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The man in front of Peter drops with a thud. He turns to the next opponent, his senses on overdrive from the chaos of the warehouse around him. He’d wanted to take care of this himself, but Nightwing is nothing if not stubborn.
Peter trusts Dick, and he knows the sentiment is reciprocated. He’s known he had the man’s trust since a slow patrol day ended with the two of them sitting on roofs and chatting, with Peter knowing the man’s first name. He wasn’t even mad when Peter subtly avoided returning the action. So he trusts Dick. Dick, who beneath his optimism and sunny demeanor, is completely and utterly capable.
Peter’s faith does not extend to Batman.
He doesn’t mistrust Batman or the rest of the bat vigilantes, but he’s rightfully wary of them.
Still, He can’t deny that Dick’s backup is really helping right now. They’d apparently been tracking the same drug ring for the past couple of weeks, and intel led them to this warehouse for a drop tonight. Oracle’s warning of double the manpower they were expecting in the warehouse didn’t deter them. Maybe it should have.
Peter and Dick split up to different sides of the warehouse with plans to meet at the center. Peter steadily made his way through rooms, knocking out guards and searching for the files they needed. It was when he made it to the designated meeting spot he knew they were in for trouble.
The warehouse was meant to be guarded lightly for the drop, with no more than ten guards. Orcale’s warning of the increase was helpful, but not enough for worry. The biggest room in the building swimming with guards was. Too late to turn back now, He’d thought then dropped from the vents onto the guard nearest to him.
Peter risks a glance towards Dick as he downs another guard, they’ve been at this for way longer than expected. Too long. Dick’s handling at least three men at the same time, another sneaking up behind him. Peter slings a web at the one behind Dick, throwing the man into a nearby wall. He falls into a pile of boxes. Dick incapacitates the rest of the men near him quickly, turns, and throws Peter a smile in thanks. Then, his attention catches on something over Peter’s shoulder, and they both go stiff.
Peter whirls around right in time for the blow to crack him across the skull.
He stumbles a bit, trying to tune into his senses through the disorientation.
“Spidey!” Dick calls distantly.
Peter opens his mouth to respond, has his lips forming an ‘I’m fine’ when gets hit again. His gut blooms with pain, God, he hates having broken ribs. He stumbles back a step and wills his vision to clear. A slightly blurry figure he recognizes as Penguin, and when the hell did Penguin get here, goes to strike again. He can hear Dick fighting again behind him as he tries to block the oncoming blow futilely. None of his attempts work, the collisions keep coming. Who knew an umbrella could be so hard, Peter thinks hysterically as a swing heads for the side of his head.
Dick blocks it.
Peter sinks to his knees, relieved. He clutches at the ground desperately, vision swimming.
Suddenly, Dick is at his side. Wasn’t he fighting someone? Penguin? He coaxes Peter into looking at him, his face is pinched and his lips are moving, but Peter can’t hear it.
Nightwing catches him when he tips forward.
Peter wakes slowly, pleasantly. Some distant part of his brain screams at the foreign concept. Waking with a start has become his norm. He’s always uncomfortable or pained in some way. It’s never slow, never comfortable. But, for some reason unimportant to his tired mind, today he is. So Peter relaxes into the floating comfort surrounding him.
For a few moments longer.
Spidey.
He’s so warm . Why is he warm?
Spidey, are you waking up?
He grunts as a distant voice pulls him further into consciousness. He can't tell if the voice is muffled because it’s actually far away or if his hearing took a blow. His brain halts, stuttering at the tips of questions. But the haze tugs at him again and they fizzle away before he can put any thought to them.
A hand runs through his hair, and Peter jolts , whining in confusion.
Someone shushes him and keeps running a hand over his head.
The fog that settled over him is shifting. Fading. His senses are screaming at him.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
What’s wrong? He thinks sleepily, this feels nice.
Wait.
Peter forces himself into awareness. He stubbornly claws his way through the cloud of drowsiness coating every corner of his mind. Of his being.
The voice greets him. “Hey, Spidey.”
…Spidey?
Only Dick calls him that, but Dick isn’t here. He can’t be.
Peter takes account of his surroundings, and of himself. The smell of the room overwhelms him, it’s all chemicals and sterile equipment. He’s laying on something firm but soft. There’s a hand running through his hair.
There’s a hand running through his hair and he can’t feel the familiar weight of his mask across his face.
He’s not wearing his mask.
Not again.
Peter’s eyes fly open.
Dick, Dick , is smiling down at him. He looks soft. Comfortable. He’s wearing sweatpants and a white undershirt, the only remnants of Nightwing in the domino mask still plastered to his face.
He slams into the memories like a brick wall.
The warehouse. Penguin. The umbrella.
Dick must’ve taken him to the Bat Cave. That in itself is a huge show of trust. One Peter wasn’t necessarily expecting. But to wake up, in said Cave, to Dick with only his mask to conceal his identity, is a shock.
Peter has never, and accepted he would never see Nightwing’s face. It’s a security precaution, he understands and honestly, can even relate to the caution. Even with the eye-roll Dick gave Batman when he explained such.
“D’ck?” Peter slurs, his tongue heavy against the roof of his mouth. His head tilts towards the man.
Dick smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it normally does. “Hey Spidey, you took quite the fall.”
Peter winces. Oh. He’s worried. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Dick says, shaking his head.
Peter tries to take stock of his surroundings. They’re not in a hospital, but something adjacent. The walls are white and empty, various equipment surrounds them. Peter’s hooked up to an IV.
Dick catches his wrist when he goes to probe at the bag. “We brought you back to the Cave for monitoring.”
“I woulda been fine,” he says dismissively, waving a hand. “Where’s my mask?”
Dick’s face contorts a little when Peter turns back to him, like he can’t decide what expression to land on.
“It’s with Agent A, he’s trying to get the blood out of your suit. We didn’t want you to wake up alone though, so only he and I have seen your face.”
Distantly, Peter recognizes the importance of that statement and feels the correlating gratitude, but his head is still dully throbbing. It feels big. He ignores it.
“You look stupid like that,” Peter laughs, motioning to the man’s outfit. “Lazy clothes ‘nd a mask.”
Dick laughs goodnaturedly, shaking his head with a smile, but there’s a glint of something undernath. “Well I was going to take it off to even the playing field,” he starts, motioning to Peter’s outfit vaguely. “But Agent A and B thought we should let you wake up and get a handle on things before dealing another shock.”
Now, Peter isn’t that doped up right now and his awareness is improving the longer he’s awake, so he has the capacity to wonder why Dick’s face would be a cause for panic. He opens his mouth to voice that exact question when a knock sounds on the door.
“Can I come in?” Batman calls from the other side of the door.
Clarity hits him like a brick.
Batman. Batman is asking for permission to come in. He’s asking if he can enter his own medbay. Peter turns wide eyes on Dick, who just snorts at his expression and tilts his head in question. And Peter- Peter doesn’t know what to think of this. Patrolling together is one thing, he’s getting used to that, to having someone he can count on. But that’s patrol. This is- different. This is letting someone in as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man. Peter Parker is a liability.
He glances at Dick, searching his expression for something, anything to give away what the man is thinking, but all he finds is faith. Dick has shown, time and again, his faith in his team, in Peter. Dick, for some incomprehensible reason, trusts Peter. Dick is capable, so is Batman, even if he falls closer to dangerous. They can protect themselves.
He nods.
A smile stretches across Dick’s face. “Yeah, B.”
He enters quietly, looking at something on the datapad he’s holding. Peter doesn’t know how he sees out of the cowl so well. Or at all. He’s removed his cape and most of the outer armor. He looks relaxed. As much as he can clad in leather, anyway.
“I hope you’re not bothering him too much.”
B glances up briefly as he says it, likely to catch the offense cross Dick’s face. His gaze flicks to Peter as Dick launches into a defense of his character, and freezes minutely.
Peter notices. He notices the falter in his movements, how his eyes go half a fraction wider, the way his heart rate rises slightly. Peter freezes with him.
“What?” he asks warily, interrupting Dick’s rant.
Dick looks between the two of them. Peter can feel the confusion radiating off of all of them, even B. Batman, confused. Peter would be surprised if it weren’t for his own hackles rising. Any leftover drowsiness has vacated him.
Dick, ever the mediator, intercepts smoothly. “What’s up, B?”
Batman shutters his expression fully, but Dick only narrows his eyes at the man, like he sees right past the walls.
B shakes his head a little. “You’re younger than I was expecting, is all.”
It’s a half answer, that much is obvious, but Peter feels heat rise to his cheeks regardless. It wasn’t a lie .
“You probably get that a lot, huh?”
Peter has to duck his head then because B is seeing him and he’s seeing too much. He’s seeing Peter and all his faults, reading him like a damn book. This is the weirdest interaction he’s had with him yet, and the man dresses like a bat. You’d think the first meeting would top this. But no, this conversation is starting to emulate all the talks he had with therapists right after his parents died. Except this time it’s like Batman actually knows what he’s talking about.
Peter looks up to find a silent conversation happening above him. Dick’s head is tilted as he studies the other man. Something is dancing between them, across their barely changing expressions, but Peter can’t quite pinpoint what.
Batman catches Peter’s eye. “Why don’t you two do introductions?”
Dick looks a little putout. He opens his mouth, a protest already loaded, no doubt.
Peter jumps in before the situation can manage to become even more confusing. He sticks out a hand to Dick. “Peter. Peter Parker.”
He looks from Peter’s hand to his face and, as if sensing his discomfort, relinquishes. He reaches for Peter’s hand and his mask simultaneously, peeling off the last remains of Nightwing with a fluidity speaking of years of experience.
“Dick Grayson,” He greets, meeting Peter’s eyes with a smile.
Peter freezes mid shake.
Dick Grayson.
Richard Grayson?
Richard Parker .
Richard Parker is shaking his hand. Peter is shaking Richard Parker’s hand. He’s shaking his dad’s hand.
His dead dad.
Peter must squeeze their still clasped hands, or go slack, or go pale, or something because Dick frowns at him.
“Peter? You ok?” He asks.
Something in Peter breaks, just a little further. Some decade old wound pulsing, opened anew. He hasn’t heard his dad in a decade, hasn’t heard his name or that concern laced into it. Peter had forgotten what he even sounded like until just now. And God, that’s a chilling realization, but it’s all coming back now.
“You’re- Dad? ” He cries. He sounds so small, feels it too. He’s shrinking in on himself, reverting to the four year old who stayed up for hours night after night, waiting for someone who could never return to him.
He’s breaking at the seams.
But the men in front of him freeze, twin statues of worry and disbelief.
Peter drops the hand in his. He shakes himself, closing his eyes against the utter shock blossoming across his father’s face.
Your dad is dead. He reminds himself. That’s Dick. Logic comes easier in the darkness, where he isn't staring at the face of his longest standing nightmares. Dick isn’t your father, no matter how much he might look like it.
Peter’s eyes fly open. “I- oh my god,” he gasps, frantically looking between B and Dick.
“You- I’m in a parallel universe. Alternate. Whatever you want to call it. I didn’t think there were alternate people but you-,” He cuts off abruptly.
Dick’s frown lightens a fraction. Understanding creeps into his features. “I’m an alternate version of your dad,” he says quietly, but not like he’s addressing Peter. Almost like he needs to say it aloud to believe it.
“Why didn’t you mention you’re from another universe?” B asks.
Dick whirls around to him, incredulous. “ That’s what you’re focusing on right now?”
Peter would laugh at the ridiculousness of this conversation if he wasn’t so stunned.
Batman doesn’t blanch in the face of Dick’s scorn. “You I noticed your similarities, I was going to run a DNA test. This is a little more complicated.”
Peter sees Dick’s face begin to turn red at the time he feels his own heat up.
“Bruce,” Dick squawks, throwing his arms up in exasperation.
Peter interjects, fighting through his own embarrassment. “I wasn’t completely sure this wasn’t a coma, to be honest.”
“Weren’t you trying to get back?”
Peter throws him a smile, but he can tell it looks as fake as it feels. “Don’t have anything to go back to.”
He fiddles with his fingers, staring at his lap as he tries to articulate his next words. How do you tell someone they’re dead? Well, their doppelganger, that is.
“My parents have been gone a long time. My aunt and uncle took me in, but they’re uh, they passed too.”
Expecting uncomfortable silence, or some sort of surprised noise, Peter jumps when Batman speaks, tone flat. “You don’t have any other family? Close friends?”
There’s a thump , Peter peeks a glance at Dick and Batman and catches the scathing look Dick is throwing his mentor.
“What B means is that surely someone is missing you.” He looks back to Peter as he says it and smiles.
Peter looks back at his hands. “It’s um, It’s a long story including my identity getting leaked and a memory spell. If the spell worked, nobody remembers me.”
He meets Batman’s gaze, needing him to see his resolution. “If it didn’t work- I can’t go back. I won’t.”
The Bat regards him for a moment, then nods. “It’s settled, then.”
He reaches for his cowl, pulling it off steadily.
“Bruce Wayne. It’s nice to meet you formally, Peter.”