AKA "the Batfam find out Jason is alive and lovingly bullies him back into the family" headcanon!!
I read this one post where it was like, Damian climbing through Jason's window while saying something actually batshit insane and Jason's just like??? mouthful of pasta, just sitting at his kitchen table, and I'm ridiculously amused by it. Because hell yeah!!
Give me actual sibling energy. Give me, "What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine, because fuck you!! No, I'm not giving back your leather jacket, finders keepers. Yeah, it was in your bedroom but now it belongs to me."
I want recently-revived Jason Todd deliberately avoiding the Batfam because he's plotting his Grand Reveal (the Red Hood, Crime Lord and Ruthless Murderer is the formerly dead Robin?? How could it be?? He craves the utter disbelief, the shock, like any dramatic theatre kid). I'm just gonna... gently wrap up Under the Red Hood in a towel and put it in the freezer where it can't hurt us anymore. We're in Wayne Family Adventures Fandom-Land now, guys.
And Dick Grayson was born and raised to be an older brother, his dad humor and oldest daughter syndrome is God-tier, and he'd recognize his little brother anywhere. Even if he's built like a brick shithouse, has a scary deep voice, and is significantly more murder-y than his Robin years. That's his little brother!! That's his Little Wing, his Jaybird!! Dick sees what Jason's doing - the acting out, refusing to talk to his family, etc., and is just reminded of when him and Jason used to fight. Dick would be pissed, Jay would be pissed, but in the end, a greasy BatBurger and a comically bad action movie would have them pissing themselves in laughter.
So, that's what he does. Jason comes home from being a crime lord to find The Meg 2 paused on his TV, lukewarm BatBurgers (extra fries, his favorite), and Dick scrolling through TikTok on his couch. There's a new fuzzy Wonder-Woman themed blanket thrown over his armchair.
And yeah, Jason is pissed but Dick looks up and smiles - so excited, hopeful, exactly like the older brother he is that Jason just... sits down on the couch. Eats his stupidly good BatBurger (no pickles, how did Dick remember Jason hates pickles?), and snorts at the shitty CGI, excessive explosions, and comically too-serious acting. Dick accidentally inhales his BatSoda through his nose at one of Jason Statham's one-liners. There are no apologies because there doesn't need to be. Because there's an unspoken understanding between siblings, there doesn't even need to be an I missed you, I love you so much, please don't leave me. You just know.
But it doesn't stop there. Soon Jason has Tim, his goddamn replacement, collapsing on his new Wonder-Woman blanket and mumbling out a "Dick said you're back" almost sounding relieved before passing out on his couch. Which. What in the flying shit, Dick. But the kid's all bruised up, weary like the homeless kids from Crime Alley, and Jason heard about "JJ" during one of his and Dick's bi-weekly movie nights. So... maybe he lets the kid stay. Besides, it's not like letting his replacement take a nap on his couch will open Pandora's box, right?
....right?
Cue Jason suddenly having this blond purple-obsessed Batgirl variant harassing him for his abuela's hot chocolate recipe (sorry, Alfred), Babs bribing him to visit her at the library with a limited edition of Pride and Prejudice, a Black Bat silently accompanying him on patrols around Crime Alley, and Meta dressed in yellow enthusiastically greeting him whenever he's grocery shopping downtown. (Downtown Gotham is the only place you can get fresh produce, okay? And you beat the crowds if you go in the morning! He's not an old man, Dick - fuck off.)
So, when Damian busts through his window while Jason is eating homemade Alfredo, he's... not really surprised anymore. He doesn't think anything can surprise him after Steph body-slammed him in his own bathroom one morning, screeching, "You make fun of my boy Jason Statham again, I'll shove that toothbrush so far up your-..." Or that time he turned around after getting dressed and Cass was sitting on his bed with a comic book. He did not shriek.
And Damian's rambling angrily about Bruce, probably knowing his akhi will let him rant without interrupting or maybe he's so angry he doesn't care, so Jason just... keeps eating.
(Sometime in the future, he gains a reputation for being an Unbothered King, but it's really just the fact that his siblings are deranged and he's become acclimated to their random break-ins.)
Peter narrowed his eyes, face scrunched up in a scowl and clearly unamused.
"It's you."
Spoiler perked right up. She'd been waiting on Peter's designated roof since she started patrol tonight.
"Peter Pan!" She waved jovially, pushing past Peter’s salty exterior. It reminded her a lot of Robin.
He stayed where he was, on the last step of the ladder, refusing to climb up. "I thought I was “fruit boy”." He said, with heavy air quotes despite being on the ladder. A surprising show of athleticness, only surpassed by his judgmental tone.
"Okay, okay, listen! I come bearing gifts," she held up one of those family sized boxes of Chinese food and a drink. Sweet tea, because Robin didn't, and she quotes, "want him drinking that crap", end quote.
"I don't take bribes from homophobes." Peter said hotly. Which, had the right spirit, but Spoiler was the totally wrong person. She loved all women! And, like, two guys. Just your average bisexual woman.
"Im not a homophobe!" Spoiler whined.
"You kept laughing and calling me fruit boy." Peter said flatly.
"Well, because, y'know... you always have fruit?" She said weakly.
She wanted to make amends so bad. It sucks being the only bat Peter wouldn't photograph or even talk to. And they'd get along SO good! She just had to get past her initial impression... perhaps jumping straight to talking to peter like she knew him was not the way to go.
She'd overheard so many conversations between him and the others, by the time she got to met him, she went straight into it. Now she was like the shunned black bird of the family. To Peter, the objectively funniest person she's had the pleasure of hearing roast her family-not-family.
He wouldn't give her fruit or trail mix either because her name wasn’t bird themed, and therefore didn't think she was part bird/bat, like the others. Curse her vigilante name she chose to spite her father,,,
Peter still didn't answer.
"Okay, what if I can clear my name before you clear a plate of Chinese food?" Spoiler offered, seeing if turning it into a challenge would work instea—
"Okay." And suddenly Peter was right next to her, already opening the box.
She lit up. Unfortunately, she couldn't eat any because she didn't have a domino and only a lower face covering, but that's okay. Peter liked making fun of her for that too. He actually hated it more than how the others just wore dominos, but she forgot to grab her new one before rushing out to beat Robin. And Nightwing. And Red Robin. And… Batman? Seriously?
"Kay, so my first evidence for the prosecution is... this!" She wiped out her phone, already open on a picture of her and Black Bat holding hands, Spoiler leaning into her with a bat burger bag in the other hand. RR had taken the picture, his unimpressed face in the lower left hand corner.
Peter paused, a massive chunk of orange chicken half way in his mouth. He squinted.
"A picthur of you... an' Blah' ba’?" He raised an unimpressed eyebrow, mouth full of food.
"Well, yes, and you can't tell anyone else, but!" She leaned in to whisper. "She’s my girlfriend."
Peter stared unimpressed. "You?"
Spoiler nodded excitedly.
"But Black Bat is so much cooler..." Which, well, yes, but Spoiler felt the need to defend her pride. "She has a—"
"—full face mask," Spoiler sighed "I know! Ugh, okay!"
Spoiler scrubbed her face, unreasonably stressed about this very non stressful situation.
"How can I make it up to you?"
"What are you, a dead beat dad or a shitty boyfriend?"
Spoiler pursed her lips. A little too close to home there, huh? Not for her, but well— close to her by association, she supposes.
After the DNA test from last night... to say they were put into a panic would be an understatement. She might've played it down, saying she rushed out to beat the others. It was more like... they were in the process of setting up a nightly and daily watch for Peter. Just until they could figure out their game plan and, well, verify he really was Nightwing's actual son and not some clone or ploy.
Spoiler has a feeling if Peter turns out to be part of some scheme to hurt them… Nightwing would be really hurt, but Robin would lose the first friend he’s made since Superboy.
While this family always has something crazy or angsty going on, Spoiler hopes this isn’t one of those cases.
But Peter's DNA was spliced with something; something definitely not human. Not in a meta way, not in an alien way, in a purposely edited way. But not a perfect clone, either. Though that didn’t rule out a whole lot, considering, y’know… With this family, nothing was ever as straightforward as a random accidental pregnancy. Not even Batman was afforded that luxury, what with his tube-baby assassin kid. (Red Robin absolutely killed it by saying Robin came out of a fricken egg. God, she wishes she was the one who got to say that. Eternal glory.)
RR had even been muttering about checking the timeline and speed force, especially from the one time Batman met his daughter from another universe. (Spoiler thinks her name was Huntress? She sounded like a total badass to her…)
So yeah, TLDR; Spoiler was technically sitting with her Nephew, who didn't like her because Peter thought she was making homophobic jokes at him.
She was already in last place for auntie, and the only other competition was her girlfriend!
Spoiler settled for giving Peter puppy dog eyes.
He raised a brow, evidently unaffected. Probably because his were far superior… He’d conned Nightwing into a shanigan or two.
"You can make it up to me by..." he grinned maliciously. "By making a thank you card for Batman."
Spoiler paused, considering. "Well, he's not really my dad, per se, more like I'm dating—"
"His one and only daughter and the only other actual bat? Yeah, exactly! Thank him for giving birth to your girlfriend." Peter nodded to himself, like he made perfect sense.
Spoiler nodded along easily. "Okay! I'll thank him for Black Bat." She somehow said without busting out into laughter. Is this what Batman was always talking about when he said to 'take your mission seriously'? Game changer, seriously.
Peter studied her before deeming her sincerity good enough. "Okay, good. Mr. Batman is really nice. You gotta give your parents,” he eyed her. “Er, parent in law?”
Spoiler nodded, making a so-so motion. He was more or less right, anyway. Like a weird mix of being a boss, father in law, not-quite paternal figure but still-up-there situation.
“Gotta appreciate them before they die tragically.” Peter nodded solemnly.
Spoiler blue screened. But, like, was he wrong?
“Uh, do you, like… want to talk… about that?” Spoiler asked hesitantly, unsure what her standing was with Peter after feeding him. When he gets prodded too much he just leaves, as they found out the hard way.
“Nah.” He said simply, shoving another bite in his mouth and swallowing like a pelican.
One of Spoiler’s favorite aspects of kids was how blunt they were. But in this instance, she wished he was more “oversharing that his parents divorced because his daddy likes putting it all on black” and not “no, I don’t wanna” kind of kid.
“Okay.” She said back in fear of losing her hard won (read: bribed) Peter privileges.
He pulled out paper and pens from his bag, and even some markers. He was more prepared than he was with RR, so evidently he was planning more appreciation letters for Batman. It was honestly so adorable, Spoiler felt like she had seven new cavities. No wonder why Batman was so fond, begrudgingly or not. Maybe he knew intrinsically with his new Grandpa gut? Spoiler wouldn’t put it past The Dark Knight.
Now if he could just move past this bout of hyper suspicion before he ruined his relationship with his grandson before it even starts would be great, honestly.
Though, Spoiler can't deny he does have a good reason to be suspicious…
Even more so because of just how suspicious and off putting so much around Peter tends to be. Initially, they assumed either trafficking or immigration, considering his lack of records.
Then Immigration was ruled out, leaving the worst option left; trafficking.
But Peter still didn't fit the profile for that. Not trafficking, not immigration, not a child soldier, but not a normal child either.
A mystery driving everyone mad was the most apt definition at this moment.
"I just wanna say, all that happened before I got here. Does that at least clear my name of not being a bad partial-offspring?" Spoiler bargained, absolutely willing to throw everyone else under the bus. She had favor to curry.
Peter hummed thoughtfully. "Okay, mitigating circumstances.”
Spoiler fist pumped in victory, obediently beginning to color her page again. She already had a monopoly on the purple marker.
He pointed his chopsticks menacingly at her. “But not a full acquittal!”
“What!? Spoiler said, indignant at such an accusation.
“While you may not have been the first child, you weren’t the last, either!” Peter nodded to himself, something he did often. “Where were you for Robin? I heard he came from a, y’know…” He leaned in, whispering. “An egg!”
Oh, right, RR did say it was quote unquote, “confidential information”. She can’t wait for when he runs into Robin again. She needs to have cameras set up to savor that moment forever.
Spoiler nodded sagely. “Yes, yes he was… I was out of town, though!
Peter squinted. “Convenient.”
“It was very inconvenient, actually. It was an ordeal, Pete.” The ‘ordeal’ she speaks of was faking her death and then coming back as Batgirl, but that’s actual confidential information.
“Uh-huh.” Peter went back to his food, deeply unconvinced. “Sounds like an alibi someone made up after the egg hatched.”
Spoiler pressed a hand to her chest. “I am being framed.”
“You’re being investigated,” Peter corrected. “Big difference.”
She looked down at her half-finished card, contemplating adding another color other than purple and black. “Okay, but what if I add glitter?”
Peter paused mid-chew.
Spoiler watched him closely. “The good kind. Not loose glitter. I’m not a monster.”
Peter considered this with grave seriousness. “Glitter glue?”
“Obviously.”
He lowered the chopsticks. “That would help your case.”
Spoiler fist-pumped again, quieter this time. Progress. She was making progress. “Great. Perfect. I love due process.”
Peter pointed at her card with his chopsticks. “Write ‘thank you for your bat service’ on the inside.”
“Sir, yes sir!” She mock saluted, pulling out the glitter glue she always kept handy. You never know when you’ll need a glitter bomb, pocket glitter, glitter glue, the list goes on.
Spoiler dutifully added onto her thank-you letter, though she peaked at Peter as he finished off his food and began to fold some paper into almost-origami.
“How come you’re not making a thank-you letter too?” She asked idly, since their bickering seemed to have come to an end.
He raised an eyebrow. “Because I already made one with Red Robin?”
Spoiler tilted her head to the side for a moment, thinking. “How about making some for the other vigilantes?”
Peter blinked. “Wait, who else has kids?!”
Well, that is not what Spoiler was talking about. But technically that would be Nightwing. Because, well, y’know. Peter is literally his kid, so…
“Pfff— no! No, they’re—” Spoiler broke out into laughter, caught between the irony and the horror of anymore kids. She wiped a tear away. “No, but it wouldn’t hurt, right?”
Peter frowned. Man, he was not a fan of being laughed at. He liked making people laugh, but he was not a fan of being laughed at. Very different things. Also how Spoiler ended up on his shit-list in the first place.
“I guess…” Peter shrugged, not very into the idea since it wasn’t about Batman.
“You could thank Black Bat for her full face mask.” Spoiler said as a last ditch effort, resigned.
“You’re a genius!” Peter perked up immediately. He evidently leaned more toward the bat themed vigilantes… was this discrimination? Like, Spoiler was already exempt from the fruit list because she wasn’t a bird or a bat. Sigh, the cost of being cooler than everyone else.
She sighed dramatically. “I know. It’s quite burdensome at times.”
Peter’s only response was side-eyeing her.
“You’re gonna get a big head and float away,” he snarked, but was already pulling out another sheet of paper.
Spoiler clutched her chest. “Wow. I offer you creative inspiration and this is the thanks I get?”
“You’re on probation,” Peter reminded her, very seriously.
“Right. Right, sorry. Humble. Staying humble.” She mimed zipping her lips, then immediately unzipped them. “But I am a genius, just for the court’s records?”
Peter ignored her, tongue poking out slightly as he started sketching again.
Spoiler leaned over, trying to get a better look. “So what’s this one gonna say? ‘Thank you for wearing a full face mask’?”
Peter paused.
“No way….” Spoiler lit up. “Is that seriously what you’re gonna write?—”
“Well someone has to thank her for her service! You know how many heroes actually wear a proper mask? Too few, Spoiler, too few.” Peter explained like it was the most important thing in the world.
“I’m a visionary. A prophet, even.”
“Yeah, a false prophet maybe.” Peter rolled his eyes, but went back to drawing. His tongue sticking out quite adorably in concentration.
Peter added a couple of little bats around the words, then a very dramatic, flowing outline of what was clearly meant to be a full-face mask.
Spoiler squinted. “…that looks like a sock.”
“It’s just the outline!” Peter defended.
“Of what? A sock?”
“Dami would be disappointed if I could draw a simple frontal.” Peter said seriously, though it was inaccurate.
He was obviously talking about Damian, and while he likes drawing, he doesn’t expect everyone to be on his level. Damian draws with Peter because he likes hanging out with him. (Not that he’d ever admit that, of course.)
“Dami? Is that your art teacher or something?” Spoiler played dumb
Peter shook his head, still focussed on the task at hand. “Nuhuh, he’s my friend. We hang out all the time. Sometimes even with his brothers and stuff.”
“His brothers? Do you like them?” Spoiler asked.
Peter thought for a moment. “Damian’s family’s really nice to me, but…”
That was an ominous way to end a sentence pertaining to their civilian identities.
Peter looked up from his Black Bat appreciation card to squint at Spoiler. She did her best to project her earnestness (which was easier with her eyes not obscured by a domino, by the way).
And it worked.
“I dunno… I feel like they feel sorry for me.” Peter pursed his lips. “They talk in circles and around the bush because I live in Robinville,” read: near Crime Alley, homeless and guardianless, “so I feel like they walk on eggshells around me.”
“Cause, like, Damian is always straight forward and doesn’t, like, try to pick at every single thing I say. He says it how it is and he doesn’t think less of me.”
He began to shade the Black Bat drawing with decent accurateness, considering how elusive she typically is. Most people never get, or stay, close enough to see the finer details of her mask. And Peter only got to see her once in passing, that’s the impressive part!
“I like them, though. His brothers are fun, when they’re not looking at me like I’m some poor puppy.” Peter looked like he was going to say more, but decided against it.
Which… Yeah, that sounds about right. Robin should be proof enough some of them aren’t the best with kids outside of costume.
Spoiler hummed thoughtfully. She, as a civilian, was close. But as a vigilante, she wouldn’t know anything about that, realistically. So she had to act that part.
“Well, have you tried acting more like your friend?”
Peter tilted his head, but looked ready to defend his friend's honor. Cute. “What do you mean?”
“Well, by being more direct.”
A realization dawned on Peter.
“Oh.” He paused, thinking it through. “Um. I usually just leave when I get annoyed, so…”
Spoiler stared at him.
“…yeah, that tracks.”
“It’s efficient,” Peter added, nodding like he’d just made a strong point. He does that a lot.
“It’s evasive.”
“It avoids conflict.”
“It creates more conflict later.”
Peter frowned. “Not if you don’t come back.”
Spoiler snorted. “Okay, yeah, that’s one way to solve it.”
He shrugged, going back to outlining the card. “It works. Mostly.”
“Peter.”
“What.”
“You cannot ghost an entire family.”
“Watch me.”
“I have been,” she said dryly. “It’s why you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” he corrected automatically.
She perked up. “Oh?”
“You’re just—” he waved his marker around, searching for the word, “—kind of difficult?”
She bumped shoulders with him. “Sometimes difficult isn’t so bad, yeah?”
“Don’t push it.” He said, though he didn’t look displeased.
Spoiler grinned anyway.
“Okay, but hypothetically,” she continued, leaning forward a little, “if you didn’t avoid them, what would you say?”
Peter paused mid-line.
“…I don’t know.”
“Try.”
He made a face.
“…like, ‘stop looking at me like that’?” he offered.
Spoiler nodded. “Good start.”
“‘I’m not a puppy.’”
“Excellent. Strong message.”
“‘I can hear you thinking.’”
“A little threatening, but I respect it.”
Peter huffed a laugh despite himself, shaking his head.
“Dami would just call them stupid.”
“He probably calls everyone stupid.”
“Yeah, but he means it. Plus, his insults are always so polished, if you’re dumb you don’t even know he just insulted your entire bloodline.”
Spoiler would know. She’s a longtime victim of Robin now.
Spoiler leaned back again. “See? You’re getting the hang of it.”
Peter didn’t respond, but he didn’t immediately dismiss it either, which Spoiler was counting as progress.
“…still gonna leave sometimes,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” she said easily. “Fair.”
Peter pulled away from the card he’d been working on showing off a surprisingly good drawing of Black Bat looking very heroic with several big red arrows pointing at her mask.
“Hey, that came out really good!”
“Good for a sock, you mean?” Peter said smugly.
“Best sock I ever did see.” She said solemnly.
Peter huffed, clearly pleased despite himself, and added one last aggressive arrow pointing at the mask like he needed to really drive the point home.
That was more so just the cover of the letter, and Spoiler had seen Peter writing something on the inside. He liked Black Bat for more than just her mask, but because she was an excellent vigilante. Even if she wasn’t as popular as Nightwing or Batman.
Spoiler watched him for a second, grin softening just a bit.
He was a good kid, despite his circumstances. A little avoidant? Sure, but daddy issues will do that to a person. (Spoilers! Personal experience talking.) (Nightwing is going to have to pay for his therapy)
Peter finished off the last of his tea and put the trash in his bag. “Um, make sure you get your letter to Batman, by the way!”
“He’d know if I didn’t… he’s the world’s best detective, y’know?” Spoiler said conspiratorily, helping Peter clean up the rest of their mess. Littering is bad, kids!
“Want me to take your letter to Black Bat, too?” Spoiler asked, gesturing to paper tucked into Peter’s pocket.
He thought for a moment. “Uhm… No, I’m good. Wanna give it to her myself.”
Spoiler nodded, somewhat mystified that something so cute was part Nightwing. (But then she remembered what living and working with him was like and it clicked together seamlessly. How someone can never meet their dad and still be the spitting image of them— personality wise— is a wonder. Peter held similarities to Dick in the way Damian was reminiscent of Bruce even when he was the carbon copy of Talia. It was all in mannerisms and expressions, more than anything else.)
She checked the time on her phone, then glanced back out over the rooftops. It was a relatively uneventful night, but she still had to make her rounds.
Duty, unfortunately, called.
“Welp!” she clapped her hands lightly against her knees as she pushed herself up. “Gotta finish my patrol. Crime doesn’t stop just because I’m busy defending my honor.”
“Skill issue.”
“Rude,” she shot back automatically, already stepping toward the edge of the roof. Then she paused, glancing back at him. “You’re a good kid, Peter. You deserve nice things, too.”
Peter didn’t respond to that. He ducked his head instead, shoulders hunching just a little, like he didn’t quite know what to do with something like that.
She couldn’t resist the urge, playfully ruffling his curls. If both Batman and RR got to do it, then she wanted to, too!
Spoiler smiled softly before she dropped off the building and out of sight.
Peter is an easy going kid, but by no means is he easy as a person. He’s sassy and tight-lipped and stubborn. And when he gets fed up with them, as vigilantes and in civvies, he just leaves without a word.
He is difficult, but he is worth it.
Spoiler turned off her mute and was immediately bombarded with Nightwing asking question after question, with an unsurprising Robin in tow.
“How is he? Is he okay? Oh man, I should bring some blankets—” Nightwing somehow managed to hover from across the city. Spoiler rolled her eyes.
“Dude, chill, this is what Peter was talking about with the puppy thing.” Spoiler sighed, grappling out of Robbinville.
“Puppy thing? What puppies?” Nightwing asked, confused.
“Did Peter find some strays?” was Robin’s first priority. He muttered something about ‘going against their pact’, but boy friendships were weird. Spoiler stopped questioning it.
She smiled vindictively.
“Well, actually—”
She cut herself off, spotting something in the distance. A black mass too big to be her lovely and amazing girlfriend, leaving the only viable option being her broody boss-almost-dad-but-not-quite situation. Spoiler did a detour to land on the rooftop next to Batman.
Spoiler didn’t startle, far too used to this. “You have got to stop doing that, man.” she groaned.
Batman didn’t respond, staring ominously. Instead, he extended his hand once Spoiler was closer.
Spoiler raised an eyebrow.
“…seriously?” she said flatly. “No greeting? No ‘how was your night, Spoiler’? Nothing?”
Batman awkwardly cleared his throat. “How was your night, Spoiler—”
“No, nevermind, that was weird,” Spoiler waved him off. She began rummaging around in her pouches, more for show than anything because she wanted to make him wait.
Pulling out the card, still faintly sticky from the glitter glue, placing it into his palm with gusto. “One ‘thank you for giving birth to my girlfriend’ appreciation card!”
Batman was hardly moved by the joke, since it’s been non-stop since RR’s letter. (And when Oracle got ahold of the audio of their conversation. Best favor Spoiler ever used.) He took the card silently, but with surprising gentleness.
“Oh, also…” Spoiler had been thinking about this one for a minute too. “Who's gonna be the one to break it to Peter?”
Batman, adeptly assuming she’s not talking about his parentage, waits for her to elaborate.
“That you’re not part bat and, the best part, that you didn’t give birth to anyone?” She gave an appraising look. “But if you did, you look great!”
Batman looked at her flatly.
“Peter’s coaching me on how to talk to pregnant people and parents,” Spoiler added. “Am I doing good? He said he’d shorten my probation if I got good marks.”
She finally got Batman to do his signature sigh as he turned away, ready to grapple back into the night.
“Don’t you like to…” He paused dramatically to look back at her.. “‘Spoil’ it?”
Batman smirked at Spoiler’s baffled face and the roaring comms before leaping off the roof.
She stood alone, scandalized, as the others roared on the other side.
“Did he just—?”
“I clipped it!”
“I taught him how to do that.”
“No you didn’t”
They laughed like a pack of hyenas, which was a real testament considering Spoiler literally pet sat for Harley last week.
“Dude, you just got served.” Nightwing wheezed uncontrollably.
“The Court themed jokes are only funny from Peter.”
“Jurys out and Batman is in.”
“That doesn’t even make sense!” Spoiler whined.
“Doesn’t matter, you got roasted by B.” Nightwing informed solemnly. Permanent aura loss.
“...You’re the one that’s going to have to explain to Peter that B didn’t give birth to you guys.”
The line went silent once more.
“Fuck…” Nightwing swore softly.
The hyenas returned at max volume.
—+—
When Staphanie came to the batcave the next day, she didn’t know how to feel when she saw her card hung with equal importance, right alongside Tim’s and Peter’s.
Even with Tim’s piss poor creativity, it was at least readable. Some parts were left illegible from where the excessive purple glitter glue bled into the purple marker. It was a bit wrinkled, she wasn’t nearly as gentle with the card as Bruce was, but he’d taken the time to smooth them back out. There was a glitter, way too much glitter, something that annoyed everyone at times. Steph was perpetually covered in glitter day and night, and she naturally left glitter everyone she was. Steph called it her ‘sparkle brightening the room up’, but the others (besides Cass) don’t care for the stubbornness of the glitter.
It’s not that she was so insecure to think Bruce didn’t care about her as much as his actually adopted kids. But she was technically, legally, not his responsibility.
Her mom was still alive, she didn’t live here, and she wasn’t always the best at listening to orders…
Still obsessed with long haired dick and must get idea out
peter getting deaged but instead of trying to rough it he has a picture of his dad (Dick) from when he was in college at Hudson Uni and he goes around asking people, "Have you seen this man?" like hes some sort of private investigator
because peter is small, no one takes him seriously, and he can't work or rent or even walk around the grocery store without being bugged, so he decided he needs to find his parents. and if they're already dead, he's gonna find his aunt or uncle, but he'll take it one guardian at a time
and it gets to the point where he goes to the library to print out pictures of Dick (from college, with his long luscious hair and everything) to put up like missing peoples posters
and fun fact, Barbara is like, the head librarian so she wouldn't actually work at the front desk very often, if ever. so she comes into work one day, and sees someones putting up old ass photos of Dick asking if theyve seen him and she kinda just. stares for a minutes. bc wtf? but then she calls dick and is like
"hey did you piss someone off in college?"
and dick's like, "yeah, loads. why?"
"You should come to the library next time you're free. someone put posters up of you at Hudson with your long hair asking, 'have you seen this man?' like its a wanted picture." Barbara says, evidently amused.
"huh. definitely not the weirdest thing, but sure I'll drop by" Dick agrees
the next day rolls around, and maybe one or two (or all) of his siblings decided they wanted to visit Barbara after hours with some pizza and to see the infamous posters.
they're chatting and laughing a bit about the posters, and pull up security and see its a little boy putting them up. they see him get a old tattered picture out of his pocket and photocopy it, fail the first time, then figure out how to make it as big as he needed. then he just. goes around gotham putting this picture of Dick up asking if gotham has seen it's local billionaire celebrities eldest son.
so they're like "well shit. we gotta find this kid and asks what he wants with dick"
tim has already started a betting pool that it's dick's son from a college fling
they catch peter a couple days later because he has to come back to the library to make more posters. he actually came up to them to ask if they've seen this man, no preamble.
"so, uh, what's with the posters?" dick asks, sweating.
"this is my dad, tryna find the dude." which, weird way to phrase that, but jesus chrsit dick is gonna throw up from anxiety.
"are you sure that's your dad, honey?" barbara asks, because dick's brain totally short circuited
"Lady, I think I would know who my dad is. i just don't know where he is, thank you very much." the kid replied, indignant.
"well, we're just asking because that's a picture from when my brother was in college." tim says, gesturing to dick who is quite literally front and center.
the kid squints. he pulls out his ripped and faded picture, held together with scotch tape and spite.
"but your hairs so much..."
the kid pauses, and dick expects some sort of jab or joke. one his siblings would make, usually because his long hair was tied to his Discowing suit.
"...lamer. why'd you cut it?"
great. dick has an (alleged) child and his first priority was asking why he cut his hair? Seriously? (He usually just blames it on his dad)
"Um, kiddo, I don't know if that's out biggest priority right now..." Dick starts gently, falling back on what he'd do as nightwing and distancing the flabbergasted Dick side of his brain.
"Oh, yeah, right." he nods, like it's a casual conversation and not... whatever this is. he rummages around in his pocket.
"here." he holds out a vial of... holy shit, is that blood?
"why do you have that-- um. okay. how about we get a name and age before... that."
tim takes it. for some reason???
the kid rolls his eyes. "I'm Peter, and uhhh. I think I'm probably like, eight? I look eight, right?"
Damian gives Peter and appraising look. "If you're on the smaller side, but maybe even seven. How do you not know your own age?"
"i dunno. ask my dad" peter shugs, passing the blame onto his (alleged) dad
wow. what the fuck? what is dick supposed to do with this?
“Does he give birth to live birds or do you guys come out of eggs?” Peter tilted his head. Red Robin wishes he could say it was a mischievous question, meant to poke fun at them, but unfortunately for everyone, he was being genuine.
“...I asked how you liked your eggs.”
“Does this not pertain to eggs?” Peter rolled his eyes, messing with a birdarang he stole from Red Robin. (He let him take it, obviously. He was trained by the Lady Shiva.)
Now, Red Robin doesn't want to ruin the magic or whatever. Because Nightwing (probably Bruce too, he's awfully attached) would track him down if he did. Once he was properly disemboweled, they'd find him spleenless and only half the man. But how the fresh fuck does one answer whether they were, one, apparently birthed from the Knight of Vengeance himself, and two, if it was from an egg or a fucking live birth.
Actually, no, why is he focusing on that, when the real question is why the hell did Peter automatically assume Batman gave birth? If he was Seahorseman or something instead of Batman, sure, it might've made sense, but… What?
Red Robin was well and truly speechless.
“—and if it was a live birth, who was his doula? Or a midwife?” Peter continued, fully committed now. “And why are you all birds instead of bats like him? Well, except Batgirl. I really like—”
“—her full face mask, yes, I know,” Red Robin cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You didn't answer the question!” He complained (read: whined), throwing a grape at Red Robin, which he caught in his mouth. A skill dutifully passed on by Nightwing, impressing the importance of airborne-food to mouth coordination unto Red Robin back when he was Robin.
" ...It's classified." Red Robin started, when an idea struck. "But I'll cut you a deal."
"A deal?" Peter tilted his head, looking up from the birdarang. Red Robin was glad it was a deactivated one.
"Yes," he leaned in conspiratorily. "I’ll tell you how, if you tell me your full name and whether you are safe or not."
Peter leaned away, frowning. He looked pensive, but damn if he wasn't curious. What's that saying about a curious cat again?
He gnawed at his lip in silence.
A couple minutes passed, and Red Robin was resigned to thinking he wouldn't go for it. It wasn't his first attempt at getting the kids actual name, and wouldn’t be the last. Considering they couldn't find a face ID and haven't been able to get any DNA yet. Which is blasphemous! Batman literally pet his hair! It was an optimal opportunity squandered!
"...Parker." Peter finally said.
“Really?" Red Robin squinted. "You look more like a Smith or something."
A piece of cantaloupe hit his cheek, sliding down pathetically onto his lap. He picked it up and ate it.
"Jackass." Peter stuck his tongue out. “You look like your name is Tom or something equally lame.”
Red Robin narrowed his eyes, momentarily wondering if Peter knew something. That was uncannily close. The name was, not that his name was lame, obviously.
Well, it wasn't his full name, but Parker was a start. They were fairly certain his first name was actually Peter, anyway. He responds to it too well for it not to be. Peter Parker, huh? Red Robin was honestly kind of expecting him to say Piper, just to be an ass.
"And your safety?" Red Robin asked seriously.
Peter shrugged. "About as safe as any other person in Gotham."
Way to work around the question. Red Robin narrowed his eyes behind the mask, but didn't retort. It was an answer in and of itself.
"Well…” He leaned back, contemplative. The best lies were the ones with a hint of truth, right?
“All of us were live births," His lips curled up into a nearly malicious grin. "Except for Robin. He came from an egg." Tube baby, egg, what's the difference? He certainly saw none.
Peter leaned in, a little too invested. Oh, Red Robin was going to have a field day the next time Robin saw Peter and got asked about how ‘coming out of an egg’ was, as if he wasn’t already dealing with a closet.
"As for Batman's midwife..." he titled his head back in thought. "Superman helped with one or two, but he had most of us alone, I think." He was counting Superman helping train Nightwing, honestly.
"All alone?" Peter said... Sadly? "But bats are very social creatures..." Oh. He didn’t think about that.
Red Robin didn't know whether to laugh or feel bad. Batman was going to have some very awkward questions next time he saw Peter. He ate another piece of melon.
Welp, not his problem.
"You should make him a thank you card."
Red Robin choked. "Im sorry... what."
Okay, so maybe it's also his problem now.
"The working girls were telling me how they were coming together for Cherry because she's having a baby, and how stressful it is, but how excited they were. Said she got a real good job at WE and she and her wife can finally have a baby since they escaped sex work and invited their friends to the baby shower." Peter said casually, grabbing his backpack.
"They took me with them! It was a gender reveal." He pulled out a Frankensteined camera of spare parts, duck tape, and hope. Wires jutting out in several directions. The screen was in pretty good condition, though.
"They're having a baby girl, if you're curious." He handed the camera to Red Robin, who looked through. Oh. He thinks he recognizes some of the girls from the Narrows.
"Huh. And this correlates to the thank you card... how?" The kid was a pretty good photographer, actually. The vigilante could appreciate the angles and lighting.
“For giving birth to you?” Peter said, like that was obvious. “Alone? Multiple times? That’s messed up, dude. You guys don’t even send flowers?”
Red Robin stared at him.
Peter stared back, genuinely judgmental. It was actually beginning to make Red Robin feel like a bad son, even though none of this happened, and hopefully would never happen.
“Batman doesn’t need flowers.” He tried.
“He absolutely needs flowers. Or, like, fruit. He’s a bat, right? Bam, fruit basket. Easy.”
Red Robin pressed his lips together so hard it hurt. “A fruit basket.”
“Yes. With a card.” Peter nodded solemnly. “Dear Batman, thank you for your service and/or uterus. Sorry about the egg one.”
Red Robin made a sound that was not a laugh, because he had self-control and dignity, probably.
Peter adjusted his glasses matter-of-factly. “You joke, but postpartum support is important.” Peter rolled his eyes, like Red Robin was the crazy one.
He shrugged. Guess this is what they were doing now. "Okay, but only if you help me. I've never made one before."
Peter thought about it for a second before nodding. "M'kay, I can do that. Here!"
He dove back into his backpack, fishing our colored pencils and some paper. Red Robin leaned in casually, getting a good look inside. Some notebooks, a zip lock baggie with money, water, non perishables snacks, the gas mask he gave him, a glimpse of some red and blue pajamas at the bottom, and a variety of knicknacks and doodads Peter had evidently decided were essential to survival..
"Do you want to make one too?" Red Robin asked, clearing a space in front of him to place the paper down.
Peter shook his head mutely. "Nobody to give it to." He said shortly.
Red Robin’s expression softened, but he didn’t address it directly. Peter always got flighty when they dug too much. One time he had literally just walked away from Nightwing mid-conversation and climbed down the fire escape. Nightwing had followed, obviously, but Peter had gone almost completely nonverbal after that. Lesson effectively learned.
"I’ve never made one before, so you gotta walk me through making it. Then Batman can get two, so that's twice as much support, right? Gotta support single parents, Pete." Red Robin bullshitted his way out of the somber mood. His specialty.
"You sure he wants one from me?" Peter tilted his head, fiddling with the sleeves of his Robin hoodie. Robin had given it to him in civvies after deciding Peter’s wardrobe was, quote, “tragically insufficient.” Peter and Robin had started hanging out in the library more often lately, and possibly somewhere else too, though Robin refused to tell the rest of them where. Something about “sacred trust.” Kids were so weird these days.
"Peter, he'd probably like one from you way more than one from me." Not untrue. Red Robin’s was coming from a place of teasing and fun, while Peters was adorably earnest.
He got uncharacteristically shy, ducking his head. "M'kay."
Red Robin totally stared. The kid could roast them six ways to Sunday, but writing some sort of weird birth-appreciation card is where he got embarrassed?
Peter pulled out some more paper. "So, fold it hamburger style to make it a card," he did like so.
"Why not hotdog style?" Red Robin asked more for conversation than anything.
"Because hotdog style sucks, don't ask silly questions." He's a very opinionated twelve year old, that's for sure. Red Robin put his hands up in surrender.
"And then on the front put a meaningful thing like, like... 'You're the best bat-dad' or 'thanks for giving bat-birth to me'." Peter nodded to himself, likely thinking he was a genius. He was already doodling little bats and birds around his front page.
Now, Red Robin was absolutely here for the bit, but if he wrote “bat-birth” in actual pencil, on actual paper, he would never recover socially. He chose the first option.
For all that Red Robin liked designing tech, coding, photography, and occasionally committing light cybercrime for the greater good, he wasn’t exactly an arts-and-crafts prodigy. Anything Peter suggested in passing, he sort of just… did.
The front of his card ended up saying, plainly:
You’re my Bat-Dad
He drew a tiny Red Robin symbol beside a slightly lopsided bat symbol. Inside, in his usual scrawl of barely legible writing, he wrote:
Thank you for having me.
—Your son, Red Robin
He stared down at it.
Peter leaned over to inspect his work.
A long silence passed.
Then Peter patted his arm. “It’s okay. Not everyone’s creative.”
Red Robin slowly turned to look at him. “I built a portable signal jammer out of a toaster oven once.”
“Yeah, but can you draw a bat that doesn’t look like a squished moth?”
Red Robin looked back at the card.
The bat did, unfortunately, look like a squished moth.
Red Robin narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like you very much.”
Peter smiled innocently. “That’s okay, the rest of your family does.”
Yeah, this kid definitely made “yo mama” jokes.
RR’s card certainly looked plain compared to Peter's, who was, working on drawing a chibi version of every bird and bat in the city. He couldn't seem to decide on one corny line, so he wrote all of the corny lines he thought of. It was very... endearing? Yeah, endearing.
"Are you gonna sign it?" Red Robin asked, smiling a bit at the bird-birth jokes. Batman was never living any of this down.
Though it made Peter frown again.
Great. Fantastic. Red Robin was somehow distressing him through arts and crafts. Comforting children was not his specialty. He had talents, many talents, but this was not one of them. Wing or Hood would’ve been better at this. Maybe even Signal. Signal had that whole calming-presence thing. Red Robin had “russian sleep experiment” energy, according to Peter.
He put a really, really tiny "Peter P." on the bottom of the page. He probably figured since he told Red Robin, everyone else would find out, eventually.
Then his expression cleared, and he looked over at Red Robin’s card with a raised brow. “You just gonna leave it so… millennial coded?”
"Millennial coded!? How old do you think I am!" Red Robin gasped, offended.
"The only color is for your own symbol! Talk about self absorbed!" Peter fired back.
"The bat is black, though!" Red Robin defended.
"Yeah, but the symbol used to be yellow! Give it some pop, man." Peter tsked, like Red Robin shouldn't have been thinking of the most recent of the bat suit iterations, but from a creative point of view. If he wanted art, he should've gone to Robin!
"Well it's already black, I can't color over it with yellow!" Red Robin held up the paper, gesturing helplessly.
"Just color around it, dummy." Peter rolled his eyes.
"Oh... yeah that makes more sense." Fair enough, honestly.
Peter nodded (somewhat) approvingly at the letters of what he deemed "single parent support, because they deserve love too".
Red Robin gently took Peter's card, tucking both their cards securely into his waterproof pouches. He'd probably dispose of his card and just give Batman Peter's.
Peter was evidently proud of himself, even letting himself pop a couple pieces of fruit. He usually wouldn't eat any while one of them was here, because he insisted it was for them, only eating what they left, since he couldn't keep fresh fruit. They let him think they didn’t know where he was staying. It made him feel safer or something, but Peter was undoubtedly homeless. Though he definitely hadn't grown up on the streets. Big difference. While he was skittish, he wasn't nearly as bad as born and bred gothamites. Nor was he very slick. He was staying in the same abandoned building he waited on top of for them.
“RR, you there?” Oracle piped up, unmuting the comms.
Red Robin tapped his comm. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Need you in the Fashion District. Diamond robbery in progress. Batman’s en route.”
Red Robin groaned. “Does he really need me, though? It’s just a little heist…"
"RR." He could practically hear Oracle’s exasperation.
“Okay, okay. Jeez, I’m going.” He stood, brushing crumbs and pencil shavings off his suit before glancing back at Peter. “Stay safe”
Peter gave him a bland look. “Wow. Groundbreaking advice. You should put that on a billboard.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know. That’s what makes it funny.”
Red Robin sighed and pointed at him. “Stay alive.”
Peter saluted with a piece of cantaloupe. “Actually, I had my untimely demise scheduled for today… Might be conflicting interests.”
“Deeply reassuring.” Peter stood up too, following Red Robin to the ledge, “And don’t steal the birdarang.”
Peter froze with his hand halfway toward Red Robin’s gear pouch.
Red Robin narrowed his eyes.
Peter slowly withdrew his hand. “I was admiring it.”
“From inside my pouch?”
“Art is immersive.”
Red Robin stared at him for another second before his expression softened despite himself. “See ya, yeah, Pete?”
Peter looked up just as Red Robin reached out and ruffled his hair.
Much like with Batman a couple days ago, Peter leaned into the touch before he seemed to realize he was doing it. Then he ducked his head, ears pink, swatting his hand away.
“Make sure to give Batman his cards, though! I’ll know if you don’t.”
Red Robin laughed. “I will, I will.”
He backed toward the ledge, fired his grappling hook, and launched off the building. And maybe he added a couple unnecessary flips between rooftops, twisting neatly before landing on the next ledge.
Behind him, Peter cheered.
Red Robin grinned into the wind.
—+—
Once he and Batman finished up with the robbers (and silently thankful it wasn't Catwoman. Batman always went suspiciously dark when it was…), they sat on a rooftop catching their breath. Or, what Red Robin thought was catching their breath.
Batman held out his hand expectantly.
Red Robin raised an eyebrow. “...What?”
“My cards,” Batman said simply.
Oh. He must’ve heard Peter remind him not to forget them. He also sounded a little too eager, which was deeply funny and deeply dangerous information.
“Oh, right. Yeah, it’s right here.” Red Robin pulled Peter’s card out of his pouch, smoothing out the tiny wrinkle it had gotten from being wedged between smoke pellets and emergency lock picks. The pouches were spacious, sure, but they were already crammed with enough gear to survive a small apocalypse.
He handed Batman the card.
Batman looked down, reading the card. Red Robin saw the faintest quirk of his lips.
He looked up expectantly once more.
“He said cards,” Batman said. “Plural.”
If Red Robin had x-ray vision, he knew Batman’s eyebrows would be raised.
Dang it. Caught already.
He could lie. Say Peter misspoke, say there was only one, say the other got damaged, say anything that didn’t involve handing Batman a card that said thank you for having me, your son, Red Robin like some sort of emotionally compromised loser.
Instead, Red Robin pursed his lips and met Batman’s stare for approximately three seconds before losing the silent standoff.
“Fine,” he muttered.
He yanked the second card out and shoved it into Batman’s hand a little too quickly. If Batman noticed, which he absolutely did, he was merciful enough not to comment.
Batman looked down at it.
Red Robin braced himself.
All of Batman’s kids knew he wasn’t a man of many words, especially when it came to openly expressing himself. That was why Red Robin wasn’t surprised when all he did was nod appreciatively, tucking the handmade letters into his pouch securely away. What was the surprising part was how he tucked them away; like they were more precious than the flimsy pieces of paper it actually was.
Red Robin’s throat did something weird.
“Okay, well,” he said, laughing awkwardly, maybe a tad hysterically. “I’m gonna go. Y’know. Head back to the Cave.”
He was not running away. It was a tactical retreat.
Red Robin grappled off the rooftop, ignoring Spoiler’s immediate questioning and everyone else’s nosy chatter. Stupid siblings. Stupid family of detectives. He remembers when he was an only child.
Batman stayed on the roof a moment longer, one hand resting briefly over the pouch that held the cards.
Now, Red Robin wasn’t sure what he’d expected Batman to do with them. Hide them? Put them in a box? Pretend not to care? Burn them in some emotionally constipated ritual? Not that he cared, obviously. Improving Batman’s cybersecurity and designing vigilante gear was one thing. Actually calling him dad, even with “bat” shoved in front of it as plausible deniability, was something else entirely.
But of all the possibilities on his list, coming down into the Cave the next morning and seeing both cards pinned to a new cork board, framed in expensive metal and protected under glass, was absolutely not one of them.
Peter’s card was front and center, little bats and birds scattered around the edges.
Red Robin’s was beside it, yellow-outlined wobbly little bat symbol and all.
The small, pleased smile that spread across his lips didn’t last long.
The batcomputer dinged, having completed sequencing Peter’s DNA.
Peter thinks batman is like, a bat meta, so he keeps waiting on rooftops and trying to give him fruit and everyone is like "if anyone ruins this im breaking the no kill rule" and Peter's absolutely MORTIFIED when he finds out
Oracle: Hey, batman?
Batman, already sighing. His Dad Gut is going off.
Spoiler: I know that sigh! Is it fruit kid? I hope its fruit kid. Hes insane I love him
Oracle, not even hiding her laugh: fruit kid has a name, ya know
Red Robin, maybe losing his mind a little bit: no one believes his name is Peter Pan! He used the peanut butter as proof when B asked!
Nightwing: hes a riot, RR, gotta respect his commitment to chaos
Batman: same spot as usual?
Oracle: Yep. Oohhh, hes got bananas and watermelon today. I think he was Google best fruit for bats in the library
Robin: no he asked me about that, he was googling how much is safe for them to eat
Theres distorted laughing on the other end of the line
Batman absolutely not upset at all. This is probably the most wholesome interaction hes had with a civilian in years. (Alfred already had a room ready at the manor, unbeknownst to him)
Batman lands stealthily on a rooftop, right on the edge between crime Alley and robbinville. "Fruit Boy", although they mostly call him by Peter too, since he actually responded to that. And also because the last time someone (Read: Spoiler) called his fruit boy, he said she sounded homophobic and hed ruin her street cred. He had put up little Christmas lights for when he waited for Batman so he could find him.
Peter looked behind him just as batman landed. It was suspicious, and maybe running into one too many child assassins had made Bruce weary in his age. Though, its not like Peter actually moved like an assassin... he just seemed to be eerily aware.
Batman only says that because hes seen him trip over nothing, faceplanting into the chili dog with pickles splattering comically all around him. Like a fallen angel, nightwing had said.
Peter peaked up as soon as he saw Batman.
Peter, holding up a platter of fresh fruits for Batman up over his head: Hey! Took you long enough
Batman, smiling lightly: I thought i told you it wasn't safe to keep doing this?
He took a piece of cut up banana regardless.
Peter blew a raspberry.
Peter, eyebrows furrowed: do you know how many calories a bat has to eat a day?
Batman, humorously: how many?
Peter, shrugging: dunno. But i never see you guys eat, so youre probably not hitting the benchmark.
Peter held up a bag of trail mix happily.
Peter: I got some for your birds too!
Laughter exploded on the otherside of the comm. Batman almost chuckled too, but Peter was being earnest. (It was the only time he was earnest, considering he spent the rest of his time roasting Batman and anyone not wearing a full face mask. Which was everyone except Red Hood and Orphan, unfortunately for Batman.)
Batman: thank you Peter, im sure they'll appreciate it.
He ate a couple more pieces of fruit to make Peter happy, but as usual left over half the fruit for Peter. The kid frowned, but had since learned to stop arguing. He seemed to take Bruce not finishing the fruit as him not liking it or some adjacent health problem.
It was like his hand had a mind of its own, Batman watched, unable to stop it as it landed in a mess of brown curls.
Batman panicked, expecting how his kids would normally react. Swatting, a light attempt at stabbing, maybe a bite.
Peter visibly bluescreened, but otherwise seemed to enjoy the touch.
Batman: be safe, okay?
Peter: yeah yeah, wrap it before you tap it, go beat up a mugger or something man
Batman sighed.
This kid was also incapable of taking anything seriously, except the most unserious things. Like feeding Batman fruit and insisting he send trail mix to Robin because hes, quote unquote, "a growing biroy. Get it? I put together bird and boy". He laughed at his own joke for a full seven minutes. Batman had thought he was hit with Joker venom, but no, his humor was really that lame.
Batman shot his grappling hook, showing off a little because it made Peter cheer for him.
He managed to sneak a couple twenties in Peters pocket before leaping into the night.
Highly recommend reading this on ao3 for the skin!
The next afternoon, Dick was back at Charlie’s. He made sure to arrive a couple minutes late, just enough to look casual and not too invested. The kind of blasé attitude someone might expect from Richard “Richie” Grayson-Wayne, a billionaire’s son, but invested enough to keep some respect. He’s not Bruce (thank the gods).
Plus, people love the himbo act. Case and point? Bruce again.
He pushed through the tent flap balancing a cardboard drink carrier in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other, expensive sunglasses he stole from Tim perched on his nose, and an easygoing grin already in place.
“I come caffeinated and bearing carbs!” he announced, lifting the drinks in invitation.
That got immediate attention. Jean-Luc looked at Dick judgmentally at first, probably for showing up late, but moved past it quickly once the drinks were announced.
Dick passed them out one by one. He’d gotten a variety, letting the lot choose their own. “Figured I’d grab everyone a coffee, since Robbinville’s only coffee shop burned down last month.”
That got some odd stares. “Y’know, we’ve performed in Florida, and Gotham is still somehow worse.” Sasha whispered loudly to Deborah, and was promptly shushed.
Dick laughed charmingly. “No, no, you’ve got a point. Gotham isn’t for the weak of heart.” He finished handing out the last of the coffees, setting the almost empty carrier down on the bench as the group settled back into their stretches.
Sasha took a careful sip, then paused, glancing at the lone remaining cup still sitting in the cardboard tray. “And this one?” she asked, pointing to the final drink.
Dick glanced around automatically. “That’s for Peter.” Sweet black tea, lid still sealed. Dick hadn’t been sure what anyone would have wanted, but Peter was young and didn’t need to get hooked on the legal drug called caffeine just yet.
He didn’t miss the eyeroll from Jean-Luc.
Speaking of, that kid must’ve been running late again. Maybe he was with that ‘Ms. Sandy’ from yesterday? Dick wonders if she’s his guardian or even grandmother. When he met a good chunk of the people that worked at the circus yesterday, he hadn’t seen anyone who looked like Peter. Couldn’t be sure about whether the last names lined up or not, though. Plus, looking alike didn’t necessarily mean there was any relation. Once again, exhibit A: Bruce and his gaggle of kids.
The tent was already in warm-up mode. Nothing flashy yet, just some stretches to keep someone from tearing something important. Malcolm sat on the mat with one leg extended, folding carefully over his hamstring, then switching sides. Sasha worked through shoulder rotations, arms looping forward and back before she leaned into a deep side stretch, fingers reaching toward the floor.
Deborah was already halfway into a backbend, palms flat on the mat as she held the position easily enough. She shifted smoothly into a bridge, then rolled out of it and twisted at the waist, cracking her spine.
Jean-Luc paced while stretching, rolling his wrists, then hooking one ankle behind him to loosen his quads. He watched the others like a hawk, correcting posture without actually stepping in to demonstrate anything.
Dick leaned against one of the support poles, sipping his own coffee as he observed. He offered small suggestions where he could, casual enough not to step on toes. “Sasha, try to keep your shoulders square when you reach. You’re tilting a little early.” She adjusted immediately. Malcolm shifted his stance when Dick gestured toward his footing, subtle but receptive. Deborah and Jean-Luc weren’t as receptive, begrudgingly listening to Dick because of his reputation more than anything.
Dick finished off his latte, glancing towards the entrance. Still no Peter.
Dick’s gaze drifted back to the table. The tea sat untouched, condensation starting to bead along the plastic. Jean-Luc followed his line, a condescending look flashing across his face.
“That brat is never on time.” Jean-Luc sneered, wrongfully thinking Dick would nod and agree like the others. “What is that American saying? He, ah, drags the rest of us down.”
Dick shrugged, easygoing. “Teenagers. Probably discovered sleep. Y’know, I have a little brother around Peter’s age. Do you think they’d get along? ‘Cause I was thinking—” Dick took the opportunity to both annoy Jean-Luc and brag about Damian and even sneaking in Tim’s recent skateboard competition.
Jean-Luc looked confused and disgruntled, caught between always being the top dog, and being forced to listen to someone higher up on the hierarchy brag about how ‘his brother’s art won an award recently’.
‘As if his rich daddy didn’t just buy it for him or something.’ Jean-Luc probably grouched in his mind, if his sour expression was anything to draw a conclusion from.
Dick could practically read this guy’s thoughts. He withheld an eyeroll.
They finished warming up, beginning to practice the same routine from yesterday. He stayed off the rig for now. Partially because he didn’t need to prove anything, partially because he wanted to see how they operated without him changing the dynamic too much. Well, anymore than he already has just by being present.
“Again,” Jean-Luc called, clapping his hands sharply.
Sasha had migrated to the tightrope set low to the ground, arms stretched out as she tried to find her balance. She wobbled, hopped down, and tried again, visibly frustrated. At one point she muttered something about how Peter made it look easy, which earned her a sharp look from Jean-Luc and a quick return to silence.
Dick checked the time again.
Thirty minutes late.
He found himself glancing toward the entrance more often than he meant to. He still regretted not seeing where Peter had gone last night. The kid had disappeared into the trailers and Dick had been pulled away before he could confirm anything. What if something had happened? Then again, Peter had been late yesterday too, and it wasn’t exactly unusual in a circus. There were always errands, setup, teardown, helping hands needed in three places at once.
Dick didn’t even remember strict rehearsal times like this at Haly’s. The Flying Graysons had been adults, trusted to manage their own training. You showed up when you needed to, practiced what you needed to, and no one hovered unless something went wrong.
Although… maybe there was. It had been two decades since he’d been home. He wasn’t sure if he even remembered what the schedule was, or if there even was a schedule.
Memory was funny like that. The broad strokes stayed sharp, but the smaller details blurred until they felt more like stories than lived moments. He remembered the warmth of the lights, the smell of chalk and the animals, the low murmur of the crowd before a show. He remembered his mother’s laugh echoing too loudly for the small trailers, his father’s steady hands. His mother hated it, but he’d toss Dick up in the air, catching him and swinging him in one big arc. They were some of his favorite memories. But the structure of it? The day-to-day? Whether they’d had strict hours, or just… moved when the rhythm felt right? That part slipped away the harder he tried to pin it down.
Maybe they had practiced on a schedule. Maybe someone had called for warm-ups, or clapped hands, or barked out corrections the way Jean-Luc did. But it didn’t feel like that in his head. In his memories, it had always been gentler. More trust, less scrutiny. He’d been a kid moving among adults who treated him like he belonged there, not like he was something to resent, a source of envy.
Or maybe that was just nostalgia sanding the edges smooth.
He shifted his weight, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the entrance again.
He remembered being allowed to wander between tents, remembered older performers keeping half an eye on him without making it obvious. Someone always nearby, someone always ready to catch him if he slipped and comfort him when he fell. He didn’t remember anyone watching the clock, waiting for him to mess up, reveling in targeting a child.
Then again, memory was a fickle thing. Blotting out the ugly parts, giving mediocre moments a rose tinted filter. No amount of training undid someone’s childhood. (That’s what therapy is for, Bruce.)
Dick exhaled quietly.
He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the fact there was a kid with his move running around, or the fact his fellow performers were so green with envy they let him.
Dick never would’ve gotten away from his circus like Peter had last night. Matter a fact, the likely wouldn’t have even been able to even touch the front gate during the day, let alone at night. Foggy memory or not, he knows.
Dick sighed. No wonder Bruce started graying so early. Teenagers with sad circumstances always pull on heart strings.
Forty minutes.
Just as Dick started considering whether he should say something, the tent flap pushed open.
Peter rushed in, slightly out of breath, glasses crooked, hair an endearing curly mess. “Sorry—” he paused to catch his breath, “Sorry I’m late,” he called, already moving toward the chalk bin. “I got held up watching the kids.”
He looked tired. Not dangerously so, but enough that Dick noticed. Which wasn’t surprising, considering he’d watched the kid wandering around Bludhaven until two in the morning.
Jean-Luc’s head snapped toward him. “You are late. Again. If you cannot respect—”
“Hey,” Dick cut in smoothly, stepping forward before the tone could sharpen further. He shifted just enough to place himself between Jean-Luc and Peter without making it obvious. “Relax. He’s here now, isn’t he?”
“And so does not yelling at a kid over being a little tardy,” Dick replied lightly, already turning his attention to Peter. “You good?”
Ok, before anyone goes calling Dick a hypocrite, that shit is basically in his blood. What was he supposed to do? Let Jean-Limp curse him out? ‘Studying their dynamic’ wasn’t an Animal Planet documentary where he had to sit quietly while the local wildlife established dominance. There was a difference between observing patterns and letting someone get verbally steamrolled.
Besides, he wasn’t blowing the whole thing wide open. He hadn’t accused anyone, hadn’t escalated, hadn’t even raised his voice. He just, you know… redirected the energy. Stepped in, softened the landing, kept the kid from getting singled out. Subtle enough to keep the peace, obvious enough that Peter didn’t have to handle it alone.
He told himself that it still counted as observing.
Mostly.
And if it didn’t, well. Dick had never been particularly good at standing by and doing nothing.
Peter tilted his head and shrugged. “Yeah. ’m fine.” He eyed Dick, frowning. “I can handle myself, I don’t need you to baby me.”
Dick studied Peter for a moment. “I never said you couldn’t. But sometimes, it’s nice having someone to stick up for the little guy, y’know?”
Peter didn’t respond.
Or, rather, didn’t know how to respond.
Dick, smoothly gliding past Peter’s mixed expression, reached back toward the folding table, grabbing the cup and pastry bag he’d set aside earlier. “Oh, I grabbed you a—” He paused, feeling the now-lukewarm cup. “Actually, these are probably not good anymore. Whoops.”
Peter blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. You didn’t have to—”
“I’ll grab you something fresh later,” Dick said easily, setting the old cup aside. “Go warm up first. No flips and tricks till you’ve stretched, m’kay?”
He nodded, ducking his head as he set his stuff down. “And, uh, thanks.” Peter gave an awkward smile, evidently not too sure how to react after having someone, like, actually stand up for him.
“Anytime, kiddo.” Dick smiled, hand itching to ruffle his curls but he valiantly refrained. He’ll mess up Damian’s hair when he gets home instead. He kept his hands anchored underneath his armpits, unwilling to scare Peter off. He seemed like the skittish type.
Peter tenses up for a second at the nickname before continuing to walk away to stretch. Dick tilts his head.
Noted; not a fan of being called kiddo. Reason pending.
Practice resumed quickly after that. Peter slipped into position without complaint, cooperative and attentive, but the dynamic hadn’t changed much from the day before. Jean-Luc’s timing slipped just enough to make catches rougher than necessary, Deborah missed cues she hadn’t missed earlier, and Peter ended up compensating midair more than once. Nothing dangerous enough to call outright sabotage, but enough to make the pattern obvious.
Sasha hovered as backup flyer, occasionally rotating in, though she seemed reluctant about it. Malcolm stayed steady when paired with Peter, never deliberately causing issues, but he didn’t intervene either. He just did his part and let the rest happen.
Dick called things out occasionally, couching it in general corrections. “Earlier release.” “Commit to the catch.” “Reset that pass.” But more often than not, he watched.
It might’ve seemed cruel, but he was here to investigate the Amazing Arach-Kid as well as Charlie’s Circus as a whole; how they interacted mattered. If it crossed a line, he’d step in, like he had earlier. Until then, Peter handled it himself, letting the digs and near-misses roll off him like water off a duck’s back.
Eventually rehearsal wound down. The others peeled off, grabbing bags, talking about food, drifting toward the trailers. Someone invited Dick to join them for a smoke; he declined with an easy shrug and a polite excuse.
Soon enough, Peter was left behind, just like yesterday.
Peter finished one of the pastries, wiping his hands on his legs to get rid of the crumbs. Dick noticed Peter had only eaten the cheese danish Dick had taken a bite of, but ended up not finishing because he called out Deborah for letting go of Peter too early.
When he turned around, Dick was standing there with his hands on his hips, watching him.
“Well?” Dick grinned. “You ready?”
“I was born ready, old man.” Peter smirked, the sassy personality Dick had gotten a glimpse of yesterday coming back.
“Ohoho? Well this ‘old man’ is gonna school you.” Dick slipped his sweatpants and leather jacket off, revealing the unitard underneath. Practical, flexible, and already chalk-dusted. Peter nodded appreciatively at the efficiency, which soothed a tiny, ridiculous bit of pride. Damian had looked at him very judgmentally before he left the manor. It was time effective to wear it under his actual clothes, thank you very much!
“That response literally just aged you by, like, ten years. You feel the arthritis yet?” Peter snickered, offering Dick some chalk for his hands.
“Oh, you little shit,” Dick laughed, the sound warmer and less polished than his public-facing grin, shoulders loosening as he followed.
In response, Peter gave what Dick presumes to be his best shiteating grin. “What are we starting with? Aerial silks? The trapeze? Who can do the most cartwheels in a row?”
Dick hummed in faux thought. “How ‘bout starting off small, like with the balance beam?”
While the kid had undeniable, irrefutable talent, he wasn’t about to let him keep walking around with form like that. If he ever went pro, he’d be laughed off the stage. It’d be very damaging for a child’s psyche, and his joints. Boy, did Dick feel it in his joints. He’s saving him, if anything.
“What?!” Peter whined, visibly deflating “That’s, like, for babies!” He looked like he was about to cross his arms with a dramatic ‘harumph!’, then seemed to realize that would undermine his own point and settled for glaring instead.
Dick laughed and kept walking toward the balance beams. Peter jogged to catch up after pausing mid-complaint.
“You’re definitely one of the bigger ones I’ve seen, that’s for sure.” Peter swatted at him, but Dick used his years of vigilantism and being an older brother to dodge this civilian pre-teen.
“But this is extra training, Mr. Arach-Kid. I said we’d work on your form, didn’t I?” Dick gave into the instinct, poking Peter’s forehead when he saw his scowl and furrowed brows. “Your face’ll stay like that if you keep making it.”
“I thought we were gonna go on the trapeze…” While Peter didn’t whine or complain, exactly, he did sound fairly disappointed. It was said so softly Dick wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
It surprised Dick, a bit. He’d thought Peter would’ve had more apprehension about going on the trapeze, considering his many times he was purposely dropped today alone, but also because Dick’s an objective stranger. The trapeze was about as trust-intimate as it gets among the circus acts, an honorable mention going to the target girls who stood still while someone hurled knives at them with a smile. Nerves of steel, the lot of them.
“What’s that saying?” Dick hummed thoughtfully. “‘Rome wasn’t built in a day.’ Same thing with trust and synchronizing with your partner. I’m gonna be around until you guys pack up, we’ve got plenty of time to work our way up to the trapeze.” He kept his tone gentle without, quote unquote, “babying” Peter. End quote.
Being a flyer like Peter took a lot of trust and skill, but the bases he’d been working with were… decidedly neither of those things. Malcolm was steady enough, but not particularly proactive, and the others were… No, yeah, they all sucked ass in the attitude department. Dick didn’t want Peter thinking the trapeze was something you just threw yourself into and hoped for the best. He was basically working through the same foundational approach he used when coaching younger gymnasts: build control first, establish timing, then layer in trust once the mechanics were solid.
Speaking of, he had a class tomorrow. Maybe they’d do some balance beam work too?
Despite being pretty bummed out, Peter took it in stride. Nothing really seemed to get this kid down. Not the harsh words and heavy expectations of the people around him, nor Dick’s rejection, gentle as it was. Dick thought he seemed to be a pretty good kid, so far.
Sighing, Peter nodded. “M’kay, I guess that makes sense… kinda feels like a weird sex talk, though.”
Dick takes everything he just thought back. Choking out a weak, “What?”
“Y’know, the weird religious talk? Where they’re all like, ‘Don’t give yourself away to too many people, or you’ll have nothing left!’ and they do the weird thing where they give you shards of a broken plate or something and force you to give them away.” Peter said casually, thankfully clearing up a bit of Dick’s confusion. How nice. His lesson on making someone earn your trust was being likened to a weird Jesus sex talk.
Holy shit, he was not qualified to be around teenagers. Why was he here?
“...I think one of my younger brothers had that same exact talk, actually.” Dick blinked. Yeah, Tim definitely got this talk at some point when his ex-parents would send him to questionable boarding schools.
That made Peter brighten up, oddly enough. “Really? Which one?”
Dick tilted his head in questioning, but answered anyway. “Oh, my younger brother, Tim. He went to a lot of weird boarding schools before my dad adopted him.”
Peter deflated once more at Tim’s name. Had he been expecting a different name? Sometimes people have “favorite” Wayne siblings. “Oh. I got mine from my creepy foster parents.”
That went straight into Dick’s mental notes. An either dead or absent uncle, and dead or absent parents, if he had or had had foster parents. Okay, Dick, be chill. Curious, but not so curious you turned into the world’s most suspicious gymnastics instructor.
“Yeah?” Dick kept his tone light, stepping up onto the beam again. “You get the full presentation? PowerPoint? Props? Dramatic metaphors?”
He blinked, seemingly realizing what he said as Dick’s curious tone. Peter faltered, laughing awkwardly. He hadn’t meant to say that, evidently.
“Uhm, yeah. Whole shebang. Anyways,” he said dismissively, stepping back onto the beam. “You said we were starting small, right? So, uh… what, like, turns? Or jumps? Or are you gonna make me walk back and forth like a toddler?”
Dick filed that reaction away with the rest of everything about Peter. Deflection, fast but awkward. He can’t tell if Peter is cagey about specifically his foster parents, or talking about his history entirely. It narrows down the search, though. Now he’s up to a ‘Peter, no last name, in foster care at some point in his life.’ But probably within the last decade or so. Maybe he ran away from the foster system to join the circus? Tim found him in Manhattan on CCTV with those gnarly bruises. The foster system was ass, Dick wouldn’t blame the kid.
“Hey,” Dick said mildly, letting him steer the conversation away. “Toddlers have excellent balance. Very underrated demographic.”
Peter snorted, relief flickering across his face at the easy pivot. “Yeah, well, toddlers also eat crayons.”
“Fuel for greatness,” Dick shot back. “Now— heels together. Don’t look down, look past the beam. Your body follows your eyes.”
Peter adjusted automatically, expression settling back into focus. Whatever snarky comment he’d almost said disappeared just as quickly as it came, tucked away behind concentration.
“Like this?” he asked, testing a slow pivot. It was already an improvment.
“Better,” Dick nodded. “And try not to fall. I’d hate for the toddlers to outperform you.”
Peter rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eased as he stepped into the turn.
Man, how was Dick supposed to stay mad at this kid? He supposed if anyone had to steal his family’s move, he was… a little more okay with it being Peter.
Not okay, exactly. The whole situation still itched, unanswered questions sitting heavy in the back of his mind obsessively. The missing background, the Uncle and now foster parents, the way the other performers treated him… Bad gut feeling. Dick tended to have pretty accurate gut feelings, too. Despite Steph teasing him that he didn’t have the dad-gut experience Bruce had. Which, duh, how would he when he’s not a dad?
His brain and his gut agreed on one thing; the performers were assholes and Charlie Delmar was one sketchy dude.
But Peter himself? That was harder.
The kid was quick on his feet, mouth running just a half-second ahead of his filter, stubborn in that familiar way Dick had seen a hundred times before. But he was still socially conscious, picking when and who he got sassy with, and who he barely acknowledged (Jean-Luc). He reminded him of Tim’s observant eyes, Jason’s wit, and Damian’s stubbornness. It made it difficult to keep him filed neatly under “possible problem” like Bruce would have.
And he was funny. That didn’t help either. It was hard to hold onto righteous indignation when your suspect was making terrible jokes about toddlers eating crayons while balancing on a beam, taking Dick’s construction criticism and applying it shockingly fast.
He’d just have to redirect the rest of that frustration somewhere else; AKA towards the circus, the adults running it, and whatever circumstances had led to Peter being here in the first place.
Dick came back from his musings, nodding in approval. “Young Padawan, I see great potential in you."
Peter’s head whipped around so fast, necks really should not bend that way or that far. Dick was mildly worried for his spinal heath. The movement was eclipsed by the blinding grin that followed.
“You like Star Wars?!”
He scrambled up from where he’d been crouched in a somewhat odd pose on the beam, wobbling dangerously as he pivoted. They’d already moved to the higher beams, considering Peter did already know how to do a lot of this stuff, Dick just wanted to give him a better foundation for forms.
“Oh, yeah, I remember watching them with my brother, we used to—Peter!”
The kid stepped down too fast, catching the stirrup of his unitard on the corner of the beam. His foot stuck, planted firmly. Unfortunately for him, momentum didn’t. Peter pitched forward, arms windmilling as his balance disappeared entirely.
Dick was moving before he even careened forward.
He dropped from the adjacent beam, one hand catching Peter around the ribs before gravity could finish the job. Definitely would’ve busted his nose if he face-planted like that. The sudden weight pulled Dick down half a step, feet skidding slightly on the mat as he relaxed his muscles to better absorb the fall. Peter dangled awkwardly, one leg still hooked on the beam, the rest of him tipped sideways into Dick’s hold.
Peter froze mid-flail, blinking up at him. “Uh.”
“Hi,” Dick said dryly, adjusting his grip. He supported Peter easily with one arm while reaching up with the other to free the caught fabric. The unitard tugged stubbornly before slipping loose.
Once Peter was unstuck, Dick shifted him upright, hands briefly steadying his shoulders before letting go. “You trying to test my reflexes, or just dramatically proving my point about toddlers?”
Peter looked sheepish for approximately half a second before the excitement came rushing back. “You watched Star Wars with your brother? Which one? Who was your favorite? Did you like the prequels? Be honest.”
Peter had very clear priorities, at least. Dick laughed, giving in and finally ruffling Peter’s messy mop of curls. “How ‘bout some lunch and then we’ll talk Star Wars, yeah?”
Peter scoffed. “I could talk Star Wars in my sleep.” He said with pride.
Dick raised an eyebrow. “You could barely do it on a balance beam.”
Peter, evidently retortless considering Dick had caught him from said balance beam, settled for blowing a raspberry at Dick and running to the bleachers. He excitedly patted the seat next to him, practically vibrating.
Wally had trained Dick for the moment.
—+—
#3
I c u
Blueprint
ur a stalker
#3
ur literally the one who pht those camdras up
Blueprint
̄ \_(ツ)_/ ̄ ̄
#3
fgnd anyfing else out 2 narrow tge search
Blueprint
try for peters in the foster care system in ny
#3
an entire states foster care systrm does NOT narrow ts down
Blueprint
lit the 2nd day my guy
Blueprint
Lemme work my magic
#3
Pls never say that within the context of children again thx
#3
Anyways besides talking you i sawled that delmar guy leaving the circus
Blueprint
Saw
#3
what??
Blueprint
You saw him leave
#3
thats it im tellign bruce ur doing smth stupid
Blueprint
Wait nooooo
Seen
Blueprint
Tim?
Seen
Blueprint
Timmers?
Blueprint
Pls come back did you see where Charlie went
#3
he go into a unmarked black maxda cx-50, but i lost em deeper into crime alley on the cameras
Blueprint
Its always crime alley man
#3
fr
Blueprint has logged off
#3
abytways bruce is home btw
Dick smirked, tucking his phone away. And Tim thought he was the best at manipulating people. Now he didn’t have to tell Bruce himself.
Little did Dick know, he got played. Hard.
“Whatcha doin’?” Peter leaned over, food crumbs on his cheek. Dick was glad he kept snacks in his car. It was a smorgasbord of chips, little debbies, and a variety of other equally unhealthy snacks. No sodas anymore, unfortunately. Not after The Incident.
“Manipulating my younger brother to do my bidding.” Dick replied truthfully. He thought it’d get a laugh out of Peter.
He nodded solemnly. “I also like getting the younger kids around here to do my evil deeds.”
“Oh? Like what?” Dick raised an amused eyebrow.
“Distracting Jean-Luc long enough so I can swap out his viagra for ibuprofen.”
“Peter.” Peter’s proud look slowly faded away, looking cowed. “You’re my idol.” he brightened up again.
Peter smacked his arm. “Don’t scare me like that, asshole!”
“Me? An arsehole? How very dare, young sir!” Dick placed a hand over his heart, doing a bad British impression.
“Oh, I very dare, indeed!” Peter grinned, a little bit of cream stuck to the corner of his mouth endearingly.
“Is that why you call him Jean-Limp?” Dick tilted his head in question. Kids were mean, and pre-teens were meaner. They sensed weakness like sharks to blood. If Peter wasn’t, y’know, entirely dependent on these people catching him during shows and practice to make money, Dick was sure he could put Jean-Luc in his place in twenty minutes flat.
“Ugh, duh. My trailer is right behind his. I hear everything. Worse sound protection than back— home.” Peter almost slipped up, cutting off his own sentence with a somber ‘home’.
“I feel bad for your neighbors. They probably have the entire dialogue for ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ memorized because of you.” Dick pointed to his cheek, and Peter took the hint, swiping the cream away with the back of his hand before licking it off.
“Nah, I watched Star Trek at home more than Star Wars. My friend Ned liked—” Peter cut himself off. It was like the joy bled out of him the second the name slipped free.
Dick nudged another bag of Lays Limón closer, tilting his head. “He likes Star Wars and you like Star Trek?” It was easy enough to piece together what he was going to stay. Must be a sore spot.
“Uhm, yeah. We’d— we used to…” Peter trailed off.
Ah. Not a great reaction.
Dick should’ve picked apart and studied Peter’s reaction, take more mental notes, piece together whatever his backstory was that led him here… But he didn’t want to, right now. That was the whole point of being here. But something in the kid’s expression made him shelve it for now.
“Man, and you called me old for James Bond?” Dick joked lightly, handing him the easy exit.
Peter grabbed it immediately. “James Bond is still four years older than Star Trek, Grandpa.”
“Why do you know how old the Bond movies are but haven’t seen them?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “I chewed on one of the DVDs when I was a toddler and broke it, and we never replaced the set.”
Dick blinked. Huh. Who still used DVDs? Most people just bought movies online now, cheaper and easier. Not that Dick was judging, he still had an embarrassingly large physical collection himself, but he didn’t expect someone Peter’s age to grow up with discs instead of streaming.
Then again… not everyone had consistent internet. Or the money to keep paying for subscriptions. Or a stable enough place to leave a digital library tied to one account.
He didn’t say any of that out loud. He just nodded, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I have a pretty extensive DVD collection, myself. Including The Force Awakens.” Dick looked at Peter smugly.
“Shut the fuck up!” Peter perked up, contradicting the sentence that left his mouth.
“I mean, if you insist—”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Peter pouted, sitting back down, blushing in embarrassment. Very much a Princess Diaries moment.
Dick laughed, catching the Twinkie Peter threw at him. “I could loan it to you, if you want.”
“I can? You would? I mean— yes please?” Peter stumbled through his sentence, caught between a polite ‘you don’t have to!’ and the opportunistic need to see The newest Star Wars movie. Even if it was a year old, already.
“Of course, I mean, it’s not doing much at my apartment at the moment. I’ll bring it later this week, m’kay?” Dick took a bite of the pastry, handing the second one to Peter. He was a ravenous little thing, that’s for sure.
“I’d ride into war under your banner.” Peter said, dead serious.
Dick nodded back, equally serious. “Thank you, but I don’t like child soldiers. Wanna be my squire?”
Peter’s face scrunched up. “Way less cool.” But he didn’t argue. He actually smiled a little when Dick said that, well, before he scrunched it up.
Now, Dick really didn’t want to go back to the Manor considering Bruce was home and Tim either snitched or Bruce had simply walked in on Tim stalking them through the cameras. But he kind of doubted they had a TV or DVD player around here, and Dick distinctly remembered Bruce having one of those portable DVD players he used for long car trips and stakeouts when Dick was younger. Maybe he could let Peter use it for a little bit. Bruce didn’t have to know, it was outdated tech anyway.
There was probably other stuff he could bring for the kids around here, too. Kids said the wildest things when they felt comfortable. Dick personally loved when the younger kids at the gym casually spilled their parents’ entire life stories while stretching. He’d heard everything from secret third families to secret divorces. Case in point: Peter casually mentioning Jean-Luc’s viagra situation.
Dick and Peter finished up their impromptu lunch, crumpling empty bags and tossing them into the trash. Dick checked his phone. Tim had spammed him with a series of sad orphan videos, followed by a completely normal picture of Bruce just… looking at the camera. Captioned: ‘this u?’
What the fuck did that even mean?
Dick snorted under his breath and slid his phone back into his pocket. When he looked up, Peter was dusting chalk off his hands, already shifting back into that slightly guarded posture he wore whenever things wrapped up.
“So,” Dick said, pushing off the beam. “Same time in a couple days?”
Peter nodded, grabbing his bag. He was very attached to it, Dick noticed. “Thanks. For, uh… the snacks. And the not-dropping-me.”
“Low bar,” Dick said. “But I’m glad to clear it.”
Peter adjusted the strap of his backpack, lingering for a second like he wasn’t quite sure how to end the interaction. “Bye, Mr. Grayson.”
Dick made a face. “We talked about this.”
Peter smirked. “Bye, old man.”
“Better.” Dick grinned. His brothers called him worse things, on good days. “Don’t trip on the way out. I’m off-duty.”
“No promises.” Peter turned, heading toward the trailers, one hand lifting in a happy wave over his shoulder.
Dick watched him go for a moment longer than necessary, tracking the easy gait, the way he skipped over where the rest of the adults were gathered and disappeared into a trailer with a woodburned ‘Sandra S.’ That must be the Ms. Sandy he talked about.
He had errands to run, a portable DVD player to steal borrow, and, unfortunately, a Manor to return to. He needed to go through the footage and see if the mics picked up anything. Plus, tracking down where Mr. Sketchy Mazda. And then getting permission from Jason so he didn’t walk out of Crime Alley with thirteen suspiciously rubber bullet shaped bruises.
And then justify going undercover under his legal name (with Wayne backing, thanks Tim) to Bruce.
Dick groaned dramatically, leaning against his car.
Some might say she creaked because she was old and dying. Dick says she creaked in solidarity.
Dick started the long and arduous drive (it was forty minutes) back to the Manor.
Dick: peter, I know this might be hard to hear, but... im your dad
Peter, squinting: what?? No, my dad had long hair
Dick, kinda lowkey surprised bc he had long hair way back in his early twenties and no one besides like Bruce, Jason and maybe Tim were around for it: I literally have the DNA test results
Jason, appearing from absolutely nowhere with a picture of a younger Dick: like this?
Peter: yeah that's him!
Dick, deadpan: that's literally me
Peter: no youre like a white washed, less cool version
Jason absolutely dying of laughter.
Dick: you know what? I know how to do a lace wig, gimme 5
AU where the justice leauge creates a dimensional hopper to grab other versions of themselves in times of severe need by putting in DNA that then grabs the closest match from a given universe
They need to test it amd decide to use Nightwing's DNA because they figure he is the least likely to have an entirely evil alternate self, and they put it in and input a universe at complete random- Earth 199999 (because the MCU is NOT 616 fight me Feige) and out pops Spider-Man because he is that universes closest (alive) genetic match
Cue confusion as the JL tries to figure out why Nighwing is obviously younger, and has a completly different costume and accent and why he doesn't recognize anything until Nightwing takes his mask off and before he can even introduce himself, the entire room is stunned into silence by a choked "Dad?"
Peter meets Nightwing three months into his banishment to Gotham. He’s on top of the building he’s claimed as his own, practicing some tricks and flips to get some of his excess energy out since he hasn’t managed to put together a suitable suit yet. One trick has him hand-walking across the parapet, nearly bent in half as his feet dangle in his face. The grit of the weathered stone bites into his hands, and he wobbles when a piece of rubble breaks loose and pricks his palm.
“Ow,” he mutters, bracing himself on one hand to dust the rubble off. He examines the flush of his hand, squinting to make sure the rock hadn’t pierced through the skin. It’s really difficult for him to get an infection, but with how slow his healing factor has been lately because of the lack of proper nutrition, it’s better to be safe than sorry.
The back of his neck tingles right before someone lands on the roof with a light thud.
“You okay there?”
Peter plants his hand back on the parapet and lowers his feet over his head so he’s in a backbend, arching his neck so he’s looking at the stranger upside down. A man in a black and blue kevlar suit stares at him through the white eyes of a domino mask, his dark hair flopping over his forehead as he tilts his head.
“I’m good,” Peter says, bridge-walking closer to the man. Ordinarily, he’d be concerned at how easily he’d been snuck up on, but his spider-sense barely twigs in his presence. Besides, Nightwing is one of this world’s numerous vigilantes, rumored to be Batman’s first Robin. Peter doesn’t know what he’s doing in Gotham, though. He was under the impression Nightwing has been working out of Blüdhaven for a decade now.
“How about doing that on flatter ground, bud?” Nightwing says lightly, but Peter can hear the undercurrent of nerves in his voice. Which isn’t unreasonable, considering he’s on the ledge of a seven-story building.
Peter kicks off into a flawless handstand and handwalks a little closer.
“Why, you scared?” he asks, and like the little shit he is, he tilts so he’s only standing on one hand. The steady thumps of Nightwing’s heart skips a few beats.
“Not scared, no,” Nightwing says, although he’s leaning forward, hands twitching as if he wants to dive forward and pull him from the ledge. “Just a little nervous—that’s a long fall.”
Peter looks down the alley and hums. “There’s a dumpster I can land on,” he says, shrugging with one arm. It makes him wobble, although he quickly catches himself. Nightwing’s breath hitches, his heart pattering a little louder.
“Not even Batman can survive that long a fall, buddy,” he says with a strained smile. “How about you come over here and show me more of your tricks? I saw you do a backflip earlier. It was very impressive.”
“That’s not creepy at all,” says Peter with a pout. He’d thought he’d felt someone looking at him earlier, but the thrum of his spider-sense had been so light he’d ignored it. Turns out he shouldn’t have just assumed it was someone watching him from their apartment. Now he’s on suicide-watch.
“I can show you some tricks?” Nightwings offers. Peter actually considers it for a moment. The few videos he’d seen of Nightwing had shown him performing flips like a trained gymnast. That one aerial kick from a newer video looked kinda cool and it would blend in flawlessly with Spider-Man’s bouncy fighting style. Come to think of it, Spider-Man and Nightwing fought a lot alike. Maybe Nightwing could bestow some wisdom to his fellow vigilante?
Peter handsprings off the parapet and lands lightly on his feet in front of Nightwing, who lets out a barely audible sigh of relief. The man stands from his crouch and extends a hand towards Peter for a handshake.
“I’m Nightwing,” he says.
“I know,” says Peter, like an idiot. Nightwing laughs. “I’m Peter,” he adds, shaking his hand.
“No other name?” Nightwing wonders.
“Nope. Stranger danger, dude.” Peter releases his hand and bounces a few times on his toes. “You said you were gonna show me some tricks?” he asks hopefully.
Imagine a Peter in Gotham™️ AU where Spider-Man is a comic franchise in the DC universe already, so the entire Batfamily just thinks this is some comic nerd taken too far.
On a roof, somewhere in Gotham;
Red Robin: So… Spider-Man?
Peter: Yup!
Red Robin: So uncreative you couldn't come up with your own name, or…?
Nightwing, in his comm line: RED!
Peter: Uhhhh, what?
Red Robin: You know? The comic?
Peter: There’s a comic about me?
Red Robin: You know the— About you?
Peter: I gotta read that.
Red Robin: You—
Peter swings away, blissfully unaware of the chain of confusion he’s just caused in the Wayne manor for the next week.
They eventually come to the conclusion that Peter just jumped straight out of the comic book, rather than coming from a different dimension after (insert Peter goes to Gotham plot here). Peter is clueless.
In DC’s Spider-Man comics, Spider-Man’s real identity is some other name, not Peter Parker. It’s like. James Jackson or something. He is also drawn, Peter is not, so the similarities are harder to spot.
So the Batfamily is stuck trying to find this ‘James Jackson’ in Gotham while Peter sees Barbara everyday at the Gotham Library to find more Spider-Man comics.
It’s a mess Peter definitely abuses when he finds out about it, like the little shit he is.
These are all my Peter Parker In Gotham posts in one place! I’ve sorted them into general categories. Some of them are set to the backdrop of my fic and others the Young Justice show universe :)
TASM Peter + Gotham
TASM Peter as the best friend of Jason’s older brother
TASM Peter Parker & Dick Grayson
TASM Peter is the singular civilian friend Dick makes
TASM Peter must be a nepobaby
TASM Peter and Wally West are frenemies
Peter + the Robins
Damian + Peter sibling headcanons
The Supersons terrorise Peter Parker for two weeks
Damian and Peter sketching on some rooftop
Toddler Damian who goes entirely silent around Peter
If Peter + Jason, Dick and Tim went out on a boys trip
Sometimes, Peter forgets he and Dick are related
Jason gets Peter a motorbike for his birthday
Peter + the Team
Will they crash out?
Lore for items I just KNOW they own
Do they have a skincare routine?
Trash Reality TV shows I know they watch
Is Peter answering their ft call
Headcanons + silly posting
Dick Grayson + Peter Parker roommate things that just make sense (to me)
Jason Todd + Peter Parker roommate things that just make sense (to me)
Jason + Dick vs the pretence of siblinghood
Incorrect Quotes ft. Peter, Dick, Wally + Poison Ivy
HC: Peter Parker is a functioning alcoholic
Peter has no idea Steph and Tim aren’t exclusive
Peter who completely forgets he used a random date for his birthday when he was forging his papers
Peter exhausted, lifting reps with Dick spotting and Jason coaching
In my mind Peter treats Bruce like they’re that one 40 y/o + 20 something y/o coworker duo in every corporate office
Nightwing gave a low whistle after propping himself up near Batman, peering across the street at the barely visible collapsed building which supported the structure the Bat had been observing for the past half hour. “How big of a spider do you think made that?”
“Well, judging by the size of the nest,” Red Robin started, peering down from his own roof on the other side of the giant… funnel(?), “I’d say something on the size of uh, King Shark? Maybe bigger.” Red Robin paused for a moment before he continued, voice noticeably weaker, “is this a bad time to mention I’ve got a bit of arachnophobia?”
“It’s not a phobia if it’s rational, Replacement.” Red Hood grunted over the comma, obviously in the midst of a fight on his side of the city. “Creepy ass little demons - only way to make them tolerable is with a blowtorch.”
“I think they’re kinda cute,” Nightwing added to the conversation.
“I may not remember much from back then,” Red Hood bit back, “but I at least clearly remember you screaming like a little girl when you found one in the garden.”
“You didn’t see it, Little Wing, it clearly held evil intentions!”
“Focus,” Batman growled, leaning forward. Then, with a swing, the vigilante stood on one of the few spots bare of visible webbing. Testing the webbing provided that it was just like a normal spider’s - efficient at temporary adhesive, but not intended to hold prey longer than it took for the spider to strike and certainly not sticky enough to hold larger or stronger potential prey. Seeing as Batman’s testing did not draw the attention of any spiders, gargantuan or otherwise, he decided to share his findings and his plan in what he considered the most efficient way.
He walked across the webbing to reach the entrance of the tunnel.
“Communication, B!” Spoiler huffed exasperatedly from her position a few buildings away. She had a vantage point similar to Black Bat’s in that she could see everyone currently close to the web.
“You should know by now that B communicating is like the sky turning neon green,” Nightwing joked, “it’s not gonna happen except in terrible instances.”
“The web would be able to capture someone of a smaller stature,” Batman reported, barely remembering not to roll his eyes at his kids. “Robin is prohibited from making contact. Red Robin is likely also susceptible to being captured.”
Red Robin gave a mildly offended noise, “and what about Black Bat?! She’s the same height as me!”
“And she is less likely to step into the web without a backup plan to get out,” Batman replied with ease. He finally reached the tunnel, leaning over it to try to catch sight of the spider that created this… house. But the tunnel simply twisted into a pitch black nothingness. “I cannot make visual.”
“According to online sources, funnel weavers rush out of their tunnels at the first hint of their webs being disturbed to catch their prey by surprise.” Batman could hear the telltale noises of Red Robin using his wrist computer to find this information. “While this doesn’t exactly uh, look like a funnel web it’s kinda the closest? Maybe an altered purse web mixed with a tangle web? No, that’s not right either…”
“So, what you’re saying is, that we have an entirely unknown species of spider and, not only that, they happen to be as large as an elephant.” Red Hood stated, an almost resigned tone to his voice. Batman mentally noted that his fight had ended while he was silent. “Then, we don’t even know if the thing is home or not.”
“Have you seen a spider bigger than a horse around, Hood?” Spoiler retorted.
“Be on standby for backup,” Batman stated before jumping into the hole among his children’s protests. He used his grapple to soften his fall when it went on longer than anticipated, landing lightly when the tunnel suddenly twisted from vertical to horizontal. Following the tunnel, it opened to a chamber that was likely the spider’s resting space.
He paused when he heard the sounds of someone quietly crying.
“Potential victim located,” he muttered into his comm, before creeping across the chamber towards the noises, which had quieted further after his report.
A child. One that was surprisingly web free, able to roam freely. And currently staring up at Bruce with wide reddened green eyes, tears mostly forgotten on the boy’s face in favor of watching the new variable.
Tim: "Okay, now we just need to wait a bit more, and we will know for sure whether or not you two are father and son."
Dick: "Does it even matter anymore? I wanted to adopt Peter even before we were aware that there might be actual shared DNA between us."
Peter: "I still don't think you should put yourself out there this much for me, Dick. I mean, I appreciate it, but I was fine on my own."
Jason: "Pfft. Kid, you were starving and sleeping in a hovel that flooded when it rained too hard. You were even less fine than I was when I was living on the street."
Duke: "At least Pete didn't need to steal the tires from the batmobile to get our attention."
Peter: "You stole Batman's tires?... So then Batman was looking for you, tirelessly?"
*both Peter and Dick burst out laughing*
Damian: "... You can stop the machine, Drake. No DNA test needed."
My favorite "Peter in Gotham x Dick Grayson is Peter Parker's biological father" trope, especially when Peter arrives to Gotham via some alternate universe or spell-casting shenanigans, is when Dick is absolutely and gut-wrenchingly devastated about his baby boy being homeless. Narrowly escaping from the batfam, living on the streets, making due with what he can. Dick is horrified, desperate, and feels so so guilty for failing a child - his baby boy - that he never knew about.
Meanwhile, Peter is just like, "Wow, I'm handling this really well. I'm doing a great job!! 🥰✨️🕷"
For the past couple of months, I've read so many Peter Parker in Gotham fics that I can't tell them apart anymore. Whenever I get an update notification, I sit there trying to figure out which one this was. Doesn't help that the subgenre has so many established common beats.
For my own sake and sanity, this is a list of some that do stand out, that either break the mould or use it well enough to be memorable anyway. These are the updates I crave.
And When You Fall by @blackbellabu
Peter in Gotham, but arrives together with a strange little girl he's never seen before.
Die a Little Sweeter by @forestofbabel
Throws the mould out the window entirely. Peter keeps visiting Gotham at different stages of his life.
Existential Crisis Mode by @luciaintheskyainthi
Everyone knows this one, right? No transition via snap, or pit, or universal erasure spell, which stands out right from the start.
Home Sweet Home by @queenisdemilo
This one hits a lot of the tropes, but it does it so well, and has me on the edge of my seat.
The Mime of Gotham City by @lemongrovesandcloves
Peter lands in the hands of the Joker instead of the bats. Longing for the next chapter to this one!
Phantom Liberty by @kpeccati
Skips the orientation, and is set when Batman is just starting his career.
Stuck in a Web by AislinnHeart
The bats are hilariously incompetent when it comes to being reassuring and trustworthy.
The Unsteady Retirement of One Mr Peter Benjamin Parker by aestorian
Peter has had it with hero work and just wants to be Peter Parker, but keeps being bugged by bats.
