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Peter wasn’t expecting the invite from Tim on his day off — nor so soon after their platonic photo date — but he wouldn’t say it was unwelcome. Since Jason had wrapped things up prematurely yesterday — thanks to Bruce Fucking Wayne’s uninvited appearance — he’d left the apartment at about two to continue working on his motorcycle. He wouldn’t be back until after work, either, which meant Peter and Dog were left to their own devices.
He thought about working on his mask, but not long after Jason disappeared, a strange lethargy had overcome Peter, and he found it difficult to find the energy to do anything more than lie on the couch and listlessly channel surf. It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday and there was absolutely nothing on. Even Jason’s definitely legally acquired Netflix held no appeal. Twenty-two minutes he spent scrolling through the app, with what felt like the same ten shows passing on loop. The same ten shows that held zero appeal to Peter in that moment.
Out of frustration, Peter settled for a Dr Phil re-run, even though he found the man to be grating and doubted he was any better a ‘doctor’ on Earth G than he was on Earth I. Dog joined him on the couch not long after, taking the liberty to drape herself over Peter’s torso.
It took a while for her to settle — and Peter ended up with a few too many legs to the gut as she found the perfect position — but once she did, he found her weight settling. Grounding. Dog was warm and heavy and her ears were silky soft as Peter petted her. He buried his nose against her cheek and she lazily licked him back, before shutting her eyes with a doggy sigh.
Peter drifted for a while. The sounds of the city and Dr Phil and the incessant ads crammed between faded out, replaced with the simple ba-thump of Dog’s pulse, a little faster than a human’s, and their out-of-sync breathing. The lethargy was still there, but Peter didn’t mind it so much after a while. Rather than feeling aimless and frustrated at his inability to focus, he was calm. Ready to slip into a peaceful nap—
BZZT! BZZT!
Peter startled at the vibrations, yanked right out of that place between wakefulness and dreams. His pulse throbbed with the disruption. It took an embarrassingly long time to realise the buzzing was from his phone, dropped to the floor when Dog decided to make Peter her new sleeping mat.
Unwilling to dislodge Dog, Peter fumbled blindly for his cell, nearly knocking it under the couch and only just managing to catch it with his stickiness. He blinked in confusion at the contact, but swiped the call open before they could ring out.
“Tim?” he asked. “Hey?”
“Peter!” came Tim’s brisk response. The sounds of the city were loud in the background. “I’m glad you picked up. Listen, I know it’s last minute and on your day off, but I’m in the area. Want to hang out?”
Uninterested in holding the phone to his ear for the rest of the conversation, Peter put it on speaker and set it on his shoulder. The clock on one of the bookshelves said it was just after 4:30. “I don’t mind... I’m at home though.”
“That’s cool. I’m, uh—” Tim coughed in a very self-conscious manner, “I’m actually almost there?”
Peter laughed silently. This family. Was it the richness, the Gothamness, or something else entirely? Peter was going to have to get to the bottom of it soon. “Have you been to the apartment before?”
“…No,” Tim admitted. “But I got the address off Dick.”
“Of course you did. It’s just me here… that cool?”
“If I wanted to hang out with an annoying older brother, I’d have called one of them,” Tim scoffed.
Peter laughed aloud. “Okay.” Jason wouldn’t mind Tim coming over, right? He seemed to get on okay with Tim… the one time Peter saw them interact while at the manor. He breathed out a sigh. “I’ll meet you downstairs—”
“No need,” Tim said. There was a casual air to his voice that screamed fake. “I’m already in. You guys have really terrible security.”
Seriously.
This. Family.
“It’s Park Row. The only places with good security are fronts to the mob. We’re on the sixth floor. I’ll let you in when you’re up: I suggest you don’t try the elevator.”
“Eh? But—!”
Feeling petty, Peter hung up.
With great reluctance, he prodded Dog up and off, her huffing with scandalised indignance the entire time. A cursory study of the apartment didn’t highlight anything strange or incriminating, and all of his Spider-Man gear was secreted away. Even if Tim saw his bedroom, he wouldn’t find anything unless he went snooping…
… Knowing the Waynes (and adjacent) as he was starting to, Peter resolved to not allow Tim in his bedroom. For good measure, he kept both bedroom doors firmly shut.
Just as he was checking for any evidence of Jason’s weapons left lying around — on occasion they’d materialise outside of their containment in the ceiling — there was a brisk knock at the door. Three sharp raps, followed by a flamboyant double-tap: the exact kind of knock he’d expect from someone like Tim, who seemed to see-saw between chaotic disaster and shrewd businessman.
“Hey,” he said as he opened the door for Tim. Disappointingly, he was barely out of breath and only a little pink-cheeked. Peter stepped aside to let Tim in.
Tim entered cautiously, as though expecting someone — maybe Jason — to jump out and chase him away. But the only one likely to do so was Dog, who was sat at attention by the kitchen island upon Peter’s command.
“At ease,” he said to Dog as soon as the door was shut, and she launched herself at Tim, sniffing him curiously. Tim weathered the attention patiently and offered her his hand in a similar manner to Mr Wayne.
The different between the two meetings sat in stark contrast in Peter’s mind. Whereas Mr Wayne had been dressed sharp enough to cut glass, Tim was three steps away from being categorised as ‘slob’, in torn jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. There was an oil stain on the cuff of his left sleeve and the hem around the neckline was frayed from use.
(Peter also didn’t feel the need to ask Jason’s permission to let Tim in. It was an important distinction.)
“You want anything?” Peter asked while Tim continued greeting Dog. “Water? Coffee?”
“You have any Zesti?” Tim asked hopefully.
Peter shook his head. Tim’s shoulders fell.
“Coffee, then.”
Peter set about making a small pot while Tim inspected the apartment. He was as nosy as the rest of the family, peering at the books and even taking a few off, peeking inside as if dubious of their authenticity.
It was hard not to be nervous about it: Peter was pretty sure at least three books on those shelves were fake. A week ago, he’d pulled one off at random only to find a knife embedded in the pages. Two more had been suspiciously heavy, so he’d put them back on the shelf just in case Jason thought he was snooping.
“Up to muster?” he asked once the coffee machine started gurgling.
“Disappointingly boring,” Tim declared, shooting Peter a look he couldn’t quite get a read on. “Jason’s always been a bit of a wild card, you know?”
Peter tried to smooth away the frown before it could form. His gaze caught on Jason’s poetry collection, where the afternoon light caressed the gilded spines of John Keats.
“No, actually,” he said carefully, unwilling to pick a fight with Tim when he’d only come to hang out. “I’ve always found him to be pretty reliable.”
Tim winced. “Right. Sure.” He grinned weakly. “Guess I just expected something more inappropriate.”
Peter smiled inanely. “Sure,” he echoed. “Guess that’s something to keep in the bedroom though, right?”
Tim paled. Peter’s smile grew.
“Okay, I admit I walked into that one,” Tim admitted.
Peter laughed. “You did.” He went to ready Tim a mug, but paused. “Hey, do you mind actually if we go out? Dog should really have another walk.”
“After you made me climb five flights of stairs?” Tim groaned, but he was smiling so Peter didn’t think he was too put out.
“I think I need to get out of the apartment,” Peter added in apology. “The cold sucks, but I was probably going a bit stir crazy without anyone around.”
Even as he said it, Peter realised the truth in his admission. It wasn’t that common for him to be alone in the apartment during the day. At night? Sure. But it felt different when the sun was still up: usually, Peter was decompressing from work, and Jason still ate an early dinner with him before he left for work. Sometimes they’d both take Dog out for another walk, depending on how late Peter’s shift ended. There was a sense of things winding down. Of the day wrapping up. The presence of another just wasn’t as missed.
“Is its safe?” Tim asked, and Peter nearly laughed at him. Tim, whose hands were as scarred as the rest of his family. Whose body was far more muscled than his slubby clothes let on.
“Park Row’s not that bad,” Peter jeered. “You just have to put on your ‘don’t fuck with me’ face and Dog will do the rest.”
“Don’t fuck with me face?” Tim asked, laughter badly hidden in his voice.
“C’mon, you’re the local.” The coffee machine finished and Peter poured it straight into a reusable cup, along with two sugars. “Surely you know what I’m talking about. It’s all—” He made an over-exaggerated approximation of the face, mouth downturned, jaw set, eyes fierce. “Jason does it all the time. I don’t think he even realises it.”
“The don’t fuck with me face,” Tim breathed reverently. He suddenly laughed. “Oh my God, that’s totally what he does! Wow. I’m absolutely using that.”
Peter grinned. “A lot of people around here have the same kind of expression.” It made it easy, in fact, to pick out the seasoned local because of it. Peter could only guess at the stories those men and women could tell. He was sure most weren’t any happier than Jason’s…
A thought occurred to him. “You staying for dinner?”
Tim’s eyes widened. “Am I allowed?”
“Sure, if you’re paying. You don’t want me cooking, but the bodeg— uh, the corner store — just down the block sells passable frozen pizza.”
“And Zesti?”
Peter laughed at Tim’s hopeful tone. “Sure. And Zesti.”
— + —
As predicted, no one messed with them on the walk to the park, though that probably had more to do with Dog’s presence than the combined intimidation efforts of Tim and Peter.
The streets were sleepy, caught in the Sunday afternoon haze of a lazy breeze and golden sunlight. Part of that, no doubt, was also down to the smog that hovered permanently over the city, but it did make for some spectacular sunsets when the weather allowed.
Peter was unsurprised to see Jennie there when they arrived. He’d got the impression weeks ago that she wasn’t one for hanging around indoors. Too few people to boss around or something. The child made a beeline for them immediately, though she slowed as she realised it wasn’t Jason who accompanied Peter.
“Sup, New Dork?” Jennie asked as soon as they were within earshot. Peter held back a wince: he refused to show any weakness to the pre-teen. The moment he did, it would be over for any scrap of dignity he had left.
At least ‘New Dork’ was marginally better than ‘Penis Parker’ or ‘Jay-Boy’.
Peter let Dog off her lead and she shot off towards Jennie. “Not much.”
“Who’s this?” Jennie asked, once she’d given Dog her requisite pets. “Where’s Jay?”
“He’s working. This is his brother, Tim.”
“Brother?” Jennie said with open derision. “I didn’t know he had a brother. You don’t look like him at all.”
Tim, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye. “I should hope not. We’re adopted.”
“Huh,” said Jennie, and that was the extent of her interest. Peter tossed her Dog’s ball and the two of them ran off. Someone had finally mowed the grass a few days ago, though they hadn’t bothered collecting the clippings, and child and dog sent half-dried grass flying through the air as they ran with far more energy that Peter thought a Sunday afternoon merited.
He led Tim over to a bench and collapsed into it, tilting his head towards the sun to absorb what little warmth it could offer in late October. He dipped into the web to track Jennie and Dog gallivanting around the park, joined not long after by another person — a child, judging by the shouts. Tim sat beside him after a moment and Peter heard him sip his coffee.
“So,” Tim said after the silence between them had grown out of ‘incidental’ and into ‘deliberate’. “I heard Bruce gate-crashed yesterday.”
Eyes still firmly shut to the sun, Peter nodded. “He did.”
“And… how was it?”
“Unexpected.”
Tim chuckled. “We didn’t know he would do that, sorry.”
“Mm, it was fine. I had to entertain him without Jace for longer than I’d have liked, but he seemed pretty happy just talking business.”
“… Yeah?”
Peter rolled his head and cracked open an eye. “Sure. I gotta say though…” Tim leaned forwards a little, gaze intent. “Does anyone actually fall for that ‘airhead Brucie Wayne’ stuff? Because I’d read about him before we met and that was not the impression I got.”
Tim blinked. “What impression did you get?”
“A bit of a gossip, sure,” Peter said, chewing over his thoughts and the conversation he’d had with Mr Wayne before Jason’s arrival. “But he had an eye for detail…” Like the lack of joint photos with Peter and Jason. “Though I guess the generosity thing matched. But that could’ve just been because I’m with his son.”
“He offered you something?” Tim asked. “What? Money? A car?”
“Better,” Peter admitted. “A job. Something about a degree apprenticeship? If I did good in my GEDs. Seemed a bit nepotism-y, really, but also, the kind of thing I’d have applied for anyway.”
“You don’t think you’d get in on your own merits?”
“Maybe.” Peter shrugged, unoffended. Tim was blunt, but there was nothing but curiosity in his question. “It’s chemical and biomedical engineering that interests me the most, and WI has been a big player in the field, from what I’ve read.”
“How on Earth did you survive out in the middle of nowhere?” Tim asked laughingly. “It feels like science runs through your veins!”
“Badly,” Peter laughed back. “I read a lot.”
Not a lie. He’d been doing a lot of reading in the six months after the Erasure, in the spaces he could build between work and Spider-Manning. Anything to keep his mind occupied. Anything to keep the memories of his failures far away from conscious thought. There was no hiding from them in his sleep, of course, but he’d discovered quickly that exhaustion usually dragged him down into a deep, dark place where no dream could touch him.
He’d feared a return of the nightmares, now that he was sleeping more and Spider-Manning not at all, but though they still came and they still hurt, often Peter found his dreams interrupted by Dog pawing at his door before they devolved into something truly ugly, as they’d done the night Jason made the mistake of trying to wake him.
Peter moved the conversation on, clearing his throat uncomfortably. No matter Jason’s fraught relationship with Mr Wayne, the man was still Tim’s adoptive father. “Say… Mr Wayne, has he ever… you know…”
Tim frowned. “Know what?”
“You know…”
“Know what?” Tim sounded distinctly annoyed at Peter’s evasiveness.
“Has he ever, like… stolen things off you?”
A complicated expression passed over Tim’s face, incomprehensible to Peter except for the final look of awe. “Oh my God.”
Peter frowned. “Does he have, like, a problem?”
“Did he steal something from you?”
Peter glanced off to the side. Jennie was getting Dog to leap over the arms of the kid that had joined them, just like Peter had shown her and Damian showed him. “A cup.”
“Oh my God,” Tim said again.
“Jason got it back before he left.” Peter grimaced. “I didn’t even notice he’d done it. When I asked, Jason said Mr Wayne has a stealing problem, but also, I’m aware he’s not the most objective of sources. He was not happy at Mr Wayne appearing without warning.”
Tim’s eyes were bright and shiny. “Oh my God.”
Peter frowned. “Sorry… should I have not said anything?”
“No!” Tim yelped, waving his hands wildly. “No — yes! You’re fine, it’s fine! I just — it’s a bit of a secret. In the family. I’m sure you can understand why.”
“Of course,” Peter said quickly. He might not have known Mr Stark for very long, but he’d seen the way the media constantly hounded him for their piece of flesh, even after years as a hero. It was a feeling Peter quickly came to understand first hand, after Beck, where every movement as both Peter Parker and Spider-Man had been filmed and picked apart like he was nothing better than a piece of meat.
The weight of the media falling upon you was a heavy burden to bear. Little wonder Tony played up the asshole act when he’d had to put up with it his whole life. Who knew what a man like Bruce Fucking Wayne did to himself when trapped beneath the shrewd attentions of the world ever since the tragic deaths of his parents.
“I’d never tell,” Peter said quietly as he looked back across the park. Jennie and Dog were tussling now, throwing up even more shards of grass than they had when running.
“I didn’t think you would,” Tim said, voice gentled.
Peter nodded.
“… Are you okay?”
“Eh?” Peter frowned at Tim, confused.
Tim smiled back helplessly. “You just looked a bit sad, is all.”
“Oh…” Peter forced out a laugh. “Just… thinking about secrets, I guess.”
“Yeah? You got some skeletons in the closet, Parker?”
“Sure,” Peter said, grinning now. He stared pointedly at Tim’s hands, wrapped firmly around his coffee cup. “Don’t you?”
That shut Tim up fast, and Peter chuckled to himself as he changed the subject
— + —
Nightfall was a strange phenomenon in Gotham.
Sometimes, it felt like they’d be stuck on the cusp of dusk for hours, the day unwilling to give up its grasp of the city. Other times, you’d blink and between one second and the next it was pitch black and you were worried about walking home in the dark.
Today was one of the latter. Peter and Tim chatted aimlessly about various things until Peter suddenly realised the night was upon them, the first of the stars that survived Gotham’s light pollution already speckling the sky. He stood abruptly.
“Jennie! Dog!”
The two popped their heads up off the grass, having tired of their playing a little while ago. Jennie’s friend had left… he didn’t know when. Tim had been laughingly retelling the various theories his boyfriend Bernard had about the identities of the Bats, a topic Peter found so fascinating that he’d not even registered that they were the last ones left in the park.
Peter waved the two over. “Didn’t even notice it got dark. We’ll walk you home.” Jennie looked like she might object, so Peter pulled a Jason and handed her Dog’s leash. “Can you walk her? Gotta keep her well trained keeping heel with squirts.”
“Oi!” Jennie yelped and poked him hard in the stomach. Peter reeled away as though stabbed and the girl mended her wounded pride. “Ma says I’m tall for my age. Gimme a few years and I’ll be taller than you, New Dork.”
“And cooler, too,” Tim piped up.
“Et tu Brute?” Peter swooned, head in his hands as he cried to the heavens with wordless pain. The others laughed at his dramatics and began walking away. Peter grinned, dropped his hands and jogged to catch up.
Jennie chattered about school as they walked her home, complaining mostly about the girl she sat beside who kept knocking Jennie’s pencil case off the desk at any given opportunity. And math. And science. Turned out, Jennie wasn’t too keen on school, though it seemed like that had more to do with the year than her general attitudes towards school itself.
“I liked it fine last year,” she said as they strolled down the streets. Peter tried hard to adopt Jason’s ‘don’t fuck with me’ face, but he was pretty sure Jennie did a better job at it than he did. “But my teacher this year sucks. He doesn’t care that Sian’s knocking my stuff off. He doesn’t care about anything! Last week, we played dead logs every day! Mrs White didn’t let us do it once last year ‘cause she said it was kindy stuff!”
“Dead logs?” Tim asked.
“You know, where you lie on the floor and try to be as still as possible. If they catch you moving then you’re out[1].”
“Huh,” Tim said, blinking like Jennie had just given him some unknown answer to the universe. “Damn. Wish we’d played that when I was in school.”
“It’s fine once or twice. But every day?” She scoffed with all the scorn a nine-year-old could muster. Which incidentally, was a hell of a lot. “I heard two of the other teachers complain about him. They called him a lazy fu—”
“And I think we get the picture!” Peter rushed, feeling like he had some responsibility to keep her from cursing. Blessedly, they’d just reached her apartment building. It looked much the same as Peter and Jason’s: a little rough around the edges but definitely not as bad as some of the buildings off to the west of Park Row. At least here, the only things littering the front steps were cigarette butts and a few flyaway scraps of plastic.
Jennie hopped up the steps, but not without giving Dog a parting cuddle — one of the few times Jennie acted her age. The effect was immediately ruined when she straightened, said, “See you later, losers,” and then slipped into the building.
“Well,” said Tim as they watched the door swing shut with an alarming rattle of glass. “She’s…”
“A Gotham stereotype bordering on offensive? I know.”
Peter’s response shocked a laugh from Tim. He slapped Peter’s shoulder good-naturedly. “Not what I was going to say, but you know what? Yeah. Sure.”
They waited until the light in Jennie’s apartment flicked on and she pulled open the curtains enough to peer down onto the street. When she saw that they were still there, Jennie pulled a face that made Peter snicker and slammed shut the curtains once more.
“Okay, we can go.”
“Pizza and Zesti?”
“Pizza and Zesti,” Peter agreed, though he would not partake in the latter. “Your treat, remember?”
“Moi?” Tim gasped, scandalised as they walked. “But I’m the guest!”
“The guest who more or less invited themselves,” Peter reminded him. “And between the two of us, Rich Boy, I know who’d be more out of pocket for buying some pizza and shitty soda.”
“You call my lord and saviour ‘shitty’ and I’ll be making you drink it, buddy.”
“And I’d be literally crawling up the walls.” Peter smirked at his own joke. “Caffeine intolerance, remember?”
“God,” Tim moaned, genuinely pained by the reminder. “How do you survive?”
“Sometimes, I dream of just putting it in my mouth and not swallowing.”
Tim stumbled. “That’s — you’re talking about the coffee, right?”
Peter, who had only just realised the terrible implication of his words, decided to run with it rather than admit defeat. “Of course I’m only talking about the coffee.”
Tim stared hard. “Your words don’t match your tone.”
“Do they not?” Peter mused, unable to keep himself from grinning.
“Ugh.” Tim gave a full body shiver. “Anyone else. You could have picked literally anyone else.”
“Jason’s a good guy,” Peter huffed, feeling defensive, even though he knew Tim was only speaking from sibling queasiness. And also, it wasn’t like Peter was actually dating him.
“But dateable?”
“Very dateable,” Peter said firmly, because Jason was good-looking, and knew how to cook and clean and a bit of an asshole but also very kind. And did Peter mention he knew how to cook?
They walked past a darkened alley — the kind Peter learnt quickly to ignore, as though acknowledging its existence summoned trouble — and Peter froze at the same time Dog did, right at the mouth.
Tim took another step before he realised Peter had stopped. “Pete?”
Peter didn’t answer. There was someone down there, swallowed by the shadows. Across the web, there was the briefest flicker of threat, and then Dog yipped and nearly ran straight into the alley before Peter called her to heel. She stopped again but strained against his hold on the leash.
“Hello?” Peter called out. Dog’s tail was wagging furiously and she was shivering with the kind of enthusiasm usually only reserved for a highly select number of people. Peter frowned, concerned. “… Jason?”
“‘Fraid not,” the person in the dark said, voice even darker than the shadows they were swaddled in. They stepped far enough into the light to reveal a familiar frame. Tall. Brick shithouse. Red Eyes.
Red Hood.
“Oh, it’s you,” Peter said, relaxing.
The Red Hood did not relax. If anything, he stood straighter, shoulders broad enough to block out whatever was hidden in the alley behind. “Hello, Peter.”
“Hi. Bit early for Park Row’s bogeyman to be out, isn’t it?”
“Bit late for Park Row’s barefoot wonder to be out, ain’t it?”
“It’s not my curfew yet,” Peter cooed, insouciance dripping from every syllable.
The Red Hood chuckled, grating through his muzzle. “And I see you’ve got shoes, this time. Going up in the world?”
“I live to prosper,” Peter said, grinning viciously. “They’re nice boots and everything.”
He poked out a foot to model the shoes Jason still swore black and blue he’d not bought for Peter. They were, Peter hated to admit it, both comfortable and stylish. And far warmer than his tired sneakers.
Behind him, Tim made a strangled noise. Peter glanced back and nearly laughed at Tim’s expression. It warred between horrified, amazed and wildly confused.
“You okay?” he mouthed at Tim. Tim nodded tightly back.
“What are you doing out after dark, Peter?” Red Hood asked, drawing back his attention.
“Oh, you know,” Peter said breezily, “I just wanted to share the wonders of Park Row with my friend. He’s a wildlife photographer, did you know?”
Another strangled noise escaped from Tim, probably unhappy at having the Red Hood’s attention drawn to him, but the vigilante merely laughed. “Is he now. Say—” whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a high-pitched whine from Dog, still shivering with anticipation, tail thumping on the ground.
“Come,” Red Hood said instead, and Dog leapt at him. Peter let go of the leash rather than choke her and watched with fascination as she danced around the Red Hood with glee.
“Huh.”
“What?” Red Hood asked, scratching Dog’s side affectionately.
“She likes you.”
“‘Course she does,” said Red Hood. He muttered an order and she sat without question. “I trained her.”
Peter frowned. “You just… gave Jace your dog?” His eyes widened. “Oh my God! You’re the one who named her! No wonder he was so evasive about the name! He wouldn’t dare change it when such a big and scary guy gave her to him.”
“You think I’m big and scary?” Red Hood drawled, looking up.
“I think you’re unnecessarily big,” Peter agreed. “The scary part I’m not sold on.”
To prove his point, Dog bopped her head against Red Hood’s lax hand and he obediently scratched her flank.
Peter’s lips twitched and he almost broke the cool and collected façade. Fortunately, he was saved by the sound of a maybe-firework-probably-gunshot several blocks away. Hood twitched towards the sound, then straightened back to his full, unnecessary height.
“You good to get back on your own?”
“It’s not even seven yet,” Peter scoffed. “We’re fine.”
“Hmm,” said the Red Hood as he took a step backwards. Peter called Dog back to him. “Make it back quick. It’s gettin’ close to Halloween.”
“Sure,” said Peter, though he didn’t understand why the Halloween distinction needed to be made.
“Terrible to meet you, wildlife photographer,” Red Hood said, narrowing his attention on Tim. “Best keep your nose out of Park Row: the wildlife here bites.”
Tim made a sound alarmingly similar to those kettles you put on stoves to boil. Red Hood’s shoulders twitched with presumed amusement and he took a step back into the alley.
“Bye!” Peter cried, and made a heart with his hands, holding it up to his chest in elaboration. “Hey, if you’re open to changing your branding, I know a fourth grader who could probably come up with something! I’ll make sure I’ve got some paper on me, see what they can do!”
“You talk to everyone you barely know like this, you little shit-stirrer?”
“What are you gonna do?” Peter jeered. “Tell my man?”
“Oh, you bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You give him this shit?”
“Oh.” Peter grinned widely. “Worse.”
“Oh my God,” Tim whispered behind Peter.
“Let this be the last time I see you, Peter and friend.”
Knowing the Parker Luck, there was a fat chance of that happening. Peter just mimed the heart pumping and the Red Hood turned abruptly on his heel and disappeared back into the darkness of the alley. Tim and Peter listened to the quiet tp of his footsteps speed up and turn to a light clatter as he began — presumably — climbing up a fire escape.
“Oh my God, Peter!”
Peter picked up Dog’s leash and looked up. Tim was staring at him again. “What?”
“Do you know who he is?”
Peter frowned. The inflection in Tim’s voice was strange. He didn’t really understand it, but, well… “Yeah, of course I know who that is.”
“… and…?”
“Tim, you’re a Gothamite. Surely you know that that’s the Red Hood.”
“Ohhhh my God,” Tim breathed, then suddenly burst into peals of laughter. “Pete, you are — holy shit — you are—! I just — please never change.”
Peter, who had little intention of doing so, smiled, bemused and indulgent. “‘Kay.”
They continued walking back to the apartment, with Tim intermittently breaking into laughter all over again. Peter let him: he was more preoccupied by the revelation that Dog had been given to Jason by the Red Hood. That the Red Hood had trained Dog in the first place. He knew Jason interacted with the vigilante on occasion — enough to have told him something about their ‘relationship’ in the first place — but it felt like a big step between ‘talking to your kind-of boss’ and ‘being given your kind-of boss’s dog Dog’. Almost like—
“Oh my God, Tim!” Peter gasped, grabbing Tim’s sleeve as the revelation whipped through him. “Am I liv— am I dating a goon?”
— + —
Later, Tim called Jason and laughed at him for a good three minutes straight, the garbled, breathless words of “goon” and “flirting” and “unbelievable” breaking through on occasion. When he finally calmed down enough for Jason to speak, Tim suddenly shouted, “HOW DOES HE NOT KNOW?” before abruptly hanging up.
— + —
Tim, also later that evening with Bruce:
“Robin, did you find anything?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I got nothing.”
“… Did you try?”
“Nope.”
“Tim—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Mr Sticky Fingers. You want something out of Jason’s Peter, you’re on your own, dude.”
“This isn’t a laughing matter, Tim—”
“Oh, it’s absolutely a laughing matter B. But if you ask me to do that again, I’ll make sure everyone knows it’s a laughing matter, too.”
The door shut quietly but with an air of finality.
Bruce, into the solitude of the Batcave: “I’m never going to live that down, am I.”
From the wildly talented Onxymistkes (Tumblr)
[1] I don’t think you understand how badly I wish I could make some of my classes play dead logs. So badly. So very badly.