’t a grandfather or a playboy. It was almost like a businessman trying to figure out what another company was trying to do. No, Peter decided, Bruce seemed like a detective ready with his magnifying glass and sharp wit. 

“I thought that I saw Nightwing once but other than that I didn’t see anything when I would turn around.” 

Everyone looked over at Dick who swallowed and then bit his lip for a second. “I might have observed you once after we met but only once.”

Peter had to force his mouth too close before he could ask, “When was that?” 

Dick looked around the room and scratched his chin before tousling his hair. “A few days after we met. You were eating a very small tortilla wrap and you disappeared into the crowd. It was a great use of your surroundings.” 

“We’ll talk about this later,” Bruce said. It didn’t sound exactly like an order but Dick’s shoulders fell and his eyes hardened as he looked at Bruce as if it had been a very ill received command.  

Peter tried to find any sense of the fibres of the pillow or a way to word anything by pressing on its softness. Nothing worked and eventually he just had to ask, “Is there anything else that you’re hiding from me. Other than how Jason killed a man?”

Neither Bruce nor Alfred the human seemed surprised at the words but Bruce’s expression turned even more sour at the reminder while Alfred was frighteningly unaffected. 

“No, we’re not hiding anything else related to you and I promised you that I would explain when we know who or why someone would want to take or revive you.” 

Peter knew logically that Dick didn’t mean it like that but the way he said revive made Peter feel exactly like he had expected Dick to feel about someone taking over his dead son’s body. Disgusted and frightened. Ready to throw up just to not feel as weighted down by the feelings inside of him but being unable to expel any of it. 

“Okay.” Peter collected a bit more courage and looked at Dick. “I’ll choose to believe that if you believe me when I present what I know about where I came from to you and Jason. I’ve been trying to figure out my memories and they’re starting to make sense.” 

“I’ll listen to every word.” 

It wasn’t the same as believing him but it was better than nothing. 

“Okay, then I’ll tell you when I know how I ended up here.” 

Damian looked around with fury. “I thought he didn’t remember who took him. Why are we stalling if he knows anything?” 

Peter turned his eyes back on Dick just as Dick shook his head with small and quick movements and a strained expression. 

Peter looked over at Jason who at least didn’t seem ready to deny him but instead seemed so pained that even his tone of voice hurt Peter. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say.” 

“I would like to hear too,” Damian muttered but he was looking out the window as if all of it was beneath him when Peter looked at him, and Bruce and Alfred sent encouraging looks when Peter looked at them. It wasn’t quite smiles and perhaps they would have liked to hear what Peter had to say too but Dick and Jason were both the biggest hurdles and the only ones that Peter felt somewhat comfortable with. Other than Alfred the cat of course. 

Peter looked back at the timeline and his notes as they laid innocently on the coffee table. They weren’t done and he still had no idea how to start the conversation when they were, but he felt something jittery at the thought of presenting it all. It wasn’t quite happiness but his heart beat quickly in an abnormally pleasant way. 

Peter realized that he was feeling excitement even through the fog that every quiet moment forced upon him. He hadn’t had anything to look forward to other than meeting Zatanna in a long time and Jason and Dick wouldn’t be able to deny it when he presented it all. He knew too much for them to think he was making it up. No one else could lie either and simply say what Jason and Dick wanted to hear. They would all know the truth.  

Peter looked towards the window and Alfred the cat had stopped overlooking the grounds but instead observed Peter. 

“How long are you and Alfred staying, Damian?” Peter asked without taking his eyes off the cat. 

“I think it’s preferable if as many of us as possible are here to guard you from the bastards that wanted to hurt you. Although I will have to collect my dogs if I’m staying.” 

Peter looked at Damian with wide eyes. “You have more pets? How many?”

Damian was already looking straight at Peter. It was slightly intimidating to have Damian’s attention this firmly on him but Peter wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as he thought that he would be. “Two dogs. They’re a few years old and full of energy but they are friendly and they have learned some manners from my old dog before he died.”

Damian’s face didn’t change but Peter thought that he saw the pain in Damian’s eyes. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. German Shepherds usually only live up to 13 years and he was almost 16.”

Alfred the cat seemed to feel a shift in Damian and hastened over to Damian and jumped into his lap and laid down in a sphynx loaf pose with a regally held head. 

“At least you still have Alfred. Cats live for a long time, right?” 

Damian ran his hand over Alfred’s body. “Yes, Alfred is already 14 but I expect him to live for at least another few years. Maybe he’ll even turn 20.”

Peter leaned forward to catch a better look at Alfred the cat. His coat was really glossy and his eyes were shining. “I didn’t know all that. You must know a lot about animals.”

Damian hesitated in a way that Peter hadn’t seen before and barely noticed through their short phone call. “You can ask me anything about animals that you want. My knowledge is quite extensive and I’m almost done with veterinary school.”

Peter had almost forgotten that there were other people in the room until Dick filled the silence. “Damian knows a lot about sword fighting too if you ever want to train or just pretend to be a Jedi.” 

Peter glared at his knees. It would have worked better against Dick but sword fighting while pretending to be a Jedi sounded really freaking cool. Anything with swords would be cool.

“Yes,” Damian agreed. “I have studied their very conflicting techniques.” 

Peter dared to look up at Damian who gave nothing away with how he kept stroking Alfred the cat and Bruce and Alfred the human was studying the scene with sentimental eyes. Peter looked over at Jason who was looking very thoughtful for a moment before he nodded to himself and gave Peter a calculating look. “I have some guns that we can pretend are Princess Circle Hair’s guns while the rest do the boring vigilante stuff.” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed and he studied everyone before his head whipped over to Dick. “Wait, who are vigilantes in this family other than Dick and Jason? Are Tim and Babs vigilantes too?” 

“Literally everyone in this fucked up family is vigilantes. Tim is Red Robin, Babs is our woman in the chair Oracle, Stephanie is Spoiler, Duke is Signal, Cassandra is Orphan. Most of us used to be Robin and Damian was the last one before he became Wolf Bat, Alfred used to be more involved as Agent A, and Bruce is Batman.” 

“ What?” Peter exclaimed loudly enough for Alfred the cat to send him a reprimanding look when Peter looked at him and whispered, “Sorry, Alfred.” 

At least that explained why they had been willing to run out to find whoever was looking at Peter instead of calling the police. Peter felt like he should have been more shocked than he was but it also kind of felt like something he already knew and just had to be reminded of. Maybe it was because he already knew both Dick’s and Jason’s vigilante alteregos but it felt like more. 

“Wait, has anyone called the police about the people who stalked me?” 

Bruce cleared his throat. “We can call if it would make you feel safer but we’re in a very complicated situation with you being legally dead and the police aren't always the most helpful here in Gotham.”

Alfred the human huffed at that and Peter got the distinct impression that Bruce’s words were a huge understatement. 

“I can’t believe that everyone here is vigilantes other than Alfred the cat.” 

Alfred the cat’s ear made flopping noises as Damian scratched them to the cat’s delight. “He and Titus were the only ones who never fought crime. Ace was sometimes called the Bat-Hound, and we used to have a Batcow too. She had face markings that looked exactly like a light brown bat.”

Peter couldn’t answer after those realizations and instead just looked at Damian with wide eyes and probably a dumb expression. 

“Batcow was around 5 years old when we got her and she lived here at the manor until she died this spring at around 17. Do you want to see pictures of her?” 

Peter’s breath got caught in his throat as he thought about seeing Batcow and he nodded with huge movements and carefully walked to stand near Dick and Jason and waited for Damian to stand up on his long, long legs to walk over to them and opening his phone to show Peter the most amazing pictures of Batcow. She looked like a Batcow and she looked very happy in every picture. Most of them looked to have been downloaded but some of them seemed to be pictures of polaroids. 

“Dick can Damian sit in the chair while we look at the pictures?” Peter asked. He hoped he didn’t seem rude but he didn't want to admit that his palms sweated and his heart beat quicker the longer he was standing next to such a tall and almost entirely unfamiliar man. 

“Of course,” Dick answered and stood up to let Damian sit in the chair and Peter looked over his shoulder at every picture of Batcow, a younger Alfred the cat, and both of the late dogs. 

Nothing that had happened today was forgotten. Peter would present everything and Dick and Jason would have to believe him, and Peter would find out himself who was following him if the vigilantes couldn't when they knew of his true age. However Batcow, Titus, Ace and Alfred the cat were simply too facinating to look away from, and the current older Alfred the cat jumped up into Damian's lap again and let Peter stroke his head with an index finger. 

Chapter Text

Dick looked nervously at the door to the dining room. “You really don’t have to force yourself to eat with everyone. You’ve had some tough days, and I would rather you be able to eat something than trying to eat with everyone else.” 

“I know,” Peter mumbled and followed everyone into the dining room, and he tried to ignore when Dick, Jason, Alfred, and Bruce tried and failed not to stare as he sat down at the table. 

“Thank you for making Mediterranean bowls to accommodate my vegetarianism, Alfred,” Damian said as he focused on his bowl of food. 

“And thank you for cooking some chicken,” Jason said as he added said chicken to his meal before trying to be subtle about staring once more. 

“Yeah, thank you for the meal,” Peter mumbled as he looked at the tiny portion before him. 

“Why are you only feeding yourself and your son so little, Grayson?” Damian asked, and Peter looked at Grayson’s equally tiny bowl of food. 

Dick chewed and swallowed a mouthful of bell peppers. “Nothing for you to worry about, Little D.” 

Peter kept running his fork back and forth around his bowl and tried to find something that didn’t make his heart beat through his chest. He should have been hungry after eating only two eggs hours ago and then being chased through the grounds, but he wasn’t. Everything was too much, and everyone was still gone. Peter just wanted to pretend to be normal for a moment, but he couldn’t even do that. 

“Peter should be putting on weight,” Damian insisted. 

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Damian,” Dick repeated with a slightly firmer tone. 

“How’s your studies going, Damian?” Bruce interrupted to Peter’s great relief. 

“Fine, I expect that I will excel at the exams at the end of the semester.” Damian sounded arrogant but Peter had a feeling that Damian had proven himself enough to be this confident in his abilities. 

Jason sighed dramatically. “And you still could not ditch the first day of classes on my birthday this year.”

Damian stabbed a piece of falafel with a vigor. “It’s unbecoming to skip lessons or time studying for such things.” 

Peter looked away as Damian’s intense eyes glanced at him before they turned back to his bowl. 

“You know just how to make a guy feel special. You came over on Tim’s and Steph’s birthday but not mine. For shame, Baby Brat.” 

“If someone’s a baby, it’s you, Todd. I’m in college and on my way to a respectable career.” 

Jason ate a bit of tomato. “You’ll always be a baby brat to me, Baby Brat.”

Damian scoffed. “Please, if I’m a baby, then what is Peter? A fetus?” 

Peter looked up from his uneaten bowl to look at both men with confused and slightly saddened eyes. He had not expected to be brought into this very moderately volumed argument. 

Jason closed his eyes as he shook his head from side to side and answered, “Narh, he’s a big boy while you’re just a tiny, little baby.” 

“A tiny little baby that’s taller than you and on his way to outearning you while you dabble around Crime Alley. You haven’t even been going out to stop any of the crime. You instead let everyone else pick up the slack of you abandoning your beloved Crime Alley, and Blüdhaven has been left for the dogs.” 

Jason narrowed his eyes at Damian. “Would you rather we left Peter ‘for the dogs’?” 

Both men looked at Peter before looking back at each other. Damian nodded approvingly before answering, “You’re rarely right, Todd, but even you have your moments.” 

“I’m not a fetus or a baby. I’m seventeen and practically an adult.” Peter’s right hand flew out to show his point but he pulled it down again when he saw how tiny it looked in the big room and felt how small he felt when everyone looked at him. 

Dick looked strained when Peter looked at him. “Peter, you never turned seventeen but would have turned it at the end of next month if you hadn’t been hurt.”

“No, I mean, I was seventeen in my world. The alternative one to this.” 

Damian put his cutlery down with a loud clunk and looked penetratingly at everyone at the table, which Peter did his best to ignore. 

Dick looked down at his almost-finished meal. “Okay, well, seventeen is still a minor.” 

Peter glared at his bowl of food once more before he leaned back with crossed arms. “Can I leave the table and work more on my timeline?” 

“Sure,” Dick said, and he took Peter’s bowl to put the meal into his own bowl as soon as Peter stood up from the table. “We can go to the kitchen and make you something first, and then you can work on it.”

“It's okay. I'll drink one of those disgusting protein drinks.“

Dick turned around in his chair to stare Peter down as he stood in front of the doorway away from everyone else. “Will you?” 

“Yes, and you said that you wouldn't pressure me to eat anymore.” 

Dick turned back to look at his now more half-filled bowl. “Right. Well, you know where they are.” 

The protein drink tasted fine, and Peter succeeded in drinking ⅔ of it before his stomach felt uncomfortably full. At least Peter could put the finishing touches on the list and the timeline. It was still slightly bungled, but Peter didn’t know how to make it more coherent without losing out on all the essential details. 

Jason and Dick would believe him. He just had to find them, and Alfred, the human, informed Peter that Jason was in the training room, wherever that was, but he had no idea where Dick was. Dick would know where the training room was, so Peter just had to find him, and then they could collect Jason together. 

When Peter found Dick, of course. 

He wasn’t in the kitchen, the TV room, or the sitting room, and Peter didn’t know a lot of other rooms in the manor and decided to see if he could figure out where Dick’s bedroom was in case he was in there. 

Peter found his room and went from there. Dick was quick to find him in the middle of the night, so their rooms must be close to each other, even though Dick seemed to wander more than sleep when the sun went down. 

Peter opened a few doors, and then he found one with Dick’s sweater from yesterday but no Dick. Instead, there was a picture in a black picture frame on Dick’s nightstand that made Peter’s entire body freeze. 

It was an objectively cute photo of Peter Grayson in the same dress pants and dress shirt that Peter had woken up in, but with a blazer and without the priceless brooch. Dick was kissing his smiling son’s cheek on one side, and a woman was kissing the other cheek. 

Aunt May had brown hair, and this woman’s was a deep auburn, but her profile was the same. She looked younger, but Peter could see where all the signs of age had marked Aunt May. Her eyebrows were plucked thin, while he remembered Aunt May’s being a little thicker. However, her eyeshadow was the same brown and false eyelashes that Aunt May had worn, the few instances where she had to be dressed up. 

Peter put his list and timeline sloppily in his pocket, carefully took the picture off the nightstand, and just looked at it. The woman looked happy and was somehow smiling, even with her red lips puckered. Peter had no idea who that could be who bore his aunt’s face. 

“Alfred said that you were looking for me,” Dick said somewhere in the room. 

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled.

“What do you have there?” 

Peter vaguely registered Dick walking closer and looking at the picture in Peter’s hands from a safe distance to Peter’s left. 

“Do you have other pictures of her?” Peter asked, but he could not keep his eyes away from the woman in the picture. 

“Yes, just a second.” 

Dick took out his phone and started tapping away while the entire world focused on the woman in the picture before he reached his cell phone out to Peter and carefully took the picture frame from Peter's hands. 

The woman was on Dick’s phone and smiled with her eyes open just enough for Peter to see her dark brown eyes and the echoes of his life in Queens. 

“Who is she?” Peter whispered. He feared any quick movements or sounds would make her disappear, but he had to know. 

Dick made a soft sound with his mouth closed as he put the picture frame back on his nightstand. “That’s Mary, your mother. Do you remember her?” 

Peter nodded and then shook his head. He held his breath as he tried to figure out how to ask and, in the end, rushed the words out, “Is that really Mary? Her hair should be brown. Did-did she dye it?” 

Peter could feel Dick’s eyes boring into his soul, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the smiling woman in the picture. “Yes, she has dyed it regularly since before you were born. It was naturally brown and almost the exact same shade as yours.” 

That sounded like Aunt May’s hair color, and this woman had her exact same shade of eyes, and her eyes crinkled just like Aunt May’s 

His heart beat very loudly, and his breath was labored.

“Peter, you’re shaking.” 

Peter looked down at his trembling hands. Aunt May was the mother of Peter Grayson? She had birthed him and loved him? Peter hadn’t been related to Aunt May through anything other than marriage, but she was his mom here. She had acted like his mom in more ways than just what was strictly necessary for a guardian, but they had always been non-blood-related aunt and nephew. 

“I’m going to bring you some ice water.” 

Dick was gone one moment and back with the freezing water in a tiny cup the next. The water was barely in his hands when Dick turned towards his bed and took the blanket off his bed to put around Peter’s shoulders. The water helped Peter come back into this reality, and the blanket helped him not spiral again as Dick put the glass on his nightstand.

“Was she really blood-related to Peter Grayson?” 

“Yes.” Dick sounded like he had a thousand questions to Peter’s simple one but kept them in. “She gave birth to you and helped raise you. You can’t get much more related than that, and you even look almost exactly like her.” 

Peter let his finger run over the smooth screen where her left cheek was. He didn’t see the resemblance between her and Peter Grayson, but it made sense that he could look like her since he didn’t resemble Dick in this or his original body. “Can we visit her?” 

Dick didn’t answer immediately, and Peter painfully pulled himself away from the phone to look at Dick’s expression. Dick’s eyes were wide and devastated, and his jaw was set as he bit his bottom lip before talking, “She died a few years ago, but we can visit her grave at some point.” 

“Oh,” Peter let out and felt how his whole body deflated. “I would like that then.” 

“She’s laying in Blüdhaven. It’s only a forty-minute drive from here, and you can see her mother and sister too if you want when it’s safer.”

Peter shook his head. He didn’t want to see anyone else who was convinced that he was someone else, but he wanted to say goodbye to this woman. Mary probably wouldn’t care if Peter came by, and it wouldn’t be the same for Peter, but maybe it would be enough to feel like he could have honored Aunt May somehow.

“Were you at her funeral?” Peter whispered and saw the guilt throw a sheen over Dick’s entire face and how much he blinked. 

“No, we had a falling out after you were hurt.”

Hurt, Dick could rarely say that his son had died, and it was almost exclusively the incident or him being hurt. 

“Why?”

Dick looked down at the phone in Peter’s hands. “Just adults being childish and dealing with it all in very different ways.” 

Peter looked back at her smiling face. “I thought that you were friends.” Peter looked over at the picture on the nightstand. “You look like you were friends.” 

“We were. It was just complicated after you got hurt, and we both let our emotions get the better of us.” 

Mary-May-the woman in the picture, didn’t change her expression when Peter looked back at her, but it felt like she would. She looked ready to shower Peter in love and comfort from behind the screen. “I think you should have stayed friends and helped each other move on.” 

Dick made another soft and unsure sound with his mouth closed. “Probably, but I can apologize to her when we visit her.” 

“You have to. Her son died as well.” Peter looked up at Dick when he didn’t answer and was met with Dick’s haunted eyes and brittle expression when he felt Peter’s eyes on him. “I’m sorry; it must have been hard to lose your son.” 

Dick stopped biting the inside of his cheek. “Very, but it’s not something that you have to worry about.” 

Peter disagreed. Dick and Jason were pausing their entire lives for Peter, and everyone else was doing so too, to a lesser extent, but Peter didn’t know how to be better either. He wanted to return to the life he may never have again and was acting childish. Far more than he thought he should at seventeen, even if he looked nine. 

Peter looked back down at the picture of the smiling woman, with her dark brown eyes, squinting eyes, and what would have developed into smile lines if she had reached her 50s. 

“I can print it out for you.” 

It wasn’t Aunt May, but it was close enough for Peter to pretend. Maybe it would even be enough for him to find the strength to carry on in this dark world. 

“Please.” 

The papers moved with every step that Peter took, but he could barely hear them over the sound of his heart as he stared at the phone and let out a gasp when the screen went dark before Dick turned the phone back on and kept leading Peter to the computer room. 

Only minutes passed with Dick sitting in front of the computer before he logged into some kind of social media site and found the picture that had taken Peter’s attention, but her name made Peter do a double take. 

“Her name was Mary-May?” Peter asked. 

Dick turned his head to look up at Peter. “Yeah, but she preferred to be called Mary.” 

Peter just nodded. Mary and Mary-May were both close to ‘May’ and he remembered his mother from his world being called Mary. The parallels were frightening and just a little too off to be familiar. 

“Can I have a few pictures of her?” 

Dick turned back to the computer. “Of course. Just tell me which ones.” 

The smiling picture with crinkled eyes was the best. It made her look the most like how he wanted to remember Aunt May, but he also chose a picture of Mary and Peter Grayson in front of a red-bricked wall. They were both turned towards and smiling at the camera, and the flash was making Peter Grayson’s glasses almost entirely white. However, there was no denying the happiness in both of their eyes as she held her hands on his shoulders and leaned towards her son. 

“I liked that picture too,” Dick said as he printed the picture. 

Peter wanted to know everything about this woman, but he didn’t ask. He would be looking for any resemblance to Aunt May and knew that he wouldn’t act well if there weren’t enough. Someone with her face had to be like her. She simply had to be just as fun, caring and protective. She couldn’t be anything else, but Peter didn’t want her to be that simultaneously. He would have lost nothing, but he didn’t want anyone else to be so lucky as to know 100% that they belonged to someone like that. Someone who hadn’t been forced to take care of him because of a tragedy and then being in too deep when her only support and direct link to Peter disappeared. 

“Are there any pictures of her with her natural hair color?” 

Dick logged out of the social media site and went on some online storage before he found a picture of Mary looking tired and worn on a rocking chair with a baby on her chest with its face turned away from the camera. A younger Dick was shoving his face next to hers and his arm extending towards the edge of the picture. The ends of Mary’s hair were copper instead of auburn, and her brown roots were down to her cheekbones. It was Aunt May’s hair color and made everything about her look softer and warmer. The brown next to her eyes made her look comforting, and Peter wanted to hug this version of her no matter how young and tired she looked. 

“Can I have that picture too?” 

Dick was already clicking, and the printer started up again. It was quick, but Peter could barely wait until the warm paper was released and he could look at the tired woman in the picture. She was young, just like Dick in the picture. Dick had been 21 when Peter Grayson was born, and Mary looked to be around the same age. Her face was swollen, and her eyes tired, but she was still radiant.

“You’re two weeks old in that picture, but you were early, so your corrected age is actually minus two weeks there.” 

Peter didn’t understand any of that. The baby was clearly outside of Mary’s body and well enough to be outside of the hospital. He couldn’t have been that early if he wasn’t hooked up to something two weeks after being born. 

“She looks tired.” 

“She was. I was too, but it was fine. You were great, and this is the last picture of you before your first baptism.” 

Peter looked up. “First? How many times did you baptize your son?” 

Dick looked as enthralled with the picture as Peter had been with the smiling picture of Mary. “Two. The first was a small Romani one when you had just turned two weeks old. I wasn’t supposed to take pictures of you before the baptism, but I couldn’t help myself before we had a quickly planned baptism with just Mary, you, the priest, Babs, Mary’s sister and mother, and me. Your second one was a Catholic one when you were two months old. It was much better planned, and our families and closest friends came to that one.”

“Catholic? I thought I was Jewish.”

Dick looked up from the picture in Peter’s hands. “Neither Mary nor I were really anything, but I can assure you that your name wouldn’t be Peter Patrick if we were Jewish.” 

Peter looked up and then to the side as he thought it over. Dick was making a lot of sense, and both Peter and Patrick were Christian-sounding names. “That would be a terrible Jewish name.” 

“Do you want to be Jewish?” 

Peter shrugged. “No, I don’t think that I believe in anything except science and magic, even though I don’t understand how magic is even possible.” 

Especially the entire alternative world and dimension travel. It was clearly a known phenomenon in this world, as Zatanna was recognized for her knowledge, but it was still unbelievable that it could be possible in any way. 

“I don’t understand how magic is possible either, and I was literally on different teams with a half-demon and externals who could both do different forms of magic, shapeshifters, and a cyborg with all kinds of superhuman abilities.” 

“And then we’re just normal humans. That’s so lame.” 

Dick didn’t sound the least bit insulted when he answered, “Only I’m a lame normal human with extensive training. You’re meta, just like some of my teammates were.” 

“A meta with freaking asthma and used to have glasses. What is speed and strength worth when you choke if the air is a little dry?” 

Dick shrugged. “You seem to be seeing fine without your glasses now, but we should probably check that out at some point.”

Peter barely held himself back from some really childish reactions. Vision tests were necessary, especially for school children who had to look at a blackboard for several hours five times a week. Still, they were also incredibly boring and made Peter feel like he was two seconds away from saying the wrong thing. Sometimes, the pictures did look exactly alike, and most Cs looked like Os when he couldn’t completely see. 

Dick looked thoughtfully to the right of Peter’s face. “How well do you hear?” 

Peter startled. “How do you know about that?” 

Dick tilted his head. “It’s obvious when you’re looking for it. You can’t hear out of your right ear, right?” 

Peter looked down at his feet. “I can hear some. It’s just muffled, but my left ear is still very good even though it looks like it was cut half off.” 

Dick was looking at Peter’s left ear when he looked up at him again. “It was cut half off. The gunshot hit your ear, and they had to amputate the dead tissue.” 

Peter’s hand found the mangled ear and felt the even cut. He could almost imagine where each stitch must have been put after the surgery. The ear shouldn’t mean anything. There was a massive scar from a hole in his temple, but knowing that someone had to cut the ear off the body made it seem more real like Peter was in the body of someone who had been shot. Someone who had died. Someone who survived surgeries and had been in the PICU with big, scary machines only to lose the battle.

Peter’s hand tightened around the attached half of the ear as he looked down at the photo of a tired Mary holding a presumably intact Peter Grayson. “Do you have any other pictures of her with her natural hair color?” 

“I’ll look.” 

Dick only found another picture from shortly after the birth, but Mary was hiding her face, and her hair was sweaty. Peter felt uncomfortable just looking at it and didn’t want to see it again, even though there were no other pictures of her brown hair. 

“I’m sorry, there’s no more. She dyed her hair after that picture,” Dick pointed to the picture of Mary, Dick and Peter Grayson as an infant. 

Dick instead found a picture of Mary’s sister, Annabelle, holding what Peter assumed was Peter Grayson at a few months old. Annabelle had the same brown eyes as Mary and either very dark brown or black hair in a long bob with bangs. Her facial features were kind, but her expression made her look exasperated, and her shoulders were tense as she focused on the baby in her arms. 

“Did something happen before the picture? She looks like she’s afraid to get puked on.” 

Dick smiled almost fondly. “No, she just wasn’t used to babies, but she loved you even when you threw up on her, and she had to fight your grandmother to hold you when both of them visited.” 

Said grandmother looked serious and menacing out at anyone who looked at the following picture, but she held the same baby firmly in her grip. She had the same dark eyes that contrasted her fair skin and white hair. Peter was honestly a little impressed that the baby in her arms wasn’t terrified until he saw the following picture of her looking down at him fondly. The serious expression made her look like an ancient and maleficent spirit, but the fond look made her look like a graceful woman in her early 50s. Apparently, it was just the camera or photographer that she didn’t like enough for her to change so much quickly. 

Peter looked back at the pictures of Mary in his hands. She looked so much warmer than both her mother and sister, but pictures could be deceiving, and she would presumably have had many more chances to be photographed with Peter Grayson and then chosen the best ones. 

“Thank you for the pictures. I’ll go to my room for a bit if that’s okay.” 

Dick looked down at the pictures in Peter’s hands. “Of course. Do you want company?” 

Peter shook his head. 

“Okay, I’ll wait in the sitting room until Jason comes out from the training room, and then I’ll be there for a bit. Damian will be back with his dogs soon if you want to meet them. I can collect you to meet them if you want.” 

“No, I’ll meet them later,” Peter mumbled before he turned around to find his room and stared at the happy woman with a shining smile as he walked out the computer room and up the stairs. 

He could almost imagine that the pillow under his head was her thigh or that the duvet was her hands when he folded it to lay over his torso in the bed. 

“I’m so sorry, May.” 

Aunt May had wanted to save everyone, but Peter couldn’t help feeling a wave of guilt at the sight of Mary smiling, carefree, and alive. She was so young here—in her early thirties and only a few years younger than Aunt May had been when Peter had been thrust upon her and Peter’s uncle. Maybe it would have been different if there had been pictures of an older Mary, but the online profile only held pictures of her before August 2003.

Chapter Text

Peter stayed in the room until Dick collected him to make dinner. The timeline was still burning a hole in Peter’s pocket, but it would have to stay there as he kept his grip on Mary's smiling picture. 

Damian stood before the open front door when Peter descended the stairs and yelled towards the grounds, “Sparta, Rome!”

Peter watched as two dogs came running towards the door, and he feared that Damian would be felled like a tall and lean tree, but both dogs slowed down just enough for them to walk through the door one after another. 

Damian turned to look at Peter, and he felt that it wasn’t a coincidence that Damian was calling out for the dogs just as Peter came down the stairs. 

“Sit,” Damian ordered, and the two dogs sat with flopping tongues and focused eyes. Damian turned to look at Peter. “Do you want to meet them?” 

Peter turned to look at Dick, who shrugged and nodded before Peter turned his gaze back to Damian and gave a quick nod. 

“This is Sparta. She’s three,” Damian introduced, and he put his hand over a medium—to large-sized dog that looked like a brown wolf. It had a light brown coat, dark brown markings, and pointy ears. Her fur was long and thick, with coarse outer fur, but Peter could imagine that there was an even denser and soft undercoat. 

“And this is Rome. He’s two.” Rome was leaner and smaller than Sparta. He was entirely black except for a big white spot on his chest and a much smaller one on his neck. His ears were floppy, and his coat was very short, but he didn’t look nearly as cold as Peter did, even with his hoodie. 

“Hello,” Peter said and reached out to the dogs. Peter knew he shouldn't pet dogs without their owner's permission, but Damian had described them as friendly and had offered to let him meet them. Peter didn’t have to worry about overstepping since both dogs looked expectantly at Damian and only moved when he gave them a nod.

Peter could only use one hand as the other one held the pictures of Mary, but it was okay. The dogs just kept pushing each other to get to Peter’s fingers. He took his hand away momentarily when Sparta tried to lick his fingers but returned to petting both dogs before long.

He thought he was still sad, but it felt distant. As if his mind couldn't take it all and just turned it off so he could enjoy petting the dogs, just like it had when Peter had taken pictures with Tim, explored with Alfred, the cat, or listened to Jason reading to him. 

Peter looked up at Dick and saw his soft eyes even as he continued to scratch behind Sparta's firm ear. “We should probably cook now."

“Yeah, we should.” 

“Come, Sparta, Rome,” Damian demanded, and both dogs walked back to him just as Peter turned towards the kitchen. 

Peter cut the vegetables with the only knife in the whole kitchen while Dick browned the meat, and Jason sat at the kitchen table too far away for Peter to have to worry. 

The timing was horrible, but Peter feared that he would not find the bravery to ever tell Dick or Jason if he didn’t do it now. He looked down at the bell peppers and made another cut before he collected all his courage, even as his stomach seemed to fill with air.

Peter looked at Dick for a few moments before he spoke. “I need to tell you and Jason something.” 

Dick looked down at Peter and then silently took the pan off the stove and turned it off before he looked at Peter again. 

“Yes, Tati?”

“I remember how I ended up here.” 

Peter saw Jason move in his peripheral vision, but he still looked on as Dick furrowed his eyebrows and looked Peter up and down. 

“Did you not remember that we drove to the manor last Monday? Are you feeling okay?” 

Jason had stopped moving when he was a little over an arm's length away, and Dick stood still next to Peter’s stepladder. 

“No, I mean, how I ended up here in this universe.” 

Dick opened his mouth several times as he looked for his words. “Okay, that’s good. Are we looking at your timeline now?” 

Peter turned towards Jason, who only moved closer when Peter could see every move. Peter tried to understand Jason’s thoughts and to appear much calmer than he felt. “Can we sit at the table?”

Jason didn’t even answer. He just turned around and went back to his seat as both Dick and Peter found their own. Peter made sure to sit on the left of both Dick and Jason, even though it would be easier for them to see everything if he had been between them. 

Peter put the pictures of Mary to his own left to give him strength. Jason’s eyes followed the movements, but no one commented on it, and they only glanced at Peter when he stood up to pull the timeline out of his pocket and put it in front of Jason and to the left of Dick. 

“Okay, so I was born August 10th, 2001.” 

“That’s so fucked up,” Jason mumbled, but Peter chose to pretend that he hadn’t heard that or Dick’s gasp at hearing the date. 

No one spoke for a moment, and Dick leaned forward to look down at the timeline before he asked, “Wait, didn’t you say that you’re seventeen? That birthday would still make you nine now.”

“I know, but I disappeared from my universe in October 2024.” 

Dick looked at the end of the timeline. “It wouldn’t happen to be on October 23rd, right?” 

Peter looked at him wide-eyed. “It was. How did you know?”

Dick rubbed his nose bridge. “Just a feeling.”   

Peter looked back at Jason just as he turned his head to look at Peter. “I know I’m not a math genius like you, but being born in 2001 would make you twenty-three in 2024, not seventeen.” 

“I know, but there was this blip that lasted five years, so I would have been…” Peter stopped when he did the math himself. Seventeen plus five would have made him twenty-two, but that didn’t make sense either. 

Peter shook his head. “Forget that. You two just need to listen.” 

He gave them a firm look, and they both nodded and gave him their full attention. “Okay, so you and Mary were my parents in my universe too, Dick. Your first names were even the same.” 

Dick nodded and seemed to breathe a little easier. 

“But you had me in your thirties and died when you were around thirty-eight, and I was three, but my uncle and Aunt May took me in. Aunt May looked almost exactly like Mary from this universe, but I don’t remember who my uncle was supposed to be. He was my dad’s older brother in my universe, but you’re the oldest and have so many siblings.” 

Not to mention that if Aunt May and Mary-May Fitch were parallels, there was no way of knowing if Peter’s uncle would even be related to him through blood or adoption. Maybe he would just be a friend, or maybe he wouldn't exist at all. 

“Okay.” 

Dick looked spooked, but Peter felt thrilled as Dick seemed to take in everything Peter said. Jason seemed to try his best as well, but he looked deep in thought and only reacted when Peter stopped talking for a moment, and he moved his gaze as Peter pointed at different parts of the timeline. 

Peter hadn’t meant to tell them anything about that , but he let too many words slip out, “My aunt and uncle were great. I told them that someone had weird naked magazines, and he wanted to act them out, and then I never saw him again.” 

Neither Jason nor Dick said anything to that, but Jason's body turned rigid at even the vague summary, and Dick’s face looked physically pained. His face turned pale, his eyes closed, and his mouth was half open to allow him to take a few gasping breaths. 

Peter quickly continued in the hope that they would forget that he had said anything, and he told Dick and Jason about the field trip that ended with him being bitten by a spider. Jason slowly went back to life, but Dick’s shoulders seemed to shake even more as they both listened. 

“I’m sorry, Peter, but I think that I need a moment,” Dick said and stood up on unsteady legs and almost fell as he rushed out of the kitchen. Minutes passed awkwardly, with Jason only looking slightly more alive than a statue before Dick came back with red eyes and sat by the table again. 

Peter tried to ignore Dick’s eyes as he stared the timeline down, but he couldn’t help sending him glances. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.” 

Dick looked better but gave a jerk as if he had just been shot in the heart before he sent Peter a pained smile. “I’m glad that you told us. You should always tell an adult if something like that happens.”

Jason’s lips moved as if in slow motion, but his voice came out clearly, “Who was it?” 

Peter looked firmly down at his timeline. He hadn’t even written Skip on it but he had destroyed everything once more anyway. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Dick’s expression looked too heavy to be carried by any god or mortal. “Peter, you can tell us if someone else hurt you.” 

“You’re just here to listen.”

Jason’s hands held on the table's edge with enough strength to crack any less expensive tables.

“So, I saw my uncle die during a huge battle in New York. There was a lot of blood, and then the light went out of his eyes.” 

Peter tried to remember how his uncle had died. Peter knew he died. He could remember his own cries, but the gunshot either sounded like a building falling or like an explosion. The alternative Peters’ uncles had been shot shortly after they got their powers, but Peter’s uncle had died years before he got his. Or maybe he died after. He had died when Peter was four or six. Maybe he had been fourteen or sixteen. Twenty? But Peter had never been twenty unless someone counted the years he had been snapped out of existence. Maybe Peter had repressed it, or perhaps he simply had been too young to remember it properly. 

All he knew was that his uncle had died, even if he didn’t know the exact details, and it had been slow and painful. 

“And then I was bitten by a radioactive spider and became Spider-Man when I was fourteen.” 

“Spider- Man ?” Jason asked. He still seemed shaken by Peter’s admissions, but Peter appreciated that he wasn’t trying to steer the conversation away. 

“Yes, Spider-Man, anyway, I eventually made my own suit and web shooters, but they were upgraded later with someone called Mr. Stark’s help. He's an outgoing genius billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Kind of like the media image of Bruce but as smart as he is in private and with a super cool metal suit that can fly. He also used to party often but didn’t anymore when I met him.” Peter looked thoughtfully to the side. “Did Bruce ever have a party problem?” 

Jason sent Dick a quick glance. “Bruce has never been a big partier.”  

Peter tried to be firm and not emotional, but he still had to stop talking a few times. He started to cry when he told them about Thanos and being snapped slowly over several minutes. 

“It hurt so much when The Snap happened. Every atom just fell apart, and my healing tried to save me, but it wouldn’t, and I just fell apart anyway. Everything shook, and I couldn’t control my limbs, but Mr. Stark held me as I disappeared.” 

“I’m glad you knew you had someone holding you in such a scary moment. Did it feel like tingling in your limbs when it happened?” 

Peter looked over at Dick and tried to smile even as he only received a haunted look back. “Yeah, exactly, but it hurt a lot too.” 

“Did it also hurt as much to come back?” Dick asked with a voice thinner than any tightrope and an expression that said that he was moments away from falling down into the abyss, but Peter found himself unsure if Dick meant from the snap. It also felt like he wasn’t thinking of Peter’s words as he described his temporary death. 

“No, it just felt like waking up.” 

That wasn’t strictly true. It hadn’t hurt physically, but the blackness had been all-consuming when Peter had been gone, and it felt like he had disappeared only moments before waking up to everything being different and wrong. 

“Good. That’s good.”

Peter shook his head and ignored Dick’s micro-expressions of sad eyebrows and tightening around his mouth. 

“So I woke up, and Doctor Strange opened a portal-” 

“Did you just say Doctor Strain opened a portal?” Dick interrupted. 

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Doctor Strange, listen up. So Doctor Strange opened this portal either to take me away or to a planet called Titan and told me we had to fight. We did, and then we won because Mr. Stark had sacrificed himself. I don’t know why he would do that. He had created a whole new life.” 

Peter's breath hitched for a moment, both in remembering the death and seeing how Mr. Stark had moved on. Peter wanted to have meant something, but he hadn't been missed until he appeared again. 

“What do you mean?” Jason asked with intense eyes that seemed to see every flaw in Peter’s entire being. Every piece of insecurity and every piece of evil that was rotting his soul. 

“I don’t know. They had a daughter almost as soon as I was gone. She was four, and I had only been gone for five years.” 

Dick looked very intensely at Peter, while Jason’s intense stare towards Dick dominated the whole kitchen even as he asked Peter a question. “Say, was there about ten or eleven months between you being gone and her being born?” 

Peter’s eyes widened. “How did you know, Jason?”  

Jason turned his eyes back on Peter again. “Just a hunch.” 

“I’m sure that they all missed you a lot, and she was just a separate fountain of joy,” Dick said but put a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason threw the hand off and added, “And no one could replace or forget you, kid. You are quite unforgettable no matter the universe.” 

Dick and Jason were really weird sometimes, but Peter decided to just continue instead of trying to figure out what that was about. Maybe it was just a rich people thing, or perhaps both of them had just been hit in the head a few too many times. 

Peter ran his sleeve over his face while sniffing. He wasn’t crying, but it was a nice distraction from both his own words and having to look at Jason and Dick. “Everything was bad after a while, and someone tricked me. He told everyone that I was Spider-Man, and then everyone blamed and hated me, so I asked Doctor Strange to do a spell to make people forget that I was Spider-Man, but I accidentally distracted him. Then there were these alternative Peters." Peter could almost forget about the heavy topic as he tried to share every detail about the other Peters as quickly as possible. "One had natural web-shooters, which is so cool but also gross, and his eyes were blue. We all had brown hair but didn’t look a lot alike. They were older than me, but their lives were a lot like mine. They were nice, knew a lot, and helped me until...” 

Then came Aunt May’s death, and Peter’s sobs were too much for him to talk for several minutes. He just took hold of Mary’s picture and tried to not mourn how crinkled the paper got in his firm grip. It left both Dick and Jason restless in their seats, but neither one moved as Peter tried to disappear in his chair. 

“It was my fault,” Peter kept repeating. “I let her die. The Green Goblin kept laughing, and he kicked and hit me. He broke my ribs. She was just trying to help me, and he hit her with a hoverboard, and I thought that she would never get up again.”

“That sounds terrible,” Dick whispered with a faraway look. 

Peter nodded. “It was, but she got up and seemed okay for a few minutes and then fell. There was blood. Her blood, and she tried to comfort me, and then she-” 

Peter choked on his breath. “She wouldn’t talk to me, and then they shot at me.” 

Dick’s nails scraped over the wooden table as his hands turned into tense fists. “Who shot you? The goblin?" 

“No, the police.” 

Dick froze before he took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry that you felt like that.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Peter sobbed as he blinked the tears away and looked at Mary’s carefree face. A chill hit him instantly, but he couldn’t let himself shower in Dick’s warmth when he didn’t deserve it. 

“So, that’s why I’m not your son or nephew. I’m terrible, and I’m not him.” 

Dick’s voice wavered a little, but he kept strong. “The you that you remember sounds amazing. The Amazing Spider-Man with too much responsibility for his age.”

“No.” Peter shook his head. 

“I can think so without you having any say in it, Tati.” 

Peter’s tears stopped in his horror as he realized what Dick meant with that simple nickname.  

“You don’t believe me.” 

Peter looked over at Jason as well. There was sympathy and shock, but he didn’t seem to have changed his opinion of Peter’s identity either. 

Peter stood up on shaky legs and dried his eyes with harsh movements that made the pictures of Mary flutter and his sleeve damp. Dick stood up too on more secure legs, but there was a deep nervousness about him.

Peter’s hands fell into fists at his side. “I told you both everything I remember, and you still don’t believe me!” 

Dick’s hands kept opening and closing as he looked at Peter. “I believe you.”

“Me too,” Jason said as he still sat and looked at his hands. 

“I know that you don’t believe me.” Peter tried to keep the tears at bay, but they blurred his vision as he looked up at Dick. “You wouldn’t act like this if you believed me!”

Dick’s eyebrows were downturned, and his mouth was even more so. There seemed to be extra wetness to his eyes, but nothing fell even when Peter felt tears run down his cheeks before he ran his sleeve harshly over his face again. 

“I know that you’re not lying, Peter. Jason also knows so.” 

Peter bit his bottom lip and shut his eyes tightly before looking up again with firm, furrowed eyebrows and a wobbling chin. “That’s not the same as believing me. I thought that at least one of you would believe me.”

Dick blinked a few times. “No, it’s not the same, but you need to see something. I think it would explain a lot to you.” 

Dick turned to walk out of the kitchen with Peter following him. Dick walked through the hallways and towards rooms that Peter couldn’t remember what held. He looked behind himself just as Dick stopped in front of a door and saw Jason lingering behind him like a slightly unwelcome shadow. 

Dick let the door stay open as he walked into the room and stopped in front of the big bookcase that covered almost an entire wall. 

“You can’t just distract me with books.”

Dick pulled a few down at seemingly random as he answered, “I know, but you need to see this to understand.” 

“ You don’t understand,” Peter countered and crossed his arms. 

Dick turned around with five or six comic books in his hands before he offered them to Peter. 

“I don’t want to read comics right now.”

Dick sent a grimace that looked like a sad imitation of a smile. “I wish I had shown you these before, but just try to look at them.”

Peter felt patronized, but he uncrossed his arms and reached for the comics. His eyes widened until they felt like they would pop out. 

“What is this? When was this made?” 

“The first was published when you were three years old. You loved superheroes and wanted to run around and fight crime like all the vigilantes in your life.” 

Peter’s hands shook as he looked at the date, and Dick carefully herded him to a couch while the date kept running through his head. 

1997, 1997, 1997, 1997. 

Peter was born in his own universe about four years after that. It didn't make sense for anyone to have created a comic before he was born and long before Spider-Man was created. 

Peter looked at the cover in his lap and tried to open it, but his hands shook too much, and his eyesight remained blurry. 

Dick kneeled in front of him and opened the cover for him just as Jason walked closer to them, took Mary’s pictures out of Peter’s almost limp hands, and put them on the coffee table for him.

A version of Spider-Man existed right there in his hands, and Dick’s name was in the description of it with a dedication to his son. 

For my little spider who inspires me to be a better man and always see life's adventure. 

The main character looked like Peter from this universe. He had dark brown hair and honey-brown eyes but was younger than his current age and slightly older than he would have been in 1997. Perhaps five as he swung from page to page and defeated enemies under the name Spider-Boy and with even more colorful garments than Peter could remember ever wearing. Everything and everyone was in technicolor, and it almost hurt his eyes but also made him unable to look away.  

Everything was similar in the next edition and the one after that. Peter’s mind was chaotic, but his hands were still enough for him to flip through the pages independently when he reached the third comic. 

The third one depicted the character as a little older. Perhaps eight or nine, and there were snarky and smart comments when he fought his foes. He always defeated them and went home to his father or mother. They were not together but instead neighbors and co-parented the little spider in each volume. It seemed almost idyllic, with the parents always having kind words to and about each other, and Spider-Boy would literally swing between the two homes without any issues. 

It was not Peter’s life, but the character had his name, Peter Parker, and his powers. Almost his exact powers, except they were amplified, and multiple of the enemies looked like the ones Peter had fought. Schocker, Mysterio, and Hydro-Man were all in the comics that Peter held, with Hydro-Man being in the first and last comic Peter had looked at. The rest of the villains in the pages were unfamiliar, but they looked as if they could have been a part of his vigilante life.

The fifth comic book was the most shocking. The date was May 2009, and the comic depicted Thanos. He was big and purple but with another kind of glove and much easier to defeat. Spider-Boy defeated Thanos with some other heroes' help, and no one had to die. The most dramatic thing was when Spider-Boy ran out of webfluids, but his ally Toby, the scientist, threw a filled webshooter toward Spider-Boy just in time for him to immobilize Thanos before he could hit Spider-Boy or his other allies. 

Peter felt a chill, and his hands started to tremble again, and Dick took all the comics off his lap to put them on the nearby coffee table. 

“What do you need?” Dick asked. His eyes seemed determined to search for answers deep in Peter’s soul. 

Peter could only shake his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

Dick lingered for a few seconds before standing up and walking towards the library door.

Peter let out a gasp as soon as Dick’s back was turned. 

Dick turned half towards Peter. “I’m just getting you some cold water. Jason, grab him a pillow.” 

Peter gripped the pillow as soon as it was put into his lap, and he stared at the door until Dick returned with half a glass of water so cold that it Dick’s fingers had left marks on the glass. 

“Better?” 

Peter took a long sip of the ice-cold water. It almost felt like it revived him and made the growing panic shrink for now. “Confused.” 

Dick nodded and started to run his hands over the nearest armrest. “That’s okay.” 

“I was not lying.” 

Dick turned his head and looked over at Jason. “I know.”

“Am I crazy?” 

“No, you’re not. You’re just processing all that you’ve been through. It’s okay for you to be a little confused. We will find the answers.” 

Jason walked even closer to them and nodded in agreement. 

“Okay.” 

“Do you need anything else? A blanket?”

Peter shook his head and felt like a child as he hugged the pillow tighter. “Food.” 

“We need to leave to finish dinner then.” 

Peter shook his head with a scowl. He was still sad and confused, but this trivial interaction and his slightly petulant behavior brought a strange joy to his mind.

“Or I can just collect you another protein drink.” 

Peter nodded and threw a hand out to grab Jason’s sleeve and then his arm. 

Peter didn’t know how much he believed in everything he had seen, but maybe he could understand why no one believed him. Even if they were all wrong, it made sense for them to believe what they wanted to.

Peter looked back at the first comic book. Dick had said that they had found out Peter Grayson’s powers when he was six, but the comic book had been published when he was three years old. 

“How did you know what powers your son would have?” 

Dick shrugged. “Just a really lucky guess. Super strength, speed, and durability were pretty common fictional powers when it came out because of Superman, and the healing and spider-sense were just wishful thinking on my part. I wanted to imagine you never getting hurt. Your agility was because of how well you did in toddler gymnastics, and you insisted wall-crawling should be a thing.” 

Dick’s smile was blinding as he looked towards the wall and into a memory. “You heard someone say that they were climbing or crawling up the wall and got it into your head that it was the coolest thing ever.” 

“And then there was the whole spider thing,” Jason added. 

Dick let out a laugh and looked at the comic book then at Peter fondly. “Yeah, that too. Although spiders only became cool after Peter saw them crawl the walls.” 

“Can I crawl the walls too? I tried once when Jason was sleeping in front of my window when I lived in the butcher shop, but it didn’t work.” 

The fondness disappeared, and both Jason’s and Dick’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“It could just be the malnutrition but you can stick to and repel walls.”

“I can repel walls?” 

Peter put the comics on the coffee table, hurried off the couch, and repeatedly put his hand on the wall, but he felt neither more or less attached to the wall than any normal human would. Were Jason and Dick just humoring him? “Nothing’s happening.” 

“You have to focus, kid,” Jason said. 

Peter had never had to focus to use his stickiness. It just happened when he wanted it to, but it would be a small price to pay to be able to both stick to and repel walls in this universe. 

Peter narrowed his eyes at the wall and tried even more. He even jumped to see if he could get his hand to stick like that. 

Peter looked back at the couch to see Jason and Dick had taken a seat each. “How do I focus on sticking to a wall?” 

Dick put his ankle on his knee. “It’s not so much sticking as attracting the wall. Spider-Boy is sticky, but you have an electrostatic ability.” 

Peter gave a firm nod and tried again with the new knowledge. Nothing visually happened, but he thought that he might be able to feel something in his hand even when it was pulled away easily. Peter did another jump, and the palm of his hand was attached to the wall, which left him on the edge of pain for a few seconds before he fell down on his back with a breathtaking thump. Peter looked over at Dick and Jason and couldn’t help the relieved smile even as he had to catch his breath. “Did you see? Did you see it? I was sticking to the wall. I can still do it.” 

Dick looked so intensely at Peter that he went a little cross-eyed, and his wide smile rested on his hands, and his elbows rested on his bent leg. “We saw. Good job, draga mea.”

Jason also smiled, but it was a weird mixture of pride and dread. “He’s going to do his creepy and nerve-wracking ceiling crawling again, isn’t he?” 

Aunt May had said similar things once when she had gotten over the shock of him being Spider-Man, but there had been no pride in her voice. She had only sounded frightened after seeing him literally crawling on the ceiling and wanted him to stop immediately and forever. 

Dick lifted his arms from his leg and put his previously bent leg back on the floor. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” 

Peter sniffed and only then realized how much he wanted to share this moment with so many others and how much it felt like betrayal to feel the flicker of happiness at sharing it with Jason and Dick. He had let himself feel joy so many times when he shouldn't. 

Peter dried his eyes and rubbed his nose with the slightly oversized hoodie sleeve, trying to sound calm when he said, “I’m okay.” 

Neither Dick nor Jason seemed to believe it even before Peter let out a sob. He didn’t hear it through his own sobs but saw Dick slowly moving closer to him and carefully putting paper tissues in his hand.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” 

Peter shook his head enough for his hair to fly around even as he lay on the floor. He just wanted everything to disappear. He wanted to disappear. 

“Or you can hold Jason’s hand or his arm.” 

Peter shook his head less vigorously but still didn’t let there be any doubt even as he looked over at Dick.

Dick was breathing heavily and unevenly, and his eyes seemed to hold the entire ocean and were ready to let it go at any moment.

Peter would know. The waves of the Atlantic Ocean were trying to escape his eyes even as he knew deep down that telling Dick and Jason wouldn’t have changed how stuck he was here. Zatanna said that she couldn’t feel that he had traveled from another dimension. Even if someone believed him, he would be stuck here forever. 

“Can I have Mary’s pictures?” 

Jason’s large frame came into view, and Peter felt a little calmer when he could take hold of and see Mary’s smiling face and then look at her brown hair and tired and swollen expression. 

Peter didn’t look away when Jason asked, “Are you just going to lay there?” 

Peter nodded and put the tissues down to be able to admire both pictures at the same time, and he only looked away from them when Dick asked. “Do you want us to lay next to you?” 

Peter looked up at Jason. The angle was unflattering, but it still brought on even more calm, and Peter nodded. 

It was nice to lay between the two men. They were all too far away to touch, and both Dick and Jason had to lift their heads periodically when they wanted to say something to both Peter and each other, and Jason had to be extra loud for Peter to catch all the words. 

Jason eventually went down to collect one of the protein drinks for Peter with Dick’s instructions, “Only a blackberry or chocolate one, and if you choose the chocolate one, then bring water to dilute it.” 

Jason gave Dick a thumbs up. He shook his thumb slightly and almost closed his eyes while making a flat line with his mouth. 

Peter didn’t feel particularly hungry after crying, but he probably should try to get some nutrients, considering how underweight he was. He could swear that the left canine in his lower jaw felt looser when he touched it with his tongue.

Chapter Text

The manor grounds were much bigger than simply grand in Peter’s dreams, and Alfred the cat disappeared into a bush right before his hands caught him. Then he blinked and he had turned into Alfred trying to escape the hands coming for him. Peter looked up and Skip’s and Mr. Green’s hands came closer and closer. He knew that it was them although he couldn’t see their faces. He tried to close his eyes or turn his head when they came in contact with him, but he couldn't.

Peter woke up with a loud cry and a wet feeling. He had tried to run from the feelings the last time that he had woken up like this but this time he just felt tired. 

He was tired of not sleeping right and tired of being stuck in an endless cycle of guilt and horror. His cries faded to almost nothing, but they still lingered in the room for several minutes.

The door had been left ajar and the hallway light had been left on when Peter had gone to bed. It was childish but felt less so than a nightlight. The door opened more to show a large frame and for a moment Peter was sure that it was a nightmare come true until the man started talking. 

“Are you awake, Chum?” Bruce’s voice asked and suddenly it wasn’t a monster or someone even worse than anything from a horror movie but just the man who kindly let Peter stay at his home and dictate who could be in the man’s kitchen. Bruce had bruises on his temple and his movements were sluggish but Peter had no energy to think about where any of that could have come from. 

“Sorry,” Peter let out. He pulled the duvet up but a spot had gotten wet and the feeling of wetness moving around was enough for him to stop and let out a few more tears and a breath. 

“I’ll get Dick,” the man said in a calm and kind voice. The same one that Peter would have used to calm someone if they were speared like a butterfly on a display. 

Peter shook his head but Bruce had already left. Peter was no butterfly to admire and moths only came out in the darkness to wreak havoc. 

A slimmer frame came into the room. “Did you have another nightmare, Scumpo?” 

Peter didn’t answer. He simply just tried to hide behind his hands and the darkness. 

“I’m going to turn on the light,” Dick said. 

Peter shook his head but the light turned on anyway. No one ever listened to a word that Peter said, and a shadow walked over to Peter as he lay defenseless in the wet bed. 

“Did you have another accident?” Dick asked gently. 

Peter did a firm shake of his head behind his hands. 

“Hm, if you say so.” Dick took a step closer. “Can I hold your hand?” 

Peter shook his head much less firmly than before and this time someone listened and just let him cry.

Dick walked around the room and opened and closed drawers before he kneeled by Peter’s bedside. “I’m here if you need anything. I’ll always be here and nothing like that will ever happen to you again.” 

It already happened twice and it had been Peter’s fault both times. It would probably happen again and again and Peter just had to take it. It was inevitable just like Peter was destined to never be happy for long. 

Dick rubbed the bedsheet a few inches from Peter’s arm. It almost was like Dick believed that the soft caress would transfer to Peter even if they didn’t touch. 

“None of them are here,” Dick promised. “It’s just you and me and Bruce is probably stress-researching cases on another floor.” 

Peter wasn’t exactly sure how Dick could know with such certainty why Peter was crying, but he was grateful that he didn’t have to even attempt to explain it. 

“They can never hurt you again,” Dick promised and this time Peter could believe it. Jason had killed that man and Skip had disappeared from Peter’s life years ago even though he wasn’t entirely sure how. 

Peter slowly calmed down a little and found the strength to look up at Dick. Dick’s eyes were slightly red from both exhaustion and repressed tears and he set his chin the same way that Peter sometimes did to prevent his chin and bottom lip from wobbling. 

“There you are,” Dick sighed as if he was looking at a masterpiece instead of Peter’s red and sweaty face.

Peter just nodded. Here he was in all his misery and inability to eat or sleep right. 

Dick inhaled deeply before he gave a smile. “Ready to get cleaned up?” 

Peter would rather be stabbed than be naked ever again. He moved his legs slightly and the wet had turned from uncomfortably lukewarm to incredibly cold. 

“You need a shower, Peter, but can you please wear a pair of clean underwear instead of your dirty clothes if you need to be covered in the shower?”

Peter looked over at the pile of clothes on his dresser. Dick had found a full set of pajamas, fuzzy socks, and two pairs of underwear. 

“I would prefer if you don’t wear clothes in the shower, but I won’t force you and we don’t have any swimwear here. One of us can pick some swim trunks up for you soon but this will have to do tonight.” 

Peter looked back at Dick with furrowed eyes and a pout.

“You can’t hide clothes in the bathroom. Those pajama pants were soaked, Tati. You can tell me if there’s something like that bothering you another time and I’ll do my best to fix it.” 

Peter thought back to the only time he had actively tried to hide clothes in the bathroom and gasped wide-eyed at Dick. 

“You didn’t succeed in hiding that either, but I’m glad Jason found your clothes behind the toilet at his place. I’m-,” Dick looked away for a moment and cleared his throat. “So sorry that you ever experienced something like that but I’m so glad that we knew so soon this time.” 

Peter looked down at his hands. They were physically clean but all he could see was everything that dirtied them. 

“So, ready for a shower?” 

Peter shrugged and carefully moved out of his bed without taking off his duvet and trying to angle himself so Dick wouldn’t see the big wet spot. 

“Do you want me to be nearby as you shower?” 

Peter sent Dick a wide-eyed look down furrowed eyebrows and the suggestion of a scowl. 

Dick sent Peter a good-natured smile. “I’ll just change your sheets while you shower then.” 

Peter looked at his bed. The soaked spot was covered with the duvet and Peter was strategically standing at an odd angle with both his legs and hands to hide his shame. Peter looked down at himself and how unnatural he stood. Maybe that actually brought more attention to it now that Peter’s thoughts were a little less panicked. 

“Go on, shower,” Dick ordered and Peter saw no reason to disobey.

The quicker he showered the quicker he could pretend this never happened, but he still needed to try to keep a little of his pride. “I’ll change the sheets.” 

It was barely a mumble but Dick either heard or knew exactly what Peter would say as his eyebrows tilted and his mouth moved in concern. “It’s okay. You get yourself cleaned up and I’ll take care of it. I want to take care of it.”

Peter wanted to argue but he didn’t know where the sheets or bed covers were. He was also emotionally exhausted and just wanted to lay in the dark and forget the world in a clean bed and clean clothes. 

Peter shuffled over to the dresser and took his pile of clothes to bring to the bathroom where his towel still hung from his last shower. 

Every corner was still free of both cameras and eyes, but it didn’t feel like it, and Peter changed his soaked underwear for one of the clean pairs quickly before he showered. His hair had lost its thickness in the last month and he didn’t think that it had grown a lot but he still combed it out with his fingers before applying shampoo. 

Peter hated the shower itself and he felt like he was doing a sprint when he took the wet underwear off to quickly dry himself with the towel and put on dry underwear, and his heart only stopped racing as he dried the rest of his body and put on the pajamas and fuzzy socks.

The clean bedsheets were blue and the duvet had been switched with a huge and thick light brown blanket. 

“The bed is ready for you, boro rai mea.” 

Peter didn’t know exactly what Dick’s constant nicknames meant but they sounded fond and a part of Peter longed for every one of them. It was the part that knew the meaning even if he didn’t know the exact translation. 

He crawled on the bed as Dick pulled the blanket back.

Peter let out a murmur of thanks so quiet that it barely felt like a breath. 

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else that I can do?” 

Peter shook his head. He was clean in a clean bed in the middle of the night. 

Dick looked at Peter’s wet hair. “Are you using a comb or hairbrush at all?” 

Peter shook his head.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you where they are, didn’t I?” Dick let out a very quiet laugh. “There’s hairbrushes and new combs in the bottom drawer of the bathroom cabinet. Do you want me to get one for you?” 

Peter felt his hair. It had gotten a little tangled with how vigorously he had dried it, and he gave Dick a nod and received a simple, black, plastic comb barely a minute later. 

It took several minutes to comb it out as Dick watched and Peter almost felt sleepy with the feeling of the comb’s teeth against his scalp. His eyelids became heavy and his movements sluggish before he gave Dick the comb back. 

“Sleep tight,” Dick told him as he was about to turn off the light and suddenly Peter was awake again. 

Dick came back to his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

Peter didn’t understand why either and he couldn’t explain his feelings. Just shaking his head and hoping that Dick would understand as he had most things tonight. 

“Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?” 

Peter hesitated and then nodded. 

Dick searched for something in Peter’s face. “Do you want me to stay until you wake up?”

Peter hesitated again but this time it wasn’t because of unsure feelings but being unsure if he could accept such a kind offer. He instead asked for something else with boiling cheeks, “Can you read the sleeping thing again?” 

“Sleeping thing?” Dick’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily before they evened out and his eyes widened slightly with realization. “Yes, I can do that. I’ll just go and find my phone.”

Dick was gone for less than a minute but it felt like forever in the darkness with only the hallway light showing him that the world hadn’t stopped and the constant feeling of eyes couldn’t see through the thick curtains. 

Dick walked into the room and left the door ajar. “Can I sit on your bed?” 

Peter nodded but forced a few words out. “No touch.” 

Dick nodded. “Of course. No touching. I’ll just sit on your bed.” 

Dick walked over to Peter’s bed and tapped on the bright screen for much longer than the last time Dick had helped Peter sleep. 

“Close your eyes, make yourself comfortable, and snuggle down deeply in your soft and comfortable bed.”

Peter closed his eyes and let himself hide in the darkness but found comfort in knowing that the light was on the other side of his eyelids while Dick was reading carefully and calmly.  

“Take a deep breath in through your nose, and gently breathe out through your mouth. You feel calmer with each breath that you take.” 

Dick didn’t leave but he didn’t sit all night either. Peter instead woke up a few hours later to Dick sleeping on his back at the end of Peter's bed while Peter had pulled his legs up tightly against his chest to keep himself safe and warm.  

Peter looked around the room. It was still dark and there was no reason for him to have woken up other than a feeling of unease. 

Peter pulled the warm blanket away and laid it over Dick before he walked over to the window even as the unease increased. 

He let his hands run over the window frame. The paint was whole and there wasn’t anything wrong objectively but something was there. Peter was startled when he heard steps. It could just be someone going to the bathroom or the animals playing but it felt like more. It was more and Dick was just sleeping in his bed. 

Peter shook his head. He was just being silly. No one would come through a window on the second floor in the middle of the night. Especially as he knew that Wayne Manor had cameras everywhere and Batman himself probably had motion sensors or something. 

Peter walked back to the bed and let himself relax into it. He had no idea where the other blankets were and he had to lay over the middle of the bed to barely share the blanket with Dick but it was okay. There was still space between them and Dick’s soft snores made the other sounds seem less frightening. 

Peter carefully scooted a little closer to Dick’s warmth between two snores and lifted his hand to very, very gently put it on the inside of Dick’s elbow in a moment of lost restraint. It was soft with a slightly raised vein that went from the middle of Dick’s biceps to the middle of the inside of his elbow in an almost entirely straight line. It was such a small and mundane thing but it brought warmth and safety to everything around them. Dick was a human being with blood pumping through his veins and enough strength to protect and enough softness to cushion wherever Peter would fall. 

Dick’s next snore was delayed and his hand gave a jerk that made Peter lift his hand just before Dick seemed to relax again. 

Peter didn’t want to put his hand back on Dick’s arm but he still scooted a little closer until there was less than 5 inches between their hips and very carefully extended a foot until his toes barely touched Dick’s knee. Dick’s snores stopped completely with a short sound but he didn’t react in any other way and Peter let the foot stay. This was almost as weird as when he had patted Dick’s head but it was nice and comforting.

Dick’s snores didn’t start up again but perhaps he was just dreaming or he had done some kind of micro-movement that had made his soft snores stop entirely. He looked relaxed enough to be asleep even though his breathing wasn't as deep and even as sleep usually entails. Peter should try to sleep too and it wasn’t like Dick was awake to know that Peter used his warmth to create an atmosphere that he could relax in. 

Peter woke up alone in the middle of the bed with the sun shining through the gaps in the curtain and he just didn’t want to deal with everything that a new day could bring. He knew he was young, almost 10 or around 17 depending on how one looked at it, but he felt worn. 

He wasn’t sad but just so incredibly heavy. Too heavy for even half of the things he had had to deal with in the last month. Or maybe for all he had to deal with his whole life. 

“It’s after 10, so why are you still in bed, silly?” Dick asked as he opened the ajar door but his light expression changed when he saw Peter’s empty eyes. “What’s wrong? Did you have another nightmare?” 

Peter shook his head. He didn’t think that he had dreamed after Dick had joined him last night. 

Dick went over with big movements that even Peter’s sluggish mind could keep up with. “Can I sit here?” 

Peter wanted to hide from the shame of his inability to act normal but he still looked at the foot of the bed and nodded. 

Dick sat where he had laid only hours before and looked closely at Peter’s heavy body. 

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” 

Peter took a long time to answer but Dick waited patiently until Peter nodded once. He initially thought that Dick was doing a very bad job at holding hands but he quickly realized that Dick was trying to find the best way to send some warmth into Peter’s cold and limp hands and fingers. 

“Is there anything that I can do?” 

Peter shook his head. Everything was a mess and he knew that Dick and the others wouldn’t suddenly accept that Peter wasn’t who they wanted him to be, and he couldn’t accept that they were telling the truth either. Maybe this was denial but it felt like how he imagined depression. 

“That’s okay. I’ll just wait for you here then.” 

Peter pulled the blanket over his head to get away from Dick’s open and too-kind expression but he also extended his arm in Dick’s direction. It was nice to have someone give a little of their warmth to him and Dick’s thumb even started to rub the back of his hand pleasantly. 

Peter hid for a couple of minutes and was greeted with Dick’s stormy expression when he peeked out. Dick’s face was dark and looking into the empty air with a set jaw and calculating eyes but his face softened into a hesitant smile when he felt Peter’s eyes on him. 

“Better?” 

Peter let out a defeated exhale. “Not really.” 

Dick gave Peter a small smile with sad eyes. “That’s okay. I’ll be here.” 

Peter almost hid again when Dick patted him on the arm and gave him the courage to face the light for another few moments while Dick seemed to collect his courage. 

Dick inhaled deeply enough for his shoulders to rise as he looked at Peter firmly but still just as kindly. “Have you been having many dark thoughts, Peter?”

Peter furrowed his brows. “What?” 

“Dark thoughts like-” Dick closed his eyes as he continued. “Hurting yourself or not wanting to be here anymore.” 

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” 

Dick gave a jerk as if he had been kicked directly in the chest and he seemed unable to collect enough air for even his soft, “Okay.” 

“I can’t be your son so I shouldn’t be here with you.”

Dick breathed a little easier at that and was able to look at Peter again. “I meant other thoughts than that. You’ve said some concerning things for a while now.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter muttered and stared at the ceiling. 

Dick rubbed Peter’s hand a little more vigorously with his thumb. “If you say so, but I’m always here if you have any questions or if you just want to talk. I might make mistakes but I’ll learn how to help you with how things are now.” 

“Thank you but there’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine.” 

Dick tilted his head as he looked at Peter with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Mm-hm.” 

“I am fine. This is me fine and the fact that I’m acting differently just proves that I’m nothing like your son.”

Dick looked nauseous to the point that Peter was almost ready to do a quick escape when Dick opened his mouth. “You’re acting like my son who is very very sad and frustrated.”  

“I’m fine.” Peter looked towards his pillow and tried to pretend that Dick hadn’t been saying anything until the hand-rubbing stopped entirely and Peter looked up to ask, “Are you okay?” 

Dick gave a crooked smile. “I would love to have my co-chef with me to make some breakfast and then eat together.” 

Peter sighed. The thought of getting out of bed was exhausting. “Go start without me.” 

Dick’s entire body stopped abruptly and Peter didn’t know if the sudden change was more excitement or concern. “You’ll eat it even if you don’t see me make it?” 

Peter’s thoughts all focused on that question alone. It was strange but the answer was clear in his mind. “Yes, but you can’t let anyone else close to the food. Just boil some eggs and I’ll come down.” 

Dick’s eyes were wide as he looked at Peter and his lips widened into a huge and slightly painful-looking smile. “I’ll boil you as many eggs as you want completely alone and then we can eat some safe food together. I promise.” 

Dick stood up on light legs and almost flew out of the room in a cloud of uncertainty and dreams while Peter let his heavy body fall as far into the mattress as it would go before painfully pulling himself out of the bed and sluggishly putting on clothes and dragging himself towards the kitchen with Mary's pictures where Dick was standing in the middle of the kitchen with the pot in his hands. 

“I was just about to collect you.” 

Peter walked closer to look into the pot. The water had been drained but the six wet eggs were still in it. 

“Which eggs do you want? I didn’t know how many you wanted or if you’re still only eating hard-boiled eggs so the white ones are soft and the brown ones are hard.” 

Peter looked up at Dick’s hopeful expression before he pointed at two brown eggs and Dick turned to put the pot on a cold cooktop and pulled the brown eggs out with a spoon and pulled the last brown and a white egg out for himself. 

Peter ate his eggs and a tiny unopened yogurt without any visible fuss. Although it did help that Dick ate the same kind of eggs and yogurt as Peter with the only difference being a piece of toast on the side. 

Peter looked on as Dick took the shell off his white egg and only stopped when Dick ceased all movements right before his spoon touched the egg. 

“Do you want a bite?” 

Peter didn’t know. Hard-boiled eggs just weren’t the same as soft-boiled ones but maybe this one was all droopy. It could be gross and infect his whole body with unknown horrors. 

Dick took Peter’s spoon and took the tip off the egg before offering it back. Peter looked at the spoon and the egg white. It looked fine, and he cautiously took the spoon back, and one would think that Dick had received a billion dollars when Peter swallowed without any adverse reactions, even when the spoon touched his loose tooth.

“Thank you for the meal.” 

“You’re very, very welcome. I love to cook with you but you just say the word and I’ll whip you up anything that you want.” 

The words were sweet but the kindness still left a bitter taste in Peter’s mouth. There didn’t seem to be any ulterior motivations but Dick shouldn’t want to please someone as broken as Peter. 

“Why do you even like me that much?” he asked without noticing when the words had boiled over in his throat and escaped before he exploded. 

“I like you because you’re you. You don’t have to be anything else for me to both like and love you.”

Peter looked up at Dick and sniffed. “You’re only saying that because of your son. You would just have let go if I wasn’t in this body or if you believed me when I say that I’m someone else.” 

Dick swallowed and Peter prepared himself empty words about hardships or the power of love but none came with his firm tone. “I would have done things differently if you weren’t you, but then Jason would’ve kept you no matter what anyone else said. And it’s not just because you’re my son that I like you. I like you for who you are, and I’d like you whether we share DNA or not.” 

Peter had to look away from that penetrating gaze. “You don’t know that.” 

Dick sighed. “I do actually but that’s not important. You’re a child, Peter. Children should be able to be carefree and selfish and I want to give you some of that back as soon as possible. I owe it to you.” 

Peter looked away from his hands and into Dick’s expressive eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m always causing trouble for you.” 

Dick’s eyes were shiner than before and his breath labored with every word out of his mouth. “I like the trouble if it’s caused by you, okay? You can be as difficult as you want to be and I would still love and like you. I have since the day you were born.” 

Peter shook his head and Dick shook his back much softer. 

“You saved so many people by just being there and being you. You don’t have to do anything except be here and try to find any happiness that you can.” 

Peter felt cold as Dick looked more like he was praying at someone’s feet than sitting at a kitchen table. “What if I can never be happy again?” 

Dick would have probably looked less pained if Peter had simply kicked him directly in his face. “Then let me try to find some happiness for you until the day that I die.” 

Peter pulled his legs up on his kitchen chair. “You can’t just let your life be about me. You waited so long to get your son back and now you’re putting everything off for me.” 

Dick sent Peter a crooked smile. “It's okay. I'm so grateful for anything I can get. Even if it involves everything else that we have to figure out about your revival.” 

Peter shook his head and tried to hold everything in his chest with his arms around himself. “You described a happy boy and I’m not him. I won’t be frolicking in the forest or whatever Peter Grayson did every day. It won’t be the same.” 

Dick looked haunted as he looked at Peter’s left temple. “It wouldn’t have been the same no matter what, Peter.” 

Peter's arms loosened around his chest. “What do you mean?” 

“Peter, you - you were hurt in your head. You're so much more like you used to be than what I had ever hoped. Amnesia, trauma, and confused memories are so much less than what the best outcome had once seemed to be.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “I'm not that innocent boy that you remember.” 

“I know. I know that lot has happened but you’re still you no matter what people have done to you.” 

“It's not the same. I'm completely different and you're just blind to it. What would even be the worst-case scenario after being shot besides death? Losing my hearing or sight completely?” 

Dick closed his eyes as he bit his lips and inhaled deeply. “Maybe, but it could have been even worse than that.” 

“I don’t see how and I’m here in the manor instead of you going home with your son like you would if he had survived.” 

Dick bit his lip and sighed. He shook his head, tapped the kitchen table twice, and then sighed some more before focusing on Peter again. “People don’t just recover from being hurt like you were. It could have been worse and then I would have taken care of you here at the manor.” 

“The manor?” Peter let his arms fall to his sides. “But we’re in Gotham. Wouldn’t you rather have your son in the same city as you if he was hurt?”

Dick nodded and his lips lifted in encouragement. “Of course, and your mother would have wanted that too, but the manor has more space.” 

Peter's eyes moved from one side of Dick's face to the other. “Why would you need space?” 

Dick blinked very quickly but he didn’t let any tears fall. “People sometimes need a lot of equipment after that kind of brain injury.”

“Equipment?” Peter asked but his eyes then widened in realization. “You thought your son would have been disabled?” 

“Yes.” Dick put his elbows on the table and exhaled into his clasped hands before they fell on the table and Dick did a very long blink. “But you’re not. You can walk and talk. You’re just as smart as always and you can have a future. We just have to figure out how you’re back and then we can heal. Maybe we can even get you a hearing aid and you would be fine physically.”  

“But you thought that your son would have been disabled? Forever?” 

Dick swallowed and tapped the table with his fingers. “Yes, but I would gladly take care of you for the rest of our lives, but I won’t need to now. You’re hurt but you can recover both physically and mentally.” 

Dick had said ‘our lives’. Maybe Peter Grayson could have survived for a few years or even decades after getting out of his coma with the right care but it sounded like Dick was ready to die whenever his son did no matter the age. 

Peter wanted to argue that Dick couldn’t know how he would feel if his son had survived and needed care at all hours and was completely unable to do anything for himself or even communicate, but he couldn’t. Dick was already dedicating his whole life to Peter and the rest of the family weren’t far behind. Especially Jason had abandoned the streets he had roamed just because Peter had asked him to be nearby. 

Peter grabbed Mary's pictures and stood up on shaky legs. “I’m going to the TV room.”

He felt like he needed an inhaler but it would make his head spin even more. He instead just held his breath as he turned away from the table. 

“Can I join you?” 

Peter shook his head and took another silent step away from Dick. 

Peter just wanted to find a corner and disappear. Everything was moving too fast and every day at the manor felt days long with how much was happening but at the same time, he felt like he was missing so much that was happening right in front of him. 

Peter opened the kitchen door and saw a slim black man talking with Tim and Damian in the hallway. All three men turned towards Peter as soon as they felt his eyes on them and Peter contemplated both bolting by them and hiding in the kitchen with Dick before the silence was broken by Tim. 

"Hello, Peter.”

“Hi,” Peter mumbled before turning towards the black man. “Hello.” 

“Hey, Peter. It’s Duke.” The man, Duke, was smiling slightly crazed and very shocked but the corners fell a little when Peter didn’t react more than a few blinks. 

“We didn’t want to disturb your and Dick’s brunch but do you want any company now?” Tim asked. 

Peter looked down at his feet and shook his head before shuffling towards the TV room and stopping in the doorway when he saw a blonde and a dark-haired woman sitting on the couch in front of the unlit TV. 

The dark-haired woman looked up at Peter immediately and the blonde woman followed her gaze towards Peter. At least three people had arrived either when he had been sleeping or in the kitchen with Dick and it already felt suffocating with so many new faces around. 

“Hey!” The blonde woman greeted. They had to be the last two members of the immediate family, but Peter had only read their names once the day that he’d had an anxiety attack in the library, and he doubted he would remember their names even if it had happened just yesterday.

“You can sit,” The dark-haired woman said carefully. Her voice was soft and melodic like a finely tuned violin that was hardly ever used. 

“We would love to have you, Peter.” The blonde woman’s voice sounded more like a well-loved guitar with its own charm and bumps but no less beautiful to listen to. 

Peter had done his best to be calm but he thought that his heart might have stopped for a moment when he felt Damian’s presence behind him in the same second that he heard his voice somewhere he couldn’t see. “I know somewhere where you can get away from Brown and Cassandra.” 

Peter turned around and looked up and up into Damain’s face perched on top of his tall pole of a body. “Okay.” 

The place turned out to just be the sitting room but Damian decided to teach his dogs tricks right in front of the door and Alfred the cat somehow snook past them just as Damian opened the door for less than five seconds.  

“Tux,” Peter whispered relieved when he saw the tuxedo cat. 

Alfred the cat perked up at his nickname and trotted over casually, his ears and tail pointing straight up, before pausing to bat at a stray paperclip.

Peter simply observed until Alfred tried to bite it and Peter put Mary's pictures on the coffee table before he looked through the whole room for something to occupy Alfred. Alfred looked up as soon as Peter ripped a piece of paper off a notepad and crumpled it. Alfred turned as the paper ball flew and chased it with abandon only to bring it back for Peter to throw again. 

Their game of fetch quickly turned into sitting across from each other on the floor with Alfred batting the paper with a paw and Peter seeing how far he could repulse the paper ball with only a touch and his powers. It was simple enough for Peter’s mind to comprehend after having been awake for less than two hours but still enough for his mind to not wander into dark valleys. 

Peter had just gotten the hang of repulsing the paper ball enough to send it across the room when Alfred became tired of either the game itself or the amount of activity it required and decided to climb Peter’s torso until he put a hand under Alfred’s butt. Alfred was so content with their new position that he barely moved when Peter went from almost doing a side split to sitting in a W-position. 

The quiet let Peter’s mind run before he was ready to face it but Alfred’s purrs drowned out any words before they could make sense.

Chapter Text

Damian had stopped commanding Rome and Sparta shortly before Peter heard the dogs bark excitedly at the front door opening. Peter couldn’t decipher the words, but he was almost certain that he heard Dick’s and Damian’s voices before he heard footsteps, and then everything went quiet.

Peter had thought that no one was guarding the sitting room door when he heard Damian’s voice after an hour of silence. 

“Peter wants to be alone, Todd,” Damian grumbled, loud enough for Peter to hear through the door. 

“What a nice welcome, Baby Brat.” 

There were no other sounds loud enough to go through the door, even when Peter angled his good ear before the door opened and heard Damian’s voice loud and clear, “Are you okay with Todd soiling your solitude?”

Peter’s legs were still in a W, but Peter had laid down on his back with Alfred, the cat lying on his chest. He tried to look over Alfred’s body, but he couldn’t from his position, and he didn’t want to move anything below his neck in case Alfred would jump off of him.

Peter let his head fall back on the floor before throwing a thumbs up into the air and shaking it twice. “It’s fine.” 

Jason’s footsteps got louder as they moved into the room. 

“Okay, so we’re just casually looking like we’ve broken both legs here. That’s not disturbing at all, Kid.” 

“I do my best,” Peter said, stroking Alfred’s fur when he lifted his head again. 

“I can see that.” Jason’s steps got even louder, and Peter could see him over Alfred’s relaxed head before long. “Dick said that you had a long night again.” 

Peter blushed at the reminder and hoped no one would know about the bedwetting. He knew that he would die, but then he wouldn’t have to wonder about anything ever again. Peter closed his eyes and tried not to think too much about that until Alfred moved onto Peter’s chest and rubbed their cheeks together. The soft crinkle of purrs made his face feel like it was vibrating, and the thought left out of his ears.

Jason’s knees made slight noises as he sat on Peter’s left side on the floor. “I brought some things from Blüdhaven for you and Dick.” 

Peter turned his head to look at the bright red fabric on several other clothing pieces. “Is that swim trunks?” 

Jason gave a half-hearted smile with tired eyes. “Yes, Dick asked me to bring them for you.” 

Damian’s voice was stern as he stood like a boulder in the doorway. “I think that you’ve disturbed him enough. Peter is unwell.” 

Jason’s eyes seemed to search everywhere on Peter’s entire body, from his knees to his toes, which lay next to his hips, to his head. “Are you sick?” 

Peter looked into Alfred’s yellow eyes. They were so close to his face that he went a little cross-eyed, but Peter wouldn’t want it any other way. “No, just tired.” 

Peter saw Jason moving in his peripheral vision but still felt unprepared when Jason shook a stuffed spider over Peter and Alfred. 

“I’m too old for stuffed animals.” 

Jason huffed and laid the stuffed toy next to Peter’s elbow. “You’re really not. Dick sure wasn’t when he moved away from home. I’m pretty sure that he didn’t even hide that Zitka lived on his bed when he was the leader of the Teen Titans.” 

Peter scowled at Jason’s relaxed position. “That can’t be right.” 

Damian walked further into the room like a sergeant. He was all firm lines but with an air of protectiveness of the ones under him. “Grayson still had Zitka the stuffed elephant when he took over the Batman mantle and was my legal guardian for a few years in his 20s.”

Peter was startled enough for Alfred to jump off his chest, but it allowed him to sit up to look at Damian properly. “What? Why would he do that?” 

“We thought that Bruce was dead for a while. He wasn’t.” 

This family was insane—much more insane than anything Peter could have ever imagined. However, his universe was also unbelievable, with time travel, magic, and all-powerful stones. 

“Has everyone died in this family?” 

Peter’s eyes widened, and his chest tightened for every second it took before Damian said, “Thomas hasn’t been presumed dead yet.” 

Jason sat up a little straighter. “That’s right! Duke hasn’t been thought to die yet.” 

Peter looked at the toy. It looked to have been black and white at one point, but dirt and washes had made it more of a dark gray and off-white. The legs were still long and limp, and its thread eyes and smiling mouth were clear. “Is Jason the only one to have actually died, then?” 

Jason looked towards the ceiling and away from Peter’s searching eyes, but there was no hiding how plaintive his voice was. “Other than you, yes.” 

The spot where Alfred had laid was cooling, leaving a chill on Peter’s skin that he didn’t know how to warm even when Jason pushed the stuffed toy against Peter’s thigh. 

Peter looked away from it to see Damian look uncharacteristically anxiously at the door. “Does Grayson know that you were in Peter’s room?” 

“He asked me to go there and find Spiderling.” The wonder in Jason’s voice would have been more fitting if he had explained how a villain changed their ways one day or if a terminal illness was a fluke rather than someone going into a room.

Peter almost turned to see the face that went along with a voice of such astonishment, but Damian’s reaction was too startling to look away from. His stance faltered, and he took a quick but deep breath at Jason’s words. “He asked you?” 

There was no other sound, but Peter only turned his head when he felt Jason’s eyes on him. Peter’s movement seemed to have awoken Jason from a short trance of euphoria because he blinked robotically, and a soft expression fell on his face as his head tilted enough for his earlobe to touch his shoulder. “There’s no reason to preserve it anymore.” 

Damian walked over, and Peter felt uneasy looking up at him, but it wasn’t much better when Damian sat down on Peter’s bad side. 

Peter straightened his legs and sat up just as Jason said more. “Babs couldn’t believe it either.” 

Peter scooped back until he hit the coffee table, and he tried not to notice how Damian’s eyes followed his every move beneath heavy eyebrows. 

Peter tried to look away from Damian despite his unease at not knowing someone’s every move, but he sent rapid glances in Damian’s direction even as he talked to Jason. “I thought that you only had a motorcycle.” 

Jason turned his body to point at both Peter and Damian. “I do, but Babs has a car.” 

Peter wanted to ask how that worked, but he was both too weary and unable to articulate it in a way that wouldn’t sound wrong. He suddenly remembered his blunder in the library the first time he met her. She had been nice about it, but he had still felt like the worst person alive for saying a person who uses a wheelchair should know how it felt to have sore feet after being on one’s feet all day. 

Peter sent Damian more glances and saw how Damian’s jaw tightened with every anxious look. He knew that it was unfair to Damian and how he was trying to sit without Peter’s eyes following him, but his every move still forced Peter to observe while he was on the muffled side.

“I won’t hurt you, Peter,” Damian promised. 

“I know.” It was almost true. It was at least as true as it could be at that moment. 

“You don’t. You don’t remember me, but I wouldn’t hurt you. You’re hurt and small, and I would never be that disgraceful.” 

Peter pulled his knees up against his chest. “I’m not that small or hurt.” 

“I’ve seen dogs bigger than you.” 

Peter wanted to protest but knew some dogs could get very large. “I’m not hurt.” 

Damian didn’t show any attempt to hide his feelings about Peter’s words. His nose wrinkled, and his eyes looked tired. “We’ll rehabilitate you. I’ve rehabilitated a few abused pets.” 

“You have? Was it through your studies?”

“No, I volunteer at the Gotham Animal Shelter, but my studies did help me know how to deal with the animals.”

It was easier to act normal when he was talking to Damian. It was acceptable, and he even expected to look at someone when talking to them, and he could hear Damian when he was speaking. “What kind of vet are you studying to be?” 

“I’ll be a companion-animal veterinarian. It’s gratifying but nothing compared to seeing the animals at the shelter. I met a cat just last month that reminds me of you in your current situation when volunteering.” 

“A cat?” 

“Yes.” Damian stared at Peter with a frightening intensity before he pulled his cell phone out and looked at it for a minute. He found what he was looking for and reached his long arm out for Peter to reach the phone and look at a sorry-looking calico kitten on a social media post from @Gotham_Animal_Shelter. She had watery eyes that didn’t open completely, and the fur around her eyes looked crusty.

“You can swipe on the screen to see her improvements.” 

Peter swiped and saw a short video of her. She looked malnourished, and her fur was uneven in the short video of her making a pitiful sound before sneezing, but she was still cute. Being compared to a kitten wasn’t the worst thing one could be compared to, but Peter didn’t like the implications of reminding someone of such a helpless animal. “I don’t have pink eye.” 

“I know, but she needed medicine and care. Just like you.” 

Peter swiped some more and saw her eyes clear up into brownish-yellow eyes and an older and much healthier appearance. She had put on some weight, and her fur had grown into an impressive and longish coat.

Peter couldn’t help but touch his hair and let his hand linger over his cheek. This kitten had had an amazing transformation, while Peter looked the opposite from the wedding photos to now. 

“Can I see the Peter-esque kitten?”

Peter looked over to see Jason’s neck stretching as much as possible, but he didn’t move away from his spot. Peter glanced at Damian, but he didn’t seem to mind Peter giving his phone over to Jason. 

“That is a cutie and very Peter-esque.” 

“I’m nothing like the kitten,” Peter protested but was ignored. 

“Her name is Millie, and she’s adoptable if you ever want to adopt a cat, Todd.” 

Jason shrugged and gave the phone back to Peter. “I don’t know. I think that I’m more of a dog guy.” 

Peter reluctantly gave Damian his phone back after letting himself stare a little more at the healthy Millie. 

“Maybe she will move to Blüdhaven if Peter asks Grayson.” 

Jason’s voice was much more amused when he answered, “Peter doesn’t even have to ask nicely. He just needs to send those sad eyes in the cat’s direction, and then Dick will buy a ceiling-high cat tree and all the cat treats in New Jersey.” 

Peter felt he should have a say in whether he even wanted a kitten before they started planning how he should ask Dick for one. He already loved Alfred, the cat, and he wanted Rome and Sparta to come in to cuddle with him, but he wasn’t sure if he could care for a pet. Just listening to Damian and Jason talk was draining, and a kitten deserved more than Peter could give. 

He was already in the tiniest lifeboat, and there was already too little space to save everyone around him if any storm came crashing down on it. A kitten would never survive the frequent tsunamis in Peter’s life, and such a little fighter didn’t deserve to have to try.

Peter looked at Damian and Jason’s almost relaxed conversation and wondered if he should tell them that there were already holes in Peter’s figurative lifeboat. He had no idea if anyone could patch the holes before wet socks turned into complete submersion. 

Peter’s thoughts kept going in circles until they eventually stopped, and he heard nothing of Jason’s and Damian’s conversation until Jason laughed loudly. Peter snapped back into reality with enough force to make him hit the coffee table painfully. 

Both men looked at Peter as he tried to keep his eyes open and hide his pained expression.

“You okay?” 

Peter nodded at Jason’s question, but Damian seemed displeased. 

“Did we startle you?” 

“No,” Peter lied. 

“Peter just has a hard time concentrating. At least he hasn’t passed out for a while now.” 

Damian’s head moved slowly and steadily, heading directly toward Jason with purpose and confidence that it would reach its destination. 

“He’s been losing consciousness?” 

“Dick called it sync-something,” Peter said quietly and regretted it immediately when Damian’s hard eyes turned towards him before they intensified further in Jason’s direction. “He has fucking syncope, and this is the first time that I’m hearing about it?" 

Jason’s eyes turned just as firm as they looked at Damian. “It’s none of your business, Damian.” 

“It’s my fucking business when no one else is taking care of him. He’s sick and depressed, and you and Grayson are just pretending that everything’s fine while the rest of us are trying to figure out what happened to him.” 

“Dick and Alfred are taking care of it. He’s having blood tests and getting his heart checked like a fucking lap experiment, and what else do you suggest?” 

Damian lost some fire, but there was still enough blazing underneath the surface to throw at Jason. “That you do better.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Damian had sounded grave enough for it to seem like one. 

Peter looked down at his worn and brittle nails. “I don’t want more tests.” 

Jason sighed. “I don’t want you to need them either.”

Peter grumbled into his arms until Jason spoke up. 

“He’s not ignoring you, Damian.” 

Peter lifted his head to look around the room until he saw Damian still sitting as far away as before but leaning forward and resting most of his weight on his arms. His eyebrows were furrowed, and Peter felt like he could almost feel the despair as he looked at his intact ear—the only one that looked unhurt and the only one that didn’t work. 

“What did you say, Damian?” 

Damian leaned back with a sharp movement. “I was just asking if you want Todd and I to leave you in peace or if it’s acceptable for us to stay.” 

“You can stay.” 

Jason stretched his arms and stood up with a few pops of his knees and one from his back. “I need to tell Dick that I’m back if Babs hasn’t already and put your clothes away.” 

Peter felt like he had fallen out of his lifeboat at that and barely stopped himself from reaching for the only driftwood he could find. 

Jason couldn’t know how Peter felt when he stood up. Jason wasn’t that cruel. “I’ll be back soon.” 

Damian said something too low for Peter to pick up until he looked at him, and he hesitated momentarily before talking again. “I said that I can leave too if you’re uncomfortable being alone in my presence.” 

Damian was almost a stranger, but he was nice, and the scariest moments with him had seemed to be an attempt to protect Peter. Peter also had another concern, and he wondered if Damian would be the best person to ask now that he would have at least a few minutes alone with him.

“You can stay.” 

Damian didn’t smile at that, but his shoulders stopped looking as tense as they had been a moment ago. 

Jason left, and Peter counted 63 seconds of silence before slowly crawling over the floor to sit on Damian’s other side. It allowed Peter to sit slightly closer than before, and Damian looked curiously at Peter’s movements. They didn’t sit nearly as close to each other as Peter would have allowed if it had been Dick or Jason, and he would have put his face directly into Alfred the cat’s stomach if he thought that the cat would like that, but it was a start. Damian seemed to know as well and sat with crossed legs and hands on his knees as he casually watched Peter cross his legs. 

Peter looked back at the door to the sitting room. It was still closed, and Jason or Dick could come through it at any moment, and Peter needed someone to stop Jason before more people had to die. 

Peter turned to look up at Damian with the most serious expression he could muster. “I need to ask you something you can’t tell anyone else.” 

“Okay.” 

Peter looked around the room again, but it was still empty except for Alfred the cat looking over the grounds with the air of an emperor. 

“Okay, so Dick and Jason think that most of the people that I remember are here in some way. I’m from an alternative world, and some things are similar but still different.” 

Damian blinked a few times, and his mouth opened and closed once before he answered audibly, “Okay.” 

“And you know how Jason killed that man in Newtown?” 

Damian’s eyes turned into entities of sharp edges. “Yes, I recall Thursday’s conversation.”

Peter had a few false starts before he could speak once more. “I’m afraid that he’s going to kill someone else because of me.” 

Damian worked his jaw a few times, and his hands turned into deadly fists by his sides, but it was his cold tone that told Peter how seriously Damian was taking his words. “Did someone else hurt you similarly to how that deviant did?” 

Peter looked down at the floor and tipped his feet as he bit his lip. “Yes, but it’s different. It wasn’t in this dimension. It was before Peter from this universe died.” 

Damian looked around the room with sharp eyes and a face that only showed ruthlessness. “I’ll make sure that Todd won’t kill whoever hurt you.” 

Peter still felt apprehensive about Damian’s demeanor and having to allude to something as shameful as what he had let happen twice, but he couldn’t help his relieved smile. His hands clamped together as if praying that Damian’s words could be true. “Really? No one else has to die because of me?” 

Damian’s breaths sounded as mechanical and rhythmic as a steam locomotive. “Tell me all you know about this person, and I’ll ensure that Todd can’t hurt them.”

“I don’t know if he even exists here, and I didn’t even tell Jason or Dick that much.” 

“I’ll find that man with whatever information you can give.” 

Peter felt relief as those words rose through the muck he was moving through today. It didn’t even sound like a promise but rather a fact.

“I think he was around seventeen, and he was called-.” 

A door opened, and Damian let out a sound of such annoyance that had Peter’s hair standing up on his arms. 

“Wow, nice to see you too, you little brat,” Jason said just as sharply as Damian’s eye-roll was. 

Damian’s sigh was loud enough to fill the room, and Alfred the cat sent him a look before he moved to a window a little farther away. “We’re having a private conversation here, Todd.” 

Jason looked over at Peter, who wanted to disappear into the floor, and made an attempt when Dick came in right behind Jason. 

“Never mind,” Peter looked over at Damian. “Forget that I said anything. You already know as much as they do.” 

“Know about what?” Dick asked as he walked over to where Peter was sitting. 

“Nothing,” Peter hurried out, but Dick and Jason looked at Damian, who glared back at them. 

Damian looked as if he was about to say something to them. It would probably be snide and pop the fragile bubble of safety around Peter, but Damian kept quiet as he stewed in their presence. 

Peter felt his stomach untense in the silence. He wouldn’t have to hear his words said in another voice, and he wouldn’t have to see the hurt around himself. He already felt like he should be crying, but all the moisture was already a sea around him and ready to drown him as soon as he stopped trying to keep the lifeboat afloat. 

“You can tell us anything,” Dick insisted as he closed the door to the sitting room. 

Peter bit his lip and looked up at Dick. “You already know about it.” 

Dick’s eyebrows were only furrowed for a moment before they evened out slightly, his eyes widening in despair, and his nasolabial folds became pronounced as he was reminded of the pieces he knew of Peter’s life. “Right, that. Jason and I can leave if you want to talk about it with Damian privately.” 

Jason sent Dick a harsh look. “Like fuck we are leaving.” 

Peter looked toward Alfred the cat but got no glances back. “It’s okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” 

Disappointment radiated from everybody in the room, but Peter only regretted that he had ever opened his mouth. Jason and Dick had close to nothing to go on, and he might have told Damian something that he hadn’t told them. Maybe that would be enough for them to find another version of Skip if Damian talked to them about it. 

Peter pulled himself up with heavy limbs and a muddled mind. The neglected spider toy was still lying on the floor, and he felt like a slightly better person when he pulled it into his arms. He felt a little less drained when he stood in front of the coffee table. Mary’s pictures were still just as colorful and slightly crinkled as when he had put them on the table, but she brought a sense of calm to the chaos of his mind.

Peter vaguely noticed everyone moving toward the seats, but they felt miles away as he looked at Mary’s smiling face. He wondered if she had smiled a lot at her son. She must have, and maybe her smile would have been enough to heal Peter Grayson if he had survived. He just knew that someone like her would have been glued to his side and supported him every step of the way. 

He let his finger linger on where her eyes had crinkled when the photo was taken before pulling her to the nearest armchair. “What room would Mary have had at the manor if Peter Grayson had survived?” 

Dick stopped all his movements before releasing his body into the couch. “She would have stayed in Blüdhaven, but she could have visited as much as she wanted to.” 

Damian huffed but didn’t outright say anything as he stared at the papers in Peter’s hands for a few seconds before falling heavily into an armchair. Jason looked around the room and only leaned on the couch's armrest as he played with the neckline of his black T-shirt. 

Peter put the spider toy in his lap to look at both Mary’s smiling face and the picture of her roots. “I guess that Blüdhaven is close enough for her to visit daily.” 

Dick smiled with a loose posture, but there was a feral fear in his eyes. “Yes, Gotham and Blüdhaven aren’t that far apart.” 

Peter looked around the room at all the faces. “Does that mean that everyone visited the hospital often?” 

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed, his throat working as he swallowed hard. He hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice quieter than usual. “Yeah… everyone from Gotham came. Every single day. Even when they could only let a few of us into your room at once.”

“There must have been a lot of people with everyone just waiting around in the hospital, but I guess you and Mary were in the hospital the most.” 

It almost felt nice to think about the overfilled waiting room and everyone rushing to the hospital room as soon as they were allowed in. Nice enough for Peter not to think about the hands that had touched him or the picture of Peter Grayson with a tube down his throat when he couldn’t breathe on his own. The doctors and nurses must have been everywhere, but perhaps someone had held his hand and sung him a lullaby as he lay in the hospital bed. Peter knew that they must have cried in the hospital room, but Peter couldn’t imagine being afraid if he had had Dick to hold his hand or Jason to read him books and poems.

Jason hurried over to Alfred the cat, who barely spared him a glance before turning back to look out of the window. With a scoff, Damian leaned back in his seat with enough turbulence in his eyes to make the trees outside sway away.

Peter’s mouth turned down at the display. “What did I say wrong?” 

Damian’s eyes were cold, his hands were turned into fists one more, and he tensed and relaxed his jaw a few times before he could relax enough to talk. “Nothing. You didn’t say or do anything wrong. Your mother was just horrid.” 

Peter didn’t know what to say about that. Mary looked almost exactly like Aunt May, and if she had been anything like his Aunt May, she would be the most amazing person in the world. No sane person would dislike someone like her, and although Damian did seem harder around the edges than most, he didn’t seem like someone trying to be outright cruel. He had been insensitive and slightly mean toward Jason, but he seemed more like a fireplace trying to contain the flames while warming Peter’s cold corpse than a torch waiting to light the wallpaper and taking everything with him.

“Damian, none of that now,” Dick spat. 

Damian’s eyes were harder and sharper than any icepick. “Why? Should we lie and let him think his mother was decent?” 

Dick sent him a venomous glare. “She was fine, Damian, and now she’s dead.” 

“Good, she would probably just have fucked everything up even more anyway.” 

Dick stood up. “She loved him and did what she could.” 

Damian stood up on his long, long legs too, and stared Dick down. “Maybe, but she doesn’t deserve his devotion. That woman didn’t deserve it when she was alive, and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve someone being devoted enough to carry pictures of her around now.”

“That woman is his mother,” Dick counted with much more venom than Peter had heard him use before but still with far less volume than he had used moments before. 

Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you dare act like you’re above this. You had plenty to say about her not that long ago. Just because Peter’s back doesn’t mean she suddenly deserves grace. She was a fucking bitch.”

Peter didn’t know what to think. Dick had described Mary as a pleasant person, and now Damian said mean things that Dick only half-heartedly tried to dispute. Mary had been at Dick’s wedding, but he had seemingly talked badly about her too. 

Dick sent Peter a quick look. It was so fleeting that Peter couldn’t name even a quarter of the feelings swimming in his blue eyes before they were back on Damian. “Peter doesn’t need to hear us talk about her like that.” 

Peter hadn’t known Mary, but he couldn’t help the hole in his chest at the thought of someone who looked so much like Aunt May doing something horrible enough for people to say such things about her after her death. 

Peter held the pictures a little tighter to his chest, but it barely brought any comfort. “What did she do?” 

Dick shook his head at Damian. “Nothing, she did nothing. Damian is just being unreasonable.” 

Damian squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Exactly. She did nothing.”

Dick authoritatively and almost paternally shook his head at Damian. It was perplexing in itself, but even more so when Damian silently glanced away from both Dick and Peter with a sharp movement.

Dick sighed as soon as Damian’s eyes focused on his lap, and Dick looked like he had just fallen into a hole. “She tried her best. It was just really hard for her.” 

“It was hard for us too,” Damian countered as he stared at his knees. His long limbs and lean muscles somehow made him look even more fragile.

“Yes, but Peter shouldn’t hear you say such things about his mother. I haven’t been shit-talking your mother in front of you, and I especially didn’t do it before you were an adult.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, his mouth turned down, and the muscles in his jaw tensed, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he just steamed silently while Dick looked at him unblinkingly. The staring seemed almost primal and full of feral emotions that Peter and Mary couldn’t possibly be the only reasons for.

The tense atmosphere wouldn’t let up, and Peter stayed small and almost invisible in his seat until he realized he didn’t have to wait for permission to leave the room.

Peter Grayson was someone’s son, but Peter Parker’s last relative was dead, so he could do what he wanted. 

“Where are you going, Tati?” 

Peter turned around to look at Dick’s quizzing expression, Damian’s stormy glare at his knees, and Jason’s stone face with expressive eyes. 

“I don’t know. TV room or something.”

Jason pulled himself away from the window. “I’ll walk to it with you.”

A loud verbal argument opened in the sitting room just as Jason closed the door. The loud voice and emotions followed them halfway toward the TV room, and Peter hoped it would be more peaceful. 

Peter looked up at Jason before he opened the door and hoped for one day without anything crazy happening—just one day. 

Chapter Text

Jason had turned on a channel broadcasting cartoons 24 hours a day.

“The channel was launched a year before you were born. I think that Dick said it launched the first of October 1992,” Jason said as Peter lay curled around a pillow on the couch and only vaguely noticed Scooby-Doo and the gang running from monsters. The monsters would become real every time he closed his eyes, but he could still hear his ragged breath when he opened them again.

“That’s nice.”

“Can I get you anything?” Jason asked when the commercials interrupted before the gang could catch the villain. He already had a hand on the armrest to stand up from where he sat on the couch next to Peter’s feet.

Peter moved his head so the pillow wasn’t muffling his words as much anymore. “No.”

The following commercial was gritty, with black-and-white colors. It was very artistic for a children’s channel.

“Oh my god, that’s Duke’s work,” Jason cheered. “That fucker said that it would be months before we could see it.”

Peter kept fighting against his heavy eyelids. “What did he work on?”

Jason’s smile was bright and proud. “Cinematography. He knows his stuff with lighting and shit.”

Peter looked back at the screen, and obnoxiously bright colors attacked Peter’s tired eyes as soon as the next commercial started. It was for some toy, but Peter couldn’t find out precisely what it was supposed to do other than make the kids on the television happy.

Scooby-Doo came back on, revealing that the culprit was the son of a frightened elderly man. The culprit was furious that his father was selling the mansion, and he had staged the haunting to scare off potential buyers.

Peter wasn’t sure if terrifying his father and everyone else was a wise plan, but he knew he would have been captivated by the episode any other day.

Jason didn’t look particularly intrigued by the episode when Peter looked at him, and it started the eternal tape of whys in Peter’s mind. Why was Jason here? Why were so many of Peter’s monsters real? Why didn’t Mary love Peter, Peter Grayson, or whoever he was supposed to be? Mary looked like Aunt May, and Peter Grayson looked more like both Mary and Aunt May than Peter Parker had, so something must have happened to make him not worth the effort.

“Oh, Kid, don’t cry,” Jason said, and his hand hovered uncomfortably over Peter’s shoulder before he pulled it back. “Or, I mean, let it out. Cry if you want to.”

Peter didn’t think he could stop crying even if Jason ordered him to. The tears were too many for his body, and the emotions were too big.

“Was it too scary?”

Peter sniffed and pulled himself up on his arms to give Jason a toxic side-eye. “No, Scooby Doo isn’t freaking scary.”

Jason sat back on the couch. “What’s wrong then?”

Peter shook his head. He had no way of explaining any of it and no energy to try, but Jason seemed to understand some of it as he looked at the television screen.

“Mary loved you in her way, and we all love you so much, too.”

Peter turned his face into the pillow and crumpled more into himself. He could feel Jason’s presence like a blazing fire by his feet, but he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to get closer or farther away from it. He didn’t deserve the warmth but should let himself feel the burns.

“Do you want me to get Dick?”

Peter shook his head. Peter knew he would be easy pickings for the monsters around every corner if Jason left, and he also couldn’t bear to put the weight on any more people. The boat could rock any moment, and Peter wasn’t wearing a life vest.

“Can you please say something?”

Peter let out a sob at Jason’s fragile voice. It was too feeble for such a strong man. Someone who could do dangerous and frightening things shouldn’t be capable of sounding that vulnerable.

Peter’s words felt like over-chewed gum in his mouth when he answered, “I’m tired.”

“You can sleep, and I’ll stay here until you wake up.”

Peter shook his head. The monsters seemed to find him every time he closed his eyes, and they seemed even more pronounced today. Maybe they had already taken everything inside of Peter, and that’s why he felt like he was one push away from either flying away in the wind or falling into the center of the Earth.

“I just want nothingness forever.”

Jason’s inhale was shaky. “I know, Kid, but I need you to wake up again.”

Peter sniffed into the pillow. “That’s some poop ass shit.”

Jason sounded almost half as exhausted as Peter felt, so he must also be having a hard day. “You are so right, Kid. It is some poop ass shit, but me making sure you’re physically okay is the best deal that you’re going to get right now.”

Peter’s tears continued to flow, but they ceased when the commercials ended. Peter sniffed deeply and furrowed his brows as he looked at the screen. “I swear that I watched a movie called Clone Wars on Dick’s phone, but this isn’t it.”

Jason looked towards the screen. “Yeah, there’s a series too. It started a few years ago and has much better reviews than the movie.”

Peter turned from his stomach to his side. “Do you think that it’s better?”

Jason’s gaze was firmly on Peter’s socked feet. “I haven’t watched it.”

Peter carefully lifted a foot to poke Jason’s upper arm. “Why did you keep tabs on it then?”

“You know why.” Jason’s hand gingerly touched the back of Peter’s foot, and Peter felt nothing. No comfort or terror. It was just a touch, and that in itself was welcoming. At least some touches didn’t send screams through Peter’s blood.

Peter let his foot fall away from Jason’s arm, but it rested on the edge of his thigh. Jason could grab his foot at any moment, and Peter could pull it back just as quickly. It was too much to look at, and Peter forced his eyes towards the screen before he missed more of the episode.

Time after that seemed to muffled into a giant mess of nothing and everything at once. He sometimes slept and sometimes cried, but every second he was awake and calm was eons long. However, he still felt like he had barely laid down when Dick came into the room, sat in front of the couch, handed him tissues while he cried, and guided him to the bathroom as best as he could without touching him the one time when Peter needed it and was too fatigued to walk by himself.

One more vigorous wave of sadness ended with Dick giving him an inhaler. He tried to ignore how worried both Jason and Dick appeared when Peter submitted to using it without protest. They both cared deeply, yet it didn't feel like enough. Peter needed more than he could physically bear, and each kind gesture brought him closer to implosion and threatened to create a black hole that would tear everyone around him apart. It might happen soon, especially considering how loose his canine tooth had become. 

Dick’s eyes never left Peter, even when he looked away from them and laid the inhaler on the floor. “Get a blanket, Jason.”

The inhaler had left Peter dizzy, but his hands worked long enough to pull the blanket around himself as tightly as possible. It didn’t feel like the hug that Peter craved, but it eased some of the itch.

Jason sat gingerly by Peter’s feet but as close to the armrest as possible when Peter didn’t move his feet to touch Jason's thigh.

Dick shuffled on his seat in front of the couch. “It’s almost 2 pm. Do you think that you can eat something, Peter?”

Peter shrugged. He didn’t feel hungry but knew he should try eating something.

“Do you want to eat something or just have a protein drink?”

Peter’s lungs weren’t working, and his eyes felt dry when he looked at Dick. “Drink.”

Dick’s thumb caressed the expensive carpet under his legs. “Okay, I’ll go get that for you. Do you have any taste preferences?”

Peter made a single shake and sighed into the pillow.

Dick stood up cautiously and stretched his legs before standing comfortably. "Prepare to be surprised.”

Peter felt like he had barely blinked before he had drunk the protein drink, and Dick was trying to cheer him up by doing acrobatics with a lot of dramatic falls. Peter barely glanced at Dick’s antics, but they were easier to follow along with than when Jason started reading the original Pinocchio aloud from one of the black leather armchairs. Peter wanted to tell Jason to save his voice for a day when Peter could appreciate and concentrate on the chapters, but even that seemed like too much effort.

The light from the windows had turned a warm red when Damian opened the door. Peter could hear the papers in Damian’s hands, but it felt more like white noise that distracted Peter from the outside world than anything physical.

Damian stood silently next to Jason’s armchair and the couch for several seconds before he talked. “You forgot your pictures.”

Peter sniffed and rubbed his eyes with his sleeve before looking up at Damian, standing restlessly in front of the couch.

Damian pressed the papers into Peter’s hand, and Peter looked down at Mary’s smiling face, but he felt none of the comfort he had found in it since yesterday. He looked at the other picture with her brown roots, but it didn’t make her look soft and approachable anymore. Hiding her natural hair color was just another sign of her not being who Peter had thought she was, and seeing someone with Aunt May’s exact hair color felt like a knife between his ribs.

Peter looked up at Damian’s hopeful eyes and watched them lose their gleam when Peter put the papers on the coffee table and went limp again.

Damian sent the pictures a look as if they had caused some great offense. “Do you want another picture of her?”

Peter sighed and hid behind his hands when the tears escaped again. “No.”

 “I shouldn’t have said what I did about your mother. Mary was… I just shouldn’t have said any of that.”

Peter tried to answer, but he wasn’t sure what he would have said if his sobs hadn’t strangled the attempt out of him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to voice how he felt everything weighing him down. It was everything from how every meal and night was a struggle to how he was surrounded by people who seemed to know him, but he barely knew their names. It was also the fact that he would never escape unless he somehow found some powerful sorcerer that would be more loyal to him than everyone associated with Dick.  

Peter silently took the tissue that Dick offered but otherwise didn’t move from his crumpled position.

“I brought your stuffed animal too.” Peter heard Damian’s single step closer to him, but he was too tired and emotional to care if Damian decided to hurt him. Peter just hoped that it would be a swift death if anyone decided to hurt him today. “Here.”

The soft weight landed on Peter’s stomach. He could push it off with hardly any effort, but he didn’t have much effort to give, and it would also feel incredibly mean. The stuffed spider hadn’t done anything but smile at everyone who looked at it, and it was nice to be touched by it. It wasn’t the same as Alfred, the cat, but it was better than hugging a pillow.

“Why is he crying?”  

Jason’s sigh was weary. “He’s been crying on and off for hours.”

“Oh,” Damian said as softly as a fluffy feather falling from the sky.

“You did good, Damian,” Dick said but sounded just as weary as Jason.

Peter couldn’t help but cry even harder at how exhausted and sad everyone was because of him. They constantly tried to help him, even though they didn’t realize how close Peter’s lifeboat was to sinking. In return, they all faced an hours-long struggle that was even more intense than a fight against the sea monster Charybdis at her worst.

Damian didn’t try to cheer Peter up like Dick or distract Peter like Jason. He just observed as the world moved either in fast-forward or slow-motion around Peter until Peter lost the last of his energy to the tears.

Only Jason remained in the room when Peter woke up again. Jason had fallen asleep awkwardly, leaning toward his right shoulder in the armchair. Peter wanted to wake Jason or shift his neck to a less extreme angle, but he could only lie on the couch, feeling more like a corpse than a living boy. Pinocchio had been a wooden doll with the soul of a living child, while Peter was a living child with nothing to fill him—no life, no dreams, and no soul.

He was just a living shell as he looked at the dark TV screen for either minutes or hours.

The door opened to the TV room, and Peter wondered if it was already time for dinner. Dick stepped in and barely glanced at Jason sleeping in the armchair.

“Hey, draga mea, how do you feel about a little bloodwork and checking your weight before dinner? I promise it will be the only thing you need to do today besides eating dinner.”

Peter sighed and blinked a few times to soothe his dry eyes, but even that felt like too much effort. “Okay, it’s probably for the best with how loose my teeth are getting.”

Peter lifted his head to see Dick’s wide-eyed blinks. “I’m sorry. What are your teeth now?”

Peter let himself go limp against the couch cushions. Dick shouldn’t be this surprised that Peter’s body was falling apart when he couldn’t even find the energy to do more than lay on the couch. “I might be dying of scurvy.”

Dick let out a sound that sounded like a disgusting and short-lived lovechild of a laugh and a dying exhaust pipe. “Scurvy?” 

Peter nodded grimly.

Dick’s entire body loosened up, and he exhaled from deep down in his lungs. “I doubt you have scurvy, but we will look into it. Are you feeling sick?” 

“No, but something’s wrong.” Peter almost cried and looked at Dick with big, betrayed eyes.

Dick’s slight amusement faded as he looked at Peter’s wet eyes and firm chin to keep the wobbling lip in check. “All your bloodwork showed improvements the last time we checked, and your C-vitamin level is one of the best, but we will look at all your vitamin levels again.”

Dick seemed to be very focused on Peter’s bottom teeth as Peter asked, “What is it then? One of my canine teeth is loose.” 

Dick’s lips lifted into an affectionate smile, but Peter caught the glimmer of terror before it disappeared from his eyes. “Hopefully, you’re just losing a milk tooth.” 

Peter’s entire face fell into a neutral expression. How could he have been so blind? He was literally in the body of a tiny 9-year-old, and he had forgotten that children lose teeth all the time. It didn’t hurt when he pushed the tooth back and forth with his tongue; it only felt strange as he felt the loose edges of the tooth when he put a finger by the canine. 

“You might be growing up again,” Dick said as softly as a sunbeam in the early morning.

Peter felt heat rise to his cheeks as the subdued acceptance about his untimely demise disappeared. “Why are you so happy about that?” 

Dick’s eyes sparkled brighter than the most precious gems. “I thought I wouldn’t get to watch you grow up, and you’ll be ten soon. Your first full decade.” 

Peter looked down at his tiny and slowly healing hands. “Was that a concern? That I would look nine forever? Jason doesn’t look fifteen.” 

Dick let out a sound before words formed. “You and Jason seem to have come back in very different ways, and he has aged, but I don’t think he has grown up since being revived. I’m not sure if he even knows when he grew up.” 

Peter let out a nervous laugh at that. The only thing worse than being nine would be turning into some wrinkled nine-year-old.

Peter could almost see his future face with chubby cheeks and deep wrinkles everywhere. “But we will still check it out, right?” 

Dick nodded in hurried movements. “Yes, of course, especially if you’re feeling up for us looking into your mouth.” 

Looking into his mouth would mean letting someone get close to him. It would be terrifying, but he could take it.

“Can Jason join us?” 

“Can Jason join you for what?” Jason asked with a loud yawn and a crack from his neck.  

“I might be dying, or it might be a milk tooth.” 

Jason did a long blink. “Okay, yeah, I can join you to check that out.” 

Peter led the way to the medical room, trying not to dwell on how strange it was to be in a place that even had one. 

Both Alfred and Damian joined as the ones with the most medical knowledge, and Peter didn’t know how to feel about being a spectacle for them. On the one hand, they were taking Peter’s concern about losing a tooth seriously, but on the other hand, it was embarrassing to think that Peter might be making a spectacle about losing a milk tooth. 

“Are your gums inflamed?” Damian asked. 

Peter carefully put a finger in his mouth and felt around. “Just around the tooth.”

Peter pushed it with his tongue, and the canine tip poked his cheek. Peter thought about asking Jason to look into his mouth, but he could already hear the blood beating through his veins at the thought of someone standing that close to him in a vulnerable position.

Peter glanced at Jason and Dick before quickly putting his fingers back in his mouth and yanking out the tooth before anyone could intervene. He had expected to find the tiny roots and nothing more, but the underside revealed a strange black symbol. “What’s that?” 

Dick took a step forward to see the tooth, and his nervous but otherwise light demeanor disappeared. “That looks like electrum. It’s a metal that can-” Dick turned towards the rest of the room. “Put it back! We need to put it back.” 

“Put it back? Grayson, have you lost your mind again?” Damian asked, sounding exasperated. 

Dick shook his head frantically. “We need to put it back. What if Peter dies without it?” 

Peter looked between Dick’s wild eyes and the dread in everyone else’s. “Can a tooth keep me alive?” 

Dick seemed to gain most of his composure as soon as he heard Peter's voice, and he turned towards Peter with smooth movements. “Kind of. It would awaken you again if you did, but perhaps they have done something else, and you need the electrum.” 

Peter let his tongue over the space where the tooth had been. There was a harsh taste of iron, and the gum was incredibly sore and soft under his tongue. “I don’t feel any differently.”

Alfred walked over to the computer in the examination room and typed for a few seconds before speaking. “He had tiny amounts of electrum in his system in the last two blood tests. It’s so little that neither Dr. Thompkins nor I gave it much thought. Everyone in Gotham has at least some from the tap water.” 

Peter looked down at the tooth. The metal suddenly seemed sinister, but the owl design was awe-inspiring. “Why doesn’t everyone have one of these if they can resurrect people?” 

Jason walked over to look over Dick’s shoulder. “They’re not alive anymore, just undead.”

“So… Zombies?” The concept was almost enough to stir something in Peter’s stomach—horror but also a morbid fascination.

“Almost. They no longer feel pain and follow orders blindly, but they can still think.” 

Peter looked down at his hands momentarily before looking back at Dick. “I can feel pain.” 

Dick’s expression was somehow both pained and relieved as he spoke. “I know.” 

Peter reached out towards Dick with the tooth. “Here, I don’t want to be a puppet.” 

Peter could see both the bones and the muscles in Dick’s jaw with how hard he was tensing everything from his shoulders and up. Even his eyebrows somehow seemed tense as he reached a hand out and took a hold of the tooth. 

“Just don’t die, okay? You can’t die.” 

Peter shrugged. “It kind of sounds like I can’t for a little while with how Alfred was talking about me having some of it in my blood.” 

“You need a lot to become undead, but maybe they found someone else to heighten the effects.” 

“Who even are ‘they’?” 

Dick looked devastated as he looked at Peter’s tooth. It was small and seemed insignificant in a room full of grown men and Peter. “The Court of Owls. I’m so sorry, Peter.” 

It was said with such disgust that Peter felt the protein drink move around in his guts, and it stirred enough emotions for Peter to look toward Alfred for anything to distract himself from Dick’s devastation and fear. “Can you check my blood now?”

Damian’s eyes were impossibly green as Peter pushed his sleeve over his elbow, and Jason’s eyes lingered on the overlapping handprints on Peter’s forearm. The edges were finally starting to turn green, but the marks were still evident on his dry and pale skin.

Jason had to know how he had obtained the freshest marks, but Peter hoped that Jason wouldn’t study it too closely. Peter should have had a script by now, but he had no idea how to explain that it hadn’t been Jason’s fault how easily Peter had been bruised back in the butcher shop.

Peter looked away from Jason’s intense and almost luminous green eyes and glanced down at the blood trickling from his arm into the small vials. It was dark and somehow both thick and incredibly thin as it flowed out, and Peter had to hold a piece of cotton on his arm for several minutes.

“I thought that Alfred said I would bleed less if I got vitamin K.”

Alfred didn’t look up from collecting everything he had used to take Peter’s blood. “That is correct, young Master Peter.”

“If I have too little of that, then I could have too little vitamin C.”

Alfred didn’t tilt his head or show facial expressions as clearly as the others, but he still appeared thoughtful before agreeing, “That could be possible. However, I hope everything is improving now that you are eating consistently and taking vitamins daily. Are you ready to be weighed?”

Peter sighed. “Do I have to be weighed?”

Dick seemed patient but too firm for Peter to ignore when he responded. “You don’t have to know what the scale says, but we need to know if you’ve lost weight. It’s complicated with your enhanced metabolism, and we need to know if we’re doing okay.”

Peter looked over at the scale, and his palms started to sweat, and his heart sped up at the thought of stepping on it. He had tried to eat during his time at the manor, and he wasn’t sure if he could eat any more consistently if he had lost weight. “You’re not going to give me an NG tube, right?” 

Dick bit with bottom lip, and his shoulders tensed before he let go of it all. “Only if you need it. Dr. Thompkins said it was okay if you haven’t lost any weight since Monday, but you’ll have to put on at least five ounces in the upcoming week.”

Peter knew that Dick was much stronger than Peter right now, and he could force him to have a tube put down his throat. Maybe he would push it in repeatedly if Peter kept pulling it out. 

Peter looked at Dick’s open face and thought of the secrets it held. He was treated as if he had a choice, but it was just an illusion. Peter ate when Dick decided he should, and he slept where Alfred had given him a bed on Monday night. 

“You know I’ll just take the tube out if you put one in me.” 

Dick inhaled before his eyes turned from a still lake to an ocean. It wasn’t dangerous yet, but the tides were unpredictable, and they could tilt any little lifeboat. “We’ll just put it in again.” 

Peter puffed out his chest and tried to look more confident than he felt, but he was too exhausted to shout, and his voice sounded almost as bone-tired as he felt. “How? Are you going to hold me down until I stop fighting, or do it while I scream?” 

Dick’s eyes closed, and his face turned away in a slow motion. There was a flash of teeth as disgust moved across his face. “Please don’t say things like that.” 

The pride swelling in his chest repulsed Peter, but it was not enough to stop the next blow. “Why? Are you afraid that the answer will be yes or that it will be no? You could also tie me up so I can’t take the tube out again.” 

“Can we just weigh you and decide when we know the situation?” 

Peter sighed. “No, I need you to understand that if I can’t keep the NG tube out of my throat, then I will use it to hang myself as soon as you turn your back.”

Peter hadn’t expected Damian to appear so startled, but his eyes were as wide as teacups, and his tan face took on a grayish hue. His expression remained unchanged as he diverted his piercing gaze from Peter to Dick and Jason. “I thought you were exaggerating about Peter’s threats.”  

Peter ignored how Jason was mumbling in Damian’s ear and focused on Dick. “It’s a promise.”

Dick sniffed, but he kept the tears at bay as he looked at Peter again. “Can you please step on the scale?”

“I’ll never forgive you if you force anything on me,” Peter promised with steady eyes and an even breath.

Dick’s frame was tired, and his eyes were even more so. “Okay.” 

“What?” Peter’s head and shoulders jerked before he caught his composure. He tightened his hands into fists, and his eyes furrowed into as sharp points as he could. Tears threatened to appear, but he kept them back with cheer, willpower, and a tense jaw. “I’ll never forgive you, Dick. I’ll hate you forever and ever.” 

Dick’s eyes had lost the last of their sparkle before Peter had even finished his threat, and he looked like someone on death row as he found his words. “Then hate me.” 

Peter didn’t want to be mean. He felt evil for saying such things to someone who saw him as his son, but he wanted it to work. He wanted to know that no one would ignore his wishes and force him to endure anything else he didn’t like. His energy was depleting, and he had to make sure before he had none left.

After several minutes of unblinking staring, Peter looked away and took off his heavy hoodie, with everyone’s eyes following him. Defeat had never tasted that bitter before.

Peter looked down at his naked arms. Neither of his arms looked appealing, but Peter felt a strange pride as his body finally healing. The delicate flicker of happiness in his chest wasn’t enough to illuminate or warm anything significant, but it was more than he had felt all day.

“The bruises are starting to heal, and my ankle hardly hurts anymore, so I won’t need any tubes no matter what,” he told Dick with eight eyes looking at his stick arms with paper skin and dark blue, forest green, and ruby red patches.

“It looks great, Scumpo, but let’s see what the scale says.” 

Peter looked up at Alfred as he stepped onto the scale. “What does it say?”

Alfred moved the metal squares up and down the two rods for under a minute. “30 pounds and 15 ounces.” 

Damian let out a short and harsh breath at that. 

“Is that good?” Peter asked as he stepped off the scale, hoping he wouldn’t have to fight any longer today. 

Alfred didn’t look at him as he recorded Peter’s weight. “You’ve gained four ounces in six days; it might just be fluctuation, but there doesn't seem to be a need for tube feeding right now. If your bloodwork and weight continue to improve, we’ll need to monitor until you reach a healthy weight.” 

Alfred took out the blood pressure monitor and seemed pleased with the result while Damian scowled. 

Peter put on his hoodie before Alfred could grab the stethoscope. Alfred sighed but set it back on the table, and Peter felt a deep sense of relief and felt pacified now that the threats of the NG tube and unwanted touch were behind him. However, his weary limbs still moved as far away from Dick and Alfred as possible. 

“Can I lie down again?”

“Of course,” Dick replied, appearing eager to follow Peter anywhere in the world.

Peter walked past Dick and grabbed Jason’s right arm before pulling him toward the TV room.

Chapter Text

Peter’s legs and hands almost shook with repressed emotions and exhaustion as he pulled Jason into the TV room. “I’m sorry for keeping you at the manor. I’m sure that everyone in Crime Alley misses you.”

Jason threw himself into the same armchair where he had read to Peter and fallen asleep. “Maybe, but it’s voluntary, so it’s not like they can complain. Maybe it will be good to see if they can manage without me for a night or two.”

Peter walked over to the couch and sat primly with his legs straight down and a dour expression. “So, you have a lot of power? Doesn’t that mean that you have a lot of responsibility too?”

Jason let out a harsh breath resembling a laugh and looked at Peter incredulously. “Are you telling me that ‘with great power comes great responsibility’?”

Peter nodded with wide eyes and a startled expression. It sounded eerily similar to a faraway memory.

“Are you quoting Voltaire or the Bible?”

Peter felt like he could almost taste the memory but couldn’t see it. It flowed on the surface of knowledge, but the tides kept pulling it around in dizzying circles. “I think my uncle told me that.”

Jason leaned his head on the backrest and put his ankle on his knee before leaning forward. “Which one? You have too many of them.”

“I don’t know. I think that it was from before everything.” Peter’s eyes widened even more as he remembered the most important details. “I need to help people. It’s my responsibility for having my powers.”

That wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t just his responsibility but his punishment for his hands of destruction. He made people bleed or drown, even when he didn’t want to. Every time he had tried to pull someone to safety, they had pulled him in the water to be with them as they drowned in the salty water, and every time he had tried to hold their blood in, he had been too firm and crushed their ribs until they drowned in their own blood. He knew he was drowning everyone at the manor in his problems and needed to be helpful before the weight crushed him.

Jason’s foot landed on the hard wooden floor with a harsh sound. “You didn’t ask to be born with meta powers. Yes, it’s easier to fight if you have powers, but your asthma and your hearing are handicaps, so it equals out.”

Peter tried to hide how heavy his body and eyelids were, even though Jason seemed too sharp and trained to be fooled easily. “I can still fight.”

“You’re a child. You shouldn’t have to fight. You weren’t supposed to fight at all.”

“Maybe, but I want to fight now. I don’t want you all to fight my battles. I can take the pain.”

Peter looked at Jason. He took every movement and look in, but he still felt like he had missed hours' worth of information when Jason’s face and shoulders crumpled.

“Fuck,” Jason muttered with his face turned down toward the floor and his tears brushed away with a harsh movement.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, unsure exactly what he had done to make Jason cry. He knew that everyone in the manor wanted him to either play carelessly or satisfy his body’s basic needs, but most of if not all the former residents of the manor had fought since childhood. They were useful, and Peter needed to be too to repay the growing debt that he had to everyone.

“You don’t have to apologize. You’ve wanted to fight since I met you; it’s just hard to remember how much you’ve been hurt.” Jason swept a hand over his eyes again and sniffed loudly and wetly. “You were supposed to be safe, Peter, and we just want you to be safe now.”

Peter could withstand it all as soon as the lethargy would leave his bones, but it seemed like Jason couldn’t.

Peter glanced at the door, imagining Dick walking through it the moment he thought Peter needed him. Dick would throw whatever he had to be there just like Jason had today when Peter had pulled him from one room to another.

“Okay, I’ll stay safe at the manor.”

Peter’s weary heart found a more comfortable rhythm with that decision. Everything felt frightening, and Peter could momentarily convince himself that it didn’t comfort him to have an excuse to stay away from the shadows that would follow him outside. Strange men had followed him, and The Court of Owls was out to find and hurt him, but no one could hurt him if he was inside the manor.

Jason narrowed his eyes in Peter’s direction for several moments before his face relaxed into a small smile. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, what do you want to do? Sleep? Watch TV?”

Deciding on anything felt overwhelming, so Peter let himself fall to the side and curled up on the couch.

Jason leaned forward to grab the remote. “TV and resting it is then.”

Peter nodded and put his arm under his head as the TV turned back on to the same bright colored commercial from earlier.

The door opened after a long while, but Peter didn’t look away from the screen as Damian entered the room like a piece of driftwood. Completely nondescript for most but unavoidable for people like Peter who were barely treading water.

Damian didn’t speak as he walked into the room and sat in the armchair on the other side of the couch. His eyes never strayed from Peter’s slumped position, even when Jason’s eyes followed Damian closely.

Peter tried to ignore Damian’s quiet demeanor, and a fist of discomfort grew into a basketball the longer Damian sat quietly.

Peter looked over at Jason and his tired but observant eyes, which only moved from Damian when he felt Peter’s gaze. The smile was small and brightened his face slightly, but dark shadows were still everywhere.

Peter knew who had put the shadows there, and there wasn’t much he could do to erase them, but he could try.

“I’m sorry for what I said in the medical room.”

Jason’s smile didn’t fall, but the light in his eyes extinguished. “You can always tell us if you’re having thoughts like that. I want you to tell us if you have thoughts like that.”

Peter crossed his arms and pulled his bent legs uncomfortably close to his chest, but he couldn’t disappear no matter how small he tried to make himself. “It wasn’t nice, and I’m sorry if I made anyone sad.”

“It wasn’t nice to hear, but sometimes we need to hear the harsh truth. You should tell us instead of keeping it in and then…” Jason looked down as his hands examined the hem of his shirt, and Peter could almost count every stitch as Jason’s eyes moved. “And I know that Dick isn’t mad about you saying that you could hate him. I wasn’t mad when you said that you hated me.”

Peter could barely move or think with the wave of guilt. “I didn’t hate you. I was mad, but I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It didn’t feel amazing to hear, but I forgave you before Dick swept you away, and I hated myself a little for causing you pain so it’s okay if you hated me a little too.”

Peter covered his eyes with his palms as he tried to hide his tears, and Damian and Jason were kind enough to halt the conversation until Peter found the strength to take his hands down and look at them again. “You shouldn’t have killed him. No one deserves to die, but I didn’t hate you.”

Damian didn’t talk, but his shoulders stiffened, and his eyes turned slightly warmer when he looked at Jason. Peter couldn’t know Damian’s moral stance on killing people, but Damian was still his best bet to make sure that no one else had to die for him.

Jason’s eyes were nowhere near as warm as they usually were when looking at Peter, but they weren’t as lifeless anymore. “I’m glad to know that.”

Peter hesitated momentarily before he asked in a feeble voice, “Jason? Can I speak with Damian alone for a little bit?”

Jason’s gaze flicked abruptly from Peter to Damian. “Of course, I’ll just be outside if you need me.”

Peter dragged his lethargic body up to sit on the couch, and he attempted to meet Damian's gaze firmly as soon as they were alone in the room, with only the TV as a distraction.  “Jason won’t find the teenager who touched me.”

Damian gave a single nod. “I’ll ensure that I’m the first to find him.”

Peter shook his head in quick movements that left him slightly dizzy. “No, you won’t. I haven’t given you or Jason enough information, and he doesn’t deserve anyone to find him if he exists here. It was my fault anyway. I confused him.”

Damian’s eyes were toxic pools once more as he stared at Peter with a silent rage. “You confused him? How would a 17-year-old be confused by a child?”

Peter pulled his sleeves over his hands and tried disappearing into the hoodie. If he was small enough, no one could see what he had done, and if they couldn’t see it themselves, then maybe it wouldn’t be as awful to admit it. “I made him think that I wanted it, and then I hurt his feelings.”

Damian’s dark eyebrows fell into straight lines, and his nostrils flared as he breathed. “You can hurt the feelings of pedophilic rapists. It would be preferable if you were mean to them.”

Peter was startled at those p- and r-words but shook the shock off and hissed, “He’s not like that. Around 17 is not an adult, so he can’t be, and it was my fault even if he was an adult.”

Damian’s venomous gaze pointed toward the ceiling, and his jaw and hands tensed before he responded. “Let’s say it’s your fault - what did you do to make him touch you like that?”  

Guilt coated Peter’s throat like slime and relief that Damian would understand that Peter was to blame.  “He said that I talked and moved like an adult. Like the women in magazines when I did jumps or the splits.”

Damian’s eyes twitched at Peter’s words. “He watched you do gymnastics?”

The memories had felt distant until just a week ago, but now they lurked beneath the surface every time he closed his eyes. Peter tried to find a memory to explain everything, but nothing fit. He remembered being called Einstein, the feeling of a mattress beneath his body, and his jaw hurting, but he also remembered the jumps and feeling safe with hands guiding him before they turned bad.

“I don’t remember.”

Damian looked back at Peter with a calculating look for a few moments. “Okay, that’s fine. Can you tell me anything else?”

The guilt almost choked Peter, but he felt like the words were moving out of his mouth on their own. “It was my fault. I didn’t fight it.”

Damian’s entire body tensed even more. He looked as if the slightest touch would make him jump a mile into the air and never come down again. “Not fighting it isn’t a yes.”

“It was my fault,” Peter insisted.

Damian exhaled loudly. “I’ve watched your performances since I was 12 or 13, and I was 18 at your last performance, and I can assure you; I have never looked at anyone your past or current age like that, regardless of how they dressed or acted, Peter. Therefore, it is not normal for a 17-year-old to find children attractive, and I would like to know how it’s different just because it’s you.”

The tight feeling in his stomach turned even harder with guilt, and his breath shuttered in his chest. “I don’t know, it just is, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore. He’s not real here, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters, Peter, and we will find him as soon as the Owls are off our backs. I won’t let him or anyone else hurt you like that again.”

Peter couldn’t hold it in any longer, and his torso fell forward to rest on his knees with a loud cry. It would happen again. Peter knew this, and then Jason would feel like he had to kill someone else because Peter was too foolish to protect himself or too alluring for men like that to resist.

Skip touching him had to be Peter’s fault because if it weren’t, then Peter was responsible for everything Skip could have done afterward in this or his original universe. If Skip behaved that way without Peter leading him on, then it would be Peter’s fault if he abused someone. Peter might have dissociated during the incident, and his jaw had hurt after Skip had gotten what he wanted, but that was okay. Peter had made him do it, and he could handle it, but he couldn’t bear having someone else on his conscience.

Peter barely registered it when Damian stood before him and his hand hovered over his shoulder. “I’ll get Todd and Grayson for you.”

The door opened, and Damian’s voice echoed slightly as he yelled, “Todd, I made Peter cry!”

Jason’s steps hurried over the wooden floor, and he sat on the couch at a polite distance from Peter, but his tone was spitting. “What did you do?”

“None of your business, Todd. You’re only here to comfort him while I get Grayson.”

Jason’s arm was close. Peter could reach out and grab it, but it would mean that he had to pull one of his arms away from his body, and he didn’t know if the touch would burn him at that moment.

Damian’s voice was almost emotionless as he asked, “Do you know where Grayson is?”

Jason’s voice turned into a nice crackle, and Peter could almost see how the wood would crack and sparkle as it warmed Peter’s cold hands. “Taking a few laps around the manor.”

Damian’s steps became quieter until the door closed behind him, leaving Peter and Jason alone in the room with the spider toy smiling at Peter from the coffee table.

“Did you and Damian have a good talk?”

Peter opened his mouth, but no words would come out. Only sobs escaped until he closed his mouth and bent further down towards his knees.

Jason’s presence was unignorable, but he felt more like a harbor in a storm than an obstacle in the dangerous seas. Peter pulled his right arm away from his body and pulled Jason’s left arm toward his chest. He could almost feel the metaphorical filth he was smearing Jason’s light gray shirt with, but he was too weak to let go.

Jason sat still like any other anchor, silent but dependable, as the winds tried to topple Peter’s little boat. Jason’s torso didn’t move a single inch as Peter used his arm to pull himself upright and kept a firm grip on his arm when his torso was vertical.

A door opened and Dick’s voice sounded much more piqued than Peter had heard it before. “You can’t say that Peter needs me and then insist that I don’t go in, Damian. I’m 38 and know my limits.”

Peter looked up and around until he caught sight of Dick standing in the doorway and looking into the hallway. His face and T-shirt were drenched in sweat, his knuckles were red and had a few scrapes as his hands rested on the doorframe, and his eyes and nose were red when he turned around.

He closed the door without looking back, bit his bottom lip, and stood restlessly as Peter looked at him. Dick let go of his lip and sent Peter a soft smile and spoke in a warm tone. “Hey, draga mea.”

Peter had countless things to say and nothing he wanted anyone to know. He was still holding Jason’s arm, but Peter reached his left arm out toward Dick without thinking and Dick sprang into action like an Olympian swimmer.

Nothing was okay, but it felt a little more bearable with Jason’s strong arm in his grip and Dick’s hand in his.

“You’re really gross right now, you know that, Dick?” Jason asked after a few moments.

“Thank you so much. It’s just what I needed to hear today,” Dick replied in an even tone but his thumb still moved delicately over the back of Peter’s hand.

Peter’s physical strength was waning after his short but vigorous wave of tears, and he leaned his head on Jason’s shoulder and took in the familiar and comforting scent of his laundry detergent. Jason’s entire body turned stiff and Peter turned his head to look up at Jason’s wide eyes and proud smile in Dick’s direction.

Peter turned to look at Dick’s wet clothes and then at his clammy hand. “You can shower if you want to.”

“Maybe I will take a quick one while you’re here with Jason,” Dick said but made no move to leave before his sweat had cooled down for Jason to insist that he should wash up.

Dick stopped and lingered in the doorway. “It’s almost dinnertime. Do you want something to eat or another drink before I go? I heard that Alfred is making chicken cutlets, or we can eat together in 10 minutes.”

Peter looked out the window at the early evening sky and considered the illusion of choices. “A drink in 25 minutes.”

“That’s very specific, but okay, I’ll come back in 25 minutes. Any specific preferences?”

“No, just something easy.”

Peter almost expected Dick to come back right away and perhaps even threaten him with an NG tube, even though he had never done so directly before. Dick instead came back with barely damp hair and pesto on the corner of his mouth as the red sky had darkened further and the TV had showed several episodes of something Peter couldn’t remember and commercials designed to make kids beg for vividly colored toys.

Both Jason and Dick looked on as Peter pulled his arm away from Jason’s and took a hold of the protein drink. The taste of blackberries was muted, but he was surprised that he could taste anything after how his senses had switched between dimmed and overwhelming most of the day.

Peter’s eyes grew heavy as he nearly finished his drink, and he felt like a baby as he stifled a yawn with a bottle in his hands. He pushed his tired body off the couch and began to pace around the TV room. This was the longest he had walked today, but even his still sore ankle couldn’t hold back the fatigue coursing through his veins, and he felt Jason’s and Dick’s eyes on him as he walked restlessly in circles.

It was still early, but he wanted to sleep. He just wanted to sleep, and he would be willing to do almost anything to escape from the imaginary or real monsters. However, sleep meant exposing himself to the horrors of his mind and being vulnerable to the owls that could have marked his body in more ways than just leaving their mark on his tooth.

Peter kept his shoulders loose and his face blank as he walked over to Dick, and he instantly regretted standing close enough to him to be reminded that he only reached the bottom of Dick’s sternum.

Peter subtly stepped back and bit his bottom lip before asking, “Are you tired?”

Dick furrowed his eyebrows and blinked once before replying, “Not particularly, but you had quite an emotional day, and you can go to bed now if you’d like.”

Peter nodded and looked around the room with a hum. He tried to find the strength to look at Dick but the embarrassment was too powerful. “My bed is massive.”

Dick hummed back. “Mm hm.”

Heat rose to his cheeks, and he almost let his pride and cowardice win, but Peter could do difficult things even if they required him to be much more vulnerable than he wanted to be. “I don’t want you to be forced to walk far if I have a nightmare again.”

Peter glanced at Dick but looked at the floor when he was almost blinded by Dick’s bright smile and shining eyes.

“I could sleep now.”

Peter did a few big and soft nods. “Good. I’ll brush my teeth. You should also brush your teeth, so they don’t get gross, and get yourself a blanket. I don’t want to share.”

Dick did a salute in Peter peripheral vision. “Will do, Tati.”

Jason put a hand up. “I can fit in your massive bed too.”

Sleeping between Jason and Dick sounded incredible. Peter imagined it would be even better than lying between them on the library floor or sitting between them on the couch, but he knew that he would never be able to look at Jason again if he had an accident with him in the room. Dick had changed his sheets, Alfred must know about the bedwetting, and Bruce might be aware too, but the others couldn’t find out.  

Dick sent Jason a crooked smile and finger guns. “Aren’t you finding some birds tonight?”

Jason huffed and crossed his arms in a way much more fitting for a hormonal teenager. “I am.”

The light from the hallway was soft and dim but Peter still saw how Dick’s pupils dilated as soon as he looked at him. 

“Just close your eyes, Peter. I’ll be right here.” 

Peter wet his lips. “I want to say something before we go to sleep.” 

Dick’s face turned less sappy and more alert but there was still an almost sleepy softness to his face. “Yeah?” 

Peter nodded and felt his hair move across the pillow. “I know that you don’t want to hurt me. I don’t want anyone else to control what happens to my body.” 

Dick’s pupils dilated even more but his softness looked more like a suffocating blanket than the warmth it had radiated before. “I’m glad that you know that.” 

Dick’s hands were laying clapped together in front of his face and the pillow. Dick had long and elegant fingers, but they looked strong even when resting. 

Peter reached out a hand and laid it on Dick’s. “I’m sorry for freaking out.” 

Dick turned the hand on top so the back of it was facing Peter and Peter’s hand could grip it. “I’m sorry for freaking out about the tooth.” 

It was far easier to focus on the tooth than on the impending doom of others deciding what should happen to Peter’s body.  “What are we going to do about the tooth, Dick?” 

Dick’s hand slowly closed around Peter’s fingers but it was still loose enough for Peter to pull his hand away easily if he wanted to. “Everyone other than Alfred, Steph, Duke, and me are out protecting Gotham and finding out everything they can about the Court of Owls. They’ll find them, and then everything will be better.” 

Peter was happy that he wouldn’t have to fear for whoever wanted to capture him forever, but he still wished that Jason could be here and protect him with Dick. He could ask, and Jason would probably come running, but Peter had already taken too much from them all. Gotham needed protection, and he wanted the Court of Owls to be stopped as soon as possible. 

“Don’t worry. Babs is down in the cave, keeping an eye on everything, and I’ll be here to protect you until they return. Steph stays awake most nights, but I can stay up until everyone returns.” 

“You can sleep,” Peter whispered almost inaudibly before finding his voice. “Can we do something for Babs tomorrow since she’s keeping an eye on everything? You and Jason deserve something too, but I don’t know where to start with that, and she was also really nice to me before Jason found me.”

Dick wore a gentle expression with wide observing eyes and no sharp edges. “You don’t owe us anything, but she loves Chicago-style pizza. It used to be an annual tradition for her and me to either buy or make some, and I’ll talk to Dr. Thomkins to see if you can have some tomorrow. If not, then we will figure something else out for her.”

Peter smiled gratefully as his energy waned and closed his eyes, but all he could hear were the figurative waves crashing into him, threatening to throw him overboard. He reopened his eyes to focus on Dick rather than the real and imaginary horrors. “Thank you, Dick. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for everything that you do for me.” 

Peter felt Dick’s thumb twitch in an effort of stroking Peter’s hand before he settled on squeezing his hand once. “You still don’t owe us anything. We all love you and will happily do whatever we can for you.” 

This felt like the moment to confess that he might love Dick too. Except that couldn’t be true. He hadn’t known Dick or any of the others for very long, but he could still bare his heart in the safety of the darkness and Dick’s light eyes. “Thank you. I like spending time with you, and you make me feel safe.” 

Dick smiled far more than someone should at that moment. “I’m happy to hear that. I also like spending time with you, and I feel stronger with you.”

Peter’s hand tightened momentarily. “I don’t like spending time with you when we talk about tubes. It makes me like you far less.” 

Dick let out a short laugh. “Good thing that my love is unconditional then.” 

Peter felt nauseous at the thought of an NG tube and pulled his hand away from Dick’s. He had already said it, but it needed to be emphasized. “I don’t want anyone else to decide what happens to my body.” 

Dick seemed to disappear into his fluffy pillow and blanket. “I know, and I would hate to see you with one again, but I love you enough that you can hate me if it keeps you alive. Fortunately, it’s not needed.”  

Peter swallowed the spit that pooled in his mouth. “Did Mary love her son that much?”

Dick’s eyes were captivating with how much they could show. Love and worry were the most pronounced, but there was also a deep sorrow.

“She loved you. She loved you before you were even born.” Dick’s eyes lightened a little but there were still countless other emotions than the love and happiness at the memory.

Peter felt like a moth trying desperately to bypass a window to get to the nearest lamp. Maybe the light would bring comfort and lull Peter to sleep, or perhaps it would burn him. “What was she like?”

“She was hardworking, and she tried her best in everything that she did. Life hadn’t been kind to her, but she persevered.” Dick let out a soft and short laugh at a memory so bright that Peter could almost feel it. “She couldn’t cook, but she tried anyway, and she was a good baker.”

Peter moved his face a bit closer to Dick’s. “Really?”

Dick gave a soft nod. “Yes, and she once stuffed your pockets full of pastries when you were coming back home to me.”

It sounded almost idyllic and far from Damian's image of her. “Why did Damian say that stuff about her then?”

Dick looked toward the ceiling but Peter’s gaze lingered on his blue eyes anyway. “She was just complicated. I still don’t understand everything that she did, but she loved you. Damian knows that too.”

A woman like that would have visited her dying son. Peter would have visited an annoying classmate daily if they had been in the hospital. Still, Damian had said that Mary hadn’t often visited her dying son, and neither Dick nor Jason disagreed. Maybe it was better she hadn’t visited frequently since Peter Grayson wouldn’t have noticed who was in the room, but it still felt wrong. “Why didn’t she visit the hospital as much as you did?”

Dick looked back at Peter with heavy and sad eyebrows and a hopeless look in his eyes. “I don’t know. I guess it was too hard for her to see you like that. You deserved to have your mom with you, but it doesn’t mean that she didn’t love you.”

It almost felt like a secret with how close their faces were. Peter could feel Dick’s minty breath on his face and they only had to whisper to hear each other. “I don’t understand.”

Dick sighed and whispered back, “Neither do I.” 

Peter wanted to ask so much more. Was everyone mad at her? Did she miss her son? Had she been at the funeral? There were even more questions, but Peter felt a pit in his stomach at the thought of any answer.

“Was she happy after?”

Peter didn’t specify after what, but Dick’s face crumpled, and his breath became labored. However, Mary hadn’t been the only one who persevered in challenging situations. “I think she tried to be. I tried as well, but losing you wasn’t like any other pain. You were my purpose in life, and I can’t imagine that Mary found it easy to discover her path without you.”

Peter reached out to take Dick’s hand and his heart and breath calmed down when he felt Dick’s warmth around his cold fingers. “Did she?”

Dick’s sigh was soft but heavy. It filled the whole room with a suffocating sorrow, but Peter didn’t have the times to dwell on it before Dick spoke once more. “I don’t know. She moved away from New Jersey for a while, and then she… She just had a hard time coping.”

Peter’s heart was thumping in a dizzyingly quick beat, and he felt tears welling up at the thought of someone resembling Aunt May facing a hard time, and he nearly broke down when he remembered that Dick had struggled too. The images of Dick appearing too thin in the year after his son’s death were haunting, and Peter had no clue how Dick managed to recover. It sometimes seemed as if he hadn’t fully recovered, and Peter was uncertain about how he was supposed to deal with that knowledge when everything else was crumbling around him.

“I’m glad that you had your family to help you cope, Dick.”

Dick’s thumb rubbed tender circles on the back of Peter’s hand. “Me too. It was tough, but you never have to worry about your dad. I want you to focus on resting and healing, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Peter yawned and had to wipe his eyes with his sleeve before he could see Dick again. “I’m not sure that I can ever sleep properly again.”

Dick’s gaze moved around Peter’s entire face before he focused back on his eyes. “Do you want me to do the sleep thing again?”

Peter almost wanted to cry again at the offer. “Could you?”

Dick smiled as softly as a teddy bear and as warmly as a hug. “Of course, draga mea. Are you laying comfortably?”

Peter adjusted his position but didn’t move farther away from Dick before nodding and watching as Dick didn’t leave his position either to reach behind himself to find the phone on the nightstand and bring it to his face. The light assaulted their eyes as he touched the phone until he turned the brightness down one-handed, and Peter dozed off to Dick’s instructions and a vaguely familiar melody that evoked an image of a beautiful, darling boy sailing away.

Sleep was easier than it had been for over a week, but it wasn’t entirely restful either. Peter didn’t recall if there had been hands in his dreams, but his palms and forehead were damp, and his heart raced as he awoke in the dark room. He hadn’t had another accident, but he still felt embarrassed by the reminder of soiled bedsheets as he pulled his hand away from Dick’s and separated Dick’s fingers from the pulse point on his wrist before getting out of bed to go to the bathroom.    

Dick mumbled, but his eyes remained closed when Peter glanced back. Peter felt another wave of embarrassment in his chest, yet he pushed it aside as he carefully moved away from the bed. He held his breath until he reached the hallway, where the chances of Dick waking up and insisting to wait in front of the bathroom or something similar were significantly reduced.

The bathroom was right next to his bedroom, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Dick could have heard him flush the toilet if he was awake and listened closely enough especially when the whole house was quiet with everyone either asleep, patrolling, or monitoring.

Peter could go back to bed. No one had to know that he had needed the bathroom in the middle of the night and Dick would probably be rested and happy that he thought that Peter had slept the whole night.

He glanced into the room and saw that Dick had pulled Peter’s pillow into his arms and looked to be suffocating himself with how firmly it was pushed to his face. Peter would wake Dick if he tried to get the pillow back, he was almost sure that he couldn’t sleep now that he was awake.

Peter looked around the dark hallway and listened to the sound of the wind outside the manor walls and windows. Maybe the late hour was an opportunity to get some answers and closure, and perhaps that would be enough for him to sleep at night.

The computer room was as deserted as the hallways had been, and the computer screen’s blue light was blinding for a few seconds as the computer fan started to make itself known.

The home screen was the standardized blue background with a translucent blue flag on the right side of the screen, but it made it easy to find the internet icon that Dick had used to find the pictures of Mary and that Peter had clicked on every time he had looked for a job at the library.

Peter glanced at the clock as it switched from Friday the 24th 11:59 pm to Saturday the 25th 12:00 am and wondered whom he should start researching. Skip might not even exist here, but he already knew the broad strokes of what had happened to Mr. Green. Knowing any more about what Jason had done was to quench his curiosity while Skip might or might not be a real threat.

Peter felt sick just typing in the name, but he had to know if Skip existed here, and if he did, then what had happened to him. Peter hoped that he didn’t exist. He wasn’t sure if he could survive Skip existing here and possibly scarring someone else. Someone worthy of love and innocence that this world’s Peter could have protected.

Just typing in Skip amounted to a definition of to move or proceed with leaps and bounds or with a skip. Peter felt like he had made leaps and bounds several times already, but he had to persist while he had the chance. 

Steven Westcott’s gymnastics team had won several competitions in the teenage age group and almost as many when he had been in the pre-teen and school-age groups, and he was listed as an assistant coach for the school-age gymnastics group from 2002 to 2004. Skip smiled brightly in every picture with his light blonde hair and blue eyes that changed shade depending on the light. It was so familiar that Peter could almost feel him stroking his hair or thigh and calling him Einstein. 

Peter went back to searching for anything else. Preferably nothing of him in tight costumes or smiling as proudly as he did when he showed Peter the magazines. However, there wasn’t any other information about him besides a business account with no picture, stating that he started Blüdhaven High School on August 30, 1999, and graduated sometime in May 2004.  

Maybe Damian was right, and Skip had needed to be stopped in both this and his original world. Skip could have destroyed several kids’ lives, and Peter would never know if he could have stopped it. After telling his uncle and Aunt May about what he had done, Peter hadn't seen Skip anymore, but Peter couldn’t be sure if he had been stopped. This universe’s Skip hadn’t been, but he might have never done anything to anyone. There were infinite universes, and this one could have been the best person in the multiverse.

Peter typed in Skip Westcott and swallowed bile when he got any results. A nickname didn’t have to mean anything, but the fact that Skip had been called that in this universe left a sour taste in Peter’s mouth.

Several social media accounts discussed Skip. There were no cited sources, but various profiles expressed outrage over Skip being found guilty of distributing marijuana to middle schoolers, resulting in a sentence of 60 months, plus an additional 18 months for child endangerment. 

Jonathan Smith
May 4th, 2004

Haven’t you heard? Skip Westcott sold weed to kids. Only got like 6 yrs for that

Frank Beil
May 4th, 2004

4 real? i hope he escapes and gets punched 2 ded by nw or another bat b4 then

Peter kept looking, even with his head beating in his chest, but people stopped talking about Skip years ago, and he would be in prison for about another year, but Peter feared what would happen after that. Peter should have been too old for Skip’s taste by now, which was just another reason to shutter, but Peter still looked young enough in this young body, just like other much more innocent boys would look. Other kids could fall for his charm, and selling drugs to minors could be much worse than only wanting money. 

It could also mean nothing. The Skip of this universe didn’t necessarily go that far just because he sold or gave drugs to kids. Maybe it had been old middle schoolers. It could have 8^th graders that had repeated several years and looked older than they were, so Skip thought they were 18. Peter couldn’t fault him too much if that had been the case. Other than giving or selling drugs.

That was probably it. Peter couldn’t remember Skip having ever done anything to other kids in his universe, and it had happened to Peter twice before he hit 18, so it had to be his fault.

Peter felt more at ease with Skip's relative innocence and decided to see if he could find the article about how Jason had punished Mr. Green. Peter thought it would be more challenging, but he only had to search for a few minutes before locating the right article published by The Gotham Gazette on the 20th. 

Predator or Prey? 

Yesterday, Sunday, September 19th, 2010, a man was murdered in his own home in Gotham. The victim was a divorced man in his late 50s and was a respected colleague. Colleagues called the police a little before 10 on Monday the 20th when the man had not come into work Monday morning, but officers were not dispatched to the home until several concerned neighbors notified the police about the broken front door and reported finding the victim on his kitchen floor.  

It is presumed that the killer stabbed the man in both legs and dislocated his jaw before ransacking the home. The killer then came back to continue what police described as clear signs of torture.  

The brutal attack traumatized neighbors as eight fingers and seven toes were broken with blunt force trauma and-” 

Holy moly, Peter thought, the newspaper goes into detail about a brutal murder? Peter shook his head, searched the article for where he had left off, and resumed reading.

“with blunt force trauma and a kitchen knife and a wrench had been used to make several deep cuts into the man’s flesh.  

The man is determined to have died after several hours of torture mainly caused by being sodomized with another kitchen knife.”

Peter choked on his spit at that and had to cough a few times. He let his eyes skim over the other injuries that the man had presumably gotten after the… insertion of the knife but before the man had bled out.

“Police have not commented on a potential motive, but The Gotham Gazette interviewed one of the neighbors who discovered the victim. The neighbor stated that either the killer or the victim had left several physical photos of CP featuring boys aged between 8 and 15. However, there were no pictures of the victim or his home in these pictures or on a laptop found on the kitchen aisle. The neighbor claimed the laptop had never been seen in the house during visits.  

The neighbor told reporters that all neighbors who knew the victim are shocked about this development but state that they wished that they had known of the victim’s presumed preferences before Sunday the 19th.”

Peter felt nauseous. CP? Jason had said that Mr. Green hadn’t hurt anyone else directly, but Peter hadn’t thought too much about what that could have meant. He had just been relieved that Mr. Green hadn’t directly traumatized any children. Or at least no one other than Peter.

Skips words about leading him on came back, and Peter had hoped that it could have meant that Mr. Green wasn’t like that to anyone else, but that was just naïve thinking. Even if Mr. Green had found the pictures online, it meant that he had had an interest and was actively looking for and printing indecent pictures. 

Peter suddenly felt even colder. If the Skip of this world had touched children like the one in his original universe, then he could have been on sites like Mr. Green had been. Most people in Gotham had security cameras just like Mr. Green had had cameras everywhere. Maybe this world’s Skip had had some that had never been discovered when he had been arrested for distributing marijuana. Would Peter still be on a site like Mr. Green had frequented? Peter had felt like he had been violated repeatedly throughout his life, but maybe it had been going on repeatedly from countless faceless people while Peter Grayson had been dead.

There was more to the article about Mr. Green’s home and injuries, but Peter couldn’t read more. His heart beat too quickly, and goosebumps rose on his arms. Everything was too much. The darkness was strangling him, and every gulp of air was a battle, but the light from the stars was blinding even as the computer screen and fan turned off.

His chest hurt, and he could barely feel his hands as they tried to block his ears from the world. Peter’s ragged breathing kept getting worse, and although he could scarcely hear it, the feeling of it was enough for him to panic even more. The computer fans stopped momentarily before starting up, and the computer let out the startup jingle between Peter's strangled breaths. 

Peter jumped when hands touched him, and he hoped that it was Jason, Dick or anyone else safe that had tried to call him through the sound of his heart beating and his breath getting quicker. Someone who wanted him to be safe and happy, even if he could never be that again.

The hands tightened uncomfortably, and Peter raised his head from between his knees to gaze at the glass on the ground. Peter raised his head further, and the stars seemed to have travelled into the computer room, but when he blinked again, it was just dark silhouettes haunting him with bright yellow eyes. 

Peter tried to pull his arm back, but the creature was strong and unrelenting. He kicked and screamed but nothing deterred it, and more hands fell on Peter. 

“Get off me, get off me!” he screamed, but the hands just pulled him toward the window and seemed entirely indifferent to how the glass was cutting through his thin pajama pants and fluffy socks into his skin. 

“Please!” Peter begged just as the door opened to the computer room and Dick stood with sleep tousled hair and wide eyes. His stance was wide, but his posture was stiff for just long enough for Peter to be thrown toward the window frame and a hand on his back forced his stomach to meet the sharp ends of the glass. 

Dick stood like a lighthouse to guide Peter home in the storm, but help was still too far away. It was too late and Dick’s fast steps only reached the window frame right as Peter was pulled through it by the shadows in the night.

Dick’s hand shot out and he gripped Peter’s ankle. It didn’t matter if Dick broke Peter’s foot or leg, the strange hands just needed to let go. Peter just needed to get away, or he would choke on the horrors around him. 

The shadows pulled once more, and Peter let out a pathetic sound as his sock slid off, and he slid through the window with a harsh pull from arms around his shoulders. 

Peter’s teeth sank into the arms around him as he tried to kick at every vulnerable spot he could find while his eyes swam, and the sounds rushed past.

Peter’s last hope of safety was Dick putting his hands on the broken glass of the window and jumping through before figures covered him behind their large and dark backs. 

“Peter!” Dick screamed, but Peter had no air left in his lungs to respond.

One of the shadows holding Peter whispered an unknown word, but Peter was too busy finding anything to kick and bite to wonder why it had been said with such confidence. 

Two fingers moved into Peter’s mouth while the rest pulled him toward the fence. Peter bit down as hard as he could, but the gloves were too thick for Peter to do any permanent damage, and the person was too stoic to react.

Dick let out an inhuman and guttural scream into the night, and Peter knew that they were going to kill Dick. Peter knew it just as firmly as he knew that he was having a heart attack. 

The fingers left Peter’s mouth, and the creature said calmly, “The tooth’s gone.”

No one replied, but an arm wrapped around Peter’s neck, applying relentless pressure and pulling up until he felt as if his spine were being yanked from his neck. For a moment, Peter feared that it was killing him, and for a longer moment, he hoped that was the case. Maybe his heart would stop beating out of his chest, and his lungs would stop hurting. 

Instead, he went limp and was tossed over the fence. Air expelled from his lungs as he landed, and a person wearing a white, owlish full mask lifted him up and shoved him into a box before the lid slammed down with enough force to sever a finger.  A motor sounded all around Peter as his diaphragm still spasmed in his chest to the point that he couldn’t even cough. He needed his inhaler, and he needed Jason and Dick to hold his hand and tell him everything would be okay.

Peter was thrown around in the car's trunk, but it felt more like the relentless tides trying to tear him apart. He had no way of saving himself anymore. His lifeboat had sunk, and the lighthouse was nowhere in sight.

Chapter Text

Peter didn’t get time to breathe when the trunk opened to unrelenting hands pulling him up. He attempted to push the hands away, but every time he succeeded, more hands would come. He tried to use his ability to repulse but it barely made the hands fall away from his arms before new ones gripped even tighter.

His toes dragged painfully over the pavement, and he felt how his one sock fell apart stitch by stitch, and the nails on the naked foot were scaped until it was too short for comfort. 

The beings didn’t talk, but they all seemed to know the way as they pulled him into a labyrinth of white floors and sterile walls that led to nothing and everything at once. 

Even the chair Peter was pushed down on was white, and he saw the black creatures in the light. They looked like men in black armor and with glowing yellow eyes, but Peter knew that men were the worst monsters. Animals killed others for survival, and humans hurt others for fun.

More black-armored people came in with a light-skinned black man in his mid-40s in a blue cardigan, gray jeans, and a frightened expression. His black and gray hair was short but mussed up, and his primarily gray beard might have been a five-o'clock shadow a few days ago.

Peter tried to escape, but the hands held his arms and legs too tightly to the chair.

“The tooth is gone,” the person in the white owl mask said, and a black-clad woman pushed the man toward Peter. 

The man looked around frantically before looking at Peter with intense eyes despite the dark bags under his eyes. “Okay, okay, do you have any sedatives?” 

All black-clad people turned their heads towards the man in sync, and Peter froze and then fought even more frantically when the man’s mocha face turned pale, and his eyes widened into petrified discs.  

“Please, don’t make me do that,” the man begged with shaking knees, and he almost fell when he was pushed forward once more by one of the black-clad people in frighting black masks with luminous yellow eyes.

“He wasn’t conscious the last time,” the man informed the room with a shaking breath. “Can’t we sedate him? Or at least give him painkillers?” 

Peter’s heart beat even faster, and he feared what they would do to his corpse when his heart or lungs gave up and left his corpse behind. This had to be the Court of Owls, and they had awoken a dead child before but couldn’t let him escape as easily as he did back in August.

Peter glanced at the people around him and realized that these were the Talons. They were the creatures that were left behind when humans died. It didn’t even matter if any of them were still humans or if they had all died. None of them seemed against Peter’s treatment, and they would all be willing to die for the cause. Humans had free will, but it meant nothing if they mindlessly followed orders from the owl-masked people. No, it was the Owls.  

One of the Talons holding Peter let go with one hand to pick up what looked like pliers, but the head was pointed to the side instead of upwards. “The Gray Son of Gotham wouldn’t need it.” 

Peter looked on as the scared man’s frantic movements fell away, leaving only acceptance as he stepped toward Peter and grabbed the pliers. 

“Please, forgive me. They will hurt my family if I don’t,” the man said. 

Peter didn’t answer as he looked transfixed at the instrument in the man’s hand, with only his ragged breath and wild eyes telling anyone that the heart attack hadn’t taken his life yet. 

More hands reached for Peter and held his head firmly against the headrest, and two others pushed two thumbs into Peter’s cheeks until his mouth opened. 

“Which tooth do you want?” The man asked. 

The hands didn’t need to hold Peter down as he lay paralyzed with his chin shaking with every uneven breath. 

“Take the other canine from his lower jaw, Doctor,” the Owl ordered. 

The man, or rather the doctor, nodded, and his full lips fell into a line on his pallid face. 

“Peas,” Peter said in an attempt to beg with unyielding holding his jaw open. 

The doctor shook his head, and his hands shook as they neared Peter’s face. 

Peter’s hand twitched, but there was no one to leap across the room to hold him and no one to let him trap their arm in his grip. No one to let him smush his face into their chest until he could hear how a heart was supposed to beat and no one to run their thump over the back of his hand until he felt a little warmer and calmer.

Bruce’s big frame had been scary when Peter had seen him only the day before in the middle of the night, but he could have also made everything better. They would all have protected him or at least given him hope that he could survive this. That he wouldn’t die in the hands of strangers in a place where death wasn’t permanent. 

The metal felt cold against the right corner of Peter’s mouth, and the doctor paused for a moment before the instrument tightened around Peter’s canine. The doctor’s arms tensed beneath the soft cardigan and pulled with a sharp and painful movement. 

Peter let out a scream before he was left speechless until the pain dulled enough for him to blink the tears out of his eyes. He took another ragged breath and swallowed the saliva and the slight metallic taste pooling into his mouth before he paled so quickly that he only heard static and saw black for a moment. 

The tooth was still there. It was slightly loose, but it was still there, and the doctor was holding something that looked like a small icepick with a blunt end. 

A choir of laughs echoed in the room, and Peter’s eyes looked around frantically, but he couldn’t see any white masks or yellow eyes looking at him from the ceiling or corners, and he couldn’t turn his head to look at the stoic Talons behind him.

“Come on, Doctor,” the owl-masked man jeered. “What you learned about tooth elevators the last time you tried dentistry on him.” 

The Owl’s mask looked stiff and unemotional, but it was on top of shaking shoulders, and the slight movements of his head made it all look like an owl locating its prey. Peter knew he wouldn’t take flight, but it felt like he would jump on him at any moment. The Owl would devour him whole, and that might be a kinder fate than whatever the doctor was about to do with the new instrument.

The doctor lifted the tooth elevator, and Peter saw the apology on his lips before the end was pushed between his gums and the tooth. The doctor’s lips moved in a sea of apologies that disappeared as the pained tears blurred his vision, and blood almost choked him. 

The doctor wiggled the elevator a few more times before he pulled it out and gave Peter a shaky smile. “Almost done.”

Peter’s hands shook with terror and pain as he watched the doctor push a plier-like instrument toward his mouth. He tried to turn his head, but the hands held him even tighter—so tightly that he couldn’t tell if his heart was leaping and skipping beats because of the pliers or from their hands on his skin.

The tooth was looser, but he let out another scream as the doctor pulled it out in a quick motion. 

The thumbs stopped pressing on Peter’s cheeks, but the rest of the hands stayed as he shook in the aftermath of the agony. Every breath was strenuous, and his vision kept whitening and turning black around the edges. 

Peter heard a low mechanical sound and turned his eyes to the doctor standing over the tooth with blood on one side toward Peter and drilling into the other. 

Owls came into the room as soon as he put the tooth down and took it into another room, only to return minutes later with it in a pair of pliers and a glowing symbol on the side of the root, and a screw emerging from the bottom of it. 

Peter’s limbs awoke with a new effort to escape just as his lungs and throat energized just enough for him to beg. “No! Please don’t!” 

He heard a chuckle from beneath all the white owl masks, and he stopped screaming but never stopped fighting. He wanted to get out. He needed to get away before they put the tooth back in his mouth. He had to get away before they could control him and claim him as theirs after death.

The doctor took the pair of pliers and looked at Peter with a sympathetic look that he wasn’t worthy of giving anyone that he was causing suffering. Peter hadn’t hated Jason even when he said that he had, and he wasn’t sure if he could hate Dick, but he hated this man—this man who tried to appear kind even while pulling out teeth before they were loose.

The tooth clinked as it was placed on a small metal table, and the doctor grabbed a scalpel. 

“Hold still, please. I don’t want to cut you,” the doctor said before he started to cut Peter’s gums. 

Blood fell even faster, and Peter couldn’t have screamed if he wanted to through his gurgles. Another larger instrument was forced into Peter’s mouth, and it hurt. It was making his whole cranium buzz, and his mouth wasn’t made to open that wide. It hurt, it hurt, and his heart beat faster and faster until his eyes rolled back and released him from the pain and past and current horrors. 

Laughter sounded when Peter blinked back into reality, and tears fell down Peter’s cheeks in steady streams as the doctor screwed Peter’s tooth into his jawbone and then stitched his gums. 

“There, all done.” The Doctor gave another shaky smile and looked relieved at his work. The Talons’ hands stopped holding Peter’s head, but they still pressed down on his limbs.

Peter wanted to cry, and he wanted to punch the doctor for touching him. 

Instead, he pretended to go slack when the hands stopped holding his head before he pushed his head in a sharp move toward the doctor and spit blood on his blue cardigan. 

Laughs fell like stardust over Peter, but it felt less mocking as he watched the doctor have the gall to look shocked at Peter’s behavior. 

“Let us see what the little bird can do,” the Owl beside Peter’s chair said. 

The talons moved at one mind as they pulled Peter out of the chair on his shaky legs and pulled him from the room with his feet dragging on the ground. He turned to look at the white chair with a few bloodstains on the headrest and straps on the upper and bottom parts of the chair. They could have strapped him down. They hadn’t needed to hold him themselves.

Peter’s every limp was shaking, and his jaw trumped with every step ringing through his body. 

Peter was pulled toward and then pushed into another white room. Peter felt the door close behind him before he was given another hard push. He turned around and took a few steps back as the hairs on his arms stood straight.

The Talon walked over to Peter without any hurry. He looked even calmer than before, even through the mask, and Peter lifted his fists as he watched every move with wide eyes. A gloved hand tried to grip Peter’s hair before he took a sharp step back and kicked out toward the Talon’s stomach, but his foot was caught and pulled up, twisted, and thrown to the side. 

Peter landed painfully on his side, and his eyes whitened out long enough for black boots to reach Peter’s side with a stroll and kick him firmly. 

Peter’s ribs protested, and his body scooted over the floor, but he didn’t let himself whimper or even curl around the pain before standing up on thin and unsure legs. He felt like a fawn learning to walk, but it was clear that he had been born into a world of wolves with no adult deer to defend him with their antlers.

The Talon’s head turned slightly in an almost human movement. Still, Peter didn’t have time to ponder on the humanity of the undead as he ran from the room with the Talon on his heels and kicked the door closed to trap the Talon’s hand between the door and the doorframe. 

The Talon didn’t show any signs of pain. Peter had almost forgotten that they couldn’t feel any, but it gave him a moment to run further away. 

He rounded a corner and was pulled back by the back of his collar with such a sharp movement that the top two buttons fell with light clinks before his trachea could be crushed.

The last piece of his hope was crushed when he looked at another Talon. The armor and mask were the same, but he knew that it was someone else with slightly broader shoulders and shorter stature. 

“Wow, being two grown men against one small kid really shows your stellar abilities,” Peter quipped, but the tone didn’t quite match the confidence he tried to radiate. 

The Talon lifted Peter with the hand on his shirt collar and threw him into the wall. 

Peter crawled away and glanced up to see the closest thing the Talons seemed to have to any semblance of emotion. 

The man’s shoulders were slightly slumped and only lifted in a deep inhale before falling even further. The Talon was disappointed. They wanted Peter to fight, but Peter just wanted to survive. He didn’t want to hurt or hurt others. 

The white walls were slick, yet there was just enough grip for Peter to pull himself up and run before the Talon lunged at him again just as the first Talon entered the room calmly, accompanied by the same Owl that had driven the car and later mocked the doctor. 

“Fight, little birdie,” the Owl ordered, but Peter didn’t listen as the second Talon lifted Peter by the front of his pajama top and bring his fist down on Peter’s face,

Peter didn’t think. He didn’t have the time; he just acted and kicked the Talon’s stomach, then kicked his foot out in a front kick that was far higher than Peter had seen anyone do outside of karate movies. 

The Talon didn’t stumble, but it released its grip when Peter pulled the fingers back far enough that he was almost certain he heard a snap under his heart, deafening everything in the room.

Peter’s breath was labored. Just as it had been in the library when he saw pictures of Dick’s son in a hospital bed, and just like it had been when he had run away from strange men following him and Alfred across the manor grounds, but Peter didn’t have time to catch any air before the first Talon jumped on top of him, just like Peter’s worst nightmares of bodies bigger than his own. 

The Talon’s fists lifted, and his world disappeared the moment the hands touched him, but unlike the monsters in Peter’s worst nightmares, they only tried to hurt him physically. The fist hit the right side of his face, and Peter’s head jumped on the floor as his consciousness flew away from the fight and pain, and his lungs and throat tightened until he couldn’t breathe. His eyes closed, and it felt like he had only been gone for a second when they opened to the sight of the Owl touching his reinstalled right canine. 

Peter’s jaw thumped to the beat of his rapid heart, and the Owl slapped his right cheek enough for stars to swim in the edge of Peter’s vision. 

Peter coughed hoarsely as he tried to catch his breath through the fear, pain, and fighting. 

The Owl stood up and looked down at Peter from the tall perch of his long legs and broad shoulders. “Get the doctor in here.” 

The Owl didn’t look at either of the Talons, but the second Talon walked away with even steps before coming back with the nervous doctor.

“Fix it.” 

The doctor waited only a few moments before running over to put a hand on Peter’s chest and pull him into a sitting position. It made breathing easier but Peter didn’t find it hard to hate his touch. His hands felt like fire ants, except they were more unbearable and deadly.

“Let go,” Peter wheezed and put a hand down to keep himself upright as he gave the doctor a hard push. 

Peter glared at the Talons, Owl, and the doctor, but none of them seemed suitably intimidated. His shoulders shook, and each whistly breath was released from deep in Peter’s throat and out of his open mouth.

The doctor was almost breathing as raggedly as Peter was as he patted down his jeans pocket and pulled out an inhaler before shaking it. “Here, you need to take a few puffs. My daughter has never used it, so you don’t have to be afraid of cooties.” 

Peter wanted to throw the inhaler away or try to stab someone with it, but he might die if he didn’t get a hold of his breathing, and then he would have no way of knowing what the Court of Owls would do to his dead body. Peter’s jaw sent a painful impulse through his whole cranium, and he remembered what it meant. His lungs were robbing him of some of his bodily autonomy, but death would claim the final fragments until he became a shell of a person, just like the Talons.  

The inhaler tasted different and even worse than the over-the-counter ones Jason had bought him. It might be the taste or the soft chocolate eyes that the doctor was looking at him with. 

“You’re doing great, and you can keep it.”

“This better be temporary,” the Owl said as he loomed over Peter.

The doctor’s eyes widened, and his chin trembled as he looked over at him. “It's not. Not even a pulmonologist can take asthma away.”

The owl mask shifted from the doctor to Peter, and the sound of an owl crying in pain echoed from somewhere nearby. Peter’s entire body stiffened and tensed with the urge to move, to do something he didn't yet understand. Blood and adrenaline flowed to his arms and legs, becoming even more apparent when the Owl looked back at the doctor. “Attack.” 

Peter could still not breathe properly. He hadn’t had time to take his next puff, but his body stood up stiffly, and he walked over to the doctor. 

The doctor tried to run, but Peter was faster, even without air in his lungs, and the doctor fell when Peter jumped on him. Peter’s hands were too small to circle his doctor’s throat, and he was too light to keep anyone down, but his strength had grown in the last week of regular meals. 

The doctor gasped as the little hands pressed down as much as they could on his throat before pushing Peter off harshly. Peter fell on his back, but his body kept getting up every time he fell, and the doctor kept trying to get Peter away from him until the echoes of owls stopped and all the tension left Peter’s body. 

Peter fell on his knees and looked down on the floor between his hands as he coughed dryly until the doctor gingerly pushed the inhaler under Peter’s face. Peter let himself fall sideways and gripped the inhaler tightly and took puff after puff with Dick’s voice haunting in in a faraway memory of an inhaler with a spacer. He wasn’t supposed to take as many puffs as he had, but the voice of Dick didn’t scold him, and he put the cap back on the inhaler mechanically.

“Fix it,” the Owl repeated with an ‘or else’ threatening them like the tides around a flat island.

The doctor nodded, but his eyes were pained and helpless as he looked at the Owl, and his chin trembled again. The Owl turned his mask back on Peter, and the doctor did the same with squared shoulders. “I’ll get you some water to rinse your mouth.” 

Peter’s heart raced, and his mouth tasted uncomfortably sweet, but he shook his head. “I’m not drinking or eating anything here. Much less from you.” 

Peter didn’t think that his mouth was bleeding, but he could still taste metal, and his mouth filled with saliva at the pain of every breath or slight movement. He coughed a few more times but made sure to glare at the doctor and try to ignore the stab of guilt at the way the reddish spots on the doctor’s face and arms. It had seemed more like torture than an attempt for Peter to take a life, but Peter wasn’t sure if the punishment was meant for Peter or the doctor. Peter could have died from his seizing lungs, but it had been the doctor who had argued about the possibilities of curing someone from asthma. 

Peter didn’t want to be here. The manor hadn’t been perfect, but it had been better and had had people caring about him. Even if it was because of a backstory that he could never live up to, it meant that they wanted him to be happy and safe.

Cold seeped into his feet and through his pajamas. He needed a blanket. Dick always had a blanket for him, and Jason could lend him some warmth. Peter coughed again to get air into his lungs and keep the sobs away from where the Owl or Talons could hear.

Owl looked at him through the dark eyeholes in his mask as if he knew how weak Peter was. How close his body and spirit were to breaking now that he had felt comfort.

Maybe Dick had already told them that Peter had been taken, but there was no telling if they would find this place. They had searched for where Peter had woken up for days, and he wasn’t sure how much time he had before the Owls either made him kill someone or get rid of their failed experiment. 

Peter pushed his tongue against his right canine. It hurt, and the tooth was firmly screwed into his jaw, but he could take the pain if it meant that he wouldn't become their puppet. Maybe if he was disappointing enough, they wouldn’t try to revive him again, and he could rest.

Chapter Text

The Owls and Talons were nowhere in sight as the doctor tried to persuade Peter to accept water to wash his mouth out with, but Peter knew that they were everywhere. He knew that the walls had eyes, but he didn’t know if they were looking through holes in the walls or ceilings or if they had hidden cameras just lurking, waiting, and ready for Peter to stumble. Peter had once felt like a hero, but now he was just weak and scared. And cold. He was so incredibly cold.

“The medicine can give you oral thrush if you don’t rinse out your mouth.” 

“I’ll survive,” Peter mumbled, trying to figure out his next move with the possibility of countless eyes watching him. He started to shiver and clasped his arms around his body, but nothing would take away the chill and unease.  

Peter glanced at the doctor, who looked around the room almost as obsessively as Peter was but without the need to rub warmth into his arms.

“Give me your cardigan,” Peter ordered. Guilt moved from his chest into his throat as he croaked out. “Please, it’s cold.” 

The doctor looked at Peter with wide, brown eyes. His mouth opened a few times, but he didn’t protest as his gaze fell on Peter’s pajamas and the light pink of his feet. 

The doctor had looked slim with the cardigan, but he had a slight gut when he took it off, and his light blue dress shirt had darkened under his armpits and on his back. Peter would have refused sweaty clothes in any other circumstances, but he grabbed the dark blue cardigan when the doctor reached out with it. It fortunately felt dry as Peter inspected it and put it on.

There were four buttons on the front, but it still felt like it would fall off Peter’s shoulders as he pushed the sleeves up to free his hands, but it allowed the goosebumps on Peter’s arms to lessen as he clasped his arms around his torso once more.

The doctor stepped toward Peter and extended his hands. “Here, let me fold the sleeves up for you.”

Peter took a few hurried steps away from the doctor’s long arms. The doctor was somewhere between Dick’s and Jason’s height, perhaps around Alfred’s, but his arms looked miles long as they reached toward Peter. They would hurt him. They would do things that he never wanted to feel again.

His legs tried to get him away from the threat, but they couldn’t stretch out with the cardigan falling past his knees. 

“Stay away from me!” Peter’s breath was quick and shallow as he looked at the man’s lifted eyebrows and eyes so widened that they looked as if they would fall out at any moment.

Peter breathed a little easier when the man stopped moving closer, but his chest still felt as if it was trying to lift a warehouse. “What don’t you understand about me not wanting you to touch me? Or do you enjoy hurting others?” 

“I just wanted to make you more comfortable. I can’t speak freely, but you have to know that I would never hurt a child if I had a choice, Peter.” 

Blood flooded his arms and legs so quickly that his hands shook, and his mind couldn’t comprehend the words. There was always a choice, even in the worst situations. Nothing had felt like a choice when the Talons had broken into the manor only hours before, but he could have screamed less or more. He could have done more and known if there was another funeral because of his poison. Someone else who wouldn’t live because Peter was a stain on the lives of the best and the worst people in the world. Dick didn’t deserve to sound as scared and animalistic as he had when he had called for Peter and received no answer. Dick didn’t deserve for the Talons to have drowned him in their dark bodies and either lived with having a son taken away or died to chase Peter’s abductor.

“Please believe me,” the doctor begged, as if Peter shouldn’t be frightened about the things that the doctor was willing to do. 

Peter looked at the man from his slumped shoulders to his clean and untouched loafers. It was the shoes of a man who didn’t need the money and had chosen this life at some point. The doctor knew nothing of never being offered a choice. Maybe the court would kill his family if he didn’t comply, but he had decided to put them in danger. He had decided to make the rest of his choices feel like illusions. He had agreed at some point when Peter had never been asked. “You know what the worst kind of monster is?” 

The doctor looked up at the apparent shift in conversation. He seemed a bit less pathetic, and Peter waited until the confusion overwhelmed his self-loathing to deliver the final blow. “It’s monsters like you who know that they’re doing bad things but can justify it enough not to feel like they’re a bad person. You’re worse than all the Owls and Talons combined. Even the rogues are better than you. They’re at least open with what they do. You’re just a monster in a cardigan.” 

All the rogues’ faces were blank in Peter’s mind, and he knew next to nothing about them beyond the threat to the city's water supply, but he knew enough of them. He knew that most of them were insane, but some of them wanted to do good. Some wanted to save the environment, and others wanted to take from the rich to give to the poor, but they didn’t pretend to be virtuous. Most of them knew that their good intentions didn’t necessarily mean their actions were moral, and the rest were too insane to understand anything.

The doctor inhaled shakenly, and Peter looked down at the cardigan. There was coagulated blood on its front, and there was a small spot on the doctor’s dress shirt when Peter glanced at it. “Thank you for the cardigan.” 

The corners of the doctor’s mouth lifted, but it didn’t look like a smile. It was just a facial tic of a man looking into the barrel of a gun. “Of course, I would have wanted someone to be kind if my kids were in your situation.” 

Peter detangled his arms and pushed the sleeves up further, but they kept falling to his hands. He was tired and still incredibly cold. The floor was cold beneath the naked soles of his feet, and the walls sucked the last pieces of warmth that Dick had given him with a song that had felt like being rocked to sleep. It had felt like home, and Peter wasn’t sure if his raft would survive the journey back to that sense of comfort. Peter could die if he miscalculated even the smallest detail, but he would chase the feeling and, more importantly, not let the Owls or Talons win. 

“I feel sorry for your kids if you think that you’re being kind.”

The doctor furrowed his eyebrows and swallowed. Eyes rarely lied about people’s emotions, and this monster’s eyes were so dark that Peter couldn’t see the pupils, even with the harsh lights everywhere. 

I would do anything for them, even if it meant hurting you, but I can’t explain how sorry I am that you’re a part of this. Someone else would have taken my place if I had refused, but I tried to...” The doctor stopped and looked at the white walls. “It will all be all right as long as you do what they ask. Otherwise, they’ll… You have to understand that they’re… Just do what they say because-.”

Peter pushed the canine tooth with his tongue. It had been screwed in slightly wrong, and it poked his cheek and tongue when it ran along the rest of his teeth. His jaw was slowly becoming swollen, and every flick of his tongue and breath pulled at every nerve on the right side of his face. 

His fingers were far gentler than the Owl’s fingers had been as they felt along the swollen flesh. Peter’s breath hitched when he realized that the Owl had checked to see if the Talon had loosened the tooth with his hit. Perhaps Peter could do something. He just had to focus, and then he could hold on to the tooth even if it became loose. Just until they had checked and just until he would get it out completely, and then he could find his escape—any escape with cunning or desperation. 

The doctor was still talking when Peter tuned in on the conversation and interrupted him, “What do they want with me?” 

“Who?” The doctor asked and un- and then rebuttoned his left sleeve. 

“The Owls. Why would they kidnap me twice?” Infiltrating the manor must have been risky, and there was nothing remarkable about Peter aside from the metal-coated tooth and his past death. Still, they had decided to break into the manor when they could have found someone with a tougher body to throw at the Talons instead.

The doctor’s expensive loafers scrapped on the floor as he shuffled under Peter’s watchful eye, and his voice sounded higher and almost painful as he answered, “I don’t know.” 

Peter sighed, and the doctor’s shoulders fell as Peter tried to devise a way to train his electrostatic ability without drawing suspicion from the eyes in the walls. 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make the cardigan stay in place with his powers while pulling at it with his hand. There was a pull from his mind, but not enough. He had been relatively rested when he had stuck to the library wall for a few seconds, but he needed to be better and escape before he became weaker with hunger and fatigue. 

Peter exhaled with a huff of frustration, but irritation forced his hands into fists, and warmth colored his cheeks. His powers were failing him, but they still seemed too great for him to reveal to the Owls, assuming they didn’t already know. “What are you doing here?” 

The doctor was still looking everywhere, except at Peter, and shuffling his feet. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay after the fight.” 

Peter had been starved, cold, beaten, almost stabbed during an attempted mugging, tricked, and humiliated. Still, his inconsistent powers and the doctor’s ambiguous loyalties felt like the last straw before Peter’s restraint broke. He felt volatile and dangerous to no one but himself as he looked at the doctor.

He stood with his legs as wide as the oversized cardigan would allow, his shoulders heaving, his nostrils flaring as his eyebrows furrowed, and his fists tightening by his side until his frayed nails bit into the palms of his hands. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. I know that you weren’t pulled into this for no reason, and I know when people are lying.” 

The doctor stopped looking around, but his eyes stayed on the floor for several moments as if he was in a trance. His mouth turned down, making his nasolabial folds more pronounced, and his eyebrows deepened the lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows. Nothing about it was pretty on the man’s face, and it made the guilt inside of Peter painfully aware of the thick guilt coating his entire being with its slimy tendrils and sour taste even as his blood begged for him to lash out. “We were supposed to change the world for the better. It was supposed to be better for everyone.” 

Peter couldn’t look away from the way the doctor’s Adam’s apple bobbed with every passing second until the doctor turned sharply to Peter’s right. 

Every muscle tensed when he turned and saw a female Owl looking at them through the blank mask. She was of average height, with dull, light brown hair, but she appeared far from ordinary with her predatory gaze and confidence in the situation. 

It would have been easier if the Owl had done something directly threatening as she stared at them. Instead, she looked at them through the white mask and tilted her head slightly like a puppet getting a string cut or a predator looking for the best way to torture its prey before consumption.  

“I didn’t tell him anything,” the doctor cried. “I didn’t. You have to believe me. I didn’t say anything.” 

The Owl shook her head slowly and with much more purpose than the action should allow. 

“I wouldn’t. I know the cost. I wouldn’t.”  

Peter looked around. The Talons should have been on their way, but no one came to carry the doctor or Peter away. The Owl was silent, but every little movement was louder than a scream. 

The doctor must have heard the screams, too, as he silently followed the Owl away. He was an unfamiliar man in an unfamiliar place, and he wasn’t a safe person, but Peter had felt safer knowing that this man, who could hurt him in an instant, had been in the room with him. Peter would never have bullied one of the Owls or Talons into giving him their clothes, but the doctor had allowed it, and the doctor’s guilt, disguised as kindness, had been better than nothing.

No doors were closed, but the hallways snaked around too much for Peter to follow the sight of the doctor for long, and the sound of the Owl’s and the doctor’s steps disappeared and left only the sound of Peter’s haggard breaths. 

Peter turned around, but there was no one coming for him. No one to beat him up or tell him what to do. What they wanted with him. What they would do to him. The doctor had known.

His breath became too much as it echoed in the room and his chest. Peter knew that his body would force him to breathe if he tried to stop the wheezes, but it felt like he would suffocate if he didn’t count every breath. Peter didn’t know how quickly an adult should breathe, but children breathed faster. He had to breathe faster, but every wheeze made his heart squeeze, and his mind run wild.

“What do you want?” Peter asked the empty room. He turned around, but there was nothing but the chill to keep him company. “What do you want with me?!” 

He knew they were watching. He felt their gaze from every corner and flat surface, and they had come for the doctor as soon as he hinted at anything other than blind compliance. Peter looked down the twisting hallways even as his heart begged him to stop with its every beat. His voice was hoarse in the dry air, but he yelled loud enough for his lungs to spasm in his chest. “Show me what you want with me!” 

Peter turned his head with dizzying speed as he tried to for any Owls or Talons with their claws out. 

His heart no longer beat to a constant rhythm of ba-dum, ba-dum-ba-dum, but instead a continuous string of shut-up, shut-up, shut-up. 

“Just get it over with!” 

Peter was about to shout something else rash and stupid when the shot of adrenaline changed from fury and desperation to undeniable fear. He had been scared since he had read about Skip. Maybe he had been scared since before he woke up in Gotham, and it would be easy to tell them to kill him and hope for the best, but he couldn’t let them before he had taken the tooth out. He was supposed to be smart and not act recklessly when things didn’t go his way.

He held his breath as he spun around the room, trying to see or hear the Owls or Talons before they could pounce on him, but his heart and lungs were too loud. It would be his fault if anyone came for him, but he had to be ready for them to fight him or take him away to wherever they were taking the doctor.

Dread pulled his shoulders down. Dick might be dead already, and the doctor could be right behind him. Peter raised his shoulders with his next inhale. He had to be strong. If the doctor was dead, it meant that Peter would have to be even more cunning to get himself out of this. At least one of them had to survive this.

Peter tried to force his lungs and heart to cooperate as he turned around to survey the room again and stalked down the swirling hallways, but there was nothing else but white, the pain in his jaw, and the dizzying headache beating to the fast rhythm of his heart.

Maybe he had been lucky, and no one had listened to his senseless provocations, or perhaps they didn’t care what he did until they needed to force him into strangling someone else.

Peter tramped on the hard floor and looked up at the tall walls. He couldn’t stay on the walls like he remembered doing even when sleeping as Spider-Man, but if he could get the tooth out, then maybe he could climb up the tall walls and just… let go and snap his neck on the stone floor. The manor walls were giant, but these walls were taller than the length of a school bus. He would only have to land slightly wrong for it to be fatal.

Peter shook his head and pressed against the strange feeling in his stomach. It felt light but also large enough to have distended his concave stomach or let him float away from this place if it had taken a physical form. 

Right, he needed to find a way away from here.

Every door looked the same, and the rooms were a dizzying array of squares, rectangles, and strange shades in various sizes, but none of the rooms or winding hallways held anything that an Owl or Talon could have left behind. There were only white drops of blood that were either too fresh or too old to be his. 

His legs were getting tired, but he refused to stop moving and leave himself vulnerable. They could easily sneak up on him if he stopped looking over his shoulder, and he would never move if he stopped chasing a daydream. 

His ankle had almost been healed yesterday, but it started to swell and left him limping even when his jaw and throat hurt too much for him to notice anything other than the growing pain until it went from his right temple to halfway down his throat. The pain was intense enough for Peter to see stars when he quickly turned his neck, but the swelling was confined to the area from the right side of his jaw to nearly halfway down his throat when he carefully examined it. 

Pictures interrupted the sea of white, but Peter’s eyes were starting to go out of focus, and his head buzzed, much like it had when he had been hungry and cold in the butcher shop. 

Grand fountains of owls and enormous wings began to appear everywhere. It looked cold and refreshing, and Peter’s mouth was so dry that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, yet he could still taste the sickening sweetness of the inhaler. 

He shouldn’t. The water was probably drugged, but he was so thirsty. A little sip to moisten his throat, and then he would get far away from the fountain. Just a little sip, and he would be able to think again. His hands were tiny. It wouldn’t be enough to cause any damage if he only drank what he could hold between them. 

Peter hurried away and let himself forget about it as the buzz intensified from right behind his eyes. He just had to get away from it before he did something stupid. 

Shouts echoed, but there seemed to be no discernible pattern to them, and the volume should have changed depending on how close Peter was to the source; however, it would change regardless of which direction Peter took.

Peter was confident it would have been disorienting even if he still could locate sound. He tried to shield his ears from the noise as the sounds grew louder, regardless of where he looked or went, but everything was too loud, and the lights all around him only intensified his headache until he could no longer sense the world around him. He couldn’t feel the hands on his ears, and he couldn’t feel the cold ground under his feet. Everything started and stopped at the buzzing in his ears and the thirst in his throat. 

Peter blinked and the front of the cardigan and pajama top were soaked, and his pajama bottom was wet from the bottom to his knees to the hem. He panted as if he had been starved of air for several minutes, and the shouting sounded muffled as if he was still underwater. 

Peter stumbled mindlessly in the hopes of finding the source of the shouts but instead found another hallway. Most of the rooms and hallways had only two doors, but this hallway held a long row of doors, one of which showed Peter a nightmare in a formerly white chair. Peter could still hear and feel the buzzing when he saw the drops of blood on the chair. The straps hung limply, but it felt like they were swaying as the blood and tears had flowed and teeth had been pulled out.

His ear stopped muffling the shouts, and they sounded almost familiar. They were feral and explosive, but a fight meant that someone was going against the Talons. Maybe the Talon’s and Owls’ enemies would help him. They could save him if only he showed them where he was and held tight until he could board a more stable boat than his little raft.

Peter stumbled, and he almost started to cry when hope hit him. Maybe they had come. Maybe Dick hadn’t died, and he and the rest had come to save Peter. Jason and most of the other members of Dick’s family had left to look for the Court of Owls, and the shouting hadn’t stopped yet, so they must know that he was in the building. He just had to find them, and then it would all be over. 

Jason could be the source of the shouts, and he could take Peter away from here, and then they could figure out how to remove the tooth. Jason always helped. He had helped when Peter hadn’t deserved it, and he would help now with his strong arms and comforting scent.

Peter started to run. The cardigan strained against his thighs with every step, but every stumble was worth it if it brought him closer to Dick, Jason, or anyone else who could take him to them. 

Peter started to run faster in the hopes of finding his saviors through sheer luck. The buzzing was gone, and the pain felt a little more bearable as hope ran through his veins.

The walls started to talk to Peter as he ran, and gravity began to tilt. Peter wasn’t sure if he was running on the floor, ceiling, or walls, but he kept going. Maybe he was deaf, and he might be blind as well with how white everything was, but his legs seemed to work even when he could no longer feel them. 

His throat was no longer hurting as much, but his tooth was tilted, and it hit the teeth over it with each step.

Owls screeched through the hallways and into Peter’s ears. Peter looked down at his hands as they grew fangs, not claws, and spiderwebs covered his dangerous hands before he could cut the walls down with a single touch. 

Peter tried to run, but every turn had shadows watching him. They would consume him and leave him a husk for them to take advantage of. He had to disappear, but the darkness inside of him stood out too much in the white surroundings. 

Snickers fell on Peter and left a trail of stardust, but his hands couldn’t pick them up even when he concentrated on using his powers. His hands weren’t sticky. Someone had told him that he could use stationary electric charges if he concentrated, but the sparkling dust wouldn’t stay no matter how much he tried. 

Enraged shouts destroyed the calm moment of sparkles, and Peter ran again until he caught sight of creatures far scarier than any storybook had ever depicted.

A blueish monster opened its great maw and seemed ready to satiate its voracious appetite for human flesh, but it was not teeth that met Peter. Every word out of its mouth was distorted and horrifying, but he still understood every single syllable.

“Where is he? Where the fuck did you take the boy?”

Shadows and glowing eyes swirled around, trying to consume the monster, but it fought alongside other monsters. They all looked strong and dangerous, but a bloody corpse shouldn’t be able to move. It seemed to move in slow motion, but it had moved at the speed of light every time Peter blinked and left a trail of blood in its wake. The blood was everywhere, but none of the shadows or monsters slipped when they walked through it, and the blue monster landed from its jumps and high kicks without issue.

Peter’s mouth opened as he saw the blue monster’s arms move around like towering branches, and it held batons in its gnarly hands that left a trail of blue electricity in the air. It was consuming everything, and he couldn’t blink with the blue light holding his eyelids open.

Electricity threw shadows everywhere, but none of them flew farther than when the blue monster kicked them. The shadows always stood up, but they moved a little slower every time they were kicked or electrocuted, while the blue monster seemed to move quicker with each second. 

All the monsters grunted and hit the shadows with ferocious intensity, but no one talked as the shadows multiplied.

“Step down!” A white-eyed shadow monster shouted, and a hand materialized to pull the blue monster away. The darkness grew all around them, centered on the horrifying creature that looked down at the blue monster with its dead, white eyes from a great height. 

The blue monster shook its branches and arms, but the shadow consumed everything as the smaller yellow-eyed shadows continued to fight the other monsters, and the angry sounds of fighting grew even more intense. 

Peter started to rock back and forth where he stood, but nothing could dull the sound blasting through the whole building. Peter didn’t even cry from his corner. Everything was too intense for him to do anything other than try to make himself as small as possible until the threat was over. He had hoped for saviors but had found predators brutalizing everything in their path.

The alarms continued to blare, and the sound of fighting grew even louder than Peter’s beating heart. Every beat was a mantra of dangerdangerdangerdanger but there was no escape. There were no manor grounds to run to or covers to hide under. No Dick to hold his hand or Jason to let him press his hearing ear against the calm beat of his heart. 

Peter pressed his hands tight against his head, but not even the sound of his blood rushing through his ears like a flowing ocean was enough to dull the reality of what was happening. Everything was too loud and too fast, and he just wanted to rest. He was tired of being scared and sad. He just wanted to go home and sleep.

The colossal shadow was pulling the blue monster back while the other monsters cleared the path. The blue monster fought against the hold, but it stilled all its movements when its eyes fell on Peter. The monster shook its vast branches, but none of the leaves rustled as it directed the other monsters’ attention to Peter.

The blue monster ran toward Peter without looking at any of the shadows as soon as the large shadow monster let go. The monster’s voice was frantic through the distorted sounds, and Peter tried to run even faster. 

“Don’t run. It’s us.”

Peter tried to escape, but the monsters followed him. The shadow monster made commands, and the rest of the monsters fell into formation at the hurried numbers and letters. The yellow-eyed shadows tried to catch Peter, but they were tackled by the monsters every time they got within a few feet of him. 

The blue monster was much faster than Peter, and its arms were like great willows reaching for Peter and ready to sacrifice a tree trunk to build Peter’s coffin. Peter was still at least 5 feet from the monster, but its branches were quicker than its legs and stretched to unbelievable lengths.

Peter hit the branches when they tried to take hold of him, but they were too quick, and the monster moved closer, with its roots growing in every direction. Peter couldn’t even run before it was in front of him, and he didn’t think of the possible amputation when he hit it near its gaping mouth and took a step away as the branches were distracted. The creature’s mouth was big enough to swallow a child whole, and Peter could already see how he could turn into tiny pieces between those horrifying teeth.

“It’s me, Peter, it's Nightwing. You remember who I am, right?” 

A flame monster glowed brightly enough for Peter to raise his hand to shield his eyes before they melted out of his head. “Really? You’re trying to use the power of love when he’s high as shit?” 

Peter took a step back, but a werewolf threw a small shadow into another one and ran to Peter while fighting shadows with a sword in each giant paw. The werewolf growled, and its mouth was horrifying, big with huge teeth, but its eyes were even larger. Its toxic green eyes were huge, like teacups, and followed Peter's attempt to escape while holding the shadows off. However, the creature’s teeth grew even bigger as it opened its mouth to shout at Peter. “Stay there! We’re here to save you.”

Peter didn’t stay. His heart was racing, and his legs needed to do the same.

Peter looked around for an escape route, but the shadows were blocking where he had come from, and the monsters were blocking the other exit.

Peter looked up as birds flew all around the ceiling. They scattered and collected at irregular intervals, but it would be safer up there, even if they decided to peck at his eyes with their beaks or smack his face with their giant wings. Peter’s hands and feet wouldn’t stick, but he had to keep trying. He had to get away before the monsters or shadows caught him.

“Don’t eat me!” Peter screamed as he rolled away from the shadow monster.

It loomed over Peter with as much determination as the blue monster had, but it flew away as soon as it touched Peter with a wave of energy that coursed through Peter’s entire body. Powers, right, he could stick and repulse if he focused. That was why he couldn’t stick to the wall.

“Fuck!” The airy voice of a vampire screamed from every shadow and corner. 

Peter’s hand took hold of the wall, and he had to hold on even more as the screams inside of his head tried to rip his legs off.

“Get him out of here!” A distorted voice yelled before gravity intensified. 

Short, quick, and high-pitched sounds sounded from the corners before an owl cried loud enough for the monsters to falter and Peter’s body to tense. Fight, fight, fight, fight, it shouted, but a bright red demon sent gunshots into the ceiling before the owl could tell him who to fight or strangle.

The screams ripped Peter’s legs off by the knee. Blood fell everywhere, but no one seemed to notice, even as the entire floor was drenched in red.

Peter let out a scream when the pain became too much, and he almost choked on the bile in his throat as it was released with the pain that wouldn’t stop. Tears fell, but he kept running even when his legs fell off and reattached themselves to his body in an endless and painful circle.

His vision blackened with the pain, and he was hit with a sudden wave of power before the pain finally disappeared as the floor did the same. He was weightless for a moment before landing heavily, with owls and starlight hooting their praises in his head and the vast shadow trying to subdue him before it flew back again. Peter didn’t have much energy left, but he had enough to stand up on his newly attached legs and run toward the swirling opening in the wall behind the monsters.

Peter almost made it when a force hit his back, and his breath was taken away.

“Get him out!” A voice boomed, but Peter couldn’t determine if it was a cheer or a cry.

Peter tried to make the force disappear like he had several times already, but he barely had enough energy to lift his head, and the pain was enough for him to gag on nothing. He tried to look for an exit from the pain, but the room swam as the pain intensified the longer that the force touched him. The pain wouldn’t stop, and his limbs shook as they tried to find any outlet, but it left Peter feeling like a puppet being shaken around.

“Go!” the same voice yelled again. It still sounded joyous but frightened.

Yellow-eyed shadows flew over Peter and the shadow monster, and it let go of Peter for long enough for him to pull his torso away from the swaying floor with shaking and tingling arms. He crawled towards the nearest wall to pull himself on his legs even as everything shook, and his legs seemed to loose their strenght with every other step. His eyes focused just as the bloody corpse left blood everywhere it moved for people to slip on, and the fire monster came close enough to cook him alive while the werewolf showed its teeth, the blue monster kicked at the shadows all over the room, and a spider-puppet punched everything with her long, thin legs. 

The floor hit the right side of his lower jaw, and blood filled his mouth with a crushing sound, but the pain in the remains of his legs stopped. 

The swirling hole in the wall was just where it had been before, and he could reach it while the monsters were distracted if he only could get his legs under him again. 

The pain intensified in his whole jaw, and he ignored the yells as he ran. He couldn’t look behind himself to see how close they were or where they could be in the halls. The owls laughed wherever he went, and the shouting stopped just as he ran into a bright red sky, crying acid all around him. He looked up towards a vast, red sea in the street, with boats sailing toward whirlpools and paradises. Sirens sang sailors to their deaths, and winds and waves pushed their boats to safety before Peter’s eyes.

Peter found a corner just as the sky started to fall in on itself, and the brick houses were the only things keeping him from falling when the sky exploded in a dark purple supernova. The air was crisp, and morning dew dampened his pajamas as he sat with trembling hands and almost no energy.

A shadow fell over Peter, and he didn’t even flinch when a great shadowy bird turned its head as far as it could, even farther than in any of the horror movies that Peter would never feel old enough to see. The round yellow eyes were almost hypnotic, and Peter couldn’t get himself to fight when he was pulled harshly to his feet. Every finger was a hot brand, but he didn’t feel any of the pain he had before. 

He swallowed the blood in his mouth and used the last of his energy to hold on to the loose canine tooth with his powers when a finger forced itself into his mouth. He stumbled when his jawbone seemed to cry out, but he held firm until the finger was long gone. 

Chapter Text

The giant, shadowy bird pulled Peter through the unsteady sea, even as Peter fell and his knees scraped over the rough asphalt for the few seconds it took him to get his feet under him. The world was still in disarray when he looked up at the almost clean streets of the Upper East Side. Colors kept changing and evolving into frightening shapes, and there were no well-dressed men and women to look down their noses at him. Still, it was the street that he had escaped to back in August. The dumpsters were the same, and he wasn't sure if the deep tiredness was more of a memory or a result of the last day as he kicked the Talon's knees while hitting its elbow to get free. 

The Upper East Side was hours away from Crime Alley on foot, but he had to try to get there. Perhaps Jason wasn't there, but he could be. It was selfish to put Jason in danger, but Peter didn't know what else to do, and he kept running even when he couldn't see or hear any Owls or Talons. Peter didn't think; he just ran even when his lungs begged him to stop, and even when he felt like his throat was closing, he just kept running. 

The rough ground was making the soles of his feet bleed, but he had to get away. The Talons would follow him. Maybe they were waiting just around the corner. 

They had yellow eyes everywhere, but if he couldn't hide, then he could run.

A hand pulled at his arm, and he landed on the dirty street. 

The yellow eyes looked down on Peter. The head tilted, but it wasn't to the horrifying degree that the shadowy bird had before. The scarlet sea also calmed some, but it was still much more colorful than Gotham had ever been. 

Peter tried to pull himself up but was slammed down with a foot on his sternum and his face right underneath the Talon's tight pants. Peter wished he couldn't imagine what was left to the imagination of a grown man's pants, but that nightmare had to wait until he was safer. 

Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, and he didn't think but just acted. He kicked his foot up, and the man flew up as Peter's naked heel hit Talon between his legs. Some of it was due to his strength, but most of it was his powers that made such a feat possible. 

Peter pulled himself away just before the Talon could land on him, and he grabbed the first thing he could find and hit the man's knee before he could rise. The hammer might have been used for construction at one point, but it had dried blood from at least one other attack that flaked off as Peter swung the weapon with both hands. 

The Talon tried to stand, but Peter hit his shin, causing it to bend before he ran down the street with protesting lungs and red footprints. This wasn't the moment for chronic lung diseases, and he tried to make sense of how the street tilted like a deck in crashing waves. His blood rushed through his ears loudly, and Peter couldn't hear anything other than that and his ragged breathing.

Another Talon jumped out from a nearby alleyway, and Peter turned around to run toward any semblance of stability and safety. He heard a whistle and a screech and felt a tug in his gut from what the Talon wanted him to do. Peter wouldn't be their puppet. He couldn't be their puppet, and he put his fingers around his right lower canine. It was loose enough to require only a slight tug, but it caused Peter to stumble to the right when it was pulled out with a wet sound and put into his pajama pocket.

The Talon's hand grabbed the back of Peter's clothes, and he did the only thing he could think of when there was no escape and no way to win the fight. The Talon was as bloodthirsty as the others and effortlessly ducked Peter's attacks with the crusty hammer. The Talon didn't react when Peter threw the hammer through the window behind it. The building could be a business that wouldn't notice anything until the following Monday, or it could be the residence of Gotham's elite that would call the police immediately. Regardless of the building, the police would be called, and the bats would know that something had happened. They were out there, and someone would have to come and investigate. It would be too late for Peter if they didn't come soon, but they could stop the Court of Owls from taking someone else. 

The Talon whistled, and Peter could only guess what it demanded. Peter went limp and let the Talon throw an arm around his waist and carry him one-armed through the streets. The harsh grip and gravity were strangling him, but it was far easier than he thought to imagine himself far away from the touch and pain. 

Fish jumped up and tried to bite Peter's naked toes and the Talon's hands, but they became increasingly blurry as the sun rose over the nearby buildings, and Peter was carried into a den of shadows. 

The Talon barely looked at him, and the hoots and hisses followed Peter as he moved through the swirls around every corner. 

The tides in the walls continued to move, and he could hear the waves lapping as he was carried into the darkness, but the waves calmed before Peter could make sense of their song.

Peter was thrown onto the hard floor of a sinking ship. It kept tilting back and forth, but Peter never seemed to move, even as he felt moisture on everything below his scalp. He caught his breath on the hard floor, brushing his hands over every tiny detail of the grout lines and watching as they changed shape. 

Peter had hoped that his cooperation would mean that they wouldn't restrain him, but the Talon lifted Peter's arms one after another and left cold metal behind to press on Peter's frail wrists. 

The door closed loudly like a canon firing against an enemy's ship. Peter couldn't help but recoil at the noise, and he forced his dry, pained eyes to look at the floor, hoping no one noticed his mistake. The Owls and Talons hadn't closed any doors since they had taken Peter, and this one felt like the end of a chapter. They would kill him and hopefully not bother with reviving him. 

The Talon was already gone when breathing became more manageable, and the seas settled into reality. However, Peter still tried to lay still and compliant as he gagged on the growing feeling of nausea. He squinted his eyes as the white around the room lit up like a beacon rather than a series of traveling lights. Vertigo returned, and Peter had to force himself to open his eyes as fatigue, accompanied by muscle pain and a cottony sensation in his head, broke through and threatened to let him sleep. 

Peter looked to the side and saw chains and large, leaning glass chambers. Most of them were empty, but a few held wild animals. A fox, a red bat, and two raccoons lay in their respective glass chambers decorated with frost crystals, and a broken chamber served as a neighbor. The glass had been swept away, but Peter could still feel the cuts when he had broken out and the chill that had followed him for over a month after escaping back in August. 

Owls and Talons might be watching, but Peter pulled at the loud and strong chains. He tried to pull his hands out of the shackles, but they bit into his skin and thumbs. Peter then tried to sit up to get a better grip but slipped when his hand landed on an old comic book featuring Spider-Boy webbing up Thanos, dated May 2009.

Peter pushed it toward the other battered comics and leaned on the wall with his knees bent. The world had stopped spinning and changing quite as much, but his head became heavier, and his throat and jaw more pained as the seconds passed. Closing his eyes helped against the pain, but it made the vertigo and fatigue worse, and the nausea persisted no matter what Peter did.

Peter looked back at the animals. The fox had lost its leg shortly before death, and its teeth were worn down despite its deep orange and healthy-looking coat. It had been a fighter, and Peter would have to be one as well.

The shackles weren't bear traps, but he could sacrifice his hands if it meant freedom, and only losers would be left when the Court of Owls realized that Peter wouldn't wake up as their puppet. 

Peter put the cardigan in his mouth and started to pull at the left shackle when alarms began to blast. The sound of fighting quickly became louder than Peter's beating heart. Every beat was a mantra of  danger, danger, danger, danger , but there was no escape. There were no manor grounds to run to or covers to hide under. No Dick to hold his hand or Jason to let him press his hearing ear against the calm beat of his heart. 

Peter was sure that the sound would have been disorientating even if he still had the sense of sound location. He tried to shield his ears from the noise. Still, everything was too loud, and the gloom wasn't enough to conceal anything, even when he closed his eyes tightly and pressed his forehead against his bent knees. 

The sound of fighting was everywhere, but Peter picked up the sound of a repeated shout. 

Nightwing's voice echoed through the entire building, and Peter pulled his hands away from his ears and turned his right ear toward the door to catch every word. "Where is he? Where the fuck did they take him?"

The doctor didn't answer but instead started to beg for mercy for himself and his family between the sounds of fighting. He sounded scared, and Peter had never heard a grown man sound that helpless before, but it only intensified the angry sounds of fighting. 

Nightwing wasn't quite shouting, but his voice was deadly between huffs and sounds of electricity. "Mercy? Mercy!? Like you had for the child that you tortured? Like the family of a dead little boy? Who are you to demand mercy?" 

"I didn't want to, but they would have killed me and my family if I didn’t. My kids don't deserve any of this."

"Did the little boy deserve it?" Nightwing asked. "Did he deserve it when he cried for his father, uncles, and aunts, and you hurt him anyway?"

Peter started to rock back and forth, but nothing could dull the sound blasting through the building. Peter didn't even cry as he backed into the nearest corner. Everything was too intense for him to do anything other than try to make himself as small as possible until the threat was over. 

"He didn't, he didn't cry," the doctor promised with a shrieky voice. 

Peter opened his eyes briefly to look at the closed door. There were horrors out there, but Nightwing was out there. Maybe Red Hood was, as well as all the others who could easily bench grown men and throw Peter far away from this place. The landing didn't matter as long as it wasn't here.

"You can't kill me. You don't kill." 

"Exactly, Dr. Strain." 

The doctor's voice screeched. "How-how do you know my name?"

Nightwing let out a pained shout in an altered and frantic version of Dick's voice, along with zaps and heavy bodies falling.  

This was bad. It was really bad. People were dying outside, and Dick was unfocused because of Peter. And it was too loud.

"Show me where the boy is," Red Hood's modified voice demanded after minutes of Peter trying to hear if Nightwing was losing the fight. 

A gunshot rang through the whole building when there was no answer loud enough for Peter to hear, and the scared man screamed and let out a sob and then another pained yell before repeating, "I'll show you. Just stop. I'll show you." 

Peter pressed his hands against his ears once more. His blood flow sounded precisely like the ocean, but even the calming sounds couldn't dull the harsh reality of what was happening. 

Peter couldn't hear the door opening over his own body, but he felt the shift in the air as he tried to press his hands tighter around his ears and pulled a few strands of hair out. 

"Kid, it's me," Red Hood said, and Peter could almost breathe again as he heard the modified voice. It was the first voice in Gotham who had wanted nothing from Peter. It wasn't even Jason but Red Hood, who had known nothing about Peter and wanted to take care of him without any ulterior motives. 

Peter lifted his head and opened his eyes, but he still couldn't breathe properly from his spot near the dead fox. Every breath was shaky and wouldn't reach the bottom of his lungs before they had to be expelled, and every third exhale was more of a cough than anything else. 

"Ho-" Peter said between every breathless in- and exhale, but the vigilante seemed to know what he meant, and he kneeled in front of Peter and looked at the shackles. 

Red Hood turned his torso and hid the doctor from Peter as he stared him down. "Where's the key?"

"I don't know." 

Red Hood didn't move, and Peter tried to claw at the shackles. "I won't use rubber bullets if I have to use force on those shackles." 

The doctor tried to drag himself away from the door with a crater in his thigh from being shot at close range with a rubber bullet.

"Close your eyes, kid," Red Hood whispered and stood up as soon as Peter complied. 

The doctor didn't scream when Red Hood swung his arm. He only fell. 

Peter hoped that the doctor wouldn’t die. There was no reason to kill him other than revenge or anger. Red Hood wouldn't do that. Red Hood didn't kill anymore, and Jason wouldn't do that to Peter after what Mr. Green's death had done to him. 

Red Hood's voice was steady and cold as he asked, "Are you ready to tell me where the key is?" 

"I swear I don't know where it is," the doctor cried. 

Red Hood let out a deep exhale but didn't move away from the doctor as Peter started to fiddle with the chain. It rustled softly while the alarms and fighting continued outside. 

The scared doctor stopped whimpering after a while, and Peter hoped that he had only passed out and would heal without immediate help for his injuries and whatever else that he had been subjected to. Red Hood was livid, and the fighting outside could mean that anyone else could be hurt the longer it took Peter to get out of the shackles. 

Peter carefully moved his right hand to pull the dirty cardigan between his teeth again. His shaking hand took hold of the shackle around his left wrist and pulled and twisted it with far more force and less thought than he had before. 

Peter's jaw burned as he bit down, but he had to keep quiet as the metal scrabbed his hand. His thumb protested until his left hand was finally free, with only a throbbing thumb and scrapes from his wrist to his knuckles.

"You're really going to die on that hill? I expected more from a Mr. Freeze wannabe," Red Hood mumbled and walked too far away for the chain to follow if Peter needed to stop him. 

Peter pulled the other shackle off even harsher and gulped when he heard a pop and felt a sharp and intense pain. Bile fell out of Peter's mouth with a disgusting sound, but the shackle hit the ground a moment before the bile did. 

Red Hood turned his body and helmet slowly to stare at Peter's mangled hands. "Did you just-?" Red Hood shook his head, and his right hand hovered over Peter's shoulder. "Let's get away, Kid." 

Peter nodded, but he wasn't sure if he could move away from the corner.

"Can you stand?" 

Peter's knees were still bent and pressed against his chest, and he didn't feel like they could ever carry his weight again. 

"Kid, I don't want to touch you if you don't want me to, but we need to leave." 

Peter knew that. He couldn't stay here, and he didn't want to either. He just wanted to be at home, whether that meant Queens or the manor. 

"Don't hate me for this," Red Hood begged as he lifted Peter with an arm around his shoulders and another one under his butt. 

The touch was like fire and a swamp pulling Peter down into misery simultaneously, and Peter was finally able to get his legs to move enough for Red Hood to let go of him, allowing Peter to stand like a newborn foal on thin and unsteady legs. The Talon's touch had hurt more, but Red Hood's presence meant that Peter could deny touches. 

Red Hood looked down at Peter, his expressionless helmet in place, and reached out an arm for Peter to hold onto. "Close your eyes when we go out there. I'll protect you, and you won't have to see anything out there." 

Peter's eyes widened as he looked at the blood on Red Hood's clothes, but Red Hood only moved when Peter's head turned to look at the man by the doorway. 

"Don't look." 

Peter looked. The doctor's entire leg was red from the crater in his thigh, and his eyes were unfocused under a deep red mark. 

Red Hood's arm moved closer to Peter but stopped before they touched. "Hold on and close your eyes." 

Peter held on with nails, digging into Red Hood's jacket, and closed his eyes as they walked out of the small, cold room and into the vast space of screams and alarms.

"He's there," a female voice hurried out, and Peter opened his eyes to look at a purple costume before his gaze was caught by movement to his right. 

When Peter looked behind Red Hood, a vigilante in red appeared, but it wasn't Red Robin—not even someone who usually wore any red.

It was Nightwing, and he looked possessed as he swung his Escrima Sticks. Lightning seemed to travel as Nightwing swung them repeatedly against Talons. 

"I have him!" Red Hood yelled, and Nightwing turned around to look at them. His manic look disappeared into something far more fragile as blood-colored streaks adorned his suit and left cheek. Nightwing's head snapped toward Peter, and his eyes seemed to widen beneath the mask. A Talon was hit with Spoiler's bo staff, and Nightwing used the downed enemy as a springboard to jump over to Peter. 

"There you are," Nightwing smiled and looked as kind as Dick always did. He had seemed to forget the Talons lying by his feet and waved at Peter with his elegant hand that had warmed his entire being with soft touches and had hurt others with crazed anger. 

Nightwing stepped towards Peter, and Peter stepped back. 

He wasn't scared of Nightwing. Not really. He could probably never be fearful of the vigilante or the man behind the mask, but he feared what was happening around him. What everyone was capable of and willing to do. 

Talons ran toward Peter and Red Hood but fell back with Red Hood's shots. He didn't use rubber bullets anymore, and blood colored the floor. A Talon took hold of Peter's shoulder, and he focused and threw the Talon's hand away in a large arc with his repulsion powers. It left Peter feeling even more shaky, but he didn't regret it as the Talon fell back. Red Hood's free arm swung toward the Talon. He almost elbowed Peter as he tried to shield Peter's eyes from the sight of the bullet hitting the Talon's knee and the haunting way the Talon pulled the mangled leg behind itself until Nightwing kicked the injured leg and head in quick succession.

Another shadow emerged behind Peter, and his throat almost gave way to a sound at the sight of the slim female figure with pointy triangular ears and fabric over all her facial features. The rough stitches resembling a mouth would have been enough for several nightmares by themselves, but her existence and resemblance to the spider-puppet that Peter had seen with the other monsters pumped even more horror into Peter's veins. He had thought that none of the monsters were real when all the colors and unreliable visions had stopped, but she was real, with human arms and legs instead of the long spider legs and the giant pincers she had possessed when Peter had last seen her. The mouth couldn't move, just like Red Hood's helmet never showed the expressions behind it, but Peter felt like she was smiling as she cleared the path for Red Hood, Nightwing, and Peter. Talons tried to follow them when they reached the door, but Batman arrived like an angel in a daemon’s clothes and threw both batarangs and smoke bombs before following them out.

The sound of fighting was still present, but it was much harder to hear when Peter stepped out of the building and onto the streets, with only the streetlamps to light their path. 

Peter was herded to the back seat of a sleek, black car and took a large gulp of air as his hands shook. Peter felt like he should have protested its existence or asked why the Batmobile had a booster seat, but he couldn't see anything but the blood drying on Nightwings' costume as he and Red Hood ran around the trunk to the driver's side of the car. 

Batman hummed from deep in his throat at Nightwing's red spots over his blue costume and only softened when he looked at Peter's pale face and trembling hands. "We will get you home." 

Red Hood jumped into the backseat with Peter, and Nightwing wasn't far behind. However, Nightwing turned away from the car when the Talons emerged from the building. His Escrima Sticks let out sparks as he hit the Talons, and his kicks looked like a deadly dance. 

"Go!" Nightwing yelled as he kicked a Talon and hit another one.

Peter wanted to protest as the Batmobile sped away from Nightwing. Everyone was left alone in there, but Peter hadn't had time to celebrate that he hadn't gotten Dick killed when he had been taken from the manor. 

"Get out immediately. We can come back another night, and I expect you all to be safe until I can come back for you," Batman muttered toward what Peter would otherwise have thought was a small radio speaker, and Batman's hands tightened around the steering wheel. 

Red Hood didn't touch Peter, but he was near enough for Peter to recall the warm feeling that he had experienced when he had let himself fall into Red Hood's chest back when they had discussed his nephew. He had been alone for so long at that point and had found a sense of safety that he hadn't been able to fully accept, even though neither of them had known who Red Hood's nephew was. 

"You need an inhaler," Batman informed him, as his ragged breath overpowered the sounds of the other bats yelling commands and fighting. Babs' voice came through to tell them about loose electric wires and vulnerable spots in the building, but it didn't bring any sense of comfort. 

Batman didn't look away from the road or swirl as he reached a hand down into his utility belt and threw an inhaler into Red Hood's lap. 

Red Hood reached out with the inhaler, and Peter wanted to protest, but his mouth wouldn't let out any words, and he almost dropped the inhaler when he tried to grip it. Holding it with his left hand felt awkward, and using his thumb hurt, but he wouldn't let it stop him. 

Red Hood took his helmet off and became Jason once more. His unblinking green eyes looked almost gray in the low light, but Peter could still see every detail of his iris. "Fuck, I almost forgot what you did to your thumbs," Red Hood breathed out, but he didn't intervene. 

Breathing became physically easier after a few puffs, but Peter only felt like he could breathe when he heard Damian's voice responding to Batman's constant commands. 

"We're returning to the cave, and Red Robin and Signal are leaving the neurosurgeon in a safe house." 

Jason and Batman sighed in exhaustion and relief, and Peter returned the inhaler to Jason. 

Peter was almost sure he had heard an explosion, but it could have been his imagination as he felt Jason's eyes on his hands. Peter tried to look out the window, but the car took several turns around the twisted side streets of Gotham, and Peter had to gingerly hold a hand over his mouth to stop himself from throwing up.

Jason breathed heavily and his furrowed his eyebrows. "Don't worry. Alfred can fix your thumbs when we arrive at the manor. Or we can go to Dr. Thompkins." 

Peter swallowed down the bile, lifted his left hand, and thrust it toward Jason's face. 

"You want  me  to put them back? I can, but are you sure?" 

Peter nodded and ignored the dull pain dominating his jaw for a moment. 

Jason gently pressed different parts of Peter's hand, and Peter carefully moved the thumb when instructed. "It looks like a bad sprain. It going to suck, but it's just going to need some ice and compression."

The ears of Batman's cowl moved as he nodded with a grunt. 

Jason gingerly pulled the cardigan and pajama sleeves down and put Peter's hand back in his lap. "Can you say something? You're scaring me, Kid." 

Peter opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and he awkwardly extended his right hand and revealed the deformed thumb. 

"It's dislocated. We'll put it back when we reach the manor, but you can cry if you need to until then. Or scream." Jason's face paled in the light of an almost dead street lamp. "You  can  scream, right?" 

Jason's face tightened, and he leaned against the driver's seat. "B, we need to find out why he can't talk."

"He had been through a lot in the last 27 hours." 

"He almost said ‘Hood’ when I found him. Why won't he talk now?" 

“We won't know until Peter is ready to talk.” 

Jason looked at Peter with tilted eyebrows and a firm mouth as the Batmobile came to a stop. He seemed as frozen as Peter felt until Batman turned around and looked at Jason. "Will you two be all right?"

Jason unfroze and turned to look at Batman with firm eyebrows and a firm jaw. “We’ll be fine. Alfred is here, and you can go and check if any of the others need help.”

Peter slowly opened the car door and barely felt the harsh ground under his destroyed sock and dark pink feet. His toes felt like they would fall off, but it was nothing compared to the rest of his body. Every muscle and joint was protesting, and impulses traveled to Peter's jaw with every step.

Alfred was already in the medical room when Jason and Peter arrived. He calmly found bandages and a clean bowl of water when he looked down at Peter's ruined feet. 

"His thumbs are hurt. The right one is dislocated, and the left one looks sprained." 

Alfred carefully guided Jason as he took hold of Peter's thumb and pulled. The thumb popped back in with almost as much pain and an even bigger pop than when it had popped out, but Peter could still not let out more than a pained yelp. 

Jason looked at Alfred with widened eyes, and he appeared years younger than he was as he searched for an answer that Alfred couldn't provide. Jason sighed when he was given no response and handed bandaids for the scrapes and a roll of elastic bandage to wrap from almost two inches below Peter's wrist to right under his knuckles. Peter's thumb was forced into a 45-degree position, but it felt fine, even before Jason pinched Peter's thumbnail to check the circulation. 

Jason's hands were steady, but his breathing was unstable when he put Peter's right thumb into a splint. "Do they feel okay?" 

Peter nodded and turned to look at his feet when Jason's eyes shined in the darkness. 

Dick had taken care of Peter's feet when he had first arrived at the manor with his duct tape shoes, but he could almost imagine that nothing new had happened as Jason washed his feet. The water became bloody and full of dirt, and Alfred wordlessly switched it until it stayed clear and Jason could pat Peter's feet dry and bandage them and Peter's sprained ankle.

Alfred gave a curt nod to Jason's work. "Excellent work, Master Jason. Do you have any other injuries, Young Master Peter?"

Alfred exhaled when Peter didn't answer, and he walked over to find and hand a small flashlight to Jason. "We need to see if there's any trauma to his teeth." 

Peter's jaw and right thumb hurt at the soft touch when he covered his mouth. 

Jason still looked much younger than his early 30s as he looked at Peter with tilted eyebrows and a frown. "Let's try again when Dick's here." 

Alfred's blue eyes seemed to look into Peter's soul before his mustache twitched, and he started to pack away all the medical gear and pulled out painkillers. "I'll get some cold packs for the young master."

Jason led Peter out of the room and looked at Peter with the same tilted eyebrows and penetrating eyes that he and Dick had used every time Peter had acted odd. Peter wanted Jason to never look like that again, but it was as if his body had shut down when it no longer had anything or anyone to fight. He didn't feel safe, but he didn't feel as unsafe with Jason nearby. It was just a strange limbo that left Peter’s body unable to cope.

All it could register was the pain from his head to his sprained ankle and the nausea, vertigo, and fatigue plaguing every movement through the hallways. He was grateful for Jason's help, but Peter had felt like an empty shell surrounded by wild tides. Perhaps a tiny piece of the tooth had stayed in his mouth, and someone had killed him and left a Talon. Although a Talon wouldn't have heart palpitations from being alone in the bathroom when peeing a tiny amount of fetid urine so dark orange that it looked brown or from being alone in the sitting room, as Jason asked Alfred to bring almost every kind of drink they had at the manor.

The yellow blanket was nice, but it couldn't protect Peter from the shadows as he waited for Jason to return. No one could get him if someone were there, but he was on the ground floor and alone with Jason several feet away. Peter glanced at the window. It looked completely black, and anyone could be waiting on the other side to take Peter back to the Court of Owls. They had taken Peter with Dick nearby, and they could take him with Jason's back turned.

Jason turned back and pushed an ottoman under Peter's feet and cold packs around his thumbs, jaw, and sprained ankle when Alfred arrived with the drinks.

"Can you eat something?" Jason's pupils were tiny as he concentrated on Peter's impassive expression, and his shoulders slumped once more when Peter didn't indicate anything anymore. "At least drink something."

Peter turned to look at the drinks but refused to take any when offered. Jason's shoulders slumped, and he sighed when Peter wouldn't look at the painkillers. 

He could see Jason's focused gaze in his peripheral vision, but he barely blinked as footsteps echoed through the manor and doors banged.

"Where is he?!" Dick's voice yelled from somewhere far away but with a hysteria that was hard to ignore, even when one was as empty as Peter felt.

"In here!" Jason yelled. 

Peter kept staring down his bottle of room-temperature water as it mocked him and his parched throat from the side table with all the other beverages next to it. The water and the juice used to be fridge-cold, and the teas used to give off steam, but they had evened out as time passed. A door opened, and Nigtwing seemed to fall apart a few feet from the armchair.

Nightwing took his mask off and became Dick once more. The vision of Dick with blood on his cheek and suit was somehow even more upsetting than when he had been Nightwing. Other signs of stress were also more prominent from the reddened skin from how harshly he had pulled the domino mask off to the dark bags under his wet eyes and the dark bruise on his left cheekbone. 

"You're here. My little baby, you're here. We actually got you back." 

Peter could barely blink, but he did at Dick's words. Peter was neither a baby nor anyone else's anything. 

Dick's voice hitched, and he looked over at Jason. "He's real, right? I didn't just imagine getting him back?"

"He's real and in the armchair." 

Dick's eyes were intensely looking at Jason. His eyes narrowed as they moved from one spot to the next of Jason's frame.

Jason sighed and walked over to stand in front of Dick. "It's all real." 

Jason's hand fell on Dick's shoulder, and Dick took in a shaky breath before he crawled the last few feet and only stopped when his thighs touched the right side of the ottoman. Tears fell down Dick's cheeks, and his face contorted in a way that should have looked unflattering. Still, not even the harsh shadows were enough to distract from Dick's shining eyes, full lips, and well-shaped eyebrows. He looked like a knight from a storybook while Peter was unsure if he was a changeling or a prince.

Dick's head fell, and it almost hit Peter's knee but redirected at the last second and ended up beside Peter's hip on the armchair cushion. Dick's shoulders heaved, and his hands tightened in the blanket over Peter's legs. 

Peter's hand shook, but it landed on Dick's head without issue, and the pressure forced another sob out of Dick's mouth. 

Dick kept kneeling in front of Peter, but he turned his head to look up into Peter's impassive face. "Can I hold your hand?" 

Peter took his hand off the top of Dick's head and watched as a pained sound escaped Dick, and he shakenly inhaled as Peter gave him his hand.  

Dick's hand was warm through his gloves as he touched the edge of the thumb splint, and Dick's face was even warmer as he put Peter's hand on his cheek. Dick's voice was rough and slightly frantic as he whispered, "You're here. Oh my god, you're here. You're real. This is real." 

Peter gave a slight nod but didn't move otherwise, even when Dick kissed Peter's knuckles and kept the back of Peter's hand against his lips and inhaled the scent of Peter's skin mixed with Gotham's streets and the horrors of the Court of Owls. There was no shame in the wild desperation in Dick's breaths and kisses, and the display was almost enough for something to stir in Peter's guts. 

Dick lifted his face again and looked at Peter with long and clumpy eyelashes of pure black and a downturned mouth when he lowered Peter's hand to feel Dick's heart with both of Dick's hands encasing it. 

"I'm so sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry that you had to experience any of this. They'll never touch you again. I promise. They'll never touch anyone again." 

Peter opened his mouth slightly but couldn't move his tongue or fingers. Only his eyes reacted, and his jaw twitched painfully, causing more pain in half his face when he blinked more forcefully than before.

"Oh, my sweet boy, what have they done to you?" 

Peter wanted to let out every horror he had seen at the Court of Owls, but he also never wanted anyone to know even a fraction of what he had done and seen there.

"You're safe now. Draga mea, you're safe." 

Peter's body was almost limp, and his heart wasn't trying to escape its cage anymore. However, he didn't think that his mind knew that he wasn't still in the court's clutches or that they wouldn't take him back at any moment. He was less unsafe with Jason and Dick nearby, but nothing was safe. The window was dark, and the court had already breached the manor twice.

"It's okay, Peter, anything you feel is okay." Dick's voice broke again, and his breath was both warm and left a trail of sorrow on Peter's hand. "You'll be okay." 

Dick's breath and wild heart quieted down as he looked at Peter. He started to smile, but it looked sad for more reasons than his damp eyelashes and cheeks that were only half-dried from Dick lifting one shoulder after the other and turning a cheek on each. 

Dick lifted Peter's hand and inhaled with closed eyes before looking directly at Peter and addressing Jason. "Has he talked?" 

"He almost said Hood when I found him, but I haven't heard him say anything since, and he had barely been reactive since we got him into the Batmobile." 

Dick's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Peter's ruined pajama top and swollen face. "Does it hurt to talk?" 

Peter let his chin fall in an almost unnoticeable movement, but Dick's eyes were sharp, and Peter doubted that he would have missed even a slightly different breath or extra blink at that moment. 

"It looks painful, and I'm sure that eating and drinking hurts too. Have you gotten any painkillers?" 

Peter's mouth twitched down as he blinked forcefully. 

"It's okay. There won't be any scary visions, but we can see if you can swallow any pills. Otherwise, we can get you an injection." 

"He hasn't done anything but look at what we've given him," Jason said out of Peter's eyesight, but Dick's eyes barely moved as they glanced to Peter's left.

"We need to get something in him. He looks like he hasn't drunk anything since they took him. He actually looks like it has been longer with how dry his lips are, and his breath smells dehydrated." 

Peter licked his cracked lips, and Dick smiled small but genuinely at the spontaneous sign of life. 

"Do you want something else? We can get you anything. Even juice. Your bloodwork was great. Dr. Thomkins said that you could have some carbohydrates again. So, do you want juice?"

Peter tried to answer, but he could barely move his jaw, and no sounds came out. 

"I'll get some fresh juice," Jason announced. 

Dick and Peter stared at each other for what felt like forever, but it only took minutes for Jason to come back with juice boxes and water bottles. 

Dick let go of Peter's hand, and Peter reached for a water bottle with both of his hands. It was much colder than the bottle on the side table, and a shiver went from Peter's fingertips to his shoulder. 

Dick looked at Peter passively holding the bottle between his hands. "Can I open it for you?" 

The answer should be yes, but just breathing took all of Peter's energy, and Dick ended up taking the cap off with quick cracks of the plastic. 

"Please drink. 

Peter's lips were dry and cracking, but he extended the bottle toward Dick when he leaned toward Jason for a bottle of his own. 

"Thank you, I'll drink that if you drink another one." 

Peter looked as Dick took a large gulp. His lips were also dry but not cracked, and his bangs were damp but didn't stick as much to his forehead as Peter's. Dick's teeth were white and straight, and his eyes looked slightly less haunted as he smiled. "Amazing, thank you so much." 

Dick tried to give Peter a new bottle but stopped with a low hum when Peter's gaze stayed on the open bottle. 

Peter tried to gingerly take a sip as he looked at Dick's sharp eyes. Nothing happened except Peter's jaw hurt, and humiliation weighed Peter down like drenched clothes in a rainstorm when Jason offered Peter a straw. The straw helped, and the moisture calmed Peter's dry throat. It begged for more, but his skin burned, and his bones throbbed enough for the nausea to get worse. 

Both Jason and Dick sighed, and Jason walked from behind Peter to behind Dick. His eyes were huge, and his eyebrows tilted and furrowed when he looked at Peter's half-empty bottle. "That was some voodoo shit."

"Thank you." Dick started to caress the blanket next to Peter's thigh but kept his hands away from any direct contact. 

"We also need to get something more nutritious into you, Peter. How do you feel about a protein drink or some soup? You can get anything you want, even if it means we have to drive halfway out of New Jersey." 

Peter gave Dick the water bottle back and did his best to make a cup with his left hand and expend only his thumb and little finger before gesturing as if he was bringing yogurt from the cup to his mouth with his little finger, but it was awkward with both his thumbs in a splint or bandaged and not knowing if anyone would know what he meant. He barely knew what he meant. 

Dick's body straightened out, and his eyebrows lifted before he put the water bottle on the floor. He mirrored most of Peter's gestures, but Dick's hand made a more believable cup, and his spoon moved smoother. "Yoghurt?" 

Peter nodded, and Dick nodded back much more excitedly. "You can have yogurt. I'll get it. As much as you want." 

But Dick seemed glued to the floor, and Jason had to bring it instead.

Jason pulled the plastic off the top and gave Peter the teaspoon, but it was hard to find a way to hold a spoon without his thumbs. 

"Do you want me to feed you?" Dick asked, and Peter wrinkled his eyebrows and nose. 

Jason let out a laugh that sounded more sad than amused. "This is the most expressive he has been since we found him. He didn't even react this much to having his dislocated thumb put back. Only you, Dick, only you could wake someone from a stupor with how ridiculous you are."  

"Thank you," Dick whispered, but it sounded genuine, and Peter was unsure who he was talking to. 

Peter eventually got a proper hold of the spoon resting on the top of his index finger and grabbed it with the rest of his fingers, but the yogurt cup fell on the yellow blanket when he put it down in the cup of yogurt. A large chunk fell out, but Peter couldn't make himself care about it as he finally recognized the blanket as the one that Dick had wrapped Peter in when they had left Jason's apartment 6 days ago. 

Dick took the yogurt cup and held it out for Peter. "Here, now you can eat." 

It was easier with Dick holding it instead of Peter, and it almost felt like he had some pride left with him holding the spoon. 

The small amount of food felt heavy in Peter's stomach, and he had to stop eating halfway through his next cup of yogurt when his nausea intensified.

Dick quickly ate the rest of the yogurt with Peter's spoon when it was clear that Peter wouldn't eat more and put his hand out for Peter to take when he was done.

Peter was about to take Dick's hand when Jason leaned down and whispered in Dick's ear. Dick's eyes went wide, and the color left his face as he looked at his hand. The hand was pulled away, and Dick's eyes closed as he seemed to gag on nothing. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Peter. You need to tell me if I do things that make you uncomfortable. No, sorry, I should have asked before every touch. Fuck, I put your hand on my chest your first  morning here. You must have been so afraid." 

Peter remembered feeling Dick's heartbeat and the way that it had given him the courage to go on until he had seen Dick cry into Bruce's chest. Dick had been afraid that Peter was dying, but he had kept it away from Peter and let him feel how a heartbeat was supposed to be. 

Dick's hands started to tremble almost as much as Peter's did, and Dick's head fell down a little more as Peter rested his hand on his head.

"Thank you so much for comforting me, Peter, but don't do it if it's triggering. You should never make yourself uncomfortable for the sake of others. Especially adults."

Dick looked at Peter with furrowed eyebrows and an even mouth as his eyes ran over Peter's impassive face. Dick opened his mouth with a sharp inhale when he looked at Peter's swollen jaw again. "Although we need to examine your jaw and teeth. Alfred said that Jason has taken great care of your feet and hands, but you look like you have mumps, except you're bruised, and we need to know if you're hurt anywhere else. We'll go slowly, and you can take as many breaks as you need, but we really need to know what happened."

Peter pulled his hand back and drank the rest of the water bottle under Jason's and Dick's vigilant eyes.

Chapter Text

Peter had been taking his vitamins daily without issue. Still, he didn't have the willpower or energy to protest when Alfred suggested Calpol and Motrin instead of pill versions of acetaminophen and ibuprofen. The berry flavors were okay, but Peter stuck his tongue out and scrunched his face after each of them anyway. Not even the pain from the movements was enough for Peter to stop.

The cap came off the bottle in Dick’s hands with a crack before he offered it to Peter with the straw he had used in the sitting room. "We have liquid morphine as well. Pills too, but I think they’re all too strong for you." 

Peter didn't know a lot about painkillers, but he knew that morphine made people act strange on TV, and he had enough of feeling out of control. Even sitting there and allowing them to look into his mouth felt like losing control, even though he wanted to know that he would be physically okay.

Jason crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. "You really should take him up on that. Morphine is the good stuff, and your face is messed up right now." 

Peter also crossed his arms and jumped slightly when one of his thumbs sent a jolt of lighting up his arm. 

Jason's mouth tightened before he took a step further into the room. "And your thumbs and feet as well, of course. You really did a number on yourself. I hope your healing ability amps up more now that you'll eat regularly, but you'll be messed up for a while."

Peter glanced down at his left ankle. It had almost healed before he was abducted, but now it was as bad as it had been the day after he fell down the stairs, and his feet were even worse than they had been on his first day at the manor. At least most of the wounds had been on the top of his feet then, and he couldn't feel the nice fuzzy texture of the Robin slippers through the bandages now. 

Peter uncrossed his arms and waved Dick to him, and opened his mouth as much as he could through the pain. 

Dick's eyebrows furrowed more than they already were, and he pressed his lips together at Peter's attempt to get the examination over with. "I won't force you to take something like morphine, but you don't have to be in pain. Please take the morphine, and then we can look into your mouth when it starts to work, and it will also help you sleep."

Dick looked at Peter's ruined clothes and tilted his head. "And maybe we can get you into some clean clothes while we wait for it to work." 

Peter glanced at his clothes. The cardigan was falling over his hands, and both the pajama top and bottom were filthy and worn from the fights Peter had been in. He looked over at Jason and Dick and first shook his head and then nodded as he pulled at his clothes with his index and middle finger and thereafter pointed at his feet. 

Dick exhaled out of his mouth and smiled without it meeting his eyes. "Do you think we can get you into a shower too?" 

Peter smelled his armpit. There was no scent except the vague smell of Gotham's streets and the stuffy smell of the glass chamber room. It wasn't nice but far less potent than Peter had thought it would be by now.

Dick sighed and tilted his head in the opposite direction than before. "You don't smell. You're just full of dirt and blood." 

Peter shook his head and yawned at the thought of doing anything more than letting them care for his mouth and then sleeping for fifty years. He had to rub the tears out of his eyes from the yawn and the pain it caused, and he squinted his eyes for a few moments before he could look around the room again.

"Understood, but I want you to at least wear clean clothes and clean your face and mouth." 

Peter ran his fingers over his mouth and let his raggedy nail scratch a piece of some reddish-brown dirt off the corner of his mouth. He blinked down at it and nodded at Dick. 

"Okay, I'll get it unless Jason would want to." Dick looked over at Jason with his lips pulled into his mouth, a sparkle in his eyes, and raised shoulders, but the sparkle dimmed, and he relaxed his face and slumped his shoulders when Jason shook his head. 

Dick sighed but shook the feeling off himself as he looked back at Peter. "Let's get some morphine in you. Alfred said that you can have 1.5 to 2.5 ml every four hours, and we can start with the lowest dose and then see how you react." 

Peter shook his head with two determined grunts, and Dick sighed again out of his nose from deep in his chest.

"Fine, I'll go get you clean sleepwear, and then we can see how you're feeling pain-wise." 

Dick moved slowly out of the room and kept an eye on Peter until they couldn't see each other anymore, and Peter heard his feet move just as quickly as he had as Nightwing. 

"So much for being subtle," Jason mumbled as he glanced out of the room before taking long and slow steps toward Peter. "Although he is right about you needing to clean up."

Peter touched his mouth again and felt the crusty texture mainly concentrated near the right corner of his mouth, but there was also something on his chin and the left side. Peter lifted his shoulders but let them slump with a sigh before walking to the mirror next to the sink and looking up with heavy limbs. Peter could see the opposite wall in the mirror, and it only took one heavylidded look and pout to show his displeasure.

Jason pulled a stepping stool before the small mirror, helped Peter crawl onto the stool, and handed Peter wet paper towels. Jason's movements were sure and quick. He couldn't have done this a lot, but it felt like it with how little he seemed to think about each movement.

Peter turned toward the mirror and almost fell down from the stool. His cheeks were slightly less sunken than when he had seen himself in the library, what felt like a lifetime ago. Still, the dark circles under his reddened eyes were even darker than they had been then, and he had dried blood in the corner of his mouth. His hair wasn't greasy but stringy with blood and sweat, and his skin looked much paler than before the Court of Owls had taken him. He felt even worse than he looked, but it was shocking to see the evidence of his experiences on his skin, even without considering his horribly swollen jaw and the purple bruising around half of his lower face.

Peter avoided his own gaze and started to painfully rub at the dark blood off his chin. His breath hitched, but he tried to press even harder despite the growing throbbing in his face.  

Jason handed him a dripping paper towel and took the used one. "Hold the paper to your mouth for a moment to loosen the blood before you swoon." 

It was easier to clean off after wetting the dried blood for a few seconds, but he still swayed, and Jason had to take hold of Peter's arm. Peter nearly stumbled again from the sudden touch, but he found his footing on the stool, and Jason released him. 

"Morphine would make it hurt a lot less when we have to look into your mouth and treat it." 

Peter ran his tongue over the empty spaces where his canine teeth had been. The left side tasted vaguely of metal but seemed much better, and it was barely swollen, while the right side let out a few drops of blood and another wave of agony when Peter disturbed it.

Peter put his hurt hands on the mirror before he could fall off at another wave of anguish and vertigo. Peter blinked as the pain slowly became more manageable and nodded in Jason's direction.

Jason nodded back and found a thin syringe. Peter wanted to protest when he saw Jason put a needle on it, but no words would leave his mouth, and Jason took it off when he had filled the syringe to the middle of one and two milliliters. 

Peter glared at the syringe as it neared his face, but he allowed Jason to push the plunger and squirt the liquid into his mouth. Peter stuck his tongue out and let out a short and choked sound at the vile taste and aftertaste that lingered long after Jason lifted an arm towards Peter. Peter swallowed the saliva filling his mouth and dug his frayed nails into Jason's arm as it carried most of Peter's weight toward the floor.

"Knock, knock." Peter followed Jason's gaze to Dick's slight smile. "I brought some clothes without buttons, but I'll help if you need it." 

Peter looked at the clothes in Dick's arms and then at Alfred, who had been observing everything but had let Peter pretend that he was alone with Dick and Jason. 

Alfred walked toward the door and patted Dick's shoulder on his way out. "I'll be right outside if you need me." 

Jason looked down at Peter's grip on his arm. "Should I leave too, or do you want me to stay?" 

Peter let go of Jason's arm and waved at Jason and Dick. They both lingered for several seconds, but the door eventually closed, leaving Peter alone. Just like he had been in the bathroom earlier and just like when the Court of Owls had abducted him.

His heart beat loudly and rapidly as he looked at the walls. There were no windows to pull him through, but he looked at every corner and inside of every unlocked cabinet and found no men to hurt or take him. Peter looked at the closed door again and tried to suppress the embarrassment growing beneath his ribs. No one could know how paranoid he was unless... Peter's gaze moved over all surfaces, but there were no cameras.

Peter quickly removed his pants and underwear and put on the clean underwear. It was harder than it had been with working thumbs, but it was manageable, and the pajama pants went on even easier. 

Peter tried to unfold his socks but had no success. His hands shook, and he threw the socks on the floor. Everyone else in the manor was okay in short- or long-sleeved T-shirts, while Peter had been wearing thick hoodies, so his feet would have to deal without fuzzy socks and shivers.

Peter tried to pull the oversized cardigan off next, but it wouldn't go over his head. He let out increasingly loud grunts at every attempt to unbutton it instead, and he stomped his feet when his fingers started to tremble again.

"You okay in there?" Dick asked without opening the door.

Peter stomped his foot again as he pulled at the cardigan and managed to unbutton the top button. Still, nothing would open beyond that as Dick gingerly opened the door just enough to uncover a clear blue eye. 

"Oh, draga mea, can I please come in and help you?" 

Peter felt slightly calmer with someone's gaze on him, but warmth rushed to his cheeks at the thought of anyone knowing how incompetent he was. He attempted to pull the cardigan over his head again, but he still couldn't get a proper grip without his thumbs, and it got stuck around his head. Peter let go, threw his arms out, and nodded with harsh movements that made his head feel too heavy for his neck, and his legs staggered for a few steps. 

Dick walked with steady steps toward Peter and kneeled before his eyes started to wander around the room. His gaze eventually found its way back toward Peter, and he carefully informed Peter, "I'm going to unbutton the cardigan and pajama top now. I promise not to touch you more than I need to do that, but wave if I need to stop." 

Peter stomped the last two steps toward Dick and let him unbutton Peter's clothes before Peter stomped over the clean short-sleeved T-shirt. It was much bigger than any of Peter's, and he stared at Dick with a slight frown and slightly narrowed eyes. 

Dick's tan cheeks reddened slightly, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled nervously. "I thought you would be more comfortable with something bigger since the pajama tops aren't cutting it right now." 

Peter looked back at the T-shirt and then at Dick a few times until Dick put his hands over his eyes. Peter's lips curled at the sight, but it pulled at Peter's skin, and he let his face fall as he put the blue T-shirt over his head to his own sounds of discomfort. 

"Stomp twice when I can look again," Dick ordered and patiently waited until Peter did and handed Dick the socks to unfold in seconds.

Dick leaned out to call Jason and Alfred back in while Peter put on the socks. It felt strange, but putting the socks on was much easier than unfolding them, and Peter's feet felt warmer even before he slipped them back into the slippers.

Peter heard the sound of multiple feet walking around outside of the room, but none of the others in the room reacted to anything other than Peter swishing chlorhexidine mouthwash around in his mouth. Peter wrinkled his nose at the bitter taste even after he could spit it out, and Dick had to lead him to the chair when a wave of dizziness hit him.

"Can Alfred look into your mouth? Jason told me that you took some morphine, so it shouldn't hurt too much to open your mouth. It will only be a quick look for now, and Jason and I will be nearby, but Alfred knows much more about human anatomy than we do." 

Peter stared at Dick with narrowed eyes and shook his head enough for his head to swim. He had to lean against one of the armrests for a few seconds but sent another narrowed look in Dick's direction when he refocused his eyes.

Peter glanced at Alfred, who fortunately didn't look offended at Peter's blatant rejection. Alfred's eyelids were heavy, and a lump grew in Peter's stomach at the reminder that the man wasn't an imperishable being. "I'll stay and guide Masters Jason and Dick from afar if that would be easier."

Peter gave a curt nod, and Jason took the flashlight from earlier, but neither Dick nor Jason moved further until Peter pointed at both of them and opened his mouth, despite the twinges of pain cutting through the haze of the drugs in his system. 

Jason and Dick glanced at each other before they silently pulled their gloves off, washed their hands, put on rubber gloves, and stepped in front of Peter's chair. 

Peter stared firmly at the ceiling and tried to imagine himself anywhere else as he opened his mouth enough for Jason to move a small mirror on a metal stick into his mouth. Jason turned on the flashlight, and Peter glanced at the light and saw Jason's face turn pale and his eyes widen.

"Fucking hell, what did they do to you?" 

Peter belatedly remembered the tooth in his pajama top and pulled it out with his index and middle finger, and placed it in one of Dick's free hands. 

Dick furrowed his eyebrows as he took it, but they soon tilted outward, and his eyes widened as he looked down at the tooth. Peter closed his mouth and looked at the tooth as well.

It looked unassuming, although the root was much longer than Peter had expected from a milk tooth. It was even longer with a light and matt metal fused to the end with spiral groves and ending with a flat end. The dark electrum was coated to the side of the root, but it didn't have a cool owl design like the last tooth. It felt childish and trivial, but Peter couldn't help feeling a pit of disappointment that the torture session hadn't been worthy of a design. 

Jason's head came and blocked most of the view of the tooth as he stared at the side. "Is that what I think it is?" 

Dick nodded silently and with slow and soft movements. 

Jason turned his head and looked at Peter with a frown and sharp, green eyes. They glowed in the lit room but went down to their usual uncannily bright green after a few blinks. "Did you pull that tooth out yourself, Kid?" 

Peter nodded and looked at the tooth again. There was a little blood on it, but most of it had been cleaned off, either when he had put it into his pocket or it had been rubbed clean with every movement since then.

Dick took a shaky inhale, and a tremor went up his shoulders to his upper lip. 

Jason pushed Dick softly and hummed as he looked into Peter's mouth again. "The wound looks much bigger than the one on the other side, and it looks like they drilled directly into your mouth to put that murder tooth in. There's not much we can do about that except let it heal, but you probably need at least two stitches in your gums." 

Jason and Dick turned to look at Alfred as he spoke up. "I recommend that we x-ray his mouth first to rule out any unseen injuries before any sutures." 

Peter pulled his head back and closed his mouth before Jason or Dick could look at him with their soft eyes and furrowed eyebrows. 

Alfred walked toward them from behind Jason's and Dick's backs. Peter's eyes followed his every move until he pulled out something resembling a cross between a hairdryer and a gun, featuring an orange and translucent circle at the end.

Dick accepted the machine and looked at Peter with an even expression. "Can I take the x-ray, Peter?" 

Peter's eyebrows furrowed more, and his eyes widened, and he blinked rapidly at the knowledge that the manor had a handheld x-ray machine. He had expected that they had needed to get the x-ray at Dr. Thompkins's clinic or perhaps even at a hospital, despite Peter being legally dead, but he could manage to have Dick wave a machine by his cheek. Anything that would allow him never to go outside again or have strangers near his face would be acceptable. 

Dick's lips curled at Peter's slow nods and slightly open mouth, and Dick put on a thick blue apron. Peter's shoulders slumped as Jason placed a matching one over his shoulders.

He looked down at the apron and poked at the heavy fabric until Jason explained, "It's lead to protect the rest of your body as we take the x-ray."

Peter hummed and looked up as Dick took off his gloves. 

"Keep the intraoral film between your tongue and teeth, relax your jaw, and keep your lips closed," Alfred instructed from somewhere out of Peter's field of vision, and Peter complied as soon as Dick offered him a white square with rounded edges. He expected it to hurt, but he didn't feel much pain as he placed the intraoral film and only felt the cold when Dick put the end of the device on Peter's cheek. 

The picture was done in only a minute, and Alfred went to the computer as soon as Dick gave the intraoral film to him. 

Alfred clicked on the computer for a few moments before he opened a drawer, pulled out a small white plastic bottle, and handed it to Dick. "He has a hairline fracture and a drill hole into his jaw, as Master Jason theorized. Both injuries will heal unaided, but he needs half a dose of prophylactic antibiotics for 24 hours."

Dick broke a pill in half, gave it to Peter, and held up his water bottle. "It's to prevent you from developing an infection, Dulceață."

Peter stared at the pill and the water with narrowed eyes for several moments before Dick took a swig of the water, and Peter reluctantly forced the pill into his mouth and sipped the water. The pill sucked the moisture out of Peter's mouth, and it felt impossible to drink enough through a straw to make it go down his throat. Still, he eventually succeeded, and Dick placed the water bottle near the sink. Peter glanced at the pill bottle. It had been sealed until now, but he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on it until he was done with the antibiotics.

His palms started to sweat again, and he chewed on the left side of his bottom lip until Dick gave Peter the bottle and gestured for him to put it in his pajama bottoms.

Alfred walked back to the doorway. "I expect you two can gauge how many sutures he needs."

Peter's heart started to beat faster at the reminder of stitches. He felt flowy, but the stitches would hurt, and he didn't know how to explain that he would rather risk infection or permanent damage than have another needle in his mouth. 

Jason shook a little spray bottle from left to right. "It's Lidocaine spray. It will numb your gums." 

Peter gingerly opened his mouth with barely any pain as Jason coated Peter's gums with a minty substance. Peter counted 65 seconds before Jason poked a small but sharp instrument in Peter's mouth. "Did you feel that?" 

Peter shook his head, and his hands trembled at Jason's warm smile. 

"It's just two or three stitches." 

Peter looked up at Dick instinctually and shook his head. 

Dick kneeled by Peter's chair, and his eyebrows tilted outward, and his eyes softened. "What's wrong? Did it hurt?" 

Peter shook his head, and his hands trembled even more. 

"You're killing me, Kid," Jason lightly complained, but everything was suddenly too real. Peter wasn't in the Owl's completely white room, but this room's white walls looked even lighter with the light wooden cabinets and chairs. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself miles away from any needles, but nothing would make it less real.

"It will be over soon, and then you can sleep for as long as you want. I promise I won't let anything else happen until you've slept. Or we can find something else so you won't notice it when Jason or I stitch you up." 

Peter looked up at Jason as he pulled out a suture kit. Jason looked down at Peter as he changed his gloves, thinned his lips, and lifted his shoulders before him, but he didn't move to save Peter from it all.

Peter looked back at Dick and blinked rapidly, but Dick didn't move a muscle until Jason groaned. "Oh my god, hold your kid's hand. I know that I said not to force his hand on your body, but he's practically begging you to hold his damn hand." 

Dick's gaze shifted from over Peter's shoulder to lock directly onto Peter's eyes, carrying an intensity that should have made Peter's hands sweat and tremble even more than they already were. Instead, his stare seemed to calm Peter's heart and let his lungs expand more easily. "Can I hold your hand?" 

Peter looked down at Dick's hand as he offered it, and Peter carefully lifted his own and placed it in Dick's with a soft smack.

"Is it okay if I move my thumb over your knuckles?" 

Peter nodded with tiny but quick movements. Dick's hand was just as warm as always, and it brought Peter the strength to look up at Jason and the needle in his hands. 

Peter felt no pain, but the slight tug in his gums turned Jason's big, comforting frame into the doctor's smaller one. Jason's eyes were the clearest green Peter had ever seen, but they looked almost brown for a split second, and his light skin darkened into the doctor's when the light hit his back. Peter knew that Jason wasn't the doctor, and there was probably nothing that anyone could force Jason to do, but Peter's muscles tensed anyway until everything was stiff or trembled even more intensely than before, and his eyes forgot to blink.

“You can cry if you need to,” Dick said, but Peter found himself unable to follow his words. He felt the tears welling up inside him, but his body wouldn’t let anything out. No words or tears could escape the deep well within him, and he was paralyzed by how tightly everything was packed inside.

"All done," Jason said as he cut the threads, letting Peter close his mouth and stare into the air as his heart started beating fast and loud in his ears.

Peter felt as if he was being pushed down a bumpy road. His stomach rolled, and his hands and arms shook enough for his jaw to tremble slightly as his lungs tried to take in enough air from his half-open mouth. 

Dick leaned slightly toward Peter and spoke loud enough for him to hear on his right side. "Peter, can you hear me? It's Dick, can you hear me?" 

Peter couldn’t move. He hadn’t frozen like this in the clutches of the Owls and Talons. But now, a suffocating wave of danger, danger, danger crashed over him—so fast, so visceral, he couldn't tell fear from fact. Shadows leered at him from the corners of the room, and his mouth flooded with saliva as thick and nauseating as blood.

Dick turned toward Alfred in a sharp motion. "It doesn't look like a seizure, but something's wrong."

"I think he's having a flashback," Jason replied. 

Alfred sounded less tired but more worn as he responded. "He is." 

Peter's eyes started to hurt, but they still wouldn't blink or well up.

The Owls and Talons had hurt him, as well as the doctor, but Jason and Dick would never intentionally hurt him. The only time that any of them had caused Peter physical harm was when Jason grabbed his arm a little too hard back before anyone knew who Peter was, and it had been fine. It had barely hurt either time compared to everything before or after.

Dick's fingers were still around Peter's hand, but he could barely feel it as he moved his face just out of Peter's field of vision. "Alfred, can you find Spiderling? I left it on Peter's bed." 

Jason disappeared from Peter's gaze, only to reappear with the stepping stool and put it under Peter's limp feet. 

"Do you feel that?" Jason asked, but Peter kept staring at nothing and everything at once. Waves kept moving inside him, and everything on Peter's little inner island was being crushed and pulled into the ocean, never to be seen again. Maybe his organs were shutting down, and he was dying, just as Dick had feared he would without the electrum. He had hoped that dying wouldn't feel this terrifying, but no one could survive the way Peter's muscles were seizing and slowly strangling him. It didn't feel like asthma but rather like concrete being poured down his throat, leaving him too weak and heavy to escape as his heart tried to escape its prison in vain.

Dick sounded breathless as he stared up at Peter. "You're not with the Owls anymore, Peter. You're at the manor, and it's just Jason, you, and me. Jason and I will always protect you. You're safe. We'll keep you safe." 

Alfred came back into view but disappeared as soon as Jason grabbed the stuffed spider and placed it on Peter's thighs. 

"Can you feel the toy?" Jason asked just loud enough for Peter to hear despite him being on Peter's left side. 

"Alfred left, Peter. It's just you, me, and Jason again. We're at the manor, and we'll protect you." 

"We will. You're my little shit, remember? My little shit who I won't let anyone hurt again." 

Peter's rapid breathing slowly calmed down as Dick and Jason kept repeating where he was and that they would protect him. His eyelids started to work again, and he blinked robotically to wet his dry eyes and turned to look wide-eyed at Dick. 

"There you are," Dick cheered, but his voice and mouth trembled almost as much as Peter's, and his gaze fell on Peter's trembling hands.

"Is there anything else that we can get for you?"

Peter pulled his hand free with a slight tug and touched his trembling fingers on both sides of his chest with his elbows and open palms upwards before dropping his elbows and shoulders so his open palms twisted downward. 

Dick mirrored the action with steady hands and a slightly more exaggerated slumping of his shoulders. "Tired? You can sleep now. We're done for now, and you can rest." 

Peter's hands wouldn't stop shaking, but it felt a little more manageable when Jason offered his hand, and Dick did too after another second and a look from Jason.

Peter was still flowing as he was pulled through the hallways, and he only vaguely registered Jason shaking the spider toy and telling someone, "We have it covered." 

The bedroom stood as it had done when Peter had left it, but everything felt different. The darkness outside howled loudly enough for Peter to hear it over the screams in his mind, and Peter was led to the bed and sat on the expensive sheets and soft bedding. 

Dick's eyes creased as he looked down at Peter. "I won't be in the bed if you won't want me to, but can I stay in the room with you?" 

Peter bent his fingers around Dick's hand and pulled the hand toward the bed. 

"Okay, I'll come into bed with you after I've taped up your antibiotics bottle and changed out of the suit. I'll be right back, and Jason will keep you safe until then. You're safe." 

Dick released Peter's hand and found the tape and marker on top of Peter's dresser. Dick walked back toward the bed, and Peter handed him the bottle of antibiotics after a few attempts. Dick ran the roll of tape over the plastic until it was completely sealed and drew a squiggly line before placing it in the top drawer of Peter's bedside table. He looked at the drawer briefly before casting Peter and Jason one final glance and walked over to the open bedroom door. 

Peter glanced over at Jason, tugging at his hand until he sat next to Peter and let him hold his arm with both of Peter's. Jason's arm felt as big as Peter's torso and powerful enough to crush him, but it made Peter hug it even tighter. 

"You won't believe how happy I am that you're back," Jason whispered after a minute of silence, and Peter leaned his cheek on Jason's biceps. 

Dick came back with hurried steps, but he paused in the doorway. Dick looked less like a warrior and more like a dad as he leaned on the doorframe in a white undershirt and knee-lenght, plaid shorts, and his eyes crinkled in a much lighter way than before as he gazed upon Peter and Jason. Everything about him was strong but comforting, like a willow tree ready to shade anyone from the basking sun but able to stand firm in any storm.

"Is Jason sleeping with us too?" 

Peter turned to look at Jason but had to turn his eyes away when he saw the hope shining down at him. 

"Don't worry, I can keep you safe," Dick hurried out before Peter could think of a way to answer between the fog and terror still pumping through his veins. 

Peter turned his forehead into Jason's arm and was rewarded with Jason's light chuckle. "It's fine, you little shit. I'm not mad that you want to sleep alone with your dad. I'm content with seeing you during the day." 

Peter heard a woosh and looked around to see Dick pulling the curtains together in front of the bedroom window. 

Peter's heart started to pump even quicker, his palms sweated, and his breath hitched again. Jason's gaze turned piercing, but Peter couldn't look away from the view of curtains hiding the dark window.

"Hey, Dickie, how do you feel about a little redecoration before bed?" 

Dick turned around with one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. "Sure, what do you have in mind?"

Jason's arm moved, but Peter's nails dug further into his skin. "Do you think the window would be covered if we moved and turned the dresser?" 

Dick turned toward the dresser and glanced at Peter with an even mouth and slightly furrowed eyebrows before pulling all of Peter's clothes out from the dresser and onto the floor. 

The window was still there, but it felt a little farther away when Dick and Jason pushed and turned the dresser in front of it. Someone could still break the window, but they would have difficulty climbing through the tiny gap, and moving the dresser would wake the whole manor before anyone could land on the bedroom floor.

Dick turned toward Peter with a light sheen of new sweat on his forehead and smiled. "Is that better?" 

Peter nodded, crawled under the covers, and looked at the stuffed spider lying innocently and carelessly on the bedside table before patting the space next to him in the bed. 

Dick was at the side of the bed in the blink of an eye, but he cautiously crawled in without looking away from Peter until he was firmly under a blanket without any protests from Peter. 

Jason shuffled his feet and looked around the room. "I'll better go then. Sleep tight, and I'll see you when you wake up."

He turned off the overhead light, and a high-pitched sound escaped from the top of Peter's throat until the light turned back on. 

Jason's mouth widened and turned up with a mockery of a smile, and his eyes narrowed. "Do you want to be blasted with light while you sleep?" 

Jason seemed to understand the answer without any words or gestures from Peter. He dimmed the light until Peter tensed and turned it up slightly before leaving the bedroom.

A little warmth left the room as Jason did, but Peter couldn't call him back. Not only would it require Peter to attempt to speak or make himself understandable through gestures, but it would risk Jason knowing how childish and gross he could be after certain nightmares. Jason liked him, and he liked Jason, and he couldn't let anything jeopardize that.

"Do you want me to do the sleep thing?" Dick whispered after a few minutes of Peter silently looking at the bedroom door. Dick's instructions didn't hold quite the same soft sense of secrecy in the light, but the familiar words made Peter feel a little more tired and a little less worn. 

Peter drifted off to the sound of Dick’s voice guiding him to relax, and he stayed asleep to the soft murmur of Dick singing. All night, nightmares flickered behind his eyelids—some vivid, others shapeless, all terrifying. Peter tried to stay quiet when he realized he was dreaming. Still, Dick was already awake every time he woke and ready to ground him with a gentle voice and another song as Peter slowly took in the room around him. Sometimes, a slight turn of his head sent a sharp bolt of pain through Peter's jaw, and he would wake up to memories of Owls, Talons, glass chambers, and hands forcing objects into his mouth, but Dick was there to calm him every time and reassured him until sleep returned. Peter's hands would feel cold and stir a sense of loneliness even with Dick beside him. Yet, he lacked the bravery to ask and was not selfish enough to impose his touch on anyone else, and Dick never offered a hand before Peter was already half asleep and had lost the energy to move his arms.

Chapter Text

Peter gasped as he was roused from another vision of horrors. Most of the nightmares had been vivid, but the latest one left Peter with a strange sense of paranoia and gloom.

“You’re okay, Peter. We’re at the manor.” 

Peter looked around the room. It was still lit from the overhead light, and the dresser was still in front of the window. No one had come in, and Peter looked to the side to see Dick still laying exactly where he had been the last time that Peter had woken up and concluded that no one had left the room either. 

“Lie down and sleep some more.” 

Peter sat up properly and shook his head. 

“Hey, you need sleep. You’ve only slept for about six hours, Dulceață.” 

Peter pointed to his undereye and then to the shadows under Dick’s eyes with furrowed brows and a tensed jaw before the pain almost made him fall back. Dick flashed Peter a crooked smile, and his shoulders rose for a moment before they fell back down. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep that much either.” 

Peter exhaled through his nose and looked down at his hands. He was in nearly blinding pain from his ear to his clavicle, exhausted, and a bit confused by the sudden wake-up call. His stomach had also awakened, but was churning at the thought of food or anything moving.

Peter glanced at Dick’s hand, only to do a double take before pulling both of Dick’s hands toward his lap with his index and middle fingers. 

“Woah, hey, what’s happening, Tati?” Dick also looked down at his hands as Peter brushed an index finger over the bandages around Dick’s left hand. The right hand had scrapes, and Dick’s knuckles were bruised, but anything could be hiding beneath bandages. “Oh, yeah, that.” 

Questions went through Peter’s mind, but nothing would come out. Not even a squeak or groan, and he looked at the dark patches of blood that had surfaced through the bandages. 

“Alfred or I will rewrap it when you and I go downstairs for lunch.” 

Peter didn’t want lunch, but he gave Dick his hands back and followed him down to the medical room and watched on as Alfred unwrapped the bandages and unveiled a stitched cut on the palm of Dick’s left hand. It had been stitched expertly, but the dark thread made it look like something from a horror movie, and the skin around it was inflamed and red. 

Peter tilted his head as he observed how Alfred tended to the cut. No one was speaking, but there appeared to be a sea of unspoken words in the shared look between Alfred and Dick. Alfred’s mouth was firm under his mustache, and Dick gained color in his cheeks even as he looked firmly at Alfred’s hands. Dick glanced at Peter for only for a second, but Peter felt like he saw a flicker of light in the dark. The flicker was gone in the next blink, but Peter could follow it anyway.

Oh, Peter thought when he was halfway to understanding Dick’s glances. Oh! he thought again when the knowledge hit him. Peter backed up toward the door out of the medical room but stopped as if tethered and almost vibrated as he waited for Dick’s hand to be rewrapped and then loudly hit the doorframe with his underarm and turned to see Dick stand up. 

“What’s up?” Dick followed Peter on much longer legs when Peter started to brave the hallways with a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Dick was following him. “Hey, where’re you going?” 

The door to the computer room was closed and unremarkable, but Peter’s heart beat loudly in his ears. 

“You don’t have to look in there,” Dick said, but Peter didn’t turn around to find his face. He knew the expression from how slowly the words had come out. Dick would tilt his eyebrows outward and frown with sharp blue eyes that Peter wouldn’t want to disappoint.

Peter touched the door handle with a deep inhale through his mouth, opened the door with a loud exhale, and looked at the lit room. Someone had taped a plastic tarp over the broken window, but there were still glass shards on the wooden floor and Dick’s blood on the remains of the window. 

Peter wanted to go inside to look for more signs of the struggle, but he was held back by the memories of Dick’s animalistic call and frantic cries after he had jumped through the window without regard for his own safety. 

“Come on, let’s not look at that.” 

Peter’s socked feet were glued to the floor, and his gaze found Dick’s when he walked to Peter’s left and closed the door. 

“Oh, Dulceață, let’s get some food and medicine in you instead of looking at that.” 

Peter wasn’t sure how much sense he was making as he pointed to the palm of his hand, but Dick sighed and answered, “Any injury would be worth it if there were a chance that I could have saved you from even one more bad experience.” 

Peter’s throat spasmed around the feelings bobbling up from his stomach, and his jaw hurt as he tried in vain not to let his chin wobble. Everything was too much, and he didn’t know if the knowledge of Dick putting his hands on broken glass to jump through the window was making him feel lighter or heavier. His feelings were rising to the surface, but his feet felt even heavier than if they had been placed in cement. 

Dick looked at Peter’s limp hands and arms. “Can I hold your hand? I won’t touch anything but your hand, and you won’t touch anything but mine.” 

Peter nodded and let himself be taken away by his hand. 

Breakfast was painful, both physically and emotionally. Peter finally relented and took another dose of painkillers so he could finish the rest of his yogurt, and endured the awkward silence as he and Dick stared at the open bottles of Calpol and Motrin until Dick put them away and asked Bruce to find an unopen bottle of morphine oral solution and tape.

Another painful thing was the audience gathering as Dick taped the morphine bottle shut and used his teeth to tear the tape off.

“Go away, Drake; Peter doesn’t need an audience to eat,” Damian spat out when Tim walked past the kitchen for the fourth time. 

Peter’s spoon went back into the yogurt as he sent Dick a pointed look and head tilted towards Bruce and Damian, who had been insisting on arguing against anyone, including each other, being in the room but stayed annoyingly close by. 

“Cass, you’ll spook Peter if you sneak up on him like that,” Bruce sighed.

“Brown, take your loud mouth somewhere else,” Damian scolded loudly. 

“Please go outside to your siblings, Damian.”

Damian scoffed and opened his mouth. It would probably be a cutting and clever retort, but Peter was already having difficulty eating without having to keep his eye on the multiple people in the room.

Dick glanced at Peter’s forgotten meal. “Perhaps Peter would like to eat without a multi-person audience. I think one person in the room with him while he’s eating is more than enough.” 

Damian glared at Dick and crossed his arms. “You spend more than enough exclusive time with Peter, Grayson, and I’m ensuring he's well taken care of." 

“He’s a human being, not something for us to have a turn to spend time with.” 

Damian scoffed. “I know that he’s a fucking human being, but no one else seems to take properly care of him.” 

Peter looked at Damian with pure confusion, Dick with pure hurt, and Bruce was somewhere in between, but Damian didn’t apologize and glared out into the hallways when Duke walked past. 

Dick swallowed and glanced at Peter’s forgotten meal before looking sternly at Damian. “Maybe Peter would like you to play guard-dog outside the kitchen, Damian. He won’t eat with this many people in the room.” 

Damian’s toxic green eyes narrowed in Dick’s direction, but both they and his tense jaw relaxed when he looked at Peter, who was trying hard to keep an eye on his yogurt without drawing anyone's attention or causing himself pain. At least his inability to hold a yogurt cup still without holding it against a table was advantageous in leaning over the table without looking suspicious. 

Peter glanced at Damian and was met with a slow blink. It scratched somewhere in the back of his mind, and he did a slow blink back. Damian’s slight frown disappeared, and he sent the shadow of a smile toward Peter and eyes the color of freshly moved grass.

Bruce’s voice was deep and warm like a blanket as he touched Damian’s shoulder and said, “We’ll stand outside the kitchen, Chum.” 

Damian sent another slow blink toward Peter and flashed the room with a genuine smile when Peter sent a slow blink back again. 

The door closed behind Damian and Bruce, and Peter looked up at Dick. Dick’s gaze followed Peter’s every movement as he pointed with his index finger and moved only his wrist to make the hand shake before he used his elbow and wrist to draw a ‘j’ with his pinky finger. 

“Jason’s checking in on Dr. Strain. He’s at a safe house.” 

Peter looked around the room with narrowed eyes before looking back at Dick with raised eyebrows. 

“Dr. Strain is the man who was with you at the Court of Owls.” 

The yogurt turned in Peter’s stomach, and he had to force it not to escape his throat, but he still had to know.

Peter used his palms to pat the heads of imaginary children, and Dick’s eyebrows shot up and furrowed before his mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened. A few moments passed in stunned silence before Dick’s face turned even paler, and he asked in a shrill voice, “There were more children with you?” 

Peter shook his head and exhaled out of his nose as he tried to find a way to explain himself. The gestures had come to him naturally until now, but he didn’t know how to make one for a doctor. He instead touched his forehead as well as he could with his thumb and then made an arc to touch his chest before repeating the prior gesture. 

Dick blinked a few times before he caught on. “Man, children? Oh, you mean Dr. Strain’s children? They seem to have gone into hiding before we rescued you and Dr. Strain. I’m sure that they and their mother are fine.” 

The nausea dimmed until Peter could finish his meal and shuffle with Dick toward his bedroom for his vitamins, antibiotics with a water bottle. Dick had to open the vitamins and antibiotics for Peter but otherwise let him take as long as he needed to swallow the pills slowly and painfully. 

Dick glanced at Peter’s attire and hair when Peter gave him the pill bottles back to get taped and scribbled on them as well as the morphine bottle. “Do you think that you could deal with a shower now? Or at least washing your hair and getting a wipe down?” 

Peter looked down and touched his crusty hair. He felt like he couldn’t deal with anything anymore, but maybe he would feel better and a little more human if he was clean. He wasn’t sick, but perhaps the same sense of renewal would apply to getting rid of the heavy feeling as it did to getting rid of feelings of gross sickness when sick. 

Peter nodded, and Dick gave Peter the pill bottles back to hide around the room but found a key in an empty desk drawer and locked the morphine bottle in there before putting the key in his back pocket. “There, now no one can get it.”

Peter was engrossed in watching the locket drawer as Dick kneeled by Peter’s clothes on the floor. It was only as Dick stood up that Peter could pull himself away from the question of why Dick was locking the painkillers away when a thief was much more likely to steal from the medical room.

“Ready?” Dick asked with Peter’s clothes in his arms.

Peter didn’t answer, but walking toward Dick seemed to answer enough for now as they left the bedroom together.

“Babs has a bath bench in another bathroom in the manor, and I think it might be best if you sit down for your shower after we wrap your feet in plastic.” 

Peter looked down at his feet. He would hate if he fell and suffered a concussion or a broken bone when he was already feeling like one giant bruise. 

The bathroom looked almost identical to the one Peter had used already, but the thought of being vulnerable in an unfamiliar, dark room made Peter’s hair stand on end. Dick seemed to know too and only went in to the chair with one hand.

Peter was fully capable of holding a stack of clothes. Nonetheless, Dick still refused to recognize Peter’s carrying ability until they paused in front of a small built-in closet. There, Dick placed the clothes into Peter’s outstretched arms before pulling out plastic wrap and bags. 

Peter tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, and Dick smiled before explaining, “Alfred has used plastic wrap for clogged toilets a few times, old pipes and all that. You can also use it to remove sticker residue, and other rolls are in the kitchen for food.”

Dick’s smile fell, and he glanced at the plastic before putting all the items in his back pocket. “Although I think they’ll get a new spot soon, so just ask if you need some.” 

A strange feeling blossomed in Peter’s stomach at Dick’s abnormal and sudden sullen expression at the placement of plastic bags and wrap, and the feeling turned into confusion when Dick smiled brightly and reached a hand out to take Peter’s clothes back. 

Peter turned his back on him, and Dick followed after him without protest to the bathroom that Peter had exclusively used in the manor. 

Peter opened the door with an elbow, and Dick put the chair in the bathtub, found two giant towels in the bathroom closet, and pulled the plastic wrap and bags out of his back pocket. 

Peter placed the clothes on the bathroom countertop and sat on the closed toilet. Dick quickly unfolded Peter’s socks and wrapped Peter’s hands and feet in plastic wrap, placing plastic bags over his feet and adult-sized rubber gloves on his hands before sealing everything with more plastic wrap as tape. 

Dick put the roll of wrap and bags into his pocket again and stood up. “Please stay seated while you shower. I would hate for you to fall in there.” 

Peter brushed his foot across the tile floor. It wasn’t slippery, and he was only feeling slightly dizzy from the morphine having time to work itself into his system, but Peter was grateful that he wouldn’t have to risk hurting himself in the shower. He might die of embarrassment if he slipped in the shower after surviving fighting adults and spending over a month on the streets. 

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed further when Peter looked up at him, and his mouth went into a straight line. “I’ll be right outside the bathroom if you need me.” 

Peter nodded and looked on as Dick reluctantly walked out of the bathroom, and Peter felt it in his chest when the door closed behind him. 

Peter’s clothes were removed without too much issue, even with the plastic around his hands, and the bathtub seat stood firm when Peter sat on it in his swim trunks.

His body was full of bruises, but they barely hurt when Peter rubbed the dirt off his skin. Instead, he was allowed to feel almost normal as he tried to identify which spots were stubborn dirt and which were dark bruises. Most of them were, unfortunately, bruises, but a few scrubs left his skin irritated at the harsh treatment, but otherwise blank.

The swim trunks went down for only minutes as he cleaned himself where they had been, and then they were pulled up as he sat down and tried to wash his hair. It felt like every strand got pulled out as the plastic went over it, and the shampoo seemed unable to leave his gloves and go into his hair. 

Peter attempted to get another glob of shampoo into his hand, but the pump bottle was empty, and he couldn’t unlock the pump of the next one. He wanted to scream. He had just had an almost calming time cleaning himself, but the storm brewed quickly in his chest and spread to his arms and legs until he pushed the bottle off its shelf with a loud thud, causing a piece of the plastic to break off.

The bathroom door opened. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

Heat rose into his cheeks, but not even the embarrassment was enough to stop him from pushing more bottles off the shelf and kicking them into the sides of the bathtub. It hurt and was difficult with plastic at the end of every limb, but it also satisfied the angry monster screaming into his ears.

The shower rings gave a sharp noise as Dick pulled the shower curtain to the side and looked down at Peter’s heaving chest and angry hands. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Peter threw his hands up and huffed before he crossed his arms and looked at the wall.

“I want to help you. You showing any emotions is a good sign, but I would prefer intervening if it means that you won’t destroy everything in the bathroom.”

Peter turned back to look at Dick and tried to radiate calm even as adrenaline still pumped through his veins, and the helplessness colored everything gray. 

Dick’s gaze went up over Peter’s eyes before looking to his hands and finally his eyes. “Are you having trouble with your hair?” 

Peter glanced at the fallen bottles, let his head fall, and his shoulder rise. 

“I can’t resist that little pout, draga mea. Please, let me help you.” 

Peter glanced and turned his head toward the fallen bottles until Dick sighed. “I’m not happy about you throwing or kicking inanimate objects, but throwing shampoo and body wash in the shower is not the worst you could have done. I’m more worried about you overextending yourself or not getting properly clean than plastic bottles.” 

Peter shrugged after an awkward amount of time, and Dick swallowed and bit his full lips before releasing the tension and spurting out, “Can I help you wash your hair? Please? I would really like to.” 

Peter wrinkled his nose and glanced at Dick from his socked feet to his barely tamed hair and slowly turned to look at the detachable showerhead before nodding. 

“I can wash the shampoo out now if a full hair wash is too much right now. We can try again later or tomorrow.”

Peter felt the clumps in his hair and shook his head. It would be easier to save this for another day but he had already embarrassed himself with letting Dick see his incompetence and his hair might get worse if he slept on it another night without a way to brush it.

Dick pulled his socks off in quick movements and walked to stand behind Peter in the bathtub. “Lift your right hand if you want me to stop or pause.” 

Peter had expected to feel uncomfortable with Dick’s hands in his hair, especially in only swim trunks and being unable to escape without fear of slipping. However, it felt nice as Dick ran his fingers through Peter’s hair and carefully spread shampoo through it a couple of times. Dick only left the bathtub to find a plastic comb identical to the one that he had given Peter and used the widest teeth of the comb to detangle Peter’s hair, but it was enough for Peter to consider lifting his hand. Peter’s scalp was very sensitive, and sometimes it hurt when he brushed his hair, but it didn’t hurt when Dick detangled it or removed any coagulated blood. He didn’t know if he had ever been that relaxed before, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes, and he had to use all his concentration to keep his mouth closed. 

“Does it feel good?” 

Peter hummed but couldn’t nod in case any movement would discourage Dick from brushing his hands or the comb through Peter’s hair. 

“Are you still comfortable, Peter?” 

Peter hummed again, a little less relaxed but not annoyed yet, as he finally gave a slight nod.

“You can tell me if I do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

Peter wouldn’t call it uncomfortable, but he would have a few less kind words about Dick’s inability to let Peter have anything good in his life. Even if Dick was the one provided the good right now.

“I’ve used shampoo about four times, so I would really like to use some conditioner on you. Is that okay?” 

Peter bit back a groan and lifted his left hand. 

Dick’s voice still sounded insecure, yet there was a sense of amusement as he asked, “Is that a thumbs-up, or are you threatening me?” 

Peter opened an eye to look at the way that his thumb was stuck pointing toward the rest of his fingers, and he reached the hand back to push Dick’s hand into his hair. 

“Okay, good, I’ll condition your hair then.” 

Peter was met with a mild grapefruit scent from the conditioner and sat silently for a few minutes. He started to shiver as the cold air met his skin, but it was nice anyway, and Peter didn’t want to leave after Dick soaked Peter’s hair one last time and scrunched most of the water out of his hair. “Okay, you’re all done.” 

Peter stifled a yawn and blinked up at Dick. He sent a thumbs-up but kept his eyes half-closed and carefully stood up and exited the bathtub without issue and accepted the towel when Dick handed it to him. 

Dick lifted the chair out of the bathtub and put another towel on it before gesturing for Peter to sit, and Peter tilted his head as he stared at Dick’s soaked shirt and turned his gaze down to Dick’s damp pants and feet. 

“Can I remove the plastic wrap and bags?” 

Dick flashed a quick smile when Peter nodded and pulled the plastic off his feet and hands before standing up from his kneeled position. “Do you want me to stay while you get dry and dressed?” 

Peter should send Dick away in the hopes that he would change his clothes, but Peter somehow felt less exposed with Dick in the room. Dick also wanted to spend time with Peter, so maybe it wasn’t selfish to ask him to stay.

Peter glanced down at his wet trunks. Standing in front of Dick half-dressed was fine, and he had not even given it a thought when he had walked around in a T-shirt and underwear the night that he had left Jason’s apartment, but he would rather not have anyone look at his genitals. 

Dick was still staring and smiled sweetly when Peter lifted his head. “I can look at the wall.” 

Peter nodded frantically, and Dick walked over to one of the corners by the door and stared at the corner. It looked almost like Dick had sent himself into the naughty corner, but Peter shook the thought away and hurriedly dried himself as well as possible. Holding a towel without the full use of his thumbs was hard, but Peter did an okay job and only felt a little damp when he got dressed. 

Dick turned around when Peter poked his back. His gaze moved from Peter’s feet to the top of his head, and he bit his lip momentarily before looking into Peter’s eyes. “Can I dry your hair for you?” 

Peter almost regretted it as soon as he nodded, but Dick, fortunately, dried Peter’s hair quickly and without having to check in every other second. It was humiliating to need someone to dry his hair because of his stupid thumbs not working, but it was nice that Dick wanted to do so much for him—nice and guilt-inducing.

Although not guilt-inducing enough not to let Dick brush his hair again and pretend that he wasn’t enjoying the pleasant sensation of comb teeth in his hair.

It was less pleasant to go down to the medical room and watch Alfred clean both of Dick’s hands after Dick had changed his clothes, with Peter looking into a corner of Dick’s bedroom. 

“Was wrapping your own hands too hard, Master Dick?” 

Dick smiled crookedly and winked. “I guess that my hands didn’t seem as important as not snagging Peter’s hair.” 

Alfred hummed. “Yes, I remember the young master complaining about his tender scalp in his younger years.” 

“See? You get it, Alfred. We can’t have Peter’s hair being pulled when he’s getting his hair washed.” 

Peter stared at the soaked bandages in the trash can. Soap must have gone through at least a few times, but Dick hadn’t complained when it hit the jagged cut or unprotected scrapes on his other hand.

“His hair does look much nicer now.” Alfred turned his gaze to Peter’s spot by the wall. “You look better already, Master Peter.” 

Peter sent Alfred a wide-eyed and an almost-thumbs-up, almost-fist. 

Alfred hummed and started to wrap Dick’s hands. “Don’t soak your bandages immediately this time, Master Dick. I do have other duties, and I enjoy not rushing through them despite popular belief.” 

Dick sighed. “But what if Peter needs me to retrieve something from a lake or there’s an emergency that only clean dishes could solve?” 

“I suggest that you refrain from risking your recovery and get someone else should such unlikely scenarios become a reality, and the dishwasher is where it has been for over a decade. I’m sure the young master would be perfectly capable of waiting until it has run its course or for someone else to wash whatever is needed. Unless you have forgotten where the dishwasher is and require a head exam, of course.” 

Dick sighed and put his left hand over his forehead when it was wrapped to Alfred’s satisfaction. “You’re no fun, Alfie.” 

“Perhaps my humor has left me in old age. Although it is nice to see that you’ve gotten yours back, even when inconveniencing others.” 

Dick took his hand down from his forehead, kissed it loudly, and threw his arm out in a big arc. “I love you too.” 

Dick’s other hand had received a final checkup for its scrapes shortly after, and he threw both arms out. He pulled them back a split second later. He was even more startled than Peter by the sudden movement and how Peter’s arms instinctively protected his chest, relaxing only once his frantic mind registered whose hand had approached him.  

All humor left Dick’s face and body, and his eyes seemed to be searching for something with his furrowed brows and slightly tensed jaw. “Hey, Dulceață, can we have a little talk? Maybe in your bedroom?” 

Peter’s palms started to sweat under his splint and elastic compression bandage, respectively, and his mouth went dry. He could probably deny the request. Dick had seemed sincere when he asked too many times if Peter was okay with having Dick wash his hair, but the unease was growing for every second of uncertainty. 

Dick sent a small smile when Peter nodded, and they walked out of the medical room with only a small pitstop to pet Sparta, Rome, and Alfred the cat when they tried to follow Dick and Peter. Some of the anxieties disappeared when he touched their furry heads, and he felt a little lighter when Rome tried to lick Alfred’s ear and received a venomous side-eye. Unfortunately, the talk couldn’t wait forever, no matter how cute the pets were when pushing each other aside to reach Peter’s hands or how content Dick seemed as he watched Peter try to pet three animals with only two mostly functional hands. 

The stairs were just as many steps as before, but they felt longer with the heavy weight of a boulder in Peter’s stomach. The door was just as silent as before but seemed to deafen the whole house when Dick opened it and held it open as Peter shuffled into the bedroom. 

The covered window gave off some light, but Peter’s palms sweated until he hit the light switch, and the room was bathed in enough light for Peter to assess the lack of danger.

The door closed without a sound, but with an undeniable feeling of a boom of finality. Peter sat on the unmade bed, and Dick paced a few times before clearing his throat and stopping a little over an arm's reach away from Peter.

Dick swallowed and he looked far more nervous than any man in his late 30s should be in front of a child. “I know that we agreed that I’m waiting until you’re ready to tell me about what has happened, but-” 

The boulder grew in Peter’s stomach, and he kept his narrowed eyes on the space between Dick’s eyebrows. 

“I had a lot of time to think last night, and we might stumble upon many other triggers. There could be expected triggers, such as you being wary of sudden movements, but I might trigger you without realizing it, or you being comfortable telling me. I therefore thought that we could avoid some of them if Jason told me a little about what had happened to you when… I mean, what happened in the deleted video of you and that man. I only want to know how to avoid some of your triggers, such as anything that reminds you of someone taking your hand and putting it on…” 

Dick looked away with furrowed brows and blinked quickly. His chin wobbled, but Peter didn’t see it for long before he covered it with the back of his hand until he swallowed with closed eyes and looked back at Peter. 

“I just want to do the best for you.” 

Peter shook his head violently. If Dick wanted to respect Peter’s boundaries, then he would keep his promise of not looking into things that should be forgotten. 

“I know that you don’t want me to know, but how can I know how to help you if I don’t know what happened? I don’t know what happened to you the time before unless you tell me, and I can only imagine what the Court of Owls put you through, but I can stop causing you harm with this one thing. You don’t even have to be present for it. I just need five minutes with Jason to know the main triggers, and then I can wait forever again.” 

Peter pulled his gaze away from Dick and stood up to pace with heavy steps on the other side of the bedroom. He glanced at Dick every time that he thought that he knew how to explain himself without words and shook his head every time he looked at Dick’s wide-eyed gaze. 

There wasn’t much more to know about what happened with Mr. Green. Dick must have heard everything that Jason told Peter the night Mr. Green died, and Mr. Green had only touched Peter and made Peter touch him. It was silly for him to be worried about anyone touching his hands, just like it was silly for him to relive things about Skip after what had happened with his teeth and the talks about NG tubes. It was and should stay in the past, and Peter would get over it sooner rather than later. Dick’s and Jason’s touches were enjoyable most of the time, and Peter would learn to endure or even accept touches from others, so there was no need to talk about anything. He just had to prove to Dick that he wasn’t a dying coral reef but a thriving being that could accept most touches.

Peter stomped to stand in front of Dick. He had to crane his neck, but he hoped his furrowed eyebrows and scowl were menacing enough for his point to come across. However, Dick neither cowered nor instantly conveyed that he understood that Peter could hold his own.

Peter exhaled with a sharp sound and pointed at Dick’s hand, and putting his hands together. It looked more like Peter was shooting Dick’s hand and then celebrating it momentarily, but Peter didn’t have the energy to convey his message in another way. 

Dick looked up at Peter again with slightly pouty lips and a startled look in his eyes. “You can always hold my hand or touch me almost anywhere.” 

Dick held out his hand as if to hold Peter’s, but he complied when Peter grabbed it between his index and middle finger and put his hand on Dick’s chest and then put Dick’s hand on Peter’s. 

Dick’s hand initially fell when Peter let go, but it stayed when Peter poked it back before giving Dick a thumbs up, and Dick didn’t have to be reminded with a poke to hold his hand on Peter’s hand when he touched Dick’s face next. 

“You can’t just give someone unlimited permission to force touches on you,” Dick protested softly as both Peter’s and his hand fell away from Dick’s face. 

Peter tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. It seemed to get the message across nicely. 

“I mean, I’m scared that someone would take advantage of you, but I would love to keep touching your hand if you let me.” 

Peter gave a curt nod and looked at Dick’s hand swinging limply by his side. Peter’s heart beat a little quicker at thinking about what he had in mind. It felt almost like fear, but not quite, as the nerves made themselves known in Peter’s jittery fingers and butterflies flew around in his stomach. 

Peter gazed up at Dick’s furrowed brows and searching eyes as he carefully placed Dick’s hand on his uninjured cheek with a trembling hand. 

They both froze for a moment as they absorbed the feeling. It felt different than Peter touching Dick’s face or chest. Somehow it felt far more intimate but also right as Dick’s thumb carefully stroked Peter’s cheekbone, and both of them held intense eye contact. 

Dick breathed quickly and shallowly, and he was biting his lip, but his intense and widened eyes looked both petrified and euphoric. His pupils dilated, and he started to pant with a wide smile.

Dick’s mouth opened to let out a short breath before he asked slowly and carefully, “This is fine, right? I can touch your face sometimes?” 

Peter let out a slight sound as he gave a single nod and pressed Dick’s hand a little tighter to his cheek before taking his hand away so Dick could touch his face independently. 

Dick swallowed and bit his bottom lip hard enough to leave teeth marks as his eyes kept changing where they were focusing on Peter’s face. “Can I- can I touch your other cheek too?” 

Peter hovered a hand over his right cheek and winched first to communicate why he wasn’t keen on it, and then winched again at the small bolt of lightning through his face. 

Dick nodded with short and quick movements. “That’s understandable, and I’m very grateful that you feel safe enough to say no. You can always say no to me.” 

Peter offered his hand to Dick, who extended his hand to be placed wherever Peter wished. However, his fingers tightened around Peter’s hand when Peter’s fingers did the same. Peter leaned into the touch on his cheek until Dick’s gentle caresses turned from pleasant to embarrassing, and leaned back and let Dick’s hand fall away from his face.

Dick’s pupils were still huge, but his smile was a little less manic as he said, “I haven’t forgotten what we were talking about just because you’re making me the happiest man in the world.” 

Peter let out another slight sound, but it held a much sharper edge even as he kept his hold on Dick’s hand.

Dick gently squeezed Peter’s hand. “I wouldn’t see you differently if I knew what happened to you, but I understand why you don’t want me to know or talk about it. Still, talking to someone is one of the best ways to help you heal. It doesn’t have to be me, but you should talk to someone about what you’ve gone through. There are people who can help you far more than I can, and then maybe you could feel everything you’re keeping in.” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed again, and although he frowned, it wasn’t out of annoyance anymore. Instead, he found it hard to meet Dick’s gaze, as a turbulent storm brewed within him. He had been good at keeping it all in, but something about Dick’s soft tone and soft touches made the dam inside of Peter weak. His eyes scrunched, and his face waged a battle between avoiding pain and the inability to keep his mouth still. 

“But you don’t have to wait for that to let go and feel everything, Peter. You’ve been through many things that would make anyone cry, and you can have anyone you want with you. Do you want Jason to come? We can contact him through the comms if he’s not already in the manor.”

Peter blinked rapidly and shook his head. He didn’t know if he wanted Jason to come running or spare him from Peter’s problems, but Dick couldn’t leave him when he was this close to breaking and being vulnerable to any attack. The window was covered, and the sun was shining as much as it ever did in Gotham County, but monsters didn’t only hide in the darkness.

“Okay, then just know that I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.” 

Peter shook his head harshly enough to show his determination and shake his shoulders but restrained enough not to discourage Dick’s hold on his hand. 

“I love you no matter if you’re happy, angry, or sad, so just cry. It’s just us here, and you can cry.” 

Peter’s hands tightened as well as they could with the splint, bandages, and Dick’s hand, but leaky holes grew in the dam, and he could already feel the wave before it would come down and destroy everything that he had carefully built since seeing the Batmobile. 

“Do you want to sit on the bed?” 

Peter had to let go of Dick’s hand to sit on Dick’s right, but it felt nice to sit by his side. It was almost enough for Peter to fill the leaky holes before he lost his hold on his emotions.

“You can lean on me if you want to, like you did with Jason last night. You don’t have to, but you can. Always.”

Peter moved his head on Dick’s shoulder slowly and with robotic jerks, but it was nice. The dam had grown slightly stronger, and the tears seemed farther away. 

Dick's shoulders moved with his controlled breaths. “Can I put my hand on your hair? I promise not to touch your jaw.”

Peter made a sound and nodded just before Dick’s hand rested on the top of his head and gently raked through his wavy, damp hair. A shiver went through Peter’s entire body, and Dick’s movements froze until Peter raised his hand and pushed Dick’s hand against his scalp. 

“You know, I cried a little while you were at the Court of Owls. No, that’s a lie. I ugly-cried. Full, unashamed sobs when we weren't actively looking for you.” 

Peter closed his eyes as Dick’s muffled voice spoke into Peter’s impaired ear. It sounded like a whisper, but Peter could feel the vibration from how loudly Dick was saying. 

“I was terrified about what could be happening to you, and I wanted you back home at any cost, but it must have been even worse for you.” 

Peter started to blink more and let out a pained sound when biting his lip, which sent a jolt through his jaw. 

“I know the Court of Owls, but they’ve been even more horrible to you. I promise that we never stopped looking, but you must have felt so alone and scared. Especially with everything else that you’ve been through. It’s always okay to cry, especially for you.” 

Peter reached a hand out, and Dick reached his free hand across his body to anchor Peter as the wave of emotions hit him. The storm raged, and he had nothing to distract him from it. The first sob breached the dam, and a sudden flood raced through Peter’s body. Dick’s fingers in his hair and around his hand were the only things keeping him above water as he felt everything else being destroyed inside of him. 

“I’m so proud of you. You’ve been strong, and now you’re being brave. It’s very brave to cry. It’s very brave to trust others to see you cry. I’m so proud of you.” 

Peter let out another sob, his breath catching on the swell of emotion. His face ached, the tears stung, and his nose began to run—but Dick didn’t even flinch when it dampened his shirt.

“My brave, brave boy. You’re being so courageous right now.”

Peter didn’t feel brave. Nothing about this felt courageous, and the tears came, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

Peter felt hollow and heavy by the time they finally subsided. His eyes and cheeks were irritated, and his chest felt simultaneously congested and devoid of life. It was as if a great flood had surged through him, tearing up everything in its path, leaving behind only fragments of what had once been.

“Do you feel better?” 

Peter’s shoulders twitched in a parody of a shrug. 

“That’s okay too. I’m just glad that you’re letting yourself feel things.” 

Peter groaned. His jaw hurt despite having taken a dose of morphine an hour or two ago, and his eyes felt dry. 

“Can I tell Jason that you’ve finally cried? He and I have been very worried about you keeping your emotions in.” 

Moving felt like an impossible task, even if it was to shake his head. The only feasible option was to lie limply and imagine extending a middle finger toward everyone who had a part in him ending up in this situation. The Owls, Talons, and the men who touched him deserved the harshest middle fingers, but the doctor should get one too. Peter probably would never actually do it, but it was nice to pretend that he was the kind of person who would. On the other hand, Peter was evidently the kind of person to bite, spit on others, and hit people’s knees and shins with a hammer, so a crude gesture might be kinder than who Peter seemed to be deep down.

Peter then contemplated the ethics of showing Dick a crude gesture if he started to ask a million questions when Peter wanted quiet, but Dick let Peter enjoy the silence. Peter slowly caught his breath and felt his heart and limbs recover from the overwhelming sea of emotions, and Dick was whelmed as he had once put it.

Peter’s eyes closed. He wasn’t quite sleeping, but he wasn’t entirely awake either as Dick sat and endured the slight drool from Peter’s cheek being pressed against Dick’s hard shoulder.

Peter wouldn’t be able to hear the door open with his ugly but good ear against Dick’s shoulder, but nothing could touch him if he was with him. Dick would protect him, and someone else would come running if he couldn’t for some reason. 

Dick’s chest started to vibrate, and his voice flew over Peter’s ear too quietly for Peter to dissect the words until he turned his head enough to free his better ear. 

“He looks like he’s been crying.” Jason’s voice commented, but he didn’t sound angry, sad, or anything like Peter would have expected with those words. Jason’s voice instead held an odd sense of wonder.

“Yeah, he had a good cry, and now he’s resting. He only slept about six hours last night and woke up every thirty minutes, so it’s great that he’s resting now.” 

Jason’s chuckle was light, brief, and muffled. “I’m sure the greatness has nothing to do with him leaning on you. You know, seeing you smile like the Cheshire Cat explains why Dr. Strain was relieved that it was the man who shot him who checked up on him instead of you.” 

Dick’s fingers raked through Peter’s hair as he hummed. “Don’t dismiss a shoulder cuddle till you try it.” 

“I’ve gotten two shoulder cuddles, Big Bird. Two, and they were glorious.” 

“True, Babywing has been much more forward with you, but I hope this means that he’s coming around to me as well.” 

Jason’s footsteps were lighter than expected from such a big man, but they were still obvious to everyone listening. “He’ll come around eventually. He hasn’t known you for very long post-revival, and I had to bribe him before he let me get close to him, and even that was a real pain. He was surprisingly stubborn for a starving, homeless kid. 

Dick’s hand paused in Peter’s hair, and his breathing grew slightly more labored. “That’s in the past. I’ll protect him and ensure he never has to go through anything like that again.”

Peter opened his eyes when a shadow fell over him, and he looked up at Jason’s stoic expression and Dick’s outward tilting eyebrows and wet eyes. Jason pulled at the edges of his sleeve before putting a large hand on Dick’s free shoulder. “We’ll protect him, so sleep when you can instead of looking at him like a creep. What use are you to Peter if you go crazy with sleep deprivation?”

Dick blinked, and the corners of his mouth lifted, but it just made the pain in his eyes more obvious. “I know, but he was taken the last time I slept.”

Jason sighed and tightened his grip on Dick’s shoulder. “I know, but- Hey, you little shit, it’s not nice to listen to other people’s conversations.” 

Dick followed Jason’s gaze, and Peter stopped leaning on Dick and let go of his hand to point to himself with a glare. 

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we were talking about you, but I never claimed to be nice. You, on the other hand, look as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, and I can’t let you disprove that. Even your doctor friend thinks so and asked about you.”

Dick’s hand fell when Peter brushed a hand over his head and Dick bit his lip before turning his gaze to Jason. “Have you found his children and wife?” 

Jason sighed and rubbed the stitches at the bottom of his shirt. “No, not yet. Which is actually a good thing because that means that the Owls probably can’t either, but, yes, they’re still unaccounted for.” 

Peter swallowed the spit that had collected in his mouth and started to bite the inside of his left cheek despite the pain from his right side. 

Jason focused his stare on Peter. “Hey, Kid, we’ll find them, and they’ll be one big, happy family despite how much I want to know how or why a pediatrician ended up working for the Court of Owls.” 

Dick’s breath came out of his nose with a harsh puff, and his hands tightened into fists as he muttered, “Dr. Strain is a pediatric neurosurgeon. That’s probably it.” 

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed in Dick’s direction, and his eyes widened while Dick’s narrowed. Jason’s gaze turned back toward Peter, and the longer he stared at Peter’s right temple, the harsher the green light in his eyes shone. Jason’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he could form any words. The words he found weren’t offensive, but they sounded like unforgivable curse words as he spat, “He was Peter’s neurosurgeon?” 

Dick didn’t answer but his eyes turned cold and his shoulders and jaw tensed into glaciers. Some of the ice thawed when he glanced at Peter, but not enough for Peter to not catch the reflection of what Dick knew.  

Peter stopped breathing for a few moments. Even his heart seemed to forget how to beat until the world suddenly moved faster than before, and Peter had to blink several times to moisten his dry eyes.

Jason’s eyes were tired, and his lips were smiling halfheartedly. “You with us again?” 

Peter nodded. He was here, not at the Court of Owls or on the streets. He was relatively safe and would stay as such if he recuperated.

“I’m sorry, Tati, I thought that you knew. You even mentioned him once.”

Peter had talked about Doctor Strange, but Doctor Strange and Doctor Strain sounded almost identical. He could even see how sending someone into another world or dimension was quite similar to reviving them in an abstract way.

No, Peter decided he needed to prove that this wasn’t his life. The others were a lost cause, but he needed to find evidence for himself. There had to be some gaps somewhere that would confirm he was living someone else's life, and maybe then it wouldn’t be so bad to be reminded of what he had experienced in Gotham.

Chapter Text

Peter couldn't stop thinking about the doctor. He could have been caught up in the mess when Peter came back to life, but Peter couldn't deny how unlikely it was that the doctor wouldn't have an inkling of who he was. The doctor had mentioned that he had no choice but to hurt Peter, and an Owl had hinted that the doctor had removed one of Peter's teeth before he woke up in August. The thoughts and speculations continued to haunt him until he discovered the ideal distraction and a way to find answers in the library.

The comic books stood where they had when Dick had shown them to him. Their creases were neat, and there were no dirt or harsh folds where boots had almost pulled the cover off. 

“Do you want to look at the comics?” Dick asked in a light voice. It still sounded masculine, but there was a warmth to his tone that Peter had thought only mothers had. It was like a thick quilt with countless stories and an ability to make anyone warm instantly.

Peter reached a hand toward the tall shelves, but he would have needed at least six more inches to touch the comics. He contemplated trying to use his powers to crawl up when Dick stomped over to Peter. “Do you want to start at the beginning?” 

Peter frowned and lifted his eyebrows for a moment before glancing at Dick’s soft smile and nodded curtly. Dick pulled most of the shelf down and carefully walked over to the low table in front of the couch to gingerly arrange the comics into piles. “This is the first run. The first pile starts from the beginning, and the last comic in the final pile is the last issue of The Amazing Spider-Boy. I’ll tell me if you want to read the next run, and then you can read Spider-Boy Forever.”

Spider-Boy was still the same as the last time Peter had read about him. His parents were still amicable, and the villains were quickly defeated at first only by Spider-Boy, but he eventually got help from other heroes and genius civilians. Peter hadn’t noticed before, but Peter Parker, the character, looked the same age until around October 1999. It shouldn’t mean anything, but Peter felt nauseous at the birthday scene on that cover.

Peter shook his head and pulled the next issue toward himself. It didn’t matter that someone had decided that the character was turning six the same month and year as Peter Grayson. It didn’t matter that Dick had made this whole series as a symbol of love for his son, and Peter was using even the soft moments to find anything to prove that he still knew who he was.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything usable even as the character slowly grew up at the same rate that the real boy would have. The differences could have been easily overlooked when reading the comics in order until the suit started to fit differently or the character no longer needed to stretch to reach the door handle. It was easy not to notice the changes with how the short storylines differed yet followed the same pattern of blending domestic moments with battles against villains, with or without assistance.

There were also funny moments that nearly distracted Peter from his quest, and his otherwise unexpressive face almost broke into a smile when he stumbled upon the introduction of a tuxedo cat named Albert. Albert had shorter white socks and was whiter on his chest than Alfred, the cat. Still, Peter felt like he knew where the inspiration came from, even if he couldn’t imagine Alfred the cat infiltrating a gala and sneaking Spider-Boy in with his full costume to defeat an evil middle schooler trying to take over the city. The city’s name was a little vague at first, but the sixth issue revealed that the character Peter Parker lived in a city called Kings in New Jersey. 

Peter smacked the table to catch Dick’s attention from where he was looking and occasionally tapping on a laptop. Dick quickly closed the computer and rolled out of the armchair where he had been lying with his legs over one armrest and his back against the other. 

“Do you have a question?” 

Peter lifted the comic book as well as he could and pointed at the word ‘Kings’. 

“Kings? Oh, yeah, that’s fictional." Dick's gaze scanned Peter's impassive expression before explaining further. "I was on a team called the Teen Titans, and then Titans, with a home base in New York. It was in Manhattan, but I liked Queens and Brooklyn, and I had to honor New Jersey, so Kings became a whole city in New Jersey. Not the most creative, but it has worked until now.” 

Peter furrowed his brow as he gazed at the comic. New Jersey was completely different from New York, yet the backgrounds looked eerily similar to every borough or county Peter had encountered in New York. It was almost like someone had gone into Peter’s mind and drawn the few memories that made sense onto paper.

“I never realized how unimaginative you could be,” Jason commented without glancing away from his thick book. 

Dick glared at Jason. “Peter liked it from the beginning.” 

Jason widened his eyes and turned the page. “Wow, having a three-year-old thinking you’re clever. What a feat.” 

Dick huffed. “I sometimes regret not forcing Bruce to give you back.” 

“I sometimes regret not running away as soon as I saw that Discowing suit, Dickhead.” 

Peter couldn’t stop staring at the innocent ‘Kings, New Jersey’ in a light blue box over a red silhouette of skyscrapers and shorter buildings. Queens sounded similar to Kings, and Peter remembered New York being nicknamed Gotham in his universe. Peter Parker, the character, lived in Kings, New Jersey, and Peter Parker, the person he used to be, lived in Queens County, New York. They had almost identical powers and very different lives but with many similarities. 

Peter swallowed despite how dry his mouth was feeling and waved Dick away. 

“Are you okay, draga mea? I promise Jason and I weren’t mad at each other.”

“Yeah, it’s just siblings teasing. You understand,” Jason agreed, glanced at Peter, but did not explain how an only child would understand sibling dynamics.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows more and nodded in Dick’s direction before he could repeat his question. Peter was always fine and needed to find more discrepancies between his memories and the life of Spider-Boy and Peter Grayson. There had to be some hint somewhere that didn’t fit into the blanks of Peter’s mind or have a strange parallel to the things he remembered from before.

“Okay,” Dick responded hesitantly and slowly went back to his armchair but sat in it with a straight back and glanced from his laptop to Peter periodically. 

Peter looked through and read more of the comics but didn’t get the answers he hoped for. The only noteworthy event was a scratching on the door, and Peter’s heart beating faster than raindrops could fall in a rainstorm until Jason opened the door for Alfred the cat, Rome, and Sparta. 

Both Dick and Jason stared with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes, and slightly open mouths, but Jason shrugged and closed the door as the last pet walked into the room.

The pets ran around Jason’s legs a few times before quickly trotting over to Peter’s spot on the couch, where the dogs collapsed into a dogpile, and Alfred settled on the backrest behind Peter. Any human would have set off alarms in Peter’s ears, but the pets’ presence and their slight snuffles eased some of the terror in Peter’s chest as he turned pages, with no sign that his memories were unrelated to the life of Peter Grayson or the world that Dick had created. 

Dick closed his laptop after another quiet hour. “I need to talk to Damian about something. It will only be a few minutes, but will you be okay, Peter?”

Peter blinked up at Dick with a single nod. He might be a minor, but he wasn't a helpless baby who needed to be coddled all the time.

Jason’s eyebrows tilted outwards, and he put a dramatic hand on his chest as he lowered his book. “No questions if I’ll be okay without my only big brother?”

Dick’s smile lowered, and his eyebrows turned straight. “No.” 

Peter and Jason exchanged a glance as the door closed. Jason offered Peter a gentle, teasing smile, but it became strained when Peter didn’t return the gesture. Nonetheless, he maintained his gaze until Peter focused back on the comic book in his hands.

Peter had just put the next comic in the pile of read issues when Dick opened the door again. Dick looked at Peter with wide eyes and flashed a smile with his first exhale with Peter in his sight. “I need to make a quick phone call. I’ll be right outside the door.” 

Peter nodded and tried to avoid wrinkling the next comic book with just his index and middle fingers, but he could see a few places where there were signs of Peter’s uncoordinated grip. Dick looked at Peter’s hand for a moment, and Peter braced himself for Dick’s annoyance over how he handled something that Dick had invested years into. Instead, Dick smiled with clear blue eyes and a genuine but hesitant smile at the slight wrinkles in the glossy covers and crooked tower of read comics.

Dick shook his head with a quick movement and closed his eyes hard enough for a wrinkle to appear between his eyebrows before he closed the heavy oak door. It didn’t make a loud sound, but Peter suddenly felt it in his gut as Dick left him in a room in the manor.

Peter's unease was puzzling. Dick had to have been much farther away just minutes earlier, and the library was a long distance from the computer room. However, Peter suddenly became painfully aware of the enormous library windows that anyone could leap through. They were much bigger than the ones in the computer room and far away from most of the others in the manor. Jason was here and capable of things that both scared and caused anxiety to bobble in Peter’s gut, but maybe Jason wouldn’t be able to fight Talons or Owls off just like Dick hadn’t been able to.

It was silly; Dick was nearly middle-aged, yet a childish voice kept repeating that he was the strongest man alive. The voice insisted that Dick could defeat all enemies and was as close to infallible as a human could be, even though he hadn't been able to save Peter from being taken from the manor and that it had mostly been Jason who brought him to safety after he was found.

Peter’s unease lingered as he glanced between the library door, the grand windows, and the wine-red curtains, but he found no sign of danger, and Jason was still present every time Peter checked.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” 

Peter turned to look at Jason. He seemed strong and confident, yet there was a fragility in the way he brushed his fingertips over the edges of the pages of his book. He appeared too broad for it to be possible, yet he leaped effortlessly when Peter nodded and disregarded Rome’s huff as he was pushed aside for Jason to sit at a polite distance from Peter.

“Are you finding anything exciting in those?” 

Peter shrugged. The comics were fun, and the art style was pretty and colorful, with simplistic but recognizable backgrounds and well-placed but spare details for the characters. Even Albert, the cat, looked easy to draw but completely different from any other cat when he came back in the next issue to pick a lock with his claws and let Spider-Boy into the teachers’ lounge at a shady school.

“Are you shitting me, or did Dick write Alfred into the comics as a fucking cat thief?” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows and frowned as he pulled the first comic that Albert the cat had been in, and Jason’s eyes shone with mirth as he took in the cat’s bow tie to complete his fur tuxedo. 

“Okay, not a cat thief, but I should have looked into the comics before. This is pure gold.” Jason's eyes crinkled, and his cheeks looked tight with his broad smile until he swallowed and pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Can you show me your favorite parts?” 

It was hard to pull the comics from the stacks without a pincer grasp, but Peter succeeded in both that and ignoring Jason’s barely restraining attempts to offer to help him. 

Jason’s smile grew even brighter as Peter showed him Spider-Boy battling villains with clever tricks, standing up to bullies, and his father telling him to eat his vegetables. However, Jason and Peter became somber when the October 1999 birthday cover fell to the floor. Peter Parker, the character, was perched between his parents, wearing a conical party hat while blowing out the candles on the cover. It looked idyllic and like every child's dream, regardless of their parents' relationship status. It also resembled how Peter remembered sitting between his uncle and Aunt May. However, it seemed illogical for him to have looked that happy if his parents had died and left an empty space on every birthday, and his uncle and aunt had never had the money or skills for a multilayered birthday cake. His aunt had been a better baker than a cook, but every birthday cake looked professional in Peter's memories.

The cover was sweet enough for Peter never to want to let go of the image, but it was still nauseating enough for Peter never to want to see it again. His eyes couldn’t move away, and he had to keep his eyes closed as he turned his head before he could look at Jason.

“That’s all that Dick wanted for you, you know.” Jason's eyes looked heavy, and his dark eyelashes swept through the air as he blinked repeatedly. “You wanted to go on adventures and defeat rogues, but Dick just wanted you to be happy and safe. I wanted that as well.” 

Alfred rubbed his head on Peter’s neck as his emotions rose and mood soured. Alfred eased Peter’s nerves enough for his palms to not sweat quite as much, but his heart still beat uncomfortably fast.

He remembered everyone being proud but worried about his powers. They had wanted him to stay small and only save kittens in trees while the adults dealt with the real dangers, but even that had never been alone. A former assassin could be lurking to make sure that the old lady wouldn’t pull out a gun, and a clever man or an incorporeal female voice could tap into the cameras to ensure he never got lost when there were no human eyes on him.

Peter pulled more comics toward himself without regard to keeping the order and barely stopped himself from wrinkling the pages further as he looked feverishly through the content. 

“Wow, no one will take them away from you, Kid.”

Peter had never known a cat that occasionally helped him with missions or been a hero before starting puberty, but he had fought villains like Spider-Boy did. Even their private lives were similar. They both had two friends, a boy and a girl, four years into the run of The Amazing Spider-Boy, and the only difference between the character’s parents and his aunt and uncle was that the character's parents were neighbors, both were alive, and neither of them had any obvious financial issues in the comics.

Jason followed Peter as he walked over to the bookcase. He only had to glance between Jason’s widened eyes and the newer run of Spider-Boy a few times before Jason pulled it down and let Peter look at Spider-Boy Forever. The art style was slightly different yet familiar. However, the villains Peter remembered from his universe didn’t look the same, even as they acted as he recalled since meeting the Avengers. Thanos appeared nearly identical, with his purple skin and square jaw, but every other newly introduced villain had different facial features, hairstyles, and hair colors. It felt like someone had been told everything but only a few physical traits to base everyone on.

Peter shook his head and closed his eyes as he tried to remember anything to disprove that Peter was the dead child of this universe.

Peter hadn't seen any uncles in either of the runs, and he remembered his. His face scrunched up, and he tried to remember his uncle’s face or name, but nothing came to mind. Aunt May’s face and life were clear in Peter’s mind. She had been a registered nurse or was studying to be one, but he couldn’t remember what his uncle had been doing. Skilled and unskilled jobs ran through his mind. However, it didn’t make sense for the same person to study law, become a police officer, a bartender, a model, a golf caddy, a gymnastics teacher, an acrobatic instructor, an acrobat, work in an office, and all the other jobs. His uncle's private life made just as little sense. He remembered his uncle reading to him and making funny and serious voices for the different characters, but Peter sometimes thought that his uncle had liked photography too. However, both cameras and big, glossy books were expensive, and the idea of Peter having an uncle with a sword didn’t make sense, regardless of their financial situation.

Peter’s breath hitched as his mind spun and ears rang. Comic books fell on the floor, and Peter pressed his hands tightly to his chest to keep his heart from escaping its cage.

“Fuck, not again,” Jason swore venomously, but his voice softened as he addressed Peter. “It’s going to be okay. Everything will be okay.”

Everything was loud, and the sun shone painfully bright through the window as Peter struggled to make any sound except the strangled noise of his throat closing. 

Everyone had been kind to him, but he didn’t want to be part of a family he didn’t remember, and Peter wouldn’t have done anything meaningful if he was their deceased relative. He would have died and been used until Jason had found him if he wasn't Peter Parker. He wouldn't be a hero or someone to admire—just a foolish boy with decent powers and a million issues.

“Hey, Kid, you’re having a panic attack again. Do you want me to get Dick? It would only be a minute, and then I would come back and stay with you just like when you got spooked over your internet search in the library. Do you remember that? I yelled at strangers, but none of those rubbernecks are here now. It's just you, me, and Damian's pets.” 

Peter shook his head and pressed the bottom of one palm into his sternum, using the other one to push even harder. Every breath was a struggle, and he went so lightheaded that Jason had to catch his shoulders before he fell into the bookcase. 

Jason’s touch burned, and Peter’s breath stopped entirely until he leaned against the wall without anyone's hands on him. 

Jason sprinted to the door and yelled as soon as he opened it. “Dick, get your ass in here right now!" 

Peter felt like he was crying, but his cheeks were dry, and the rest of his body stopped working. He should have been able to feel every beat through his chest, but his lungs were moving too irregularly, and his hands were shaking too much for him to feel any beats. There was no evidence that Peter wasn't Peter Grayson, and now he was dying from a heart attack. Everything that he had done would be for nothing if he died, and he would bring others down with him.

Saliva filled Peter’s mouth as Jason and Dick stopped in front of him, and sweat started to fall as he tried to convert any of his squeaks into oxygen-filled breaths. 

“We can’t crowd him,” Dick breathed out and kneeled a foot away from Peter’s outstretched legs. 

They didn’t need to crowd him for him to feel suffocated and claustrophobic. Even the sweat on his brows seemed to restrict his breathing until the dark spots multiplied, and the ringing in his ears turned muffled.

Perhaps he was already dead. The thought was terrifying and comforting even as dark spots invaded his vision. No more fighting and no more expectations. It would make Jason, Dick, and possibly others sad one last time, but then they could move on without anyone dragging them down or giving them false hope. Everyone would also be free to live their lives instead of being pulled away from work and school without warning.

“Follow our breathing, Peter,” Dick ordered.

Peter opened his eyes, and he tried to imitate as Jason and Dick exaggerated their breathing with arm and head movements to show when they were in- or exhaling. Still, Peter's throat kept letting in only squeaks and letting out whistles until Rome and Sparta ran over and toppled Dick in their quest to lick Peter’s hands while Alfred decided to sit on Peter’s lap and press his head on Peter’s chest and purr loudly. Peter exhaled sharply, and some of the overwhelming terror dimmed when a life-giving breath followed the exhale.

Nothing could entirely erase the turmoil within until the surge of panic had finally run its course. However, existence began to feel almost bearable as Peter steadied himself. The suffocating grip around his lungs gradually loosened, and the dark spots that clouded his vision began to dissipate, revealing the library and Jason's and Dick's widened eyes and worry lines on both of their faces.

The dogs started to dance around with too much energy and enthusiasm until Jason pulled them away and stood like a protective barrier while Dick guided and helped Peter through the process of using his inhaler with clinical hands and a worried frown on his face.

The world became a little less suffocating or blinding with each deliberate breath, and both Jason's and Dick's presence calmed Peter's trembling hands until all the tremors disappeared, and he could take another puff with the inhaler. His heart beat a little quicker as the medicine opened his airways, but his ears tuned back into the world outside of his failing lungs or beating heart.

“-lo?” A buzz called, and Dick turned sharply to pick up his cellphone. 

“Try to hold your breath for at least a few more seconds,” Dick instructed before putting the phone to his ear. “Yeah, sorry about that. I don't know how much you heard, but my brother called me away to deal with a situation.”

Dick glanced at Peter and smiled shakenly as he listened to the buzz on the phone.

Peter exhaled and cringed when he registered the bitter taste. Alfred reacted to Peter's spitting exhale and put his front paws on Peter’s shoulders to brush his head against Peter’s chin gently. Peter let out a pained exhale, and Alfred leaned back momentarily before leaning forward even gentler and purred loud enough for the vibrations to reach Peter’s jawbone.

“It was, and the untrained pets helped him, so the price of a trained one is no issue for me. I'll pay double if I need to. Anything to help my little boy.” Dick looked tired as he blew his bangs out of his eyes and listened to the low murmur from the phone. His lips lifted as they quieted down, and his eyes got some of their sparks back as he cupped the phone to his face and smiled so wide that his words came out slightly strangled when the voice on the other side went silent. “Really? That would be amazing. I need to talk to my son about it, but I would love it if we could start the process soon. I'll get his paperwork ready as quickly as possible, but I know it will also be a long process with you, so thank you so much. Yeah, I’ll call or text. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me. Thank you. Okay, bye.” 

Dick seemed much less jittery when he ended the call and sat with his legs crossed next to his discarded laptop and stared at Peter with teeth whiter and eyes brighter than the room. It was a little intimidating, but Peter stared back unblinkingly. 

Dick tapped his fingers against his chin a few times and ran his gaze over Peter's rhythmically moving chest and still hands. “I’m glad that you’re better now. Did you hear or see something scary?”

Peter glanced at Jason, but his eyes were just as intense and forced Peter to gaze down at Alfred. 

Jason's shirt snapped as he pulled at it. “I don't know what happened, Dickie. Peter kept looking at the door and around the room when you left, but he could be distracted by the comics until he ran for the newer series and panicked. Your comics are PG, so I don't know what happened.” 

None of them said anything for a moment, but Peter could feel their eyes on his bent head. “Did the comics spark a memory?” 

Peter shook his head hesitantly. They hadn't, but they had set a lot of Peter's memories into perspective.

Dick’s voice was calm and but seemed to demand all attention in the quiet room. “It’s fine if you remember something fictional or real.” 

“And it’s fine if you don't,” Jason added a little louder. 

“Yes, anything’s fine.” 

Their words were reassuring, but their steady looks made Peter’s palms sweat. 

“Mrrh,” Alfred cooed and started trilling when Peter touched his head and shoulders. 

“Do you want Rome and Sparta with you too?”

Peter looked up at Jason’s voice and bit his lip as he focused on the dogs sitting with Jason’s hands on their necks. They weren’t fighting to get free but looked on attentionally until Peter nodded and Jason let go. 

Alfred’s trills ceased, yet he remained in place, even as the dogs sniffed Peter’s hair and sat by his sides. 

Dick’s irises looked like blue beacons in his slightly reddened eyes and slightly paled skin. “I’m relieved that Rome, Alfred, and Sparta seem to help.”

Peter blinked a few times and nodded slowly. 

Dick glanced at Jason and then back at Peter. “How would you feel about getting a dog that knows how to help people when they feel anxious or panicky?” 

Peter shook his head as he switched between petting the dogs and Alfred. 

“Okay, that's fine. We should discuss this in depth later so you know what I'm asking, but not today. Today, we’re focused on helping you feel as relaxed as possible. We could watch a movie or do something else since you must be exhausted after your panic attack. I think Cass has gathered all the animated Disney and DreamWorks movies from the 50s until a year or two ago."

Dick was gone for less than two minutes to collect Peter's morphine and the syringe to measure it, but the unease at him leaving the room to lock the bottle in Peter's room disappeared as the drug eased Peter’s pain and loosened his lungs. He tried to read the last fourth of The Amazing Spider-Boy, but his eyes wouldn’t focus after the morphine had taken effect.

Restlessness took over as the words kept moving around, and Jason started to explain Charlotte's Web from where they had left off. Jason remembered an impressive amount of details, but Jason's storytelling wasn't as captivating without him changing his voice for the different characters. That, the exhaustion, and slowly losing the constant pangs of pain made it almost impossible to keep Peter's eyes open. Even his hands moved sluggishly until Dick and Jason understood what he wanted, and Jason led the way with Dick keeping Peter's back safe until Peter had pulled his heavy legs into the TV room. The movie was easier to follow than reading the comic book and easier to keep his eyes open. Still, it was much less enjoyable when Alfred left Peter's side to nap in a sunbeam, and Peter's mind wandered into dark alleys without his purrs to keep him grounded. The dogs helped but left halfway through the movie to bark at the door until Damian came and took them on a walk outside of the manor grounds. 

Peter shook his head when Dick suggested another movie, and Jason suggested they play a board game.

Dick and Peter waited in the dining room while Jason collected the games from the computer room. Only the dining room, computer room, kitchen, and library had tall tables, according to Dick, and Peter didn't want to disturb Alfred when he eventually made dinner, walk back to the enormous library windows, or ever see the computer room again.

Tim opened the door to the dining room as soon as Dick had finished reading the rules for Trivial Pursuit. His eyebrows furrowed, and his forehead wrinkled. “Are you playing Trivial Pursuit in here? Can I join you?” 

Tim was a near stranger, but he didn’t feel like one as he stood in the doorway. Four could easily play the game, and nodding to allow another player felt the same as when Babs and Damian arrived soon after to ask to be the fifth and sixth players. 

Peter didn’t know Cass beyond her name and face, and Bruce was intimidatingly tall and wide-shouldered, but both of them were quiet enough for Peter to nod from his spot between Jason and Dick when they asked if they could watch from the other side of the room. 

Duke and Steph slowly joined them as audience members and card readers, and Alfred, the human, walked past the door a few times as all the players adopted Peter’s technique of putting up their fingers instead of answering a, b, or c to the questions. 

Duke looked down at the next card. “What year did Shakespeare die? Was it a) 1606, b) 1666, or c) 1616?”

Peter looked around the room as if it would tell him the answer. He wasn’t sure if he had ever learned it, and it was nice to wonder about trivia knowledge instead of everything else he had been subjected to. Jason held his breath at the question, but no one else seemed to genuinely care if Peter knew the answer. There was no pressure, and Peter felt light at not disappointing anyone as he shrugged and raised two fingers to the sound of Jason hiding his face with the palm of his hand. 

“I have failed you, Kid, Shakespeare died in 1616. 1666 would have made him 102 years old when he died.”

Peter wouldn't have minded answering correctly, but seeing Jason have a meltdown over Peter not knowing the death- or birthyear of one of the most prominent playwrights in history was better than any win. 

“Keep yourself together, Todd. Peter has much more important manners to remember than a dead playwright. Plus, your disgraceful behavior might permanently injure his other ear.” 

Jason released his face and narrowed his eyes in Damian’s direction. “Peter has two good eyes, and you’re still here making us all wish that we were blind.” 

“It's unbecoming for you to be mad that I'm beating your worthless ass with my superior knowledge."

Jason made a rude gesture that Peter had been dreaming about using himself, and Bruce sighed loudly from the other side of the room. 

Duke put the card down and caught Peter’s wandering attention. “Anyway, Jason’s right. Shakespeare died in 1616.” 

Babs smiled warmly at Peter. “Better luck next time.” 

Peter was dead last when the game ended, but it was fine. He had been nervous that they would let him win, but none of them did. They heckled each other for every right or wrong answer and cheered for Peter when he answered anything correctly, but they never helped him. Not even Dick hinted at anything, and instead let Peter's piece stand still or proceed in the game on his own merits. They teased almost like friends, but there was an additional sharpness and tenderness to everything, and sitting in the chaos felt like being a part of something bigger and warmer than Peter could remember being a part of.

Peter could have observed it forever, and he was disappointed when his face hurt too much to ignore Dick’s order of antibiotics and morphine. 

“Are you ready for another game when you come back down?” Steph asked innocently after throwing a game piece at Tim. 

Peter did not join in on another game. Everything hurt too much after having forced half a tablet down his throat, his mouth tasted bitter until the morphine started to work, and Peter needed a few minutes before following Dick and Jason downstairs. 

He instead watched a few more movies with Jason and Dick between protein drinks and another dose of medicine to calm his pain and mind until he could barely keep his eyes open and didn’t protest when Dick suggested going to bed between yawns. 

Peter’s hands hurt from how he had to braid the toothbrush between his fingers to brush his teeth, but he felt warm standing between Jason and Dick as they brushed their teeth. Jason and Dick were brothers, but both had taken care of Peter when he didn’t deserve it, just like he imagined that most parents would.

Neither of them were looking at Peter, but he had never felt closer to them or more protected than he did as he watched Jason spit the toothpaste out and Dick brushing his molars. 

“I can’t believe that Tim knew Doonesbury’s first name,” Jason huffed when his mouth was free of toothpaste. 

“I can’t believe that he knew who Doonesbury is,” Dick replied soon after he had spat into the sink. 

Peter’s teeth were clean a few minutes after that, and the morphine had made everything a little woozy and much sleepier as soon as he had no pain to focus on.

Jason brushed his tongue over his teeth and pulled his sleeve. “Well, I guess that I better let you two go to bed.” 

Peter bit his lip and glanced at Dick. Heat rose into his cheeks as he wondered how brave or confident he was that he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

Dick couldn’t know what Peter was thinking, but the tiny nod and tilted head were enough for Peter to turn his gaze toward Jason again and grab his other sleeve. 

Jason kept fiddling with his sleeve but focused on Peter’s face. “You don’t have to invite me to sleep with you and Dick. I would rather you sleep than try to make me comfortable.” 

Peter felt like an arrow shot him with the rejection, and his gaze turned to the floor and his grip almost faltered until Dick mumbled something too quiet for Peter to hear but loud enough for Jason to stop fiddling. Jason inhaled deeply enough for his arm to move under Peter’s hand but kept the rest of his body still. “Unless you want me to sleep in the bed with you and Dick.” 

Peter’s shoulders almost touched his ears, and his cheeks turned even warmer as he collected enough courage to glance at Jason’s expression and nod.   

Jason’s toxic green eyes looked much less otherworldly as they crinkled into arrows pointing toward Jason's lightened soul, and his nasolabial folds framed his bright smile. Everything about him looked like a green traffic light guiding Peter to safety, and Peter's mouth stopped feeling dry. “Okay, let’s get our sleep on then.” 

Dick smiled a little more subdued but just as genuinely when Peter glanced at him. “Come on. Let’s show Jason how to sleep before nine.” 

Laying opposite Jason with Dick hovering behind Peter’s back was strange. It felt much safer than Peter had felt the day before, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted Dick to keep looking over Peter’s shoulder or turn his back on them. 

Jason’s head rested on his pillow, and he looked completely at peace in the bright overhead light. “This is so much better than sleeping next to you on the floor of a closed butcher shop.”

Dick huffed, and Peter felt the mattress move when Dick moved to stare Jason down over Peter’s body. “Do you mind not talking about Peter sleeping in an abandoned building for over a month, Jason?”

Jason rolled his eyes at Dick and winked at Peter. “Come off it, Dickhead. Peter lived through it, and lying on a bed with him is much nicer than on the floor. You should save up for Peter’s future physiotherapy bills and my current ones because human backs were not meant to sleep on that floor.” 

Peter’s eyes widened, and he stared at his hands until Jason sighed loudly and looked at Peter with even brows and mouth. “None of that guilt shit, okay? I have been slumming it on my own too many times for the few nights on the butchershop floor to have meant anything, and I needed to ensure that you were okay, at least some of the time. No one knew that you were alive, but Dick is the only man with mother's intuition, and he would have known and been insufferable for both of us if I had let you die. I also love you if you've forgotten."

Jason rearranged his arms and prompted himself up on his elbow and his hand on his cheek. “That reminds me. Please wake either Dick or me if we're asleep and you need something in the middle of the night. You can wake me if you need the bathroom, and I promise not to fuse with the door nearly as much as Dick tried to all day.”

Peter would never have asked anyone to stand guard as he peed, but it hadn't been entirely unwelcome.

Peter hated that someone had been nearby every time he had had to check every nook and cranny before shamefully sitting down to pee, ensuring there wouldn’t be anything to clean up if he lost his grip. Peter would have rather drowned himself in the toilet than let anyone see him like that, but the knowledge that Dick had been right outside the door was equal parts mortifying and reassuring.

Jason looked silently at Peter for several seconds before laying down properly again. “I’ll take that blank expression as confirmation, so good talk, Kid.” 

Peter glanced over his shoulder to see Dick’s soft look before lying down and trying to convince himself to sleep. He felt as exhausted as Dick looked and had had to fight to stay awake before, but sleep wouldn’t find him even in the pocket of warm safety between Dick's and Jason's strong bodies.

Dick hummed as Peter turned once more. “Do you want me to do the sleep thing?” 

Peter sighed and nodded. He had a hard time finding the most comfortable position, but both Dick and Jason seemed okay with his hands brushing their arms as Peter lay on his back with his legs twisted toward Dick.

Chapter Text

Peter’s sleep was restless and restful at the same time. He felt protected when he woke up between Jason and Dick, but he still woke up multiple times to his heart beating out of his chest or being unable to breathe until either Jason or Dick offered a hand, and he swallowed his pride enough to take it. 

He would wake up to Jason’s snores into his pillow or Dick’s occasional grunt when the arm over his face pushed his nostrils. However, at least one of them was awake every time Peter escaped a nightmare, and their quiet words and silent presence lulled him into a reality without monsters lurking and cradled him into sleep. 

“He’s getting your hands,” Jason mumbled as Peter silently woke up from a nightmare in which he was chased by literal owls and had his teeth pulled out by their sharp beaks.

“Really?” Dick breathed out. Peter couldn’t hear the wonder in his voice but could feel it from his impaired side. 

“Except yours are creepy spider hands, and he’ll have piano hands when he grows up.” 

Dick huffed out a breath. “Peter would probably like having spider hands. He would have chased people around before everything if someone had said he had spider hands before everything happened. He would probably have chased Damian, who would pretend to hate it but would have humored Peter if he didn’t think anyone was watching.

“True, plus he could have meter-long fingers, and they would still be better than your hands.” 

Dick’s answer came after a long enough time that Peter felt the sleepiness move from his nose to his slacked jaw before he broke the surface. “You don’t have to fill the silence with jabs.”

Jason sighed. It was probably not very loud, but it sounded deafening from Peter’s above-average hearing side when he had to strain to hear Dick from the other side. 

“I can’t stay quiet when he is. He hadn’t been the same since he… came back, but I could see the Peter I remembered. He was slowly coming back to us, Dick,” Jason whispered with a voice better fit for a mouse looking at the open mouth of a hungry cat than a large man having a sleepover with his family.

“Yeah, he was slowly coming back, Little Wing,” Dick replied, slightly muffled and just loud enough for Peter to hear when he strained his ears. 

“He has been through so much shit, and they only had him for a day, but he’s even farther away than ever.”

Dick’s hand tensed around Peter’s. He hadn’t noticed they were still holding hands from the last time Peter had woken up. The pressure was barely more than when the spider toy had laid on his chest, but Dick had kept their hands exactly as they had been when Peter had fallen asleep. 

“I think everything has just piled on for Peter, and Saturday was the last straw.”

Jason let out a soft and high-pitched sound. “What are we going to do? He lets us touch him, but he’s so scared and withdrawn now.”

“I don’t know, Jay. Be patient, ask for help, and cry when he isn’t looking.”

“How can we be patient when he isn’t even talking anymore? I haven’t seen him smile even once since the Owls had their claws in him, Dick. He could still talk and smile after everything else. I want to burn the world or cry. How aren’t you crying constantly?”

Dick moved to Peter’s right. His movements were soft and steady, but his voice wavered. “Jason, I don’t have a choice but to keep going. I’m happy that he’s back, and I’m terrified that I can’t protect him, and we can talk about it in detail when there aren’t little ears in the room.”

“I just… I don’t know.”

“Me too, Little Wing.”

The conversation seemed over, but Peter wanted to catch every word in case there was more. He turned his face toward Dick, fully exposing his left ear to pick up everything. However, this forced his injured side onto the pillow, and a harsh breath escaped his lips. 

The room was still lit just as it had been when they had all gone to sleep, and Dick looked worn but a little less exhausted than he had all day when Peter pulled his hand away from Dick and gazed upon him. 

Dick bared his teeth and widened his eyes momentarily as he inhaled through his teeth in a sympathetic display at Peter’s pain. “That looks like it hurt.”

Peter’s whole face felt like it was on fire, and the impulses spread acid through his still-sleepy body. 

Dick turned in the bed with a groan and walked toward the desk. “Two seconds, and then you can have some pain relief.” 

Jason furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. “How much morphine are we going to give him?” 

“As much as he needs. I’m not fond of the potential effects on his liver or giving him opioids in general, but he’s a little boy with an enhanced metabolism. So, if he needs morphine every four hours on the dot, then I’ll give him morphine every four hours on the dot.” 

Peter was not a little boy. He was short, young, and cautious about the dangers of being alone, and there was nothing little about that. 

The morphine tasted as bitter as always, but he drank it after seeing Dick unwrap the bottle and open a new syringe to pull the few milliliters up and give it to him. Sleep had seemed far away with his pained face and tense muscles, but everything relaxed as the minutes passed, and Peter was on the edge of sleep before long. Only minutes had passed, but his line on the retaped bottle of morphine was crooked, and he unintentionally drew on the bottle itself.

Jason’s face came into view as Peter tried to keep his eyes open. “Is he high?” 

Dick’s head pushed Jason’s out of the way, and the overhead light behind him made his hair appear even darker. “Maybe a little. Most of it is probably just the lack of sleep and the pain relief. Jaw pain is a bitch after all.” 

Peter lifted two fingers and pressed them to his swollen flesh before inhaling through his teeth as Dick had done. It sent small twitches of pain through his face, but they were as small as ants compared to the elephants that had stomped on Peter’s face before. 

Dick smiled with heavy eyelids and untensed his shoulders. “Yeah, it would probably still hurt a little, but just sleep, and nothing will hurt until the morning. Jason and I will keep you safe and sound, and then you can have some more morphine before breakfast.” 

Drugs were bad. The DARE program said so, but Peter’s eyes closed before he could try to explain it to Dick or Jason. 

“You made a great kid, Dick.”

Peter’s heart warmed when he heard the softness in Dick’s voice. “Yeah, he’s the best boy in the world.”

”It will be okay,” Jason mumbled. Peter couldn’t decipher who Jason was trying to reassure, and his eyelids had become too heavy to look for clues.

Sleep pulled Peter under, and his body was limp as the current pulled Peter into the land of dreams until the next morning.

Sleep left Peter slowly as he tried to make sense of the vivid and confusing dreams. The owls had come back in Peter’s dreams, but they were scared away when Jason shot them with water guns, and Dick’s frame left the opposite of a shadow that scared the darkness away from touching Peter. The dreams were vivid and perplexing, but he felt grateful for a brief reprieve from the demons in his head.

The first thing he noticed after that was silence when he felt, but didn’t hear, the faint sound that escaped him just before he realized his good ear was pressed against his pillow. The next thing was the warm and firm cylinder pressed against his chest. It felt strong but was limp in his grip as he turned his face and smelled laundry detergent with a hint of gunpowder.

The lingering softness of waking up faded from Peter like an avalanche as he realized what he was holding. His eyes flew open, and he inhaled sharply through his nose, feeling his breath catch where his throat met the inside of his mouth.

“Looks who’s awake,” Jason yelled loud enough for Peter to feel his breath more than hearing his words through his impaired ear.

Peter pushed himself away from Jason and squinted around the room for over a minute before he concluded that he was really in the manor and still safe between Jason’s and Dick’s strong bodies. He could have sworn that he had heard them talking during the night, but the heavy tension was nowhere to be found, and the conversation might have been a dream brought on by their strong presence. 

Peter was about to get embarrassed about hugging Jason’s arm and find a way to apologize for potentially stopping Jason from turning when he remembered another much more important fact about sleeping next to Jason. His dreams hadn’t turned into that specific kind of nightmare, but maybe he had humiliated himself anyway.

The duvet crinkled as Peter pulled it off, but the morning chill gave way to warm relief when he saw his dry pants and bedsheets. 

Jason’s eyebrows were furrowed, and he wore a slight frown when Peter glanced at him. “Did you dream that you were naked or something?” 

‘Or something’ was loaded, but Peter looked away, and Dick didn’t explain anything beyond a headshake before Jason could ask more questions. 

Dick patted the mattress and pulled his blanket off himself. “Come on, let’s get you some vitamins, painkillers, dressed, and breakfast.”

Peter stretched and yawned before following Dick out of bed and found his vitamins, and accepted the morphine that fortunately didn’t leave him limp or unable to think.

Everyone left Peter alone until he had eaten a soft-boiled egg and yogurt. Peter hadn’t initially wanted eggs, but Jason’s and Dick’s had looked delicious, and Dick did a mixture of letting Peter steal one and thrusting it upon Peter as soon as he showed the slightest inkling of interest.

The relative solitude vanished as soon as Peter, Jason, and Dick exited the kitchen and saw Tim fiddling with the straps of the shoulder bag he was wearing. His face was turned down, and his mouth moved, but there was no sound beyond the occasional sharper exhale.

“Is everything okay with the safehouse?” Jason asked without any pleasantries.

Tim looked up abruptly, and his face changed from a neutral blankness and nervous energy to hard and cold eyes. “Yes, it still seems safe from the court. I didn’t talk to Dr. Strain, but he looked fine when I checked last night. He had food and didn’t seem injured or sick when he woke up.”

Peter saw Dick tense out of his peripheral vision and turned to look at him properly. His eyes were even sharper and colder than Tim’s, and his jaw tensed enough for Peter to worry about the state of his teeth. His hands tightened into tight fists, and he flushed slightly from his eyes down to his neck.

Jason looked more like Tim. He exuded an air of fatal professionalism and no barely concealed fury like Dick. “Did you look at the ruins?”

Tim sighed. “Yeah. It didn’t look like anyone else had been back to collect what had survived. Perhaps B is right that we shouldn’t have made that kind of exit.”

Jason leaned toward Tim and spoke barely loud enough for Peter to hear with his good ear and without any softness, “Shh, he’ll never let any of us live it down if he hears you say stuff like that.” Jason leaned back and crossed his arms. “I also don’t know what he expects you to have done differently. There was a fuckton of Talons, and it’s not like they can die anyway. Even B thinks so.”

Peter glanced at Dick and decided to pull at the side of Jason’s shirt instead of risking Dick’s intense stare turning toward him.

Jason and Tim looked the same as before but seemed completely different when they looked down at Peter. Most of the professionalism disappeared, and their eyes and mouths softened.

“Do you have a question?” Jason asked, his voice a little lighter and calmer than when he had talked to Tim.

Peter glanced at Tim and Jason repeatedly until Tim gestured an explosion with his hands.

Peter shifted his gaze from Tim’s slightly flushed cheeks and unsteady smile to Jason. Peter’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened enough to flash his front teeth.

Jason’s smile turned a little shaky, and he glanced behind Peter before focusing back on him. “Tim and the others had to make a dramatic exit when someone lit some explosives.”

Peter’s head felt like it would fall off with how sharply he turned his neck to look at Dick’s stern expression. Dick’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he flushed more before he felt Peter’s eyes on him, and his face stopped tensing only a millisecond before he smiled. “Everything’s okay. All your uncles and aunts came out of it with only scrapes. It’s not something that you ever needed to know.”

Peter’s fingers tightened around Jason’s shirt, and he turned his other hand from palm down to palm up, like a fish showing its belly.

Dick glanced at Jason and Tim with a deadly glare but looked more like a wolf protecting its cub when he looked at Peter. Soft and patient but ready to attack anything that challenged the wellbeing of its child. “Don’t worry, no one died in the explosion.”

The Talons were already dead, according to what Jason and Dick had explained days ago, and he didn’t know if he wanted to know if Dick would count the end of an undead creature as dying. He seemed to count the potential end of Peter’s existence as dying, but the line between puppet and sentience was much blurrier for the Talons.

Tim clapped his hands together, and Peter looked where he had been before and turned a little more to see where Tim had taken a step further away from Dick at some point. “Anyway, the photos we took last week turned out great, and I was wondering if you would like to see them.”

Tim pulled a laptop out of his bag, and Peter’s curiosity won over his caution or annoyance at the sudden change of conversation. Jason took a step as Peter did so his tight but precarious grip wouldn’t get dislodged, and Peter’s glance over his shoulder pulled Dick closer to him.

The pictures looked nice as they stood in the middle of the hallway, but Tim’s explanation about how the golden hour transformed a photo and the golden ratio was even better. Peter felt like he already knew everything that was said, but he wouldn’t have been able to explain it before Tim put the words in his head.

“We’ll have to take pictures during golden hour someday. Just look at how nicely this one turned out without it and imagine if it had been taken during golden hour.” Tim showed Peter a picture of the sun peeking through the leaves of one of the trees around the manor.

Peter nodded. His face seemed unable to convey any positive emotions, but he hoped that Tim recognized his interest as he examined every detail on the screen.

Tim swiped through the pictures rapidly until he stopped at an attempt at landscape photography of the manor from a distance. Peter could still feel the fence against his back as he had tried to get as much of the manor and its grounds into the photo. He hadn’t felt frightened then, with the camera capturing his attention and Dick and Jason watching him from a distance, but he felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of touching the fence again.

“This one would look even better during blue hour.”

Peter nodded again. The photo was fine, but it would look completely different and almost moody if taken early morning or evening.

“We could look at different spots now if you want so we can be ready if we decide to take some photos during blue or golden hour.”

“I would like some air as well,” Dick announced, and Jason nodded in agreement.

Peter followed Tim silently but stopped when he looked at the front door. No one would be able to do anything to him as long as Dick or Jason watched him, but he couldn’t move as Tim put on his shoes and opened the front door.

The grass was green and calm outside of the door. He could hear Rome or Sparta bark excitedly and feel the fresh air against his skin, but he didn’t feel like he was at the manor or in his body anymore.

Nothing except his beating heart was real as he looked at the unknown horrors outside. Someone could be hiding behind the tree near the door, and someone could jump the fence again. There could be snares hiding in the grass and snipers in the trees waiting to take down everyone Peter was growing to care about.

Tim’s wide smile disappeared, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay, Peter? We don’t have to look at the grounds if you don’t want to.”

Peter’s face twitched as he tried to make sense of the onslaught of emotions. It wasn’t fear, but he was the farthest from calm even as Tim closed the door.

Tim’s voice broke, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Peter had made Tim sad. His fucked-up reaction had destroyed the bubble of normalcy, and Tim’s eyes were reflecting the light more than before. Peter should have walked out and pretended to be normal for ten minutes. He shouldn’t have worried everyone around him and made them jump through hoops to ease him every second of the day.

It had felt nice when everyone had played Trivial Pursuit the same way Peter did, but Peter suddenly wondered if the laughs and familial teasing had been genuine. Maybe they had been annoyed or only humored him because of Dick’s and Jason’s misguided guilt. It didn’t matter if he had dreamed about Jason feeling lost at Peter’s silence or Dick indirectly admitting to crying when Peter wasn’t looking. Either it was true, and they were hiding it from Peter, or Peter’s subconsciousness had supplied the answers to a question he didn’t want to ask.

He had eaten a quarter of what Dick had for breakfast and even less compared to Jason, but it felt heavy in his stomach. Perhaps Dick hadn’t wanted to give up his egg and didn’t have the heart to tell Peter off for being selfish, and perhaps Jason hadn’t wanted to sleep next to Peter but had felt pressured. He definitely wouldn’t have if he had known the risk of Peter peeing in his sleep.

Peter’s eyes hurt, and he wasn’t seeing anything in front of him until Dick’s face came into view. Dick kept his distance but kneeled, and Peter only had to look up an inch to look into Dick’s eyes.

“Hey, Dulceață, what’s wrong? Did you see anything scary out there?”

Peter’s body was frozen, and he had to force his eyelids to finally blink, and the world was sharper and more detailed when he opened his eyes again.

“Is he having a flashback?” Jason asked but didn’t move in Peter’s grasp.

“I don’t think so. He’s not shaking, but I didn’t realize what was wrong when he had the last one, so I’m probably not the best person to ask.” Dick smiled pleasantly, but his gaze was full of something darker than the joy that his smile was emanating.

Tim paled, and his eyes were wide and haunted as he swallowed. “I could have caused Peter to have a flashback?”

No one answered, and Tim’s limbs went limp like a puppet getting all but one of his strings cut. His head fell, and he took his shoes off before storming away with hurried and uncaring steps.

Peter didn’t feel in control of his body as he turned to look at Tim’s retreating figure as it brushed an arm over its eyes and disappeared up the stairs.

“Are you back with us?”

Peter turned to look at Jason with three small and sharp movements. Existing was difficult, and voluntary movements were strenuous, but he forced his neck to move enough for a nod.

Some of the tension left Jason’s tense shoulders, and his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth lifted. “That’s good. I’m sorry that you feel whatever you’re feeling.”

He shouldn’t be. Peter deserved to feel like the blemish he was to everyone’s happiness. Maybe it would have been better if they had never found him. No one would have known of his existence if he had left Gotham on his first day, and they wouldn’t have gotten their scrapes and had to fight ‘a fuckton’ of Talons or been in an explosion if Peter had been quicker to escape with or without his life.

Jason studied the hem of his T-shirt, and Peter looked down at his hoodie. The strings were short and would cut into his skin, but it was nice to have a plan in case he became an even heavier burden for everyone at the manor. He was rarely alone, and the bathroom was scary, but he probably only needed ten minutes to finish the job if he could reach the shower curtain. Or perhaps he could tie it to the door handle and lean forward until he passed out. It would be difficult, but they would know he wanted it until the end, and the length of the hoodie string wouldn’t be a hindrance.

Peter turned to look at Dick’s fragile smile and decided to postpone that plan. Peter would rather find a way not to leave a mess behind, and Dick shouldn’t be the one to find him if he had to leave his corpse behind for others to deal with.

Dick scooted a little closer on his knees. “I can see your thoughts going a million miles an hour. It’s okay no matter what is going through your head.”

Peter’s eyes hurt again despite having regained the ability to blink, and his chest hurt even worse. Everything was pressing down on him with more force than anyone should be able to survive, but there was no mercy for him—nothing to let him lay down and close his eyes without guilt or nightmares.

“It will be okay. Tim feels a little emotional today, but he knows you’re dealing with a lot, and being scared is okay. You’ve been through a lot, and we should have considered that you might not feel comfortable outside. I should have thought of that so you didn’t have to.”

Peter pulled at Jason’s shirt, and his hand flew off with a sudden jerk and a blush on his cheeks. The embarrassment and self-loathing weren’t enough for Peter to decline Jason’s arm when offered, but both thrived as he held Jason’s forearm against his chest.

He couldn’t make the thoughts disappear or act like he should, but he could at least make sure that Tim was okay. He had to make sure that Tim was okay no matter how heavy his legs felt as he slowly pulled Jason toward the stairs and glanced at Dick to make sure that he was following along.

Dick hurried to walk next to Peter. “Are we looking for Tim?”

Peter nodded with a slight sound and watched as Dick walked slightly in front of him until they were in front of a door. “I’m just going to see if Tim is in his room, and then you and Jason can come in, okay?”

Dick didn’t wait for an answer before he knocked and opened the door before there was any sound inside. Only a few seconds passed with the muffled sound of two men talking before Dick opened the door wide, and Peter could see posters of Depeche Mode and Enya on all the walls except right behind a large wooden desk. A teenager had lived here, and the man in it seemed to have tried to keep the spirit of it inside.  

Tim sat on a large bed and waved hesitantly at Peter. “How are you feeling?”

Peter blinked.

“Oh, yeah. No talking. I’m sorry if I was pressuring you. I thought it would be nice to bond over photography since talking is difficult right now, but I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

“Tim,” Dick sighed. “Peter isn’t angry with you. He was probably as surprised about his reaction as we were. You’re not with him nearly as much as Jason or I am, and I didn’t know it would trigger him, so there’s no need to beat yourself up.”

Tim’s head moved, but his nod looked almost clinical.

Peter lifted his hand and pointed to himself repeatedly. It took a few guesses, but Dick, Jason, and Tim eventually guessed what he was trying to say.

“You don’t have to be sorry about anything either, Dulceață. You can’t control your emotions, and we’ll help you with all your fears. Maybe you and Tim can explore the grounds or somewhere else one day, but you don’t have to feel guilty until that happens. We’re just happy that you’re here.”

Tim still looked uneasy, but Dick’s words seemed to have eased some of his frantic energy. “Yeah, and I liked looking at the photos inside the manor. Maybe we could do that again until you’re better.”

Peter nodded and looked away when Tim’s smile turned almost as big as Dick’s had been countless times. It was a little overwhelming to be surrounded by such big emotions when he couldn’t muster a single smile, but he didn’t want to miss any of them, even as their white teeth and shiny eyes blinded him.

“And who knows, maybe Damian’s idea could help you feel comfortable outside before long.”

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed at Dick’s words, but he didn’t voice his thoughts.

“Yeah, maybe,” Jason agreed.

Peter sighed. He felt a bit shaky and quite mortified by his reactions, but he might as well get whatever explanation Dick had about dogs to help against panic and anxiety out of the way.

Peter’s room was stuffy after three people slept in it, and there was almost no way of airing it out, but Peter didn’t protest when Dick gestured for him to sit on the bed while he found his laptop.

Dick and Jason sat on either side of Peter, with Jason on his impaired side and Dick on the other as he typed his password.

Dick found an internet window that was already open. “I told you yesterday that I would explain what I meant about a dog that can help people when they’re anxious or panicky.” 

Peter thought of Damian’s dogs running after each other. Carefree and ignorant of the dangers of the grounds. Peter almost felt that way when he took pictures with Tim before the Court of Owls took that away from him, but the grounds would have felt safer if they had been full of mines now rather than what they had turned into in Peter’s mind even with Damian’s pets distracting him.

Dick smiled and bit his bottom lip before turning the computer to let Peter look at the dogs. They resembled a mix between a wolf or fox and a toasted marshmallow, with kind eyes that seemed to beg for someone to pet them, yet they held a dignified look. Even as they smiled, far bigger and more humanlike than Peter thought possible for a dog, maybe they had looked sillier as small puppies. However, all the dogs appeared to be adults or were close to it in the pictures.

Dick examined Peter as they sat in silence for several seconds. “So, Damian initially said that he thinks we should adopt a cat, and that’s a great idea if you want that, but I would like to get you a trained pet. Damian also thinks that you could use a service animal.” 

Peter looked back at the laptop screen. The dogs weren’t doing anything except standing or lying on people in the pictures, and none of them had the vests that Peter thought all seeing-eye dogs and police dogs used. 

“I know that you’re still legally dead, but you won’t be forever, and these are Psychiatric Service Dogs. I’m not 100% sure everything they can be trained to do, but they can help with panic attacks, help you feel safe in new rooms, push people away if you don’t want them close to you, and be a great help in general. They can also alert others if you need help, which would greatly help me when you eventually tire of my hovering.”  

Jason leaned forward and gazed upon the screen. “I thought that all service dogs were labradors.” 

Dick raised his eyebrows, and his mouth turned down as he did a sideways nod. “Most service dogs are labradors or golden retrievers from what I read, but there’s a couple who breeds and trains Shibas in Gotham. Damian has seen almost all the dogs for their shots and health checks, and he said that they are excellent service animals. The breed is known for being protective and affectionate with their families, and the dogs that Damian has seen are much friendlier toward strangers than the breed usually is. Still, I talked a lot about it with Damian. We think it would be good to have a dog that is in tune and cuddly with Peter but ignores strangers, especially if he’ll ever need to bring the dog where there are kids who might not listen to someone telling them to leave a working dog alone. They’re also super cute, which is only a bonus.” 

They looked adorable as they retrieved pill bottles, laid on someone’s chest, or turned the light on or off on the screen. Especially the last one struck a chord in Peter, but he would never want to send an animal into a dark room unprotected if there was a chance that someone was lurking around the corner. 

Peter absentmindedly bit his fingers as he thought about everything a pet would endure if it were stuck with him. Alfred the cat could have been hurt the first time Peter met him, and he would never forgive himself if anything happened to an innocent creature. Friendly animals could be lured, but it didn’t matter if an animal disliked strangers; it would still be vulnerable to attacks from the Court of Owls or Peter’s general unlucky disposition.

Peter glanced at Dick’s and Jason’s hopeful eyes and looked down at the screen as he shook his head. 

“You don’t have to make a decision now. The family trains about three dogs a year, and they have great reviews from all over North America, even though the future owners need to train with them for at least a few weeks before the dogs can go home. So, we wouldn’t take any of them home for a while even if we find a dog for you.” 

“Don’t forget the cat,” Jason piped up. 

“Yes, you can get the cat too. What did Damian say her name was? Molly?” 

Peter didn’t want to subject any being to being associated with him, but he couldn’t help the frown at Dick calling Millie by the wrong name. 

Dick snapped his fingers. “No, Millie, that’s her name, right?” 

Peter nodded and kept staring at the dogs and their smiles when they weren’t doing amazing dog things.

Dick sighed. “It’s just an idea. No pressure. We could see the almost-trained dogs at some point if you want to. Damian said that they take up to two years to train, so they’ll be adults before they can go out to their future families, but maybe they have puppies for you to play with until we find the dog for you.” 

Peter didn’t know if he was more flattered or disturbed that Dick had put that much thought into something that was ‘just an idea’. 

“I just want us to look at the dogs before you deny it fully. Getting you a service animal isn’t a requirement, but there’s something that is.” 

Peter looked at Dick at the change of tone. He had seemed almost apologetic before but held a sharp edge as he looked down at Peter. His eyes were clear, and he breathed deeply as if preparing for a verbal sprint. 

“Do you want Jason to leave while we have this talk? It’s going to be very serious.”

Peter’s shoulders rose, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe through the slight compression of his throat and emotions trying to escape. Almost everything had been serious lately, and he shook his head and threw his arms around himself.  

Dick cleared his throat and looked around the room before focusing back on Peter. “You need therapy, Peter. I would love it if you talked to me, but our family and I can’t help you alone. You also need help—better help than anyone here can provide, and you need a diagnosis, even if we don’t use it to get you a service animal.”

Peter knew that he was messed up. He had seen horrible things, and they had left him weak and disgusting. He was so frail that Dick thought that he needed help and so vile that Dick didn’t want anyone in the manor to help him. Getting help would be horrible, but being alone with a stranger would be even worse. Peter was mute, and talking about his worst mistakes and flaws would have been impossible before he had lost his voice. He would disappoint Dick and everyone else if they expected him to talk to a stranger and recover. He used to be better but could no longer see a reality where he could be anything but what he was now.  

The walls were caving in on Peter, and then they stopped when he realized that this was his out. The world felt safer with Dick and Jason around him. Still, it would be better for everyone if he let them push the responsibility toward someone else until they either stopped trying to help him personally or realized that he was a lost cause. Dick wouldn’t have to find his corpse if he had pushed him far enough away, and he was sure that he could find someone in the manor who wouldn’t be scarred by what Peter would leave behind.

Goosebumps rose from under Peter’s hoodie, and his eyes hurt as his eyelids were too frozen to blink. Everything had stopped, and Dick looked like he was barely breathing. 

“That came out wrong. I meant to say this in a whole other way. Maybe I should have waited until I had found you a therapist, but you needed to know. You deserve to know this one requirement other than keeping yourself alive. I want you to have anything you want, but you have to have anything you need.” 

Dick looked at his hands and then at Peter, but he didn’t ask or offer a hand. He instead blinked hard enough for moisture to collect at the edges of his eyes and cleared his throat. “There are some great therapists around Blüdhaven and Gotham. Some great ones specialize in children after traumatic events. I looked into a few, and they all seem great. Any of them seem able to help, and we can try them all if we need to until we find the right one for you.” 

Peter’s body was still empty of all substance. He was an empty shell ready to be cast overboard. The water would fill him quickly, and he would sink to the bottom until he dissolved completely. 

Dick furrowed his eyebrows, and his breath hitched as he had a couple of false starts before he spat out almost too quickly for Peter’s muddled brain to process. “And I’ll also start therapy. I’ve had it before, and I need it again.”

Jason didn’t open his mouth, and his face barely moved, but his slight frown and outward tilted eyebrows said enough. Jason shifted his gaze from Dick to Peter, and his subtle, hesitant smile was enough for Peter to redirect his attention to Dick, who somehow looked both youthful and ancient.

“I need to be better for you and me,” Dick's hand reached out but fell before it could reach Peter. “You deserve a happy, perfect father, and I want to do my best to be that for as long as I live.”

Dick looked like he needed at least a thousand hours of therapy but also like he would never need something like that. He had been sad when his son died, and he was delusional about Peter, but it didn’t make sense that someone as strong as Dick would need to pay someone to listen to him and give him advice or whatever a shrink did. 

The way that he was talking about it didn’t make sense either. He was saying in front of Jason that he had had therapy and needed it again, as if it was something serious but nothing for him or Peter to be ashamed of. He said it like he needed a physiotherapist to rehabilitate his body and not like there must be something fundamentally wrong to need a shrink.

Maybe it was those thoughts, or perhaps it was the need for anything other than them, that made Peter click on a random key of the laptop in Dick’s lap to make the dogs appear as cute and well-trained as they had been the last time that he had looked at them. 

“I’ll find the best therapists for both of us, Peter. One for only you, who won’t tell me anything even if I begged them to, and one for me to be a better person and father. Maybe we could even get a third one to help our relationship until we become something you’re comfortable with. Jason can get one as well if he wants.”

Jason neither denied nor accepted Dick’s suggestion.

The dogs on the screen looked like they had round heads and black lipstick. It made the one pressing the light switch in one of the photos look more like a mischievous cartoon than a real dog and made the one lying on a faceless person look more like a stuffed animal than anything living. 

“Do you want to visit the dogs? I would love it if we could soon if that’s the case, but you’ve been through a lot in the last couple of days, and I would understand if you need a little while before going anywhere new. I can wait forever if I need to. Or maybe they could come here if you’re more comfortable with that. I’ll do anything for you.” 

Maybe Dick wasn’t trying to push Peter’s flaws unto someone else. The thought was silly now that Peter had over ten seconds to chew on everything, but he knew he would never talk to a stranger. He couldn’t even talk to Jason or Babs, who had been his only support when he came to Gotham, or Dick, who was trying harder to please Peter than he had seen anyone try anything before. No dog or talk would magically make Peter into what they wanted, but he could humor Dick with this one thing.

Peter offered a quick nod, and Dick sighed in a manner that sounded much more helpless and much more exhausted than a man in his late thirties should be. He shook his head when Dick asked if he wanted them to come to the manor and nodded when Dick asked if Peter wanted to visit the dogs’ home.

“Okay, I’ll call them and ask when we can come. Would you be okay with later this week? It’s okay if you’re not.” 

Peter shrugged and glanced at Jason’s empty stare at the opposite wall and relaxed mouth.

Dick’s eyes weren’t lively, but they held far more sparks than Jason’s. “And maybe we would schedule someone to fix the broken window when we’re away from the manor, and you won’t have to even think about anyone coming into that room. I’m not much for it, but money and connection can make them come at almost any time.” 

Peter glanced at the screen and nodded. At least it would be a chance to see if they were as soft as they looked in the pictures. 

“Okay, I’ll call them and ask when we can visit. Damian said he would like to join us when we visit the dog trainers if that’s okay with you. To be honest, most of the family would probably join us if you wanted them to, but that would be a little overwhelming even for me.” 

Jason waved the hand farthest from Peter, but it still caused his shoulders to tense and him to move half an inch closer to Dick. “I would like to join in on seeing the dogs.”

Peter glanced at Jason again, and he received a slight smile and a flicker of hope in Jason’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Dick's phone call with the trainers was short, and informing Damian about it being the day after at half past three was even shorter.

Damian immediately pulled his laptop out of his school bag and sat back in one of the armchairs in the sitting room. "I'll participate in the morning lessons but deceive my teacher into thinking I'm too ill for tomorrow's afternoon simulations."

Jason leaned against the doorway. "Wow, I thought you wanted to be the best vet ever or something like that, but you're not even going to try to reschedule whatever your classmates are learning."

Damian started to type on his laptop. "The puppets are inadequate for teaching the skills needed in veterinary medicine, and I have ample experience drawing blood and suturing. However, this draft will only contain my apologies for missing the scheduled lesson."

Jason made a smacking sound. "Fair enough."

Peter was uncertain if he wanted Damian to join them. Cats and dogs didn't deserve a vet who could not draw blood from anything furry, and Damian shouldn't miss out on how fun it sounded to practice on dolls.  On the other hand, Damian had only seemed scary the first day he met him, but he had been nice even when harsh since then. He was nice enough to be willing to protect Peter if anyone tried to hurt him and harsh enough to make anyone back off with a single glare. He was a little rough around the edges with everyone, including Peter, but even the second and uncomfortable conversation about Skip hadn't seemed malicious now that Peter was reflecting on it. 

Remembering Skip brought on a flood of emotions, and he couldn't look away from Dick's hand. It hung limply, close enough to reach, but Peter couldn't find the words to express himself. He wanted to be who he used to be, but he couldn't get any words out and could barely express anything. The world moved around him too quickly to comprehend anything, yet it felt like nothing would ever change. 

A lump formed in Peter's throat as he focused on the slight bruising on Dick's knuckles and the darker bruise over his left cheekbone. Dick was hurt, and Jason might still be despite not having limped in weeks, and Peter was still hindering everyone around him even more.

Damian glanced at Peter from the corner of his eye. "Grayson, your child requires attention."

Peter shifted his gaze to the floor with a sudden motion and a skipped heartbeat.

Dick's feet appeared in Peter's view. "Do you need anything?"

Peter shook his head. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird, but he was already causing too many issues. Dick had slept about half of last night, but it had been at the cost of Jason's sleep. Peter hadn't asked them to stay awake, but his constant nightmares were probably enough to keep anyone awake and too frightening to throw any of them out.

"Can I hold your hand?"

Peter glanced at Dick's open expression and Jason's calm smile and nodded with a slow hum.

The hummingbird in Peter's chest stopped flapping its wings quite as intensely when Dick's strong hand warmed Peter's. Dick's tan skin and calluses on his palm right under his elegant fingers contrasted Peter's pale, hurt skin and frail nails with deep ridges. Peter hadn't felt strong in months, but he felt much weaker as he looked at what a hand was supposed to be. Strong, steady, and ready to protect instead of Peter's hands, which could only tremble or sweat when they weren't limp. It was somehow even worse than when he stood next to Jason, who appeared much larger than Peter could ever hope to become.  A nightingale would never become a piranha or shark, but it could dream of becoming a raven when they both soared among the clouds.

"Are you cold?"

Peter shrugged. He was in thicker layers than anyone else in the room, but nothing could warm the cold inside him.

Damian's gaze was intense as he looked at Dick's thumb as they tried to warm Peter's cold knuckles. "Alfred, the cat, is a great source of warmth."

Peter looked around, but the cat was nowhere in sight. Damian sighed and walked over to the door to call through the manor, "Alfred, come here!"

"Meeeeow!" a voice replied, muffled and almost inaudible.

"In here, now."

Alfred came running with a series of short and annoyed meows. They came out like little sighs every time his feet hit the ground, and he stopped in front of Damian to look at him with huge yellow eyes and an unamused expression.

It looked almost comical as Damian looked down at the cat with a dignified nod of acknowledgment. "Thank you for your prompt arrival, Alfred."

Alfred responded with a creaky sound and lifted his nose toward the ceiling, allowing Damian to bend down and scratch his chin before entering the room with him.

Alfred, the human, opened the door with a sour expression that softened when he saw the cat. He almost closed the door but was interrupted by Bruce's broad and slumped shoulders carrying his searching eyes into the room. Bruce sent Peter a soft smile and stayed close to the door as Alfred's footsteps slowly dimmed until they were entirely inaudible.

Damian looked at Peter with slightly widened eyes and pointed toward the nearby couch. Dick had seemed firm about therapy, but no one in the manor had done more than plead for Peter to eat, accept clothes, or submit to medical care. It was strange but comforting how instinctual it felt to listen to Damian's nonverbal orders.

Alfred's demands were even more forceful as soon as Damian had laid him in Peter's lap, and Peter was forced on his back. Alfred laid his back legs toward Peter's feet and his purring torso against Peter's chin. His purr was high-pitched and trilling until Peter laid a hand on his warm torso, and it changed into a deeper and slower purr. It was almost enough to lull him to sleep even as he watched the room around him with widened eyes.

"Oh, this is just adorable," Dick said behind the hand over his mouth. "It's almost like seeing you and me when you were a baby. No, not even a baby; it's just like when you were a tiny toddler, and we watched Tom & Jerry and Disney movies together. Maybe we will do it again with some other movie or series sometime."

Peter furrowed his eyebrows slightly but couldn't cross his arms for fear that Alfred's warmth would disappear.

Damian glanced at Peter's expression. "Don't mind Grayson's inability to not reminisce about your sensorimotor stage. He has always been painfully sentimental about anything you do."

The corners of Dick's mouth lifted until his eyes turned into crescent moons, and he tilted his head. "It's hard not to."

"I've never been more grateful about my upbringing than I am when you're like this, Grayson."

"You were my little baby too, Dami."

Damian's nose wrinkled, and he furrowed his eyebrows. "I fail to see how that is possible. I was older than Peter when we met and even older when you temporarily took guardianship over me."

"Doesn't matter. You are a little baby boy anyway." Dick threw his arms around Damian, who glared but didn't move even when Dick pulled his head down and kissed his cheek dramatically.

"Unhand me, you swine."

Bruce came over to Damian's other side and put a giant and firm hand on Damian's head before he turned Damian's head to the other side so Bruce could give Damian an unyielding and dignified kiss on his temple. Damian's hope of salvation disappeared from his eyes, and he glowered enough to fuel a wildfire.

It was just like seeing everyone when they had played Trivial Pursuit except better at another brand of teasing. Damian's eyes were wild, and his eyebrows furrowed, but his annoyance seemed performative, and there was a playful glint in both Dick's and Bruce's eyes and on their lips.

"You are an embarrassment, Father."

Damian pulled his arms back and looked as if he was about to punch something or someone but stopped when he caught Peter's curious gaze. His arms fell, and he silently steamed with little less volatility.

Peter might combust or have another scary onslaught of emotions if they showered Peter in as much playful affection as they had done to Damian. Still, something light and soft had grown under his ribs at watching someone else receive unabashed love.

Dick pulled Damian's head to the other side to kiss his cheek again. He rolled his eyes, but he stood still and let them shower him in love, despite how little effort it would take for Damian's long legs to outrun Dick's grabby hands and Bruce's powerful hold. Both Dick and Bruce were strong and well-trained, but Damian was an inch or two taller than Bruce, while Dick only reached Damian's ears. Peter also doubted that Bruce or Dick would persist if Damian protested more seriously than he already had.

Damian's gaze turned a little dull, but there was also a hidden glint of amusement. "Grayson and my father have gone insane in their elderly years, and I need you and Todd to put me out of my misery, Peter."

Peter looked at Dick and Bruce. They were 38 and 53, respectively, yet they appeared larger than life and small simultaneously as they stood on each side of Damian's tall and lean frame. Jason wasn't far behind Bruce's height and looked just as wide as him when Peter glanced at his broad smile and crossed arms. His gaze remained fixed on the scene before them, making it seem unlikely that he would assist Damian in escaping the doting attention.

Dick pulled Damian's head down to a sharp angle to kiss him on the top of his head before he walked over to Peter.

"Can I touch your forehead with my hand?" Dick asked quietly.

Peter glanced at Dick's hand with a blank expression and firm gaze. Dick smiled at Peter's short nod, and he brought his hand up to his mouth and kissed it. "Mm-wah!"

The soft and slow slap on his forehead wasn't the same as a direct kiss, but Peter felt the love travel through Dick's pores and into Peter's bloodstream.

Alfred rearranged himself against Peter's hurt cheek, and Dick kneeled next to the couch. Everything about him was soft, and he tilted his head. It looked almost like the ocean would fall out of his eyes as he tilted his head, but the smile held everything together and told a story other than sorrow.

Peter wasn't sure what he had done to trick anyone into looking at him like that, but it made his stomach tense and his head feel light. He didn't deserve it, but everything in him longed to bask in Dick's blue eyes. The ocean in them was calm and ready to wash all Peter's worries away temporarily and replenish his energy until he was prepared to face the harsh world outside of them.

Alfred intensified his purrs until Peter's teeth almost chattered, and he couldn't hear the rest of the room, but he felt no need to disturb Alfred to search the room for dangers when Dick was looking as relaxed as he was.

"Can I hold your hand again?" Dick asked over the rhythm of Alfred's even breaths and constant vibrations.

One of Peter's hands was lying on Alfred's warm body, but the other one reached out and touched Dick's. The stroke of his thumb was a familiar friend by now, but the warmth and comfort of it seemed to intensify each time that Dick used it against Peter's knuckles.

"It's only going to get better now, Scumpo. Maybe not every day, but we will look back at this month before long and not believe how we could have lived without the happiness to come. Everything is going to be so much better for both of us."

The sea in Dick's eyes warmed until the ice inside of Peter had turned into lukewarm. He was still treading water, but perhaps there was a light on the other side of the storm, and he could find land if he didn't drown before then.

Peter glanced at Jason and Damian's tall stature and intense eyes and wondered if someone could save him if he fell off his raft or couldn't stop the holes in his lifeboat.

Maybe this week would be better than the last, and the night between Monday and Tuesday was much better than the day he had been a prisoner or the night he left Jason's apartment for the manor. However, the guilt still gnawed at him when he needed Jason and Dick to give up another night of restful sleep to look after him, and Jason's arm was kept prisoner for most of the night. Breakfast and lunch weren't much better, with nausea and fighting to keep the protein drink and morphine down when everything else sounded even worse. The vitamins had seemed even bigger than usual, and Dick had nearly begged before Peter forced them down with water and a straw.

Maybe it was preparation for what was to come, but he didn't feel real most of Tuesday. Even the shower wasn't enough to make him feel like more of a ghost when he washed himself and let Dick wash his hair with only his unhurt hand in Peter's hair and held the showerhead with his bandaged and plastic-wrapped hand. Peter wasn't sure if he was opaque or translucent when Jason and Dick checked on and rewrapped his feet after the shower with clinical touches and reassurances. Still, it did make it easier to endure when Alfred drew blood for another blood test.

Time wasn't real, but three pm inched closer to reality until it was almost time to drive to the dog trainers' house.

Peter looked down at his clothes as he stood in his bedroom after another dose of morphine. Looking sloppy at the manor was fine, but he was going out to see people in sweatpants and damp hair.

"What's wrong, Dulceață?"

Peter looked up at Dick and scanned his clothes. The long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans shouldn't look as put together as they did, but he seemed almost formal next to Peter's sweatpants and oversized hoodie.

"You look fine, draga mea. No one will care what you wear when meeting a bunch of dogs, but I can help you button your jeans if you want to wear them, and I'll help you in the bathroom if you need it. I'll do anything you want, boro rai mea."

Peter wrinkled his nose and started to pull at the drawstrings from his hoodie with his index and middle finger. Dick's eyes were strangely intense every time Peter tightened the strings around his neck, and his shoulders relaxed every time Peter let them go slack.

"Jason could help you with the jeans if you prefer that."

Peter shook his head and let go of the drawstrings for the last time, and Dick's turned his gaze to Peter's face.

"Do you want a solution or just be annoyed?"

Peter glared at Dick and turned away from the conversation. Dick could easily have the last word when Peter wasn't looking at him to see if he understood Peter's gestures, but Peter would not stand being called out like this.

"Okay, just annoyed. That's fine. No one would care even if you wore your pajamas, but you can be annoyed about being in sweatpants and large hoodies if you want to."

Peter did not want to be annoyed, but he was about both the situation and Dick seeing right through him. Peter looked down at the formless clothes that hid him from his toes to his neck, with his hands only exposing themselves to the air when he lifted his arms or pulled his sleeves up. It felt strangely exposed to be known as well as Dick knew him, and Peter could only hope that Jason, Damian, or the dogs that they were meeting could distract either Dick or Peter until the vulnerable feeling disappeared.

Dick had a strangely empty wide-eyed look when Peter looked at him, but it was gone the instant that their eyes met. His smile was genuine, but the joy multiplied when his eyes widened with a spark as he looked over Peter's attire. "I can change my clothes if that would help. I would actually love to match with you. Maybe we could even get matching T-shirts in the future. Holy moly, I'm able to match with you now."

It was strange to be in the same room as Dick as he changed his pants, but Peter had been anxious about every sound when Dick had taken a shower that day and needed either Jason or Dick to wait in front of the bathroom every time he needed to pee.

"There, now we're both nice and comfortable," Dick announced and stood with spread arms when Peter returned his gaze to him.

The world was still weighing on Peter, but it felt slightly lighter when he looked at Dick in old sweatpants. It didn't matter that Dick looked ready to lounge around the house while Peter looked like he was wearing the most pristine hand-me-downs in the world; Peter was wearing the same clothes as someone else, and he could be ordinary and forgettable if someone as bright as Dick took the spotlight off him.

"You said that you would be gone for five minutes, and it's unbecoming to be late for an appointment," Damian informed them as soon as they met him by the stairs.

Jason tilted his head. "Did you seriously make us wait so you could change into sweatpants, Dick?"

Dick winked at Peter. "Yeah, gotta prove that I can look good in anything. Unfortunately, I don't think I look as good in loungewear as Peter."

Damian's and Jason's gazes turned to Peter's loose clothes. Although he preferred to hide in his clothes, he still felt ill-prepared for someone to acknowledge his formless clothes again.

Jason nodded. "Right, well, let's get going now that you've proven that Peter got his good looks from his mother."

Dick shrugged. "I would protest, but you're right. She was beautiful, and he is the world's most handsome boy in the world, with the cutest freckles on his nose and cheeks in the summer and light brown eyes."

Peter gently touched his face as he followed the others to their shoes and jackets. He didn't want to be ugly, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to be the least bit attractive either. Maybe no one would look at him if he looked a little worse, and perhaps no one would touch him again if he was a little uglier.

Getting his jacket on was easy, and he felt himself leave his body while Dick zipped it and tied his shoes. Dick's smile at helping Peter was simultaneously the most tolerable and worst thing about the ordeal, and both Jason and Damian pointedly looked away as Peter was treated like a small child because of his stupid useless hands.

Jason turned his gaze back on Peter when he was dressed for mid-fall weather. "Do you want to close your eyes when we go out the door?"

Peter glanced at the door and felt his palms sweat and his heartbeat bruising the inside of his ribs, but he shook his head. He would stop being weak and walk toward the door with a straight back. Going outside wasn't scary. It was just a door and just trees and grass before he would arrive at Dick's car. He had nothing to worry about and would prove it to everyone else until he believed it.

"Do you need me to open the door for you?" Jason asked when Peter had almost drawn blood from biting his lip.

Peter shook his head and opened the door to the unknown. The grass and trees were mostly green under the gray sky and drizzle. Footsteps could already be hiding in Peter's muffled ear, and it didn't matter that more could be hiding in the sound of rain. No one would hurt or try to kidnap him again.

Dick stomped until Peter pulled him away from the sight enough to glance around for the source of the sound.

"Can I hold your umbrella for you?"

The umbrella wasn't anything special. It was navy blue and probably a standard size when unfolded, but it could be a decent weapon in close combat. Perhaps it was bulletproof or had other extreme features from the proximity to Batman.

Jason eventually pushed past Peter and led the way to Dick's car. It was horrible, and every rustle of leaves made Peter look around frantically to see if anyone was stalking them or sitting hidden in a dark corner. His heart beat faster than any car, and his palms sweat so much that he was surprised that Dick didn't recoil when he held his hand, and Peter didn't leave a mark where he held his hand on Jason's jacket.

It all went to a point until the feeling suddenly stopped halfway to the car, and Peter's mind left him, and his legs only moved because of Dick's hold on his hand and Damian's presence behind them.

They reached the car safely without Peter noticing what had transpired in the last few minutes. Peter's mind returned to relative safety next to a cramped Jason, with the passenger seat nearly touching his knees due to how far back Damian had to push his seat.

There had been a song on the radio, but Peter only listened to it when the radio host started talking.

"-but more importantly, everyone in Blüdhaven and most of Gotham are asking where is Ni-."

Damian turned the radio off, and Peter glanced out the window with Jason's gaze on his neck. A few seconds passed, and Jason looked behind them and sighed before leaning between the front seats. Did you two know that we have a tail?"

Damian's face appeared between the seat and the car window, and a deep groan escaped his lips. "What the fuck are they doing here?"

Dick shrugged behind the wheel. "We can ask them to leave if Peter's bothered, but they won't disturb us if we pretend that we haven't seen them."

Dick's face looked almost serene as he glanced at Peter through the rearview mirror. "Do you want us to ask them to leave us alone?"

Peter turned in his booster seat and looked closely until he could see Alfred's steely face behind the wheel. Bruce looked at Dick's car, but Peter couldn't see his eyes under his heavy eyebrows. Alfred's mouth moved, and Tim's, Steph's, and Duke's pushed into the space between the seats.

Peter shook his head and turned to sit correctly in his seat.

"You're okay with them following us?"

Peter sighed and nodded. Alfred's car and its passengers made the thought of being outside the manor less terrifying, even as another wave of exhaustion washed over him. He had thought that he had done plenty of horrible things, including making Damian miss out on his lessons, but he must have looked almost as bad as he felt for everyone in the manor to decide to follow him. Still, it helped that no one else could drive behind them if Alfred's car was there, and they would be able to help if someone came and broke Peter's window.

The trainers' house was on the Upper East Side near Robinson Park. The fenced garden was huge, but the building itself was cozy, quant, and probably a thousand other synonyms for nice and small compared to the manor but much grander than most homes in Gotham.

They exited the car, and Jason offered an arm, Dick offered a hand, and Peter was too overwhelmed at being in the free air with only a whiff of garbage to refuse either of them. Peter looked behind them, but Damian stood tall and menacing between Peter and the cars driving past the house and the trees standing tall from Robinson Park.

The woman on the other side of the door looked to be a few years older than Dick, and her round features and her apple cheeks didn't awaken more nerves in Peter, but she didn't calm them either.

"Hello, you must be Peter," she greeted with off-white teeth and pink lips. "I'm Lisa."

Peter gave a nod and an almost inaudible grunt. He tried to smile, but his face wouldn't listen, and he settled on glancing at Dick.

Dick smiled at Peter as if he had done something grand instead of barely keeping himself from noticeably shaking at the sight of a friendly-looking stranger.

Lisa's eyes widened, and her smile turned from polite to something different but just as genuine when she looked over Peter's shoulder. "Damian, I didn't know you were joining us today."

Damian smiled. It was bigger and more polite than Peter had seen him do before, but it looked as flat as a photograph. "I was one of the reasons Peter considered one of your service dogs, so observing how he reacts to them seemed only polite."

Lisa's smile stayed, but her eyes dimmed slightly as she turned her gaze toward Dick. "It's good to put a face to the voice, Mr. Grayson, and you don't need to worry; my husband is upstairs, as you asked. It's not the first time we've had clients who are uncomfortable with unfamiliar men, so we have a system of him staying there until we're out of the house, and he'll text me if he needs the bathroom with us in the house."

Peter felt lighter, knowing he wouldn't have to see another stranger. Still, nausea filled him at the knowledge of Dick not only thinking of it but also asking others to bend backward for Peter's comfort.

Jason clapped the sides of his thighs. "Are we just going to stand here, or are we going in?"

Lisa let out a chuckle as light as tiny bells. "Yes, of course, this way, everyone."

Peter's legs moved slowly and with great difficulty as he stepped from the treacherous open space to the menacing lime-green walls and light wooden floors. Every corner of the room was safe, and nothing was hiding in the different doorways or on the staircase. The coathanger didn't hold any enemies either, and Peter could take his jacket off without fear of someone jumping out on him when he was distracted.

"We have five adoptable dogs right now - two one-and-a-half-year-olds and three born last spring. Would you all like to see a group of them or one dog at a time?"

Peter's shoulders rose when it was clear that everyone expected him to know the answer. He barely knew how to breathe, much less how he was supposed to meet dogs.

Damian broke the silence after a little over a minute. "Can we see them in two groups?"

Lisa nodded. "Yes, of course. Make yourself comfortable in the living room, and I'll get the first two."

Lisa gestured to a room with the faint scent of citrus cleaning spray and light and soft couches. The walls were light gray, and Peter's gaze wouldn't stay on the splash of color on the canvases on the walls.

"Are you looking forward to meeting the dogs?" Dick asked from his spot next to Peter.

Peter shrugged, but his mouth went dry at the sound of the living room door opening, allowing two dogs that looked like a mixture of marshmallows and foxes to enter the room. They were smaller than Peter had expected, with their heads barely reaching the bottom or middle of Lisa's thighs.

Most dogs Peter had seen would instantly run toward strangers, but the Shibas walked in slowly and looked at everyone in the room for several moments before nearing the couches. 

"This is Kenta and Nanami. Please don't be nervous about how reserved they are. They've been socialized and are naturally more outgoing than the breed usually is, but most adult Shibas struggle with strangers; however, they are very affectionate once they get to know someone."

Damian offered a hand, and they went to him with lifted tails as soon as they caught the first whiff of him.

"Aw, they seem to remember you, Damian."

Damian hummed and gently ran a hand over each of their heads before gazing at Peter. "Do you want to pet them, Peter?"

Peter glanced at Lisa, and she flashed everyone a smile before backing into the hallway and stopping a tabby cat before it could go through the door. "I'll be right outside. Just call if you need anything."

The door closed, and Peter studied the room before inching closer to the dogs. They looked identical, except one was about an inch taller than the other, and both gazed at Peter with intense, dark brown eyes.

"Offer them your hand, and they'll smell you."

Peter glanced back at Jason and Dick and received hurried nods. His mouth was still dry, and he feared that the dogs would be discouraged by the ice in his veins, but they gently sniffed his fingers and only looked up when Peter pulled his hand away at the feeling of a tongue on his hand. They let him brush a hand over the stiff overcoat and explore the soft undercoat at Damian's gentle and steady instructions. The undercoat was incredibly dense, and a few hairs fell off every time Peter moved his hands.

It was nice, and Peter wanted to stay with them when they started to warm up to him. Still, nothing, not even Dick's elbows resting on his thighs and his hands holding his wide smile or Jason's approving nods, could make Peter selfishly accept the damnation of an innocent creature.

Lisa came back to switch Kenta and Manami with three stout puppies. The puppies didn't need any time to warm up and immediately went for Peter and Damian, sitting on the ground. They were cute, small, and much more outgoing, but Peter's shoulders tensed at their unpredictable movements and dominating energy.

"Are you okay down there?" Jason asked, and Peter hurriedly nodded even as he pulled his hands back from one of the puppies, repeatedly trying to lick his hands.

"Did you feel a connection with one of the other dogs?" Dick asked.

Peter shrugged and shook his head. He could almost feel the disappointment from behind his back as he gingerly petted both of the puppies' heads.

"Meeting a future companion is rarely some divine moment, Grayson. I've been told that it's the same with newborns, and they usually share DNA with their parents."

Dick was silent for long enough for Peter to glance at his furrowed eyebrows and slightly narrowed eyes. "I fell in love with Peter the first time I met him as a tiny baby, and I think I started to love you like that a few days after becoming your legal guardian."

Jason rolled his eyes, and Damian did the same when Peter turned forward again. "Others don't immediately love a stranger, so lower your expectations, Grayson."

"I'll try my best, Damian."

Peter had expected Dick's lowered expectations to force Peter into spending more time on the floor with the dogs to kickstart some connection or them leaving when it was clear that Peter wouldn't have a moment of love at first sight with a canine. They instead took a walk to Robinson Park at Lisa's suggestion and the temporary pause in the days almost constant drizzle. 

His lungs and circulatory system protested the shallow breaths and rapid heartbeat at being outside. However, everything appeared different from both the manor grounds and the streets surrounding the Court of Owls to the point that he could almost pretend that he had never experienced anything when they reached the park. He still checked around constantly, but he wasn't frozen, and his hands didn't sweat or tremble uncontrollably by his side or in Dick's hand.

The drizzle had stopped, but the sky was still gray as Peter walked between Damian and Dick, each holding the leash of a dog, with Jason keeping Peter's back safe.

Lisa corrected the puppies as they started to pull on the leash. "The older dogs will need another six months of training, but they can go home to you after a few weeks of training and keep the training up if your house and Peter's papers are ready by then."

Dick inhaled through his teeth and looked away. "It will probably take longer than that to get Peter a diagnosis and have a stable home for a dog. I don't know if we're staying in Gotham with family or returning to Blüdhaven, so we will probably need at least a month to sort everything out."

Lisa hummed. "It's good to know. You can reserve a dog now, but my husband or I will conduct a home check wherever you decide to live before allowing you to adopt one of the dogs. However, there's no rush; most of our dogs go to their new families around their second birthday, and we can keep in contact and help you teach your dog new skills or revise their training. But like I said, we'll need to check it out before letting you adopt one of them."

"I'll ensure their home is satisfactory," Damian interrupted.

Lisa sent Damian a quick smile. "Thank you, Damian."

A few minutes passed calmly, except for Peter’s frequent glances at every tree and intense scrutiny of every stranger walking by. He watched everyone around him for signs that they could hear something he hadn’t noticed yet. Finally, Dick suggested they head back, and Lisa guided them toward the exit.

They walked past a few strangers who made Peter tighten his grip around Dick's hand, but none of them seemed to glance in their direction until a tall teenage girl with clear pale skin, dark red hair, and deep green eyes stopped in the middle of the pathway and looked at Dick.

"Oh my god, is that you, Mr. Grayson?"

Dick looked up from the dogs. His eyes widened, and his smile was quick and impersonal. "Yes?"

"I haven't seen you in forever."

Dick's smile wasn't fake, but it didn't look genuine either. He just looked polite as he looked at the teenager. "It's nice to see you."

The girl looked down at her feet. "We only saw each other in passing when I was at the summer program with your son in 2003, Mr. Grayson."

Dick's smile fell, and his shoulders seemed to collapse themselves. Peter glanced at his eyes, and Peter felt like he couldn't reach him for the first time since they'd met. Dick was almost always annoyingly attentive to everything Peter did, but his eyes looked dead as he looked at the teenager. Even his voice held no life as he replied, "I'm sorry to hear that you were there. Were you in the robotics program?"

"No, I was there for art, but Peter and I were the youngest two and ate lunch together daily that summer. He talked about his family so much that I almost felt like I knew you."

"I remember you now. Marianne, right?"

"Yes, that's me." The teenager looked up from her feet and saw Dick's blank expression. Her cheeks darkened, her sunny smile turned into fragile porcelain, and her eyes widened into dark holes of despair. "I'm sorry for rambling, Mr. Grayson. My parents decided to move to Gotham after I got out of the hospital, and I didn't expect to see you again. I guess that all the feelings and memories came back."

Dick still didn't react, and Peter frantically pulled Dick's hand to bring him back into reality before he could spiral too far away for Peter to reach. Dick's movements were slow and unsettling at first, but he let go of a relieved breath and bloomed like a flower in spring when he looked at Peter.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you had another kid. Peter only mentioned Damian, but your son looks almost exactly like Peter. He's only missing the glasses and getting over the swelling, and they could practically be twins. I can almost hear Peter explaining things I haven't learned until this year and some I probably won't ever learn."

Dick pulled his eyes away from Peter, and even his pupils went from dilated to pinpricks as he looked at the teenager. His reply sounded rehearsed but so pained that Peter couldn't imagine how the words would have sounded the first time he said them. "I don't want to talk about my dead child with you."

The girl let out a nervous laugh. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I was just surprised. I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Dick looked tired, but his shoulders stopped slumping when he squeezed Peter's hand. "It's okay. Take care of yourself, Marianne."

The girl's ponytail swayed as she nodded. "Right, yes, I'll do that. Take care, Mr. Grayson."

She focused on her shoes and wouldn't look Dick in the eye, but she didn't apologize again. It was a weird situation, and Dick's son was kind of not dead anymore, but she couldn't know that.

"Come on, Tati," Dick said as he squeezed Peter's hand with barely any more pressure than before.

Peter glanced at the girl one last time before following Dick and everyone else further away from Robinson Park. Jason glared at the ground, and Damian kept avoiding Peter's gaze. Both looked pained, but Damian paled into a slightly gray color and kept swallowing and grinding his teeth while Jason looked more composed.

Peter understood why Damian, Dick, and Jason would be sad about the reminder of what they had lost, and Lisa's wide-eyed glances from just out of earshot made almost as much sense, but everything else was absurd. The teenager had talked about Damian as if he were Peter Grayson's brother and not his uncle, so perhaps the family dynamics were much more complicated than Peter initially thought. Bruce had acted paternal toward Dick in front of Peter, and he was just as paternal toward Damian if the interaction earlier that day was anything to go by. However, Dick had been Damian's legal guardian for a few years, according to what Damian had said when Jason had come to the manor with the stuffed spider, and Dick had said that he loved Damian in the same way that he loved his son. It would make sense that Damian and Peter Grayson had grown a bond more similar to brothers than uncle and nephew if that was the case, but it still made Peter's head spin.

Peter turned his gaze toward Dick again and could feel the urge to cry at the sheer devastation in his eyes, but nothing would come out. Dick's eyes reflected the light far more than before, and he bit his bottom lip with almost enough force to bite through it. Some of his inhales sounded wet, and some of his exhales were shaky. The dog he was holding the leash of started to lick Dick's hand between glances at the forlorn teenager.

Dick's shoulders stopped tensing when the teenager was no longer in sight. "Don’t mind me, Tati. Just remembering too much all at once."

Peter was at a loss for how anyone was supposed to respond to that, and his gut twisted with thoughts about everything, not knowing how to react to anything. Fortunately, he was rescued from having to figure it out when the dog by Dick's side wandered behind him to get to Peter and gave his hand the same treatment of repeated kisses until Peter cringed. The dog looked at him for a few seconds before giving his hand and side gentle headbutts until the coils in Peter's guts loosened, and they reached Lisa's house.

Lisa opened the door and waved them all inside. "I can see that Nanami did well with both of you. Do you want to see some other things that she can do?"

Peter would rather stop being in unfamiliar surroundings and sleep for a week, but Dick agreed, so they watched as Nanami demonstrated a multitude of skills. She checked the living room and hallway for dangers, pushed Jason away when Lisa asked him to get uncomfortably close to her and circled her so he couldn't get close again, gently held her sleeve when she pretended to scratch her skin and guided her to the floor and lay on her when she started to rock and flap her hands.

"Wow, this is great, Lisa." His voice was a little more subdued than before the walk, but his eyes were full of wonder before looking down at Peter with a heart-stopping devotion and hope. "Isn't it great, Peter?"

Peter looked at Nanami, and she left Lisa's side and rubbed her head into Peter's hand before they could tremble.

Peter let his fingers feel Nanami's wiry fur as he watched Dick's hopeful gazes and felt Jason's and Damian's trepidation.

Peter nodded, and Dick's tiny squeeze and Jason's and Damian's shared smile were enough for him to prepare himself for the next question.

"Would you like to if we can adopt her when I've sorted everything else? It will be a long time, but we will visit and train with her until then."

Nanami leaned her body against Peter's knees. It was almost enough for him to buckle under her weight before she stopped leaning quite as much into him, and he could readjust his weight. Her face was open and kind when he glanced at her, but he also saw a strength in her. Jason had been nervous about bumping into Lisa at her instructions, but Nanami reacted instantly and glared at him when he tried to bump into her again.

Nanami made a tiny bark and almost bumped into Peter again when a door opened. Peter looked around and saw a middle-aged man coming out of the bathroom. It wasn't Skip or Mr. Green, but some weird and frightening mix with a gut, gray-streaked blonde hair, and icy blue eyes.

"I'm so sorry; I thought you were still out," the man explained. His voice wasn't anything unique or one that Peter had heard before, but his hands froze in Dick's hand and Nanami's fur. His head felt heavy and empty as he tried to remember how to breathe, and Nanami pulled herself out of Peter's grip to run, yapping toward the man and herd him into the bathroom.

The man went into the bathroom again, and Lisa corrected Nanami's bark before letting Nanami sprint back to Peter.

Lisa sent the bathroom door a last glance and turned her gaze on Peter and everyone around him. "I'm so sorry about that. We only have one bathroom, and I should have texted him when we were walking back."

Nanami started pushing Peter with her head and patting him with her paw. It wasn't painful, but Peter wasn't in a position to figure out her strange behavior before Damian asked Lisa if she was trying to get Peter to sit.

Everyone looked even taller as he sat on the floor leaning against the wall, but it was bearable when Lisa walked away, and Nanami dropped her torso on his legs.

"Did Nanami make a good impression?" Damian asked a short distance away, but Peter still had to crank his neck to look at his face and nod.

Jason sat next to Peter and received a stink eye from Nanami, but she settled on a sneeze in his direction. "It looks like you two are already friends, Kid."

Nanami looked up when Peter's trembling hand landed on her head, but she closed her eyes and let him touch her. 

"Would you like to stay friends with her?"

Jason's question seemed to be a simplified way of asking if Peter wanted to be responsible for her well-being for the rest of her life. She needed food, playtime, love, and stability, but Peter couldn't keep anything together. She was trained for people with mental issues, but Peter might be a lost cause for anyone.

Peter's hand began to tremble more intensely, and Nanami sent Jason a strange bark. It sounded a bit strangled but not weak. She wasn't weak; she was capable of things that Peter would probably never do again, and she could save herself if Peter's curse started to affect her. She ran toward her owner because he was causing Peter distress so she could protect herself against Peter as well.

Peter glanced at Damian's strong shoulders and Dick's hopeful expression and nodded. Damian could save her if she couldn't save herself, and she had helped Dick.

Peter nodded, and Dick, Jason, and Damian exhaled almost as relieved as Peter was exhausted. 

Chapter Text

Peter wasn’t entirely sure how he survived the walk to the car or how tangible he was as he held Jason’s arm tightly to his body when exiting it. 

“Oh wow, look who’s back,” Jason cheered with slightly bent knees and clumsy steps as he bent over for Peter to hold his forearm. 

“Yeah, we took a drive,” Steph answered with cheery tones. 

“Right, a drive,” came Damian’s monotone reply. 

Steph existed both the car and Cass’ lap. “Can’t six people take a spontaneous drive without having to defend themselves?”

Dick walked in front of Jason and Peter and began patting his pockets as he approached the door. 

“Don’t tell me that you lost your keys. Peter’s heart is going crazy, and he has yawned twice with his thousand-mile stare.” 

Dick looked over his shoulder with slightly narrowed eyes, but they softened when he looked into Peter’s. “I’m unlocking it now. Come on, Tati. We’re getting you nice and cozy after an eventful day.” 

No one could attack him with so many vigilantes around, and Alfred wouldn't leave again for groceries if there were any immediate danger. However, he still felt like his lungs wouldn’t take in any oxygen until he was under a roof and away from the open air. 

The door closed to the outside, and Peter quickly inspected the hallway. Nothing was there except the same walls as always, and Jason, Damian, and Dick were taking their shoes and jackets off. 

Dick looked at Peter’s feet and tilted his head. “Do you need help with your shoes?” 

Peter wrinkled his nose, knelt to pull the shoelaces, and kicked the shoes off. The jacket went off even more easily, but all his energy left him instantly. Everything had been overwhelming all day. It had been hard to meet Lisa and Nanami and watch Dick talk to Marianne, but Peter was mostly reeling from having to be outside. It felt unreal that he had been outside without anyone attacking him or someone he cared about, but it had happened, and he was as safe as he could be in the manor with three tall adult men around him. 

Peter’s face tingled uncomfortably when he yawned behind his hand, and his tense muscles loosened as he stretched. 

“Is it naptime?” 

Peter tried to glare at Jason, but it was hard through the tears that the yawn had brought up. 

Jason rolled his eyes and took his jacket off. “Or I could read to you.” 

Peter could almost imagine sitting on the couch with a blanket, listening to Jason’s voice, and maybe even having one of the dogs or Alfred, the cat, by his side. Peter extended his middle and index fingers and let them brush from his clavicle to his chin.

Jason furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the wall, momentarily narrowing his eyes before returning to Peter. “My voice is fine. Do I sound hoarse?” 

Peter sighed and repeated his gesture, but gestured a book with his hands between every other gesture. 

Jason glanced at Damian and Dick with a slight blush. “Are you sure that you need me to do the voices?” 

Peter sighed and gazed upon the coat hanger with crossed arms. He was exhausted, but his exuberance at surviving today and being back at the manor made him feel almost whimsical and a little floaty. 

Dick and Jason ended up in the library with Peter. Damian wanted to join, but his dogs needed a walk, so he promised to come by later to listen to Jason read aloud.

Jason occasionally glanced at Dick when he read dialogue from Charlotte’s Web, but he read from where they had left off before, to Peter’s great surprise. He had expected Jason to have forgotten some details when he had told Peter the story from memory, but everything fit perfectly with what he was reading now. 

Peter wiggled a little further down on the couch with a heavy blanket over his legs. He glanced at him but then turned and continued his nap on Peter’s ankles. 

Things were almost okay in their little pocket of safety until Dick’s phone buzzed. 

Dick pulled his phone out of his pocket and furrowed his brows when he looked at the screen. “Hey, long time no talk.” 

He narrowed his eyes at the words from the other side of the phone. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

Dick sighed. “Oh, yeah, I haven’t been out lately, but I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” 

Dick sounded stressed, and Peter’s hands trembled at the thought of what could be affecting Dick like that. He and everyone else had fought against the Court of Owls and had been fine from meeting Marianne before they reached the manor. Was someone dying? Had someone broken into the manor while they were gone and hidden in the walls? Were the Court of Owls back and ready to do what they wanted with Peter? Or maybe even worse, had this world’s Skip found out where Peter was and wanted to see him? It didn’t matter if he had or hadn’t done anything; Peter didn’t want to see him. 

They couldn’t make him. He would rather die. He would kill himself. He could, he really could, and then no one could touch him again. 

Dick’s kind eyes filled the little there was left of Peter’s blackening vision. “Hey, Dulceață, what’s wrong? Did you see something scary?” 

Peter swallowed the panic, dried his hands on the blanket, shook his head, and carefully pulled his feet from under Alfred’s warm body. He needed to be ready for anything, even if it was ridiculous to consider any of them putting Peter in harm's way after all they had done for him. 

“Okay, that’s good. I’m always here, okay? I’ll always be here, Peter.” 

Jason arrived from behind Dick and offered an arm to anchor Peter into this reality. It was still childish. He needed to act better, but Jason’s firm muscles under his fingers and Dick’s kind eyes made the world a little less dark. 

Peter could not hear the words, but he heard the tone from the person on the other side of the call, speaking carefully and calmly, just like Dick talked to him right now, full of care and no sudden movements in case he startled. 

“I know that my place in Blüdhaven is probably dusty by now. I’ll clean it some other time, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t break into it every time you feel like it.” Dick answered absent-mindedly as he looked Peter over. 

Dick’s gaze was soft when he looked at Peter, but his eyebrows tilted inwards, and his words came out sharp and annoyed when he stared in the phone’s direction. “Yeah, I’m at the manor. Why?” The phone gave one last beep as the person on the other side hung up without saying goodbye, and Dick put the phone back in his pocket to focus his full attention on Peter.

He was still a little taller than Peter when kneeling, but it was nice not to crank his neck when he was coming down from another onslaught of emotions, and it almost worked until eight beeps started to scream, and Dick and Jason jumped up and looked around, the room with sharp and cold eyes. Dick’s eyes had been softly moving creeks before, but now they were the cold ocean promising to capsize any boat that tried to brave its waters, and Jason’s glowed unnervingly toward every corner of the room. 

A red-haired man burst into the room, and Dick jumped on the stranger instantly. However, Peter's attention was quickly drawn to Jason, who grabbed Peter's arm in a swift and alarming movement. He shielded Peter from all danger, but the sudden and unexpected touch made all the muscles in Peter's body tense. It was just Jason who would never hurt him deliberately, but all his muscles, except his neck and eyes, froze. 

Dick’s arm pulled back, and he looked like he would have made contact, but he hesitated at the last second, and the man under him caught his fist. 

“Dick, hey, Buddy, it’s just me. It’s Wally, your best bud,” the man yelled over the screeching manor. “I’m sorry for not checking in on you. I meant to call you last week, but the twins got the flu. But I’m here now. I'm ready to listen now.” 

Dick was still sitting on top of the stranger, but his muscles loosened. “I don't need anything, Wally. We were just on the phone, and you didn't need to come here to hear how I'm doing.” 

Wally gently pushed Dick off him and looked at him with wide green eyes. “I heard you talking to yourself. Are you taking your medicine?” 

Dick glanced at Peter and Jason with furrowed brows and a tightly pressed mouth before returning his gaze toward Wally. His voice was low, but Peter could hear the words hidden in the hisses. “Yeah, I’m taking my fucking medicine, but you shouldn’t be here. I’m a little busy lately.” 

Wally’s eyes were wide, and he let go of Dick’s fist to put both his hands on Dick’s shoulders. “Okay, that’s fine. I’m glad you’re getting help from your family, but you could have called me if you had seen Peter. Unless you didn’t know it was visions. Please tell me you’re not confused about reality.” 

Dick blinked, and he swallowed a few times before throwing Wally’s hands off him. “I’m not seeing things, and I didn’t call you because I’ve been busy, and you’re treating me like I’m insane. I’ve not been this well in years.” 

Jason eased his grip on Peter's arm, and he finally regained most of his mobility. However, he didn't feel in control of his body before Dick stood up from the floor and turned toward Peter’s widened eyes and pale face.

Dick's smile was slight and gentle, but his step closer to Peter was even more so. "It’s okay, draga mea. Wally’s a friend who doesn’t understand boundaries.” 

Wally’s head moved, but his gaze stayed on Dick until the last second before he looked at Peter. His face paled into a sickly gray, and his eyes widened enough to look like they would fall out. His shoulders rose as he inhaled, and his teeth chattered as he exhaled until he lunched for Dick and held an even firmer grip on his shoulders. “What did you do, Dick? Did you steal a kid, or did you clone him?” 

Dick tried to push Wally’s hands off, but his grip tightened. “I didn’t steal a kid. He’s my son, and he’s back. Maybe I should have told you, but the Bats and I have been busy.” 

“Busy?” Wally asked and let go of Dick just before he became a blur and reappeared in the corner in the blink of an eye. "Oh my god, Dick. You’ve dug up your son’s grave. What the fuck.”

Dick backed up until he was right in front of Jason and Peter. “I’ve told you. I didn’t do anything. I can tell you later, but Peter shouldn’t have to listen to it all again.”

Wally moved slowly toward Dick with his hands raised. It was probably meant to be comforting, but Peter watched his hands closely in case there were any signs of him attacking Dick.

“Dick, I don’t know what you and the bats have done, but know that I care about you no matter what it is.”

Dick sighed, and Peter could almost see the way that he was rolling his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t clone or experiment on my child. I’m not clever enough to do that, nor stupid enough to try. I also would never be able to do that to my son. You should know that as a father.”

Damian opened the door with a bang. “West, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

Wally’s head snapped back, and he stared at Damian with slightly less terror than when he had looked at Peter. “Trying to understand why Peter’s grave has been disturbed and how he’s alive. Have you cloned him? Dick won’t be okay even if you clone someone.” 

Dick exhaled sharply. “Fucking hell, Wally, I clone anyone, and you’re scaring Peter. I’ll explain later, but know it is him, and we have not kidnapped anyone either. It’s him 100% with some more scars, but it’s my son. It’s Peter.” 

Peter’s mouth was both dry and producing more saliva than he could comfortably swallow. He couldn’t feel the rest of his body, and it was only when he glanced at his hands that he realized they were trembling around Jason’s arm, and it was only when the others stopped talking that he realized that his teeth were chattering. 

Dick glanced at the door and yelled loud enough for Peter’s almost entirely frozen arms to jerk in front of his torso with a sharp inhale. 

“In here!” Dick yelled loudly and then repeated it more when the screeching finally stopped echoing through the building.

Every other occupant in the manor quickly filled the room and herded Wally out. Even Sparta and Rome kept an eye on him and sometimes a mouth on him until they were no longer in the room.

“Can you follow our breaths?” Jason asked as soon as it was just him, Dick, Alfred, the cat, and Peter in the library.

Peter couldn’t, but it still helped to watch Jason and Dick as they slowly calmed. Peter cracked the figurative ice in his veins and moved closer to them to feel their presence against his shoulders. 

Dick wasn’t as calm as before, but the wild ocean in his eyes had settled into the lapping waves on a shore as he looked down at Peter from an unflattering view. He wasn’t hairy, but Peter got a very close view of his nose hair. “I’m sorry that that happened. Wally is a good friend and seems to have gotten a little worried. He’s harmless, but it’s understandable that you would be scared after the day you’ve had and the introduction to him. I got a little scared, too, at him stopping by like that.” 

Peter glanced at the door Wally had been pulled out of and absentmindedly drew a lightning bolt over his chest with a finger. Something was itching in his mind now that he wasn’t fearing how or why a man of Dick’s age had come into the manor.

His thoughts passed quicker than he could get a hold of any of them, but none of them seemed able to explain why he thought of lightning when thinking of the strange man.

“Are you making lightning bolts?”

Dick had lost all his anger, but his stare was still intense as he watched Peter’s finger repeat the pattern. His eyes didn’t stray when Peter nodded, but he blinked rapidly.

Dick and Jason seemed transfixed on Peter’s chest and the eternal patterns, but Peter’s mind was far away. He didn’t remember anyone with a lightning bolt, but this Wally-man awoke the image, and it seemed to mean something from Dick’s reaction. Something vast and unignorable. A memory of a life far away from this that Peter wanted to deny having any connection with.

Peter shook the musings out of his mind and clapped loudly. Jason’s head flew back an inch, and Dick’s whole body went back several, but he recovered quickly. Peter pointed to him, touched his right-hand middle finger to his left palm, and pivoted his right hand from side to side several times. He then tried to visibly remove the question from his mind by sweeping his right hand from his forehead and out while bending his index, middle, and ring fingers.

Dick sent frantic looks in Jason’s direction, but Jason only sent just as frantic ones back, and Peter got a distinct feeling that something horrible was about to happen.

Dick finally looked away from Jason and cleared his throat. “Some people see things all the time, and some only when they’re affected by something. I sometimes see things when I’m sad. Like you did when the Court of Owls had you.”

Peter’s breath hitched. Not only did Dick somehow know about Peter’s experience there, but he was seeing things when he was sad. It sounded horrible, but Peter was more preoccupied by another question.

Jason and Dick were silent for several moments as Peter pointed toward himself, but Dick eventually leaned forward and explained. “I really hope you never have to go through anything like that, but it probably won't be for a long time if it ever happens. Most people, if they experience symptoms, do so between their late teens and early thirties. But you can always talk to me if you ever start noticing things that don’t quite seem real. Or you can talk to Jason. He’s become really good at supporting people when that happens. I used to have visual and auditory hallucinations, but it’s also common to feel confused about what’s real and what’s not. That said, there’s a good chance you’ll never experience anything like that."

Peter threw his arms around himself and tried to disappear. Why was Dick telling him this? He didn’t want to ever think about not trusting his mind or Dick experiencing things like that.

Jason sent Dick a slight smile, and Dick swallowed his emotions before continuing. “The risk is low. I looked it up when you were small, and it’s only 9% for you, so you don’t have to worry, and we’ll all be there for you if anything like that happens. I only got symptoms after Jason died, and then again when you… But it’s better now. I only experience reality now. I take some pills for that, and how sad I was for a long time, but other than my mouth being a little dry sometimes, it’s as if nothing was ever wrong with me.” 

Peter repeated the sign for medicine and shook his head vigorously.

Dick looked over at Peter with clear blue eyes and seemed to prepare himself for a verbal sprint. “I know you don’t want to take any medicine, and that’s okay. We’ll only talk about it if it ever becomes relevant, but there’s nothing wrong with taking prescription medicine. Your mom needed some, but she didn’t take it, and it made her sad in a way I didn’t understand for a long time. But who knows—maybe you won’t need any at all once you’re in therapy.” 

Peter still couldn’t fully express his emotions, yet everyone in the room seemed to sense the storm raging and hitting every sore spot within him. Jason and Dick sent Peter sad looks, and Alfred returned to Peter’s side to rub his face against Peter’s elbow, blinking slowly when Peter brushed his hand over Alfred’s fur.

“That’s not something that you have to worry about. It probably won’t ever happen, and I mean it. We’ll all be there if you see things, and we know the signs now. Everyone found out about me, and no one knew the signs until I was in my thirties.”

Returning to reading felt strange, but it was the only thing Peter could manage after encountering someone new and unexpected, along with the heavy topic that ensued. Only Damian's unimpressed glance at Jason's attempts to sound like a little girl whenever Fern spoke lived it up enough for Peter to enjoy the end of Charlotte's Web and only stare at the wall for a few minutes after Charlotte, the barn spider, died of natural causes.  

Wally was fortunately gone when Peter collected enough courage to leave the library and force a piece of soft cheese, water, and morphine down. The morphine was intended solely for pain relief, but it left Peter drowsy enough to be guided toward his bedroom at a little past seven PM. 

Sleep was as hard as everything else, but he fell asleep quickly after Dick brushed a hand over his forehead, and Jason let him use his arm as a pillow for a few immature moments while Dick did the sleep thing.

“Lachhi tjiri rat, draga mea,” Dick whispered when Peter turned on his back and held Jason’s arm over his chest instead of under his head.

“Yeah, goodnight, you little shit. I hope that you dream of puppies and spiders.”

Peter wished that he had dreamed of puppies or spiders. Even scary spider-dog hybrids would have been preferable to everything that haunted his dreams.

The manor screamed about intruders in his dreams, but either Peter was the only one who could hear it, or no one else cared.

He had thought that dream-Nanami had come to save him, but she bit him. Which just hurt emotionally. He thought they were friends, but dream-her was mean and somehow scowled despite dogs lacking the necessary facial muscles. 

Lisa’s husband probably had a VIP ticket for Heaven, Nirvana, or whatever they believed in, but dream-him came in through the window and transformed into both Skip and Mr. Green. It hurt more than just emotionally, and Peter woke up to a wet bed and the knowledge that Dick and Jason had been wrong a few nights ago about him being a great kid or the best boy. A good boy wouldn't pee themselves at the thought of someone else touching them. 

The overhead light was as protective and comforting as always, but it couldn’t help Peter when he woke up still groggy from sleep and morphine to his heart beating, his hands sweating, and his pants warm and sticky.

He scooted away from how close he had lain to Jason, sat up, and looked stiffly at his lap with widened eyes and nausea. He couldn’t see what he had done through the thick duvet, but he could feel it with every movement, and it was already starting to cool. He was disgusting. He was a disobedient dog or a parasitoid wasp that was finally emerging from its hollow host in a repulsive display of animalistic horror. He was something so revolting that no one should look at. 

“What the fuck,” Jason groaned into his pillow, and his shoulders and arms tensed as he turned. His eyes squinted, and he scanned the room momentarily before focusing on Peter. He put his hands over his forehead to look at Peter with barely squinted eyes. His voice always had a gravel to it, but it sounded like he had swallowed a few pebbles when he slurred, “What’s up, Kid?” 

Peter’s cheeks flushed as he shook his head and sat as still as possible. Every move could move the wetness toward Jason or Dick, and he could almost smell it already. 

Jason cleared his throat and sounded much more like himself when he spoke, “Dick, wake up.” 

Dick hummed, but his face was slack when Peter moved his stiff neck to look at him. 

“Peter needs you, you deadbeat.” 

Dick tensed and broke the surface of sleep with a sharp inhale. He appeared to be treading in the deep end of dreams as he looked around the room frantically. “What? What’s wrong? Where’s the danger? I’ll kill them.” 

Jason huffed and tilted his head repeatedly and pointedly toward Peter. “Okay, Patrick Bateman, I’ll save some kills for you, but Peter seems to have had a situation that needs your attention.” 

Dick finally turned to look at Peter, and all the nervous energy seemed to dissipate as soon as he laid eyes on him.  The dark circles under his eyes were still visible, but they had lessened into a lighter shade of blue, and he looked slightly less pale than he had the previous day. “Hello, Dulceață, what’s wrong?” 

Peter shook his head again and turned his eyes back to his lap when his vigorous headshakes moved his bottom enough to feel the slowly cooling liquid against his skin. 

“I think that Peter needs a change of clothes,” Jason mumbled, but every syllable hit Peter with an arrow between every rib.  

Dick was silent for a few seconds, and Peter’s cheeks warmed even more when Dick talked, “Oh, that’s more than okay. We’ll deal with that. Come, let’s shower.” 

Dick rolled out of the bed and took his blanket off before Peter slowly crawled out too. He tried to avoid the moist fabric moving against his skin. Still, it was even less successful than Jason’s attempts at looking ignorant of the situation every time Peter threw a look over his shoulder. It was comfortable to sleep in Dick’s t-shirt, but the bottom of it had become wet, and now he would have to change everything.

Dick stopped in front of Peter’s clothes piles and threw a glance over his shoulder. “Jay, could you find some new bedding? I’ll change it when Peter and I are done, but it would be a huge help to get back to bed as soon as possible.” 

Dick pulled out another one of his T-shirts for Peter to wear, along with underwear, thick socks, and drawstring sweatpants, before letting Peter lead the way out of the bedroom. 

The bathroom was dark, but quickly lit up when Peter risked his safety by turning the light on and showered with his swim trunks. It was a little safer with Dick being sent into one of the corners to give Peter the illusion of privacy, but he still couldn’t stop the jittery feeling from his dreams, and none of the body washes could wash the touches or shame off his skin.

Peter froze when he saw the bed after his shower. Both blankets and Peter’s duvet were neatly arranged, but he could still see the changed bed sheets and how Jason’s blanket had shifted from light blue to forest green. 

Nausea followed him as he walked closer and brushed his hand over the clean sheets. It had been horrible when Dick had had to change the sheets, but knowing that Jason had done the same might be the worst thing that Peter had experienced in a week. The thought of death at the hands of the Court of Owls was almost like a lullaby or comforting bedtime story compared to the knowledge that he would forever be a disgusting blob to Jason. Not only would Peter never be able to look at Jason, but Jason would never be able to look at Peter without remembering that he had the bladder control of an infant. A disgusting creature that others had marked until nothing would ever want to be near it again. 

Then Jason returned with a calming smile, and Peter’s shoulders rose. Jason looked kind and steady, but he smelled like body wash and had changed his clothes.

Peter had cried violently with Dick, but his tear ducts had dried up to give moisture to the phlegm in his throat, and he stumbled where he stood as the onslaught of emotions hit him with a tidal wave. 

“Ready for bed?”

Peter stared at his feet and shook his head.

“That’s fine. I don’t know what you and Dick usually do when you have that kind of nightmare, but you can do whatever it is.”

Peter glanced at Dick but stared at his feet again after a while.

Jason’s hands clapped together with a loud smack. “Well, I’m tired, so I’ll go to bed. You can join me, or you can stand if you want.”

Peter glanced as Jason casually folded the blanket back and lay down. He didn’t act as if there must have been a wet spot where he had lain.

Dick walked over to stand in front of Peter. The bags under his eyes were getting smaller each night of sleeping with Jason and Peter, but they were still present, and his forehead's fine lines seemed more pronounced without natural light. “Let’s catch a few more hours of sleep before another hopefully boring day.”

Peter slowly walked toward the bed and lay precisely in the middle of Dick and Jason. Although he slept on his side most nights, he tried to convince himself that he was comfortable lying stiffly on his back with his arms by his side.

“I feel uncomfortable just looking at you like that,” Jason complained with a deep sigh.

Peter moved his arms, but he couldn’t find a more comfortable-looking position that would allow him to protect Dick and Jason from being peed on.

Dick sighed as well and rearranged his pillow. “You can relax, Dulceață. You’ve not had an accident multiple times a night yet.”

“And it’s fine even if you do. I’ve been marked in worse ways.”

Peter’s nostrils flared, and he shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows with all the anger in his body, but Jason only blinked and rested his hands in front of his face. “They make one-time use overnight sleep shorts for stuff like that if you’re worried about it happening again."

Peter's eyes widened, and he scowled as much as his face would allow. A thousand words went through his head, and none were kind as he pointed a firm index finger toward Jason. 

"I mean, I could find some for me, but it would be hard to find in my size. You're pretty narrow, though, so finding sleep shorts that fit you should be a lot easier.”

Peter would rather be shot in the head than wet sheets every other or third night, but it would still be preferable over wearing a diaper. He was gross, but he would not be treated like a baby. If they had a problem, they could leave the room and let Peter figure out how to sleep independently. He had slept on the floor for a month and could perhaps do it again to make the cleanup easier.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows and looked around the room quickly to find a way to explain it. He eventually settled on a stern expression and a sharp gesture with a pointed middle finger directed at Jason. 

Shame coated the edges of his body, but everything else felt like jubilation at telling someone such a hard message. Embarrassment quickly pushed some of the joy away when Jason's fist went in front of his mouth, and Dick bit his lip hard enough to show his jaw muscles and leave teeth marks, but titters still left both men.

"I'm sorry, draga mea. I wasn't expecting you to do that." 

Jason lowered his fist, but his jaw was just as tense until he relaxed it just enough to spit out, "It was epic, you little shit. You should flip more people off, even if it's me." 

Peter gingerly lifted his middle finger again, and the titters turned into laughs.

“I shouldn’t be proud of this. Fuck, I’m a bad father, but I’m so proud of you for flipping Jason off.”

Jason’s eyes were squinted with his wide smile, and he lifted a hand to flip Peter off. The joy and relief at Peter and Jason repeatedly flipping each other off was inane, but Jason was acting just as childish as Peter, and he was much older.

“What the flippingly flip, you little shit. I’m going to outflip you,” Jason announced. It didn’t feel as scary or as comforting as holding someone’s hand, but it was amazing to touch someone casually when they pressed their knuckles and middle fingers against each other.

“Hey, Peter, can you look at me?” Dick asked when Jason’s and Peter’s hands stopped flipping each other off quite as forcefully, and Peter was met with Dick’s shining eyes and his exposed teeth biting his bottom lip. Dick let out a surprisingly high-pitched sound as he lifted his middle finger, and they flipped each other off a few times until Peter yawned, and Dick and Jason followed suit.

Dick’s hand stopped flipping Peter off, and his face rested on the pillow. “Can I touch your hair?”

Peter hummed and put Dick’s hand on the top of his head. Dick’s hand was a little dry but still soft and comforting as it ran through Peter’s hair.

“I’m very proud of you after today. You did an amazing job being outside and meeting four different adults. I didn’t think anyone could have reacted as well as you did with meeting the men so suddenly.”

“Yeah, fuck men,” Jason added with a raised fist in Peter’s peripheral vision.

“Peter, please don’t grow up to become a misandrist, but yes, fuck all men. Except hopefully us.”

Peter proudly displayed his new talent for flipping off Jason and Dick but struggled to keep his hands up when Dick brushed his fingers through Peter’s bangs, humming a tune that conjured up memories of crossing an ocean and holding someone’s hand while crossing the street.

Peter didn’t want to dream or embarrass himself again, but Dick’s hand moved down to between his eyebrows, pushing a little more sleepiness into him with every stroke.

I want to remind everyone that this is the height difference between Peter and Jason, so when I say he walks hunched so Peter can hold his arm, I mean HUNCHED. Like, damn, nine-year-olds are short, but that's almost a two feet/60 cm difference. 

Chapter Text

Peter woke up to pain and comfort.

His sleepy mind only registered the pain in his jaw, and his uncoordinated hands swiped through the air to find the source, but landed hard enough for his thumb to scream and his jaw to burn and throb. 

Drugs were still horrible, but he gratefully took the syringe when Dick had pulled up a dose when he wasn’t looking, and a second, smaller dose when the first hadn’t hit after almost fifteen minutes of tightly closed eyes and whimpering when Jason or Dick asked how he was doing. 

He was pathetic. He should have been used to the pain by now, no matter if he was nine or seventeen, but he could only face the world when the doses started to work and everything stopped sending impulses from his jaw to the rest of his body. 

Everything slowed down as the pain disappeared, and his eyelids were heavy when he opened them. He saw Dick's relieved smile and almost felt light and bubbly until he turned his head to look at Jason and remembered how he had embarrassed himself hours before. 

Jason’s hands were almost a foot from Peter’s feet, but he looked void of harsh shadows when he smiled and widened his eyes slightly. “Better?”

Peter nodded. He was better now. Kind of. The pain was fading, and a floaty sensation was beginning to take hold. However, everything else still weighed heavily on him: the past, the present, questions about the future, and the nagging embarrassment of Jason knowing one of his most humiliating secrets.

Jason stood, stretching his hands high above his head until cracks echoed through the quiet room, and he turned toward Dick. "Should we find some clothes?"

Dick glanced at the piles of Peter's clothes and nodded before closing the distance between him and the piles.

Peter looked at the bedsheets at the mention of changing his clothes, but he ignored the dread and left the safety of the bed to take the pile of clothes when Dick offered it to him.

Changing felt like a scary combination of not wanting anyone, real or imagined, to look at him, and the unsettling vulnerability of not being able to watch for danger as he pulled off his sleep-worn T-shirt, swapped it for a fresh one, and then tugged the Nightwing hoodie over his head.

It was even softer than the last time Peter had worn it, but it didn’t bring any comfort when Jason left the room, and the hoodie was almost strangling when Jason returned, only for Dick to disappear. 

Jason tilted his head and offered an arm. "Want to go to the kitchen?"

Peter shook his head in short, quick movements and gently chewed on his bottom lip. 

Jason nodded and rubbed the hem of his shirt between his fingers. He mostly looked down at his hands, but he would occasionally glance at the door with Peter until Dick returned with a wide smile.

“Aw, were you waiting for me?” Dick asked, clasping his hands as if Peter hadn’t woken both Jason and Dick up with his gross habits and had been rude enough to flip Jason off almost unprovoked. 

Jason waved a hand toward himself. He seemed to have much more energy than before, but his smile looked a little brittle when Peter looked closely at him. “Come, Kid, we need to get some meat on those birdbones now that Dick is back to hold your hand.” 

Peter’s feet didn’t hurt nearly as much as his thumbs and jaw, and he hadn’t felt any pain from them since the first day after being rescued from the Court of Owls, but they had remained steady until now. Now they seemed one thread away from detaching from the rest of his body, and his knees were too weak to stop him from stumbling as he descended the stairs. 

Dick caught his sleeve and quickly let go when Peter almost fell to the right. “Wow, someone needs some more sleep.” 

Peter hummed and concentrated on the steps, and then he tried to keep his heavy head up as Dick boiled their eggs in the blink of an eye. Another blink and he was looking at his medium-boiled eggs. 

“Eat,” Dick demanded, but his tone was almost as soft as his smile. Peter carefully grabbed his spoon, and the desperate look in Dick’s gaze lessened until there were only echoes of it. 

His eggs were almost as soft as Dick’s and Jason’s, but he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would when the taste hit him. Slightly undersalted, just how he liked it now, and firm enough for him to feel like he was chewing, but soft enough not to strain his jaw. 

Peter hummed in appreciation of the taste and washed it down with a sip of bottled water. The heavy feeling lingered, and he was tempted to check if his feet were still attached, but the sun was peeking out from behind the dark clouds and onto the kitchen floor. 

The weather in Gotham often felt dreary, and it had become much grayer since August, but the gentle light was calling Peter's name. He could call Alfred the cat if his voice returned, and they could lie in the sunbeam, listening to the rain together, or he could call for the dogs to play fetch or run through the mud. Maybe the sun could protect him long enough to forget about anything else for a little while.  

“You seem chipper this morning,” Dick commented and burst Peter’s daydream with a pop that was only present inside Peter’s head. He had said it as a fact, but not even the slight nausea and dizziness were enough to distract Peter from the almost manic look in his eyes.

Peter glanced back at his egg, and furrowed his eyebrows when he looked at the cracked open egg. He checked around the spoon and inside the egg, but it felt more like a habit than a fear of anyone doing anything to his food or drink when he wasn’t looking. His worries were still there, but dulled. Distant in a way, and his brain was too busy ordering his lungs to breathe and daydream to worry about poison or worse things in his food or water. 

“Dad tax.” A clean spoon scraped over the upper layer of the egg, and Peter glanced back at Dick, who closed his eyes and hummed. Dick’s crescent eyes and a soft smile accompanied his two chews, and it was almost enough for Peter to believe Dick was being playful and not helping Peter with the simple task of eating.

The last two spoonfuls of egg tasted even better than before, and his yogurt made swallowing his vitamins easier than water and a straw. His hands were less coordinated and his arms weaker than yesterday, but it was almost fun trying to use a spoon through the fizzy feeling of reality. 

Everything was fine, or at least close to it, until the bubbly feeling in his chest and the slight nausea vanished. In their place came a jittery awareness of eyes staring from every corner. Still, checking every shadow from his seat was tolerable. It almost felt like a comfort to confirm that no one was trying to sneak up on him, and it was one of the few things he could control.

What was not tolerable was the sound of cars approaching the manor and unfamiliar footsteps echoing from the hallway into the kitchen. 

Jason walked over to peek out of the kitchen door. “I thought you said Alfie had made them come when we were out yesterday, Dick.” 

Dick groaned and glared out of the window. “He said he did, but who knows with the whole manor shadowing us?” 

Peter could hear Alfred’s voice through the steady sound of footsteps and his pounding heart. Alfred's words were too muffled to understand, but his tone was clear and calm. 

Dick turned his head, and his tense shoulders fell, and he wrinkled his nose with a smile when he laid eyes on Peter. “Hey, it’s just people fixing the window. Nothing to be scared about.” 

The nausea had almost left Peter, but was creeping back. There was no reason for him to be nervous, and he had no right to feel any way about what Bruce and Alfred did in the manor. He was a guest and had already caused issues for everyone, but knowing strangers were inside the manor made his palms sweat, and knowing they would be in the computer room made his head throb. 

Jason walked over to stand like a boulder between Peter and the strangers, but Peter still grabbed a fistful of Dick’s shirt when a door slammed.

Peter inhaled deeply and stared at Jason’s back. He needed to be brave. He could be brave for a few minutes. He had fought villains as Spider-Man, and he had defended himself and tricked a talon as a weak boy. Strangers were nothing compared to that, even though the kitchen still lacked anything more dangerous than a butter knife to defend himself with. 

Peter rose on shaky legs and leaned toward Dick when his arm brushed over Peter’s upper back before pulling both of them toward the door to the unknown. 

Jason glanced at them when they reached him, but didn’t intervene or question him when Peter looked under Jason’s arm and at the men moving around on the other end of the hallway. 

Alfred came into view, and Peter was pushed slightly to the right when Dick leaned toward the right to stare into the hallway. “I thought you said you would make them come yesterday. You know, when we were out of the house, Alfred.”

Alfred lifted an eyebrow, and his mustache twitched. “They took measurements yesterday, but I wasn’t there to oversee the glaziers’ work.”

One of the men turned around at the interaction and waved at Peter with a surprisingly kind smile and a large toolbox. There seemed to be no malice, but Peter had been tricked enough times by now to tense up every second a stranger didn't reveal their true colors. 

“Hello, little man, there’s no need to hide behind your dad because of us. We're just changing the window.”

Peter held his breath as he stepped toward Dick and let their sides touch to look at the man properly, and waved his free hand under Jason’s other arm.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes widened as he looked at Peter’s hands and face. 

Jason was still standing between Peter and an unknown man, but it wasn’t enough to calm Peter’s heart at seeing an unfamiliar man in his thirties looking friendly.

He leaned toward Dick, and Dick’s fingers moved gently over the cuff of Peter’s thick hoodie. It was so gentle that Peter only knew of it from the slight tugging of the fabric, but he feared that it was the only thing stopping his hands from shaking. 

The man’s mouth opened, but Dick interrupted. His voice was monotone and cold enough for Peter to pull Dick’s shirt tighter to find the familiar warmth. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

The man lifted his chin and stared at Dick and Jason for a silent second before looking around the grand hallway and lowering his shoulders and head.

“Right, yes, I’m sorry for the delay, Misters Wayne.”

Peter waited until the man was gone before turning toward Dick, his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed.

Dick’s stern expression eased into an easy smile. "People sometimes get confused, but only Cassandra has Bruce’s last name. We’re the Graysons, and Jason’s last name is Todd, but people sometimes call us Wayne because we are associated with Bruce. It doesn't help that Damian has finally stopped calling us by our last names during functions, so reporters don't get reminded often."

Peter tilted his head at Damian’s name and exhaled sharply when no one explained why Damian didn’t have Bruce’s last name. Peter understood why most of Bruce’s kids wouldn’t take the Wayne name when adopted, but Damian was Bruce’s biological son, so there shouldn’t have been any reason for him to have another last name.

Jason closed the kitchen door and leaned his back against it.

“You did great, Kid.”

Dick grasped Peter’s sleeve momentarily and shook it. “You really did. You were so brave.”

There was a pit in his stomach at those words, and he was still tense from the encounter, but he had been much calmer than he thought that he would have been if Lisa's husband had talked directly to him. Perhaps it was because this man was too old and young simultaneously to conjure the worst memories, and the Talons and Owls were creepy instead of deceitful, but he had a feeling it was the wavering feeling of pain relief. 

“Is there anything that you want to do today?”

Peter looked up at Dick. His whole face was relaxed and shining again like the sun peeking out in all its glory after the clouds moved past. But nothing could make the sick feeling in Peter’s stomach disappear at the thought of seeing other men who could look like monsters hiding in plain view. The other workers could be younger or older than the handyman, have gray or blonde hair. Maybe they would even insist on talking to him, and his words would strangle him.

Logically, he knew he would be safe. He could physically take a walk; the workers were all adults, and no one could get through Dick or his family. The garden was scary too, but no one would attack if Peter were near the others. Still, it felt like eyes followed him when he played with the thought of being brave or even normal. A normal boy would skip or run outside. A normal boy wouldn’t be afraid of owls or almost every man he met. Peter glared out the kitchen window, trying to pretend he was a normal boy who didn’t get nauseous at the thought of strangers being in another room of a giant mansion.

He touched his cheek, which was beginning to ache. His touch both soothed the fire and sent lightning in every direction across his face. He relaxed his face and turned it toward Dick as the floaty feeling from before and during breakfast left him. 

“I’m sorry, you can’t have any more for a few hours. You can have some liquid Advil or Tylenol. Remember, you had some before, and they were berry flavored."

Peter carefully chewed on his lip and widened his eyes in Dick’s direction. He could see just fine, but it felt almost instinctual. 

Dick’s smile faltered slightly before he turned to look at Jason with a sharp movement. 

“It’s good, right?” 

Jason shook a thumbs-up. “Yes, it’s great. Liquid acetaminophen and ibuprofen are great and very tasty. I sure loved that when I was a kid.” 

Jason’s voice sounded strained, but he stepped out of the kitchen with long, quick strides when Dick asked him to gather the two syringes, painkillers, tape, and a marker. It had only been a few minutes, but the doorway seemed bigger without Jason blocking it, though Dick let him wipe his damp palms on his shirt and kept an ear on the hallway until Jason returned.

“I have the drugs, and they're strawberry and raspberry flavored,” Jason announced when he came back with an all-red and a red and blue box. Both were small, and a slight swishing sound, as well as the sound of hard plastic against cardboard, was heard when he shook both of the small boxes. 

Dick smiled as he opened the Tylenol box and then the bottle. His movements seemed practiced, but he stopped abruptly to look at Peter before pouring anything into the little cup from the box. 

His eyes felt penetrating as they stared at Peter’s thin hands peeking out from the hoodie, and lifted them to his gaunt cheeks. 

Dick’s lips thinned, and he furrowed his brows as he put the cup back into the box and pulled a tiny amount into the syringe before repeating the careful measuring with the Advil. 

They did taste like strawberry and raspberry, but also like chemicals, and they mixed disgustingly in Peter’s mouth when he accepted the second dose, even when using a syringe. 

“There now you’re set for up to eight hours.” 

Peter contemplated repeating the childish game from the night before and flipping Dick and Jason off, but settled on a shaking thumbs up. 

“Ready to find something to do?” Dick asked, but there were still unfamiliar cars outside. 

Dick bit his lip momentarily and swallowed. "Maybe we can go to the second floor and take some pictures. I'm sure that Tim would like that."

Peter squinted his eyes, but nothing would give the words any more meaning.

Dick's cheeks moved as he gently scraped his teeth over the soft flesh. "You would be far away from any strangers, and I would like to get a new background on my phone if you're okay with that.”

Dick looked around the room with slow head movements and made a high-pitched sound when he inhaled between his teeth and bottom lip. “It could be like a fresh start. Perhaps I could take a picture of you and Damian together, as you are now, and I could look back in a month to see how much you’re improving every day. Because you are improving.” 

Dick’s gaze was intense as he turned to look down at Peter. "You look better every day. At least healthier, and I know we still have a long way to go, but you seem happier than you’ve been in a long time today, and I want to remember that if things get tough before they get better."

“Hey, Cass!” Jason threw a look out the kitchen and mumbled for a few seconds before looking over his shoulder. "Cass says that Damian's in the cave."

Dick clapped his hands loudly and broke out in a wide smile. “That’s even better than the second floor. Alfred would never allow anyone to wander the manor, but the cave is perfect. No one except us knows about it, so you won’t have to think about any strangers until they’re long gone.” 

Peter's stomach was still in a knot, but he nodded and followed Dick with Jason keeping his right side safe as they ventured out of the room. 

The handymen were talking and laughing through the door to the computer room, but it felt a little less daunting when he reached a hand out to grip Jason's shirt. It made walking up the stairs an awkward endeavor, but no one could take advantage of Peter’s deaf side or weakened body when he had Jason and Dick on each side of him.

The handymen's noises were almost inaudible when Peter stopped to listen to them in front of a room on the second floor. They were still there when he listened closely, but he inhaled and let go of Dick's and Jason's shirts and stepped into the room. His eyes flickered toward every possible hideout, but it felt a little less frightening when he grabbed Dick's hand. 

“I guess Bruce never changes, huh?” Jason asked and picked up a pen from the floor before throwing it onto the wooden desk. It rolled a few times but stopped when it hit a folder at the side of the desk. 

Peter looked around the office. It was meticulously clean, yet papers and thin folders were scattered across the desk, a laptop sitting nearby with its cord attached but pulled from the wall. His eyes then fell upon the walls, adorned with family pictures alongside diagrams and framed documents celebrating Wayne Enterprise's various product and workforce awards.

Dick waited until Peter had taken the room in before waving Jason and him forward. "Come, let me show you the grandfather clock."

Peter didn't see much of the clock and only saw Dick’s back and elbows moving when he moved something on it, but it must have been something spectacular, as a wall moved noisily and revealed a stairway.

A voice yelled from the darkness immediately after the wall had stopped scraping over the polished floor. "For the last time, Drake, go fuck yourself somewhere else! I don't need or want your help."

Jason pushed Dick aside. Peter barely caught a glimpse of the stairs before Jason disappeared into the darkness. "Hello to you, too, Baby Bat," Jason's voice echoed up.

A few quick clicks sounded as Peter carefully walked down the stairs with Dick’s hand in his and his breath behind him. The overhead lights in the cave came on, but most of the vast room was illuminated by a giant screen, its tabs rapidly closing as Peter's grip tightened around Dick's hand. 

Jason stood like a giant shadow before the screen, barely reacting when Peter took hold of his arm to gaze at Damian, who turned around in his seat, shoulders stiff and eyes slightly red.

"Hello, Todd, Grayson," Damian greeted, blinking a few times before his gaze dropped to the floor. "And Peter. I hope your sleep was restful."

Dick glanced at Peter's grip on Jason before walking the length of his and Peter’s arms toward Damian. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

Damian glanced at Peter. His eyes looked fragile like moss before someone stepped on it, but resilient enough to grow over the spot as many times as it took to stay. 

"No, nothing new." Damian shook his head. "What do I owe the pleasure of your unwanted company?"

Dick tilted his head and placed his free hand on his hip, and Damian's neck bent slightly and instantly.

"I mean, what can I do to help?"

Dick shook his head and glanced at Peter's wide eyes.

"I just wanted a picture of my boys and to hang out down here while the window’s being fixed, but I can see that you're preoccupied and should get some sleep. You're no good if you're exhausted."

"Hypocrite," the walls echoed with Damian’s voice, but was quickly silenced by a louder response. "You can take pictures as long as it's quick. I have some things that I want to finish, but I trust that you’ll all occupy yourselves away from the screen before I leave the cave in your care.”

Dick barely tightened his grip on Peter’s hand, but it was enough for Peter to walk forward when he was silently instructed to. 

His heart pounded loudly enough to be felt in his throat when he had to release both Jason and Dick. His hands trembled as he stood next to Damian’s chair, and his mouth went dry when he and Damian were told to stand by the only blank wall in the cave. Dick turned on more lights near the wall, but there were still harsh shadows when Peter craned his neck to look at Damian’s tall frame. 

“Smile for the camera,” Dick instructed, and did acrobatic poses behind his phone as he frantically pressed the same button repeatedly from different angles. 

"Aw, you look the same right now," Dick cooed when Damian sighed. 

Jason shook his head and pressed a hand to his temple. "This is just painful to watch. Dick, get between them, and then I'll take the damn picture before Damian explodes or Peter turns into a pool of nerves."

Both Dick and Damian turned their sharp eyes on Peter, and his hands trembled even more despite his face staying neutral.

Dick walked over and kneeled in front of him. His hands extended, but he waited until Peter placed their hands together."Are you okay? I got a little carried away, but I know that everything has been a lot for weeks, and we can do this another time. Or never again if you would prefer. It’s your call."

Damian gave a curt nod over Dick's shoulder. Damian’s gentle eyes reminded Peter of seaweed swaying in calm water until a click filled the cave, and his eyes turned into sharp needles. 

Jason lifted the Dick’s phone over his head. "Damn, I should have been a photographer."

Peter tightened his hands around Dick’s momentarily when Jason hurried over to them, but he let go when Jason turned the screen toward him. 

The photo was nice. Peter’s injured cheek was turned away from the camera, and the shadows accentuated Dick's sharp cheekbones and contoured Damian's neck too much for anyone to notice Peter's gaunt cheeks or the dark bags under Damian’s eyes at first glance.

The cave was dark, but Dick was a bright light leading everyone to happiness when he beamed at the picture. "This is perfect. Thank you, Jason. This will be such a nice phone background of all three of us together."

Damian rolled his eyes and shook his head in Peter's direction. There was something familiar and practiced about it, but Damian's slight smile disappeared when Peter only blinked.

Damian lifted his chin and glared at the giant screen ten feet away. "You got your picture. Now let me finish my work here."

Jason strode toward the computer, but Damian quickly intervened.

"Go away, Todd. It doesn't concern you."

Jason furrowed his brows and leaned back slightly. All his limbs had been loose a moment ago, but he tensed up at Damian's words.

"What are you being secretive about now?"

Damian glanced at Peter. It was less than a second, but a black hole opened in Peter’s stomach, and his feet were suddenly heavy enough to pull him into the center of the Earth. 

No one could know what Damian was doing. Jason could kill again, and Dick might cry. Anyone finding out would throw Peter into a sea of shame, and he would never reach the surface with cement around his ankles. 

"It's none of your business. I'm righting a wrong. Nothing more and nothing less."

Peter took one heavy step after another toward Damian, until he could look up at the tall man and pull at the tight undersuit with clammy hands. 

Damian appeared leaner from a distance, but he was roughly as wide as Dick, and his long arms looked capable of killing. They probably had. Still, his movements were slow, and his eyes looked almost hurt when he grimaced a smile. "You don't have to be concerned, Peter. Nothing and no one will harm you now that I’m protecting you."

Peter shook his head. The cave walls spun, and the screen was a blue mess, but he kept shaking his head and pulling at Damian’s shirt.

Damian sighed and glanced at Dick and Jason before giving Peter his undivided attention. He leaned slightly forward, but he was too tall for them to be eye level unless Damian sat on the floor, and the slight bend just looked threatening. "Peter, this might be something that we should discuss in private."

A surge of energy coursed through his body, and his hands felt like they had been electrocuted when he looked at Dick and Jason. He had been alone with Damian before, and he didn't want Dick or Jason to learn any more about Skip, but the world seemed much too fast and dark when he wasn't with either of them.

"Has Peter said something more about his thoughts to you?" Dick asked with a voice as fragile as the first layer of snow in December.

Damian's muscles tensed from his jaw to his shoulders, and he shook his head with small and mechanical movements.

Peter's legs felt light, but his feet felt even heavier when Dick looked at him with eyes full of horror yet dead to the world, and slumped his shoulders. "Do you want to talk with Damian alone for a few minutes, draga mea?"

Peter looked around the room and then at the tight grip on Damian’s otherwise pristine clothes.

He didn't want anything. Everything was hard, and he was tired of trying to keep up with the crashing waves, but he had to be strong. He had been Spider-Man in another life and shouldn't fear being alone with Damian for a single second. Spider-Man wouldn’t feel like he was drowning or swimming without direction when others weren’t nearby. Spider-Man had been ready to face the world alone, and Peter had scary but loyal adults in his corner. 

Peter squared his shoulders and tensed his jaw, and only winced a little before nodding. 

Dick bit his lip and put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Come on. Let's let the kids talk."

"I’m not a kid! I'm fucking twenty-five!" Damian yelled after the retreating figures but calmed down as soon as the door closed.

The cave was enormous, but its sharp edges looked much closer and larger when he looked at the closed door. Damian wouldn’t hurt him. Both Jason and Dick trusted him, and he seemed more likely to kill for Peter than to harm him in any way, but Peter was trembling and sweating as he looked around the vast room. His hand still clutched Damian’s shirt, but it fell away when he turned to stare at the countless shadows. There was no reason for anyone to be hiding there, but the possibility stole the air from Peter's lungs. They could be waiting for Damian and him to let their guard down, and then strike. 

His spider-sense had been constantly active for over a month and worsened each day until Jason started feeding him, but he wasn’t sure whether the lack of more urgent warnings was due to it being tired or because there was nothing to fear. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Damian muttered before using his impossibly long legs to close the distance to the door and mumble something up the stairs. It seemed only to be a few words, but it was enough for Dick and Jason to return and lean against the wall. 

Damian’s steps were as even as his legs were long, but he looked smaller as he stood in front of Peter. He didn’t kneel like Dick had, but he bent his knees slightly so Peter reached his elbows instead of the middle of his forearms. He was still too tall and too wide for Peter to feel entirely comfortable, but it was easier to breathe without Damian leaning over him. 

Damian furrowed his brows and stared at the empty screen. “We’ll need to speak quietly for Todd and Grayson to stay uninformed about my findings.”

Damian stayed still, and Peter glanced toward Dick and Jason. He still felt damp and cold, but the cave was less threatening when Jason waved and Dick sent an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

Damian continued when Peter nodded in agreement. “I’ve done some research on what we talked about a few days ago.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and nausea crept up his throat at the reminder. 

“I know your gymnastics teacher is in prison.” 

Peter’s shoulders tensed, and his face ached when he bit down on his lip. Damian was whispering for Peter's benefit, but it made the words sound like a dirty secret.

“Calm down, Peter,” Damian demanded, but Peter still looked around for anyone to save him. He needed to know, but he didn't want to hear the words. 

Damian threw a look toward the wall by the stairs. “Stay there, Grayson. Peter’s fine.” 

Peter crossed his arms, but it still felt like he would fall apart when Damian’s gaze returned to him. 

“I looked at your search history from a few nights ago, and it was him, right? It was that blonde creep who hurt you? Your fucking gymnastics teacher hurt you, right?” 

Peter’s eyes stung, but no tears escaped. He should deny Damian’s accusation, but he hesitated too long, and Damian nodded. 

“I’m finding out where he’s incarcerated. He got far too little for another crime, but I’m finding out where he is.” 

Peter’s breath hitched, and his neck felt like it would snap when he turned sharply to look around, when he heard approaching footsteps, and he only exhaled when he saw Dick kneeling by his left side. 

It felt almost like love when Dick furrowed his eyebrows and stared up at Damian. “Stop it, Damian. He’s not ready to hear whatever you have to say.” 

Damian’s almond-shaped eyes were only directed toward Peter. “I know the police didn’t look into his other crimes. I know they will let him go before next year if we don’t intervene.” 

Goosebumps rose on Peter’s arms and legs, and he sent frantic glances at Dick. 

“Damian, stop it. Peter doesn’t have to worry about criminals.” 

Damian’s straight eyebrows tilted inward as he narrowed his eyes at Dick. “He’ll worry about this one anyway.” 

Dick shook his head. It was barely any movements, but it caused Damian to close his eyes and exhale deeply before looking at Peter more neutrally. “Do you want me to continue with him nearby, talk in private, or not know what I have planned for the creep?” 

Dick looked sharply at Damian but lost all edges when Peter reached out a hand. Dick’s hand was warm, firm, and a little moist. It should feel gross, but the moisture reminded Peter that this was real and kept him together even though he no longer had his arms around himself to hold everything inside. 

Peter turned to look over his shoulder to see Jason, who waved. Peter gingerly waved back and quickly turned his attention to Damian and nodded.  

“You want to continue the conversation?” 

Dick stroked his thumb over the back of Peter's hand, and the goosebumps lessened but didn’t disappear completely. He glanced at Damian's strong hands and nodded.

“Good, I was afraid you would misunderstand the potential fallout if you stayed uninformed,” Damian replied. 

Peter tried to force words out, but his efforts were blocked. It wasn't fear, but rather that the more crucial it was, the more he was punished for trying, yet he had no choice but to try. Everyone in this family was capable of hurting others, and Damian hadn't seemed opposed to it when he heard what Jason had done to Mr. Green. 

Dick clasped his free hand around the one holding Peter's, and rubbed Peter's hand a little harder. “I don’t think it will do him any good if you track anyone down. He didn’t want the other scum to die, so I doubt he wants you to kill this one,” Dick said. His voice was low but commanding the whole room. 

Damian straightened his entire body and appeared towering as he looked down at them, but Dick just blinked up at him for several tense moments of silence. Damian clenched his jaw and lifted his chin, but he seemed to deflate as Dick continued to stare. 

Damian crossed his arms and broke the intense eye contact after almost half a minute of silence. “He’ll be out in a few months. Peter deserves not to fear seeing that man again.” 

Peter swallowed. Mr. Green had been a grown man when he had grown interested in Peter, but Skip had been a teenager. He must have been a junior or senior in high school when he had grown attracted to Peter, so he hadn’t been a man. 

Although it had been years in both Peter’s and this world, so any seventeen-year-old boy would be a man now. A man who had sold or given drugs to middle schoolers after turning eighteen. 

“Yes,” Dick agreed sharply. “You can’t imagine what I want to do to that man if you're talking about who I think you are, but Peter doesn’t want that. He’s made that clear.”

Damian glanced at Peter. There was something young and vulnerable about the glint in his eyes, but it was gone in a blink. 

“I’ve found his old IP address. I didn’t even need Drake or Gordon before I found… evidence someone would be interested in.” 

Scenarios went through Peter’s mind. There had been cameras for decades before Peter was even born, and he would die if Damian shared any of him. He would die, and then everything would have been for nothing. 

Peter’s hands felt heavy as he lifted a hand and tightened it around the hem of Damian’s shirt. Each pull stretched the fabric, and Peter’s heart was beating too loudly to hear if he was destroying the threading. 

Damian moved his lips, but sirens blasted in Peter’s ears and made everything else cease to exist. His eyes hurt, but he couldn't blink. Images would be on the back of his eyelids and haunt his few restful dreams. He would never sleep again, and not even the morphine would be able to help him relax like it had twice now. 

Damian looked to Peter’s left and let his hand fall as he took several steps back before Dick moved around Peter. Dick’s hands reached toward Peter’s body but hovered as Peter kept gulping in frantic, dry breaths. Dark spots began to appear, and Dick reached into his back pocket before placing the hard plastic in front of Peter's mouth. 

Peter hated the inhaler; it tasted like dirty weeds, but he hated even more that it helped him breathe and slowly listen to the world around him again. 

“Can you hear me?” Dick asked in a low voice, but every word was carefully spoken. 

Peter’s breath was still labored, but he could focus on Dick’s clear, blue eyes and slowly growing smile. 

“There you are.” 

Peter nodded and looked at Damian’s tight fists and hard stare at the floor. 

“Hey, Peter, you don’t have to worry about anything, okay? Damian just found some things about the first man who hurt you, and he’ll warn a few people about it. He won't even mention you, so you don't have to think about it for a second, okay? Not a single second.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose at Dick. 

Damian nodded from his spot over Dick's shoulder, but kept his eyes fixed on the stone floor. 

“Yes, I’m just finding out where he is, and then I’ll tell the guards and police why he gave kids drugs.” Damian licked his lips. "I’m just letting them know so they can watch out for the children of incarcerated people. Perhaps the prisoners would also like to know. Perhaps they'll even want to talk to him before he's released."

Dick widened his eyes and closed his hand with extended fingers toward Damian like a duck closing its beak before smiling warmly at Peter. “We will have fun while Damian's gone, and think about ways for you to feel better.” 

Peter lifted a trembling hand and repeatedly pointed to himself, with an occasional jab toward Damian. It took almost all of Peter's energy, but Dick only shrugged when Damian gave him a look before they turned their attention back to Peter. 

Dick carefully pocketed the inhaler and tilted his head. “Damian will be back soon. It will only take a few hours, and then he’ll come back to the manor, right, Dami?” 

Damian nodded with a grunt. 

“See? He’ll be back soon.” 

Peter sighed. Perhaps he could have explained himself more articulately through gestures if his mind wasn’t racing, but it was, and his hands were trembling as he drew a square with both index fingers before pointing to himself. 

Dick’s smile and eyes fell. “Oh, draga mea. Are you asking if he found pictures of you?” 

Peter barely nodded when Damian growled, “There weren’t any indecent ones of you, but I think others should see his journal entries.” 

Dick’s whole body twitched, and his eyes widened with a sharp inhale. “No indecent ones?” 

Damian’s knuckles paled as his hands tightened even more. “Yes, no indecent ones of Peter. No indecent ones of any kids.” 

Peter looked between them, but none of them elaborated. Instead, Dick bit his lip tightly, and his eyes watered through his rapid blinking. He swallowed several times, and his gaze shifted around until he turned to look at Damian over his shoulder. “Don’t show or tell anyone about any pictures of my son. Or anything else that happened to him. Only he can tell people.” 

Damian glanced at Peter's mouth, and his eyebrows tilted outward for the split second he looked at it, but the moment was gone with a couple of blinks, and Damian lifted his chin and stared at Dick over his regal nose. His shoulders tensed until they were trembling, and his voice was rough when he replied, “I would never break his trust like that.” 

Dick nodded three times as he turned back toward Peter. “Okay, be safe and take someone with you if you need to. Babs or Jon. Someone to keep you calm, even if they have to stay outside the prison or police station.” 

Damian swallowed, and Peter felt both invisible and like a bug in a glass case as Damian’s gaze moved over him and Dick. “You’re not going to stop me?” 

Dick caressed the back of Peter’s hand with his thumb. “I trust you to act rationally or wait until I can join you. It would not be wise for me to join you today.” 

Damian’s tense shoulders relaxed as he stepped back toward the computer. “I’ll find him, but keep my hands clean for you, Peter. You say the word and he’s gone, but I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” 

The words sounded easy, but nothing about Peter’s life was. He didn’t know if he wanted to stop Damian or not. Skip had either hurt others who would probably like to stay anonymous, or he hadn’t, and could be harassed for nothing, but he could also hurt others. He would be out soon, and it would be Peter's fault if someone got hurt because Peter feared exposure. 

Damian looked at the giant, blank screen. “He deserves to die, but I won’t directly cause it. I’ll make sure he can never hurt another child again, but not hurt him.” 

Peter’s body tensed, and he turned his head to look at the wall full of weapons. No one should die, but he didn’t know what the solution was.

“Hey, hey, Peter, can you just look at me?” Dick’s eyes looked like crescent moons when Peter turned his head. “We’re going to have a nice day, and nothing will happen before or after Damian returns. You’re safe. We’re safe.” 

Peter’s hands were still trembling, and his heart hadn’t calmed down completely yet, but he could breathe and feel Dick’s warmth when he put his hand over his.

Life couldn’t be as simple as trying to find some calm or joy while Damian went out and warned police officers, correctional officers, and possibly inmates about what Skip liked. Still, the goosebumps disappeared, and his limbs were lighter when he could sit with the cold and rough wall against his back and hold Jason’s arm tightly to his body while Dick kept Peter’s impaired side safe.

Damian worked feverishly on the computer, only looking away from the screen to glance at Dick, Peter, and Jason before turning back to work for almost half an hour. 

The floor was cold, but both Jason and Dick kept him warm until Damian left to put on his suit over the tight spandex and Kevlar. He then rode off on a dark motorcycle, and Peter tried not to count every second that Damian was gone, but it seemed impossible.

Chapter Text

Peter, Jason, and Dick were watching The Empire Strikes Back on Dick’s phone when Damian came into the cave in a sleek car. The shoulders of his Wolfbat suit were padded to look even broader than his shoulders were, but they somehow slumped into almost nothing as he shambled into the cave. His mask hid his face from above his eyebrows to slightly under his cheekbones, but he still looked dead when he glanced at Dick, Peter, and Jason sitting on the floor. 

His shoulders rose, and Peter could imagine how sharp his eyes looked under the early white lenses. “What are you still doing down here?” 

Jason lifted the arm that Peter wasn’t holding hostage. The movement made his captured arm and shoulder move uncomfortably close to the injured side of Peter’s jaw, but he kept a firm hold of it anyway. “Hiding from the handymen and chilling, what else?” 

Damian scoffed and opened a drawer to retrieve a tiny packet. It looked similar to the ones for cleaning eyeglasses, but he used it to remove his mask as he looked down his nose at Dick and Jason. “Have you even checked if they’re still at the manor? I left hours ago, and I expect that Father and Pennyworth have hired competent and efficient help.” 

Peter didn’t need to turn his head to hear when someone was speaking loudly on his muffled side, but he did so anyway. “Maybe, but it’s nice to relax a little, too. Wally is texting me non-stop despite me telling him that he’s interrupting watching Star Wars, but other than that, it has been nice and quiet.” 

Damian grumbled and started to remove his suit. The outer armor and padding went off easily. He must have done it a thousand times, and no one else reacted to Damian zipping down the undersuit. He pulled the suit down until his shoulders were released and continued the conversation. “And it wouldn’t be nicer to sit on furniture instead of the cave floor? It’s filthy and cold.” 

Peter closed his eyes tightly when Damian’s naked pecs came into view, and a deep wrinkle had appeared between Damian’s eyebrows when Peter opened them again. The corners of his lips lifted, but it looked more like a grimace as he blinked at the wall. “I’m sorry for frightening you, Peter. I’ll change further into the cave and check if you can safely return to the ground floor.” 

Damian turned around but stopped when Dick called out, “Wait, Dami, how did it go?” 

Damian’s eyes had been dead before, but they were now filled with an ocean of life. Waves looked to be crashing, and the sea life was trying to survive a storm so powerful that his tight fists were trembling. “They took the accusation very seriously. Both the correctional officer and the inmates.” 

The muscles in Jason’s arms sprang in Peter’s grip, but his body was still. “I bet it was eventful.”

Peter inhaled but couldn’t make his body comply enough to beg for the rest of the truth or even just an explanation about what Jason meant by that. Instead, he could only watch as Damian looked at the wall and licked his lips before speaking, “He was quick to strike a deal with the correctional officer: a confession in exchange for isolation for the rest of his incarceration, so there were no opportunities for harm.”

Dick’s other hand moved on top of Peter’s until it was encased in Dick’s warmth and brought toward his beating heart. “And the police, how did they react to the confession?” 

“I did not personally arrange for them to pay the scum a visit.” Damian looked down at his seemingly clean hands, but Peter could not see if they were bruised or covered in blood through the gloves. Peter had to trust his words, but the heavy atmosphere didn’t invoke suspicion of dishonesty. “I was… emotional after the confession, but I will ensure that the correctional and police officers are treating this case with the right amount of seriousness and care.” 

Damian slowly closed the distance between him and Peter and knelt in front of him. Every instinct screamed at Peter to slump his shoulders and curve his back, but he straightened instead and tried to appear as tall as Damian. His size made him an imposing figure, but he had a mixture of sharp and soft features. Eyes sharp enough to cut someone, but with an oval face that promised that he never would do so to Peter. 

Damian’s gaze kept flicking down to Peter’s mouth. It was almost enough for Peter to try to hide it, but Jason’s arm was firmly held in Peter’s grip, and Dick rubbed Peter’s hand between his. 

“I’ll take care of it. He’ll never hurt you again, regardless of a longer prison sentence, but my offer still stands, and I’ll be ready to deal with the consequences if you want the threat of him removed permanently. Isolating is efficient in keeping inmates away, but I would find a way if you wanted me to. It could look like an accident if you want it to." 

Peter shook his head. His body tensed with chills from the cave, and his sides and face warmed uncomfortably with everyone around him. 

Damian swallowed. He had been furious or formal almost every time Peter had seen him, but his words and movements were even stiffer as he avoided Peter’s gaze. “I thought you might keep that stance, but rest assured, he will be monitored regardless of the status of his freedom in a few months. If you’ll excuse me, I need to change and check if we have the manor for ourselves again, and prepare some things that I would like to go over with you.”

Damian stood up and left with militant steps, and Peter glanced between Dick and Jason with a frown and widened eyes. 

Jason wiggled enough for his shoulder to almost hit Peter in his jaw. “Don’t mind him, Kid, Damian just likes to seem all mysterious, but he’s probably just going to ask you if you want to look at pictures of cute animals or practice sword fighting.” 

Jason’s words made sense, but Peter only relaxed enough to watch the end of the movie when Dick confirmed Jason’s words.

Damian reappeared, dressed and silent, in less than ten minutes, but Peter stubbornly kept his gaze on Dick’s phone until the halfway point of the end credits, and Dick took his phone back. The polite thing would be to look at the others after his last distraction was gone, but he kept a steely gaze on his fuzzy socks. 

Damian’s long legs shuffled, and every movement made his slipper scratch over the stone floor. “The window has been repaired, and you’re free to explore the manor without outsiders disturbing you.” 

Peter wasn’t sure how free he was to do anything. Everyone had been kind to him, but they were essentially strangers who had an unfair amount of knowledge of Peter’s interests and a wish for him to be the boy they had lost. He wasn’t even who he remembered to be anymore, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever be free, even if everyone else grew to be less vigilant of Peter’s location. They could open the gates, but it didn’t mean anything when the thought of even exiting the front door without protection was overwhelming.

Damian’s slippers made another scratching sound when Peter didn’t react. “Rome and Sparta are in the cinema room if you would like to see them.” 

Peter’s gaze turned toward Damian at that, and he saw how Damian’s shoulders relaxed and a slight smile slowly appeared on his face. “You’re welcome to spend time with them at any time, but I thought it would be beneficial for you to learn how to command them.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes, and Damian’s gaze flicked between Peter and the two men at his sides. “It would be good training for when Nanami is done with her training and Grayson has decided if you’re staying in Gotham or Blüdhaven permanently.” 

Peter chewed on his lip and looked around the room. It would be good training and could lessen the black hole of uncertainty that appeared every time he thought about being responsible for Nanami. She seemed bright enough to run if a dangerous situation arrived. Still, she had seemed kind and protective enough to either hesitate in a dangerous situation or not leave him without a direct command.

Still, there was one obstacle that Damian hadn’t seemed to have considered, and Peter’s disappointment settled in a nauseating lump in the back of his mouth and threatened to choke him as he pointed toward his mouth. 

Damian followed Peter’s finger, and his face almost crumbled. Damian was young, but nasolabial folds appeared as each section of his face moved jaggedly. It ended with just a frown and his eyes turning glassy before every emotion disappeared in two hard blinks. He swallowed and cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded oddly thick when he said, “I’ve trained Rome and Sparta to obey without verbal cues. So, you should be able to command them without issue.” 

Dick smiled and tilted his head. “That’s a great idea, Damian. I think it would be good for Peter to gain some confidence in dog training.” 

The words were said without anything weighing them down, and Dick’s eyes were clear as fresh water, but Peter couldn’t help feeling like Dick hoped for more than Peter learning how to command animals. Peter was a broken thing still clinging on to anything he could grasp, and Dick seemed to think Peter could find his way to safety with any kind of light to guide him. Nanami was a light, and Peter wanted to learn enough to keep her flame alive, but his stomach clenched at the thought of the consequences of trying.

However, the lump of disappointment had lessened, and it would be good to act normal. It didn’t seem like dog training was something the boy they used to know had done, and Peter liked Damian’s dogs. They were a bit wild, but very well trained and much more predictable than the Shiba puppies had been. Even failing to command them could be fun if Peter could forget about the weight in his limbs and the pain in his whole body for a few moments. 

Jason huffed out a breath and threw his head back with a slight crack. “We kind of need you to tell us if you want to do it or not, Kid. We can do literally anything that you want, but it’s a little hard to know without any input.” 

Peter already knew what he would choose, but he couldn’t help glancing at Jason from his eyes to his shoulders. His eyes narrowed again, and his eyebrows furrowed as he leaned toward Dick to get a better angle of Jason. 

“Obviously not anything,” Dick said after a beat, but was immediately interrupted by Jason. 

“No, we can do anything you want. Gotham is full of crimes for us to prevent or add to, and my reputation is already shit anyway. Or we can make villain costumes and fight for both sides.” 

Dick cleared his throat. “That disturbing offer aside, do you want to go train with Rome and Sparta?” 

Peter glanced at Dick’s hand in his and Jason’s arm in his other hand, and nodded with quick but short nods. 

Some part of Peter felt a fire at no one asking if he wanted to bring Dick and Jason with him, but the rest of him felt lighter when he realized that he wouldn’t have to ask for them to stay. Being with the dogs and Damian would be far more pleasant than talking about Skip, but it was far easier to walk straight with Jason’s shirt in his hand and Dick watching his back as he scoured the first floor for any strangers Damian could have missed. 

The only disturbance other than the shadows was Steph’s friendly face. Peter’s stomach tensed, but she just smiled and waved. “Hey, Peter. Long time no see. I’m gonna hit the hay, but it’s nice to see you.” 

Her gaze turned toward Damian, and she pursed her lips and leaned on her left leg. “And where have you been? Bruce looked all over for you an hour ago.”

Damian’s face hardened, and he sniffed once. His hands clenched, and his shoulders tensed. Peter could already imagine Damian’s snide remarks and tired hostility. Steph only shifted to lean on her left leg as if there wasn’t an explosion happening soon, but Dick stepped forward until Peter could almost feel him against his back and crossed his arms in Peter’s peripheral vision. “That’s not important, Steph. Damian had business to do.” 

Steph stood up straight and widened her eyes. “Okay, now I’m really curious, where have you been, Damian?” 

Damian straightened his back to his full height, but he somehow still looked young and vulnerable as he stood in front of someone only reaching his chin. 

“Shut the fuck up, Brown.” 

Steph lifted her hands and widened her eyes, but her body was loose, her head swirled, and her ponytail swayed innocently as she answered, “Sorry for asking. My god, you’re testy, but you should check in with Bruce. He was all moody and kept looking around for you. I probably could have gone to bed half an hour ago if he wasn’t being all batsy.”

Damian looked over his shoulder. “Father will have to wait until later for the full report.” 

Steph let her hands fall with a wave before shrugging. “Sure, whatever. I’m too tired to deal with this.”

She stretched with her arms stretched over her head and yawned before winking at Peter. “Although not too tired for you, of course, but I’ll stay awake anytime you need or want to spend time with me.”

Damian had already turned his head, but Peter knew from his slight head movement and sharp breath that he was rolling his eyes. It felt familiar and almost fond, but also frightening. Peter wasn’t supposed to know anything about these people, and he turned to look at Dick as he cupped his injured cheek. It did hurt in more ways than mentally, but he would never have made such blatant demands the day before. 

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed, and he uncrossed his arms to interlace his fingers. “I can see that you’re hurting more today, draga mea. Maybe we should have Alfred or Dr. Tomkins look in your mouth in case anything’s infected.” 

Peter let his hand fall and walked through the ice in his veins closer to Damian. Jason sent Peter searching looks, but he let himself be pulled along as Peter pretended that he hadn’t heard a word Dick had said. He would rather die than have anyone else look into his mouth. Just them doing it while giving him his stitches was more than Peter could handle, and his behavior afterward had been even more mortifying. 

Dick’s steps followed Peter, and his and Jason’s gazes were penetrating until they reached the TV room. 

“Can Jason or I at least look in your mouth, Kid? We’ll have to look in your mouth far more if you develop a serious infection.”

Damian gave a curt nod. “Todd is right, and a minor infection could be dealt with through monitoring and antibiotics. A serious one could require more monitoring, daily cleaning, and perhaps even require drainage.” 

Peter could hear nails on the wooden door and shuffling toward it, but Damian held a hand on the doorknob until Peter let his head fall forward in defeat. Spending time with Rome and Sparta was supposed to be fun, but he already felt tired. It only got worse when he sat on the couch with Jason holding a flashlight, and Dick looking into Peter’s mouth until they took a picture with the flash on to show Damian. He grumbled and muttered something about blood tests, and Jason left for a few minutes to confirm Damian’s assessment with Alfred. 

At least the dogs were ready to cheer him up and almost jumped over each other to get anyone’s attention, and their tails wagged furiously when Peter scratched their shoulders and heads. 

“Yeah, no signs of infection in the pictures. We can do blood tests, but he said that elevated white blood cells and something called CRP would be elevated anyway after all Peter’s injuries.”

Dick stared at Peter’s chin and tilted his head. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he only stopped biting his bottom lip to ask, “What’s wrong then?”

Peter tried to hide his sunken cheeks in his hands, but Jason’s eyes seemed to see every pore and dry flake anyway as he answered, “Alfred’s working theory is that Peter’s metabolism has been kick-started after a week and a half of regular meals, excluding the days Peter was missing.”

Dick’s lips were pressed into a straight line, and he glanced at Peter’s oversized blue hoodie and the thin fingers peeking out from the long sleeves. “Do you think it’s that? It seems like a leap from yesterday, and he hadn’t put on a lot of weight the last time we checked.” 

Jason lifted a hand and shrugged. “No, yes, I don’t know. It’s not like Alfred has a doctorate, and Peter’s meta-genes make it hard to find answers online.” 

Damian grunted. “I was not aware that Peter’s metabolism included a resilience to poisons.”

“He used to metabolize almost everything faster than normal.” Dick’s shoulders slumped, and he frowned, but all Peter could feel were jittery butterflies in his stomach. They kept tickling his insides and could practically fly him far away from Gotham with the knowledge that he could have something to dull the pain. Even the constipation was worth getting more morphine, especially since he wasn’t eating enough for his lack of bowel movements be a current concern.  

Dick rubbed his eye and the bridge of his nose. “The past doesn’t matter. Let’s just focus on Peter learning about dogs, and then I’ll ask Alfred for his input so Peter is neither over- nor undermedicated.” 

Peter wasn’t truly alone with Damian and the dogs when the lesson started in the middle of the room, but he could pretend to be if he wasn’t looking directly at Jason and Dick sitting on the couch, and he could pretend his stomach and shoulders didn’t relax when he glanced at them. 

He could also pretend it wasn’t slightly intimidating to see Damian stand a few feet away from him. His back was straight, and his eyes showed no animosity or pleasantries. Only focusing on Peter and the dogs sitting between Peter and Damian, as he inhaled and started the lesson with a deep inhale. “Nanami will be well-trained before she becomes a part of our family, and she will be an essential part of your continued recovery. However, you must know how to help her maintain her skills and keep her properly stimulated. Smart dogs get destructive if they’re bored.”

Peter glanced at Rome and Sparta, panting but sitting straight where Damian had ordered them to. He had tried to talk several times in the last couple of days, but the tightness made him squeak when he opened his mouth despite feeling relatively calm. 

Damian’s gaze softened momentarily, but he was quickly back to looking more like a sergeant than a family member. “As I said before, Rome and Sparta do not require verbal commands, and Nanami won’t need it either if her trainers are worth anything. They know of your selective mutism, and I expect her skills to include ways to help you combat or deal with your agoraphobia when she’s ready for service. Maybe they are even informed about your nyctophobia or have found a way to help with your mysophobia.” 

Peter knew that Damian’s fancy words were referring to some kinds of fears, but he had no idea what they were. There was so much wrong with him that it could be anything. Damian could be saying he expected Nanami to do circus acts to combat nightmares, and he would be none the wiser.   

Damian turned around and glanced at Dick for the first time since entering the room. His head tilted slightly, and he gave a curt nod when Dick nodded with quick and short movements. Damian inhaled deeply and slowly walked to the other side of the dogs and spread his right hand out. Peter only noticed it because he was focusing on Damian, but the dogs instantly sprang from their seated position on the floor. Damian patted each of them on the head and looked at Peter. “That was their sign for being released from the previous command. I now want you to make them sit again with a fist as I did before.”

Peter’s wrist was floppy, and Rome tilted her head while Sparta started to gnaw on his leg. It looked violent and like his stick-thin leg would break, but his tail wagged as he scratched his itch. 

“Show them that you mean it,” Damian commanded.

Peter felt like he was threatening the dogs when he shook his fist again, but Rome sat down after glancing at Damian, and Sparta did the same after Damian mumbled his name, and Peter shook his fist again. 

“Now release them.” 

The dogs listened much quicker and stayed patient, even as Damian urged Peter to repeat the two commands multiple times, with only a snack for the dogs every fifth command. 

Peter spread his hand out toward the dogs sitting and followed every movement as the dogs sprang up from their seats at Peter’s command. He was sure that maintaining Nanami's abilities would be much more complex than these two simple commands, but it was a start. A start that Peter wasn’t failing at.

Damian glanced at the couches, but quickly bent down to whisper just loud enough for Peter to hear, “You’re doing well.” 

Peter looked around in case someone had entered from his muffled side, but there was no one behind him to catch the praise, and Dick and Jason were sharing a confused look and shrugs on the couches. There was just Peter in front of Damian, and the confusing feelings of being told he had done something right.

“You did well,” Damian repeated instead of the thousand other things that Peter thought that he would say or ask. “You should be pleased with yourself, Peter.” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, and he gazed at the space between their arms. Damian’s breaths were loud, and he looked around the room with furrowed brows and a frown when Peter returned his gaze on him. He didn’t seem to be searching for any dangers, but instead answers in the blank walls. 

Damian glanced at the couches before glaring at the floor and mumbled, “I am very pleased with your progress. Four days is not long to recuperate after being with the court and every other event since then.”

That didn’t make sense for Damian to think so highly of him. He made it sound like Peter had done some remarkable feat, when he was still far too thin, felt exhausted after almost any stimulus, and was afraid of nearly everything after half a week of safety and irrational freakouts. Everyone else in the manor was strong, but Peter needed someone to hold his hand most of the time, and even that was often frightening. Everything had been tough for a long time, and it remained tough even now that he didn’t have to worry about whether there would be food tomorrow if he filled his stomach today. Even thinking about the food in front of him was a little easier as he learned to trust Dick, but nearly every second still felt overwhelming and not praiseworthy.

Even just standing near Damian was frightening, even when his mumbled words still made everything seem a little less dark, and Peter would do anything to light his insides up again. Even let others see him stumble when he shook a fist at Rome and Sparta, only for them to sit and look attentively at him.

“A much better execution,” Damian commented.

It could have easily sounded backhanded, but Peter’s heart throbbed loudly but pleasantly in his chest, and he could barely keep his hands still with the surge of pleasant emotions highlighted by Dick’s and Jason’s wide smiles.

Peter released the dogs one last time and reached a trembling hand toward Damian, barely keeping the flinch hidden as his finger made contact with Damian. There was no reason to touch him, but it soothed an itch Peter hadn’t known he had, and nothing broke at the contact.

Some of Damian’s stiffness evaporated when he looked at Peter’s widened eyes and frown. His shoulders tensed, and he seemed to be chewing on words before speaking. “It’s not just Grayson or Todd who will come if you need help. I wish to help you beyond avenging you.” 

Peter blinked a few times, and Damian’s shoulders lifted and tensed even more. “Do you… Do you need a hug?” 

Peter shook his head violently enough that the room blurred and he saw black for several moments before the world came back to Damian kneeling near him and the dogs sniffing his feet.

“Don't! I can comfort him, so stay away,” Damian demanded with a forest fire in his eyes until he turned his gaze away from the couches, and the fire was tamed into a campfire. “There was no need for dramatics, but I admit it was an audacious offer.”

Damian’s words and tone sounded almost as if he blamed Peter, but Peter felt like he knew the emotions behind the hard mask. Peter felt a flicker of Damian’s longing for his little brother. Peter couldn’t remember being that to anyone before, but it felt just as pleasant as Dick’s and Jason’s care. It was different and nowhere near as soppy as Dick’s and more stilted than Jason’s, but it was warm and fun, even when Damian was being slightly insulting. 

Peter reached a foot out and gently touched Damian’s knee. It was barely anything, but it was enough for Damian to focus on Peter’s slow blink and return it with a slight smile. It wasn’t a hug, just like holding Jason’s arm was neither a hug nor holding his hand, but the slow blinks were something he could share with Damian. It wasn’t scary, and every blink sent warmth through Peter’s body.

Peter crossed his arms to keep everything contained after over a minute of silent blinks, and Damian stopped responding in blinks to stare at Peter’s arms. “Do you enjoy physical comfort from Sparta and Rome?”

Peter nodded, and it was almost comical how deadpan he looked as he immediately called Sparta to him and started to use her front leg to pat Peter’s shin gently. Sparta began to wag her tail at the attention, and Peter couldn’t look away from the touch. Using a dog to pet Peter was foolish in a way he could never have imagined Damian agreeing to and never thought he would initiate, but even the absurdity and warmth weren’t enough for the darkness to disappear completely. It lingered between the gentle feelings, and Peter forced himself to ignore everything but how little discomfort he felt at someone initiating every touch. Damian was close enough to touch Peter with his deadly hands, but it wasn’t scary with Dick and Jason nearby.

Peter glanced toward the couches and was met with Jason’s narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows and Dick’s wide smile. There was enough light in his eyes to light up a whole city, and a smile broad enough to make anyone feel safe during a flood. 

The paw stopped stroking Peter’s leg, and Damian cleared his throat. “Do you need me to stop?” 

Peter shook his head gingerly, and they only stopped momentarily when Sparta tired of being used as the middle woman for physical touch after a little over two minutes. Rome took her place for a little longer, but he eventually lost interest and pulled his paw back. It left Peter and Damian sitting less than a foot apart, and Peter’s palms began to sweat as he longed for anything to take his lingering physical and mental discomfort.

The door opened, and Peter followed Damian’s gaze toward Tim, who was watching the small distance between Peter and Damian. His chin fell slightly, and he started to frown until Damian asked with a scowl, “What do you want?”

Tim inhaled deeply and looked around at everyone in the room. “Alfred is making lunch. It’s ready in a few minutes.” 

Damian lifted his chin. “I think I will try one of Peter’s minimalistic dining experiences.” 

Tim shrugged. “Well, more ricotta pitas for me, and I’ll tell Alfred he made spiced cauliflower for you for nothing. I’m sure he will feel very appreciated.” 

Jason let out a groan and rolled his shoulders when Peter turned to look at him. “I’ll have some unnecessary vegetarian lunch, but eat with Peter. Perhaps we can eat in here for a change of scenery.” 

The last bit was said toward Peter, and he smiled when Peter nodded at the indirect question. 

Tim’s eyes were clear blue as he looked at Peter under dark hair. Everything about him seemed intense, and only Rome’s sudden presence stopped Peter’s fast breath from turning into hyperventilation. “I can eat here too if you want. I’ll just get Jason’s and my meals, and then we can all eat together.” 

Peter wasn’t entirely sure about eating with anyone other than Jason and Dick. He had barely noticed the hunger creeping up on him, but it disappeared entirely as the nerves grew until there was no room in his stomach for an appetite. 

Dick hummed and glanced at Peter. “I don’t know, Tim. Peter had grown nervous about eating. I’m not sure he’s even up to Damian joining us.” 

“Okay.” Tim’s eyes dimmed. 

Peter’s mouth still didn’t work, but his mind kept repeating apologies with increasing speed until it would have been too fast for anyone to understand.

“It’s okay,” Tim said. The end of his last word was in a slightly higher pitch than the first, but Peter was not blind enough to not see the glazed over eyes or how he looked around the room aimlessly until his gaze landed on and was glued to the TV. A smile blossomed, and he looked at Peter with such intensity that Peter could almost see the numbers and hope flash in front of his eyes. Tim started to point and inhale loudly before spewing out words so fast that Peter needed a moment to separate them from each other. “It’s okay. I have an idea for something that you’ll like, but later. I need to get it first. Don’t worry. It will be great. You just wait, Peter.”

Dick stood from his seat and put his hands in front of his mouth to yell before the door slammed, “Lunch first!” 

Only a groan was heard, but it seemed to satisfy Dick, who fondly shook his head at the door before gingerly walking over to sit by Damian’s side. Dick and Jason had made themselves as forgettable as possible, while Peter had trained commands and tentatively allowed himself to be touched, but Dick seemed to fill the entire room, and Jason’s broad shoulders appeared able to command the rest of Peter’s attention.

Dick smiled at them. His shoulders were relaxed, and he somehow looked both years younger and exactly how Peter had always imagined a dad to look. “We need to eat too. Damian can decide if he wants to eat Alfred’s cooking or get whatever you want for lunch, but I’ll make sure to get you something you will like.” 

Peter glanced at the closed door and shook his head when his gaze returned to Dick. Dick’s smile fell, and Peter’s stomach plummeted into nothing but darkness. “Are you not hungry?” 

Peter lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. His cheek was hurting, but he could have toughed it out a little longer. He was allowed a dose every four hours, but had sometimes gotten it a quarter of an hour late without anything but barely too much pain to ignore most of the time. That wouldn’t do now. He never wanted to disappoint Tim like he had when he hadn’t been brave enough to photograph the grounds with him, and the floaty feeling could help with that.

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed, and he swallowed. “It has only been three and a half hours since your last doses, but if you’re in pain, then we need to do something about it. Maybe Alfred’s right, and your metabolism has increased since yesterday. I’ll ask him what he thinks and then come back with something for you. Will you be okay here for a few minutes? Or you can go with me.” 

Peter wanted to be as strong as Damian had made him sound, but he also wanted some relief. The physical pain was increasing the more he thought about it, and the jaw pain moved into a headache and slight dizziness. 

“I’ll stay with you and Damian, Peter,” Jason commented. The world was scary when Dick wasn’t in eyesight, but Jason had taken him out of the Owls’ clutches, and he was Red Hood. Peter had technically not lived in Crime Alley, but Red Hood had kept him safe anyway, and would do so again.

Dick’s lips lifted in a slight smile when Peter nodded, and he strolled until he reached the door, and the echoing footsteps sounded barely short of a sprint. Peter couldn’t locate them, but they were there and getting fainter until Peter could hear nothing but everyone’s breathing and the blood rushing through his veins. 

Jason’s footsteps were heavy on the wooden floor, and Peter only had to look around for a second before he saw his legs moving slowly toward him. “You forgot Spiderling in bed, but I’m ready as a stand-in. I’ll pretend to be a stuffed spider anytime you want me to.”  

“That’s undignified,” Damian scolded as Jason extended an arm toward Peter. It looked exactly how Peter had greeted Alfred the cat when they had met on the grounds, but he didn’t care as he scooted himself closer to Jason and gripped his shirt with one of his hands. Jason would need both arms if someone came through the window, but Peter was sure no one could sneak up on him with Jason close by.

Jason threw his head back with a sigh but kept the rest of his body entirely steady. “You’re just jealous, Baby Bat.”

“I am not,” Damian muttered and started to pet both Rome and Sparta. “He’s restraining your feeble body, and he knows that he could never keep me down.”

“You are right. I’m truly shivering in my boots about a malnourished four-foot-one child getting his hands on me. Let’s hope that I don’t get crushed to death under his giant hand.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes and lifted a hand to make a reprise of showing Jason what he thought of his rude comments, but the door opened, and he instead scooted closer to Jason and gripped him with both hands until he saw it was Dick with the taped-up morphine bottle, a roll of tape, and a marker.

“I know you had over two ml this morning, but you seemed a little out of it with that much, and it hasn’t been that long, so Alfred said you were allowed a little under one now. Hopefully, it will help enough for you to eat.”

It did not fully restore Peter’s appetite, but his jaw pain lessened to a dull sore sensation, and his headache disappeared when everything else stopped throbbing. The floaty feeling or melancholy didn’t come back, but neither did the nausea. 

Unfortunately, the lack of pain or other distractions made Dick's leaving fifteen minutes later even harder. Every sound was an attack that Peter couldn’t locate with one muffled ear, and Jason’s eyes looked sad when he tried to find it with bated breath and a rapidly beating heart. It continued for several minutes after Dick’s return, but he eventually calmed down enough to allow Damian to sit a foot away from Dick and a little farther from Peter’s muffled side. 

Peter wanted to be calmer or at least appear so. He should be now that some of his pains had been soothed, and everyone deserved him to be more relaxed by now, but at least the lack of nausea made it easier to eat the soft-boiled eggs. 

Jason’s and Damian’s meals looked and smelled delicious, but the spices could have been touched by anything. Dick made sure always to use a clean pot, but no one could know if Alfred had done the same. Maybe it had stood in the sink since yesterday, and someone could have tampered with it. They had had strangers in the house, and any one of them could have walked into the kitchen after Peter had entered the cave.  

“I brought dessert now that you can eat carbs, boro rai mea,” Dick said as soon as the eggs were gone and he had started on his small portion of Alfred’s meal. 

It felt like an eternity since he had sat in Jason’s apartment eating mangos, but it was somehow even better to watch Dick peel and cut the mango now and watch him barely keep the juice off the expensive-looking floor when he pushed the cutting board toward Peter. 

It was delicious and full of taste he hadn’t tasted in forever. The juices felt gross, but tasted even better than the fruit meat. It was so good and full of carbohydrates that Peter carefully offered a slice to everyone else. 

Damian gave a curt nod and took a bite, but stiffened and narrowed his eyes when Dick did the same. The fruit disappeared, and Dick cut up another one while clearing his throat and scratching around his mouth with his dry hand, while the other one glimmered in the overhead light. 

The new pieces tasted even better, but Dick’s eyes started to water, and he sniffed loudly. He opened his mouth and breathed a few times before smiling shakily. “Don’t mind me. Just eat. I won’t look anymore, so just eat.”

Peter would have thought that Dick was allergic if he hadn’t seen him eat mango twice, but it didn’t explain his reaction. Peter looked at his hands and wrinkled his nose at how sticky they were, and almost put his half-eaten mango piece down when Dick exclaimed, “No, please keep eating. I just wasn’t prepared for how I would feel at seeing you finally enjoy food again. I’m sure Jason and Damian agree that it’s nice. Really fucking nice.”

They both nodded vigorously, and Peter tried to disappear until they looked away. Their conversation was stilted, and he could feel every glance sent his way, but he still succeeded in eating a few more pieces of mango before he was uncomfortably full.

Chapter Text

Peter knew that he was no fun, but it still hurt when Sparta and Rome became unruly, and Damian left to walk them around Bristol Township. Peter tried to remind himself that the dogs deserved more than just sniffing and running around the grand manor grounds, but his shoulders still felt heavy when Damian left with only a glance, and the dogs barked loudly when Damian pulled out their leashes.  

Peter also knew that Dick and Jason were trying their best when he didn’t want to leave the TV room, and Jason put on the channel that had shown Scooby Doo before the Court of Owls had attacked the manor.

The channel was showing another show at the moment that seemed much more aimed at girls, but the teenage spies’ bright uniforms and amazing gadgets lit up the room until the red- and black-haired spies were placed in a glass chamber full of steam. Peter leaned forward, but Dick turned off the TV before he could see if they had their body parts stolen like the blonde one’s legs were. 

Peter huffed and turned to look at Dick, but settled down when he followed his gaze toward Jason’s clenched fists and tense jaw. Peter tried to meet Jason's eyes, but every glance made Jason’s shoulders tighten, and his eyes were bright green until he suddenly stood up and marched out of the room. 

Dick’s face looked just as strained, and he kept blinking, but slowly moved closer to Peter instead of away until there were barely two inches between them, and Peter could lean on his shoulder if he wanted. 

“Don’t mind him,” Dick whispered, but Peter simply crossed his arms and rested his chin on his chest.

“It’s going to get better. We just have to wait a little bit. Dick’s hand hovered over Peter’s knee, but he laid it on the couch between them when Peter neither moved to accept nor deny the silent request. 

Peter turned to look out the window. The sun was slowly setting, and it would be time for dinner soon, but things were still not right. Everything was better than a few days ago, but it was still not good. His stomach felt tight with the hope of one day sleeping and eating without worry, and the dread that it wouldn’t be soon. Maybe it would never happen, and he would forever be this.

Dick’s hand twitched, and Peter let his fall on top of it. It felt more like letting go than offering a hand, but the corners of Dick’s mouth rose until he wore a soft smile and pained eyes.

Happiness was fleeting, but Peter furrowed his eyebrows and set his chin as he came to a decision. He seemed unable to be happy, but everyone else could. They had found happiness after Peter Grayson’s death, and they could do it again if Peter just played along. He just had to act a little smart and get just enough help to carry him through every interaction. He didn’t know how he would survive the darkness inside of him for long, but he would find a way to do it for long enough for everyone else to find their feet. 

Peter glanced at the knife lying next to all the mango skins. He wondered where it had come from. It was weird that all the knives had been removed at the same time, but they must have been nearby for Dick to find one so quickly. 

“What are you looking at?” Dick’s fingers tensed almost painfully around Peter’s. “Yeah, no, no looking at knives. I’m just gonna-.” 

Dick let go of Peter’s hand and dove toward the knife and scrambled out of the room as fast as Peter could blink. It was only a second before he was back, but the shadows had multiplied already, and the clock ticked down to Peter having to prove himself once more.

“Are you ready to spend some time with your Uncle Tim?” Dick asked carefully when Peter looked around the room and kept his unprotected back to him.

Peter shrugged and walked around the room, and looked out of the windows at the yellow and orange leaves and slowly dying grass.

“The manor will tell us if someone outside of the family comes by without permission,” Dick said, but Peter kept looking until the front gate opened and a car drove in with no hesitation or any alarms blasting.

A door opened, and Peter carefully stepped away from the window and looked around for something to defend himself with. There were only remotes and antique candlesticks, but Peter still took his first steps toward them when footsteps filled his ears and the door to the TV room opened with a loud slam.  

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed, and he threw his hands up to his sides. “You couldn’t walk in normally?”

Tim blinked rapidly and shook his head. “No, I needed to get here now with only the best thing ever. Peter, you’re going to love it. I saw it years ago, and it felt like it was made for you. It’s so you, and I went to so many stores to get it, but it, my PlayStation, and I are here now.”

Tim sprinted over to the TV and took off his giant backpack before pulling out a black box and connecting it to the TV with different wires.

Dick walked over to Peter slowly and tilted his head. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Peter glanced at Tim’s narrowed eyes, deep eye bags, and frantic movements as he searched for something in his bag.

Dick shook his head. “I’m sure you’ll love whatever game Tim has found, but he’s an adult and can take it if you’re tired.”

Peter swallowed. His jaw gave a twitch, and his palms were sweating, but he still squared his shoulders and shook his head.

Dick only smiled back until the Main Theme from A New Hope started playing. He inhaled sharply, and Peter followed his gaze to the sleek, black PlayStation and the start menu displaying both the LEGO and Star Wars logos.

Peter took a few tentative steps closer to the screen, glanced back at Dick briefly, and then walked the rest of the way before resting his hand on the cold screen. It didn’t feel like static as he had expected, but it didn’t make the sight in front of him any less glorious. His chest felt light, and his hands tingled.

Tim pulled his legs closer to his chest and cleared his throat. “It’s okay if you don’t like it, but I thought you might want to play some games. The Complete Saga combines two Lego Star Wars games, so there should be a lot for you to explore.”

Tim’s smile was stiff, but it softened and lit up his eyes when Peter cautiously accepted a controller and moved toward the couch. He even smiled when Peter pointed him toward one of the armchairs, sitting far enough away that Peter could breathe but close enough to be involved in watching Peter control the different characters.

Evening was approaching, but Peter didn’t have to fake any happiness. He still sent the grounds glances, but the outside couldn’t keep his attention for long before he returned to admiring the glory of his favorite movie series and watching his favorite toys being smashed together into one combined game. It was challenging to play without using thumbs, but Peter prevailed and soon became proficient in it, regardless of the character he was playing.

However, the clock ticked, and the sky grew darker as they approached six p.m., and the light feeling in his chest became suffocating, while his tingling hands grew weak. Not even the puzzles of varying difficulty and fighting enemies that dissolved into loose LEGO pieces when defeated were enough to calm his heart.

“I’m glad you like it,” Tim said as soon as Peter cleared another level.

Peter glanced at the screen and then at the extra controller on the table. Tim hadn’t even hinted at it, but Tim wouldn’t accidentally bring another controller.

Peter’s palms sweated, and his mouth went dry, but Tim’s eyes were almost as wide as his smile when Peter pushed the second controller toward him.

Dick had been silent during Peter's playing, but he looked elated when Peter glanced at him. His hands framed his shining smile, and his elbows rested on his knees. “Don’t mind me, just play. I want you to play.”

The sky was turning orange and would soon be dark, but Peter found comfort in having Dick nearby. Damian, Sparta, Rome, and Alfred the cat walked through the room several times, but let Peter waste his time. Alfred the cat stayed in the window after only a few minutes, but he blinked slowly as Peter felt a brief moment of satisfaction between worry when he cleared a level with only fictional LEGO figures getting hurt.  

“Dinner is ready,” Cass told them from the doorway after a while, and Peter glanced at the darkened windows. He needed to eat, but the thought of eating suddenly drained him.

“Oh, then we can eat together,” Tim cheered and carefully rolled the cords around the controllers.

Peter swallowed, hid his trembling hands under his armpits, and looked at Dick. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted Dick to do. There was no magic wand to make Peter normal enough to eat a meal, and Tim was too excited for Peter to disappoint him.

However, Dick didn’t seem to have such qualms and looked at Tim with a “No.”

Tim threw his hands in the air. “What? Peter and I have just played together. I’ll even eat on the opposite side of the room if I have to.”

Peter’s neck bent, and his jaw hurt from how tense his whole face was, but Dick held firm. “And you will, but not today. He has already been pushed a few times today.”

Tim groaned and looked at Dick with a slightly wrinkled nose and furrowed eyebrows. “I hate it when you make sense, Dick.”

Tim left with Damian to collect Dick’s dinner and a protein drink for Peter without fuss, but it still felt like defeat when Tim smiled hopefully at Peter before Damian pulled him away. The flicker was there and fragile enough to break in half at Peter’s impassive face and shifting eyes.

“Maybe we can watch a movie or something later,” Tim suggested when he gave Dick the blackberry drink to open.

Peter shrugged and caught the displeased twitch around Tim’s mouth and how his chest moved with his deep inhale.

The door closed behind Damian and Tim, and Dick walked in front of Peter’s gaze to remove the cap of the bottle and offer it to Peter. “Here, drink this, and then we can see if you can get some more painkillers. It had been almost eight hours since you got your morning doses after all.”

The sun was mocking him by leaving, but the nauseating drink tasted a little sweet at Dick’s words, and the thick liquid felt a lot lighter as it passed through the hope in Peter’s chest. The floaty feeling would come back, and then Peter could be good. Maybe Dick wouldn’t give him enough to feel the full extent, but Peter was smart. He could find a way to get enough to feel like he did that morning, and then act much better than he had all day.

Curtains could hide the dark world outside, and the floaty feeling could hide the poison living inside Peter. Perhaps he could even hide it well enough from himself to sleep a whole night and feel even better tomorrow.

The Tylenol and Advil tasted as artificial as they had that morning, and the one and a half milliliters of morphine were bitter and too little for him to feel as he wanted to, but it was okay. Peter knew how to fix it even as Dick locked the drawer. Damian and Bruce were going out on patrol soon, but he could be good for everyone else. 

Peter's heart beat raced, and he felt lightheaded at the thought, but he still lifted his right hand to form a fist and tried to force his thumb between his index and middle fingers despite the splint before shaking his hand from side to side. It didn’t look anything like Peter intended, but Dick knew his mediocre attempts at signing ‘bathroom’ by now. Even Dicks’ wink and thumbs up were practiced by now.

“Bathroom coming up. I’ll go right after, so I won’t have to leave you later,” Dick explained as if he had said anything else the last twenty or thirty times Peter had asked for the bathroom in the previous few days.

The hallway was brightly lit, but it felt gloomy as he stood alone listening to Dick’s voice entertaining him while Dick peed.

“-and I heard that you can play soccer with a dog. Do you want to try that?” 

Peter knocked twice for yes. It was a good system when either of them needed the toilet or Dick was showering, but Peter was counting on Dick not needing any responses for a few minutes.

“Me too. I hope that Nanami will like it too, but even if she doesn’t, we can play soccer together.”

Peter looked out the window in the second-floor hallway to ensure that no one had broken it since he last checked, just half a minute ago. 

“I’m flushing now, and then we can go back downstairs if you want.” 

Peter nodded absent-mindedly and only stopped when he remembered the door between him and Dick.

“Are you still there? Are you okay?”

Four knocks, and Dick was telling Peter about dogs playing hide and seek with their humans, but Peter needed to act now.

“Anyway, we don’t have to do everything I want to do with your service dog. She and you are individuals and can do whatever you both want.”

Peter knocked twice and held his breath as he ran on light feet toward his bedroom. Dick was talking in the background, but didn’t seem to wait for an answer now that Peter had shown signs of life. 

Peter reminded himself that this was for the best, and it didn’t matter that one of the coat hangers broke when he tried to stuff it into the tight space between the drawer and the desk. It didn’t matter that everything was rattling when Peter put one of the broken pieces into the keyhole and shook it around in the hopes of anything happening.

It didn’t matter that the expensive, probably priceless, wood lost a few chips. Peter had managed to slip the metal hook of an unbroken coat hanger between the drawer and the desk, press until the tiny metal catch shifted, and then pull the drawer open with the hook still jutting slightly upward.

It was his morphine anyway, and he was tired of feeling like he was running a marathon every time the sun set.

His teeth scraped over the plastic as he pulled at the tape, and Peter only allowed himself a second before continuing. The tape and markers were only for Peter’s benefit, and Dick wouldn’t notice if the pattern was different. 

The cap wouldn’t come off at first, but he eventually figured out how to press down and turn the cap, even without the full use of his thumbs, and pulling the liquid up was easier than expected when holding the bottle between his thighs. 

His heart beat rapidly, and only slowed down when the syringe was between his lips. The morphine tasted as bitter as before, but it went down much easier with the fear of Dick catching him. 

It was only a milliliter. The same that Dick had given him a couple of hours before. It would be fine. 

A minute passed without anything happening, and he pulled up another milliliter and swallowed it. Surely this would make all the pain and worry disappear. Then he could watch a movie with everyone, and Dick would never have to kick his family out of the room again.

“Peter?” Dick shouted. He sounded like a man on the verge of dying of thirst, and Peter quickly put the cap on and closed the drawer before running toward the bathroom. He would have to find the tape and marker later, but everything was okay for now. 

Dick’s T-shirt was damp with handprints as he panted in front of the open bathroom door. His eyes widened further as he took Peter in, and he chewed his lip as he scrutinized Peter from top to bottom. 

Dick swallowed, and his tense shoulders relaxed only slightly. “Are you okay?” 

Peter nodded. He couldn’t feel anything yet, but something inside of him was a little lighter at the promise of relaxing and doing better when the opioids would start working.  

Dick’s eyes were still wide, and his raised eyebrows furrowed right over his eyes. “Where were you?” 

Peter looked around, but there was nothing to see and nothing to hear, and his brain seemed to stop when he needed it until he placed his fingers against his lips and moved his hand down and away. Dick’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily, but his whole being seemed to tense when Peter tapped his ear. 

“Oh, there was a bad sound? No one should be able to enter without us knowing, but I’ll tell the others to go through the security cameras anyway.”

Peter hurriedly shook his head and had to lean on the doorframe when his vision darkened for a moment. 

Dick swallowed. “It would make me feel better if we checked.”

Peter shook his head much more softly, but Dick only shook his back and led Peter toward the stairs, and followed when Peter started to walk toward the TV room.

It was a little awkward at first. Peter was sure that someone would check on the desk at any moment, but all that happened was Dick tapping on his phone for a few minutes, and Jason coming back into the room.

Peter sat in one corner of the couch with his thighs to his chest and his chin on his knees. It felt almost like a hug, and Peter watched Jason and Dick discuss movie options as he collected the strength to act normal.

Every thought was on Jason’s easy smile and Dick’s barely tense shoulders, and he didn’t notice the door opening until he saw Tim in his peripheral vision. He jumped, hit his chin with his knees, and let out a puff of breath.

Tim gave a shaky smile when Peter had finished rubbing his face. “I hope that I can join you for your movie night.”

Peter nodded. He had prepared for this and would do even better than he had when they had played LEGO Star Wars. Everyone would have a great time, and everyone would stop worrying about him. Perhaps it would be so great that he could stop worrying about anything at all.

“See, I told you we had Disney’s Peter Pan!” Jason cheered before turning toward Peter with light eyes and a carefree smile. “Do you want to watch it, Kid?”

Peter nodded and enjoyed the movie, but his eyelids were heavy in the first thirty minutes of the film. Everything around him was floaty, and his jaw and soul didn’t hurt as much anymore. It was nice, and he found himself not caring as much about the darkness outside. Everything was fine, and he couldn’t find the will to do anything but enjoy the atmosphere.

Dick leaned forward to look up at Peter. “You can nap if you need to. I’ll be here.” 

Peter shook his head, but slowly lay on the couch when the room started spinning. Soon, it felt like everything was in disarray, and nausea and a general sense of discomfort began to sneak up on him. It seemed to increase for every second, and his bangs soon clung to his sweaty forehead.

Tim furrowed his eyebrows from his armchair. “Are you okay, Pete? You look a little pale.”

Jason’s smile dimmed, but it was still present. “You do look pale, Kid.”

Peter sat up with a gag. Every quick movement made the room spin faster, and every gag made him thrust his mouth into his hands.

Tim stood up hastily. “I’m going to get a bucket.”

Peter tried to follow his quick movements, but vomit fell into his lap. He didn’t cry, but the force made his eyes water and his stomach spasm before another river fell from his lips and nose.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Dick repeated, but the floaty feeling made everything feel worse. His head hurt, and everything moved too fast for his brain to understand. Even Dick’s hand, hovering a few inches above Peter’s back, was confusing, and he didn’t know if he wanted Dick to leave or hold onto him tightly.

“Hey, is something hurting? Can you point to what hurts, draga mea?” Peter fell forward as soon as he lifted a hand, and he couldn’t recoil when Dick caught him and laid him on his side on the couch. “Hey, we need to get Alfred in here. You’re not looking so good.” 

Peter nodded and gagged, but nothing came out. 

Dick pulled out his cell phone, but his gaze never strayed from Peter. “Hey, Alfred. I’m in the TV room with Peter, and something’s seriously wrong. He threw up twice, and his pupils are tiny.” 

Peter turned his face to look at Dick and saw how all the color left his cheeks. Peter’s breaths were shallow and irregular, but Dick’s quickened and deepened until it was all Peter could hear between every word. “Alfred, his lips are turning blue. He’s not getting enough air. He’s dying.” 

“We need to get him to the medical room!” Jason yelled with a puffed-out chest and widened eyes.

Peter fought as Dick pulled him into his arms, but was much weaker than him, and everything turned into a haze and bumps with every step Dick took. He gagged once more but couldn’t figure out if he had turned his face toward or away from Dick’s shoulder. Everything was just a confusing mess of warmth and cold, and his nose burned with the unavoidable smell of vomit.

“When did you last give him his opioids?” Alfred asked as soon as Dick literally kicked the door in, and Jason stayed in the doorway.

Peter couldn’t stop the vomit from escaping, and the room was spinning even more when Dick laid him on the examination table, but kept his hands under Peter’s armpits.

“Forty or fifty minutes ago, but I only gave him one and a half milliliters.  He shouldn’t be like this. I only gave him what you said I could, and he was fine this morning after having even more.”

The world sharpened enough for Peter to look at Alfred’s gravely set mouth before he turned toward the cupboard behind him. “Master Todd, please check on the state of the morphine, and I’ll administer Naloxone regardless of our findings, but we need to know where he got it from.”

Peter gagged again, and Dick muttered. Every other word was muffled, and Peter’s every blink seemed to take hours, but the world around him kept switching between slow motion and fast forward.

Tim arrived from the hallway with a bright green bucket, and Jason reentered the room like a train. Fast and unforgiving, but a reliable presence when Peter wasn’t sure about anything else around him. He couldn’t feel Dick’s hands, but he could see Jason’s furious face to tell him it would be okay.

Jason scowled, and his giant chest moved with each harsh breath. “What the fuck, Dick? You didn’t lock the drawer? We’ve both heard the shit he’s been saying, and you didn’t think to lock the dangerous drugs away?” 

Dick’s breath hitched, and he blinked rapidly. “I locked it. I know I did. I lock it and keep the key on me.” 

Alfred pulled a small box, syringes, and needles out of the cupboard. “Hold him.”

Peter didn’t have time to react before hands fell on him, just like in some of the worst nightmares.  Goosebumps rose everywhere they touched, but it ended with Alfred grabbing Peter’s arm and rolling up his sleeve. He started to feel different parts of Peter’s upper arm and shoulder, and his mustache twitched as Peter whined from deep in his chest.

“There’s not enough muscle to inject into,” Alfred stated. It didn’t sound like a question. Dick’s eyes widened, and he swallowed. 

Peter tried to look at Dick, but his head was heavy and fell back in a sharp arch. Wet coughs made his whole chest shake, and his throat felt tight until Tim put the bucket in front of him. Peter’s stomach tightened and twisted, but only a few ounces of acid fell before there was only spit.

His vision swam with vertigo and the tears from the violent vomiting, but neither Jason nor Dick seemed to mind as Jason wet a rag and Dick carefully but efficiently washed Peter’s mouth.

Alfred walked around to stand behind Jason and looked at Dick. His face was even, but his voice sounded tight. “He needs Naloxone immediately.”

“I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do,” Dick whispered, his voice breaking slightly and causing dread to fill Peter’s stomach.

Dick laid Peter on his back and pulled his pants down in a swift movement.

Peter’s breath hitched, and he hadn’t felt this overwhelmed even when he had cried a few days ago. Dick and Jason were supposed to protect him, but he was exposed when he was weak and gross, and Jason was only looking at him with a frown and tight fists, and Tim was so pale that he could have disappeared into the walls if it wasn’t for his black hair.

Peter’s gaze found Dick’s, but Dick glanced up with a nod before focusing on his hands.

A moist wipe swiped over the outside of Peter’s thigh, and goosebumps followed its path until a sharp twitch moved through his whole body.

The fuzzy feeling made both the pain, humiliation, and fear easier to bear, but worse scenarios of what could have happened repeated in Peter’s mind as he felt the cold air on his exposed legs.

The needle withdrew from Peter’s body, and Alfred placed a hand on Dick’s before walking back to the cupboards to retrieve a small, white clip. His steps were steady, and he did not waver under Peter’s heavy-lidded glares. Instead, he looked at Jason and told him to put the clip on Peter’s finger. It didn’t hurt him directly, but the continuous beeping was irritating and made his headache worse.

Peter wasn’t sure if it had been seconds or hours, but he tried to escape Dick’s grip. His breath hitched, and he kept pushing Dick’s face and hands, but nothing was saving him from the moist wipe on his other thigh.

“I’m sorry. It’s for your own good. We’re doing this to help you,” Dick whispered, but Peter only bit his lip and tried to kick Dick half-heartedly.

The needle had barely left Peter’s body when Dick started to pull Peter’s pants back up. Peter was pulled slightly toward the edge of the table with the hard pull, but he felt as if he hadn’t been breathing until he was laid on his side and could look down toward his covered legs.

Alfred’s mustache twitched as he glanced at the tiny display on it. “We’ll have to administer another dose of Naloxone if his breathing hasn’t improved in a few minutes, and his thighs and buttocks are the only suitable muscles.”

“I know,” Dick whispered and knelt in front of Peter and the bucket. His words were kind, but his voice sounded far away as he switched between watching Peter’s eyes and chest. Jason walked over to stand behind Dick, but looked almost dead with how pale his skin had gotten and how little he was breathing.

He only appeared to breathe when the clip stopped beeping and showing numbers in the 90s, and the nerves in Peter’s jaw started to tingle between his gags and spitting into the bucket in Dick’s hands. His stomach was empty, but the nausea was unrelenting, and his head spun faster than the room around him until the nausea was replaced by pain. His mind also began to function, and he wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed about everyone seeing him like that or about fighting against Dick, who seemed to have held him so Alfred could administer some kind of medicine that improved his breathing and reduced the nausea.

Peter lifted a limp hand toward his jaw and searched the room for Dick before pointing toward the swollen flesh. It hurt, and Dick had listened to his silent pleas most of the time. If not with painkillers, then something else.

Dick’s eyes were blazing, and his breathing was heavy enough for Peter to hear it over the cotton in his ears. His jaw was set, and the veins in his neck protruded slightly, but his hands were gentle as they wiped the last of Peter’s spit off his chin.

“No, you’re not getting any morphine. You could have died because of it. Do you get that? You could have died right in front of me.”

“Master Dick, I don’t think it’s advisable to-“

Dick turned his head and somehow looked like both a statue and a flame about to eat the whole house. “I know, but what do you advise, Alfred? Should I let him overdose a second time? Find some other way to kill himself?”

Alfred swallowed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “No, of course not. I don’t wish for Young Master Peter to do anything else unwise, but now is not the time. He’s barely conscious.”

“He’s barely conscious because I didn’t see what he was doing.”

Tim shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Dick.”

Dick turned his head. Every inch of him was tense and burned like a desert sun. “I’m supposed to be his father, and I let him steal opioids. I would have let him go to sleep if you and Jason hadn’t noticed, and he hadn’t thrown up. I knew something was weird, and I should have known the signs of how Mary died.”

Mary’s name echoed in his mind like a distant, haunting melody, making his stomach twist in a tight knot of anxiety. He waved a hand to catch Dick’s attention before he had figured out how to gesture letters or signal anything about her with only his clumsy hands. He instead stretched his fingers wide as if to grasp the memory of her from both of their minds, and tapped his chin twice.

The fire left Dick’s eyes as he turned around once more. Peter barely held his head up as the room spun around him, but the gentle hand hovering over his cheek made it easier. It didn’t touch him, but he could feel the warmth and care.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, but you can’t do anything like that even if you want to escape the pain. I’ll do better to take all your pain away, but you have to give me time.” Dick’s voice broke in the middle of his last sentence, and his voice became a little shrill, but every word was carefully enunciated.

Peter’s lungs were still heavy, but he succeeded in grunting in displeasure when the pain in his jaw and heart grew.

Dick’s hand never strayed, and he knelt by the table in front of Peter. “Don’t do that again, okay? You have to tell me if you ever want to do something like that again, even if you don’t mean to do permanent harm. I’ll help you, and if you don’t want to tell me, tell anyone else in the manor.”

Peter’s fingers twitched, and he frowned.

Dick’s eyes filled with tears, but none of them fell, and his voice turned softer than anything Peter had ever heard. “I could have lost you again. You know that, right?”

Peter hadn’t thought about it. All his energy had gone to the goal and not the consequences. Drugs were bad, but Peter had no idea how he would cope if he was forced to endure both the emotional and physical pain of everything he had experienced.

“I’ll ask Leslie for some other pain relief in addition to the Advil and Tylenol,” Alfred said, but Peter didn’t have the will or energy to look away from Dick’s teary eyes and sad smile.

Dick’s hand kept hovering above Peter’s cheek, and his eyebrows tilted even more outwards. “Yeah, that’s probably smart. Preferably something he can’t abuse.”

Alfred moved around the room, but Peter couldn’t look away from how hard Dick was biting his bottom lip or the way his fine lines grew into deep valleys from his tilted eyebrows and slightly squinting eyes. 

Jason leaned on the wall with a loud exhale. “Fucking hell, you scared the living shit out of me, you little shit. Never do anything like that again.”

Peter closed his eyes and pretended he hadn’t seen Dick’s wet eyes, Jason’s pale cheeks, or Tim’s silent shuddering breaths. There was only pain and disappointment until even the whirlwind stopped swirling around in Peter’s head, and he could open his eyes to the tsunami in Dick’s eyes. There was rage and the promise of taking down everything on land, but also the presence of all the deaths that had already happened in the ocean. “Jason’s right, this can’t happen again, Peter.”

Dick swallowed and visibly relaxed his shoulders, but his mouth was set firmly and his nostrils slightly flared. “I mean it, I know things are hard, but you can’t throw your life away like that. If not for yourself, then for me. I need you in my life.” 

Guilt coated everything inside of Peter from his toes to his hair, but he still couldn’t do anything but frown and reach for Dick’s hand. He knew that he would be mad and possibly scared about Dick manhandling him later, but for now, everything was confusing and embarrassing, and it was his fault that everyone was frightened and sad.

Dick lifted Peter’s hand to his face and looked as if he were softly punching himself with how firmly he pressed Peter’s knuckles into his nose and mouth. “I love you so much. So, fucking much. I would do anything for you. We could move to Venice or become beggars in downtown Gotham. I don’t care as long as I’m with you, but you have to be alive for it to happen.” 

Dick inhaled sharply, and there were tears in his eyes when he looked up at Peter. “Please, let me help you. I don’t care if you scream or cry, I just want to help you.” 

Peter couldn’t blink in the light of Dick’s words. He had never doubted that Dick loved his son, but this felt like more than nostalgia and wanting to keep the reanimated body close.

Dick’s eyes closed tightly, and he panted for a few moments before looking at Peter. “Sorry, my emotions aren’t your burden to bear, but you need to let me help you.”

Jason took a step closer to Peter. One more step and he would be stepping on Dick’s feet, but he seemed to only have eyes for Peter’s slightly unfocused eyes. “I want to help you, too.”

The bags under Tim’s eyes looked even darker now that Peter could focus his eyes, and he looked much more vulnerable in a T-shirt than he had looked in a dress shirt when Peter had met him last week. “Me too. We’ll all do whatever we can to make it easier for you.”

Every word was said with such sincerity that Peter could cry if the waves of emotions weren’t blocking each other from escaping.

Instead, he laid his cheek on the table and let the harsh lights bleach the darkness inside of him until there would be nothing left.

Chapter Text

Dr. Thompkins looked the same as before. Willowy, but each year had given her more time to grow until her roots filled every foundation in Gotham.

However, it was also surreal to see her outside of her clinic in Crime Alley. Everyone deserved a life outside of their job, but Peter would rather have her be anywhere but in an armchair next to Alfred.

Peter glanced at Jason, but he was leaning casually against the closed door and showed no signs of pain, and he hadn’t been limping or holding his side for at least a couple of days. Dr. Thompkins must have done an excellent job when Jason had pulled Peter to her clinic a lifetime ago, but she didn’t belong here. Jason, Dick, and everyone else who had lived in the manor belonged in Peter’s life now. Just like Red Hood, Nightwing, and Dr. Thompkins belonged in Peter’s life in the streets, and no one belonged in his life before the resurrection.

“I’ve heard that you had an incident a little while ago,” Dr. Thompkins said. She made Peter’s last trauma sound trivial, as if he had taken a tumble down the stairs while playing and not overdosed on stupidity.

Her casual tone was probably meant to soothe him, but Peter’s stomach clenched, and he couldn’t find the motivation even to attempt to answer verbally. He instead nodded and tried to catch Dick’s gaze, but it was too firmly fixed on Peter’s toes that barely brushed the floor when he leaned against the couch’s backrest.

Dr. Thompkins was solely focused on Peter when he looked up, and he had to stare at his knees when she asked, “How are you feeling now?”

Peter’s hands tightened, but the splint and bandage were restricting his thumbs too much to make a proper fist. It left him feeling like he was in another transition, but the time to prepare his mind for change made everything even louder and scarier. The frozen peas in his right hand only swished around, letting him squish each half-frozen pea through the bag and the tea towel wrapped around it before pressing it against the increasing pain in his jaw.

“He’s in pain,” Dick mumbled, but was still avoiding Peter’s gaze. He was right, Peter’s jaw was punishing him for every second that passed, but nothing hurt like the twitch in his heart when he tried to make Dick look at him. Jason seemed unable to look away, but Dick’s gaze was stormy and his nasolabial folds deep when he glanced at Peter and barely better when he wasn’t.

It left Peter feeling as disgusted as he did every time he wet the bed or remembered everything that had happened to him. His hoodie was oversized and the blue design cool, but it wasn’t big enough to hide inside when someone brushed past him or to shield him from the disgust on Dick’s face.

Dr. Thompkins nodded. “That’s to be expected after getting the antidote. We have a few options for pain relief, but it has not been easy to narrow them down. I’m more used to prescribing to adults, and I’ve found no instructions for how to administer pain relief for opium-reliant children.”

Peter’s ears rang at the words, but ‘opium reliant’ sounded much nicer than other things she could have called him. He had thought that only people with addictions could overdose, but he didn’t feel addicted, and he didn’t want to be called an addict.

Dick finally looked away from the different parts of Peter’s body, but his eyes were sharp enough to cut someone when he stared at Dr. Thompkins. “We’re not experimenting on my child.”

Dr. Thompkins’ straight back bowed slightly, and her tense shoulders softened. Even her gray eyes and sleek, white bob seemed softer as she looked at Dick. “No, we’re not. I just wanted to tell you that I have researched and come to a compromise.”

She pulled a square box out of her handbag and stood up to place it in Dick’s hand. She only brushed past Peter for a second, but it was enough for Peter to smell her perfume and lean back in a jagged movement when she was less than a foot away from him.

Dick still refused to meet Peter’s gaze, but he offered his free hand. Peter had lost count of the times he had moved his hand the same way toward Peter, but he was sitting on Peter’s muffled side, and all Peter’s nerves were frayed. He didn’t have time to think, but instead sprang to the opposite side of the couch. It was quick and undignified, and Peter dropped the bag of peas, but all he could hear was his quick breathing, and all he could see was Dick’s wide eyes.

Dick’s gaze shifted to his hand and the short distance to Peter’s thigh, and he made a choking sound. The hand wavered and seemed to wither as it moved away from Peter like a light bulb flickering before turning off forever.

Peter slowly leaned forward until his toes touched the floor. He had to lean toward Dick to grasp his hand, but it was enough for Peter to hold his breath for several seconds before each breath came at a steady, calm pace. Dick’s eye flickered toward him, and his mouth was set in a firm line, but he let his fingers close around Peter’s and turned his gaze away from him.

Peter’s blood was still pumping enough for even his toes to thump beneath their bandages, but his stomach untensed slightly when Dick’s thumb caressed the back of Peter’s hand. Dick was still refusing to meet his eyes, but Jason’s looked calm, and Dick’s hand was warm enough to focus on Dr. Thompkins taking her seat in the armchair next to Alfred.

She let the silence grow until Jason inhaled and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. “I gave you three fentanyl patches. They need to be switched every three days.”

Jason waved his hands and clapped them loudly when he didn’t catch anyone's attention except Peter’s. “Hey, fentanyl is super dangerous. We’re trying not to make him overdose again, not give him something even stronger.”

Dr. Thompkins turned her head and looked at Jason over her glasses. “I am well aware of its potency. Peter was prescribed eight to ten milligrams of morphine a day. The patches are twelve micrograms an hour. He would get less than one-third of a milligram a day with this, but, yes, fentanyl is much stronger than morphine.”

Jason’s head bowed, and he started to pull at the hem of his shirt. Peter hadn’t hugged anyone for weeks, but he had to lean back on the couch not to leap over and attempt to hug Jason. Peter knew that it wouldn’t end well. Everyone in the room would make too big a deal out of it, and Peter already felt like a wire waiting to snap most of the time.

Dr. Thompkins exhaled loudly out of her nose and sent Jason a slight smile. “I’m glad Peter has people looking out for him. Especially people who know the dangers of different drugs.”

Jason’s cheeks got some of the color they had lost when Peter had started to throw up, but he wasn’t quite blushing. “Thank you. I do care, and I will look out for Peter.”

Dr. Thompkins’s eyes moved over everyone in the room before she explained further. “He can keep taking Tylenol and Advil as before, but remember to remove and dispose of the old fentanyl patches.”

The last words were said with urgency toward Alfred, whose mustache twitched, but he otherwise looked stoic. There was something more in her words, and Peter could guess it was a fear that he would repeat the same mistake with the patches, but he had no idea what they expected him to do with the used patches. Maybe they thought he would put them back on when no one was looking, but Peter doubted the adhesive would allow that.

“I expect that Peter will still feel some pain, especially while the Naloxone continues to neutralize the morphine, and the patches won’t be at full effect for the next twelve to twenty-four hours. We’ll reevaluate his pain level next week when he has had time to get used to the patches, and his jaw has healed a little more, but you can call me if Peter’s pain becomes unmanageable or he develops a rash before that.”

Dick’s hand tightened around Peter’s, and he inhaled shakenly. “What will happen if he’s in a lot of pain? You make it sound like he’ll be in a lot of pain tonight.”

“Cold compresses as you’ve already done, but otherwise it would probably be the morphine that he’s used to until I can find a better alternative.”

Dick stopped breathing and finally turned to look at Peter. His tan skin looked gray, and his eyebrows were so tilted that they seemed to be pressing his eyes enough to squeeze tears out of them.

Peter had wanted Dick to look at him, but his gaze made every nerve in Peter’s body catch on fire, and his lungs stopped working until Jason moved toward them.

Jason looked at Dick but offered Peter his arm to anchor himself. Just pressing his face against Jason’s firm and giant biceps was enough to both feel and tolerate the deep shame of everything Peter had caused and the exhaustion from today.  

Jason’s face leaned forward until it was near Dick’s. “I think we should let Alfred deal with it if it comes to that. He’s probably the only one unaffected by Peter’s puppy dog eyes.”

Alfred cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I wouldn’t say completely unaffected, but I appreciate the praise.”

Dick’s neck slowly moved until Peter could see his strong profile instead of his devastated face. “Yes, of course. Alfred can take care of it. He won’t let Peter overdose.”

Jason smiled, but Peter stared past them at the covered windows. The darkness still loomed, and it felt even more frightening now that he had no hope of reprieve from his mind and the pain awaiting him in the next half to whole day.

He couldn’t see past the curtains or the wall when they walked to the medical room to weigh Peter once more, but he looked around for it anyway. He would do anything to get away from the hope and sadness in everyone’s faces, but he mostly looked to make sure there wasn’t anything lurking.

Dr. Thompkins’ mouth thinned when Peter was weighed, still fully dressed but without his shoes.

“Thirty-one pounds and three ounces. I had hoped that he had put on more than four ounces. Especially when dressed. He might even have lost weight from his last weigh-in.”

“He was kidnapped for almost three days and has expelled everything he’s eaten all day, to be fair.” Jason furrowed his brows and looked down at Peter. “Did you even eat while you were ‘napped?”

Peter blinked once and shook his head.

Jason lifted his arms and let his hands fall palm up. “See, he didn’t even eat during two or three days last week, and he was high as shit and running around at least some of that time.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows, but no one explained how Jason knew about that. He didn’t think he had been affected by anything except shock when he was rescued, and he would have hurt both his thumbs in a similar situation regardless of what he had or hadn’t taken.

No one reacted, but everyone kept their gazes on him as he stepped off the scale. He knew what they wanted, but he refused to acknowledge them. If he played dumb, then they might not ask him to remove his clothes for a proper weight, and if they did… Then they would at least have dignified Peter by asking instead of expecting him to follow their whims.

He would still refuse, but he was starting to feel too faint to argue with four adults, and standing near the examination table made him remember how powerless he had been when Dick had pulled his pants down and Alfred had injected his thighs. They twitched at the reminder, but he turned to face the wall and tensed his jaw as much as it allowed him to.

Dick sighed after a few silent seconds. “Come here, draga mea, I’ll put the patch on so you. Hopefully, it will have had time to work at least a little before the morphine leaves your system entirely. It goes on your upper back.”

Peter should have expected to feel Dick pull the collar of his shirt down, but he only kept the startle at a minimum with sheer will and Jason’s bright eyes. However, his shoulders stayed tensed long after Dick had taken several steps away from him.

“Good, Peter won’t be able to touch it when it’s there.” Dr. Thompkins noted.

Jason wrinkled his nose and ran his fingers over his collar, and Dick walked around Peter to give her a nervous smile before replying, “Yeah, no, I don’t think there’s any place on his body that he can’t reach. He makes my hypermobility look stiff.”

Dr. Thompkins’ lips thinned even more than before. “We’ll just have to trust him then.”

Peter opened his mouth at that, but he didn’t have time to decide if he took offense to her words before Jason raised a hand. “I trust Peter to let it stay on. He has learned that quick fixes are terrible and would rather have pain relief than get high.” He turned toward Peter once more. “Because you’re not going to be stupid again, right?”

It was said like a threat, but Jason’s eyes looked soft against the hard lines of his face. Peter also generally didn’t aim for stupidity and nodded, although he was still confused about why everyone thought he would want to take the patch off or how that would amount to anything but more pain.

Dick’s bottom lip had deep teeth marks when he stopped biting himself. “Maybe we should discuss the cause of this, Dr. Thompkins. Have you looked at the list I sent you?”

She nodded. “Yes, there are many good therapists there. I’m not sure if they are all accepting clients at the moment, and it will be hard to explain the situation before they’ve signed NDAs, but I suggest that you call or e-mail them soon to get on the waiting lists.”

“Right, waiting lists. I didn’t think of that.” Dick looked at his feet and started to chew on his bottom lip again.

“The waiting lists are shorter without going through insurance or a referral.”

Dick nodded at his feet. “Yes, I knew that. My old therapist said as much when I started going to her.”

Dr. Thompkins glanced at Peter before putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. Her hand was thin with even thinner skin, but Dick’s shoulder still slumped when they touched. “And call her. You need to get on hers or someone else’s waiting list.”

“You’re right.” Dick glanced toward but not quite at Peter, who could only look back with wide eyes and a shuddering chest.

Dr. Thompkins tightened her grip on Dick’s shoulder before letting go and looking at everyone in the room. “How has Peter been before today? Were there any signs that he would do something like this?”

Peter’s mind was still muddled with everything happening, and seeing Dr. Thompkins walking around the manor, but fire still brewed in his stomach at her talking as if he wasn’t in the room.

Jason pulled his shirt until it was stretched tightly and let it go, only to do it again. “No, there were no warning signs. He had actually been doing well with strangers coming to the manor to repair a window in the computer room, and Dick said he looked as if he enjoyed spending time with Damian and Tim.”

The fire was doused with the sick feeling growing in Peter’s throat and dripping down into his stomach. He had enjoyed spending time with Damian and Tim. They had both made blatant attempts to make him feel comfortable, and Peter wished he could have relaxed and shown more gratitude toward them. However, most of today had been nice.

A seriousness fell on everyone’s shoulders, and Peter looked around for anything to make it go away before it crushed him. The walls and cabinets held nothing, but he found a distraction when Dick tightened his hands into fists.

Grabbing Dick’s nearest wrist to show the days-old bandages around his palm was barely a distraction, but it did make the sour taste in Peter’s mouth lessen, and he felt a little lighter when Alfred removed the bandages. The gashes were still horrible, but they were healed enough for Dr. Thompkins to tell them that Dick’s hands didn’t need to be rebandaged.

The bruise on Dick’s cheek was healing, too, now that Peter was looking at it. The yellow edges were sickly-looking, but they were much better than the reddish-purple middle. Even Peter’s feet and sprained ankle were satisfyingly healed for walking around with only a few band-aids, according to Dr. Thompkins, who had to view them over Jason’s shoulder when Peter refused to let anyone else go near his legs. The only injuries that hadn’t healed to Peter’s satisfaction were his jaw and thumbs. His jaw had no infections, but it could take months, and his thumbs still needed to be restricted. She smiled politely and told Peter that his thumbs would ‘only take a few months’ to heal completely, but it only soured Peter’s mood further. There was a flicker of hope when Jason suggested that Peter needed less time because of his metapowers, but it was shut down with stupid logic about malnutrition.

Dick smiled at the space between Peter’s eyebrows. It looked almost like his usual smile, but his cheeks and shoulders were strangely tensed. “Just another motivation to eat properly. Maybe a little food will make everything go away as quickly as the bruises on your arms are.”

“His bruises are actually healing at an expected rate now that he’s eating.” Dr. Thompkins turned to look at Dick as if Peter wasn’t glaring at her to his best ability. “That reminds me, we talked about Peter being reintroduced to carbohydrates, but we might have to hold back on it until next week so he can recover from the days he wasn’t eating.”

Dick’s lips lifted into an open-mouth smile, and he let out a huff of air. “Yeah, that probably would have been a good idea. On an unrelated note, he loves mangos. It’s the first thing he has seemed to enjoy since coming to the manor.”

Dr. Thompkins pushed her glasses up and let her finger move up to her hair with a sigh. “Wait a few days before feeding him carb-heavy meals, and then check his blood glucose before and after meals for a few days. You can give him some sugar, but start with starches. He doesn't need to develop refeeding syndrome."

Peter’s fingers hurt at the reminder of the blood sugar tests, but he stopped glaring at her. He would much rather have sugar than starches, but some sugar was subjective, and maybe he could eat mangos again in a few days, or perhaps even candy.

Bedtime came quickly after Dr. Thompkins left. Mostly because Peter refused to ingest more than a single yogurt cup and a bottle of water to replace everything he had thrown up, and he brushed his teeth and pointed toward the bedroom as soon as he finished eating and drinking.

Dick turned around when Peter and Jason entered the bedroom. “I think that I need to talk with Peter about today.”

Jason crossed his arms. “I know you’re his dad, but I can have serious talks with him, too, and I haven’t refused to look at him for the last hour and a half.”

Dick sighed. “Yeah, that’s something that I want to discuss with him as well.” He turned his gaze down to look at Peter. His whole focus was on him, and the crashing waves inside of Peter felt a little more manageable with the sun shining down on him. “Only if that’s okay with you, of course. I want to explain and ask you some serious questions. You can talk to Jason instead if you’re not comfortable sharing everything with me, but you need to talk to someone after today.”

Peter would rather not have any more serious or private conversations in this lifetime. He felt like he was having one every other day, and he was already drained from today’s events. Still, he nodded and turned to wave at Jason.

They stared at each other for a few moments after the door closed. It was starting to feel awkward, but Dick sent Peter a smile and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. He inhaled audibly when Peter sat on his right side and looked at him with an even mouth and heavy eyebrows. ”Peter, I want to start by apologizing. I know that I’ve acted strangely after you weren’t in immediate danger anymore. You needed me to be present, and I should have behaved better. I’m an adult. I’ve been an adult for twice the years you’ve been alive, and I’m sorry that I let my feelings get the better of me, but I’m not sorry for being furious that you thought it was okay to go behind my back and put yourself in danger. It wasn’t okay for you to endanger yourself like that, but-“

Dick’s face crumbled, and his eyes watered. “-but, Peter, I love you so much. I couldn’t look at you until I had time to figure out my feelings, while Dr. Thompkins examined our injuries, but you could do anything, and I would still love you and want you here, so you couldn’t leave me. I was so fucking scared today. I’m still fucking scared that I’m going to lose you again. I know that you don’t remember it, and I know that you might not feel the same way about me as you used to, but I remember, and I feel the same way as I have since you were a baby. You’re my little baby, and I can’t let you die again.”

Dick sniffed and blinked rapidly toward the ceiling. He didn’t talk, but his words echoed in Peter’s mind. It should have been unrealistic for someone to be unable to give up on him, but it sounded like Dick’s feelings had stayed the same even after his son’s death.

“I’m angry at me, too. I know you’re hurting, and I let myself ignore it all day when you needed me to notice. I’ll do better. I promise to be the best man, the best father, in the world.”  

Everything was heavy, and Peter’s head slowly fell on Dick’s shoulder. They barely made contact, but it was enough for Dick to smile softly.

“I love you. So fucking much. I’m so sorry for scaring you when you were feeling sick, but I don’t know what else I could have done. Someone had to pull your pants down so you could get the antidote, and I won’t let anyone else do that to you. I won’t do that again unless it’s that or you getting seriously hurt, but I would rather you stay clothed.”

Dick’s head moved slowly, and both of them held their breath until his cheek rested on Peter’s temple. His presence felt like basking in sunshine after playing in chilly water, but Peter still turned to look up at him.

His clear blue eyes crinkled into crescent moons, and his lips stretched so much that his words came out strained. “This is what it’s all about. Just me and my little guy.”

Peter should have found being called someone’s little guy undignified. He had been existed about seventeen years in both universes, but Dick said it too fondly to evoke anything but warmth.

Peter swallowed and turned to look into the room, and closed his eyes when he felt Dick’s head turn too.

He didn’t have any of Dick’s memories of the time before Peter Grayson’s death, but Peter could imagine sitting like this after a taxing day or on the couch watching TV together. He could even imagine sitting like this without any other reason than familial love.

He couldn’t let anyone carry all his burdens, but Dick’s shoulders felt firm against his face and strong enough to take some of his burdens. Jason’s shoulders had felt just as strong when Peter had leaned on them, and he had carried a lot of the weight of Peter’s living situation on the streets. So, maybe, just maybe, Peter could let someone else see some of the ugliness.

The silence stretched for long enough for Peter to almost fall asleep sitting up, but he was wide awake when Dick lifted his head to look down at him. Dick’s shoulders tensed, and his eyes looked wide and slightly teary, but Peter didn’t have to wait long before Dick asked in a whisper, “Was it on purpose?”

Peter lifted his head from Dick’s shoulder and furrowed his brows. A stone materialized in his guts and told him precisely what Dick was asking about, but a flicker in his chest begged for it to be anything else.

Dick let his front teeth scrape over his bottom lip. “I mean, did you plan to overdose? Did you plan to break into the desk for a long time? Both are bad, and I won’t be mad regardless of your answer.”

Peter cautiously shook his head.

Dick exhaled with a soft sound, but quickly set his shoulders. “Okay, it was an accident. That’s… something. So do you understand that you could have… That you could have died today?”

Peter chewed on his lip and the inside of his right cheek. The flicker in his chest drowned, and the weight in his gut grew heavier. He could swim, but he wasn’t sure how long he could tread water with the stone dragging him down and exhaustion taking over everything else. It would be easier if he could forget everything that had happened since he arrived in Gotham, but Dick seemed determined not to let Peter slip into ignorance.

Dick licked his lips. “I’ll tell you then, you would have suffocated if we had acted any later. You had almost stopped breathing when we reached the medical room, and you would have stopped completely if we hadn’t given you the antidote when we did. Maybe we would have taken you to the hospital and gotten you intubated until the morphine was out of your system, or you could have been hurt permanently. I don’t like scaring you, but I think that you need to know. We’ve been lucky that you function as well as you do after being shot and getting brain surgery, but I don’t think we will be that lucky again. You would be physically or mentally changed if your brain had been without oxygen for too long. I would have done anything to save you, even if that meant scaring you or hooking you up to scary machines. I’m very grateful that it didn’t end as badly as it could have. Many overdoses don’t end with everyone sleeping in their own beds afterwards.”

Peter swallowed and tried to ignore the way that horror slowly carved shapes into his soft skin. Small weights seemed to be making every movement a challenge, but he lifted a hand anyway to tap his thumb against his chin with his fingers spread.

Dick sighed. “I would have tried to save your mom if I had known. We lost contact after you left, but I would have tried. For her and for you.”

Peter’s jaw and thumbs hurt from his muscles tensing all over his body. He looked around the room for inspiration, but nothing would let him ask all the questions in his mind. Instead, he could only look at Dick with wide eyes and anxiously pull at Dick’s shirt with two of his fingers. He needed answers, but he didn’t have any questions to ask.

Everything about Dick quickly became droopy and sad. “Your mom was unhappy for a long time. She tried to be happier with drugs, like I think you tried to today, but drugs like that and morphine like you took can’t help you forget that you’re sad or scared. It might seem like that in the moment, but it only makes everything worse until you feel more sad, scared, and desperate than before. I don’t know why your mom decided on it, but she did, and I wish it had a better ending. I wish she was here and was the mom you deserve, but it’s not anyone’s fault that she isn’t.”

Peter lifted a hand and patted his chest with quick and short movements. There was ringing in his ears, but no tears would fall. He still didn’t feel like Peter Grayson, but he could see the resemblances enough to feel guilty about the effects of his death.

Dick’s hands lifted toward Peter’s face, but they didn’t make contact, and they lowered to grab the air in front of Peter’s hands. “It wasn’t your fault. It could never have been your fault.”

Peter shook his head and kept patting his chest. His breath was hitched, and the darkness outside seemed to be closing in on his vision, but he had to know.

Dick’s eyes narrowed slightly with how much his face was crumpling, and his voice wavered when he continued, “She and I were both sad for a long time, but it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t ask for any of it. You just wanted to practice robotics and be with kids who understood you, and your mom and I failed you. Your mom was supposed to have picked you up to go to your optometrist appointment before the attack, and I was supposed to protect you when I saw you were hurt. No one could blame you for that.”

Peter’s neck bowed as he alternated between signing for Mary and making a circular motion against his chest with his fist. His thumb brushed against every bone in his chest, but he hardly felt any pain in his thumb or chest during the rough motions.

Dick’s voice rose until he was nearly shouting, but Peter could barely catch the words, “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. She struggled for years before we lost you. She could have died even if you’d never been hurt. Maybe sooner, or maybe later, but it wasn’t because of you.”

The world stood still, and his lungs slowly started to work as he looked up at Dick’s set jaw and outward tilted eyebrows. He could be lying to make Peter feel better, but the stone in Peter’s gut shrank into a golf ball. It was still uncomfortable, but he didn’t feel quite as weighed down or distended with emotions.

Still, guilt coated everything. Did it make Peter a bad person to be relieved that someone had struggled for years longer than he feared? No version of May deserved to struggle, even if she hadn’t visited her comatose son, but the world weighed a little less with the knowledge that he hadn’t killed her in this universe, and the relief of it coated everything he touched.

Resolve filled him enough that he would burst at the slightest touch, and he lifted a shaky hand to make a ‘V’ with his index and middle finger under his right eye and then toward Dick before signing for Mary again.

“Are you asking me to find where we left her pictures?”

Peter sighed and shook his head. He lifted his hand, but he came up short on how to explain himself better. He was almost ready to accept that Dick wouldn’t understand what Peter was asking when he flashed Peter a slight smile and asked, “Do you want to see your mom’s grave?”

Peter lowered his gaze to his knees and nodded. Her grave would be years old, and it could devastate him, but it might also make everything easier. Maybe seeing her headstone and knowing she looked just like Aunt May would give Peter closure and help him forget how uncomfortable relief could feel. Then, one of the open wounds in his soul might heal until it was only a scar that ached but never bled.

Dick hummed. “Okay, we can see her tomorrow. Remember, I’ll give you anything you want as long as it’s not hurting you.”

Dick had said similar words multiple times before, but this time they touched something in Peter, as well as the knowledge that he would see Mary’s grave. His breath hitched again, and he hid behind his arms.

Dick left Peter’s side and went over to kneel in front of him. “Oh, Dulceață, can I touch you? We can hold hands if you want.”

Peter blindly extended a hand and pulled Dick’s to his face to brush his tears away until Dick’s thumbs began wiping them away on their own. His hands and fingers had rough calluses, but they felt soft as they brushed over Peter’s cheekbones. Peter kept the back of one hand over his mouth and used his long hoodie sleeves to wipe his nose, but letting Dick wipe his tears made it easier to bear that each tear felt like a tiny piece of the stone that had grown in his guts. Each one felt heavier than a mountain, but only removed a small bit of the stone.

“It’s okay to cry. It’s good to cry when you’re sad.” Dick’s tone and hands were warm, but it only made Peter cry even harder.

Dick’s eyes started to shine, and he flashed Peter another gentle smile, “I’m here. You just let go of it all, and I’ll carry it for you, okay? I can carry you, so I can carry everything you throw at me.”

Peter opened his eyes enough to look at Dick, but another sob interrupted before he could try to seem judgmental about Dick’s illogical statements. Instead, he just shook his head but kept a hand on one of Dick’s wrists to guide it to stay on Peter’s face.

“I’m silly, ain’t I? Just your silly, silly tati, who is so very, very happy that you’re letting him comfort you.”

No comforting felt like enough, and his tears only paused for a few seconds between the bedroom door opening just enough for Jason to see the scene, and Peter reaching out a hand for Jason to take before Dick could tell him to leave.

Jason closed the door and closed the distance between him and Peter in two giant steps. “Jesus fuck, Dick, I know you said that you were having a serious talk with him, but I didn’t expect you to make him cry. He barely survived today as it is.”  

Dick rolled his eyes but sent a smile and wink at Peter. “Yeah, yeah, I’m mean. Mean and very happy that Peter is both alive and letting both of us see him cry.”

Jason grunted and sat where Dick had before. “Yes, you’re a disgrace to parenthood. Good thing he has me as an uncle and the rest of Bruce’s giant brood of adult children.”

Jason and Dick had a strange ability to make Peter feel both like the center of the universe with their warm hands and invisible enough to embarrass himself without consequences. His tears were acknowledged but never commented on, even when they slowly stopped, and he could relax despite how squeezed it made his face feel.

Dick’s joy seemed almost manic, and Peter wondered absently if his cheeks were sore from the unhinged smile. “Someone’s sleepy.”

Jason hummed questioningly.

Dick smiled even wider. “I’m holding his whole head with my hands. He’s trusting me to hold it up.”

It was more like Peter’s whole body felt heavy and useless after the last bit of the stone had left his guts, but he was too tired to argue semantics.

“Show-off,” Jason mumbled, but it didn’t seem to hold any animosity.

Dick winked at Peter before looking at Jason with wide eyes and an even mouth. Every muscle in his face was strained, but the smile still slipped through. “I’m holding my whole world in my hands.”

“I will vomit on your pillow,” Jason mumbled slightly louder and with much more animosity.

Dick smiled even brighter than the overhead light, and Peter grunted. This was all simply too much after a very long day, and he pulled his hand out of Jason’s and his face out of Dick’s grip. A spike of unease travelled through him when Dick’s hands passed the space above his thighs, but it was gone in a second.

The bed felt almost like a safe hug when Peter crawled into it and let himself fall backward. He didn’t have the energy to protest when Jason found the stuffed spider and placed it on Peter’s chest with a smile before both men moved to lie beside Peter.

Dick sat up in bed the moment Peter was about to close his eyes. “By the way, Peter and I are visiting Mary’s grave tomorrow.”

Jason threw an arm over his eyes. “Visiting a graveyard after an overdose seems like a great idea. Let’s also visit the hospital morgue while we’re in the area. Remind me to bring my best guns and death certificate.”

Peter closed his eyes, but he could sense Dick’s silhouette in the bright overhead light. “I never said you were invited.”

Jason let out a bark. “You just try to stop me.”

“You just try to stop me,” Dick replied in a childish and slightly high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like Jason’s, before returning to his normal tone. “No, but, seriously, Peter can decide who can come. I don't want to crowd him, but he feels comfortable enough to cry in front of both of us, and I hope you could help make him grieve somewhere unfamiliar to him.”

Jason’s side of the bed moved. “Of course, I’ll come if Peter wants me there.”

“I’m so glad. I was thinking that we go to the cemetery and then-“

Peter lifted a hand. He had hoped to cover Dick’s mouth, but the side of his nose and bottom eyelashes seemed to get the message across, too.

Dick’s nose vibrated slightly with his words, and he sounded close to laughing when he apologized. “Sorry, sorry, we’ll be quiet now, Dulceață.”

The mattress moved slightly with Jason’s movements. “Yeah, we’ll be good now, you little impatient shit.”

Peter had had a long day and didn’t need their mockery, but he felt guilty enough for letting his desperation make everyone panic to do more than let his arm fall over the stuffed spider and turn to his side so his good ear was smushed into the pillow. He could not hear the room with only his muffled ear free, and the stuffed spider was smiling into his chest instead of his face, but the bedsheets smelled clean and were soft against the uninjured side of his face.

“Lachhi tjiri rat, Scumpo,” Dick said loudly enough for Peter to hear with his muffled ear to the room, and Jason said something too. It was too quiet for Peter to make out the words, but he was sure it was just a wish for Peter to have a good night like Dick had. 

Chapter Text

Peter had been so exhausted that he had slept dreamlessly until the pain had crept into his dreams and left him feeling phantom touches even when awake, and the pain made him feel like he was in the middle of something horrible.

Peter was in less pain than when he first arrived at the manor, but every nightmare made it feel much worse. He kept telling himself that it didn’t hurt nearly as much as when he had arrived at the manor in a stupor, and no one had really done anything to him yesterday. Dick had pulled his pants down, but it hadn’t been to hurt him, and no one had touched his mouth without his permission. However, it was hard to remember when every piece of his nightmares felt real. His only saving grace was that Dick had touched his shoulder and woken him before he could wet himself.

Peter’s muscles tensed, and Dick jumped out of the bed. His hair was tousled almost artistically, but his eyes were watery, and his eyebrows furrowed when Peter opened his tightly closed eyes.  

Dick and Jason mumbled, but Peter could only hold his jaw and protect his chest with his bent knees. The door closed, and Peter forced himself to look around until he found Dick at the end of his bed.

“Hey, Jason’s getting you a frozen bag of something, but he can ask Alfred if you can get medicine for the pain.”

Peter shook his head and curled further around his knees.

Dick bit his bottom lip, and his hands fell on the bedframe. His hair fell into his face, but the overhead light showed every detail in his stormy eyes and the dark colors beneath them. “Please let us help you.”

Peter breathed heavily but otherwise tried to keep completely still until the bedroom door opened. His eyes darted to the dark hallway, and his heart beat a little lighter when he saw Jason’s hair looking like an unkept raccoon.

He lifted something wrapped in a tea towel and spoke hoarsely. “I really think that we should talk to Alfred about getting you something for tonight.”  

Peter shook his head and pressed the cold lump against his face. It left goosebumps on his arms even as he lay under the blankets, but that was better than the full effects of pain, and it gave him something other than misery to focus on.

Dick’s phone lit up when he pressed it. “We need to do something. It’s a quarter past twelve, and the patches won’t work until at least six am.”

“I know,” Jason groaned. “But what do you suggest to convince him to accept help?”

Dick looked at Peter and then at Jason with wide eyes and a frown. “I don’t know. I don’t want him to be in pain, but I don’t want anything to be forced on him.”

The pain prevailed, but Peter somehow fell asleep with the cold against his cheek and woke up what felt like every other minute to his jaw hurting or either Jason or Dick waking him before a nightmare could escalate. It was almost nice to see their kind but tired eyes and being handed either something cold or warm for his jaw, and he hadn’t understood why he was awake the first time he woke up to Jason’s snores and Dick’s back turned toward him. Dick's shoulders shook, and he breathed quietly but unevenly until he froze and turned around. The tears shone brightly, but they seemed like an illusion when Dick rubbed his eyes and smiled upon noticing Peter’s gaze. The smile was fake, but the way Dick’s gaze softened and his chest moved more easily seemed genuine.

Dick was awake a lot more after that. It didn’t matter if Jason was awake or why Peter woke up; Dick’s wide eyes would be glued to Peter’s temple, chest, or lips, and his chest moved with Peter’s breathing despite it being noticeably faster than Dick’s.

Reality was too confusing for Peter’s tired mind, and most of his nightmares were even more so. Owls would chase him before turning into guns and muskets. Peter’s heart seemed to be beating out of his chest at that, but nothing compared to when they changed into Dick touching Peter’s thighs and between his legs. Dick’s eyes were loving, but sharp, and he repeated contradictory words about Peter being mature for his age and being a helpless little boy.

Peter couldn’t breathe, and he almost choked when he woke up to a growing and wet warmth on the thick blanket that he had wrapped around himself. His lungs barely expanded enough to take in a single breath, but it was Dick’s kind eyes that made him feel like he was dying and being revived at once. 

“It’s okay. It’s over now. It’s okay,” Dick whispered when Peter hid behind his hands. Dick’s tone seemed fitting for the late hour, but the bright overhead light made the monsters disappear from Peter’s mind, allowing everyone to see his shame.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Dick offered Peter a hand. It was almost a lazy movement, but Peter threw himself to the other side of the bed.

The slight smile fell from Dick’s face. “Right, nightmares. I’m sorry for scaring you after that kind of nightmare.”

The pain had dulled enough for him to wish for dreamless sleep instead of decapitation, and his nightmare seemed almost tame now.

“I’m really sorry for scaring you, but you need to get cleaned up. Jason can bring you if you want.”

Peter wasn’t stupid. He knew that it killed Dick when he took Jason’s arm and pulled him toward the bathroom to guard the door while Peter checked for cameras and eyes in every corner. He also knew that Dick’s eyes were open and red every time he woke up after that.

The house was still when Peter gave up on sleep. It had rained during the night, and the sun hadn’t quite woken up.

It was so quiet that he heard the slow murmurs before Dick, Peter, and Jason entered the kitchen and saw Damian’s tightly closed fists and the defeated slump of Tim’s shoulders.

Damian’s gaze was steady, and Peter instinctively took a step back and barely noticed when he stepped on Jason’s foot and smacked the back of his head into his chest.

Damian’s chair scraped across the floor with a loud sound that echoed into the hallway, before he inhaled deeply. It barely seemed to calm the tornado in his eyes, and his whole face was tense as he bit out, “Did Peter overdose last night?”

Dick’s shoulders fell, and Peter didn’t need to see his face to know how heavy his eyelids looked and the curve of the frown on his face. His tone was monotone, but Peter knew how much Dick’s eyes would convey. “Yes.”

Damian tilted his head. It looked almost like an owl preparing to attack a mouse or robin, but he stopped before his chin could point 180 degrees to the side. “What?”

Dick glanced over his shoulder at Peter and sent Jason a furrowed brow, but Peter’s feet were firmly rooted to the floor, and he would not let anything or anyone take him away. The explosion would be devastating, but Peter would endure that as well as the potential fallout.

Dick swallowed, and his shoulders tensed momentarily. “You heard me.” 

Damian stood still for several seconds. Peter searched for any signs of life, but he wasn’t blinking, and his chest had stopped moving until his face reddened, and suddenly he was full of sharp angles and hurried movements. 

The manor had been quiet, but Damian’s raised voice made it hard to remember the calm before the storm.

“What the fuck? How did it happen? Whose fault was it?” 

Dick inhaled hurriedly, and something resembling both a croak and a burp escaped his throat when Damian repeated, “Whose fault was it?” 

Dick’s voice was as small and fragile as a candleflame in a storm, but Peter heard every word as Dick mumbled, “It was my fault.”

Damian’s waving arms stopped midair, and his shoulders lowered until they only reached halfway up his neck. “What?”

“It was my fault.” Dick let out a breath, and Peter’s stomach felt hollow when he observed how much energy Dick used with every breath.

“How could you let that happen?!” Damian screamed and moved to the opposite side of the room when Tim stood up to put a hand on his shoulder.

The light in Dick’s eyes was dim when he turned his face enough for Peter to see his profile. “I don’t know.” 

Damian’s knuckles turned white, but Peter could imagine blood staining them. “You must know. You have to know. You’re like super-dad or something. You have to know.” Damian stalked around the kitchen.

Dick bit his lip and furrowed his brow while Damian walked in circles in front of them. Each step sounded like gunshots, and Peter reached a trembling hand behind himself and gripped Jason’s shirt tightly. The fabric was already taut, but was left to Peter’s mercy as soon as Jason let go of it.

Damian took another lap around the kitchen island. His chest kept rising and falling rabidly, and his eye twitched. “Why, Grayson? Why did it happen? Why did Peter almost die again?” 

Dick’s energy emerged as suddenly and destructively as lightning. “It happened because I’m a bad father. Is that what you wanted to hear? I let it happen. I let my son almost die again. I sat and watched as he almost died, just like I did when the Court took him, and just like I did when he was shot. I sat and watched fucking Peter Pan while he was dying yesterday. He was dying, and I did nothing.” 

Dick leaned forward, and it seemed like it was only his grip on the back of the chair in front of him that held him up through his loud sob. He inhaled in jerks and exhaled like a slowly deflating balloon until the sounds made sense. “I need a moment. I’m sorry.” 

Peter looked at the scene with widened eyes and heavy shoulders. He didn’t know if Dick was apologizing for crying, for Peter almost overdosing, or for Peter’s former death. Dick shouldn’t apologize for any of it, but Peter couldn’t find any words or actions that could explain it to him. 

Damian’s nostrils flared, and he moved into a wide stance and pointed a finger. “You should be sorry for almost letting Peter die again. You should have seen that something was wrong.”

Jason’s chest moved with his sigh. “Last night was all our fault with that logic. None of us knew that Peter had taken more than we had given him before it was almost too late.”

Damian wrinkled his nose and only stopped walking closer to Jason and Peter when Tim pulled the back of his shirt in the other direction. He threw Tim’s hand off him, but stayed at a distance. “What does that matter? Grayson’s constantly acting like he’s the only one who cares about Peter, and none of us should do anything for him unless it’s doing all the dirty work while you and Grayson play happy family. The only real plan was my suggestion of a therapy dog.”

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed. “I think Dick’s looking for a human therapist for Peter. He and Dr. Thompkins at least talked about waiting lists last night.”

Damian’s chin looked much sharper with every facial muscle tense, and his eyes seemed to burn everything in their path as he glared at Tim. “Where’s the therapist then? Surely Grayson or Father can throw enough money at someone for them to find time in their schedule and keep quiet. It’s like I’m the only one who cares what happens to him enough to think of solutions.”

Dick’s head lifted as he stared at Damian. His voice had stopped wavering, and he sounded so cold that goosebumps rose on Peter’s arms. “You can tell me what else I should do then. Come on, enlighten me on how we can fix everything, and how I don’t care about Peter. I was thinking of letting Peter grieve and remembering at his own pace, but you clearly know something that I don’t. Don’t hold back if you have the solution to everything.”

Damian’s mouth opened a few times, and he ended up glaring out of the window.

“He’s just trying to help,” Tim said. His voice was even quieter than Dick’s, but it seemed to be enough to melt the deadly ice in Dick and douse Damian’s hot anger.