It had been three days since the argument, and Peter had not spoken a word to Tim. The two passed each other in the Manor often, giving each other side glances and expectant glares. Peter expected an apology, and Tim expected an explanation.
They were both constantly let down by the other.
Their days were spent toeing around each other, carefully directing knowing gazes and unspoken belittlement toward each other. Internally, Peter would have been ashamed of the way he was thinking about his friend. But Tim had crossed a line, and it was now up to the other teen to make amends.
The one good thing about the situation, at least, was that Tim did not pester Peter about him going out at night.
The other members of the family however, did not hold back their concerns.
It all started with Cassandra and Duke waiting for him in his room one night when he returned from his patrol. They were both worried, having apparently been up studying. They claimed they had gotten news about a shooting and, knowing Peter was out, decided to wait in his room for his return.
Then it was Dick, texting Peter after dinner one night, asking if he would be going out. When Peter said yes, Dick had tried talking him out of it, claiming that tensions were too high between certain crime lords at the moment (the names The Riddler, and Black Mask were cemented in his mind after the text conversation.
After Dick, it was the most surprising one of all. Damian had come to Peter as the teen was getting ready to leave, suited up in the Spider Armor with his mask off. The youngest Wayne showed obvious distaste for Peter leaving, but made no verbal comment telling him to stay home.
That was yesterday night. Of course, Peter brushed off their warnings, knowing that he could take care of himself just fine. Especially with the help of Karen.
"Hi, Peter. There has been a reported burglary three streets over."
"Thanks, Karen-" Spider-Man nodded sharply, changing his trajectory of his swinging to turn around a tight corner. Wind rushed past him, and his high speeds made the city lights become a blur. This was something that he was used to. He did not really need to see to swing- he just needed his spider senses to work.
And those always worked.
A tingle shot up his spine, followed by a harsh buzzing on his front. Spider-man ducked into a roll just in time to avoid a bullet whizzing past. He came out of the somersault and landed crouched on top of a light pole.
The shooter, a man dressed in all black with ratty blonde hair, continued to unload multiple rounds in Spider-man's direction. His agility was quicker than a bullet, though, as he turned, dropped, ducked, and jumped out of the way of the gunfire. A quick and closer glance toward the suspect showed a black duffel bag slung across his back, stuffed full of something .
Spider-man shot webs toward the man, and the sticky substance latched onto his gun, clogging the barrel with deadly accuracy.
Startled, the man tried tearing the webs off. He soon realized though that it would not work, and instead turned to make his escape, dropping the weapon and running down the sidewalk.
"Lost your motivation already?" The vigilante called after him, giving chase fast. He swung while attached to the buildings, ignoring the surprised faces of other civilians on the street below. "I don't really feel like playing tag, man!-"
Needless to say, the burglar was webbed up in less than five minutes, hanging upside down by his ankles from a flickering light post. Like he had the last few nights, Spider-man grabbed his wallet, pinned up his ID to the post, and left him for the police to find. Karen had already notified the police department.
Now , Peter found himself sitting alone on the top of the Drake Industries downtown building. The tall spire was for sale, in light of the semi-recent deaths of Jack and Janet Drake. Peter internally recounted that those were Tim's biological parents, and the reason that he even lived with Bruce Wayne in the first place.
Thinking about Tim made his previously airy mood sour, and he glared down at the city lights below. He wanted to stop thinking about Tim.
So he instead thought about Tony.
Having Karen helped. The familiar presence that was created by Tony offered him the most support that he could need. Her, and the Nanotech Suit, were the only remnants of Peter's mentor.
Former mentor. He had to remind himself that he would never see Tony again. It was not okay, but it was getting easier to think about. At least that ache in his chest was not nearly as strong as it used to be. Being Spider-man again helped ease that pain.
So he stopped. Instead, he stood, turned, and fell backwards off of the spire. The rush of Gotham became his focus once more, and a perfectly timed line of webs swung him in a long swoop into the main city once more.
With the assistance of Karen, Spider-man landed safely across the city in the heart of Crime Alley. Glass crunched under his boots as he walked on a low roof, peering over the edge to observe the alley below. A small group of men in tattered clothes were stood around a barrel fire, mumbling quietly to each other and chuckling occasionally.
One of them had on an extremely tattered and ratty baseball cap that said United States Air Force across the front.
Having gone unnoticed, Peter quietly stepped away and out of sight. He crossed the roof to get some distance from the men below, and spoke quietly to Karen.
"Navigate me to the nearest open convenience store." He requested quietly.
Fifteen minutes later, Spider-man was back on the original roof, looking down at the men- five total- from above.
Once again, he went unnoticed. It was only when he shifted the plastic bags in his hands that one of them heard and looked up.
Spider-man's heart ached when he saw a look of fear cross the man's face. So he took a quiet and deep breath, before making sure that his emotions were obvious through his voice.
If they couldn't see his friendly smile, he was making damn sure that they heard it.
"Hey, sorry for intruding on your space." He started, loud enough for the rest to look up at attention. When they all were looking, he made his movements slow and more obvious, allowing them to anticipate where he would go.
Spider-man dropped down into the alley, landing with bended knees a yard or two away from the group. Almost immediately, the ones closest shied away, going around the barrel fire to face him together. They refused to turn their backs on the vigilante.
"I just noticed you guys while running my route and figured I could help out." Spider-man quickly explained, holding up the various plastic bags.
The man wearing the Air Force hat squinted skeptically at Spider-man, the silver-grey mustache on his upper lip moving as he spoke. "..who are you? You ain't no Bat, and you ain't no Hood. "
The vigilante nodded in confirmation. "Mind if I join you by the fire? I can explain over snacks." He hummed with a carefully joyful persuasion.
The Veteran- the man that Peter mentally deemed the leader- thought the offer over, hazel-brown eyes moving from Peter's disguised face to the bags in hand. Spider-man spoke up and said, "I got you guys water bottles too. Oh- and socks. And if you guys need anything else, I can always go back."
That seemed to be the nail in the coffin, and the group offered him over with some leftover hesitance.
Spider-man joined them with the comfort of an old friend, dragging an overturned paint bucket over to sit on while he dug through the plastic bags. "I really wasn't sure if you would need certain things, but if I missed something crucial I'll go back." He reassured the earlier sentiment, and passed the bags around.
Each man ended up with one, and they all started looking carefully at the items provided. Protein bars, bottles of water, miniature first-aid kits, packs of socks, boxes of matches, and reusable ponchos were all inside the makeshift supply bags.
"...you didn't answer my question." The Veteran reiterated, looking across the fire to the vigilante once more. This time, he had a careful smile on his face, revealing yellowed teeth.
It was the most genuine smile Peter had seen since the fight with Tim.
"I'm Spider-man." He answered after a second. "Relatively new to the city, but I'm slowly starting to learn how it works." He shrugged casually, the nanotech shifting comfortably on his shoulders.
The Veteran eyed his armor curiously, but said nothing about it. "...huh, another damn vigilante then.." he mumbled under his breath with a small eye roll. "And from New York , too…"
"Hey, I can't control where I was born." Spider-man joked, internally noting that they had caught his slight accent. He would need to modify his voice modulator to make that harder to pick up on. "I got displaced, anyways. I can't go home."
"On the run?" Another man, a bit larger than the others with matted black hair, spoke up, his gray eyes meeting Spider-man's mask.
"..no, not really." Spider-man shrugged, looking down at the fire. "..there's nothing over there for me. Not anymore." he sighed through his nose. " Here , though, I can do some good again."
The Veteran and the other men nodded quietly. They may not fully understand, but they would politely empathize. After all, Spider-man had provided them with meals and supplies for the next week or so.
"...if you guys need anything, and I'm in the area, just let me know, okay?" Spider-man said at last, looking up from the fire and at the men. "I've been in your position before, I get it."
The Veteran huffed, shaking his head. "...too many homeless youth here. Worry about them, not us."
The vigilante nodded in understanding, turning once more to the fire and relaxing for a few moments. "I'll add this street to my patrols, then."
"I've logged the new route, Peter."
He gave no audible response, and instead hoped that Karen would understand his gratefulness. He did not want to use the technology in front of the men and have it come across as bragging.
By the end of the small rest, Peter had learned a bit about the men. All five were veterans from the United States Air Force, all active in the Middle East at some point in the early 2000's. The man in the hat- named Webster Pickley- lost his job in the service after an injury that left him unable to run for longer than twenty seconds without his lungs threatening to burst. When he returned to the states, his wife left him and he was officially homeless. Had been for the last dozen or so years.
Spider-man promised to swing by every few days to check on Webster and the other men, having Karen make a note of it when he swung away to join the fray of Gotham's night crime once more.
Meeting the group of men had been nice. It offered a small escape from his thoughts, and a small insight on the homeless population in Gotham. There were far too many, it seemed. It made him think of New York.
Looking into alleys, Spider-man started noticing more things. Fliers for missing people, both young and old, lined the brick walls. Murals were weathered and eroding. People slept behind dumpsters, on piles of garbage bags, under cardboard awnings, and inside torn tarps set up as tents.
There were too many people, and not nearly enough housing or help in this city. As much as it pained him to leave his home, he was once again glad that he ended up somewhere that needed his help.
Peter tried having faith in Gotham's vigilante group. Batman worked hard, and his sidekicks seemed to work harder, but how could less than ten people handle all of this? The real answer was that they could not . And with Batman not allowing Metas, it made getting help from the outside heroes harder.
Well, Batman certainly could not stop Spider-man from helping. He lived in Gotham now. There would be no kicking him out of his new home.
At one a.m Spider-man landed on the roof of the Gotham Museum of Art. The concrete building had a very Guggenheim feel to it, with a geometrical outside done in clean white stone and concrete. The tall hanging banners in front of some of the windows displayed the current exhibits being shown: something about Caravaggio and Georgia O'Keeffe .
Peter briefly recognized those names from Damian's bookshelf. Slightly surprised, he quickly connected the dots. Damian Wayne had books about art.
Damian Wayne liked art.
Peter smiled under the mask, mentally pocketing that information for later. Maybe he could ask Damian to bring him to the museum during the daytime. Or even better- he could see if the kid did anything like draw or paint. That was something that they could do together.
Spider-man was pulled from his daydreams (nightdreams? It was just past one a.m.) by the sound of boots softly landing on the roof nearby, and a grappling hook retracting into its barrel.
He turned his head, expecting to once again meet Red Hood, or maybe another Bat. He was quietly surprised to see the youngest of Gotham's knights standing a few yards away.
Robin was short, with a gray and red uniform that almost resembled something medieval. The term Gotham's Knights was starting to make more sense. His arms were crossed, and a glare was set in his white-out eyes, directed at the other vigilante. Spider-man sat up a bit straighter.
"...can I help you?" he asked hesitantly, turning his body to face Robin. He had heard of the kid's reputation: bossy, angry, and quick. He had the mouth of a sailor and the strength of his father.
"You should not be here." Robin said in a strikingly familiar voice. If Spider-man had not been looking, he could have easily mistaken him for Damian . But that was silly, Damian was not Robin . All young kids sounded similar, anyways.
That thought cemented itself into his mind and made him swallow uncomfortably. He continued, despite the sudden pang in his chest. "...what, on top of the Art Museum? I thought this was a public establishment." he joked, covering the slight shake in his voice.
Was Damian Robin?
"You know very well that I do not mean the Art Museum ." the young vigilante stated firmly, already fed up with Spider-man's immature nature. These two were going to mix as well as oil and water. "You should not be in Gotham , Spider-man."
"I haven't told you my name yet." Spider-man said quietly, standing up. "Guess you've heard of me then, huh?"
"In passing. Nothing good." Robin hummed. "You need to leave , before you become too involved in something that does not concern you."
Spider-man nodded dramatically, bringing a hand up to his chin and stroking thoughtfully. Dramatically . "Hmm, yes, I understand. I should stop doing my job … because my job does not concern me."
"I have no time for your childish games, Spider–" Robin suddenly moved, light on his feet and dancing a circle around Spider-man, who struggled to turn and keep up. The two moved in tandem, like two north ends of a magnet that repelled each other. "I ask once – then I make you leave– "
"Yeah, no– " Spider-man dodged a sudden kick, jumping up to avoid the sweeping leg. "I don't take orders from babbling babies–" he snorted, landing and rolling to his left, pushing further toward the center of the roof to subtly divert them away from the edge.
Sure, he trusted that Robin could fight, but he did not want the damn kid to accidentally step wrong and fall off of the building. "Where's your boss at, anyways? Minors have a curfew in this city!-"
"Batman is dealing with other business– he entrusted your removal to me– "
"My removal ? What, am I being trespassed or something?" Spider-man teased, suddenly shooting a thick rope of webs toward Robin. The young vigilante dodged by inches, side-stepping expertly. The webs attached to the roof, and Spider-man quickly released them, not wanting to be tethered in the middle of a fight. "I didn't know I could be trespassed from the city I'm a resident of– "
"Then don't leave , you bumbling idiot– " Robin spat, making fast moves toward Spider-man with a dangerous glint in his mask. "Just stop– before you make enemies that you can no longer eliminate–"
"Like you?" Spider-man challenged, crouching down and moving fast, avoiding a tackle, which Robin recovered from in a quick roll. "What, you gonna try killing me?"
"If harming you makes you quit , then I feel no shame in taking those extreme measures–" Robin confirmed, suddenly pulling a shiny black object from his belt. Batarang , Spider-man clocked immediately, standing fast and widening his stance.
"Sorry, I don't hit kids," Spider-man huffed, taking light-footed steps back. " Even if they're murderous little brats–"
Robin quit retorting back with words, and instead threw the weapon in a low curve, the sharp edges glistening in the low light of Gotham's night. Spider-man leaned back, knees bending as his torso nearly became parallel with the roof. The batarang flew by at a deadly speed, going through air where his stomach would have been.
This kid isn't aiming to hurt me– Spider-man stood fast, mind racing as his tingle went off over and over again, infecting his mind and spine with uncomfortable shivers. He's trying to kill me–
"Okay- Robin- " Spider-man started, taking fast steps back as the batarang arched like a boomerang and landed back in the younger vigilante's gloved hand. "Let's talk about this, man–"
"There is nothing to discuss–" Robin growled, advancing forward. For every two steps that Spider-man took, Robin took three, gaining distance fast. He spun in a hard turn, suddenly throwing three more of the sharp weapons in Spider-man's direction.
Jump , Peter's mind screamed as he leapt up, shooting out webs to stop the flying weapon before it could slice into his ankles. The webs caught onto the tool, throwing it off course and sticking it hard to the roof nearby.
Duck , his instincts demanded. His head fell low and forward, his body naturally folding into a roll. The distinct sound of another batarang passing overhead cut through the air. He barely managed to miss it by centimeters . He managed to stand just in time to turn and spin around the final batarang.
Turn–
Turn.
Why could Spider-man not turn?
Something warm blossomed on his side. His spine lit on fire with danger danger DANGER DANGER WARNING as that warm spot got larger.
When Spider-man looked down, he was greeted by a large tear in the side of his black shirt, and a deep and jagged cut across his side. It was right on the spot that his armor did not cover. A spot that he had never injured before. The cut itself went about half an inch deep, and thick rivulets of blood poured freely from the new injury.
"...oh." Spider-man said quietly, unable to hide the unpleasant shake in his voice.
Robin was supposed to be a good guy. He worked with Batman, the protector of Gotham. Did.. did they really think that Spider-man was that bad? So bad that they would try to kill him?
Spider-man looked over to Robin, ignoring how that warmth from the blood was quickly turning into spikes of pain in his side. He needed to get somewhere safe- he needed to get home–
The sight of Wayne Manor came to mind in half a second.
Spider-man moved fast, suddenly breaking into a sprint. He broke past Robin, shoving the eerily still kid to the side. To ensure that he would not be followed, Spider-man shot out long and thick lines of web, which connected to both Robin and the roof.
Even if the young vigilante had gone surprisingly quiet, frozen in place, Peter refused to risk being followed.
Two seconds later, he was swinging away, one hand held tightly to his side, and the other clutching the lines of webs like they were life lines.
Getting back into the manor was as easy as it had been previous nights. All he did was climb up the wall to his bedroom window, where he fell onto the floor with a shaky and sudden exhale.
Green creeped at the edges of his vision, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, begging internally for it to go away.
His mask was too hot on his face, and it was restricting his breathing. Peter knew this, but he could not bring himself to tear it off. Karen must have noticed something wrong with his vitals, though, because within seconds, the nanotech was retreating off of his face.
"Karen-" Peter had to force himself to speak quietly. "I need a first aid kit-"
"Hi, Peter. The closest first aid kit is located underneath your bathroom sink. However, I strongly suggest getting help from one of the Waynes."
"None of them are up right now." Peter knew that was a lie. Earlier in the day, he had overheard Tim talking about cramming all night for one of his classes. "None that want to talk to me."
"Alfred Pennyworth is awake on the seventh floor."
"..he…he is..?"
"Yes."
Peter peeled his eyes open and searched the room for his digital clock. Green eyes met the red display of numbers: 1:49 A.M.
He hated to end his patrol so early, but the green tint on the world growing stronger by the second made him glad that he came home. The boy, still on the ground, compelled his body to move.
Carefully, Peter managed to get on his feet, swaying slightly. The cold breeze of New Jersey's night came through the window, sending a shiver up his spine. He sighed uncomfortably, covering the large wound on his side with his hand. Getting blood on the floors of the manor would be a pain to clean later.
The teen was going slow, stopping every few seconds to try controlling the green in his vision and the pounding in his chest. He really felt like he should get that checked out. Maybe another side effect of multiverse travel was revealing itself.
He only managed to get halfway up the stairs to the fourth floor before strong hands and a carefully stern voice was talking in his ear.
"Up now, my boy. The stairs are no place to succumb to an injury." Alfred's cool and calm voice sprung Peter from his green haze, and he looked up with wide, bloodshot eyes. The older mans' gaze met his, and immediately acted as an anchor.
Peter held onto Alfred with tight gloved hands as he was brought back to his feet, and walked into the closest bathroom, located on the third floor. It looked identical to every other bathroom in the house: a shower and bathtub, a sink, a counter, a toilet, and a small linen closet of towels.
The teen was sat carefully in the bathtub, back leaned against one of the sides. The cool feeling of the ceramic through his black underclothes was extremely grounding, and made that green ever so slightly weaker.
Alfred moved hastily and carefully, pulling the thick first aid kit out from underneath the sink and popping it open on the counter. He retrieved gauze, alcohol, a curved needle, surgical thread, and gloves; all of which were in sterile packages.
"May I ask who did this to you, Young Peter?" Alfred asked with a careful voice, pulling the white stretchy gloves before approaching with the other tools, which he set on the closed toilet lid.
Peter hummed uncomfortably, shifting to allow Alfred better access to the injury, which had slowed down in its pouring of blood. He had his healing factor to thank for that. Bleeding out was extremely unlikely for someone like him.
"I assume that it was one of Gotham's usuals, correct?" Alfred's gentle tone coaxed Peter into a more comfortable headspace and sitting position. He pressed gauze firmly against the teen's deep injury, and he barely flinched at the uncomfortable pressing.
"...Robin." Peter said after a moment, noticing the man pause. "...he, uh, threw a batarang at me. Quite a few actually." He chuckled, but quickly stopped when it made the stabbing pain on his side worse. "...this came from the one that I didn't dodge in time."
Alfred's mouth pressed into a tight line. "...well, I'd certainly hope that Batman does something about this. Gotham's Knights do not kill , and this was an intentional blow to maim."
"Yeah, it scared me a bit." Peter sighed through his nose, holding his breath momentarily when Alfred poured alcohol over the deep gash. "...he said something about uh, wanting to remove me."
"I see." Alfred hummed in response, watching the wound carefully as he cleaned the edges, gradually getting deeper into the red and irritated skin of Peter's side. "...this is already healing under my hands, do you have some sort of ability?"
"Yeah, healing factor." Peter explained vaguely. "I'm really not sure how it works, and I have a killer headache right now so.."
"Say no more, then." The older man assured the teen softly. "Your healing factor is working wonders at the moment, as far as I can tell." he smiled, hoping to lighten the mood just a bit. For Peter's sake.
"...hey, Alfred?" Peter spoke up after a long moment of silence. By now, the man had started sewing the skin back together with practiced motions. The teen looked down at the streaky red that had gathered on the wall of the bathtub. "How do you… know how to do this? The sewing?"
"I was in the military, my boy." Alfred chuckled, a proud smile forming on his face as he pulled Peter's side closely together. "It was a long time ago, but I have maintained my training throughout the years. The skills have not gone to waste."
"You sew people up often?" Peter joked.
"More often than you'd think, dear boy."
The teen fell quiet, brows pinching together as he tried computing that answer. Alfred used his first aid skills often? Did the Waynes get hurt that much? Maybe Damian, with all of those sharp objects in his room. Or even Dick- but he was a Government Employee, so he would have pretty good insurance to take him to a hospital.
"...do you know if Damian ever.. Sneaks out? At night?" Peter asked hesitantly, voice suddenly small. The slight echo of the bathroom made his statement seem far too loud.
The older man seemed to process his question, snipping the surgical thread after he tied the loops tight. One glance to Peter's side showed a perfect stitch job. "...I found him once, but he was only going out to the barn. It was when Batcow was first brought to the property."
Despite sensing a topic change, Peter played along. He felt too mentally exhausted to fight the change, anyways. "...I guess he was worried about her?"
"Indeed. She came from a farm that was not following protocols regarding animal safety. She is a rescue."
"He really cares about her."
"Master Damian cares about quite a lot of surprising things, Young Peter." Alfred said with a fond tone, standing up straight. He turned to dispose of the tools that he had used. "You, for example."
Peter paused mid-standing, gears turning in his mind. "...I mean, I'd hope so." he settled, though even he was not entirely convinced by his own words. "I care about him, so I'd like to think it's mutual."
"Master Damian is an emotional boy, Young Peter." Alfred said, helping the teen stand all the way with a careful arm wrapped firmly around his middle. "As much as he may try to hide his true feelings, he wears his heart on his sleeve. You must simply know where to look."
Peter Parker smiled just a bit, nodding. He sort of figured that about Damian, but to have it confirmed out loud by the wisest member of the Wayne family made him feel infinitely better. He even let his shoulders relax.
"..now, as for patrol ," Alfred's voice suddenly gained a stern inflection, making Peter's chest clench. "There shall be none of that for the time being. Until I can confirm that this side of yours is fully healed , you are grounded from duty."
"I–" Peter huffed, immediately moving to argue the notion. " Grounded? Alfred, seriously? I'm not- I'm nearly seventeen, I don't need to be grounded–"
"Exactly." Alfred said firmly, cutting the teen off as they walked down the hall toward the stairs. "You are sixteen , Young Peter. You have no business jumping on rooftops while your side is still vulnerable."
Peter opened his mouth to protest, but knowing it would fall upon deaf ears, he shut his jaw tightly with a frown. The last time he had been grounded, Tony had taken his suit from him. At least this time, no one would be taking anything.
Well, maybe Peter lost some dignity, but that was light work in his field.
"Do not worry, dear boy. Once your side is fully healed, you'll be back in the city." Alfred assured, helping him down the stairs slowly. "With better underclothes. Perhaps kevlar?"
"Kevlar's pretty expensive, Alfred." Peter laughed quietly under his breath. "I'll just be more careful next time an eight year old tries stabbing me."
"I get the feeling that the… eight year old will be much more careful next time."
"Karen," Peter said quietly, sitting on the edge of his bed. He had changed out of the Spider Armor and black clothes, throwing the latter into the garbage in his bathroom. The torn shirt would serve him no purpose, and Peter did not feel like scrubbing the blood from the pants. Even if they showed no stain, he would still feel gross wearing them. "I need you to tell me everything that you know about the Waynes."
"Hi, Peter. I have told you everything that I know about the Wayne family."
Peter frowned, taking a slow breath to ease himself. That green had long since gone, but he did not want to risk letting it creep back in. "...I know you're lying. Tell me everything you know."
"That information is classified, Peter."
Sudden rage flared in his chest, and he gripped the sheets below him tightly. " Karen , you're supposed to help me. How are you supposed to do that if you don't tell me what you know?"
"Peter, I was designed to help you in the ways that Tony Stark saw fit. Withholding information that would be detrimental to you is part of my protocol."
"Tony isn't here, Karen." Peter said through gritted teeth. He could feel the sheets tear under his fingers. "So cut the shit. I want to know , because clearly you're hiding something from me."
"I cannot do that, Peter. I apologize."
The teen stood from the bed, glaring at the digital clock across the room on the desk. 3:18 A.M. glared right back, an angry red meeting his even angrier green. He reached up as he spoke, hurt shaking his voice. " Fine- fine then. Don't tell me anything. Clearly you aren't working right."
He pulled the hearing aid from his ear and tossed it into the air, shooting a quick web that caught the device and pinned it to the wall above the desk. "I don't need you if you're just gonna lie to me."
Karen could not talk back, not this time. If she did, Peter did not hear. Good , he thought to himself, holding a firm glare to the hearing aid. I don't need to hear that voice constantly, anyways.
Peter went to sleep that night in full silence, his right ear feeling uncomfortably empty with the lack of the device. Still, he forced himself to find rest without its familiar feeling.
"Alfred told us what happened." Duke's voice met Peter's ears the moment he hit the kitchen, and the teen yawned in response. This only caused Duke's brows to pinch together in concern. "Are you okay? Like, mentally?"
"Yeah, I'll be good." Peter nodded in confirmation, crossing to the coffee machine and starting it up. Having memorized which cabinet the mugs are in, he shot a line of webs out without looking. They attached to the cabinet door, which he then tugged open. Peter used more webs to grab a mug, the ceramic soaring across the kitchen and landing in his palm. "Just sore now."
"That's not what I asked, Peter." The older teen pressed carefully, crossing his arms across his chest. His spot at the table in the breakfast nook had a plate of four microwaved pop tarts and a half full glass of milk. "I asked if you were okay mentally . Not physically."
Peter hesitated to answer, and instead, decided to focus on the coffee that was slowly brewing. His silence spoke volumes to Duke.
"...look, if you need to talk about it with me, you can." He offered carefully, watching Peter move around the counter to gather sugar and creamer for his drink. "I don't mind listening."
"I don't want you guys to get involved." Peter said quietly, clearing his throat. He stared holes into the coffee pot. "...besides, what happened last night has nothing to do with you guys. It's fine–"
Peter's senses suddenly went on overload as fast footsteps approached the kitchen. His spine lit on fire, the wound on his side spiked uncomfortably, and his eyes widened a bit as he turned quickly to face the door.
The figure of Tim came into view, with frantic blue eyes and tangled hair from a restless night. "Peter-" he paused, nearly slipping on the tile of the kitchen floor in his socks. "Dude- Alfred just told me- are you– "
"Breathe, Tim–" Duke huffed, rolling his eyes sarcastically.
"Are you okay?- How bad is it–"
"I'm fine ." Peter said, letting his gaze fall into a glare that silenced the other two teens in the room. Duke turned his eyes to Peter, watching carefully, while Tim closed his slack jaw. "Not like I haven't gotten hurt before."
"...well, yeah, but Alfred said this was-"
"Bad?" Peter raised a brow, grabbing his now finished coffee from the machine. He turned back to the counter to add the creamer and sugar, ignoring the rush of alarm still coursing up and down his spine. "...yeah, it is. But i've had worse."
"...that doesn't make it right." Tim said quietly, letting his shoulders drop. He stared at Peter with a pained look. Obviously their previous argument had been long forgotten by the Wayne son.
"Yeah, it doesn't." Peter hummed, a bored expression on his face. He sipped the hot drink, not allowing it to cool. Duke cringed at the action. "I get hurt a lot, but it isn't exactly Tony's fault like you claim. You're awfully quick to shift blame onto him when your own vigilante can barely keep his own sidekicks contained."
The expression on Tim's face morphed from concern to hurt confusion. "..Peter, that's irrelevant to the situation-"
"Don't call him irrelevant." Peter stated firmly, glaring at Tim once more. "He's more than you'll ever know."
"Well, what if I want to know." Tim shot back. "Peter, I don't wanna argue again. I just wish you'd tell us something –"
"Why? You'd only keep insulting him, which is really hypocritical , by the way. Batman lets a toddler run around at night, how's that so different to me and Tony?"
"..Batman has issues that are apparently being addressed." Duke cut in gently, hoping to ease the tension. "Some gossip sources say he's getting therapy."
"Good. He needs a shit ton , and his Robins need it, too." Peter huffed, carrying his mug to the breakfast nook and sitting across from Duke. "He seems rich enough to afford it." the younger teen grumbled, rolling his eyes and giving his coffee another sip.
The kitchen fell into a stale and awkward silence. Tim gathered his senses and went to the counter to get his own coffee, eyeing the webs still hanging from the cabinet door with an annoyed glint in his eyes. Duke kept glancing between the two teens, before eventually settling for staring at his phone feed. Anything was better than eyeing Peter and Tim.
"...do you think your side is good enough to go out today?" Duke asked hesitantly, glancing over his phone to lock eyes with Peter, whose eyes had turned a bit skeptical. "Bruce scheduled a fitting appointment for this morning. Y'know, for the Gala in a few days?"
Peter's mind ran a loop for a moment, remembering the conversation about the press event. Peter Parker would be publicly announced as Bruce Wayne's new foster son. Peter Parker would be Bruce Wayne's new son.
"...yeah." Peter said quietly, looking down at his coffee cup. "...yeah, I'll be good to go out."
Duke nodded shortly, hesitantly glancing down to his phone once more. The kitchen fell back into that uncomfortable silence that made the air feel far too thick in the room. It was like there simply was not enough to go around.
When Peter stood to go back to his room, Tim spoke up from the counter, voice hesitant and quiet. "...B said the appointment was at nine-thirty, so.. Be uh, ready to go then."
Peter Parker only nodded shortly, giving Duke and Tim one final glance before exiting the kitchen. Typically, at a time like this, Karen would be talking his ear off about the whereabouts of the rest of the family.
Maybe Cassandra was awake in her room, getting ready for the day. Or perhaps Damian was walking out of a bathroom somewhere.
But the silence in his ear was both relaxing and unnerving. There was a loss of familiarity that left him buzzing almost nervously.
He made his way back upstairs to his room and eyed the spider-shaped disc on the nightstand. The armor had been fantastic at first, providing him protection and a recognizable theme for the citizens of Gotham to understand.
But it clearly had flaws. Peter had not prepared for the type of crime that Gotham provided. His own universe provided large threats that were prone to throwing, punching, and beating people to a pulp. This universe had sharp villains, who moved fast and with deadly intent.
Peter would need to make some adjustments to his armor.
The teen pushed away the thoughts and went to his closet, digging around for clothes for the day. He would need something easy to get in and out of, considering this was a fitting appointment. This would also likely be at a more upscale establishment, so ripped jeans were a no…
In the end, Peter grabbed a long-sleeved red sweater with a black tank top underneath. For his lower half, he pulled out a pair of dark brown corduroys that cuffed at the ankles, which would allow him to slip on his converse later.
First, he took a quick shower. The water was set to cold, waking him up fully, but doing nothing to ease that nervous buzz in his spine.
When he stepped out, dried off, and got dressed, his eyes wandered across the room to the hearing aid plastered to his wall above the desk. It was exactly where he had left it. Alfred must not have been in the room since his argument with Karen. He really needed to take the device down before the man came in to clean.
But he just could not bring himself to move her.
Instead, he chucked on his converse and hopped on one foot out the bedroom door, tying his laces on his lifted foot. Peter finished with a heavy sigh and shook his still damp hair, flinging little drops of water onto the hallway rug.
Water was better than blood, at least. Peter had been rather proud of himself when he avoided soiling any rugs in his bloody stumble that previous night.
He pulled his phone out of his corduroy pocket, seeing that the time was just past 8:50. They would likely be leaving the manor within the next twenty minutes, depending on where the fitting place was.
Still, Peter made his way back downstairs, navigating into a media room closer to the front of the house. It would make it easier to leave when the time eventually came. But for the moment, he settled for falling back against a too comfortable couch, head hitting the cushions with a satisfied sigh.
He really did not mean to take a ten minute power nap, but he blinked, and suddenly someone was gently shaking him awake.
He cracked his heavy eyelids open, pausing when he noticed the kind gaze of Cassandra looking down at him.
"...up?" She asked quietly with a gentle smile. Peter could not help but smile back, nodding and sitting up with a huff.
"Sorry, didn't mean to doze…" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Are we leaving now?" Cassandra nodded, helping Peter stand up with a careful hand.
Half an hour later, Peter was stepping out of a sleek black sports car, followed by Cassandra, Duke, and Tim. Alfred rounded from the driver's side, and Bruce emerged from the passenger seat, looking at the kids with a careful eye.
No one had spoken on the car ride over, and Peter did not plan to start now. He was still rather fed up with the way this family was acting, and felt entitled to his own silence. If they wanted to speak, then they would need to start with genuine apologies.
The shop they were at was definitely upscale, with colorful suits in the windows and fancy dresses hung behind them. The mannequins were of all sorts of body types, and Peter internally appreciated the offered diversity.
Inside, the lighting was warm and almost reminded Peter of a dimmer sun. It felt very natural, which he supposed was a good thing. Having natural lighting was key to getting custom clothes.
He sort of tuned out the conversation that Bruce had with the shop tender, glancing over to Duke and Tim, who were scrolling on their phones and waiting for the appointment to begin. Cassandra was engaged in a sign language conversation with Alfred.
Peter frowned. Karen could have likely translated for him. Maybe it was a bad thing, not bringing her with him..
He pushed the thought away fast. He was content with his decision, and certainly would not be backing out of it now. He did not need her, since all she wanted to do was lie to him.
When Bruce and the shop tender stopped talking, and the shop tender walked into the back, Peter finally spoke up.
"..hey, Bruce?"
He got a quiet hum in response, the man glancing back to meet him with an open gaze. Peter relaxed somewhat; at least the man of the family did not seem so upset with him.
"Are the others getting stuff done today, too?" the teen asked curiously, looking back at the other kids once more. Everyone was here except for Damian, who, for some reason, was grounded.
Peter could not figure out why, and he was not sure he wanted to. Not after last night.
Bruce paused, but nodded, a relaxed smile coming onto his face. "Yes, both Tim and Duke are being refitted as well." the man confirmed, turning to face Peter. "I figured we would get it all done today, for pick up tomorrow."
Peter nodded in understanding, intending to be quiet once more. But Bruce had other plans.
With a lowered voice and a gentleness in his tone, he spoke once more. "...are you alright? After I was made aware of last night I was.. Shocked, to say the least."
If Peter had to go through this I'm Fine routine one more time, he might use it as an excuse to turn to a life of evil. This was the perfect villain origin story, after all.
That amusing thought was enough to get Peter to smile with a quiet laugh under his breath, rolling his eyes. " Yes , Bruce. I'm alright. Alfred patched me up, and I heal quicker than most people." he confirmed, placing his hands into the pockets of his pants. "No need to worry."
"Let me worry anyways." Bruce sighed, glancing down to Peter's side. "I care about your wellbeing, Peter. So forgive me if I pry into your nightlife and its consequences."
"...yeah, okay. But only if you start believing me when I say I'm alright." Peter mused quietly, giving Bruce a fond glance. He had really started warming up to the man, and was glad that any sort of animosity that had been generated was starting to die down.
Bruce frowned, but sighed with a small nod. "Alright, but you promise to come to us if you need help. We.. we can help you, Peter. Even if you don't think so."
"Mhm, whatever you say, Brucie." Peter chuckled, shaking his head and elbowing the man. Then, he lowered his voice into a whisper. "At least keep the crime-fighting to the professionals like me and Batman, though, okay?" he winked teasingly.
It was a joke, of course, one that made Bruce's smile widen into a pure laugh. It was a sound that grabbed the attention of the other Waynes, who looked over with blissful confusion and a curiosity.
"Hey, I wanna laugh, too!-" Duke chimed in with a playful glare and a laugh, looping an arm around Tim and dragging him over to join. Cassandra just glanced over, a smaller smile forming on her face.
"Nope. Absolutely not, the joke is just for me and B." Peter glared back with a grin, leaning against Bruce dramatically with an elbow on the man's side to prop himself up on. " You don't get to hear it now."
"Now, now.. No scrapping in the tailors." Bruce warned teasingly, glancing down at the boys, familial gaze lingering on Peter for longer than the other two.
"I dunno, we might have to scrap." Duke shrugged, releasing Tim and immediately elbowing him. "Right, Timber?" he smirked.
"...right." Tim sighed, trying to stop the smile slowly forming on his face. It was still noticed, though, because it got a snicker out of Duke.
Peter hesitantly allowed himself to fall into the banter. "I dunno man, I think I'd win." the teen hummed, glancing down at the floor. "Y'know, considering my hobbies." he glanced at the two with a confident smirk.
Tim paused, but then rolled his eyes with an obviously playful scoff. "Psh– that doesn't mean anything. I could still beat you."
"Oh yeah? Prove it-"
" Not in the tailor shop." Bruce said firmly, grabbing their attention. The three boys looked up at the man with slowly forming smiles and held back laughs. After a few seconds of firmly looking at the three, a small smile broke onto his face. "...scrapping is for the backyard, chums."
" You owe me a fight then." Peter said teasingly, pointing an accusing finger at Tim. It was a friendly challenge, but also a serious offer. If Tim could fight, maybe fighting would be good for them. They could let all of that anger out.
It did not sound that bad in theory.
Tim stared at Peter's finger for a few moments, before huffing and playfully pushing Peter's hand aside, grinning confidently. "Sure, Webs. I'll give you a fight, but not today."
"I'm holding you to that."
By the end of the appointment, which lasted just over an hour, Peter walked out with a smile on his face and three friends at his side. The purchase of two suits had been confirmed with the swipe of one of Bruce's many cards.
Peter had tried on many, but in the end, had settled for a black pinstriped one and a dark red suit set that came with a vest to wear over a button down. Both were great in quality, and honestly, Peter was excited to own something so expensive. He was excited to wear one of them to the Gala in a few days.
Peter was excited to be included with the Waynes and their goings.
He could have even said that he was excited to be part of the family.
On the car ride back to the manor, Peter's mind filled with multiple different thoughts related to the events of the day. But the forefront of his mind was filled with all sorts of imagined scenarios. Call him cheesy, but it felt nice to imagine a life with the Waynes.
Did it still hurt when he thought about the people he was leaving behind? Absolutely. Peter knew that the feeling would never fully go away. But overtime, it had eased itself into a dull throb in the array of other things that Peter started feeling.
He felt happiness around the other teens, a sense of brotherhood with Dick and Jason, and a growing feeling of fondness for the younger Damian. He was feeling more comfortable around Bruce, and nothing could stop him from enjoying being around Alfred.
He enjoyed being with the Waynes, and he was starting to understand that there was nothing wrong with that.
When the car arrived home, and Peter stepped out onto the Wayne driveway, he internally referred to it as his driveway.
This was his home, with his friends who were starting to feel more like family. And that was okay.
Damian had a horrible feeling in his gut. It made him want to throw up, but he was far too prideful for that. Instead, he sat in his bed, with his knees pulled up to his chest, and his hard stare pointed at the wall across the room.
His mind kept repeating the event over and over again. The memory was so vivid: the rooftop, the sky, the spider, the injury .
God, the injury.
Damian was almost glad that he had not been able to see Peter's face at the time. He was not sure he would have held his composure. If he had to watch the teen's face while almost subjecting him to certain death?
Damian would have never forgiven himself. He still had not.
So instead, he sat alone in his room, watching the hours tick by and and marinating in his own hatred. This time, instead of directing that hatred toward the undeserving Peter, it was pointed toward himself.
A knock on the door broke Damian from his near-meditative state, and he glanced over to his electric clock. 4:03 P.M. On a normal night, he would be leaving for Patrol in a few hours. He would be doing homework, or studying with Peter.
He pulled himself from his bed and crossed the room, tugging the door open with a well timed scowl and glare. Whoever had come to insult him more for his behavior would not avoid his own pent up emotions.
His eyes traveled up brown corduroy legs, and across a red sweater, before landing on the face of Peter Parker.
Damian once again wanted to throw up.
"...you okay, Damian?" Peter asked hesitantly, subtly shifting on his feet. Damian did not miss how the teen stuck one foot out, placing it against the door frame to prevent Damian from closing the door. "No one's really told me what happened yet."
"I'm grounded." he replied flatly. "Therefore, I'm not supposed to be talking to you. So if you do not mind removing your foot-"
"Nah." Peter cut him off, shrugging. "Look, it's.. I don't really care if you're grounded or not." he smiled a little bit. " I still need to study, and you have all the textbooks."
Damian's frown deepened. "...I won't allow you to borrow my materials."
"Good, I won't borrow them, then. I'll just use them in your room. " Peter raised his brows with a knowing grin.
The youngest Wayne stared at the teen in disbelief. If you knew what I did to you, you'd be running right now.
"...so, can I come in?"
Damian could do nothing but open the door enough for Peter to step inside.
The teen crossed the space, familiar with the motions. He made it to the shelf, eyeing the books curiously as he tugged the trigonometry textbook from its spot. "So, same thing as usual? I'm good with this, unless there was another subject you were interested in studying."
"What else would there be?" Damian grumbled, letting the door fall gently shut behind him. He followed Peter's trail and joined him at the bookshelf, glancing across the different textbooks he owned. Histories all across the world, different artistic periods, specialized sciences… he had it all. He wondered how much of this Peter also enjoyed.
"I dunno, maybe something else you enjoy? Surely math isn't your only hobby." he teased, tapping his fingers gently on the hardcover of the trigonometry textbook. "..you've got a lot of art books, so I guess you like that?"
"I dabble." Damian hummed, reaching up and retrieving his own book. "...do you enjoy art?"
"I don't know much about it." Peter shrugged honestly, glancing over to the textbook and watching Damian flip through the pages slowly. The different pieces depicted were from various cultures, and Peter could only assume it was some sort of art history book. "Why don't you teach me?" he smiled.
Damian could not smile back. Instead, he pressed his lips into a tight line, trying to form the right words. Peter was witty, but Damian was smart. Surely he could use something other than his violence from the previous night to keep Peter away from Gotham.
"...I will tutor you in art history, if ," he started, plucking the math book from Peter's hands and placing it back on the shelf. "You do me a favor."
Damian noticed Peter visibly pause, before turning to face the boy fully. "..sure, okay. What's the favor?"
"Be more careful."
"...what?"
"Alfred told us. All of us, about what happened." Damian said through gritted teeth, avoiding looking directly at Peter's face. "...you got injured, and none of us could prevent it. If you had only been more careful , then you would not have ended up with that hole in your side."
His own words made him want to vomit. That uncomfortable feeling kept settling in his unsettled stomach. He could only hope that over time it would go away.
"...Dami." Peter sighed, walking to sit on the boy's bed. Damian followed. "I'm as careful as I can be, but doing what I do.." Peter tried to find the right words. "...there's always a risk."
"Then why take it?" Damian asked, joining him on the bed and setting the book between them, flipping through the pages to find a place to start. It also offered him a great excuse to not look at Peter directly.
"...because I can help people. It's what I do, and it's what I love." Peter's voice was quiet, honest, and real . He was in this for all of the same reasons as everyone else. He wanted to help, and how could Damian fault him for that?
"...I won't tell you not to go." Damian mumbled, pausing on a page depicting The Calling of Saint Matthew , painted by Caravaggio. The young Wayne could recognize the piece immediately, but Peter had to squint at the words to gather identifiers. "It would be unfair for me to force you to stop."
"You couldn't force me." Peter teased, earning a warning glare from Damian, who continued to speak.
"I will, however, strongly encourage you to listen to your head. You've got abilities people can only dream of, and you're right: they're helpful." It could have been a compliment. In fact, it probably was a compliment.
"...just do not let that desire and ability to help prevent you from honoring yourself." he finished quietly, looking up to Peter with a sincere look. The teen's eyes met his, and for a long few moments, they both just stared. Both were searching for something that the other could not give.
But Peter relented. "...alright, whatever you say, Damian." he smiled softly, shaking his head and looking down at the book, breaking their connection. "I trust you."
For the first time in hours, that uneasiness in Damian's stomach settled long enough for him to enjoy Peter's presence.