Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason had been through a lot in his 21 years of life. His father being a deadbeat, his drug addicted mother, who was apparently not his biological mother, had died, he had been tricked by his biological mother, being beaten many times before and during his time as Robin, dying violently, come back to life with more rage than could be contained in his tiny 15-year-old body, and finally been trained brutally to do unspeakable things. 

Yet this meeting was one of the most terrifying moments in Jason’s life. 

He had done so many bad things to Dick, Tim, Bruce, and people in general and now he thought that Dick’s kid would like to meet him? Why did Jason ask for this? Why did Dick agree to this? 

Jason tried to find comfort in the fibers in his shirt. The fabric was smooth but the threads gave just enough texture for Jason to focus on something other than his sweaty hands. 

“In here, Tati,” Dick called into the hallways from where he stood. 

Peter walked in as Dick did and held a fistful of his father’s jeans. Huge light brown eyes looked at Jason and the boy’s hair had grown just enough for everyone to see how it fell into soft waves. 

Dick had said that Peter was small but Jason hadn’t thought much about how small an below average 5-year-old would be before he saw Peter’s tiny legs supporting his tiny body. The kid was skinny too but Jason couldn’t imagine Dick ever letting him go hungry to bed.  

“Hello,” Jason let out when it was clear that they would both just stare if Jason didn’t say anything. 

“Hi,” Peter replied before hiding behind his father’s legs.  

“This is your Uncle Jason. He doesn’t bite.” 

Jason didn’t bite but he had blood on his hands and Peter’s skin was so fair and impressionable.

Dick started to walk with a child attached to his leg. Peter probably weighed under 30 pounds but it was still a wonder how Dick could walk so smoothly with him attached like that. 

Peter pulled himself away from Dick’s leg enough to look over at Jason before putting his face back into the back of Dick’s thigh. 

“I brought gifts,” Jason said with a wavering voice and felt completely foolish as he shook the plastic bag. Of course Peter would be scared of Jason. He had scars on his face and arms and sometimes he even scared himself a little when he saw how tall and wide that he had become. 

Peter looked up at Jason again at that and his curious eyes found the bag and then looked up at Dick. 

“Maybe Jason will show you if you ask nicely.” 

Peter gave a nod and squared his jaw as he looked fiercely at Jason. “Can I see what you brought?”

Jason let out a relieved smile. “Of course.”

Jason felt foolish again when he pulled out an illustrated version of The Little Prince and Peter didn’t seem to recognize it. On the other hand maybe it would be worse if he did recognize it. Did they have it at home?

“Wow, it’s about a boy like you. Can you read the title for us?” 

Jason looked up at Dick at that. Did children read at 5? Did Jason at 5? He had always loved books but perhaps he had been stupid anyway?

Peter waved at his dad and received a pair of frankly very dorky and very cute glasses. 

“The Liddle”

“Little,” Dick corrected. 

“Little Prince.” Peter smiled brightly at Dick and then at Jason. 

It took Jason a moment to realize that he was expected to react instead of just staring. “That was so good. Maybe you could read it for me sometime.” 

Peter looked up at Dick and asked, “O Bitti Boro Rai?” 

“Ava, O Bitti Boro Rai, boro rai mea.” 

Peter smiled up at Dick and then looked back at Jason after that little exchange. He smiled excitedly at Jason and the book before he took a step away from Dick. 

“Can I see the rest, please?”

Jason would definitely have to meet Peter’s mother next if Peter was this polite despite growing up around Dick and his sailor mouth. 

“Of course, see I have this too.” Jason pulled out Charlotte’s Web. “Maybe I could read this to you sometimes. If you and your dad ever want to visit me.”

Jason looked up at Dick’s displeased sound. “I’m probably not going to take him to Crime Alley, but you can come to Blüdhaven or we could visit the manor.” 

“Crime Ally sounds scary,” Peter said and did the most adorable power pose that Jason had ever seen. “But I’m very brave. I’m Spider-Boy.” 

“I can see that, but the manor has better furniture than I do anyway,” Jason said and tried to hide his disappointment at Dick’s words and hide how bobbly Peter’s antics made him feel. 

Peter walked even close to Jason to look at the cover of the book. “Is the girl named Charlotte?”

Jason looked down at the book too. “No, it’s the spider.” 

Peter almost stood on Jason’s toes as he looked at where Jason was pointing on the cover. 

“Oh, that makes sense. Webs.” 

“Yeah, your father said that you like spiders.” 

“I do. Mom is afraid of them but they’re really nice and cool.” Peter looked up at Jason with huge brown eyes behind his glasses. “Are you afraid of spiders?” 

Jason looked up at Dick in the hope of him telling Jason what the right answer was but Dick just smiled. Traitor. 

“No, I’m not.” 

Peter stuck his whole bottom lip into his mouth as he looked around the room before releasing it. “I could hold your hand if you get scared when we read the book together.”

“I would love that.”

Peter jumped up beside Jason and swung his legs. “Now?” 

Jason looked between Dick and Peter. Only a little terrified about how quickly Peter went from risking being farted in his face in order to escape the sight of him to wanting to sit next to him. 

“Peter can be pushy but you really don’t have to, Jason.”

Jason looked up at his big brother and then at the little life he had created. Jason had known Peter for less than 15 minutes and he was still terrified about letting the filth that was right beneath his skin infect such an innocent boy but Jason knew that would move a mountain for this little boy. A mountain would probably be easier than trying to not corrupt Peter but he would try his best if he could secure a space in Peter’s life. 

“We can read now, Peter.” 

Peter smiled so brightly that his cheeks pushed his glasses up and his eyes squinted, but they widened just as Jason was about to open the book. “Oh! Do you like dogs?” 

“They’re fine.” Jason felt his stomach open into a huge black hole when he realized that he might have made a grave mistake. “Should I have gotten a dog book?” 

Peter let out a giggle at Jason’s panic and Dick, the traitor, looked far too amused too. 

“No, but you have to meet Haley sometime. She lost her leg but she’s so cute that no one can hurt her.” 

Dick nodded sagely from his spot a few steps away. “Her cuteness really is her greatest strength.” 

Peter nodded at his father before looking at Jason again. “She can bite but only her toys and dad gets angry if you give her the dinner that you don’t like.” 

Dick put a hand to his right eye and finally stopped amusing himself in Jason's panic. “Dogs shouldn't eat human food just like you shouldn’t eat Haley’s food.” 

Peter stuck out his tongue at Dick who waved his finger and made a few small hums that made Peter pull his tongue back with a little scowl. 

Jason looked at Dick with a whole new set of eyes. “Wow, you really are a dad.” 

Dick shrugged. “A lot happened while you were gone. Well if you’re going to read some books then I’m just going to leave you two alone.” 

“Bye, Tati,” Peter said with a wave and had forgotten to scowl in the 2 seconds it had been since Dick had waved his finger at him. Peter instead stared at the cover of Charlotte’s Web with frighteningly intense eyes. 

Jason looked at Dick disappear and suddenly realized that Dick had left him in the same room as his son. His beloved son who had asthma and shit. Who needed glasses and couldn’t run if Jason suddenly lost all senses and went on a random and unprovoked killing spree. Peter could die and it would all be Jason’s fault for being a 21-year-old fuck-up. 

“Uncle Jason, you said that you would read with me.” 

Jason looked down at Peter’s demanding little face. “Okay, yes, let’s read.” 

Jason wasn’t afraid of spiders but felt grounded as Peter held his hand and leaned against him. Jason didn’t even feel uncomfortable or embarrassed as he made the voices that he wished someone had made for him when he had been young. 

Chapter Text

Peter was almost a year old and Babs was sure that he held the title as the happiest little bundle of joy Gotham had ever seen. Smart too and he would clap his little hands loudly every time he saw his toys and then find yet undiscovered ways to play with them all. 

Which was one of the reasons that she had never prepared herself for him crying hysterically as soon as they neared his bedtime.

She had fed him, then overfed him until he threw up, changed everything including the diaper, rubbed his stomach, rubbed his back, sang to him, and nothing was working. She put him in his playpen in the living room and wheeled over to Dick’s landline to call his cell phone and admit defeat. 

Maybe it was a little weird to babysit your ex-boyfriend’s baby while he was on a date with his current girlfriend and mother of the previously mentioned baby, but Babs adored both Dick and Peter, and Mary had always been very pleasant and adored Peter and Dick even more than Babs did. 

“Dick, I need you or Mary to come over,” she hissed into the phone. Any louder and she would cry herself. 

“What’s wrong? Is that Peter crying in the background?” 

Babs could hear shuffling on the other end and Mary was probably listening in on what a bad babysitter Babs really was. 

“Yes, he just won’t stop crying. I’ve tried everything.” 

“We’ll be there.”

Babs pulled Peter up into her arms up in the hopes of him relaxing by her physical touch this time. She only felt relief even as Peter’s crying made her ears ring and his face turned a concerning shade of purplish red. 

Well, she felt relief until Dick actually arrived by opening the door and dramatically throwing an arm up while shouting, “I heard that you needed a daddy!” 

Babs really didn’t know who was hurting more - Babs for knowing she had dated this man and stayed as his friend or Peter who must be very hoarse and overtired by now. Mary was already disqualified from the competition as she would win by a landslide with the knowledge that this was the father of her baby, and she was still dating him. 

Dick repeated himself even more dramatically when no one answered before rushing over to Peter and everything quieted down almost immediately after Peter was in Dick’s arms. Babs was already paralysed from the bottom of her spine but perhaps this scene had finally taken her hearing in a merciful attempt to preserve her sanity. 

“That’s my happy little guy,” Dick cooed and Babs looked up to see the baby giggling.

Mary walked over to run a hand over Peter’s tousled hair and Peter kept smacking both of his parents’ hands and faces excitedly. 

Mary sent Peter one last smile before she looked at Babs. “How long was he crying?”

Babs smiled sheepishly. “About an hour before I called you. I tried to calm him down but nothing was working.” 

Mary sent Babs a smile. “Thank you for trying. We knew it was a long shot to have a whole evening away from him.”

Dick threw Peter up into the air and caught him before Babs had time to worry about him falling to his death. “You did very well. Mary and I took a walk before dinner and we almost reached dessert before you called.” 

Peter let out an excited shriek as he was then held by his shins and flopped around with Dick’s movements. 

“Would you be up for trying again some time?” Mary asked nervously. 

“You would want me to?” 

“Of course, he’s fed and I can see that you even changed his clothes. He’s just a daddy’s boy and he hates sleeping.” 

Babs nodded with both excitement and exhaustion.  

“But please don’t let him cry for so long again,” Dick pleaded as he pulled Peter up and squashed him into his face. “He should never be sad and his daddy will always come if you call.” 

Peter’s answer was to push Dick’s face with a moist fist and almost put a finger in his nostril before Dick let go of Peter’s head to catch his hand. 

“Oh no, it’s your bedtime, isn’t it?” 

Peter let out either a babble or unclear Romani. Dick seemed to know what it meant when Peter repeated, “Keck, keck, keck.” And sounded more like a bird than any of the Robins ever had. 

“I know, I know, you want to stay awake for Aunt Babs and your mommy, but you have to sleep.” 

Peter started to push at Dick’s face again and Dick tried to both hold Peter close and pull his face away as he repeated, “Vast, vast, vast, vast.” 

“Are they always like this?” Babs asked as she and Mary looked upon the scene. 

“Oh, Babs.” Mary shook her head. “They’re usually so much worse. Although the almost daily singing is cute and entertaining.” 

Babs looked over at Dick. “I didn’t know that Dick could sing.”

Mary closed her eyes and shook her head with every word. “He can, but only does it when Peter has to sleep. It's so terrible during the day.” 

Dick and Peter somehow ended up with Dick holding Peter against his body so tightly that his moist fists couldn’t hit anything. “Shhhhh, relax, go to sleep.” 

Mary looked upon the scene with a knowledgeable smirk. “Do you need me to put him to bed or are you going to crush him into submission?” 

Dick looked at Mary with wide eyes and impossibly held Peter a little tighter without restricting his breathing, “It’s okay. I’ll put him to sleep.” 

Babs and Mary looked as Dick moved out of the room with a babbling baby in his arms. 

“He sure is dedicated to being a father.” 

Mary looked fondly at the door. “You have no idea, Babs. He fell in love even harder than I did as soon as Peter was born.” 

Peter babbled through the door and Dick came with answers in both English and Romani. 

“Dovo's a huckaben,” he said with a mock serious tone after 20 minutes of constant babbling. 

Peter babbled more determinedly. 

“I think Peter is talking behind my back right now,” Mary laughed. “Dick at least said something was false.” 

“You understand Romani?” 

“Not really, but Dick does speak it to Peter every chance he gets without being rude and I’ve picked up the most common words and phrases.” Mary looked back at the door when Peter let out another excited shriek. “That doesn’t sound like sleeping.” 

“Sorry,” Dick yelled through the door with Peter echoing something vaguely similar. 

Babs looked upon Mary and her resignation. “Do you need a night off? Maybe we can invite your sister, and some friends for a girl’s night out.” 

Mary looked down at Mary with tired but exhilarated eyes. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

Jason was glad to be talking to Bruce and Dick again and the newest additions were cool and Tim and he had even gotten very close after the whole Pretender-Killing-Teen-Titans-thing, but it was no secret that Jason only slept over at the manor when Peter was sleeping over too. 

Dick had been off-world for a week and wouldn’t arrive back for another week or two and Mary had gotten sick with a vigorous flu and threw up over the phone when she called Bruce, so Jason arrived at the manor as soon as he heard the news. 

It was really sad for Mary and there was probably a reason that Mary’s mother or sister either couldn’t or wouldn’t babysit, but Jason was old enough to admit that he was just glad to see Peter after over a week.

They had played tag in the garden with Cass and Damian, who insisted it was training for Peter, and Jason only had to threaten Tim a little to delete the picture of Jason falling on his ass and then beg him to make a copy of Damian and Peter checking up on him. 

It had been a nice day and Jason could sleep soundly in his incredibly comfortable bed. It was far better than anything he would ever buy for himself and it felt like the least that Bruce could do for him after everything that they had been through. Even if Jason wasn’t entirely blameless for what happened in the most recent years but he hadn’t been all there for most of them so it was probably fine. 

A hand pulled Jason’s arm in the darkness of his bedroom and he instinctively reached for his gun when he saw the small silhouette looking at him in the darkness. 

“I had a nightmare.” 

Jason stopped looking for a gun. He had completely forgotten that there would be none nearby ever since Dick’s course in gun safety around a small child. Jason instead used his arms to pull himself up as he stared at Peter’s sad little form. 

“Do you want me to go get Bruce or Damian? Maybe Cass or Tim are even here somewhere.” 

Jason would even call Babs or Stephanie if Peter wanted him to despite it being in the middle of the night.

Peter shook his head and looked down at his socked feet. “Can I sleep with you?” 

Jason startled. “You want to sleep here? With me?” 

Peter nodded with eyes just wide enough for the light to catch in them. 

Jason couldn’t remember being this confused any other time in his life. “Why?”

Peter started to back away. “Sorry for waking you.” 

Jason put one foot on the floor and reached an arm out to catch Peter before he could slither away. “I’m just tired. Of course, you can sleep here.” 

Peter looked up at Jason with calculating eyes. Jason wondered briefly how much Peter could see in both the darkness and without his glasses but he must have seen enough as he walked over to Jason and literally jumped into Jason’s bed. 

“I could go get your pillow or blanket,” Jason offered when Peter laid down with his head beside Jason’s pillow.

“No need. Tati says cuddling makes the bad dreams go away.” 

Dick would say that. Mostly to have an excuse to cuddle in general but Peter seemed to believe it. 

Jason carefully laid down on his side next to Peter and he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when Peter attached himself to Jason’s arm and tried to suck up his warmth after having wandered the cold hallways. 

“How did you know where my room is?” Jason whispered. 

“I didn’t, it took forever to find your room but I know it now.” Peter pulled Jason’s hand so his forearm was around Peter and his biceps were used as a hard pillow. 

“Wait, you were looking for me specifically?” 

Peter nodded his head and held on to two of Jason’s fingers in a way that was both heartwarming and could quickly end with Jason breaking at least one of his fingers. 

Jason was an adult at almost 22 and Peter wouldn't be 6 for another few months but he couldn’t help feeling insecure and asked, “Why me?”

“You’re strong. The monsters can’t get me if you’re there.” Peter let go of Jason’s fingers to run a hand over some of the raised scars on Jason’s forearm. 

Jason had never felt this warm before. Jason had let himself hope for it, but Peter was not only not afraid of Jason’s rough appearance, he seemed to find comfort in it. Jason hadn’t even seen that happen to Batman who kids either ran away from at first sight or found comfort in despite his appearance in the cowl. The kids in Crime Alley didn’t even want to be near Jason as much as he was just the lesser of two evils in harsh situations and easily avoidable any other time. 

“You’re right, Peter, I’ll protect you from anything. No monsters can get us when we’re together.” 

Peter patted Jason on his left cheek. Right over new and old scars and the ones that he got right before the explosion 7 years ago. “Sleep now.”

Peter fell asleep quickly after that with Jason’s upper arm under his head and Jason’s forearm limply but protectively around his torso. Every breath gave off a little bit of warmth right over Jason’s heart and he felt every hard edge thaw inside of his body. 

It was only a few hours after midnight but Jason didn’t sleep. He just looked down at Peter dreaming. Peter would sometimes twitch and sometimes he would make sad little sounds that disappeared when Jason ran a hand over his hair. 

The sun rose and Peter woke up a little after 6. Far too early for any normal person but Jason remembered he had also woken up earlier than any alarm when he had been Peter’s age. 

Peter smiled with bright eyes in the early morning sun. “Goodmorning, Uncle Jay.”

Jason smiled back even more brightly. “Goodmorning, Pipsqueak. Did you sleep well?” 

Peter nodded vigorously and his hair rubbed softly against Jason’s arm. “Did you?” 

“The best.”

Jason hadn’t closed his eyes with Peter in his arms but he felt renewed in a way he hadn’t since he turned 15-years-old. 

Peter looked at a spot under Jason’s eyes. “Mommy and Tati say that I have to let adults sleep in the morning. Do you need more sleep?” 

Jason moved his free arm to pull Peter against his chest. “No, I don’t need more sleep but can we just lay here for a bit before going down for breakfast?” 

Peter threw his arms around Jason’s wide chest and turned his head slightly to the left to breathe when his face fell into Jason’s chest.

The moment was silent and magical. Nothing else mattered other than someone saw Jason as something good and possibly pure. None of Jason’s sins mattered to Peter, only that he was capable and willing to protect Peter from the real and imaginary monsters. 

“5 more minutes and then we have to get up,” Peter ordered but didn’t move from his spot. “I have to pee really bad.” 

Jason let out a laugh that made Peter’s right cheek vibrate slightly.

Chapter Text

Tim knew that he had more on his plate than the average 15-year-old between being a majority shareholder of Wayne Enterprise and working as Robin almost nightly, but sometimes normal teenage things just seemed so much more unbearable. 

Everyone was worrying about the upcoming exams and Tim might be a genius but he had to read up on everything anyway and his exhausted brain wouldn’t retain any information. His eyes would look at the page, his brain would try to understand the words, and then everything would be gone as soon as he looked away. 

Tim and Dick weren’t on amazing terms but Dick had encouraged Tim to become the third Robin about two years ago and Dick seemed content with Tim being present as he was studying for law school and taking care of Peter. 

“They’re just shit, you know.” 

“I do know and please don’t curse in front of my child,” Dick mumbled as he read in his thick tome of a law book. 

Tim started pacing. “I don’t get why it even bothers me so much. Who cares what they all think? It’s not like I’m going to invite them to my birthday this summer.” 

Tim looked down on the floor and saw Peter running his toy cars up and down his Dick’s legs that only twitched when Peter reached the back of his knees. 

Tim threw himself in the chair opposite Dick but moved his legs gingerly to not accidentally kick Peter. Dick might be a calm guy most of the time but Tim had seen Dick beat the Joker to death. The joker got revived but Tim still didn’t want to find out what Dick would do if someone kicked Peter in his face. 

“Have you tried talking to someone from the school about your teacher being unfair?” 

Tim threw himself back in his chair with a typical teenage flair. “Who would I even talk to? They’re all idiots. Even my friends are being stupid.” 

“That sounds hard.”

Tim sighed. Dick was barely listening and Peter was starting to smack his toy car against each other to make loud and annoying noises. Tim hadn’t known what to expect of a small child but Dick seemed to mostly just ignore Peter trying to destroy the toy cars and make sounds that sounded more like lasers than anything a car would make. 

“Should we stop him?” 

Dick looked away from his book to look at Peter under the dining table. “No, he’s good.” 

“Is that normal for a one year old?” 

“He’s 17 months, but who’s counting?” 

Apparently Dick was because Tim didn’t even count kids’ ages in half years. 

“Is this what he does all day?” 

Dick shrugged. “His life is pretty much just play, eat, drink and sleep.” 

“No sleep!” Peter protested from the floor. 

Dick smiled much brighter than Tim had ever seen someone smile at such a mundane moment. “No sleep right now. Later.” 

“No later!” 

“Yes, later.” 

“No.” 

Dick had just opened his mouth to respond when Tim interrupted. “Are you seriously arguing with a baby?” 

“Not baby!” 

Maybe Tim should have just found somewhere else to sulk. Peter seemed almost impossible to get a quiet moment from. 

“Baby head big, my arm big.” 

Dick just smiled wider. “Yes, you have very long arms.” 

“Lon’,” Peter repeated. 

“What is he talking about?” Tim asked against his better judgement. 

Dick looked up at Tim. “I might have the most oddly funny and satisfying thing to cheer you up.” 

Dick bent down to collect Peter and sat him on his lap. Peter looked up at Dick and then at Tim with wide eyes as Dick took a hold of both of his arms and pulled them up towards the ceiling. 

“Let me try,” Tim demanded as he hurried to the other end of the table to take Peter’s arms and see how far they went around his head. His fingers barely touched the opposite hand when Peter’s arms were stretched to their limit without pain. 

Peter let out a discontented grunt but both men ignored him in order to bask in the view of Peter’s wrists being too short to reach each other over his head. 

“Arm lon’,” Peter protested but didn’t try very hard to pull his arms out of Tim’s grip. 

Dick smiled and held Peter’s torso with both hands. “Yeah, I know. You’re a true Plastic Man.” 

“Plati’,” Peter repeated and pulled harder with one of his arms until Tim let go so Peter could point at one of the toy cars under the table. 

“Wow, new word!” Dick cheered and would probably have clapped his hands if Peter wasn’t in his lap. 

Tim let go of the other arm to reach for the toy cars. “Did Peter just tell us that his toys are made of plastic?” 

Dick reached his arms entirely around Peter’s little body and pulled him to his chest while still sitting on his lap. “Yes, isn’t he smart?” 

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the plastic cars with plastic wheels. Peter knew a lot of words, but Tim hadn’t expected him to know most colors and definitely not any materials. “Seems like it.” 

“He’s the smartest little boy in the whole world,” Dick bragged and looked to be almost squeezing the life out of a smiling Peter.

Dick then started to kiss Peter’s forehead very loudly and enough for Peter to kick his legs in protest and he slowly slid down to lay over Dick’s legs and keep kicking while Dick’s face followed him. 

Dick finally stopped kissing Peter after a particularly hard right over his knee. “Ow, okay, I’ll stop. Just because you don’t have kneecaps doesn’t mean that I don’t.” 

Tim looked at Peter’s intact legs in horror. “He doesn’t have kneecaps?”

Peter decided to demonstrate and pulled at Dick’s arms to get further back and then stood up on Dick’s thighs.

Dick’s hands found Peter’s torso again but he otherwise let Peter balance with one foot on each thigh. “He’ll grow some in a year or two.” 

Tim kept looking at Peter’s knees and how they didn’t buckle despite his lack of leg bones. “That’s so freaky.” 

“Cool too, right?” Dick’s voice said behind Peter. 

Tim poked Peter’s soft knee. “Kind of but it’s mostly just weird.” 

Peter retaliated by pointing at Tim’s face and saying a single devastating word, “You.” 

Tim didn’t understand the harshness of the insult before Dick laughed.

Tim had come over to Dick’s for comfort or advice and he instead got called weird by a small toddler. A toddler with short arms, no knee caps and a lust for toy car accidents.

Chapter Text

All Damian’s pets were well-trained except Jerry who never seemed to learn despite the constant threats of being made into Thanksgiving dinner by Father’s various associates. Damian was often annoyed about Jerry’s behavior but he respected the tenacity almost as much as he respected Batcow’s eternal patience. 

These were probably the reason that Peter’s spontaneous tea party already included Titus, Ace, and Alfred the cat when Peter invited Damian to participate. Especially Alfred the cat would do whatever Peter wanted and sat primly between the two giant dogs as he cleaned his face with a white paw. 

Peter looked up at Damian with huge sad eyes as soon as Damian gave his answer. “Wait what? You're not coming to my tea party? Uncle Dami, I made biscuits!” 

Damian looked down at the blanket on the floor of the sitting room and saw a variety of what Pennyworth would call a biscuit on a large platter. They looked good but Damian wasn’t sure how much he trusted the baking prowess of this particular 7-year-old. “Did you really make those?” 

“Grandpapa Alf and I baked them.” 

“Acceptable then,” Damian said with a nod. Pennyworth was a very good baker and observant enough to not let Peter make a misstep in the delicate process of baking anything. 

Alfred the cat, let out a light meow. It was far from the battlecry he usually wanted to hear but it was preferable in the current company. 

“Then I’ll accept your invitation for tea.” 

Peter smiled large enough for it to become either a weapon or a beacon in the night. Either one would be very effective. 

Damian sat down in front of an empty and available plate. Titus, Alfred the cat and Ace were still waiting patiently behind their own plates and sat with far more discipline than Damian could get them to show even on his best days. He wanted to be annoyed with them but he too fell victim to Peter’s antics and wordlessly waited for Peter to offer him tea and the animals water. 

“What is the goal of these tea parties?” 

Peter looked up when he had given Ace his share of room temperature water. “Just to play. We pretend to be fancy like the people in Alf's TV-shows.” 

“It will be good practice for undercover work then.” 

Peter started putting biscuits on Damian’s and his own plate before he put dog and cat treats on the animals’ plates. “That too, but it’s mostly just to bond. Just look at Ace, Titus and Alfred, they’re already having fun.”

Titus and Ace were both staring Damian down for his signal that they could eat and Alfred was smacking his plate to make soft sounds with his claws. Damian lifted his hand and waited for Peter’s signal to let it go.

“Let the tea party begin,” Peter exclaimed and Damian let his hand fall to signal that the dogs could eat. 

“Have you done anything exciting in school?” Peter asked. 

“It’s fine. Most of them are imbeciles and I have no idea why Grayson and Father both have the opinion that I have to waste hours there. I’m plenty socialized after years of this.” 

“What about your friends?” Peter asked with wide and innocent eyes. 

“My classmates are not worthy of such a title.” 

Peter looked down at his tea. “I don’t have friends in my class either, but -” Peter looked at Damian with shining eyes, “I have some from my gymnastic and robotics team. You can get some from teams and clubs too.” 

Damian sipped his tea. It was made expertly. “Teams and clubs are a waste of my time.” 

Peter broke up a biscuit in small crumbs and bit his lip. 

Perhaps Damian needed to reserve some time for social interactions and study the social rules again. “Those are only a waste of my time. You are still in training and gymnastics seems to have increased your lung capacity. You also have a mind for building and experimenting that should be encouraged.” 

There he did it or as Brown would say, he nailed it, but he knew that Peter would need a little more encouragement to stop looking glum. “This tea party is quite nice. It’s much better than the galas I’ve been forced to attend.” 

Peter still looked down at his plate. “Really?” 

“Yes, the topic of conversation and company are far better than any galas.” 

Peter gave a few nods and looked over at Ace licking his plate and Alfred the cat licking his paw before sending Damian a smile. “I think so too.”

Peter suddenly looked very serious and leaned towards Damian who leaned toward him too. “Did the ladies at the galas ever pinch your cheeks?” 

“They have tried and I’ve told them firmly no in ways that Father, Grayson and Drake told me were unacceptable. How are you deterring them?” 

Peter narrowed his eyes as he looked to the side. “I don’t really do much. I just take a hold of Tati’s shirt or pants and then he tells them that we’re needed elsewhere or I’m tired even if I’m not, and then we leave even if the ladies don’t want us to.” 

Damian gave a few nods. “Good plan. Grayson is a very good ally during those events but I’ve noticed the amount of cheek pinching has decreased a lot lately.” 

Peter blinked at Damian for a moment and Damian couldn’t help feeling a little judged by his intense look. “That’s because you’re a big teenager now and taller than a lot of the ladies.” 

“Hm, that makes sense, and my cheeks are far less squishy now so the experience would be different.” 

Peter took a dignified sip of his tea with a lifted little finger and a thoughtful expression before he looked back at Damian with a straight back. "Do you think that they'll stop when I get to be a big teenager too?"

Peter was firmly in the 10th percentile of his age range. Grayson had been talking about Peter following his own curve and Damian had looked it up after to see that Peter was really following that particular curve closely. "I'm sure they will stop eventually and in the meantime your father and I will scare them off." 

Damian took another sip of tea when the door opened to the sitting room and Drake walked in with Brown. 

“Are you having a tea party?” Drake exclaimed when he had taken in the teacups, teapot and plates. 

“Obviously,” Damian scoffed. 

Brown looked at Damian sitting primly with his cup of tea. “I get Peter having one but why are you here?” 

“I was kindly invited and you two weren’t. I hope you fucking imbeciles can figure out why.” 

“I couldn’t find you, but you can join too if you want,” Peter said with his endless amount of kindness but it wouldn’t do. This was Damian’s time with Peter to once again secure his position as the favorite non-blood-related relative. 

“You can’t as we are sharing confidential information.” 

“Aw, but we want to have tea with little posh Peter too,” Brown said and turned her head to send Peter a wide smile that was quickly outshined by Peter’s bright smile and essence. 

“Too bad. You weren’t available. Now leave us to drink our tea and eat our biscuits.” 

“Biscuits? Can we have some?” Drake looked at the platter. 

“Cookies!” Brown exclaimed far too excitedly for a woman in her early 20s when she too took in Peter's and Pennyworth's expert baking. 

“They’re biscuits and neither of you can’t have any,” Damian shot out before Peter could feed the mooches. 

“Please.” Brown turned her head and body to look at Peter upside down and was rewarded with an innocent giggle. Almost everything that could make Peter sound like that was welcome but Drake and Brown were still unwanted during Damian’s time with his nephew. They were especially unwelcome when Peter gave them two biscuits each and then tried to give Brown, Drake and Damian the last three biscuits on the platter. 

“You should eat mine,” Damian said before he could put it on his plate. 

Brown, the greedy moocher that she was, had already taken a bite out of each of her biscuits while Drake had eaten one of his entirely and already taken a hold of one of the last biscuits with his probably filthy hands. 

“It’s okay, there’s only three left so you all get one.” 

Damian took the biscuit when it clanged onto his plate and put it on Peter’s. “I must insist that you eat the last one as the gracious host.” 

Fortunately Peter did eat it while Damian looked up to observe Brown and Drake understand how far that they were falling behind in the eternal race of Peter’s affections. 

“You’ve eaten. Now leave.” 

“Don’t be mean, Uncle Dami,” Peter scolded but it was about as firm as when Alfred the cat swatted at dead leaves every fall season. 

“Sorry, Drake. Sorry Brown,” Damian said without any inflection before looking at Peter and smiling. “That was very hard.”

“You did good,” Peter praised and threw his arms out. “Hug?” 

Damian decided that it was okay that Brown and Drake were present only to see Peter fall into his arms and let out a satisfied sound when Damian embraced him back. 

“I need a hug too,” Brown said behind Peter’s back but Damian held on a little tighter. Peter would never let go of someone if he felt like they needed to hug a little longer and Damian could be patient until both Drake and Brown left. 

Damain's smile only grew as he watched the yearning grow as Peter's short arms pulled Damian a little tighter. The grip was firm and strong and Damian could sustain himself for decades on that and the dumb looks that Drake and Brown sent his charge.

Chapter Text

Everyone had always known that Peter was a smart boy. He knew what a few materials were at 17 months according to Tim and Dick and he had always had an impressive vocabulary for his age. Bruce had thought that Dick had grown up at an alarming rate when he took him in at 11 and Damian had stood still and then skyrocketed into an empathetic animal lover after he moved home to the manor at 10, but Bruce could hardly blink without Peter growing a little bit more each time.

It was both devastating and healing to see someone walk around the manor without the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Peter had brought both Dick and Jason back into Bruce’s life in a way that he never thought that he would have again. Peter even brought a happier Jason out when he needed a brief explanation of a new word and then Jason would smile so proudly when he heard Peter use it correctly either minutes or months later. 

Peter had also decided at a young age to practice all his words at Bruce. It was apparently just Bruce's and Peter's thing as Tim, Steph and Duke put it but Bruce didn’t know if he was more disappointed in how tiring he found it or honored that Peter wanted to share everything on his mind with him. 

“- and then Tati came home with this weird box and it had this giant ,” Peter spread his arms out. “Docking station.”

Bruce nodded with a hum. He truly had no idea what Peter was talking about now but he would listen and pretend he wasn’t exhausted from both patrol and Peter ambushing him like an adorable tornado. 

Peter gave a few nods at his own words so Bruce would know that this was very important for his very, very long tale. “It’s called a Roomba, it’s so cool, Pawpaw. It just sucks up all the dirt!” 

“Really?” Bruce asked. He hadn’t seen a Roomba before but it must be an impressive household appliance to catch the attention of an 8-year-old. 

Peter raised a hand towards Bruce and looked away as he clarified before looking back seriously at the last second. “Yes, and it has so many things in it, Pawpaw!” 

Bruce had expected to hear about the wheels or a bag when he asked, “Like what?” 

Peter’s eyes were shining as he described the little robot. “It has a sensor, a motor, an infrared sensor that I think is for stairs or walls, and of course the wheels and dirt bin.”

Bruce blinked a few times. “Did you read all that in the manual?” 

Peter bit his lip and looked all over the room, and Bruce sighed at the lack of an answer and Peter’s elusive eyes answered both too much and not enough. 

Bruce would put almost everything aside to see Peter’s little smiling face but being a grandfather was far harder than Bruce had thought when he got the call about Peter’s existence from a young and still mad Dick 8 and a half years ago. He had thought it would just be leisure time and learning how to change a diaper as soon as the dust settled around him and Dick, and in some ways Peter’s grandfather was the easiest thing that Bruce had ever done. Peter was a kindhearted boy who was incredibly easy to love and he knew how to command a room even when he was too shy to talk in front of strangers. 

Bruce should have known that Peter would be a handful just from him being Dick’s son alone and the possibility that he would inherit the ability to crawl and swing everywhere. Bruce had naively thought that his biggest problem would be if Peter’s shyness wouldn’t stop him from swinging on chandeliers at dinners or galas. Peter was often too shy to do it unless Dick did it too but there were so many other concerns about looking after Peter. He was simply too smart and too young all at once and he would no doubt surpass anyone else in the family, but at the same time he tried to ignore his asthma and his meta-powers meant it was even more challenging to reel him in. 

Bruce was only 45 and he still had a child living at home fulltime and up to 6 other young adults, and Dick, who would come and go, but he also felt about 80 at times like this. Maybe he could hang up the cowl in a few years and let one of his official and unofficial children take over, and then maybe he would have the energy to give Peter the attention he both craved and was used to getting from his parents. 

Peter was still looking everywhere else in a clear sign of guilt and Bruce could only sigh before he grumbled out, “Peter.” 

Peter looked back and smiled widely but not in his usual mirth but rather nervously as he looked up at Bruce over his glasses. “Okay, so I’m not supposed to have secrets, only surprises, for Tati and Mom, but you can’t ever tell them, okay?” 

Bruce wrinkled his forehead as his eyebrows lifted and he crossed his arms in a way that made his employees quiver and his children stand to attention. “What did you do?” 

Peter inhaled deeply and looked around the room again and chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t seem particularly intimidated by Bruce’s tired parental look but he did at least seem to know that he had done something wrong. “Okay, so I might have accidentally, perhaps, and incidentally taken it apart and looked at the dirt sensor and the wheel motor.” 

Bruce massaged his nose bridge. He had no idea if Dick would be ridiculously proud of Peter’s innovative mind, just like Bruce was, or if he would be angry about Peter destroying probably expensive appliances, just like Bruce was. 

“You can’t tell Tati or Mom!” 

Bruce looked at his grandson who was putting his hands on his hips and setting his jaw just like Dick had done so many times when he was 11 or 12 and wanted to go out to fight crime. Bruce had to remind himself that he was Batman to not cave to Peter’s demands. Then he remembered that Batman had run around with most of the Robins as teenagers, Dick as a preteen, and Damian followed Bruce around before he even started puberty. Retirement sounded amazing right now. 

Bruce started to massage his temples. “I don’t have to. He’ll know when he tries to clean the floor and the Roomba can’t vacuum or drive.” 

Peter let out a laugh but it wasn’t mocking. Only surprised. “No, he won’t. I put everything back together again. “

Bruce put his hands down. “You put it back together with only the instructions?” 

Peter gave Bruce a strange look and let his arms fall to his side. “Of course I didn’t use instructions . It’s not like it’s hard to put it back together again after I just picked it apart. I probably could have done it even if I haven’t. It was even more in-tu-i-tive than everything in my robotics club.” 

Bruce shook his head and blinked a few times to put off being proud of Peter remembering Jason’s explanation of the word intuitive and imagining how Jason’s eyes always looked the first time that he heard Peter use a new word. “And it still works?” 

Peter tilted his head and looked at Bruce with startling concerned eyes. “Yes, of course it works. Are you okay, Pawpaw?” 

Bruce cleared his throat. “Of course, I was just curious. Hm, do you do that a lot without adults present?” 

Peter shrugged. “Sometimes I guess. I mostly just take my robot dog apart and put him back together again.” 

Bruce looked over at the toy. It had walked around and barked half an hour prior just like it had when Peter got it for Christmas last year and it still had the familiar scuff marks from over a month ago when Peter had tried to make Haley and the robot become friends. Bruce wasn’t particularly sure about the details to that story as neither Dick nor Peter had been able to keep it short but it had apparently ended with Haley running around with the robot in her mouth while Peter cried. 

“How many times have you done that?” 

“I only did it to the roomba once.” 

Bruce hummed as he looked down at Peter fidgeting. 

Peter’s eyebrows were starting to furrow. “Are you mad? I won’t take the roomba apart again, I promise. I was just curious.” 

Bruce’s hands waved in front of him and cleared his throat again before Peter could get too emotional. “No, I’m not mad. Just surprised that you’ve disassembled a robot and it still works.” 

Peter mouthed a word before he started to talk again. “He works better now that I’ve-” Peter said the next word carefully with slight head movements as he taught himself to say each syllable, “dis-a-sem-bled him. He could only walk and bark before and now he can kick a small bouncy ball and wiggle his butt so it looks like his tail is wagging so Haley can understand him better.” 

Bruce could hardly believe it. Peter had disassembled his top of the line robot toy and somehow improved it when he assembled it. 

However, the thing was that it wasn’t completely unbelievable. Peter was too brilliant for most childish conversations and too young for the rest.

“Do you want to see?” Peter asked and got a bit of his glimmer back in his eyes. 

“I would love to, Bambi.” 

Peter smiled so brightly that Bruce could almost forget that he would have to talk to Dick about all of this. Both Peter’s brilliance and his willingness to disassemble and assemble electronics without adult supervision. 

Peter showed the dog’s ability to wiggle its behind by only moving its hindlegs and how it kicked a crumpled piece of paper with its right front leg when there were no bouncy balls in sight. The robot’s movements were choppy and the ball had to be placed very precisely but this was still impressive to a frightening extent. 

“Pawpaw, can I borrow your credit card?” 

Bruce did a double take to make sure that it wasn’t Stephanie somehow using Peter’s voice. He gave Peter one of his cards with an air of suspicion when it was clear that they were alone only to hurriedly take it back when Peter was opening the stomach of the robot dog with the card and exposing various unprotected wires. 

Peter looked up as innocently as always. “What’s wrong? I promise it doesn’t hurt him.” 

Bruce had to take a deep breath before he could answer. “Did you do anything to make sure that you wouldn’t get electrocuted before you disassembled your toy or the roomba?” 

Peter shrugged. “I removed the batteries the first few times but the roomba doesn’t have easily removable batteries.” 

Bruce could already see all the ways that Peter could hurt himself by electricity or cutting his wrist open with self-made tools. Bruce doubted that Dick had many tools for fine electronic work and Peter could probably figure something out if he was this quick to open a robot with a credit card. 

Peter giggled and Bruce knew that the safety talk would have to be long. 

“Please just, stop for now and I’ll get you some safe tools.” 

Peter’s eyes looked like an ocean of dark honey as he looked up at Bruce. “Like the ones in the robotics club?”

Shit, would Dick and Mary be mad about Bruce encouraging this? No, he had to do this for Peter’s own safety, and he was Batman. He could take it if his grandson’s mother and his own son were mad about this and explain it precisely so everyone would be in agreement. Bruce wouldn’t be cut off again for trying to protect Peter from dying before his 9th birthday. 

“Yes, but only use them when there’s an adult present.” 

Peter shrugged. "'Kay." 

“And I’ll have to tell your parents to hide the electronics from you.” 

Peter gasped and his betrayed eyes were almost enough for Bruce to cave before he had time to look away. However, telling Peter’s parents was both the right thing to do and Dick would know how to deal with Peter’s mischief. Dick made raising Peter seem incredibly easy when even Peter’s own mother seemed lost at times. 

Bruce set his jaw and let the most hurtful words that Peter could muster up hit him. “I’m never telling you about cool things again, Pawpaw.”

Chapter Text

Jason hadn’t celebrated his birthday in 7 years but Peter was like a hound smelling blood as soon as he heard that Jason’s birthday was a month after Tim’s and only days after Steph’s birthday.

“You have to celebrate, Uncle Jay!” Peter insisted the weekend before Steph's birthday. “Everyone deserves a birthday! And Aunt Steph is celebrating hers on Saturday even though hers is on Wednesday and you can do the same even though your birthday is on a Monday.” 

Peter suddenly gasped and put a hand over his mouth. “Are you scared that no one will come and sing Happy Birthday and you’ll sit alone in front of your cake?” 

Jason couldn’t hide his expression quickly enough. He hadn’t been scared about that before but he was now. 

“I’ll come!” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed and his cheeks looked chubbier as he puffed them out slightly. “And I’ll make sure that Tati and Mommy and Tim and Damian and Cass and Ace and Titus and Alf and Batcow come.”

Jason didn’t really know what to say to that impressive list of humans and animals that Peter was willing to force into celebrating Jason but he couldn’t help asking, “No Bruce?” 

Peter shook his head at Jason as he stone-facedly exhaled with much more sass and disappointment than a 5-and-a-half-year-old should possess. “Of course, Pawpaw will be there. He has no choice.” 

It was really fortunate that Peter was as kind-hearted as he usually was because he was barely old enough for school and he had arranged a birthday party in less than a week and everyone except Batcow came. However Peter had informed Jason that she was sending her regards and just needed some time alone to ‘moo and eat’. Even Peter’s mother came despite her and Dick having broken up before Jason came back into the family. 

Jason would have felt like a loser if he had been told at 15 that he would eventually only have his family, his family’s pets and his nephew’s mother present but Peter was too excited about everything for Jason to feel anything other than honored. Especially as he took in all the decorations spread out over a large area of the manor grounds on a warm Saturday 5 days after Jason’s actual birthday. 

Bruce’s newest child soldier even came over and looked at Peter wide-eyed as Peter instantly ran to him and looked up sharply. “Where’s the present?” 

Duke looked around with his own pair of wide eyes. “Um, I don’t have anything for you. I’m sorry.” 

“Peter, be nice!” Dick yelled from the other end of the garden. 

Peter looked over at his father before looking over at Duke with a sour expression. “I’m sorry for sounding spoiled and rude. I don’t want a gift for me but Jason needs one and I hope you’ll help me sing Happy Birthday when we cut the cake.”

Peter turned to look around the garden and Dick and Peter looked directly at each other before Peter whispered loudly, “Damian won’t sing and Ace and Titus sound horrible. Way worse than daytime Tati.”

“Tati?” Duke asked but somehow looked even more frightened when Jason spoke up. 

“Tati means dad. So he’s talking about Dick.” 

Peter nodded. “Yes, sorry. Tati is my dad. Just like Damian’s dad is my Pawpaw.” 

Duke lost most of his frightened aura at those words and closed his eyes and he pressed his lips together to keep the sound coming out as a sharp sound instead of a laugh. 

Jason smiled at the scene too. “Yes, Bruce is Pawpaw. He’s over there with the red birthday hat.” 

Everyone was wearing one, including Jason, but it was still a sight for sore eyes to see Bruce, the Batman himself, wearing a triangle hat just because Peter insisted it was needed for birthday parties. Jason didn't know how much Peter knew about it but he liked to imagine that Peter wouldn't have acted any differently if he knew about the timestream thing or Jason's temporary death.

“You can get one too!” Peter announced at pulled both Jason’s and Duke’s eyes on him again. “But only if you brought a gift for Jason.” 

“I have a gift for him.” Duke took his backpack off and pulled a floppy and soft gift out that was wrapped as well as could be expected from a 17-year-old boy. 

“No, Duke, over here. Come come,” Peter said before he took Duke’s hand and pulled him towards a table with other gifts. 

“What color hat do you want?” Peter asked as soon as the gift was safely on the table. 

“Yellow is cool.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he studied every available hat and before he looked up at Duke with a slightly opened mouth and downturned eyebrows. “I’m sorry. There’s no yellow.” 

Jason saw Peter tear up and Jason was almost ready to run away from the manor grounds at Peter’s devastated expression to either find a yellow paper hat or to just hide from Peter’s emotions when Duke saved them all from Peter’s uncharacteristical mood. 

“Oh no, it’s fine. See!” Duke gestured to another hat. “That blue hat looks amazing.” 

Peter looked Duke up and down with a suspicious look but at least there didn't seem to be a risk of immediate tears anymore. “You really like it? You’re not just saying that?” 

Jason looked on as Duke nodded. No one cared much for the hats and Steph probably wouldn’t have even gotten the purple hat if Peter hadn’t instantly given it to her, but Peter cared about every detail today. 

Peter turned around and took a hold of Jason’s hand and shook it with every word. “Are you having fun? Is it a good birthday?” 

“It’s amazing. You should definitely be a party planner.” 

Peter looked up at Jason with a confused expression. “People have jobs where they just plan parties?” 

Jason looked up briefly to see Duke escape towards Tim before he focused his full attention on Peter again. “Yeah, they do. Do you want to do that when you grow up?” 

Peter wrinkled his nose and looked down at the grass. “No, this party was really hard to plan and I would never do this for someone I don’t know.” Peter looked back at Jason with adoring eyes and shook his hand again. “But I’m glad that I’m doing it for you. You should have the best birthday ever!” 

Warmth moved all the way from Peter’s little fingers up Jason’s arm and into his heart. “Thank you so much, Pipsqueak. It’s an awesome party.” 

Peter smiled brighter than the sun itself and Duke’s meta-powers had nothing on this kid. “Good, you deserve it and I love you.” 

Jason’s face fell in shock. “You love me?” 

Peter nodded. “Of course, you’re my Uncle Jay and I love you to the moon. Just like Mommy says that she loves me to the moon and back.” 

Jason knew that he should say it back. He loved Peter too but the words wouldn’t come out and he just stammered until he eventually settled on saying, “Thank you.” 

Peter squeezed Jason’s hand. “You’re welcome.” 

“You don’t mind that I’m not saying it back?” 

Peter shook his head with big movements that shook his entire body from side to side. “No, Tati says you were hurt really badly and we should be extra nice to you just like we are to Haley.” 

Jason looked over at Dick laughing at something Tim said. “Your father said that?” 

“Yeah, we can’t surprise Haley because then she gets scared but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t like us.” Peter gave Jason’s hand another squeeze. “I’m sorry, don’t be sad, Uncle Jay.” 

Jason looked back at Peter and it was only as he looked at his blurred figure that Jason realized he was getting emotional. “I’m not sad. Just very happy to have you and your dad.” 

“You have Pawpaw too. He gets very happy when you come over.” 

Jason sniffed once. “He does?” 

Peter nodded a few times. “Mmm hmm, he does and Grandpapa gets happy too. Everyone is happier when you’re there and happy.” 

Jason smiled down at this little candlelight of a child who could light up everything around him but still awoke the desire to protect from every wind. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.” 

The warm flame in Peter’s eyes grew even more. “You are? I’m happy when I’m with you too.” 

Peter looked to his left and Jason followed his eyes to see Bruce come over with his red party hat and steady steps. “We’re all ready for the cake when you are, Chum.” 

“I could eat some cake.” 

Peter let go of Jason’s hand to throw his arms up. “Yay! Cake!” 

The red velvet cake was as great as it had been on Jason’s first birthday at the manor and it felt like a whole new beginning to celebrate with it again and the gifts were nice. Duke looked embarrassed when Jason unveiled a green sweater. Sweaters were way too warm in August but Jason could see himself wearing it sometime in the fall or early winter. 

“You can exchange it if you don’t like it,” Duke said as soon as Jason took the sweater off after very briefly wearing it. It was so warm that Jason almost started to sweat from just wearing it for a few seconds. 

“It looks good and it’s just my size.” 

Duke still looked unsure and Jason had no idea what to say to that before Peter decided to take matters into his own hands. “Wow! That looks so good! I wish that I had a sweater like that but no other sweater could be as good!”

“It’s nothing really.” 

Peter put a hand on Duke’s arm and looked up at him seriously. “No, Uncle Jay just can’t say he loves it but it’s good and way better than my gift.” 

Jason looked at Dick and Mary observing what their child would do now before he looked back at Duke who was smiling nervously and saying, “I’m sure your gift is fine.” 

Peter shook his head with closed eyes and a thinned mouth before he looked up at Duke with the most serious face that Jason had ever seen on someone under 40. “I have no money, so I had to be creative.” 

Duke’s gift was really fine but Peter’s gift turned out to be the second best part of Jason’s entire day. 

The drawing was a messy mix of black and an upturned red mouth but Jason could see the love in it. The love that Peter had for Jason, because Peter loved him just like Bruce, Alfred and Dick apparently did too. 

“It’s Charlotte,” Peter explained when Jason hadn’t said anything to the drawing. “Like in the book.” 

Jason looked down at it and tried to take every little stroke of the colored pencil in. “I can see that. It looks beautiful and just how I imagined her.”

Peter rubbed his hands together and his shoulders rose just as the slight flush in his cheeks did. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Damian thought that he would be better when his world turned upside down once more, but he somehow took it even worse this time than he did two years ago when he moved to the manor. 

The only upside was the ferocious kitten that Alfred had given him. He, the kitten, was small and had stubby legs, but he hadn’t let it stop him from showing Damian his claws and venomous hiss. Damian knew that this would be one of his most loyal companions, and it was such an obvious choice that he almost wanted to scold himself for not seeing it before. Cats were small enough to carry, able to heal themselves and their companions with purring, and excellent hunters. 

“How are you feeling, Damian?” Grayson asked as soon as he arrived at the manor with his bags. 

“I got a cat,” Damian said. It was the only non-obvious answer. 

“I can see that.” 

Alfred, the newly christened cat, hissed, but Grayson only smiled and whispered, “Uh, spicy baby.” 

“Will Peter and Fitch be joining us?” 

Grayson’s face fell for a moment before he smiled at Damian. “Peter will join us next week.” 

Damian noticed that Grayson didn't mention Peter’s mother, but he didn’t really care either. She was fine, and she was raising an adequate son with Grayson, but he also didn’t feel a need to see or talk to her. 

“Will you be ready for patrol?” 

“Yeah, I will.” 

The transition to working with Grayson was almost as strained as it had been when Damian first arrived at the manor. Especially with Drake not understanding why Damian was the obvious choice as Grayson’s Robin, but Damian and Grayson had found a routine by the following week when Grayson drove to his apartment for Peter. 

“I thought that he wasn’t using a pacifier during the day anymore,” Damian commented as soon as he saw Peter with a red pacifier in his mouth and another in the hand that wasn’t holding Grayson’s. Damian hadn’t seen Peter with a pacifier since before his 3rd birthday a few months ago, and he hadn’t used one all day on Damian’s 12th birthday or to drop Christmas gifts off. The last Christmas before Bruce… disappeared only weeks into the new year. 

“Peter’s just a little affected by all the changes.” 

Peter nodded and threw his face up towards Grayson, who then took the pacifier out of his mouth. “Tati and Mommy live here now.” 

Grayson ran a hand through Peter’s hair. “Yes, Tati lives here now, but Mommy is moving in with Granny in Blüdhaven, remember?”

Peter put the pacifier he was holding into his mouth and shook his head so fast that Damian was surprised the pacifier didn’t go flying. 

“Come, Peter, let’s see your room.” 

Peter followed silently, except for the constant sound of how forcefully he was sucking on his pacifier. 

Damian hadn’t wanted to see Grayson act fatherly towards someone else, but the sound of Peter’s almost silent distress pulled at something in Damian, and he found himself shadowing them as they walked up the stairs until Peter stopped abruptly, only a few steps away from the top of the stairs. 

“Kitty,” Peter said around the pacifier. 

“Yeah, it is a cat.” 

“Pat?” 

Damian was about to question if Peter, who always seemed bright for a toddler, really couldn’t say the word ‘cat’ even with something in his mouth when Grayson answered, “The coat pattern is called tuxedo when it’s black and white.” 

Peter pulled his pacifier out of his mouth again and pointed at Alfred as well as he could with the pacifier in his hand. “Tux. Tux.” 

Damian barely stopped himself from stomping his foot. “His name is Alfred, not Tux!” 

Peter looked back, and Damian readied himself for Peter's tears, but his tilted eyebrows flattened out, and his mouth moved into a toddler's smirk. “Tux. Tux. Tux. Tux.”

“No! It’s Alfred. Alfred. You can almost say Alfred to Alfred the human! Alfred the cat is the same!” 

“Tuxtuxtuxtuxtux,” Peter repeated so quickly that he sounded almost like a very annoying train. 

Grayson pulled at Peter’s hand to catch his attention. “Peter, stop that right now. The cat is named Alfred, and it’s Damian’s cat to name.” 

“Sorry, Uncle Dami,” Peter mumbled before he put his bottom lip into his mouth and hummed as he looked at Alfred. “Alf?” 

Alfred the cat didn’t react beyond an uncertain look at the newest human. 

“Binky?” Peter asked and offered his pacifier. 

Alfred the cat slowly moved closer to Peter and tried to smell the pacifier from a distance. “Tux?” 

Damian was just about to complain loudly when Alfred the traitor walked closer to Peter and smelled his pacifier with great interest. Damian instead crossed his arms and glared at the ground. “His name is Alfred.” 

Grayson sighed. “I know, Damian, and I’ll make sure that Peter stops calling him Tux.” 

“Ready to see your room now?” Grayson asked Peter after a few minutes, and Peter’s joy disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he solemnly put the pacifier back into his mouth and nodded. 

The toddler bed was new, and Grayson had spent over an hour choosing bed sheets the day before, but Peter didn’t run towards it or squeal like he sometimes did when he saw something new. 

Damian looked down when he felt something rub against his leg and saw Alfred watching the scene next to Damian’s left shin. 

Damian didn’t really understand how it felt to have one's parents move away from each other, but he could understand the feeling of looking at a brand-new bed and being told that was where he would sleep now, no matter what he said.

“Do you want to try your bed?” Grayson asked, and Peter sucked a little harder on his pacifier as he gave small shakes with his head. 

“Alfred seems like he wants to,” Damian announced from the doorway. 

Grayson sent Damian a grateful look before focusing on Peter again. “Yeah, see Alfred is so tired that he is all black under his eyes.” 

Peter made a fist, except for his pinky and thumb, which were pointed out, and he twisted his hand twice. 

“Yeah, I am silly, aren’t I?” 

Peter nodded and looked over at Damian and Alfred. 

“Aff,” Peter let out as an attempt at Alfred’s name with a pacifier in his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed, and he tried again with the same result. 

“Can you say Tux with that thing in your mouth?” 

Peter looked up at Damian with big brown eyes before attempting it again, with much better results, although it was still not perfect and sounded more like ‘toksh’ than ‘tux’. 

Grayson walked over to Damian and put a warm hand on his shoulder before quietly whispering, “I’m very proud of you, but he won’t stop calling Alfred Tux if we don’t correct him right now.” 

Damian felt like he knew that already, but Peter looked so much happier now that he had something to call Alfred, even with plastic in his mouth. Damian could leave the room if he didn’t want to see Peter unhappy, but he refused to avoid any rooms in fear of hearing Peter’s probably excessive crying. 

“I guess that he can call him that undignified name until he becomes more eloquent.” 

“Sweet Tux. So nice.” Peter mouthed around his pacifier before pulling it out and offering it to Alfred again. 

“Peter will probably never stop calling Alfred Tux.” 

Damian muttered, “Tt, I guess that just shows his intelligence.” 

Grayson’s hand tightened until it was barely painful. “Don’t insult my son.” 

Damian looked on as Peter tenderly brushed a finger over Alfred’s tiny head. “I guess that was a little uncouth.” 

Grayson sighed. “We’ll work on your apologies.” 

Damian would rather work on his sword fighting or learn how to do a flip like Grayson seemed to do every other second during training. 

“Good use of gentle hands,” Grayson praised Peter, who sent a small smile towards them and continued to mostly just keep his hands still while Alfred decided how much or little he could touch his fur. 

“Peter’s nap is in about an hour, and we can work on your hand-to-hand training and apologies then.” 

Damian nodded, but his attention was primarily focused on how Peter let out a giggle when Alfred jumped on his new and clean bed.

Chapter Text

Living with Grayson and Peter was very different from living with Father and Drake. Peter and Drake used their intelligence similarly but were in completely different places in their lives and Peter advertised his feelings much more publicly than even Grayson did. Sometimes to the annoyance of Damian but he would have been able to live with it even without Grayson’s influence as both a mentor and a guardian in Father’s… absence.  Especially as Peter spent every other week with his mother and left the manor too silent with just Damian, Grayson, Alfred and the animals. 

It was because of these lessons that Damian knew to not act too harshly when he saw Peter carrying an annoyed Alfred the cat. Damian readied himself for the wave of responsibility of being the one who was sought out when Peter had tears welling up into his eyes and a wobbling chin. 

“Tux’s hurt!”

Alfred seemed mostly just resigned to being carried much more delicately than Damian would be able to carry someone almost his own size but it was still a little rougher than Damian liked people to touch his animals. 

“What happened?” 

Peter started to hiccup as tears fell. “I don’t know. I was just playing in my room and then I saw him and he didn’t want to use his front paw and there’s blood, Uncle Dami! Will he die like Pawpaw?” 

Damian had been trained in stealth and in holding his emotions back in times of crisis. Grayson was teaching him to let them out again when it wasn’t a crisis but had been unsuccessful most times. This was one of the few times where Damian had a hard time holding the harsh words back. Father wasn’t dead. Drake didn’t think so and Grayson even allowed Drake to go out and find him. It hadn’t been a full year yet and these things could probably take years. Maybe Father would even be back before Damian’s 13th birthday in a few days or Christmas shortly after. 

“Give me Alfred.” 

Alfred was calm as he was suspended in only Peter’s short arms and only seemed to move again when Damian had a hold of him. Damian steadied his grip on the young cat and Alfred tried to pull his paw back when Damian took a hold of it. There was indeed blood on Alfred’s white paw and Damian ignored how Alfred smacked his lips in annoyance. 

“He must have scratched himself on a branch or bush and he has a splinter in one of his digital pads.” 

“Really?” Peter looked up with his expressive brown eyes. It was enough to make all the annoyance disappear but Damian made sure to still look as firm as always. “Right in his toe bean?”

Damian looked at Alfred’s paw again. “Yes, and he’ll be fine as soon as the splinter is out.”

“But his paw is so red.” 

“It’s because his fur is white. Blood can look excessive on white surfaces.” 

Alfred let out a meow either in agreement or in annoyance at still being held. Damian glanced down and saw the flattening ears but chose to keep going until the splinter would be out. 

“Can you take out the splinter if I hold him down to you?” Damian usually wouldn’t want Peter to be the one to do the delicate work but Alfred might be startled by the pain and Damian was much more used to scratches than Peter was. 

“But won’t that hurt him? It hurts me when I get a splinter pulled out.” 

“Just do it, Peter,” Damian said in almost a growl and Alfred started to give out a subdued growl of his own. 

“Okay, I’ll do it. It feels nice when the splinter is out, Tux. I promise!”

Alfred didn’t seem swayed in one way or another as Damian bent his knees and Peter took a hold of Alfred’s paw and found the splinter. It took him a few seconds to get a hold of it but Grayson had fortunately slacked in the nail trimming that Peter was usually subjected to weekly. Preschoolers' fingernails really grew at an alarming rate. 

“And there,” Peter said with a sigh as the spinster came out with barely a sound out of Alfred. 

Alfred snorted at them both and jumped out of Damian’s arms as soon as he weakened his grip on him. 

“Is Alfred really okay now?” Peter asked. 

“Yes, thanks to you. You did well.” 

Peter took a hold of Damian’s left hand. “You did very well too. You know everything about pets and you’re like an animal doctor.”

“I’m not quite a veterinarian but you can always ask me animal related questions.” 

Peter smiled brightly at that and Damian even felt his own mouth turn up at the corners. 

Damian had always been the student before he met Peter and it was nice to be the mentor for once. Especially as Peter seemed unable to keep his awe back at every subject that Damian shared with him. 

“You would be a great ve-te-ri-na-ri-an,” Peter said. 

“Thank you. I do like animals much better than people.” 

Peter gave a short nod before answering, “Yes, animals are great. They don’t tease or anything but just like you if you’re nice. That’s probably why every animal likes you so much, Uncle Dami!” 

Peter’s eyes were shining and his little fists had found their way right under his open mouth as he looked up at Damian. 

“I’m not nice, Peter.” 

Peter’s fists moved down and he furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head in confusion. “Not nice? You’re one of the nicest people that I’ve ever met.” 

“Then you haven’t met a lot of people and I’m expected to be nice to you. You are my nephew.” 

Peter blinked a few times at that and looked down at his feet before he turned his face back towards Damian with a firm expression. “No, you’re very nice and you said that Uncle Tim and Tati aren’t your brothers, so I’m not your nephew.” 

Damian was the blood son. He was the heir to Batman’s legacy and he was the most important person in the family other than Father, but that didn’t mean that Peter wasn’t important too. 

“You are my nephew and Grayson is my mentor and he was adopted by my father. Your father is a great asset to have in the family and maybe I’ll change my mind about Drake if he succeeds in bringing Father back.”

Peter inhaled deeply and looked down on his hands where a little of Alfred the cat’s blood had painted his fair skin a reddish brown. “You should be nice to Uncle Tim, he's your brother and you’re supposed to be nice to your brother.” 

Damian rolled his eyes. “I’ll be nice to whoever I want to and no one else.” 

Peter looked up with a wide grin and Damian didn’t know if he was more impressed or horrified that he had been outsmarted by a 4-year-old. “So you choose to be nice to me and the pets. You would be a good vetinaron.”

"Veterinarian," Damian corrected but he barely heard his own voice. Peter thought that Damian was nice and most of the time that was untrue but he couldn’t deny the fact that he was friendly to Peter even when Grayson was nowhere in sight and had no way of knowing if Damian was malicious to Peter. Peter could cry if he was unkind to him but was unlikely to tell anyone else if they didn’t find him in the middle of it.

Damian looked down at Peter with his way to absorb everything around him and radiate his emotions back to the world around him. “It's different. You are my sidekick so I need to guide you properly.” 

Peter’s eyes were just as warm as always. “Like you are Tati’s?” 

Damian gave a curt nod. Being called a sidekick was demeaning but it was appropriate in this particular situation and Peter did not have the vocabulary to properly explain the dynamic between him and Grayson.

Chapter Text

Damian had been acceptable at swinging a sword at 4 and Peter was already 3 and didn't look to even reach tolerable levels in the upcoming year. 

That was until Peter heard about Star Wars and he wanted to learn to fight just like the characters despite having only seen figurines and pictures. Apparently the lit swords were deemed cool and something to strive for. 

Unfortunately the recon fell on Damian as both Peter's parents had banned Peter from seeing any of the movies quite yet. It was a lucrative thought that the biological child of Batman’s adoptive son couldn't handle seeing intergalactic wars but Damian knew when to choose his battles. He just knew that he would win most of them easily and therefore didn’t back down very often. That was why he promised Grayson to never show Peter where the Star Wars VHS were and meant it as a battle he would never win unscathed.

The characters’ lightsaber techniques weren't consistent enough for Damian to give any of them any credit. They looked like children playing and Damian decided that it would be far more beneficial to simply teach Peter proper sword fighting and let Peter pretend it was laser powered swords. Damian had never needed such imaginative motivators but Damian was nothing if not an adaptable teacher. Maybe Grayson would even praise him for taking a theoretical lesson into practical knowledge. 

“Watch your footwork,” Damian demanded as Peter stumbled. 

Peter mirrored Damian’s stance and made another jab at Damian’s foam sword. Real or wooden swords would have been better but Peter was both too short to handle any of the ones available and Damian knew that Grayson would be angry or even worse disappointed if Damian gave Peter a sharp weapon. 

“We're sparring but you have to attempt to take me down.” 

Peter nodded and in a moment of brilliance he faked hitting Damian’s foam sword once again only to jab Damian in his ribs. Or perhaps Peter had actually meant to ignore Damian’s instructions only to quickly change techniques quicker than Damian could foresee. Either way it was a clear sign of an aptitude for swordfighting. 

“Acceptable,” Damian said in the highest of praises.

Peter seemed to know this too as his sharp expression changed into the same dumbly happy expression with his cheeks looking even chubbier than they otherwise did. 

Peter went back into the fight in another moment of brilliantly using his opponent's moment of distraction. 

“War!” Peter yelled as Damian countered Peter's attack. 

Damian would have to train that would of him but the fierceness was a good sign. 

They moved through the whole training room with Peter attacking and Damian countering every move. It wasn't much of a workout and he suddenly felt renewed appreciation for his own instructors for training him into what he had become, even if Damian was sure that he would lose every piece of a teammate that he had in Dick if he guided Peter with as firm a hand as he himself had received.

Peter lost his balance and fell with a large sound. 

Damian stared and waited for Peter to stand up and lightly tapped his shoulder with his foot when he wasn't getting up quickly enough. 

Peter let out a series of coughs and asked in a feeble voice, “Inhaler?”

Damian simply blinked as Peter looked up at him. Grayson had made sure that he knew that Peter lost his breath easily but he had forgotten Peter’s potential need for medical intervention as he prepared for mentoring him. Damian had promised to bring Grayson if he initiated Peter in physical activity and he would have to accept the punishment of leading Peter into danger. “Where is it located?” 

Peter tried to get up but Damian stopped his attempt with a foot on his back. “I'll get it for you. Where is it?”

“Bag.” Peter pointed towards the entrance of the training room. 

The inhaler and spacer were both easy to find and Peter put the inhaler and spacer together on his own. Good, he knew how to take care of himself to a tolerable degree. 

"Press," Peter explained breathlessly and breathed in as soon as Damian pressed the top of the inhaler to give a dose of medicine.

"Again," Peter said after Damian had counted 67 seconds and Peter then removed the spacer and inhaler from each other. 

“Your fighting spirit was acceptable but a warrior can't be bound by an inhaler at all times.” 

Peter looked down at the inhaler with a sullen expression. “But Star Wars.” 

“You should have informed me when you couldn’t breathe properly.” Damian would also need to rebrief with Grayson and research about how to best train respiratory challenged proteges. Hopefully this wouldn't be the last time that Damian was allowed to be alone with Peter.  

Peter's eyebrows tilted and furrowed into a warrior's expression with a firm set mouth but Damian had met far more dangerous enemies before.

“Again.” 

Damian was then stabbed with Peter's foam sword once more and he had to show him who the superior fighter was even as he made sure to monitor Peter's breathing. 

Only for self preservation purposes of course. Grayson had shown to be a great fighter and an even better mentor in Damian’s further training and training his offspring would give Grayson more time to train Damian while Father was gone. Making sure Peter could breathe was the only way to keep himself in Grayson’s good graces and not at all related to the tight feeling in Damian's chest when Peter had let out pathetic little coughs. 

Damian decided that those reasons were also the only cause for how warm he felt when Peter tried to imitate how Damian swung his sword. This was all simply for selfish reasons.

The same with how his heart beat when he had to look into Grayson's face and admit to his oversight. "I trained Peter in sword fighting and he lost his breath. He had to tell me where his inhaler was located." Damian look to the side so he wouldn't have to see the betrayal and anger. "I understand if you won't allow me to be alone with Peter anymore." 

Grayson didn't talk for a moment and Damian kept his eyes away from him even as he put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for your apology. Peter's inhaler and spacer just needs to be visible at all times, and you know that you need to bring me if you know that you’re going to be physically active with him, but I also forget things when I was 12."

Damian almost felt relief when Dick looked away from him and down to Peter who was smiling less brightly and more in an attempt to slither his way out of something. Dick sighed and said Peter's name with a slight accent that he didn't usually use. 

"I’m sorry," Peter mumbled. 

"You're forgiven." Dick let go of Damian's shoulder and went down on his knees in front of Peter. "Are you okay? I know the attacks can be scary." 

Peter nodded vigorously. "I'm okay. I had Uncle Dami with me."

Damian had been training to become a warrior for as long as he could remember but even he couldn’t deny how effective Peter’s words could warm up something deep inside of the people around him.

Chapter Text

It was Monday, and Bruce already knew it would be a horrible week that had started with another horrible patrol that night. Just like every night lately. 

Alfred knew that Bruce was losing it. Tim, a literal child, knew that Bruce was losing it, but nothing could erase the pain of losing one son to teenage and then young adult rebellion and Bruce’s pride, and then losing another to Bruce’s direct failure as a guardian. Dick could come back and even if he didn’t he was out there and talking to Alfred, Tim and Babs, but Jason… Jason would forever lie in the ground, and no one but a select few would know just how bright he shone and how big his last blast of life was.

“I'm so glad that you decided to tell us with plenty of time to prepare for such a change,” Alfred said primly and sarcastically into the landline in the office. “But congratulations are in order.”

Bruce didn’t even care who was on the phone. All he wanted was to get through the paperwork so he could lose himself in the eternal crimes of Gotham and hopefully do some good. Any good. 

“Master Bruce, it’s for you,” Alfred said, but Bruce couldn’t look away from the papers. Tim had hurt his knee last night, all because Bruce was too busy yelling to see the Penguin in the shadows. 

“You should answer it, Master Bruce.” Alfred sounded annoyed, and his words had gotten an icy sharpness. “It’s Master Dick.” 

Everything stopped. The pen fell, and Bruce could only see Alfred standing with the landline. “It’s Dick?” 

Alfred nodded. “It is.” 

Bruce’s hand rose as Alfred walked towards Bruce with the phone receiver and long cord. Dick was calling him? It almost didn’t matter if Dick was calling to yell at him. All Bruce wanted was to hear his voice to know that at least one of his boys was alive. 

“Dick?” Bruce whispered when the phone was pressed snugly to his ear. He pressed it a little tighter when there was no immediate answer and he was rewarded with Dick’s breathing on the other end of the line. “What’s wrong, Chum? Did something happen on a mission? Do you need me to come over?”

“No, everything’s fine, Bruce. You should just know that I-” Dick was breathing very heavily on the other end of the line and a baby was crying in the background. “You’re a grandfather.” 

Bruce didn’t understand at first. Had Dick only called to call him old? He was only in his mid 30s but he could be insulted a little if that meant that Dick wanted to talk to him. 

“I’m a dad now,” Dick continued and Bruce’s heart stopped beating. 

Dick was a father? Bruce blinked, stunned. He hadn’t even known Dick was dating anyone seriously, let alone ready for a child. 21 was way too young for kids in Bruce’s opinion, but he would have kept quiet about it if Dick really wanted a child. Bruce knew the allure of having a blood relation after his parents died and Dick must have felt it too and deserved every piece of happiness that he could get. 

“Are you still there?” Dick asked and he sounded so small and young. The baby in the background stopped crying. Bruce closed his eyes and tightened his free hand when he realized it was Dick’s baby who had stopped crying. 

“Congratulations, Dick.” Bruce hesitated and then hurried out. “Can I come over and see you and the baby?” 

Dick was quiet for a moment. “Not yet. Mary is still recovering.”

Bruce didn’t know any Marys, and he had thought that Dick would have had a baby with his teammate Koriand'r if he was going to have it with anyone at such a young age. Maybe Bruce didn’t know Dick that well anymore, but perhaps he could learn about him again. Dick hadn't called Bruce his father, but he had said that he was a grandfather now. That had to count for something. 

Dick’s breathing was still loud and real. It was so real. “But the baby’s fine. He’s good. Everything’s good.” 

Bruce wanted to hug him. He wanted to let Dick share all his worries and joys, but every word with Dick was like balancing on a tightrope that Dick could jump around on easily, and Bruce could fall from even if he calculated every step. 

“Can I see you?” 

Dick’s breathing was less loud, but it was still there, reminding Bruce that he was still there. He was still talking to Dick, who wanted him to know about such a significant part of his life. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

Bruce looked over at Alfred. He stood by the door and seemed to know everything despite only hearing half of the conversation. 

“Can I know his name?” 

“Yes, Peter Patrick Grayson.” 

“It’s a good name. Jason would be honored to share his middle name with someone.” 

“Mary decided on it, but I love it too. Patrick was Mary’s father’s first name. Peter is his own person, but he has both their goodness.” 

Bruce wanted to cry and run away from it all. He was a grown man, but these emotions were too much for even his giant frame. “She sounds like a nice girl.” 

“She is. She’s great. Peter’s great, too.”

Bruce cleared his throat, swallowed on nothing, and cleared his throat again. “How are you?” 

Dick went quiet and Bruce was preparing him for the heartbreak of Dick hanging up and then not talking to him for another eleven months. “Tired.” 

“I’ve heard that both Law School and a baby can be tiring.” 

“Heh, yeah, yeah, both can be very tiring, but it’s great. He’s mine, Bruce, he’s really mine. My little boy.” Dick sounded exhausted but happy as he talked about Peter. The tension was still there, but there was a radiance to every word. The bright tone only dulled a little at his following words. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before.” 

Bruce would have shaken any rogue if they had withheld information even half as important as this, but he couldn’t do that to Dick. Dick was too far away emotionally and literally in his little apartment, only a short drive away from Gotham University. Dick hadn’t told Bruce where he lived or that he had started his law degree a short two months ago, but he hadn’t stopped Alfred from telling anyone either. 

Bruce could physically kick the door in and see Dick and a little baby that Bruce imagined would have Dick’s sparkling blue eyes and dark hair. He could already see Dick's nose, lips and eyes on a little copy that Bruce would beg for the chance to see grow up to be as brilliant as Dick. 

“I’m just glad to know now, Chum.”

“He was born 2 days ago,” Dick supplied. “October 23rd, a little before 4 am, at 36 weeks and 2 days, but he’s small for that. Only 5 pounds one ounce, so the doctors said he might be a little more premature, but he’s strong, and we got home yesterday afternoon.” 

Bruce had only held a baby once, and it was months old and weighed much more than any newborn. Five pounds sounded like something that could never survive in Gotham, and Bruce didn’t think that babies were born prematurely without cause. But Dick knew more than people gave him credit for, and if he said the baby, Peter, was strong, then he was strong.

“He mostly just sleeps. Mary does too.” Dick quieted down for a moment. “Mary is Peter’s mother.” 

Dick had barely said a word to Bruce all year, and now he seemed unable to stop talking in the long pauses between them. Dick hadn’t even thanked Bruce himself for his birthday gift back in March, but that had been only three months after Jason’s death and a long time of rare contact. It was nice having Dick want to share such things with him, and maybe Bruce could learn enough to be allowed to share more than just empty words. 

Bruce just hummed and then asked, “Are you happy?” 

"Ecstatic. I just knew he was mine as soon as I saw him.” 

“I’m glad, Chum. You deserve it.” 

Dick went quiet again, and Bruce wanted to scold himself for talking and not saying enough at that moment. 

“I can call you when Mary’s ready for visitors again. Her mother and sister have already seen Peter today, and I want you and Alfred to see him too.” 

Bruce closed his eyes and tried not to cry. Dick had a baby and Dick wanted Bruce to see him. Dick wanted to see Bruce too. They probably wouldn’t hug but Bruce would get to see Dick and maybe even hold another baby. A smaller one that he could hopefully watch grow up into an adult. Bruce didn’t know if the baby would be strong-willed or ready to listen to authorities, but he knew he would one day take on the world with an admirable vigor. Any child of Dick would be more amazing than Bruce could even imagine. 

“Anytime. Just call, and then I’ll come right away.” 

Bruce could almost see Dick’s smirk as he asked, “Even if it cuts into patrol time?” 

“Yes,” Bruce answered immediately.

“Oh, okay. I’ll call you, okay?”

“I’ll be ready.”

Alfred brought over a handkerchief for Bruce’s wet eyes as soon as Dick hung up the phone. The papers would have to wait. 

Chapter Text

Damian crossed his arms and leaned down into his chair. They were cheap, plastic and obnoxiously red. Far beneath anyone but especially beneath the son of Batman and grandson of the great Raʾs al Ġhūl. 

“Your guardian is on his way to you,” the secretary informed him but Damian didn’t even dignify her with a look. Damian usually didn’t mind her but her light voice was just grating at that moment. 

“Richard Grayson?” Another woman asked outside the open door. 

“Yeah, that’s me, Miss Brown.” 

“It’s Mrs. Garcia now.” 

“Oh, congratulations,” Grayson said and Damian turned to look at Grayson standing in front of the door with Peter in his arms. Damian once again wasn’t sure about why Grayson allowed Peter to indulge like that but Peter was also quite small at 3. Legs that small could probably get tired quickly and he could easily get lost in a crowd. 

Peter turned to look over Grayson’s shoulder and looked at Damian with big eyes and with a blue pacifier in his smiling mouth. 

Damian waved back when Peter waved at him and looked up at the clock on the wall. It was only 2 pm and Peter must have just woken up from his nap. 

“Is this a new little brother?” Mrs. Garcia asked. 

Grayson let out a laugh. “No, no, this is my son.” 

“Son? Didn’t you just graduate here a few years ago?” 

“I’m actually almost 25, Mrs. Gracia, and I’m needed to hear what my actual little brother has been up to.”

Peter’s body was turned around as Grayson turned towards the door but he turned around again to keep his eyes on Damian.  

Grayson sighed and put a hand on his hip. Even Peter seemed to try to look serious when he saw this wasn’t a simple pick up although the effect would have been more effective without the pacifier. It even had a faded yellow Wonder Woman logo now that Damian was looking more closely. 

“Damian, do you want to say something before we go in to talk to your principal?” 

Damian’s crossed arms got pushed a little tighter against his chest. “No, they’re all cretins anyway.” 

Grayson sighed again. “Please, don’t insult your teachers or other kids.” 

“Tt, like it means anything when they’re already said what they wanted to say to you.” 

“You’re a good kid, Damian, and I want to hear what you have to say.” 

Damian didn’t answer. Grayson already knew that Damian had failed. That he had been far from perfect and was being punished for his actions. He should have been better.

“Excuse me,” the secretary interrupted. “Are you Damian’s guardian?” 

Peter nodded and Grayson just smiled his fake smile that most believed to be genuine. Idiots. 

“Yeah, I’m his brother and this-.” Grayson pointed towards Peter with a thumb. “Is Peter who you said that I could bring.”

Peter smacked Grayson’s shoulder and pointed towards the principal’s door as soon as Grayson turned his head. 

Damian looked too and saw the sour man standing in the open doorway. Damian could just see how important the man thought that he was and how much he wanted to say about Damian.

Damian would make sure that he fell from his throne even if Damian went down with him. 

“Mr. Grayson? 

“Hello, Mr. Davis.” 

“Come in both of you. Miss Moore can look after your son while we talk.” 

“No,” Peter said around his pacifier. 

“It’s okay, Mr. Davis. Peter can keep quiet. Come, Damian, let us all go in.” 

Mr. Davis didn’t move away from the door and his annoying dark grey eyebrows almost fell into his eyes. “There might be some foul language.” 

Peter reached a hand up and took his pacifier out so he could properly talk. “Fuck.” 

“Peter,” Grayson let out with a hard ‘P’ that sounded far more like a curse than Peter’s single explicit word had. 

“I know bad words.” 

Grayson rubbed his left eye. “Yes, you do. Shi-shoot you are putting me in a bad light right now, Tati.”

Grayson turned his head towards Damian and waved him towards him. “Come on, Damian, let us get this over with. Peter, don’t repeat any bad words that you hear.” 

The chairs in the principal’s office wasn’t obnoxiously red but only Mr. Davis got a comfortable-looking chair, but Peter seemed to like his seat on Grayson’s lap. 

Mr. Davis and Grayson looked at each other for a few moments before Grayson broke the silence. “So you said that there had been a verbal altercation?” 

Mr. Davis shook his head and looked as tired as he did every time he didn’t have a chance to play high and mighty. “Yes, and I need to be sure that there will be no similar situations in the future.” 

Damian leaned back in his uncomfortable seat. “There will be if you don’t correct the behavior of people like Kevin Myers.” 

Mr. Davis’ tried to look intimidating as he glowered at Damian but Damian was honestly more affected by a sleep deprived Peter. 

“There are no excuses for retaliation, and I will not accept bullying in this learning environment.” 

“Retaliation?” Grayson asked. “Why did you make it sound like Damian attacked someone unprovoked if someone else insulted him?” 

Peter’s eyebrows were furrowed as he looked between Mr. Davis, Grayson and Damian but fortunately didn’t speak up. 

“No one insulted Damian.” 

Grayson let out a hum before he turned towards Damian. “What happened?” 

Damian tried to figure out what Grayson’s angle was when Mr. Davis spoke up. “We are discussing Damian’s appalling behavior.” 

Grayson didn’t even spare Mr. Davis a look. “I know, but I want to know what happened from a firsthand account.” 

Damian couldn’t find any deceit in Grayson’s face and he had been a good ally for weeks. Maybe he could tell Grayson what had happened. 

“My classmate was disparaging a female classmate for turning down his offer of going on a romantic outing with him, so I said that he was acting ‘hella dodgy’ and that he ‘was a wack little bitch-boy’. I kindly offered to fuck his mother and give her a son who wasn’t a scrub and someone that she could actually love.” 

Peter and Grayson didn’t share coloring and Damian usually had a hard time seeing similar facial features between them but their confused looks were almost identical as they took in his words. 

“He was mean to your friend?” Peter asked. 

“She is not my friend but yes, he was indeed being very mean to her and acting like a fucking loser.” 

Peter still looked very confused and looked over at Mr. Davis with serious and narrowed eyes as he took a hold of Grayson’s hand with a tight fist. “Mean boy.” 

Mr. Davis looked smug at Peter’s words. “Yes, Damian seems to have been quite mean to his classmate.” 

“No! Uncle Dami stopped mean boy.”

Was Peter defending him? Peter? The toddler who cried because Damian said that Ace was being annoying for having to sniff every 2 seconds when it was raining? 

“Damian’s words weren’t acceptable but Peter has a point, Mr. Davis.” Grayson said with a shrug.

“Yes, point,” Peter said and started to point around. 

Damian suddenly felt slightly less dignified in being defended by Peter but the enthusiasm was undeniable. 

“Retaliation is not acceptable.” 

Grayson nodded. “I know, and Damian and I will have a proper conversation about how he should deal with similar situations.” 

“I’m glad to hear that as an addition to his in-school suspension. Three days should be enough to steer Damian in the right direction.” 

“Quite harsh for the situation but I guess that’s fair if the other boy is being punished on a similar scale.” 

Peter nodded along with all of Grayson’s words but Damian doubted how much he actually understood. 

“We can’t have him using foul language and threatening classmates unprovoked.” 

Grayson let out a hum and titled his head. “I don’t know about unprovoked. You didn’t deny that Damian was protecting a classmate from being harassed, and I’m actually quite proud of him for defending someone he doesn’t even see as a friend even if his method is misguided.”

Mr. Davis seemed to barely be able to get a single word out through his ire. “Proud?” 

Grayson nodded. “Yes, proud. Although I’m also disturbed that there was a teacher near enough to catch Damian’s harsh words but not capable of defending the poor female student. I hope that you have plans to warn the teacher about the dangers of allowing students to harass each other.” 

Grayson looked over at Damian with an entirely horizontal mouth and wide eyes. “I’m sorry but I’m going to need you to tell me who your poor classmate is so I can talk about the situation with her parents just in case they don’t know.” Grayson looked up into the far corner with a dramatic sigh with Peter trying to look as thoughtful at the same spot. “I guess the next PTA meeting is going to be really long.” 

Mr. Davis looked much less confident when Grayson sent a sharp smile in his direction. It was the dangerous one he used when someone was about to fall into his trap. “Don’t worry, Mr. Davis. I’ll make sure that the PTA finds a way to inform everyone in the school about your policy of only allowing retaliation without foul language.” 

“No retaliation is allowed here regardless of the language,” Mr. Davis argued. 

Grayson leaned back into his seat. “No? Hmm, you are probably right, Mr. Davis, a student harassing someone else for not wanting to go on a date with them sounds more like an unprovoked attack.” 

Grayson looked over at Damian with a confident smile. “How did your classmate refuse the date? Did she give him any reason to retaliate or was it just an attack?”

Damian looked at Grayson’s comforting and then at Peter’s intrigued eyes. “She told him that she didn’t have any amorous feelings towards him even though she is not in a romantic relationship at the moment. Although I am paraphrasing.” Damian leaned forward to cover Peter’s ears like he had seen Grayson do several times. “He then said that she was a cheap whore, that she probably had chlamydia, and he called her overweight.” 

Damian let go of Peter’s ears and was unsure if his hands had muffled any of his words. 

“Wow, those are some harsh words and it even has foul language.”

“Very foul,” Peter piped up in agreement. 

“Damian’s actions can’t go unpunished.” 

Grayson pulled Peter farther up into his lap. “You are completely right about that. Damian should have an appropriate punishment for his foul language and saying he wanted to-” Grayson looked down at Peter before continuing, “have relations with a classmate’s mother, but Kevin's actions are very serious and I’m quite worried about what else is overlooked if his actions are allowed here.” 

“I think you are confused, Mr. Grayson. You are here to be informed of Damian’s actions and punishment, not here to argue about how I run the school.” 

Grayson nodded. “Of course, we will be out of your hair then.” 

Damian usually knew exactly what was happening but Grayson’s ability to go from barely veiled threats to acceptance of Damian’s punishment was puzzling. Damian had been ready to accept it without issue but he had hoped for more after Grayson insisted to know his side of the whole situation and the threats. 

Grayson sent Damian a genuine smile. “Come on, Damian. We have a few talks to go through.” 

Peter jumped down from Grayson’s lap and ran towards Damian to take his hand. Peter’s arm was at a 180 degree angle from his torso to hold Damian’s hand but he didn’t seem to mind as they walked out the office and the hallways and towards the car. 

Grayson waited until he was buckling Peter into his car seat before he talked again. “You really can’t swear at your classmates or call anyone names, but I’m very pleased that you defended your classmate.” 

“Will I receive the in-school suspension?” 

Grayson sighed and made a sound in his cheek. “At least the one tomorrow, but I’ll do what I can so you won’t be punished more than that.” 

Both Damian and Grayson walked over to their respective seats and buckled themselves in.

“The suspension might be preferable over sitting with the rest of my classmates.”

Grayson patted Peter’s chest as he finished buckling him and turned to shake his head at Damian but it seemed more amused than anything else. “I’ll still try and we'll find the list of your classmates’ numbers to discuss it all with the parents of that female classmate of yours and I'll call the PTA. They’ll all love something to talk about and those ladies can ruin any man’s reputation if be doesn't change.” 

“Are you using blackmail against my principal?” 

Grayson let out a harsh breath. “What? No, I’m just… Warning other parents or guardians even though I don’t want Peter going here if this is how they deal with harassment.” 

“Man is mean!” Peter informed them from the backseat.

Damian looked at Grayson as he drove out of the school’s parking lot. It could be risky to reveal this amount of uncertainty but Grayson was very patient with Peter and had not raised a hand towards Damian outside of training, and even then he held his punches. 

“What is my punishment for my failure to deal with the situation sufficiently?” 

Grayson’s face tensed before he gave Damian a quick smile. “The in-school suspension and having to talk to me about how to deal with other kids acting like morons.” 

“Morons!” Peter repeated from the backseat. 

“You had to drive to the school to collect me and I’ve disgraced the family.” 

Grayson had only just left the parking lot but did an illegal U-turn on the empty road and drove back and parked before he turned in his seat to look at Damian. “You did not disgrace anyone. You’re a child and you acted like a child who knows what is right and wrong. I am really proud of you and I would be just as proud if Peter one day does the same for someone else.” 

Damian turned to look at Peter who sent him an uncoordinated wave before he looked back at Grayson. “Peter wouldn’t lose his temper like that.” 

Grayson shook his head and smirked. “Peter already swears and wants to fight crime. He would definitely say some choice words if he thought someone was being mean.” 

“Mean is bad!” Peter agreed. 

Grayson nodded at Peter’s words. “Yes, being mean is very bad but I’m glad that you could be mean to that boy. You shouldn’t hit someone either but we do it almost nightly.” 

Grayson’s hand landed on Damian’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I would offer you some I-C-E-C-R-E-A-M but I know that you aren’t that crazy about it, but we could bake some C-O-O-K-I-E-S if you want.” 

Damian’s stomach was still tight with nerves and uncertainty but he still answered, “That would be acceptable.” 

“Yay, cookies!” Peter cheered. 

Grayson let go of Damian’s shoulder to turn around with a sharp movement and stare at Peter. “You can spell?” 

Peter let out a very evil-sounding giggle with shining eyes and little fists in front of his face. “You said bake and then said letters. That means cookies.” 

“Let’s bake some cookies, Grayson. Your son seems hungry.” 

Grayson turned back around to face the steering wheel. “You’re right and then we can continue this talk after cookies and calling everyone needed.” 

Maybe it would have been better if Damian had simply been asked to train until he physically couldn’t move anymore, but he couldn’t help liking the jittery nerves in his limbs at the thought of Grayson patiently explaining something to him. Damian would be better and then Grayson could be even prouder if something similar happened again. 

Chapter Text

Dick’s house was disgustingly domestic despite being placed in Blüdhaven. It was everything that Jason had wanted during his childhood with a present father: a master bedroom for said father, a childhood room with a decent amount of toys, and an almost-grown puppy. 

Well, Jason wasn’t entirely sure about the dog, but it did give the same homey energy even with Dick being unmarried and Peter only living at the house every other week without his mom. 

“This is Haley!” Peter said as he showed Jason the gray and white dog. Her tail was low and still for a moment before Peter offered his hand, and she took a few steps to receive some slow but firm ear scratches. She soon forgot her nerves, and the powerful wagging almost made her lose her three-legged balance. 

“I’m surprised that she’s dealing with a stranger this well after her tough start,” Dick mused. 

Jason looked down at the puppy, noticing how her square head kept bumping into Peter’s hand, and she barely glanced at Dick or Jason. “She seems friendly.” 

“She is, and I think she will fit right in with how affectionate Peter and I can be.”

Peter giggled as Haley kept walking around so that he could touch different parts of her body. 

“Peter seems to be good with her, too.” 

Dick looked proud. Much more than Jason had ever seen him before, even when he did a new maneuver or the times Dick came to the manor before Jason’s death and taught him valuable skills in both combat and dealing with Bruce. Jason hoped he could find something to be this proud of as well. “I know. Isn’t he great?”

Haley eventually quieted down and walked away from all the humans. 

Peter looked longingly at her walk away. “Oh, I wanted to pet her more.” 

Dick looked at Haley walking through the door. “Maybe she’ll want to cuddle later.” 

Peter shrugged. “Maybe.” 

Peter looked thoughtful momentarily before turning towards Jason quickly enough for anyone else to get whiplash. “Uncle Jay, Tati put the seat of my new bike down for me, and I can ride it now. Do you want to see it?” 

Jason blinked down at Peter’s hopeful eyes. “Sure, lead the way.” 

Peter looked over at Dick and seemed almost to vibrate until Dick focused on him and gave a single sideward nod towards the door to the garden, “Jacket, shoes, then go.” 

Peter was off like a bullet, and Jason stood dumbly for a second before Dick gave him a push. “You too. No bikes inside.” 

Jason barely noticed Haley following them through the door but did notice when she started running towards Peter. Jason didn’t know what came first, but suddenly, he and Dick were running; Peter was screaming, and Haley seemed to be pulling him through the tall grass by his leg. 

Haley let go before Jason or Dick were next to them, and Peter cried while holding his leg. A few drops of blood had colored his white socks, and his blue jeans had several darker spots. Jason could barely contain himself when he looked to Peter’s left and saw Haley growling with blood on the white fur on her snout. 

Dick leaped over to Peter and pulled Peter away with the growling dog. 

“It hurts, Tati,” Peter cried. Big tears fell down his cheeks, and he held his leg even tighter as he was pulled into Dick’s arms. 

Jason couldn’t understand how it had happened. The dog had been affectionate with Peter, but then she ran straight at him and bit his leg out of nowhere. “Can’t a pit bull break bones? Did she break his leg?” 

“Fuck,” Dick breathed out and took a few more steps away from Haley, who fortunately didn’t walk any closer to them even as the growling persisted. 

Jason pulled Peter’s pant leg up, which was worse and better. There weren't any broken bones, but Peter’s skin was irritated, and there were harsh and uneven cuts with blood all around them. The cuts didn’t look deep, but blood still welled up from all around his shin. 

“It was a snake,” Peter said just as Dick looked down at the bite mark too.

“What snake was it?” Dick asked, looking directly at Jason. Then, he forcefully put Peter into Jason’s arms, went down on his knees with a sharp movement, and patted everywhere, just as the growling increased. 

Dick pushed Haley far more gently than Jason would have been able to at that moment but much harsher than he had taught Peter to be against animals. Dick stood up and swallowed as he turned towards Jason with a snake with an almost entirely crushed tail and the tip being bitten off entirely. It was likely due to Haley’s strong bite, which makes it difficult to ascertain whether the snake was originally longer than 2 feet or if she had bitten off a large portion of the end. 

The snake tried to escape Dick’s grip, but he held it firmly by its head. There were no wild snakes in the streets of Crime Alley, but Jason had learned a lot about them when he moved to the manor and its great grounds and bushes. This was really, really bad. 

Dick looked young and uncertain at the irate snake. “Tell me it’s not a timber rattlesnake, Jason.”

The snake was gray with dark brown blotches on the back. 

“Hospital. We need the hospital, Dick.” 

Dick nodded and ran with the snake still in his hand, while Jason followed, carrying Peter, who was crying in his arms. 

Jason couldn’t remember how long it took for the venom of a timber rattlesnake to cause irreparable damage, but he knew that it could kill an adult, and Peter was only 3.5 feet tall and barely 6 years old.

The car was just inside the garage, but it felt like miles away as Peter started to cry even more. It wasn’t the cries of someone in unbelievable pain, but instead, a tiny child who was frightened beyond all belief. He was scared, and Jason didn’t know how to make it any better when his own heart was beating out of his chest. 

They stopped in front of the car, and Dick looked at Jason as the snake did another powerful movement. 

“Turn around with him.” 

It wasn’t Dick speaking at that moment, but rather something resembling Nightwing. Nightwing was authoritative and confident even in harsh and potentially deadly situations, but even Nightwing had time for smiles and comforting words. Jason could have used soothing words, but he didn’t question the order and instantly heard a loud thwack when his back turned. 

The sound was still echoing when Jason heard Dick opening the car door to the backseat behind the passenger seat. “Get Peter in.” 

Jason put Peter in the car seat. Peter was still tiny enough for a car seat and might die now because he wanted to show Jason his bike. Jason was a great shot and could have shot the snake or kicked it with his boot if he had only been quicker. 

Dick didn’t wait for Jason to buckle Peter in and instead almost threw the dead snake in Jason’s arms and pushed him away from the backseat. 

“What’s happening, Tati?” Peter asked. 

“We’re going to the hospital.” 

“Why?” 

Dick didn’t answer as he buckled the straps at an impressive speed and closed the car door. 

Haley had come into the garage at some point, and Dick only stopped for a moment when he saw her bloody front paw. Jason was sure she would have been limping if she had had all four paws, but instead, she was leaning on all three of her legs and whining. 

“Thank you, Haley.” 

Haley ran toward the car and whined at the trunk, and Dick opened the trunk for her to jump in and closed it with a loud bang that startled both Jason and Peter.  

“Inside,” Dick ordered. Jason hurried into the passenger seat, and Dick hurried towards the driver’s seat. 

They had been in the garage for less than five minutes, but it felt much longer, and Jason couldn’t keep his eyes away from the snake and its cracked skull. 

“Are we taking Haley to the animal hospital?” Peter asked. 

Dick shook his head as he backed out of the garage. “We’re going to the human hospital right now.” 

Peter cried harder. “Haley got bit after she pulled the snake off my leg.” 

Dick took a deep breath. “I know, but we’re going to the human hospital first, and then Jason can take her to the vet while you get treated.” 

Jason didn't like that plan. He didn't want to handle an injured dog that didn’t trust him, and leaving Peter for any length of time was even worse, yet he didn't argue.

They left the neighborhood, and Dick didn’t even glance at Jason as he pulled a small Nokia out of his pants pocket and reached out to Jason with it. “Call the emergency room. It’s in my contacts.” 

Jason would have teased Dick for having any hospital’s direct number in his phone under any other circumstances, but it wasn’t funny at that moment. It might never be funny, even if this whole situation would be a funny story to tell everyone at Peter’s future high school graduation. 

Jason tried to sound calm, but he knew he would have failed even if he couldn’t feel Peter’s anxiety from the backseat. 

“Blüdhaven Emer-” 

Jason interrupted before the woman on the other end finished her greeting. “Hello, a snake bit my nephew in the garden. His name is Peter Grayson, and he’s six and really small—like 30 pounds.” 

“He’s about 40 pounds,” Dick said as he sped along the road. 

“His dad says he’s 40 pounds, and we think it’s a timber rattlesnake.” 

“What did the snake look like?” the woman on the other end asked. 

“Grey with brown patches. I have the snake with me. It’s dead.” 

“That’s very helpful. How is your nephew feeling?” 

Peter was still crying but less now that there wasn’t anyone actively running around anymore. 

“He’s crying and scared. Him being scared might be on us, and his leg is bloody. It bled a lot.” 

“Just let it bleed. The venom might leave the wound with the blood.” 

They reached the hospital in record time. Peter started to cry again as he was pulled out of the car, but Dick took the time to calm him down as he pulled him closer to himself. They ran towards the hospital doors with Jason on their heels and Haley calling out for them. 

“We’re here for the snake bite. The rattlesnake.” 

The receptionist didn’t hesitate and pointed them toward a nearby hallway. “They’re ready for you in room 4.” 

A middle-aged man was ready, and the dark blue examination table already had paper over it for Peter to be laid down on. 

“I’m Dr. Brown. Are you here for the snakebite?” 

“Yes, this is Peter. He was in the garden for maybe 5 seconds, and then he was bitten. We have the snake with us. Jason, show him the snake.” 

Jason lifted his arm and showed the limp snake. Dr. Brown reached for it, and his tense shoulders fell as he looked closely at it and looked into its mouth before he put it on a rolling table and looked at the terrified Peter. 

Dick’s entire being was back, and he seemed to no longer use Nightwing’s voice and influence on everyone around him. He held Peter’s hand and kept brushing his other hand through Peter’s hair to calm Peter or himself. 

“It’s his left leg,” Dick informed Dr. Brown before he could even ask. 

“This will be a little cold,” Dr. Brown informed Peter before he lifted Peter’s pant leg and washed the blood away with saline and bandage-like wipes.

Jason looked at Peter’s shin. It looked painful and horrifying, like someone had taken five needles and hacked them into Peter’s skin before pulling them along his shin, but the rest of the tension went out of Dr. Brown’s shoulders. 

Dr. Brown stared at the horrific marks on Peter's little leg. “It wasn’t a timber rattlesnake.” 

“What?” Dick asked as he paused in his movements. 

Dr. Brown gestured to the snake. “This is a juvenile black rat snake. Many mistake them for timber rattlesnakes when they’re hiking or camping.” 

Dick let out a manic laugh that even made Peter look at him with a disturbed look. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just really relieved.” 

Dr. Brown opened a pack with a very long plaster. “It’s understandable. It was a very stressful situation.” 

“I’m not going to die, right?” Peter asked with his face angled up towards Dick. 

Dick smiled down at Peter. It was not manic, and it was not forced. It was just relieved and with a sudden wave of calm for everyone who looked at it. “No, you’re not going to die for many, many years to come, and I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

“You did the right thing, Mr. Grayson." Dr. Brown looked reassuring as he glanced at Dick, but his demeanor changed into something softer when he addressed Peter. "You're almost done. I only need to pat your leg dry and put this plaster on you.” 

Peter looked at Dr. Brown and seemed just as nervous as before. “It’s fine for dogs, too, right?” 

Dr. Brown looked up momentarily. “I’m not a vet, but I’m just going to clean and bandage your leg, so I would assume it’s the same for dogs.” 

Peter lay still until his pant leg was pulled down again, but Jason couldn’t. He had too much nervous energy, and not even pulling his shirt until the stitches almost gave out was enough to calm any of it down. 

“He’s going to be okay?” 

Dr. Brown turned his head while still sitting on his chair. “The snake isn’t venomous, so the bite should be treated like a nasty scrape.” 

Peter jumped from the examination table and exclaimed, “I don’t like snakes.” 

“I’m not a huge fan of them either,” Jason mumbled, and Dick nodded in agreement. 

Dick opened the trunk of the car as soon as they reached the parking lot, and Haley jumped out to sniff at both Dick and Peter. She must have smelled something she liked because she made several rounds around herself, and her tail moved faster than Jason’s eyes could follow. 

Dick kneeled in front of her. “You were such a brave girl, Haley. I can’t give you anything to show how much, but I’m extremely thankful for what you did.” 

Haley let out a bark and wagged her tail and butt as Dick patted her head and back.

“We need to look at Haley’s leg,” Peter reminded them. 

“We will in a few minutes.”

Haley eventually stopped being quite as energetic about seeing them again, and Dick looked her paw over as she lay down on the asphalt. Jason looked upon it as well, but it was hard to see the damage through her fur even when Dick went to the car momentarily to wet a few paper towels with a bottle of water and wash her paw. Haley tried to pull her paw back, but she was only allowed to do so when the dried blood was gone. 

“It’s small,” Peter commented. 

“Yes, it’s much smaller than yours, and she doesn’t look like she needs a vet, but maybe we should call one anyway.” 

“We have to,” Peter said with his full chest. 

“I’ll do that then. Haley was very brave and needs to be okay.” 

“Yes, very brave. Right, Uncle Jay?”

Jason looked down into Peter’s big brown eyes. They were still innocent and full of everything good but tired after the last 45 minutes. “Yes, she was very, very brave.”

Peter carefully petted Haley’s gray head. “You’re a hero, Haley.” 

She was. Jason would have done the same, and Dick would have done even more, but Haley had reacted before any of them knew something was wrong and had kept strong even when they had believed that she could have hurt Peter. 

Haley was less brave at the vet's but seemed to bloom with Peter’s and the vet’s attention. Dick bought an overpriced bone with dried meat on it for Haley in the veterinary clinic. She didn’t even need any bandages, but her wound had been thoroughly cleaned. 

“They do eat rats, after all,” the vet said, meticulously cleaning the wound. However, Jason chose not to consider the insane price for the emergency appointment and bone. 

“Can we just watch movies for the rest of the day?” Peter asked in the car. 

“Yes, please,” Jason breathed out. He was used to running around with guns blazing, but today had been one of the most stressful days of his entire life.

Chapter Text

Duke enjoyed only having to worry about crime fighting and enjoying everything else while at the manor. Being a film major was amazing and something that Duke would never have chosen if he hadn’t had someone else to pay for it, but college was college, and any breaks were nice. It was calm and comfortable as he lay in bed without any looming deadlines, and he was able to sleep in for once. 

The sense of calm disappeared when he woke up early to the sound of Dick and Peter sneaking down the hallway at 07.34 am on Christmas morning 2002. 

Duke had expected Alfred to be awake, and possibly Peter, but all the other vigilantes were night owls and would sleep until at least nine am, even if they hadn’t been patrolling the previous night. 

Duke looked through his bedroom window as Peter and Dick giggled at each other, and Duke had never seen someone have so much fun walking towards a car before. He thought that they might even have given each other a high five after they buckled into their diagonally placed seats in Dick’s car.

Duke only looked away from the window when the car had disappeared behind the nearby trees by the road. He changed his clothes and walked out of the room in the hope of finding anyone who could convince him that Dick and Peter were not about to do something crazy and possibly traumatizing. You never knew with this family.  

The hallways were quiet, with not even the sounds of the sleeping residents, and Duke almost opened a few doors to convince himself that there was safety in numbers. Still, he didn’t want to risk the amount of teasing he would get for either having to figure out a lie if he woke someone or having to admit to the truth of being nervous around Dick’s and Peter’s scheming behavior. 

Duke didn’t even know if he should be more worried about Dick or Peter. Both Jason and Tim had said that Dick had been an absolute lunatic when he was Robin, and Tim had even shown pictures of a teenaged Robin smiling as wide as the Golden Gate Bridge as he kicked some crook in the jaw in a standing split. Tim had said that Dick had been even more ruthless when he had initially become Robin, and Peter was currently only a little bit younger than that. Not to mention that Peter was unbelievably bright and possessed some incredible but disturbing powers. 

The rest of the house woke up before Dick and Peter were back, and Duke just knew that this meant something horrible. Either a car accident that no one would recover from or perhaps an even worse scenario of Dick and Peter having planned something that took a lot of planning and time to execute. 

“Where’s Peter?” Jason asked as soon as he came into the kitchen where Duke was hiding with Alfred. Alfred didn’t know that Duke was hiding and was making food, but his presence helped anyway. 

Alfred didn’t turn away from the stove as he baked gingerbread on a pan. “Still sleeping, I expect.” 

Jason sat down next to Duke. “Peter isn’t in his or Dick’s bed.” 

Alfred finally turned away from the stove. “Master Dick is gone too?” 

Jason shrugged. “I guess.” 

Duke was sometimes in awe of how Jason could ever believe he was being subtle. He only spent uninterrupted Christmases at the manor during the years when Peter was there; every other year, he “coincidentally” had missions that began only after Dick came by with Peter to exchange gifts on the 24th, before both Dick and Peter went to Mary’s mother’s house, ensuring Peter never spent a Christmas without his dad. Bruce was a bit gruffer in the years when Jason, Dick, and Peter spent Christmas morning elsewhere. Nevertheless, it was always nice, and Peter and Dick usually called before lunch to thank everyone.

Jason turned to look at Duke in a way that made him want to use his powers to disappear into the shadows. “Do you know where they could be?” 

“They left at half past seven this morning in Dick’s car.” 

Alfred changed which leg he was leaning on, but otherwise remained still. “Is something the matter? Peter usually only leaves for his mother’s on the 26th.” 

Duke wished that he had just kept quiet. “They seemed fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Jason asked before Bruce came into the kitchen, his demeanor that of a man twice his age and much less spry than Alfred. 

“Dick and Peter will be back after breakfast, and Dick says that we don’t have to wait or save anything for them.” 

Alfred gave an unamused hum in Bruce's direction. “And how long has Master Dick known about this?” 

“I’m just the messenger.”

Duke initially didn’t know why Alfred was so annoyed, as everything had been eaten. Alfred didn’t seem to be the type to miscalculate or forget, but perhaps he had forgotten how much college students could eat when they were accustomed to engaging in very physically taxing activities multiple times a week. 

It was only when Duke sat in the sitting room with everyone else that he pondered if it would have been the perfect amount if Peter and Dick had joined them. Duke’s stomach would at least not have felt that overfilled. 

“Ho ho ho!” Dick’s voice yelled as soon as the front door opened, and adult and child steps walked around the hallways until they opened the door to the decorated sitting room. 

Peter looked in and instantly put something behind the door and walked into the room alone. 

Everything about Peter was objectively cute, from the slightly oversized Santa hat to his huge smile and tiny size, but his almost professional stride and the way Dick wasn’t walking in with him made alarm bells ring in Duke’s ears. 

“My teacher said that most men only receive flowers at their funeral,” Peter told them, and Duke didn’t know if he was more worried about this being the introduction to whatever Dick and Peter had planned or relieved that he would finally find out what the early start had been about. 

“That’s kind of depressing for Christmas,” Steph commented. 

“It’s very, very depressing, and I don’t like it.” Peter turned towards the door, extended his arm, and sounded like the announcers on game shows, “Tati, the gifts.” 

Dick came in with a smile even wider than The Golden Gate Bridge. He looked incredibly proud as he looked down at the 9-year-old Peter and held four potted poinsettias in his arms. Dick carefully put them on the coffee table while Peter ran out the door to collect two poinsettias, and Dick went out too to bring in the last two. The flower arrangement was haphazardly placed but looked beautiful, featuring a mix of red, yellow, orange, pink, white, and bicolored green and red leaves. 

“Are they all for us?” Bruce asked. 

Peter gave a few quick nods. “Babs already got hers when he drove past her dad’s, so these are all for you.” 

Tim leaned forward. It was probably to look at the flowers, but Peter looked at him like an eagle finding a quick little mouse. “No! You all have specific ones that symbolize you or what I want for you for Christmas. It took forever to pick them out this Monday.” 

Peter seemed to lose some of his fire as he looked around the room. "Can I give them to you all now?" 

"Of course," Bruce answered when there were no immediate protests. 

Peter walked over and carefully lifted a light pink poinsettia. “This is for you, Aunt Cass. It symbolizes friendship, as you are both my friend and my aunt.” 

Cass’ eyes were wide as she carefully took hold of the pot. “Thank you.” 

Peter seemed almost to vibrate as he saw Cass’ reaction, but no one was as overjoyed as Dick. He was a grown man but had a wide open-mouthed grin, held fists right in front of his chin, and his eyes looked like crescent moons, as Duke could hear Dick try to keep his overjoyed breathing down as Peter walked over to collect the next pot of poinsettias. 

Peter’s excitement seemed to dim a little as he took hold of the dark pink poinsettias. “This is for you, Aunt Steph. Purple poinsettias don’t exist, so this was the closest that I could find. Pink also means playfulness.” 

“We could have Alice in Wonderland’ed it,” Jason suggested. Duke had no idea what Jason meant by that, but it didn’t matter as Peter had clearly already found and chosen the flowers that he wanted everyone to receive. 

Peter shook his head and looked down at the plant. “It wouldn’t be the same, and the flowers would get sick, but here, Aunt Steph.” 

“Thank you so much,” Steph said, and her blonde ponytail swished a little as she leaned forward toward Peter. 

“You really like it?” 

Steph seemed to load her energy with her first word and then let it go with a single head shake at the next two. “I love it .” 

“Okay, good.” Peter looked down at his feet before he shuffled over to the table with quick movements. 

Damian, Tim, and Jason got orange, red, and dark red flowers, respectively. Duke thought that he might have heard Jason die a second time when he was told that his flowers meant love, and Damian sent him daggers, even though he had initially been pleased about receiving something representing creativity. Tim seemed to be just fine with his symbolizing passion, and even more so when Peter had clarified that it represented passion for science. 

“This is for cleanliness, Grandpapa Alf, and I hope that no one walks in with any more dirty shoes this winter,” Peter said as he gave Alfred a white poinsettia. Alfred sent his flowers a pleased look. “Thank you, young Master Peter.” 

Peter took the second last pot. “This is for you, Pawpaw. It’s red and green, and green is for peace. So, um, I hope that you can feel peaceful.”

Tim leaned towards Jason, but Duke still heard him whisper, “Is Peter telling Bruce to chill?”

Jason let out a grunt as he attempted to stop his laughter, then whispered back. “Or go to therapy.” 

Both men giggled like schoolgirls at that but stopped when Peter gave them a hurt look. 

Jason visually tried to find an excuse in front of everyone's eyes, and Duke could see when Jason’s heart swelled as he looked down at his flower, symbolizing love. “We’re just very happy about the flowers, and maybe I’ll give you some for your next birthday. So many red flowers.”   

Peter literally jumped over to the table even as he gave Tim and Jason a doubtful look. 

Duke looked at the last potted plant. “Is that one for me?” 

Peter looked over at Duke. “Yes, it is. Yellow, like your suit, and it means happiness. You deserve all the happiness in the world.” 

Duke’s own heart swelled at that. He hadn't thought that he would ever be happy about receiving flowers. It wasn’t manly and had always seemed like a waste of money, but he was both thrilled and honored to receive some at that moment. 

“Did your parents receive flowers too?” Steph asked. 

Peter looked over at Dick, who had the closest thing to heart-eyes that someone could physically have. “Tati helped me, so I got him something else so it would be a surprise, but my mom got pink flowers yesterday, which also means love.”

“What did Babs get?” Jason asked while running his fingers over the red leaves of his potted plant. 

“Hers are green, like her eyes, and it means growth because she helped Tati and Mom when I was little,” Peter explained as he stood on his tiny feet. Duke logically understood that Peter had once been even smaller than he was at their first meeting when Peter had been 5, but it felt surreal that such a big personality could fit into an even smaller body.  

Duke couldn’t help but look over at both Jason and Damian to see if they would be green with envy. Neither of them had been around during Peter's infancy, but Duke knew they wished they had been. Damian was green with envy, but it was still directed towards Jason’s red poinsettia, and Jason seemed more focused on running his fingers over the leaves to notice much of anything else. 

The usual Christmas gift-giving began after that, but Peter was once again only the second most elated in the room when it was time for Dick’s gift from Peter. 

“Uncle Tim has helped me make the book of things you love since this summer,” Peter informed Dick when he opened his gift. It was a collection of pictures, and two tiny, yellow, and dried shrub flowers fell out of the middle. There was also a picture of the flowers in Peter’s hand when they had been fresh, and the grass had been green. “And I found the flowers in Granny’s garden. You needed flowers, too, and I found the prettiest ones that I could.” 

Dick took a labored breath. “I will treasure this forever.” 

Dick carefully picked the flowers up and put them in back between the pages and waved Peter towards him with both his free and occupied hand. “Come here, you sweet, sweet boy.” 

Peter tackled Dick in a hug as he often did, but Dick seemed more breathless with his poor attempt to keep his tears at bay than how Peter had pushed all the air out of his lungs. Cass walked over and took the book out of Dick’s hand, and put it on the table just before the tears started to fall.

Peter's head received countless kisses, but he didn't seem to mind even with an audience.

"You're such a thoughtful boy. I'm so proud," Dick muttered into Peter's hair as his tears stopped. 

It was really saying something that everyone waited until Dick was done crying before they ripped into him. Unfortunately, Dick had an underdeveloped sense of shame and didn’t react in any satisfying way. 

“Of course, I cried. I have the sweetest fucking son in the world. I mean, look at him.”

“Put me down,” Peter said as he was lifted by his waist as if he weighed nothing, and Dick turned around so his back would be to everyone else and Peter’s face towards them. 

“Look at him!” Dick ordered and gave Peter a little shake. 

Peter started to move his legs in the air, but he was also laughing at Dick’s antics. 

Duke was looking on as he feared that he would have to be childfree so he wouldn’t become disappointed when he wasn't as unrealistically happy about fatherhood as Dick was or if he didn't receive a child that was both as sweet and smart as Peter was. 

He also really did not want a kid who could do the creepy things that both he and Peter could do. It was incredibly amusing to scare the others, but Duke might develop ulcers if he was exposed to children climbing the walls or looking like a contortionist more than he already was.

In case anyone's wondering how Dick looks with heart-eyes. You can also never get too much Haley, even as a cat person like me <3

Chapter Text

Peter could barely hold his feet still long enough for Dick to tie his ice skates while Cassandra and Stephanie took a lap around the ice rink alone. 

Cass looked at the pair just as Peter stood confidently and fell over after only a second. Peter’s face contorted into pain, but he didn’t cry. Instead, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth fell into a determined line. 

“This is either going to be amazing or horrible,” Steph commented, and Cass couldn’t find any flaws in that logic and gave a firm nod. 

Dick reached out a hand to Peter, and he was pulled up onto his unsteady legs. Peter didn't move, but instead just kept his legs stiff and wide out to each side while Dick said something and pulled Peter forward. 

Cass turned her head when she felt Steph’s eyes on her, and both young women soon skated over to the pair. 

“Not up for trying on your own, Pete?” Steph asked. 

Peter looked up with a much firmer expression than such a sweet little face should be able to make. Unfortunately, that was not enough to distract from his chubby cheeks or bright yellow helmet. “No, it’s slippery.” 

“It is ice, Gudlapishun,” Dick said and received the full effect of Peter’s five-year-old glare.

Peter tried to stomp his foot, but he lost his balance and fell heavily to the side with only Dick’s hold as an anchor. 

Cass skated over to them slowly. She was much better than Peter, but she was still not completely confident on the ice and would never forgive herself if she accidentally hit Peter with her skates.

Cass reached a hand down and pulled Peter up with Dick, and then kept a hold of his hand.

“Why is everyone good at knife shoes?” Peter asked. 

“Maybe because they’ve been on an ice rink for more years than you’ve been alive,” Steph mused and skated backward with only a few glances behind her in case she collided with someone else. 

“I’ve been alive forever,” Peter said with such confidence that Cass could almost believe that the world only started on October 23rd five years ago. 

Peter looked back at Dick. “Can we run around the ice, Tati?” 

“Yes, we can skate around the ice rink.” 

Cass looked down at her hand in Peter’s and weakened her grip until Peter’s gloved hand gripped her harder. “Don’t go, Aunt Cass. We’re skating.” 

Cass had no idea how Peter could be this trusting after having been reintroduced to Cass weeks ago. He hadn't remembered anything about her when she first came back from Hong Kong, but he was now pulling her hand and wanting to spend time with her. 

Steph came up behind them. “Oh, no, I wanted to hold your hand too.” 

Cass offered hers, and Steph took it. The next lap around the rink was slow and full of challenges as other skaters glared at how much space they all used. 

Their eyes dominated Cass’s mind, but she didn’t want to let go of Peter’s small hand or relinquish Steph’s support through the public stares.  

They still only took one more lap before Peter had enough courage to try to stand on his own two legs, and it dissolved into a game of pushing Peter towards Dick and then catching him when Dick sent Peter back towards either Cass or Steph. 

“I want to try myself,” Peter announced just as Cass’ arms were starting to become sore. 

Peter did try. It was admirable, but his legs widened out, and he fell forward with the loud sound of his gloves and knees hitting the ice. He had looked just like the cartoon deer that Peter had watched with her the evening before. 

“Ah, Bambi,” Cass said before she could censor her thoughts. 

Peter lifted his head to look at Cass. “Bambi?”

Cass' breath hitched before Peter's could at her oversight. “Sorry.” 

Peter’s face changed into a wide smile. “I like Bambi. He fell on the ice, too.” 

Dick skated the short distance between him and Peter. “That he did, and he learned how to get up on his own.” 

“I can get up.” 

Peter stepped onto the ice with one foot and then the other. Dick stood ready to catch him if he fell, but he didn’t need to. Peter found his balance and initially wobbled, but then he stood on nearly steady legs. 

Peter moved a foot forward and slid backward. His eyes widened comically, but he didn’t seem panicked or sad. Just surprised. “Oh!” 

“Look at my feet,” Cass said and pushed herself forward by sliding her feet backward. 

“Weird!” Peter said and copied, and barely kept his balance, only for Peter to look down at his feet and lose his balance entirely. 

“Up again,” Dick said and watched as Peter carefully got on his feet. 

“I’m cold, Tati.” 

Cass looked over at the large watch nearby. They had been on the ice rink for about an hour and a half, and she wasn’t completely ready to leave yet. 

“Do you want to go home?” 

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s fun but cold.” 

Steph skated over to Dick and Peter with obvious signs of ulterior motives in both her body language and words. “Your dad can get us some hot cocoa.” 

Dick looked like the picture of a tired dad as he looked at Steph, but he relented when Peter cheered. 

“We’ll have to get off the rink when we’re drinking it, but you three can have fun without me until then.” 

Peter’s face fell, and Cass could almost feel the heartbreak in her own chest. “You need fun too.” 

Cass didn’t know how someone could look that tired and revitalized at the same time, but Dick was a wonder in himself in that and so many other ways. 

“I’ve had so much fun with you, but I want some hot cocoa too.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes up at Dick and did a hum like a very angry motorbike before letting all the tension go with a simple, “‘kay.” 

Peter tried to turn and fell on the ice. He simply laid facedown on the ice for a few seconds before he turned onto his back and looked up at Dick with a limp hand over his forehead. “Cocoa, I need cocoa.” 

Steph let out a surprised laugh at Peter’s dramatics. “Wow, he really is your son, Dick.” 

Peter stood up without any theatrics as soon as Dick left. He stood up straight with his arms spread as he first slid backward and then forward again. Steph easily skated around him, and Peter sent a glare and puffed up cheeks in her direction before sending a pointed look at Cass. 

“You skate well, Aunt Cass. Help me catch Aunt Steph.” 

Cass skated over to Peter, and before long, she was leaning down with her hands beneath Peter’s arms and skated after Steph, who was always just a bit quicker than they were but slow enough for Peter to laugh excitedly both when they almost caught her and when she sped away from them. 

The game lasted for almost ten minutes before Steph slowed down, and Cass caught Dick standing by the rink with a cardboard tray with four steaming cups. Peter let out an excited shriek when his hands gripped Steph’s jacket and pants. “I caught you!” 

Steph put a hand over her heart and slid a little to the side. “Oh no, you did!” 

Peter turned as well as he could in Cass’ grip, and his eyes shone brightly. “We caught her, Aunt Cass!” 

“We did,” Cass agreed an,d could jusonlype that was the correct response. She barely knew how to communicate with adults and had barely learned how to communicate with Peter before she had left for Hong Kong. She had hoped that would have helped her more, but while Peter's essence was the same, he was also very different from how she remembered him from two years ago.  

“Cocoa!” Peter informed Cass with a point towards Dick. 

Cass carefully stopped holding Peter quite as firmly as he skated over to Dick and the cups, and she was standing fully upright when he reached Dick. 

“You’re skating on your own, Peter,” Dick cheered as soon as Peter and Cass were in front of him.

Peter turned to look up at Cass. “I was. You’re the best teacher ever, Aunt Cass!”

Cass knew body language like most people knew a verbal language, but there must have been a misunderstanding somewhere, as Peter looked completely genuine. 

“She is, isn’t she?” Dick said just as genuinely as they left the ice rink. 

Steph took a sip of her cocoa. “Just what I need after seeing Cass teach. You should be a teacher or ice skating instructor, Cass.” 

Cass took a sip of her cocoa, too, but she didn’t think that even a quarter of the warmth and comfort came from the chocolatey drink. 

Chapter Text

Most of Tim’s classmates spent their birthdays while they were in boarding school, and Tim spent his with expensive dinners when he was home for the summer until he was 13 and moved in with Bruce. Birthdays became more intimate and were family celebrations after that, but they didn’t seem like the ones on TV. 

All this amounted to Tim being unsure how to find a gift for a 6-year-old’s birthday. He wanted it to be great and make sure that Peter remembered that Tim was the best uncle in the world. Tim had thought that bringing Peter’s grandfather back would have counted for more, but it had also meant that Tim had been gone for half of Peter’s life. Jason had been gone Peter’s whole life until half a year ago, but he was rising in the ranks much quicker than Tim, even though none of them seemed to know Peter as well as Damian.

Tim sent Damian. He had thought that Damian would have given Peter a knife or something else equally as dangerous and inappropriate for a small child, but Damian had done well. Tim had barely been able to hide his surprise when he saw the Pokémon-themed Stained Glass Art Craft Kit and a few holographic Pokémon cards that had to have come from several online biddings.

“To Peter from Tim!” Peter read slowly but proudly before ripping the red wrapping paper off the square box.

“A camera!” Peter cheered with a smile that lit up the whole room. 

“You were so interested in my camera that I thought you might want your own.”

Peter shook a little as he looked down at the box, which contained pictures of the camera and descriptions of it on the outside. 

“That’s so nice, now you can pretend to be a photographer,” Mary cheered and clapped her hands as she stepped closer to Peter to see the camera before her dark brown eyes widened. “Oh, that’s a real camera.” 

“What?” Peter’s grandmother’s dark brown eyes narrowed, and her gray-streaked brown hair moved as she braved the steps between her and her daughter and grandson. 

Babs put a hand under her glasses and over her eyes but Tim focused on the way that Dick's eyebrows looked heavy and he was biting the inside of his cheek. He seemed affected and would know what Tim had done. “What’s wrong with it? KODAK makes great cameras.”

Peter looked around the room with a pout. It was cute and sad to see Peter just as confused as Tim felt about Peter’s grandmother’s aggravation and Steph, Jason, and Duke’s intense stares.

Dick took his hand away from his eyes to give Tim an encouraging look. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Nothing’s wrong? Peter’s barely six and this boy gave him an expensive and fragile camera,” Peter’s grandmother spat and glowered at both Dick and Tim. 

Tim furrowed his eyebrows at her and then looked at Peter’s tight grip on the box. “It was only $350. I thought about the Millennium 2000, but thought it might be a little much for his first camera.” 

Dick closed the distance between Tim and himself and put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and leaned to whisper in his ear. “Stop talking, Tim.” 

“Only 350? For a small child?” Peter’s grandmother spat. 

“Hey!” Peter piped up. “I’m a big boy now.” 

“Yes, you’re very big, Honey,” Mary said, rubbing his shoulder while looking at her mother. “Mom, don’t make a scene.” 

Peter’s grandmother did not look sorry but stopped glaring quite as much. “I'm sorry, Peter. Your father’s family is just unbelievable.”

“Mom!” Mary spat out.

Dick let out a soft huff next to Tim. “Tim’s 20 and is trying his best, Mrs. Fitch." 

Tim looked at Dick at that. Both that Dick was protecting Tim and Peter’s birthday and that he called his former mother-in-law Mrs. Fitch. 

“Tim’s nice, Granny.” 

Tim looked over at Peter, who had a pout and furrowed eyebrows. He even started to narrow his eyes when his grandmother didn’t say anything.

“That’s great, Pumpkin,” she said after another moment of Peter’s laser stare. 

“It is, and I love my camera.” Peter stood up with the box pressed so tightly against his torso that the tips of his fingers were pale before he hurried over to hug Tim. “Thank you so much for the gift, Uncle Tim. I promise to take lots and lots of pictures and only show you the best ones.” 

"I'll look forward to that, Peter." 

It was uncomfortable to be looked at by Mary's mother, but Peter’s sweet and happy face made it worth it. At least Dick seemed to know what the issue exactly was while Peter seemed even more oblivious to it than Tim was. 

“Do you want to open some more gifts, Dulceață?”

Peter gave a curt nod and put his camera on the table right next to himself before reaching for the next gift, and he smiled brightly at Cass when he saw the box of miscellaneous LEGO pieces. Cass smiled brightly back at him, but she looked around the room as soon as Peter’s attention was elsewhere, but no one commented on her gift choice.

Bruce walked over to stand behind Dick and Tim and leaned down to ask Dick, “What was wrong with the camera?” 

Dick looked up at him with tired but expressive eyes. “Not everyone’s a billionaire, B. Mary and her mother are just surprised and slightly horrified about how you and Tim treat money and a little insecure about having less.”

When Tim looked away from Bruce, Damian stood like a lanky specter observing everything with rapt attention. "What would be the appropriate amount?" 

Dick didn't even blink at Damian's impressingly intense stare. "I would say 20 for non-parents or grandparents, but it's fine if it's under 30 until he's older." 

Damian looked over at the gift table. "I'll consider that next time." 

Dick opened his mouth but stopped when Peter sent them a wave before he opened the last few gifts with a bright smile. 

Dick pulled himself away from Tim and Bruce just as the last gift had been opened and brought in another one. Peter's eyes widened and his mouth opened as his stare followed it to where he was sitting. 

“Wow, thank you,” Peter forced out with a perplexed expression when he unwrapped a bright blue helmet. 

“We have one last gift for you in the garden from Granny and me, Pete,” Mary’s sister Annabelle said. 

Peter smiled but didn’t look even close to excited as he looked at the helmet before shrugging and putting it on the table.

“Jacket!” Dick yelled when he tried to open the garden door. Peter sent a look back but shuffled over to pull his jacket down from the jacket hanger that Dick had put up at half height of the adult’s jacket hanger.

Peter stomped toward the garden again, but his steps became lighter before he was even halfway, and he seemed to soar when he saw the surprise.

“A bike!” Peter screamed as excitedly as he had about the camera when he saw a bright blue bicycle leaning against the brick wall with a red ribbon around the handlebars. 

“Do you like it, Pete?” Annabelle asked, looking a little softer and open about showing Peter affection than she had before Tim had left to find Bruce 2 years ago. 

“I love it!” Peter squealed and went like a missile to the bike to sit on it, but he immediately fell to his left. Peter laid still but turned his head to look up at Dick with a thoughtful expression. 

“The seat’s a little high, Dulceață. I can put it down later, and then you can try your bike if you wear the helmet.” 

Peter jumped off the ground to hug his aunt and grandmother before returning to the bike to examine the pedals.

Tim leaned against Dick. “Can Peter even ride a bike?” 

Dick shrugged. “He’ll learn.”

Chapter Text

Steph had always loved that she never had to go to school on her birthday, but she couldn’t remember ever being as happy as Peter was looking at the bike that his maternal aunt and grandmother had given him on Saturday, October 23rd, 1999. His happiness was contagious, but even he had to go inside the house at some point. 

Peter was looking at all his gifts at once after a quick bathroom break. Not even the camera was safe from his curious but careful fingers as it charged. 

Tim walked up behind Steph and laid his head on her head where he had laid it on her shoulder before. Boys really grew for far too long in Steph’s opinion. “Dick said that the camera was too expensive for Peter.” 

Steph looked up at Tim and smiled at his sad, blue eyes. “I could have told you that.” 

“I could have told you that,” Tim mocked before he let his head fall forward. “I just can’t fucking win. Peter likes cameras, and now I’m doing something wrong just because I looked for the best one for him.” 

Steph looked over at Peter as he ran up the stairs. “Hey, the important thing is that Peter loved the camera and his grandmother is just being a bitch for acting like you’ve given him uranium.” 

Tim turned his head just enough to look at Steph and whisper-yelled, “I know, right? She almost ruined Peter’s birthday party.” 

Peter came running down again with a plastic box of rattling LEGOs and excitedly talked to Dick, Duke and Damian as he made three Ds with different colors. “At least he doesn’t seem heartbroken right now.” 

Tim smiled at Damian’s even expression and Duke’s wide eyes when they received a green and yellow D respectively. “Yeah, he looks thrilled right now.” 

Peter worked on another LEGO project with red bricks. The big M was done very well and held itself together as Peter walked around the room before standing before Steph and Tim. 

He looked so small as he looked up at them with his cute glasses and wavy hair. “Have you seen my mom?” 

Steph looked around the room, but the only redhead was Babs, who was listening to Jason’s tale and watching his large arm movements. 

“No, sorry.” 

Peter’s shoulders fell, and he bit his front teeth flashed the room as he bit his bottom lip. Peter’s slim chest extended as he took a deep breath, and his shoulders and eyes slumped as he exhaled in a high-pitched sigh. 

“I’ll find her for you if you make me a LEGO S.”

Peter perked up a little but still seemed too subdued as he nodded. 

Steph walked toward the bathroom and waited patiently until it opened to Peter’s maternal aunt’s polite smile. “Toilet’s free.” 

Steph smiled back and waited a few minutes before she walked around the house but found no misplaced mothers or clues to where she could be. 

Steph hurried out of the house and toward the garden to get some air to think about where Mary could be and look around for her there. 

Steph perked up at the thought of the garden. The seat of Peter’s bike had been too high up, and perhaps Mary was trying to put it down. 

Steph’s steps became even faster when she saw Mary’s red hair in the late afternoon sun. She wasn’t tinkering with the bike but seemed to be instead sitting and looking out into Dick’s garden. 

Steph had seen Mary a few times before, and both of them had attended Jason’s birthday party that summer, but Mary was more of an abstract subject than a real person. Peter talked about her as if she had hung the moon just like he spoke as if Dick had hung up every star on the night sky, so it was disconcerting to see her sitting on the doorstep and smoking a cigarette with a dour expression. 

“Hey, Mary.” 

Mary looked up. Her hair was a bit more vivid red than the last time Steph had seen her, but otherwise, it was only her tired eyes that made her look like an entirely different person than the woman who had attended the birthday party for her ex-boyfriend’s 22-year-old brother. 

“Hey.”

Steph’s gaze moved from Mary’s curled hair to her shoes, which barely showed under her flared and wide-leg pants. “What are you doing out here?” 

Mary lifted the cigarette. “Can’t smoke near Peter. Asthma and second-hand smoke are a horrible combination.”

Steph had almost forgotten about Peter’s asthma. “Do you need company?” 

Mary shrugged. “I won’t say no to that.” 

Steph gingerly sat down. The wind and Mary blew the smoke away from Steph, but it smelled like the dirtier streets of Gotham. 

Steph cleared her throat. “Peter seemed happy about the party and all his gifts.” 

Mary flicked the cigarette so the ash fell in a half-filled cup. “I think so too. I’m just sorry that my mother decided to cause a scene because of a camera. She’s acting like she has to replace it personally if Peter ever destroys it.” 

Steph studied the wrinkle between Mary’s brows. She was only 27 but looked exhausted, and her usually smooth face seemed full of signs of hardship. “Peter seems happy despite the disagreement on how much money we should spend on a gift for him. He barely took any time to bounce back, and he was playing with his LEGO when I left the room.” 

Mary returned the cigarette to her mouth and soon exhaled a cloud of gray smoke. “I know.” 

Steph had talked with Mary a few times, but it had always been in Peter’s presence. Peter could make almost everyone around him feel a little lighter, but perhaps Mary’s demeanor hadn’t been entirely genuine. 

“He’s a very happy boy in general, and he adores you.” 

Mary pulled the cigarette out in front of herself with a look of pure disgust. “I love him too.” 

Steph wanted to ask why Mary was spending time on a doorstep instead of spending time with her son. Mary and Dick had to split their time with Peter and Dick seemed willing to cut off an arm to spend just five more minutes with Peter and Mary was hiding away when she had the opportunity to interact or at least look at her son. 

“He was looking for you in there.” 

Mary let out a weary sigh. “I’ll be in there in a bit.” 

Steph tried to figure out how to talk with this quiet Mary as she finished her cigarette. 

Mary blew another cloud of smoke away from Steph. “I can feel you judging me.” 

Steph’s eyes widened, and her hands lifted even as Mary wasn’t looking at her. “I’m not. I’m just confused about what you’re doing out here while Peter is celebrating his birthday.” 

Mary sighed. “Look, I know that I’m a bad parent compared to Dick. He has been amazing since the first day, so I don’t need you to remind me.” 

Steph looked out into the garden with the small swing set and the 5x5 feet sandbox. Steph imagined that there would usually be toys all over but Dick or Peter must have cleaned it up before the party. 

“To be fair, Dick is obsessed with Peter. Any more and he would be his own child’s stalker.” 

Mary let out a short laugh. “I think he’s pretty much already there, considering how often he has watched him sleep. I’m unsure if Dick even sleeps if Peter has a cold.” 

Steph let her left shoe scuff against one of the garden tiles. “He probably doesn’t.” 

Mary inhaled deeply and the cigarette lit up like a small red sun before she threw the cigarette butt into her cup. “Come on, let’s see my kid.” 

Steph followed silently and watched as Mary’s shoulders rose from their slumped position into something expected for the birthday boy's mother. Her face changed into a wide smile when they opened the door, and Peter came running. 

“Mommy, where were you? I made you an M out of LEGOs, and the camera has enough power for me to take pictures now. Tim helped me put the SD-card in, and it has two gigabytes! Can you believe that? So much space!” 

“Wow, that sounds so great. You’ll be able to take so many pictures.” 

Peter nodded excitedly. “And Uncle Tim has a photo printer and said I can print out the best ones!” 

Mary leaned down with hands on her knees, almost at eye level with him. “I can’t wait to see them, Honey.” 

Peter went to hug her but threw himself back with a harsh cough and put his left hand in front of his face. His whole face tightened as his coughs intensified and Dick came running with his round inhaler and put the circle to Peter’s lips. 

Dick’s nose wrinkled in Mary’s direction as soon as he took a breath. He didn’t say anything, but his sharp look and slight headshake were just as firm as when he had disagreed with something she or any of his siblings had done on patrol or a mission. 

Mary stood up straight and took a few steps back as Peter caught his breath. Her smile had vanished as soon as Peter looked away, and her eyes looked tired.  

Chapter Text

Things were still not mended between Bruce and Dick, but they were better. So much better that Bruce wanted to pinch himself when he knocked on Dick's front door and Bruce's son opened it with tousled hair and an expression that somehow radiated both joy and apprehension. 

“Thank you for letting me come over to see you both.” The last word was said a little too late and a little too hurried to be natural, but Dick, sweet and kind Dick, didn’t comment on it. 

“It was the only time that fit with Mary, so I’m glad you could come.” 

Bruce felt like he had known that deep down. Getting a call from Dick had felt like a fantasy or a dream that Bruce never wanted to wake up from, but there was an urgency when Dick said that Bruce could come over while Peter’s mother was visiting her sister spontaneously on a Tuesday morning.

“Of course, you and Peter come before work.” 

Dick hummed and looked down as the bundle in his arms made a high-pitched and adorable sound and little arms waved into the air. 

Bruce didn’t need to stand on his toes to see anything in Dick’s arms, but he did so anyway to see the pink-faced little boy squinting at the ceiling. 

“Is that Peter?” 

Bruce wanted to smack himself. Of course, it was Peter. 

Dick looked down at the boy with a soft expression. “Yes.” 

This was the moment when Bruce was supposed to say who the baby looked like, but Peter just looked like a thin, white newborn. He had a thin layer of medium brown hair that looked nothing like Dick's, and he squinted too much for Bruce to discern his eye color.

Bruce had imagined a baby with black hair, clear blue eyes, and tan skin, but this baby would have been anyone’s. Perhaps he looked like his mother, but Bruce couldn’t help being slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t see a mini-Dick grow up. 

However, Dick’s influence was still evident in Peter’s brightly colored blue bodysuit, featuring little white clouds and a white sailor collar that somehow both matched and clashed with the soft yellow walls on the other side of the door.

“He’s adorable.” 

Dick looked at Peter as if he had never seen him before. Dick’s eyes shone and he had a soft smile on his lips as Peter stopped squinting and looked cross-eyed at Dick. “He was already so cute when he was born, but it’s even better now that he’s getting a little chunky. The feeding times for preemies are no joke.” Dick’s eyes went wide and expressive just like they had when Dick had told Bruce about the drama between his peers in middle and high school. “I can tell you that! He just wanted to sleep and wasn't getting hungry, so we had to wake him every three hours. He was not happy to be woken up for feedings and then given the rest of his bottle in an NG tube. At least now he wakes up every two or three hours to eat and no longer needs a feeding tube. I never want to see that thing again."

Bruce nodded as if he had any idea of the feeding or sleeping habits of premature babies beforehand, and his heart wasn't racing at Dick willingly giving him a multisentence response. 

Bruce closed the door behind him, took off his heavy coat, and looked at Dick, readjusting his grip on Peter. 

“You seem to do very well with him,” Bruce said, still in awe that the child he had taken in had become someone as respected and caring as Dick. 

“Thank you,” Dick mumbled, but looked down at Peter. “Also, wash your hands before you touch anything. Peter’s adjusted age is 3 weeks, so he’s technically still a newborn.” 

Bruce glanced at his clean hands but obeyed and used the hand sanitizer that Dick motioned to on the coffee table before sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Dick.  

Peter let out a gurgle when he noticed the eyes on him, and Bruce saw how Dick’s unsure shoulders fell as a soft smile lifted his lips. 

“Kushti divvus, Chavvi,” Dick whispered and leaned slightly forward, but kept his legs under Peter’s body and the hand holding his head still. 

Peter’s eyes tried to focus, but he still went cross-eyed in front of Bruce’s eyes. Bruce didn’t want to disturb the tentative peace, but he couldn’t help wondering if he needed to call a doctor about Peter’s crossed eyes. Peter looked even more adorable with crossed eyes, but it couldn’t be normal for a child’s eyes to cross that frequently and to that degree.

Peter kicked his arms and legs. “Ehhhhh.” 

Dick was enthralled with everything that Peter did, and Bruce could relate. Dick’s smiles and words were gifts that Bruce would never take for granted again. Every little movement and every little sound was enough for Dick to smile a little brighter and for Bruce to feel a little lighter.

Dick’s fingers felt over Peter’s head and the little hair that he had. Peter’s hands and feet went out in straight lines, and he went cross-eyed again as he saw his hands and the white stripes on the ends of his sleeves. 

Dick blinked and glanced at Bruce. “I’m sorry. You didn’t come just to watch me look at Peter.” 

At 37, he was too young to feel as burdened as he had for nearly a year, yet he was also too old to feel as light and carefree as he did during the brief moments when Dick looked at him with something resembling care. “I’m just happy that I get to see you.” 

Dick ran a finger across Peter’s soft cheek. “It’s nice to see you too. How’s everything with Tim?” 

Bruce sighed. “It’s fine. He’s very persistent and insists that Batman needs a Robin.” 

Dick barely lifted his head to glance at Bruce, but his furrowed brows said more than enough even before he spoke. “I can see that. He tried to make me come back as Robin back in February or March.” 

Bruce looked back down at Peter, putting Dick’s finger in his mouth. There was a lot of spit involved, but Dick didn’t seem to mind. 

“I can see why you couldn’t.” 

Dick let out a huff. “I’m still Nightwing, Bruce. I don’t want to be anyone’s sidekick, even if it’s my childhood name.” 

Bruce should have prepared himself for that. Dick hadn’t initially been happy when Jason had become the second Robin, and Bruce had wondered if it was better or worse when Tim’s Robin uniform was altered from Dick’s original design. He had let himself be convinced by Tim and Alfred that it was for the better, but perhaps not.

Peter started to suckle on Dick’s finger and stuck his tongue out when Dick pulled his finger away. Dick put his free hand under Peter’s body and moved him into the inside of his elbow and held his butt with the same arm. 

“I need to make a bottle for him. You can come with.” 

Dick had only had a baby for 7 weeks, but it was clear that he was already used to making bottles with how efficiently he filled the kettle that Alfred had gifted him when he left Bruce at 17 and stopped it before the water could boil. It only took a few more seconds before Dick had mixed the water and powder in a bottle and was feeding Peter. 

Dick turned around with Peter happily drinking in his arms with half-closed eyes. “I’m sorry if you’re bored, B, but this is about as dramatic as it gets most days.” 

Seeing Dick at all was the best part of the visit, but the little 7-week-old being in Dick’s arms was a clear second place. “I like boring sometimes, but seeing you holding my grandson is far from boring, Chum.” 

Dick hummed at the familiar nickname and looked down at Peter sucking with a greedy vigor. “Good, because nothing dramatic happening is preferable with an infant.”

Dick and Bruce returned to the plaid couch and savored the absence of urgency. Peter eventually started to suck lazily and pushed the nipple out of his mouth when there were only a few ounces left. He spit up a little when Dick burped him, but nothing got on his sailor collar before Dick wiped it away.

Bruce almost feared for Peter’s life when Dick lifted him toward his face and looked at Peter’s behind with narrowed eyes before he walked into another room wordlessly to change Peter’s diaper before coming back into the room.

Dick didn't sit but instead paced in front of the couch and brushed a finger between Peter’s thin eyebrows. “Peter, babies tend to sleep when they’ve just eaten. You used to love sleep.”

Peter started to kick his feet, and his whole face scrunched in disagreement. 

“Peter, your eyebrows are red, you are tired,” Dick scolded without any tonal change from when he had admired Peter’s every move. 

Peter let out a cry, and he looked as if he should have produced tears from where Bruce was sitting, but his face remained dry. 

Dick sighed and started to sway instead of walking. “You’ll hear some singing in a moment, B.” 

Bruce blinked. Bruce’s mother had sung him lullabies when he was sick, and he knew that she had sung him to sleep as a baby, from Alfred’s tales. However, Bruce couldn’t imagine Dick singing anything other than upbeat pop songs or anything by Queen. 

Dick instead started to sing a Beatles song softly. The lyrics weren't happy, but Bruce could imagine how well the slow rhythm could calm any child and help them fall asleep.

The change from ‘Hey, Jude’ to ‘Hey, Pete’ didn’t completely fit in the song, but could have made Bruce sob if he hadn’t known how to keep his emotions in as Batman. His boy had grown into an amazing young man to whom any child would be lucky to be related to.

Peter stopped crying by the first chorus, but only fell asleep halfway through the next song.

“Darling, darling, darling, darling Peter.” 

Dick pulled the sleeping Peter up to his face and whispered just loud enough for Bruce to hear, “Goodnight, Peter. See you when you wake up.”

Peter let out a grunt resembling the cutest piglet Bruce would ever see. 

Dick walked back towards the couch and Dick tried to put Peter down on a playmat, but Peter let out another grunt, and Dick sighed before looking at Bruce. “Care to disinfect your hands and hold him for a few minutes?” 

Bruce’s eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t decide if it was in excitement or terror, but he knew that the lightning through his entire body was disbelief. 

“Would you allow that?” 

“I have to pee, B.” Dick didn’t laugh at the rhyme like he would have for almost as long as Bruce had known him. “And it’s really awkward to hold a baby while peeing, and Peter gets fuzzy if no one is near him while he’s sleeping.” 

“I would be honored to hold him.” 

“Great, sit back on the couch, and I’ll help you hold him.” 

Bruce wondered if this was usual for grandparents or if Dick was only instructing Bruce because he hadn’t had the honor of holding any of his kids as babies. Perhaps it would be easier when Peter was older and at an age that Bruce occasionally interacted with as Batman.

Peter didn’t weigh much, but his little weight was enough for Bruce’s arms to tense. He could carry grown men, but Peter’s minimal weight was heavy, and he feared that he could drop him, and then he would have even less of a chance of looking himself in the eye again. 

“Hold his head and just sit.” Dick’s fingers sprawled out, and they both held their breaths as Peter let out a few more piglet-like grunts before settling. 

“I’ll be right back. You just sit and be present. Babies are noisy sleepers, and he will jerk his arms and legs, but you just need to sit.” 

Bruce barely nodded when Dick had hurried out of the room. 

The first 10 seconds were glorious. Peter grunted, and his eyes moved under his eyelids, but nothing happened other than Bruce’s heart settled and melted. Dick and Jason held the biggest parts of Bruce’s heart, but he could see Peter taking just as much space one day.

Bruce wondered how something so small could be so warm and invoke such strong feelings of love and an urge to protect. Bruce's armor weighed more than Peter's 7 pounds and some ounces, but every single ounce was more precious than anything Bruce owned. Even the way he inhaled deeply was precious until he let out a sneeze that shook his entire body and caused him to let out a loud cry. 

Bruce tried to sway Peter, but he was too afraid to stand up or even move from the position that Dick had instructed him to be in. Bruce tried to sway the baby gently, but it was awkward, and he suddenly couldn’t remember how Dick had been swaying Peter. Bruce barely moved his arms, but he feared Peter would fall apart at the seams if he was too rough with him.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry,” Bruce repeated in an attempt to soothe Peter, but it felt more like he was trying to convince himself to stay calm. 

Peter’s next cry was loud enough for even the neighbors to hear, but perhaps Bruce would still be seen as an okay grandfather if he could calm Peter down before Dick came back. 

Bruce caressed a hand over Peter’s head, which seemed to make Peter stop crying momentarily. The toilet flushed from the bathroom, but Peter’s half-open eyes and slightly open mouth quickly changed into an even louder cry when the feeling of another sneeze teased him. 

Bruce tried to remember the lyrics to the songs that Dick had sung. Bruce knew that he was an objectively good singer, but Peter seemed highly unimpressed with Bruce’s memorization skills. 

“Before you go to sleep. Something something. Something else. It's getting better and better.” 

Dick dried his hands on his jeans as he walked through the door and reached his arms out for Peter, but Bruce couldn’t move. He knew that he would drop Peter and be banned from even thinking about Peter again. 

“I thought you were sleeping, Chavvi,” Dick scolded with a fond voice and scooped Peter from Bruce’s arms in a quick and practiced movement. 

It took Peter a few moments to understand the change of scenery, but he stopped crying as soon as he understood that he was back in Dick’s arms. Peter inhaled Dick’s smell and let out the last whine before trying, and failing, to put his hands in his mouth.

“He sneezed,” Bruce hurried out quietly before Dick could imagine any horrors that Bruce would never subject any child to. “I didn’t wear any cologne, but maybe he’s allergic to my laundry detergent.” 

Dick pulled Peter a little higher in his arms. “The hypoallergenic laundry detergent that Alfred has used since before I was even born? No, I think that Peter just sneezed.” 

Peter released the sneeze that had teased him and started to cry before Dick shushed him. 

Chapter Text

Dick came out of the manor right as Babs had pulled her manual wheelchair out from the passenger seat. 

“Oh hey, Dick.” Babs glanced at Dick before putting one of the wheels on the chair. 

“Hey yourself, I’m so glad that you could come.” 

The next wheel came on just as quickly before she pulled the chair upright. “Me too.” 

Dick waited patiently for Babs to put the cushion on before she positioned herself and pulled herself forward to the chair with a hand around the roof of the car and another on the handle installed between the driver and passenger seat. 

Babs rolled the wheels a foot before she looked up at Dick. She could do it herself, but she was feeling lazy. “Care to pull me up the ramp to the door?” 

“Sure.” 

Dick let go of the chair when Babs was in front of the open front door, and they moved through the house side by side. 

“How are you holding up with everything?” 

Dick sighed and looked before focusing back on Babs. “Damian is understandably sad, but he doesn't want to talk about his feelings, and Peter doesn’t understand why B is gone and why he has to split his weeks between the apartment and here. Holy childrearing, Babs, it will be even worse when Mary moves in with her mother in a few weeks. He likes his grandmother but it will be terrible when Mary moves in with her until she, hopefully, gets her own place. 

Babs pulled her wheels extra hard so she would move along Dick as she took a hand off the wheels to put on his forearm. “I asked how you are.” 

Dick stopped walking as the chair stopped moving. He swallowed and looked down at her with sad blue eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t have time to feel anything. I don't let them see me cry, but what if I’m messing everything up anyway? Would Damian be more likely to show his emotions if I do, or would it scare him? Peter cries if I cry, but maybe that's what he needs." 

Babs smiled encouragingly at him. “You’re not. I know you, and you would never mess everything up.” 

Dick shook his head. “I don’t even know how to help Peter, and I’m now also responsible for a preteen. It’s not even just an average preteen. Damian was in The League of Assassins until 2 years ago, and I’m Batman now, which is such a weird dynamic of being his guardian and almost boss.” 

Babs was about to find some comforting words as soon as Dick stopped talking to take a breath, but Dick kept talking before she could interject. 

“Not to mention the teenager that I let chase a hunch. He’s probably right about Bruce not being dead, but who knows what Tim could be experiencing out there alone.” 

Babs squeezed Dick’s arm. “I’m here for you all, and you have Alfred to help you deal with Damian and preteens in general.” 

Dick went suspiciously quiet. 

Babs’ heart squeezed at Dick’s firm expression. “What's wrong with Alfred?”

Babs let go of Dick’s arm as he started to swing both arms around. “I don’t know, it's just… I saw Jason's memorial case, and I can’t get over that either Bruce or Alfred decided that it should say ‘A good soldier.’ I love Alfred, and I've always trusted him. I even trusted him over everyone other than you with Peter, and he’s still the one who’s here when I’m going out with Damian. Still, I'm not sure if Damian or Peter should be too influenced by someone who's okay with saying that Jason was just a good soldier, regardless of whether it was Bruce's or his idea. Damian is already traumatized by the league, even if he doesn't want to admit it, and Peter is my little genius sunshine who only deserves good days.” 

Babs listened to the quiet halls. “Where are Damian and Peter anyway?” 

Dick walked over to the nearest window and looked out on the green grounds and the driveway. “Peter asked Damian to let him ride Batcow.” 

“What?” 

Dick looked at her over his shoulder and sent her a genuine but exhausted smile. “Peter is sitting on Batcows back while Damian is supervising. I’ve tried to tell Damian that he doesn’t need to look after Peter and I would be happy to supervise Peter being a cowboy, but I’ve been told that I’m disturbing Batcow’s peace while she strength trains.” 

Babs drove to the window but couldn’t see anything besides her car. “It sounds like you’re doing something right if they want to spend time alone together.” 

“I think that Peter has just charmed Damian. You’ve seen them together before, but it’s like there’s a whole new Damian when Peter comes home. He doesn’t even complain about me insisting that he brings his flip phone if Peter’s with him.”

Babs glanced at the big Nokia phone that Dick was wearing while Damian had gotten a new, expensive, and much smaller Motorola flip phone. Babs didn’t even think that she knew anyone other than Dick, Bruce, when he was still here, and now Damian, who had a cell phone. 

Babs shook her head and looked on as a leaf flew in the wind outside the window and out somewhere Babs couldn’t follow. 

“That doesn’t sound like Damian.” 

Dick smiled, but it seemed brittle. “It is when he's with Peter. I was honestly getting ready for them to act out with how much has changed for both of them, but they’re getting on even better than any siblings I’ve seen.” 

Babs stared at Dick’s animated face. It would have been enough to distract most other people from the sea of emotions swirling around beneath the surface, but Babs had known Dick for too long to be fooled. “That’s amazing, but let’s get back to how you’re feeling. You lost Bruce too, and your life has changed dramatically with the breakup and becoming Batman and Damian's guardian.”

Dick bit his bottom lip and blinked rapidly, but she still saw the tears threatening to escape. “I don’t know, Babs. I hate it. I’m growing to love Damian like my son, but I wish Bruce hadn’t disappeared, and I didn’t have to be away from Peter.” 

Babs had barely thought about Dick being away from Dick with Bruce’s disappearance and the knowledge that Dick had taken the cowl, but being apart from his child would be the worst punishment for a man like Dick. 

“He has his own bed, but he sleeps in my bed every night he’s here, Babs, and I love it, and I hate it. He’s so sensitive and cries himself to sleep most nights. He doesn’t wake up often, but I can’t help but think that he’s crying every night and every day that he’s with Mary. I sometimes turn the old baby alarm on when Damian and I are out patrolling, and he sometimes cries for almost an hour after Alfred comes in to soothe him. I hear it all. Alfred is doing an amazing job with his despite my complicated feelings, but Peter won’t stop crying.” 

Listening to crying sounded dangerous. She hadn’t noticed that Dick was distracted during his patrols or how he found a baby alarm with signal over such distances, but it would only take a millisecond for either Dick or Damian to be hurt or killed. She would need to have a talk about Dick about it but not now. Now, it would only bring pain and no change. 

Babs would usually lead with logic. Batman and Robin didn’t patrol every night, and they only patrolled a few nights during the weeks that Peter was at the manor, but they needed to be available as a backup in case Steph needed them during patrol. However, Dick knew all of this, and she wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t just spiral into thinking he had to do the impossible.

She could also lead with emotions and tell Dick that it was okay to feel whatever he was feeling. He had also lost a father and that it was okay to feel resentful about his situation. 

There was no correct answer, and Babs led with almost empty reassurance. “It's only been a few weeks and he’ll get used to it, Dick. Peter is 3, but he’s smart, and he’ll understand and accept that he has two new homes before long.” 

Dick rubbed his eyes and sniffed. “I hope so. He cries so much, Babs. Every time I pick him up, he cries for Mary, and every time I drop him off, he cries for me. He asked me if I still loved him yesterday, and I almost cried right there in front of him and Damian. We hugged for almost 10 minutes and cuddled for hours afterward, but I don’t know how to convince him if my words aren’t enough anymore.” Dick closed his eyes and let out a sob, and the tears started falling. “What should I do? How do I help both of them?” 

Babs reached her arms up and used more strength than was polite to pull Dick down toward her. He fought half-heartedly at first but relented and bent down to rest his forehead on her shoulder. 

Babs ran a hand through his hair and felt Dick’s tears wet her shirt. “You’re doing amazing, Dick. Peter and Damian are lucky to have you.” 

Dick shook his head, but his arms found their way around Babs’ shoulders. 

“They are. You are a great dad and big brother.” 

“A good dad and brother would know what to do. I should have learned from losing Jason.” 

Babs’ fingers froze in Dick’s hair. She hadn’t heard Jason’s name in a long time. It wasn’t forbidden, but it was such a painful name that she shuddered every time she saw or heard it. 

“He would be proud of you.” 

Dick shook his head once more, and the tears fell even faster. “He was 15, and I let my relationship with Bruce hurt him. Phone calls can only do so much, and I didn’t visit enough, and now he’s… Tim’s not much older and I permitted him to hunt for Bruce while Cass is on some mission that Bruce gave her before he disappeared. They could both be dead right now, and Jason would have been ashamed that I hadn’t learned anything, especially when I should have done better with him. I was an adult, and he was just a teenager living with Bruce.” 

Babs’ fingers contracted in a jerk, and she let go of Dick’s hair when she heard his surprised and pained voice. Her hand instead fell to his upper back to make an eternity of circles. “We were both young when we lost Jason. We couldn’t have known what would happen.” 

The circles stopped for a second as Babs remembered how young Dick still was. A month away from turning 25 and responsible for a 12-year-old, a 3-year-old, and everyone else in Gotham. 

Dick’s firm arms held Babs almost painfully between them as Dick tried to hold the sobs back. “I should know better, but I still don’t know what to do about anything, Babs. I can’t help Tim or Cass wherever they are, but I should be able to help everyone here. Damian and Peter are struggling, and Stephanie is alone in Gotham the nights I’m here.” 

“Let me worry about whoever is on patrol, and let Steph’s mom worry about her during the day. You only have to worry about Damian and Peter outside of vigilantism.” 

Dick pulled away from her and dried his eyes with the edge of his sweater. “It’s not that easy.” 

Babs put a hand on his arm again. “I know. I worry about you all outside of the costumes, too, but neither of us is alone in this. I have you, and you have me, right?” 

Dick nodded and gave her a sad smile. “Yes, of course. I think that I need to clean my face off before Damian or Peter comes back.”

Babs nodded and pretended not to notice when Dick’s eyes were redder when he left the bathroom than when he had gone into it. 

Chapter Text

“Uncle Jason, look what I can do,” Peter demanded as he dashed into the TV room where Jason was trying to watch Men in Black for the third time since it came out. Peter’s words usually meant that he was about to contort his body into unnatural positions or crawl too far up the wall for Jason to reach him, yet staying close enough to the ground that Jason might not catch him if Jason wasn’t standing directly underneath him if or when he lost his concentration.  

Jason muted the movie and collected his courage to face whatever Peter threw at him. Jason walked over to meet Peter in the middle of the room and looked down to see Peter wiggle the left central incisor of his upper teeth with his tongue. 

“Tati says that the Tooth Fairy will collect my tooth when it falls out!” Peter smiled, and Jason smiled back, both at Peter’s obvious exultation at losing his first tooth and the memory of Dick telling Jason about the Queen of the Fay when Jason had lost his last milk tooth after moving into the manor. 

Bruce had insisted that the Tooth Fairy would come despite her not visiting Jason even once before, and Bruce knew that Jason didn't believe in the Tooth Fairy. Still, it had been nice to pretend until Dick decided to twist the childish belief into a horrifying tale of betrayal and murder. Jason still wondered what could have happened to the poor Queen of the Fay without her wings. Who would avenge her? Could she ever fly again? 

Jason also wondered why Dick would say such horrible things about Santa Claus. No one who gave Darkseid coal yearly deserved to be accused of being jealous of the Queen of the Fay or to cut off her wings. 

Jason shook the gory details out of his mind and smiled down at Peter. “Wow, what did he tell you about her?” 

Peter’s eyes shined brightly as he looked up at Jason. “Tati said that she is a fairy and that she collects teeth and gives a dollar if you have brushed your teeth enough.” 

Jason gave a sage nod. “Sounds reasonable, but why does she even care about your dental hygiene?” 

Peter tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling. “I… don’t know.” Peter looked back at Jason with slightly puffed-up cheeks and furrowed brows. “Why does she care?” 

Jason shrugged. “I'll try to remember, but it has been years since your father told me about the Collector of Teeth.” 

The last three words were stage whispered in the same tone of voice that he used for the more serious parts of books when reading to Peter. 

Peter gasped dramatically, took a step closer to Jason, and craned his neck to a horrifyingly sharp angle. His eyes and mouth were circles for several seconds before he relaxed his face but kept the sharp angle of his neck. “What do you know about it?” 

Jason’s lips curled into a smirk as he surveyed the room. Dick was somewhere around the manor, but he wasn’t here, and that was the only significant detail as Jason attempted to spin the tale that had haunted him for a decade. Jason wouldn’t be as detailed as Dick had been, both because Peter was 6 instead of 12 like Jason had been, but mainly because Jason couldn’t remember all the details. 

“Come let us sit while we talk about the Collector of Teeth.” 

Peter nodded, followed on short but quick legs towards the couch, and sat beside Jason. 

Jason did his best to remember how Dick had told him about it all as he had laid innocently in his bed, ready to sleep and had tried to imagine that it wouldn’t be Bruce, Alfred, or possibly Dick switching his molar for a dollar.

The TV room's windows let in light, creating a much lighter atmosphere than Jason’s bedroom had been that dark evening when he had wished his last childhood tooth goodbye. 

“Do you know who collects all the teeth, Peter?” 

Peter narrowed his eyes at Jason and spoke slowly, as if worried that anything faster than slow motion would be too quick for Jason’s feeble mind. “The Tooth Fairy, Uncle Jay.” 

“The tooth fairies are just the helpers.” Jason made a half circle with both hands, slowly moving to each side away from his face. “The true Collector of Teeth is the Queen of the Fae.” 

“The Queen of the Fay?” Peter repeated. 

“Yes, the Queen of the Fay, Peter,” Jason repeated in a hushed voice. 

Peter moved closer to Jason until they were thigh to thigh and took Jason’s closest arm to hold prisoner in his surprisingly firm grip. 

“The Queen of the Fay was blessed with immortality, Peter, but it could only be sustained by collecting the teeth of the world's children. The more pristine, the better.” 

Peter released one arm from holding Jason’s arm to cautiously touching the loose front tooth. 

“They needed all the teeth. From the tiniest flea to the great giants.” 

Peter let out another gasp as his finger still touched the loose tooth.

Jason leaned down to whisper in Peter’s ear. “The beautiful Queen of the Fay was said to be the most powerful of the gods, Peter.” 

“Like Diana?” 

“Yes, but not quite. The Queen of the Fay was even more powerful and even more beautiful. She was so beautiful that she could only fly in the dark for fear of others forgetting all when they stared at her beauty. So, your eyes must stay closed if you hear her in your slumber. She is kind, and she cannot help her beauty.” 

Peter was talking slightly louder than Jason, but barely so. “She must be very beautiful and strong then. Diana is very, very beautiful and strong.” 

Jason could only agree with Peter’s words. He would, in truth, walk into a pool of acid for a firm handshake from Wonder Woman, and he had forgotten his past and present the first time he had seen her back when he had been Robin. Robin must have been magic for Jason not to have died of asphyxiation with how little he had been able to breathe in her presence. 

“The Queen of the Fay was the most strong and beautiful being in the world, and it attracted the attention of many, but most notably the man in the red coat.” 

“Santa?” Peter let out almost a shriek. “Santa hurt the Queen of the Fay?” 

Fuck, Jason hadn’t meant to say that. “Don’t worry; it wasn’t the Santa that you know but an imposter, and the Queen of the Fay was no fool. She knew this fake Santa's reputation and the gifts he would bring. They were beautiful - songs of river birds and flowers of ecstasy, but she did not want these gifts.” 

“What does ecstasy mean?” Peter whispered. “Is it like exercise?” 

Jason used his free hand to reach over his own body and run a hand through Peter’s hair. “Ecstasy is an overwhelming feeling of great happiness or joyful excitement.” 

“I hope that you have ecstasy every day then.” 

Jason just smiled as he tried not to let out a sound at Peter, unknowingly wishing for Jason to have MDMA. Not that he wanted to ever touch drugs with what it did to his mother. Stepmother? Adoptive mother? The woman that he grew up with and had called Mom. 

“What happened then, Jason? Did Fake Santa get mad?” 

Jason did a dramatic jerk and looked into the far distance. “Fake Santa got very mad, but he decided to ask for her hand in marriage so they could join their two kingdoms.” 

Peter used both arms to once more stop the blood circulation in Jason’s arm. “Why would he want that? She said no, right?” 

“She did. She laughed in his face and said that he would never get the secret to her immortality.” 

Peter let out a determined huff and scowled up at the silent TV. “Good, he sounds mean!” 

“He is, but all the fairies laughed and mocked him. He was furious, and he-” Jason stopped at that. This was the part where the Man in the Red Coat had strangled the Queen of the Fay and cut off her wings, but Peter was too innocent for such gory details despite having spent his whole life in Gotham and Blüdhaven, and Jason didn’t want him to have nightmares of knives and fallen fairies. “He tried to force her to tell him.” 

Peter let out a gasp and whispered a distressed. “No.” 

Jason nodded sadly. “Yes.” 

“Did the fairy friends help her?” 

Jason looked over, and his heart might have broken a little at how wet Peter’s eyes were and how he was biting his bottom lip so hard that the loose front tooth pointed slightly out in front of Peter. 

“They did, and they defeated the Man in the Red Coat.” 

Peter released his bottom lip and loosened his firm grip on Jason’s arm. “Good. I hope she takes all my teeth and Fake Santa never gets any cookies. He should only have stale bread and sadness.” 

“Wow, this sounds intense.” 

Peter turned towards Dick with wide and innocent eyes that awoke a deep sense of dread in Jason’s stomach. 

“The Queen of the Fay was sad, and I don’t need a dollar for my tooth if she needs it for her immoral spell.” 

“Immortality,” Jason corrected quietly and was met with Dick’s stiff expression. 

“Did you seriously tell Peter that horror story?” 

Jason scoffed with enough flair to hide how much he knew that Dick would try to kick his ass if he stepped wrong or, worse, take Peter away from him and leave him without Peter’s ability to make Jason feel lovable. “You told it to me.” 

Dick rubbed his nose bridge and then used the same hand to run through his fluffy hair. “How many times do I have to apologize for that? I was a dumb 17-year-old.” 

“I think that you were 18.” 

Dick threw his arms up. “Okay, a dumb 18-year-old, and I’ve apologized like a gazillion times. Don’t scar my kid for something I did a decade ago.” 

Peter looked down at his arms and then at Jason’s trapped arm. “I like scars. Even the snakebite one on my leg. Jason’s scars are very cool too, and they have nice bumps.” 

Dick rubbed his right eye. “At least he doesn’t seem distressed about the fate of the Queen of the Fay.” 

Peter looked back at Jason and Dick with a sudden rapt attention. “Why would I be sad? Her fairy friends helped her when Fake Santa was mean.” 

Dick looked at Peter and blinked once before looking at Jason with confusion and gratitude. “Yes, of course. Her friends helped her.”

Peter nodded at Dick’s words. “Yes, and she collects the teeth and is very pretty. So pretty and beautiful that I have to have my eyes closed like-” Peter released Jason’s arm to put his palms together, rested them against his cheek, and closed his eyes. “This and then sleep when she comes to collect my tooth. Ra-py-ra-py.” 

Dick nodded excitedly. “Yes, exactly. I’m so glad that Jason could clear that up for you.” 

Peter opened his eyes to look back at Dick, and he put his hands down on his lap and took hold of Jason’s middle finger in a fierce grip. “Why didn’t you tell me how I can forget everything if I see how beautiful she is? It sounds bad not to tell me if she is visiting soon.” 

Jason let out a short but evil laugh. “Yeah, Dick, that sounds very dangerous for Peter. I can't believe that you would be so irresponsible.” 

Dick only blinked twice before he had an excuse. “She told me that it would be one of the other fairies this time, but she will come herself if the next tooth that you lose is as well-kept as this one.” 

“Aw,” Peter deflated. “I wanted to be visited by the Queen.” 

Dick walked over to the couch and ran his hand through Peter’s wavy locks. “The Queen will visit when you lose the next one, prinț meu.” 

“Are prince teeth worth more than regular teeth?”

Dick’s hand fell from Peter’s hair to his cheek, where Dick brushed a thumb over Peter’s soft and chubby cheek. “I told you already. Prince teeth are worth a whole dollar.” 

“How much LEGO can I buy with that?” 

“I think that you can buy a few loose LEGO bricks with it,” Dick said and poked Peter’s cute little nose. 

Jason was ready for Peter to be unhappy about the purchasing power of a dollar, but he showed Dick and Jason an open-mouthed smile and shining eyes. “Wow, a dollar is a lot of money!” 

Peter kept touching his tooth for the next half an hour while Jason watched the rest of Men in Black. Dick eventually offered to pull it out with a piece of paper towel to stabilize his grip.

Peter made a pained noise when it was pulled but smiled wide and bloody when he looked at the tooth. “I can buy so much LEGO now!” 

Jason looked away from the television as the credit came on the screen. “That you can.”

Peter swallowed. “Is it supposed to bleed this much?” 

Dick went on his knees, and Peter opened his mouth unprompted for Dick to look into. “It’s fine. Just apply pressure, and it will stop in a few minutes.” 

Dick pulled the tooth out of the paper towel and reached toward Peter’s hand with the paper towel, but Peter’s hand didn’t close around it before the door to the sitting room opened. Peter turned around and smiled in Damian’s direction. Damian almost smiled back, but his nose wrinkled when he looked at Peter’s mouth. 

“Who punched you in the face?” 

“Tati pulled my tooth out! I’ll be visited by a tooth fairy tonight!” 

Damian glanced at Dick before looking back at Peter. “Congratulations.”

The door closed, and Jason was ready to forget about that short exchange between Peter and Damian when Peter’s face turned into the most adorable supervillain smile. He even rubbed his hands before he ran after Damian without closing the door. 

Jason turned to look at Dick with lifted brows and a question on his lips. 

Dick looked down at the little tooth between his fingers and didn’t react when he heard a scream through the manor. 

Jason looked up sharply. “Did Damian just scream?” 

Jason hadn’t known that a teenage boy could scream like that after their voice deepened, but Dick didn’t react beyond nodding and placing the tooth back in the paper towel.

“Should we help him?” Jason wasn’t entirely sure if he meant Damian or Peter, but it sounded like at least one of them would die without any intervention. 

Dick often claimed that Peter shouldn’t be more than ten feet away from a trusted adult, but he was hesitating instead of saving his son from a gruesome death by Damian’s hands. 

Dick put the paper towel into his pocket when a childish cackle echoed from the second floor. “We may need to save Damian.” 

Dick and Jason walked out of the sitting room and toward the bottom of the grand stairs, but Dick didn’t walk further or even say anything as they listened to little and larger feet running around on the second floor.

Dick put a hand on Jason's shoulder before he could save Peter. “We’re just listening to know if we need to intervene.”

Jason looked up the stairs with trepidation and wrinkled his brows. Sure, he had seen Damian being much kinder to Peter than he was to most other people, but he was still prickly, and Peter was sensitive.

Jason looked up at the sound of shouting. “Did Damian just call Peter a tick?”

“I’m a vampire!” Peter’s voice yelled back wetly but with his usual joy.

Dick seemed to enjoy the sound of Peter provoking Damian. "This is their way of bonding." 

The steps stopped, and Peter yelled, “Look!” in a way that didn’t sound pained or like an attempt to antagonize Damian, but Jason wasn't sure if he would classify any of this as bonding. 

Dick didn’t move as the minutes passed, and Jason stayed by his side until Damian pulled Peter down the stairs by his wrist with drops of clear liquid on both of their shirts. Peter smiled and waved at Dick and Jason as he was pulled toward the training room by an exasperated Damian.

“I need the inhaler for your incorrigible spawn, Grayson,” Damian grumbled over his shoulder.

Dick smiled impossibly wider and waved them toward him. "I'll happily take him if he's giving you trouble.”

Damian wrinkled his nose. “No, I’m teaching him swordsmanship. You can have him back after.”

Peter pulled his inhaler out of his jeans pocket, only for Damian to snatch it out of his hand and pull him away from Dick and Jason once more. Peter’s tiny legs seemed to struggle to keep up with Damian’s much longer strides, but there was still a spring in his steps.

Peter smiled large enough for Jason to see from a distance as he looked up at Damian. “Can we pretend that we’re fighting Fake Santa?”

Jason didn’t hear Damian’s response, but Peter’s cheer was deafening.

Chapter Text

“Stop right now, you little tick!” Damian yelled through the echoing hallways as little feet followed him. 

“I’m a vampire!” Peter gurgled, and Damian threw a look over his shoulder to see a bit of blood running down the corner of his mouth. 

Damian decided to change tactics before Grayson or Todd came up to see his undignified escape attempt from an asthmatic elementary schooler. He turned around and gave Peter a stern look before speaking, “Wash your mouth and leave me alone.” 

Peter’s remaining teeth and the gap next to his remaining front tooth were on full display as he grinned at Damian, who didn’t attempt to hide his look of disgust at seeing Peter smiling with blood pooling in his mouth. 

“Look!” Peter ordered with a slight lisp and pointed to his open and bloody mouth. Damian had lost his last milk tooth about three years ago, and he could still remember the taste of iron and the suffocating feeling of blood pooling until he had spit it out. 

Damian stepped towards Peter and wrinkled his nose even more as he took hold of Peter’s arm. “Come on, let’s go to the bathroom for you to spit that out.” 

Peter bent his head backward and whined, “No, don't make me.” 

Damian took his hand back as Peter started to let the blood rest on his tongue and stuck his tongue out towards Damian. Peter didn’t let any more blood run down his chin, but it seemed to be more luck than skill on Peter’s part.

“Alfred will be mad if you stain the carpets.” 

Peter finally closed his mouth and furrowed his thin eyebrows. Damian had hoped that Peter had swallowed the blood and saliva, but his words were almost unintelligible, with their wet quality and his newfound lisp making every ‘s’ and ‘t’ sound like ‘th’ when he responded, “But I used to live here too.” 

Damian risked his hygiene by taking Peter’s arm again and pulling him toward the nearest bathroom. “So did your father, and I can’t imagine him being too happy about you destroying the decor.” 

Peter nodded with a closed mouth and puffed-up cheeks. 

Damian opened the door to the bathroom, pulled Peter toward the sink, and moved his hand to Peter’s neck. “Spit.” 

Peter shook his head. 

Damian put a hand on Peter’s head. “Spit it out.” 

Damian’s scowl deepened as he watched some blood and spit fall out with Peter’s words and gravity. “You’re not Tati.” 

Grayson’s title sounded more like ‘tha-thi’ with Peter’s lisp, but Damian would have quickly discerned the intent even without any detective training. “Open your mouth, Peter.” 

Peter shook his head as well as he could with Damian’s hands on his neck and head and endured Damian shaking his head. “Open your fucking mouth, Peter.” 

Peter placed the right hand's fingers against his lips. He then moved his hand down and away, and his palm ended up facing the sink.

“You know that I only vaguely understand you when you speak ASL.” 

Peter moved his hands some more, but Damian only noticed it wasn’t simple gestures or weak attempts to free himself when Peter made the sign for ‘father’ by tapping his forehead with his thumb and then extending and spreading the rest of his fingers. 

“I expect Grayson would know what it means since he taught you. How many secret languages do you have with him?” 

Peter extended his index finger and then made a C-shape with all his fingers.  

“Wow, a hundred and you still can't understand basic English,” Damian grumbled before he gave Peter a firm shake, and Peter finally let go of the last blood and spit. 

“Uncle Dami!” Peter scolded. “Now I can’t be a vampire.” 

“I promise you that you can become a corpse if you ever chase me with your disgusting blood again.” 

Damian let go of Peter’s neck and head and was met with Peter’s disturbingly mischievous grin. 

“I still need to lose 19 more teeth.” 

Damian turned on the sink to wash the blood away before it could stain the white sink. “And you’ll lose your life if you try anything like that again.” 

Peter crossed his arms and puffed out his cheeks with a huff. “You can’t say things like that.” 

Damian scoffed. “I can when you’re being fucking disgusting.” 

Peter put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest as he looked up at Damian. “No, you’re disgusting!”

Damian scoffed again. “No, you are!” 

“You are the most disgusting and gross person ever!” 

Damian gasped. He was not gross or disgusting, and he would not accept such words from ssomeone who found enjoyment in running around with blood in their mouth. “You’re despicable, Peter.”

Peter’s eyebrows were still furrowed, and his mouth was in an angry frown, but he paused the fight enough to ask. “What does duh-spi-kuh-bl mean?” 

“Worthy of contempt or hatred.” 

Damian had expected Peter to jump back into their petty fight immediately, but his hands fell from his hips, and he looked up at Damian with wet eyes. “Oh.” 

Peter tried to turn away from Damian, but he caught his arm and pulled him to face him. “What’s wrong now?” 

Peter’s lips were a tiny 6-year-old pout, and his eyes looked as big and devastated as a puppy that had been kicked for asking to be pet.

Damian gave Peter a slight shake. “What’s wrong?” 

Peter’s face turned towards the floor, but Damian could see his breath hitching. “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Damian sighed. He should know better than to be that callous after 15 years on this Earth, spending 2 years with Peter every other week and now seeing him at least a full day every two weeks in either Blüdhaven or Gotham. “I don’t hate you.” 

Peter lifted his face just enough to glance at Damian. “Really? You don’t think that I’m duh-spi-kuh-apple?” 

Damian’s grip was firm on Peter’s arm, but he didn’t want to loosen it before Peter understood the truth. “No, I don’t think that you’re despicable. Do you think that I’m disgusting?” 

Peter smiled. It was still a little sad but also a little mischievous. “No, do you think that I’m disgusting?”  

Damian stared at the red around Peter’s mouth and wrinkled his nose and brows. “Yes, extremely.” 

Peter stuck his tongue out and shook his head at Damian. It was disgusting but a much better look than Peter’s inner light being subdued. 

Damian turned the sink on again to wet a clump of toilet paper and handed it over to Peter. “Wash your face.” 

Peter, the little stubborn thing, shook his head and smiled big in his disobedience. Peter should stay happy forever, but the smile’s presence was turned from annoying to infuriating as Damian forcefully rubbed the paper over Peter’s mouth. The paper was pink, and Peter’s face was left wet with only water, but he still smiled.

“You’re disgusting.” 

Peter dried his mouth with his sleeve. “You’re boring.” 

Peter's smile didn’t falter even as Damian pulled him down the stairs and towards the training room. If Peter thought Damian was boring, he would have to show him how non-boring he could be when sword fighting.

Chapter Text

Dick’s shoulders were raised, and his forearms were moving up and down with each word. “Peter, I can’t bring you to all the meetings. You don’t even like them.” 

Peter answered with a cry and reached his hands out towards Dick in an attempt to be brought with him. It was to be expected given how affected Peter sometimes was when his father went to the lavatory. Not even Peter's mother seemed to be able to soothe him was newly separated from his father as Alfred has witnessed Peter crying while in his mother's arms because Dick was taking a shower after being subjected to Peter's spit-up. 

Alfred looked towards Dick’s wavering resolve and decided to intervene before he had to be witness to the indulgence of a 9-month-old infant. 

“Young Master Peter will be fine, Master Dick.” 

Dick nodded and took a step away from Peter’s grabby hands. “Right, yes, I’ll be back soon. Be good for your grandpapa.” 

“No!” Peter cried but didn’t scoot over the floor on his bottom or crawl after Dick. 

He instead pouted on the floor and smacked his hands down on the wooden floor in what he most likely intended as hard smacks. 

Peter let himself fall backwards and let out a shriek that bore a remarkable resemblance to the sound effects in the dinosaur film that Timothy had grown fond of, to the point where Alfred feared the possibility of Timothy growing interested in cloning or genetic modification. There was at least only one of those films, although the cinematic success was worrisome for Alfred’s sanity. 

Alfred walked out to look at Dick standing in the doorframe to the outside and gave him an even look. “Go to your meeting, Master Dick.” 

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed even further as he stretched his neck to look at the enraged child behind Alfred. “But he- I can’t just leave him when he’s like that.” 

“You can and you will. He’ll be fine as soon as he releases his frustrations.”  

Alfred turned back around and hoped that Dick would choose wisely as Alfred supervised Peter’s use of lung force and his resistance to the hard floor that he was kicking and hitting it simultaneously. Alfred had blissfully forgotten Bruce’s tantrums and unwillingness to be apart from his mother until his toddler years, but the memories weren’t far away in moments like these. 

Peter settled down after minutes of screaming, and Alfred heard the front door closing as Dick finally left the manor. “Would you like some afternoon tea, Young Master Peter?” 

Peter turned his head up to look at Alfred with furrowed eyebrows and puffed-out cheeks before shaking his head with a vigour that made his wavy hair fly around his face. 

“That’s quite alright.” 

“No!” Peter disagreed with his strong will to show his discontent with being apart from his father. It also seemed to be a favourite word in Peter’s limited vocabulary.

“I’ll prepare tea for Young Master Timothy and Master Bruce. Would you like to stay here alone while I go to the kitchen?” 

“No!” Peter answered as expected, and Alfred bent down to pull Peter into his arms. He then walked to the kitchen, pulled the high chair close to the cooker, and put Peter in it. 

Peter kicked and grumbled for a few minutes as Alfred made the cucumber sandwiches and prepared the egg salad, but Peter squealed excitedly when Alfred pulled out the sponge cake that was baked before lunch. 

“I thought you didn’t care for afternoon tea, Young Master Peter,” Alfred said, observing Peter’s widened eyes and the way he was ignoring the hard tray digging into his stomach to get closer to the sweet treat and let out excited sounds as Alfred prepared the filling for the Victoria sponge cake.

Alfred cut half a cucumber sandwich into two long strips and allowed Peter to inspect and eat it to the best of his abilities. He almost succeeded in eating instead of wearing his appetizer, but his attention was never far from Alfred’s every move as he spread the whipped creme and jam and topped the finished with confectioners’ sugar. 

“He seems happy, much happier than I thought that he would be without Dick nearby,” Tim commented halfway through the meal in the dining room. 

Peter placed his cup of formula on the tray and looked around, making small, distressed noises. 

“He was,” Alfred agreed with a hint of scorn but eased up as Tim scooted down in his chair and nibbled at his egg salad sandwich. “There's no need to worry, Young Master Timothy. Infants have short attention spans, and he’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

Peter twisted in his chair to look at point at the door. “Ta? Ta?” 

“Your father will be gone for a while more,” Alfred informed the infant. 

Peter extended the fingers on his right hand, spread them out, and tapped his forehead twice with his thumb. He looked around the room and then did the same again, but Alfred wasn’t entirely sure what Peter hoped to achieve by signing ‘dad’ in American Sign Language when he hadn’t gotten the desired result from verbalising it. 

Peter rocked in the chair, and Bruce threw an arm behind the chair as it started to rock with his movements. “Ta! Tatatatatata!” 

Peter threw a hand out towards Bruce and left white specks of cream cheese in Bruce’s black hair. “Ta? Wwwa?”

“Your tati will be back soon,” Bruce answered, mirroring Peter’s expression pinched expression. 

Peter sighed. “Wa Ta.” 

Bruce sighed and pulled Peter out of the chair and sideways into his lap. “I know you want your tati, Chum, but he’ll be back soon. He just needs to plan a mission with some other heroes.” 

Peter vibrated at those words and let the tension go with a venomous “No!” 

Bruce readjusted his grip on Peter and leaned back for Peter to rest his head on Bruce’s chest. 

“Wa Ta,” Peter told the room with a sullen expression. 

Tim had stopped trying to disappear in his chair, but he was still not looking at anyone else as he mumbled, “I’m sorry.” 

Bruce sighed loudly enough for Peter to look up at him before remembering that he was angry and glanced at his thick, non-slip socks. “It’s okay, Tim. It’s not your fault that Peter is this attached to his father.” 

“Wa Ta.” 

Bruce brushed a hand over Peter’s wild hair. 

“It is to be expected given his age and Master Dick being such an involved parent.” Dick’s role in his life was quite admirable and possibly the healthiest attachment style in the Wayne family. However, it was still a dynamic that Alfred would need to keep an eye on as Peter would grow and hopefully search for more independence outside of Dick’s sight. 

Bruce looked up at Alfred with the same firm brows and tight mouth that he had worn as a boy, wanting to rebel, and both of them being unsure how firm a hand Alfred could use for his ward and boss. “Dick is a great parent.” 

Dick was too lenient and soft on the boy according to everything that Alfred knew about child-rearing. Peter needed an attentive parent, but Alfred was unsure how much of Peter’s intense need for his father was solely because of Peter’s clinginess and not the echoes of Dick’s and Bruce’s co-dependency and Dick’s trouble with Peter experiencing negative emotions. “Yes, he is an admirable father.” 

“He’s a far better father than I could ever be,” Bruce insisted.  

Alfred glanced at Tim, who seemed particularly intent on eating his egg salad sandwich without letting any of the egg salad fall out and having an excuse not to comment on Bruce’s praise of Dick’s parenting. 

“You and Master Dick became parents under quite different circumstances.”

Peter started to whine and clapped Bruce’s arm until everyone looked at him and his attempts to sign smoothly. His hand was suitably stiff, with no space between his fingers, but he made a sloppy half-circle with the fingers on his other hand, and it curved to the side of his hand rather than straight down. 

Tim sat up straight, his face breaking into an amused smile and his eyes widening as Alfred looked at him. “Dick seriously taught Peter to make the sign for cake?”

“It seems so,” Alfred replied, looking over the table at the few sandwiches left. “I can give you another sandwich if you’re hungry, Young Master Peter.” 

Peter repeated the sign with a smoother motion, but the half-circle seemed to have transformed into an almost limp hand. 

Peter let out a scream, and Alfred was suddenly grateful that the young master was usually at the manor with his father or at home with his mother when he had to be separated from him. The sound of childish laughter was one of the best sounds known to man, but the screams of a child feeling scorned were grating on Alfred’s old ears.

Alfred took another sandwich and looked at Bruce and Tim until the rest of the sandwiches were on their plates and eaten just in time for Peter to quiet down. 

Bruce put his hands beneath Peter’s armpits and was about to put him back into the high chair when Peter protested, “No!” 

Many of the other times had seemed more like a show of resistance to everything without his father nearby, but this time seemed to have a concrete intent that Bruce caught up to, too, and allowed Peter to settle into his lap with his back against Bruce’s chest and his legs on each side of Bruce’s thick thigh.  

“It’s delicious, Alfred,” Tim praised after he had swallowed his first bite of Victoria sponge cake. 

“You’ve outdone yourself once more, Alfred,” Bruce praised despite Alfred seeing how every attempt to taste the cake was halted by Peter opening his mouth in Bruce’s direction until he got the bite instead.

Bruce was just about to give Peter his fourth bite of the cake when Peter pushed his hand and let out a fierce yell, “Taaaaaaaaaa!” 

Bruce and Tim were startled, but Alfred looked patiently at the door to the dining room until Dick came into it with a smile even brighter than Peter’s soft bells of laughter. 

“There’s my little guy,” Dick breathed out, and both father and son reached out for each other. 

Peter let out a giggle as his face was kissed all over, including his cheeks, which were smeared with cream cheese and sprinkled with crumbs of sponge cake. 

“Were you good for everyone?” 

Peter smiled with all his two-and-a-half teeth and a mischievous glint that could be seen from Alfred’s seat. 

Alfred put his spoon down. “He was as good as could be expected. He ate one and a half cucumber sandwiches and most of Master Bruce’s slice of cake.” 

Peter threw his hands around until Dick’s gaze was back to him and clumsily made the sign for the cake once more. 

“I can see and hear that you had most of your Pawpaw’s cake. Did you let him eat any of it?” 

Peter answered between snickers and clenched fists, “No."

Peter didn't seem to have a full understanding of the question, but he smiled wide when he heard laughter. 

Chapter Text

Bruce smiled as he watched Peter enjoy the swings at Robinson Park's playground when suddenly, a boy with strawberry blonde hair sprinted toward him and pushed him. Peter landed with a harsh thump on the ground and let out a pained noise that awoke every instinct in Bruce.

Bruce stormed over, but a brown-haired boy came over even faster than he did. 

“Are you okay, Peter?” the boy asked. 

Bruce looked over and saw Peter stop crying immediately after seeing the other boy. Bruce then changed his course, moving away from Peter and stomping over to the little bully who had pushed his grandson. 

“What was that?” 

The little shit looked up with pursed lips and rolled his blue eyes. “Nothing.”

Bruce took a deep breath. He was Batman, and Batman didn’t kill or hurt anyone just because they were irritating. “Where’s your guardians?” 

The boy shrugged and rolled his eyes again. 

Bruce could withstand most physical and verbal attacks without flinching, but he had to keep a firm hold on the fire that burned within him as he watched the tiny, arrogant face. “Why are you pushing children smaller than you?” 

The boy narrowed his eyes at Peter. “Everyone’s bigger than him.” 

“Shut up, Flash!” Peter yelled, and Bruce suddenly looked at the unfamiliar, light-haired boy in an entirely different light. This wasn’t just a child being impulsive and angry about someone else being on the swing but someone who had targeted Peter. This was someone who had bullied Peter and had now found him in Gotham. It felt intentional even though Bruce knew logically that a 3rd grader wouldn’t travel from Blüdhaven to Gotham alone. 

“You’re the child who has been bullying my grandson?” 

“Bullying? I haven’t bullied anyone, and especially not that little snitch.” 

Peter walked over to them and stood with tiny fists by his sides and a firmly set jaw. “You are! And my Tati says that bullies are just sad, sad children that I should feel sorry for.” 

Bruce touched Flash’s shoulder right before he could tackle Peter. “Stop that.” 

“Get your hands off that boy!” A young female voice yelled as footsteps ran towards them. 

Bruce looked up and saw a young Indian woman in her mid-twenties with messy, black hair and three bright pink butterfly hair clips keeping her bangs out of her face. She looked furious and scared at first, but it turned to pure fright when she caught sight of Bruce. 

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry if he caused you trouble.” 

“Aditi, we need to inform my parents that this nobody harassed me.” 

The woman, Aditi, shook her head. “No, Eugene, we’re going home now.” 

Bruce thought that Aditi looked nice and resembled the mannequins in the clothing stores with her jeans and a denim jacket over a plain pink T-shirt. However, her clothes seemed much less extravagant than Flash's, Eugene's, or whatever his name was, and they didn't resemble each other physically. She was also looking far too nervous about deciding over a child to be a family friend. Bruce had seen many nannies throughout his life, as they were prevalent among the upper class, but he couldn’t help hoping that the nanny wasn’t a full-time employee. Anyone who bullied Peter deserved to be punished, but Bruce had seen the effects of wealthy and absent parents in his peers, and the echo of it still lived in Tim. No child deserved that. 

The boy tried to get out of the nanny’s grip, but she pulled him along, whispering furiously to him while ignoring the loud threats from the child. Bruce kept a close eye on them as they walked out of the park, and a hard lump grew in Bruce's chest as he realized that Flash’s parents must have already poisoned the boy with the way he was treating the nanny, in the same tone that Bruce had seen adults use when talking to servers and bartenders.

Bruce sighed. He couldn’t do anything for this child, so he instead turned to look at the one who had helped Peter. 

“Thank you for defending Peter,” he told the boy. 

The boy’s blue eyes widened as he looked up at Bruce. “Oh my god, you are a big man.” 

“It’s just my grandfather,” Peter explained, accompanied by a shrug and furrowed eyebrows. 

The boy looked over at Peter. “Oh my god, your grandfather is big.” 

“Harry, that’s not nice,” a familiar voice said as heels clicked on the hard ground behind Bruce. 

The boy, Harry, looked up at her and whispered an apology to Bruce. 

Bruce looked over, too, and saw who it was. It was Cheryl, the woman who had won the PTA over at the last meeting. What was she doing here? Shouldn’t she be trying to take the free lunches from the underprivileged students at Gotham High or running over puppies in her ugly, pink Mercedes? Bruce was sure that there were also children nearby whom she could steal candy from. 

“I didn’t know that you had another child, Bruce,” she said, and he could hear the evil in her voice. She was full of venom, and she would poison anyone who didn’t watch her closely enough. 

“I didn't. This is my grandson, Peter.” 

Peter waved. “Hello, you’re not Harry’s mom.” 

“I’m his aunt.” Cheryl, the snake, looked Bruce up and down. “Us Lyman women know how to raise children properly, so my dear sister, Emily, asked me to watch over Harry today. I should have known that a public playground would attract the wrong sort of people despite Harry's insistence that the wrong sort wouldn't tarnish it.” 

Bruce gave her the best and stiffest smile that the children wouldn’t understand the undertones of. “I should have known as well. However, I am happy that your sister is raising such a nice boy. I haven’t seen such a well-behaved boy outside of my family in years.” 

Cheryl’s eyes narrowed at that. “I’m just glad that Harry could be there to protect your grandson when you couldn’t.” 

Bruce pretended to take her words in before he sent her a sharp smile. “I’m eternally grateful that Peter has found people who are okay with him being so young and so much smarter than kids double his age. I can only hope that the same happens if he skips even more grades than he already has.” 

Peter’s skipping to first grade hadn’t made a noticeable difference in terms of age. He would have been sent to kindergarten a year earlier if he had been born before October 1^st. He had, therefore, only been a little over a year younger than his second-youngest classmates after skipping to first grade after just a month of kindergarten, but he was noticeably younger compared to his classmates after skipping 2^nd grade entirely.

“Harry’s only a year older than me,” Peter informed them.

Cheryl hadn’t ever talked about her son or nephew skipping a grade, but Bruce couldn’t help himself from rubbing Peter’s intelligence in her face with feigned ignorance. “Oh, did he skip to third grade too?”

Peter took Harry's hand and squeezed it tightly, and Harry seemed to gather some more courage from it. “No, I’m in second grade.” 

Bruce nodded and gave a more sincere smile. “You must tell Peter what that’s like. He will never have the chance to go to second grade after all.” 

Harry looked down at Peter. “It’s a lot like first grade, just with harder words, multiplication, and skip counting.” 

Peter gave a thumbs up. He shook his thumb up slightly and made the same almost closed-eyed look and flatlined mouth that Jason sometimes did. It was uncanny how similar he could look to the people he was around despite not sharing any blood relation. 

“Where’s your son on this fine Saturday afternoon, Cheryl?” 

Cheryl smiled a sharp smile. “He’s working on a project for AP Statistics. I expect another A.” 

Bruce’s eyebrows rose, and he made sure that his smile was wide and sympathetic as he looked at her. “You can just call if he’s having any problems. Damian finished AP Statistics last year. Another A+, of course.” 

Cheryl’s face turned satisfyingly pink. “He’ll be fine. My Joshua was too busy with his other AP classes and all his extracurricular activities last year, but you can always ask if your son is struggling with anything, and we will find the time. I’m sure that my sweet Joshua could help him with socializing or getting involved in one of the many clubs he’s a part of.” 

Bruce’s jaw tightened at the slight about Damian’s interpersonal abilities, but he kept his tone calm as he answered, “I will call you if Damian ever struggles with anything. He’s too busy and advanced for most of the school clubs, but he and a few other students made that beautiful mural in front of the school parking lot.” 

Cheryl’s eyebrows moved in an annoyingly animated manner as her lips turned down. Bruce knew nothing about lipsticks, but he was sure that the color had to be named Hoax or Harpy to be worn by this witch. “Oh, I thought that was one of our many outreach efforts, but I’m glad he had a good time with painting.”

Cheryl was a fake faker faking bitch who knew that it had been a select few students that had been allowed to paint the mural. The PTA had been a significant part of it, and every parent was aware of it, regardless of their direct involvement.  

“No, no, Damian won that fair and square with a few other talented students. Not that I’m surprised; all the kids seem to excel in all competitions, even when it’s anonymous, as in the art competition. I simply don’t know where they all have it from.” 

“Weeeeeeeeeee!” Peter interrupted with a cheerful scream, and Bruce looked over to see Peter on the swing with Harry pushing him to go as high as possible. 

“Be careful, Harry. We don’t want him to fall off again,” Cheryl ordered. Bruce wanted to disagree with her on principle, but the five inch height difference between the boys did leave the impression that it wouldn't take a lot for Harry to hurt Peter. 

“I’m sorry, Aunt Cheryl, but Peter and I agreed that I would push him, and then he would push me. He can push really hard.” 

“It’s true, I am extremely strong, Mrs. Lyman,” Peter said, even as his legs continued to pump and Harry kept pushing.

Cheryl let out a huff. “It’s Mrs. Hughes, and we’re going now, Harry.” 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Peter said. “You can go first the next time we're at a swing set. Maybe we can swing after robotics club next week.” 

Peter looked longingly after Harry as he left the park with one of the walking reasons that Bruce sometimes contemplated the existence of his no-killing rule. Bruce had never felt as betrayed as he did when he realized how good friends Peter was with the nephew of the enemy. Peter could have been best friends with the Riddler or Scarecrow, and it would hurt less than being this friendly with someone closely related to Cheryl. 

“Will you push me, Pawpaw?” Peter asked with his sweet, innocent voice. 

“Of course,” Bruce grumbled and walked over to do just that. He wasn’t wearing his cowl, but he could almost sense the shadows following him as he moved his arms.

Bruce would need to inform Dick of the unprovoked attack from Flash, but almost as importantly, inform Dick of the poison that Cheryl left around herself. Harry seemed like a polite and kind boy now, but children were impressionable at this age and could be corrupted by evil relatives, and Peter was too innocent to be aware of the dangers of associating with the snake of Gotham High’s PTA.

Chapter Text

Cass sometimes had difficulty fully understanding that she was in a place where she could relax. Her childhood had been spent training or fighting, which turned into surviving on the streets. There was still fighting and training now, but she could watch a movie or get a manicure with Steph. Things that her father said were a waste of time, but everyone she had met since she was 17 said was important for her mental health and enjoying her life. Her father would say that frivolous things were a waste of time, while everyone else said that living without was a waste of her life. So, she tried to listen to them, and she could physically relax, but her old purpose would still haunt the back of her mind at times. 

This wasn't an issue when she danced. The music would flow, and her limps would follow suit. Soon, she wasn't an assassin, and everyone could understand her primary language of physicality even better than she understood the spoken language. She wouldn't misunderstand, and she would be admirable for something innocent. It was something fun that was never more serious than someone slipping and bruising their knee.

"Wowie!" A high-pitched voice exclaimed as Cass practiced her glissades in the training room. 

Cass stopped and turned around in the middle of first and second position. "Hello, Peter." 

Peter looked at her legs with wide, brown eyes and an almost manic spark. "That was so cool, Aunt Cass. You're so cool." 

Cass felt warmth travel to her otherwise pale cheeks. She turned her head down to hide her face behind her dark hair and held a hand on her elbow.

Peter's feet made light sounds on the hard, linoleum floor as he hurried over to Cass before taking her free hand and shaking it with every word. "Can you teach me? It would be so cool! You're so cool!"

"Okay," Cass replied and turned her face to look Peter over. He wore jeans and a light blue T-shirt, which was not the worst for ballet but far from the ideal.

Peter put a hand down his jeans pocket and pulled his inhaler out. "I have my inhaler here if that's what you're looking for." 

"Good, you need to keep it on you." 

Peter rolled his eyes with far more attitude than a 5-year-old should have. Certainty more attitude than she had had at 5. "I know. Tati says that all the time."

"He wouldn't if you didn't forget to bring it with you." 

Peter smacked his lips and turned his eyes down and to the left. "Right, I forget it." 

Cass' lips curled, but she decided not to verify the truthfulness behind Peter's forgetfulness. Dick seemed capable of seeing through Peter's dishonesty and the tricks of a genius preschooler.

"Can you dance in your jeans?" 

Peter looked down at his jeans, grinned at her, and quickly pulled them off.

Cass didn't mind—she wouldn't have cared if Peter was completely naked—but she worried about someone walking in. Dick had once lectured Peter at length about not stripping in front of adults during a gala, and though the speech had been aimed at him, Cass had taken it to heart. She wanted to be what Dick called a safe adult.

Words failed her, so she waved her open palms at Peter, hoping the gesture would be enough to remind him of Dick's rules.

Peter folded his jeans, but they crumpled into a pile as he threw them toward the door. 

Cass' words finally returned to her, and her hands fell down by her sides. "Your tati wouldn't want you to be in your underwear, Bambi." 

Peter cocked his head with a tiny pout. "Why? They were restricting me, and I've seen pictures of Tati in his green underwear. He even went out in the dark in them!" 

Cass glanced down at Peter's underwear. The briefs covered a tiny bit more than Dick's very freeing Robin suit, and Peter was making a valid argument. Still, Cass wasn't sure what counted as modesty, and she didn't want anyone getting angry with her for letting a non-blood-related child be alone with her without pants. 

"Please see if your tati wants you to wear pants." 

Peter sighed so dramatically that he almost fell down to the floor. "Fine." 

Cass looked on as Peter walked away, still in only his underwear, and started to practice again until the door opened. 

Peter ran in and put his hands on his hips as he glided over the floor in his socks. "I'm ready for ballet!" 

Cass looked at Peter's bright green string shorts with Scooby Doo all over. "How did your tati react to you taking your pants off?" 

Peter waved a hand with a loose wrist. "He laughed and told me the 80s were a different time. I think he just doesn't want me to be free and pantsless with my family." 

Cass blinked down at Peter's furrowed eyebrows and his pout for a moment before she went over to the sound system and clicked until she found a song with slow enough movements for a beginner but still fast enough to perform moves. 

Peter took off his socks and tossed them toward his discarded jeans. He carefully laid his glasses on them before standing before Cass and waiting for her instructions.

"Start with standing in the first position. No, move your hands a little closer together." 

Peter mirrored her, and they had finished all the moves before long. Cass instructed Peter to watch her do the same with a couple of jumps. 

"That looked so cool, Aunt Cass! Look at me, Aunt Cass, I want to try, too!" 

Cass had expected Peter to do okay, especially given his proficiency in gymnastics, but she saw nothing like what she had expected. His leg work needed a little more practice and didn't look quite graceful, but Peter's jumps were high, and his legs went as high up his body as Cass' had done. 

Peter turned toward her with eyes as warm and light brown as freshly baked waffles. "Was that okay?" 

Cass threw her hands together repeatedly. It didn't feel as natural as it had looked when others clapped, but Peter smiled brightly with rosy cheeks, thin lips, and the most adorable little nose that Cass had seen. 

Peter tilted his head and looked down at her legs. "Can I see you do the moves again?" 

Cass nodded and did just that. The moves came much easier to her after teaching Peter than other moves had when she practiced alone. 

Peter looked at her legs with sharp eyes before nodding and looking at her face. "Okay, I think that I got it now." 

Peter did a perfect glissade, and his short, thin legs looked as graceful as a swan as they moved around. 

"Can we do more jumps? Maybe the one where you have spread legs in the air!" 

The jumps were great. Peter needed only a few instructions before he moved, as well as Cass had done a year into training ballet. 

"Weee!" Peter cheered as he jumped in repeated sissonnes. 

Cass followed along. She didn't talk or let out any sounds of excitement, but they would catch each other's eyes between ballet positions, and the corners of Cass' mouth would rise a little more with each look. 

Cass landed from her latest sissonne when she heard a click and looked sharply at the door with tense shoulders and legs until she saw Dick with a camera in his right hand and waving at them with his left as he leaned on the doorframe. 

"Tati, don't disturb us while we're dancing!" Peter scolded, but he was still smiling when Cass glanced at him. He put his little hands on his hips and glanced at Cass before speaking to Dick at an impressive speed. It was English, but Cass didn't understand any of it.

Dick's smile turned less fond and more amused the longer he heard Peter talk until he eventually threw both hands up with the camera still gripped in one hand. "I can hear from your detailed explanations of jumping and concentration that I stopped by at a bad time, Tati."

Peter stretched his neck and gave a determined nod. "Thank you." 

Dick shook his head with a crooked smile. His face looked even younger than they had when Cass had met him. Still, his eyes radiated a warmth that Cass otherwise only saw in Babs when she taught Cass to talk or Bruce when he was allowed to softly touch any of the former Robins' arms or hug them. "I guess that I'm not welcome here. Look after him while you have fun without me in the way." 

Peter inhaled deeply, and his legs moved quicker than when doing a glissade but far less gracefully. "No, you're always welcome. You're never in the way, Tati." 

Peter's arms reached around Dick, and his shoulders flexed as he had to put his arms up for his hands to meet over Dick's sizable butt and pushed his face into the lower half of Dick's stomach. "I'm sorry, Tati. You can have fun dancing too." 

Dick's free hand ran through Peter's hand, and his thumb moved over Peter's cheekbone when Peter looked up with eyes reflecting the light all the way back to where Cass was standing. "I know, Dulceață. I was just teasing you." 

Peter sniffed. "Really?" 

Dick smiled with barely any teeth, but it lit up his face and crinkled his eyes anyway." Yeah, really." 

Peter took a few steps backward and pushed Dick's hand as he was poked on his nose. He glanced back at Cass and received a thumbs-up before looking back at Dick. "You can dance ballet too, but you'll have to listen to Cass. She's the world's best ballerina." 

Peter's view of her skills was greatly exaggerated, but Cass' chest turned warm anyway. 

"I would love to, but I think you and Cass are already much better than me. Maybe you could show me a performance and then teach me." 

Peter sent Cass a look with his chin against his before turning back to Dick and giving a big enough nod that his hair flew around his face. "That would be smartest, and I can teach you all the moves when we're home in Blüdhaven." 

"Thank you so much. I can't wait to be a prima ballerina." 

"You would be a danseur noble," Cass explained, and Dick smiled at her with more joy than she thought that she had ever felt. 

"Then I can't wait to become that after seeing the Wayne family's best ballerina and ballerino perform."

Peter's head shot up, and he hurried over to Cass with naked feet. He stood in front of her momentarily before waving her to bend down and whispered in her ear, "Can we show Tati the sissonnes and glissades? He'll be impressed." 

Dick did seem impressed and applauded both of them loudly and with natural movements from his seat on the floor. Cass and Peter stopped moving when they had gone through the glissades, sissonnes, some freestyle from Peter, and some practiced movements from Cass.

The room was filled with more of Dick's loud claps and whistles when he realized that the show was over, and Cass' cheeks warmed. Joy bubbled inside Cass' chest at someone appreciating her communicating with her movements instead of words and Peter's sure movements because of something she had taught him.

Peter looked up at her with syrupy, sweet eyes when they had shown all the moves Peter had learned a few times. "You're the best in the world, Aunt Cass!" 

Cass knew logically that she wasn't, but she believed it anyway as she bowed at Peter's insistence and Dick's loud cheers. 

Chapter Text

Tim had been going to galas for as long as he could remember, but he still felt like it was a way too huge step for Peter despite how much Bruce had begged for Dick to attend and how much Peter wanted to too when he heard Dick reluctantly agree. Tim wasn’t sure how much Peter knew of galas that wasn’t the pictures he had seen from Cinderella, but Peter wasn’t his child and Bruce and Dick were the ones who would have to do damage control if Peter acted in some unsuitable way.

Peter had been telling everyone about going to a gala all day, but he seemed to regret his decision to ask to attend the gala from how much he groaned, huffed, and pulled at his bow tie and tuxedo shirt. 

“Is it too tight, Gudlapishun?”

Peter pouted and looked up with fire in his usually honey-sweet eyes, and Tim had to try very hard not to coo and risk losing his teenage manliness and receive Peter’s ire. Peter was always adorable, literally the definition of everything sweet and good about the world, but he looked like a tiny hissing kitten when angry.

Dick kneeled and rightened the bow tie and brushed a hand over Peter’s shirt. “One picture with the vest and bow tie, and then we can take the bow tie off. Is that a fair deal?” 

Peter huffed and nodded. His little face stayed stormy as he extended his arms and let Dick pull the blue vest around his body and button it. 

Dick turned to look at Tim. He bit his lip, tilted his head, and blinked rapidly until Tim relented and found Dick’s camera. Dick had a very expensive camera for someone who didn’t care for photography, and it was much better than the alternative than him expecting Tim to bring his camera to every event or chance of Peter doing anything even close to memorable.

Dick turned Peter around and pulled his back to Dick’s chest and smiled wide for the camera. Tim took a few pictures of Peter’s sour face but he knew that Dick would be even worse if there were no pictures of Peter smiling, so he looked up from the camera for a few moments. “Keep up not smiling, Peter. I don’t want any smiles at all.” 

Peter’s eyes narrowed into crescent moons, and he showed his almost complete set of teeth in a mischievous smile, and Tim snapped a few more pictures. 

“Wow, you’re the born model, Pete.” 

Peter’s smile turned more genuine, but the best pictures were when Steph walked in, yelled, “Stinky feet” without any content, and left to the sound of Peter’s loud and uncontrolled laughter. Dick had already been smiling but he glowed as Peter laughed and the pictures were amazing. Dick and Peter didn’t share a lot of physical similarities, but nothing could distract from how Peter’s smile and shape of eyes must have come from Dick.

Tim put the camera down Peter jumped around to look at Dick. 

“Was I a model?” 

Dick bit his bottom lip and blinked once before answering, “You were the best model. You’re such a handsome little guy.” 

“I’m not little,” Peter argued, putting his hands on his hips and lifting his chin. 

Dick’s eyes filled with tears and a high-pitched sound escaped him when he released his lip. He hid his mouth with the back of his hand, but more noises escaped him until he finally started verbalizing once more. “Yes, of course. You’re so big.” 

Peter gave a firm nod before he looked properly at Dick and threw himself at Dick. “Why are you sad? No sadness, please.” 

Dick’s arms encased Peter’s body. “I’m not sad.”

Peter pouted and his eyebrows furrowed but he didn’t say more as Dick pulled himself together. Tim would never cry about Peter’s cuteness, but he could understand the urge. 

Tim looked at his wrist watch and hummed before looking back at the little family before him. “Let’s go so we can mingle with some rich ass, um, asparaguses. I meant to say asparaguses, Peter.” 

Peter shot Tim a glance with more piercing eyes than those of the most judgmental wealthy ladies. Maybe he was ready for a gala after all.

Peter took a few steps and then almost strangled himself with how much he was pulling his bow tie. Tim had expected Peter’s discomfort with the bow tie to start a tantrum but Peter skipped through the manor as soon as the bow tie was gone. 

Cass, Damian, Bruce, and Alfred were already outside when Dick, Tim, and Peter arrived and Steph arrived soon after. 

Dick looked at the cars with Peter in his arms. “Are you sure we won’t need more cars, B? We’re not usually this many, and Peter and I will take one of the cars right after dinner.” 

“It’s okay, I can leave when you do, too,” Cass offered. 

“I can leave at seven too,” Tim hurried out before anyone else could. 

Steph put a hand on her chest and kept closing her eyes to show the seriousness of her words. “I don’t want to sit in a cramped car at night or have Alfred drive to and from the manor more than necessary, so I will also leave at seven. You can even throw me in the trunk.” 

Bruce sighed. “We don’t need five people to leave early.” 

“I’ll just wait at the manor for Alfred to have dropped you off then.”

Steph took a few steps away but stopped when Bruce said, “We don’t want anyone to miss out on seeing the shoes that you asked for, right, Steph? Otherwise, they will have to wait until the next gala, and any other pair of shoes will have to wait for the gala after that.” 

Steph smacked her lips and made a click with her tongue. “Fine, I’ll go, but I’m leaving when I want to.” 

Tim glanced at her shoes. They looked pretty and purple but also slightly painful. Nice enough to get Stephanie to go to a gala but nothing could make her stay somewhere she didn’t want to except the promised dinner.

“Lovely,” Alfred deadpanned. “Now, all in the cars before your fashionably late entrance turns rude.” 

Peter made the expected complains about his car seat but was mollified by Dick sitting next to him with Bruce driving and Tim sitting in the passenger seat. 

Tim looked as Alfred sped away, and Bruce drove slower than Peter’s toy cars. “Bruce, seriously, a snail could move faster than this.” 

Bruce looked into the rearview mirror and did not speed up. 

“Bruce, I think I’ve seen you hit 100 miles/hour in the city.” 

“Crime never waits,” Bruce grumbled. 

“Neither do the snobs at the Davenport residence. On the other hand, please drive slower. This is a nice place to park until seven and then you can drive us back to the manor.” 

Unfortunately, Bruce did not heed any advice about speeding or parking. As a result, they arrived later than the expected fashionably late time, but no one seemed to bat an eye as they approached the Davenport Estate, where J. Devlin Davenport was speaking with an elegant, dark-haired woman holding a wineglass and wearing an unimpressed expression. 

“Come on, let’s go in before-” Bruce started, but was interrupted by a loud shout. 

“Brucie, old friend! I was worried that you wouldn’t come.” 

Bruce closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before he threw on a smile and turned toward Davenport. “Dev! I couldn’t let all my kids have all the fun.” 

“And of course to support the poverty fund for the Gotham General Hospital,” Davenport laughed. 

“Yeah, that too, of course. I’m sorry, it must be the thought of all the champagne and good company.” 

Bruce was a good actor but Tim and Dick deserved the rewards for not reacting for Bruce’s ditzy tone and overemotional display.

Tim looked down when he felt his jacket being pulled and saw Peter’s tight grip on the bottom of Dick’s and Tim’s jackets. 

“Why is Pawpaw weird?” 

“Please tell me if you figure it out,” Tim mumbled. 

Dick brushed Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “Pawpaw is just different with some of his friends. Come on, let’s see if there’s any future friends inside.” 

Peter hummed and let himself be led away until they were almost safe from catching Davenport’s attention. 

Peter turned around and let go of Dick’s and Tim’s jackets to wave with both arms. “Bye, Pawpaw, we’re going inside!” 

Dick put a hand on Peter’s upper back and gently pushed him. “Come on, let Pawpaw talk to his friend in peace.” 

“Oh, is that the grandson, Brucie?” Davenport asked loudly. “Come, kids, and greet your uncle Dev.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, but his confusion made it easy to steer him away before Davenport actively tried to make them talk to him. 

Eyes turned as they entered, but not with the eager glances or sycophantic hunger Tim had come to expect. Instead, some gazes lingered on Dick—almost hungrily—and Tim was abruptly reminded of how people used to look at him during galas, back before Tim became Robin.

Dick had seemed untouchable back then, and he had been Tim’s personal hero, even in civilian clothes. But now, seeing how women and even some men leered at him was unsettling. Everyone in their circle was attractive, but Dick had a unique presence: a quiet, effortless grace that contrasted with his broad shoulders, sculpted by years of gymnastics and vigilantism. His face carried a surprising softness too, a hint of femininity that somehow made his strong, angular jawline all the more striking and enviable.

Kathleen Astor headed straight for Dick. She was an attractive woman in her thirties with warm brown hair and strikingly blue eyes, but a little too dolled up for Tim’s taste. “Oh, Richard, I haven’t seen you at a gala in years.”

Dick’s eyes widened slightly and his head moved a little with every word. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy with school and all.” 

“I’m sure.” Her red lips moved to reveal slightly too white teeth as she looked down at Peter. “And this must be your son. I heard about you having a son, but I didn’t know if it was true. He is adorable in his little tuxedo.” 

Peter gripped Tim’s hand tightly and had an even firmer grip on Dick’s when Tim glanced down. 

“He’s my adorable little guy.” 

Astor’s lips pressed together, and her eyes and neck turned for her to gaze around. “Is your wife here tonight?” 

It sounded genuine, but Tim had long learned that the most critical knowledge in the secret language of the wealthy was always to be suspicious of their motives. 

“Peter’s mother is feeling a little under the weather.” 

Her shoulder’s moved as she looked back at Dick, lifted her plucked eyebrows, and stared at every inch of Dick. “Oh, well, you just say if you feel lonely without her.” 

Dick smiled but his eyes widened for a few blinks. “Thank you for the kind offer, Mrs. Astor.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she waved her hand with a classic, fresh French manicure. “You can just call me Kathleen, Rich. You’ve known me for years, so there’s no need to be formal with me.” 

“Yeah, I have known you for years. Since I was ten and you were my age, Mrs. Astor.” 

Astor left with flushed cheeks but five more women took her place and Peter started to whine and pulled at Tim’s and Dick’s hands. 

“Rich, you look as lovely as always,” one of them cooed. 

“Thank you, Miss Vanderbilt.” 

Vanderbilt giggled. “Oh, Rich, you’re being so mysterious tonight. I’ve missed our fun-loving guy, and now he’s back, but all cool and collected.” 

“I guess that I’m feeling less playful tonight.”

Vanderbilt sent a Dick heavy-lidded look, “I can help you feel playful again.” 

Her hand started to caress Dick’s shoulder and he took a small step away. His arm moved sharply, but his smile never faltered as he waved a finger. “Ah, ah, ah, no touching the merchandise." 

All the women tittered. Touching someone else who didn’t want it should be a bigger faux pas than even the ones who weren’t staring them down seemed to think, and Tim was unsure what he or anyone else could do. Dick were already rejecting the ladies firmly and without ruining his reputation as a ditzy and spoiled rich kid. Still, Peter squeezed Tim’s hand with considerable force and wearing a frown and darting eyes.

Tim leaned over Peter and to mumble to Dick, “How do we make them stop?” 

Dick blushed, glanced at Peter, and seemed to avoid Tim’s gaze even as he looked in his direction. “Please take Peter out of eyesight. I’ll deal with these overly enthusiastic ladies and find you when I’ve thrown them off.” 

Dick jumped and Peter whined again when his arm was pulled. 

“Richie, I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but it’s really you.” 

Dick threw a glance back and pushed the new woman’s hand off his lower back. “Yeah, it is me.” 

“Oh, and you brought your little son. Come on, say hi, Sweetie.” 

Dick held his smile as he leaned down to whisper less than an inch away from Tim’s face. His inhibition to eye contact was gone, and Tim’s eyes widened at the intense look. “Go before those vultures make him even more uncomfortable, and hold his hand at all times.” 

Tim tightened his grip on Peter’s small and soft hand. “Yes, of course. I’m keeping him with me at all times.” 

“Okay, good, and remember he can open doors, so keep an eye on him if you need the toilet.” Dick leaned away and slowly let go of Peter’s hand and spoke in soft Romani. Peter answered in mostly whines but quieted down when one of the women cooed at his pout.

“Oh, you don’t have to leave, Sweetheart,” a sultry voice called after them as Peter and Tim moved between the many guests.  

“My son’s a bit young for you ladies,” Dick laughed from behind Tim, but it didn’t sound like the genuine laughter he used in the privacy of Wayne Manor or his little apartment. 

They had been at the gala for less than ten minutes and the women were already hounding Dick while he was with his child. Dick mostly seemed embarrassed and annoyed and the women weren’t saying anything explicit or touching anything raunchy, but it was still bizarre. Especially considering that while most were around Dick’s age some of them were ten or more years older, and they had all known Dick since he was a child. They had also known Tim since childhood, and he would rather throw up than have any of them touch his shoulder or lower back, so it was hard to consider if he had to accept them not understanding Dick’s indirect but clear rejections.

Tim’s arm was pulled intermittently as he pulled Peter behind him and he looked down to see Peter look after Dick without any thought to how much he was stumbling. Tim pulled Peter into his arms and made sure to hinder Peter’s view of Dick with his arm and shoulder.  

“I don’t think Tati liked his arm and back touched,” Peter whispered in Tim’s ear. 

“I don’t think so either.” 

“We should tell their mommies and daddies.” 

Tim nodded and looked around for anyone to help Dick. Surely Bruce would intervene if he knew about this and he would know some way of both saving Dick and not causing a public scene. 

The room was too full to know where anyone was, and Bruce wasn't outside when Tim looked out from the massive doors. Tim bit back a sigh and went back in to look for anyone from the manor and find a spot where Dick could see him and Peter.

“My pants are itchy,” Peter complained. 

Tim felt around Peter’s bottom like he has seen Dick do but wasn’t sure what he should be feeling for. “Do you need you diaper changed?” 

“Diapers are only for babies and sleeping.” 

Tim shrugged and scouted the room. “Okay.” 

“Put me down,” Peter ordered. Tim found less crowded corner a short distance from where they had left Dick, reluctantly sat Peter on his feet, and reached for his hand. Peter put his hands under his armpits and pointedly looked away from Tim. 

“Give me your hand.”

Peter kept looking away and let out a grunt.

“Oh my god, Peter, there’s like a million people here and your father asked me to hold your hand.” 

“No!” 

“Give me your hand.” 

“No!” 

And to think that Tim had thought that this would be a tolerable evening. He had expected some tensions since Peter was only two and shy around strangers, even in less crowded rooms; however, Tim had still thought the evening would have been bearable. Tim’s hands tightened into fists, and he had to breathe deeply before one of them relaxed enough for him to take hold of Peter’s forearm. 

“No, let go!” Peter screamed. 

Tim looked at his wristwatch. Only twenty-five minutes had passed since they arrived at the Davenport Estate and there was still over almost an hour and forty minutes more to go before Peter and Dick were supposed to leave. 

Tim looked away from Peter at Astor’s voice, “It’s always hard at that age.”

She didn’t indicate a desire to bridge the gap between herself and Peter and Tim, but Tim kept a close eye on her nonetheless. "He’s just a little overstimulated.” 

Astor nodded and smiled sweetly down at Peter’s scowl. “I can understand that.” 

“Yeah, I think he just needs some time without strangers.” 

Astor laughed a seemingly genuine laugh. “That’s also understandable, but you can find me if you need any advice or help. I don’t have any kids yet, but I have a lot of nieces and nephews. They’re all lovely, but I’ve learned a few tricks through the years.” 

Tim tried to sound friendly, but he feared that he had failed. “Okay.” 

She smiled and turned around, but Tim kept his eyes on her until she disappeared, even as Peter lightly moved his arm. 

Astor eventually disappeared, and Tim felt safe to look down at Peter. 

“What are you doing?” Tim exclaimed loud enough for several heads to turn toward him. 

Peter blinked up at him and then glanced innocently down at his pants around his ankles and unbuttoned tuxedo vest and shirt. “My pants are itchy.”

Tim felt his blood race to his cheeks as he kneeled and pulled Peter’s pants up to his hips and pulled his shirt together despite Peter’s grunts and tears. 

Footsteps stormed over to Tim and he was ready to bite the head of whoever was about to disturb them, public reputation be damned, but Peter stopped trying to pull his shirt apart and lifted his arms and smiled openmouthed. “Tati!”

Dick’s clothes and hair looked pristine but his face was tired and his eyes didn’t hold the same sparkle. “We’re going home now.” 

Tim raised his eyebrows and frowned. “Now? Not after dinner?” 

Dick took a deep and slow breath. “No, Peter and I are going home now. Right now.” 

Peter shook his head even as he continued to reach for Dick. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Tim put a hand on Dick’s shoulder when he had pulled Peter into his arms but was shaken off. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

Tim’s hand stayed in the air as he followed Dick’s quick departure. “Oh, eh, o-okay.” 

Peter whined again and touched Dick’s shoulder gingerly. “Yes, you can always touch me, Tati.”

The air was much fresher when they opened the door to the outside and Dick almost ran towards the parked car. 

Cass hurried over to Tim’s side and whispered in a hushed and stressed voice, “Did you see something in there? Do we need to call the others?” 

Tim swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure how much he should say, but Dick saved him from his position on the other side of the car while placing Peter in the car seat. “Just gross people, and Peter’s tired. You go and have fun, and I’ll figure something out with the cars. Alfred can drive twice or I can when Peter’s asleep.” 

“I’ll go. I’m tired too,” Cass said, as fragile as an inexperienced funambulist seeing that her safety net was cut into pieces. 

Dick glanced up but turned back to fiddle with the buckle while Peter whined loudly. “I don’t need my seat. No, stop, Tati!”

“We’re leaving now, Cass. Yes, Peter, you’re getting buckled up. I don’t care if you don’t like your car seat.” 

Peter started to cry and Dick looked at Tim and Cass momentarily. “Can you drive, Cass?” 

Cass blinked a few times. “Yes, I can drive.”

“Good.” Dick walked around the car and jumped into the backseat next to Peter. 

Tim and Cass looked at each other briefly before springing into action. Cass hurried to the driver’s seat, and Tim sprang to the passenger's seat. 

Most of Dick’s kindness came back as soon as the last car door closed but there was still an undeniable heaviness to him. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Gudlapishun.” 

Peter’s breath hitched, but he wasn’t crying anymore. “You buckled hard.” 

The car motor purred, and the car started to leave the grounds. 

“I’m sorry, Dulceață.” 

“Don’t be mad at me.”

Tim saw Dick rub his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m not-” Dick put his hands down and spoke much softer. “I’m not mad at you.” 

Peter started to cry in earnest and barely quieted down when Dick offered a hand to him. The rest of the car ride was tense with only Peter filling the space, and Peter was still catching his breath when they parked in front of Wayne Manor. 

“Oh right, I’ll inform the others on the Batpager that we left,” Tim mumbled. 

“Thank you. Peter, I’m going to take my hand back now, okay? Then we can cuddle for as long as you want and share a pizza.” 

Peter sniffed. “Pizza?” 

“Yes, pizza.” 

“I like pizza.” 

“Yes, I know, Tati. Now let go of my hand so we can go inside.” 

Bruce and Alfred sent a few questions back to Tim’s short message that Cass, Peter, Dick and he having already left, but Tim had no idea how to answer any of their questions and just replied that no one was hurt and Alfred didn't need to meet them by the car. 

Everyone, including Peter, unbuckled themselves and went to the manor.

“You’re still on Hawaiian pizza, Tim?” 

“Yeah, but you don’t need to pay or cook for me.” 

Dick waved a hand in Tim’s direction with the other one around one of Peter’s. “It’s fine. Think of it as a thank you for saving Peter from the vultures. Cass, what do you want?”

“Meat lover.” 

“Cool, and we’re sharing a pepperoni pizza, Peter.” 

Peter lifted his free hand. “Yay!” 

It took Peter a long time to walk up the stairs. He refused Dick’s help but held the handrail as he took each step with both feet, and Tim could no longer keep it in. “I’m so sorry, Dick. I don’t know what happened. I looked away for ten seconds, and he was almost entirely undressed when I looked back.” 

“I don’t like my pants,” Peter added, reaching the final step. 

Dick kept his firm stare on Peter. “I got that, but we must talk about public nudity.” 

Peter tilted his head to his shoulder. “What?” 

“Don’t take your clothes off in front of anyone unless Mommy or I say it’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Peter answered absent-mindedly as Cass opened the front door. 

The door closed behind them all and Dick bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows. His eyes kept moving back and forth before he kneeled without warning to look into Peter’s eyes. “No, I mean it. You can’t strip in front of strangers. No matter what anyone else says, you can never take your clothes off if Mommy or I haven’t said it was okay. We’re safe adults, and anyone else who wants you to strip without us knowing is not safe.” 

Tim raised his hands and eyebrows. “I did not ask him to strip, Dick. I tried to stop him.” 

Dick exhaled and glanced up at Tim. “I know, Tim. It came out wrong.” 

Peter looked at Dick with widened eyes and with a slightly open mouth, and Dick squeezed his shoulders. “It’s okay to be in your underwear at home or Pawpaw’s house, but not at anyone else’s. We were at someone else’s house, and it’s very rude and very dangerous to take your clothes off at someone else’s house without Tati or Mommy being with you.” 

“My pants are itchy. I told Uncle Tim.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, but you still can’t take them off in the middle of a crowd.”

Peter extended his arms, and his chin started to wobble. “I won’t. I’m sorry.” 

Dick closed his arms around Peter and kissed the top of his head. “I know. I’m sorry for not telling you that before. You didn’t know, and your tati is not angry. I was just mad at something someone else said and very scared when I saw that you had started to take your clothes off.” 

“I won’t. I know now.” 

Dick kissed Peter’s cheek and temple a few times. “I know. You’re my smart and sweet boy.” 

Cass leaned toward Tim. “Who said something to Dick?” 

Tim shrugged and whispered back, “I don’t know.” 

Dick stood up with Peter still in his arms. “Who’s ready for pizza and cuddles?” 

Peter lifted a hand, and both Tim and Cass followed suit. 

“Okay, can either of you check if we have the ingredients for the pizzas or order a pepperoni, Hawaiian, and meat lover pizza while Peter and I change into more comfortable clothes? We can’t have his pants itching.” 

“Yes, of course,” Tim answered and watched as Dick and Peter slowly climbed the stairs, literally in Peter’s case. 

Alfred suggested making something else when it was clear that there were no pineapple or pepperoni in the manor. Tim wouldn’t call it acceptance, but he didn’t protest when they ordered the pizzas and only shook his head when they offered to buy him one. He had aldready prepared his own dinber and looked almost hurt at them choosing pizza over a homemade meal. He fortunately cheered up when he announced that he would make lemon sorbet for dessert.

Pizzas were eaten, and Peter was so full after one and a half pieces of pizza and a tiny portion of sorbet that he nearly threw up. He didn’t, but the rest of the dessert was put aside, and Peter rolled on the floor, pretending to be a boulder until seven-thirty, when Dick showed his strength by carrying Peter up the stairs after Peter informed him that he now weighed over a thousand million pounds. Peter didn’t look nearly big enough for such a feat but Dick looked much broader in his loose T-shirt and sweatpants.

Cass, Tim and Alfred didn’t pretend to wait for Dick before eating most of the sorbet. Peter’s bedtime routine often took at least 45 minutes and Dick lingered a little longer every time he or Peter had been upset that day.

Dick came down the grand stairs after finishing Peter’s bedtime routine and then some. He was quiet but seemed weighed down as he entered the sitting room and sat heavily on the couch. He thanked Alfred for the last scrapes of sorbet, but put the bowl on the table and threw an arm over his eyes as soon as Alfred left the room. “This gala was a fucking disaster.”

“Yeah, it was. The harpies were horrible, but I’m more worried about what was said to spook you like that. Has someone been ogling your 2-year-old?”

Dick let his arm fall but his eyes looked dead as he stared at the ceiling. “It was just the spiel of little boys being heartbreakers and him growing up to be too handsome to resist despite being 29 months old and nowhere near anything like that. Their comments weren’t anything serious, and I might have overreacted, but it was hard to hear and then seeing Peter stripping in a room full of strangers.”

Tim glanced at the ceiling, but it held no answers. “I would also feel strange if I had heard and seen that.” 

Dick hummed. 

“What are we going to do if Bruce gets mad?” 

Dick turned his head as if in slow motion. “I’ve lived without him before, so I’ll live even if this disaster is too much for his curated reputation.” 

“Bruce would rather lose both his arms than you.”

Dick looked back at the ceiling. “Let’s hope that’s true.”

“He doesn’t say things like that but I know it’s true.” 

Dick swallowed and sighed. The weight was still around him but it was as if he was preparing himself to lift the sky instead of letting it fall on everyone else. “No matter what happens, you can always call me, okay, Tim? This isn’t the first time we’ve been the unfortunate entertainment at a social gathering, and nothing will come out of it, but I mean it in case something happens in the future. You’re a kid, and I care about you even if Bruce and I get into a fight. Remember that you’re a good kid no matter what spats Bruce and I can get into.”

Tim scoffed. “Peter took his clothes off with me right next to him.”

Dick licked his lips. “You did nothing wrong, and this will be a funny story someday.” 

Tim could practically see as the adrenaline finally left Dick’s body and his lips lifted in a genuine smile. “This would have been hilarious now if it had just been the family. Just us standing around and talking, and then suddenly Peter surprising everyone by being in the buff.” 

Tim laughed too, but it sounded strangled and half-hearted. “Yeah, hilarious.” 

Dick extended his hand and paused briefly before patting Tim’s shoulder. “It'll be okay. Peter’s safe, and you did well. Toddlers sometimes take off their clothes for no or almost no reason, and I should have expected to Peter do the same. Roy even warned me after Lian started her nudist phase a few weeks ago.” 

Chapter Text

Last night’s patrol lasted until the early hours and only ended because Tim could neither keep himself awake nor trust Bruce enough to let him patrol without him. 

Tim had fallen asleep in the Batmobile back to the manor and had barely stirred when Bruce had carried him to bed before looking through all the cases and thinking of all the things he could have done differently. He could have been faster when they had chased down a mugger, and he could have sheltered Tim from seeing the remains of a young man trying to leave a gang that only had one way of exiting. Bruce had gone to bed a little after 6 am and expected Tim to still be at the manor when Bruce woke at 1 pm, but he and Alfred were alone for about half an hour before the front door opened with a loud sound. 

“Alfred, Bruce, Tim is a genius,” Dick informed them with a limp Peter strapped to his chest. Bruce admired Dick and Tim for a lot of things, but he might always admire Peter a little more for being able to sleep through Dick’s loud entrances. For a child who hated falling asleep, he was very well-versed in staying asleep.

Tim blushed a deep red, and Alfred agreed primly, “He is a brilliant young man. 

“How do you feel about a photoshoot, Alfred? Tim had an amazing idea, but I won’t force you if you aren’t up for it.” 

Alfred glanced at Tim before focusing on Dick. “May I ask what this photoshoot entails?” 

Dick’s face turned from his steady firmness to a giant smile that showed exactly where he would one day develop crow's feet if he kept being as full of joy as he had made Bruce. “Okay, so the idea is that I feed Peter a bottle, and B feeds me a bottle of something, a beer or a soda, I don’t know, and you feed B a bottle of something. It’s just for fun, but it would be something other than taking pictures of Peter yawning, sleeping, or smiling.” 

Bruce must be dreaming, but he could feel it when he pinched the skin of his wrist, and it wasn’t just wishful thinking of Dick barging in and demanding that Bruce did something like he had when he was much younger before everything broke between them. 

Tim cleared his throat. Most of the redness had left him, but his cheeks and ears were still soft pink as he mumbled, “Like you don’t enjoy taking those.”

Dick turned to Tim with raised eyebrows and widened eyes as he shook a finger toward Tim. “True, and I’ll have enough pictures to make a stop-motion movie when Peter learns to crawl, but maybe people will hate me less for showing them a million pictures if there are some fun ones as well. Plus, I would like a picture of Peter and his grandfather and great-grandfather.” 

“The photoshoot is an excellent idea, Young Master Timothy. When is the photoshoot supposed to take place?” 

Dick looked down at the baby strapped to his chest with a softness that made anything feel possible. “Peter’s next feeding time is at four, so it would be good if we could all be ready at half past three to take some test shots before the actual photos. Tim will be the photographer, so we must listen to his expertise.”

Peter made small piglet sounds, and his arms and legs tensed before he let go of the tension to hang limply once more.

Dick leaned his head down and kissed Peter's head before looking at everyone else. “We shouldn’t wear tuxes or anything like that. Especially since Peter wouldn’t be comfortable in a tux, but I brought a nice button-up for me, and Peter has an amazing bear onesie that needs to be immortalized.”

Bruce wanted to ask if Dick’s brief explanation meant that Peter had a tuxedo. Bruce remembered that he had owned a tuxedo when he was only slightly bigger than Peter, but as far as he knew, Peter didn’t attend galas or had been invited to any other events requiring a tuxedo or suit. However, Bruce was a weak man who couldn’t ask anything when Dick was so close and still much farther away than he had been until two years prior.

“We will be ready,” Alfred informed Dick. 

03.30 pm came around quickly, and Tim took pictures with Bruce, Alfred, and Dick in various places of the manor until they ended up outside on the large stone bench. 

Alfred left to make Peter’s bottle while Peter reached out toward a pale blue butterfly. He seemed full of wonder as he reached his hands out and giggled. Tim took a few pictures of the scene at almost no insistence from Dick, but they otherwise only observed Peter's delight. 

Bruce wore his best dress shirt but still felt naked and a little cold in the early spring without a nice jacket or blazer, while Peter looked perfect in his bear onesie with mittened hands and a hood with round ears. The feet of the suit were a little loose, but Bruce assumed that that was for Peter’s comfort as he kicked his feet and almost did a forward roll in Dick’s arms as he waited for his meal. 

Peter let out a high-pitched sound and scared the butterfly away when Alfred came out with a tray with their drinks and a cloth. 

Bruce felt like he was choking as he tried to look graceful with ginger ale against his lips and holding a bottle of beer against Dick’s, but Tim still directed all of them until Peter finished his bottle and started to squirm in Dick’s grip. 

Dick pulled his mouth away from the beer, grabbed the cloth when Alfred offered it, sat Peter with the cloth under his chin, and patted his back. Peter let out a surprisingly loud burb for someone so small before he giggled and looked at the nearby tree. 

Everything was far more idyllic than even Bruce’s kindest dreams. The only missing piece was Jason, and then everything would be perfect with Bruce’s whole family having a snapshot of carefree happiness.

Dick’s beer bottle had been forgotten, and Bruce held it tight even as he grabbed the ginger ale out of Alfred’s hand to sip on the content.

Dick stretched his neck but stayed seated with Peter in his lap. “How were the pictures?” 

Tim walked over to the other side of Dick while Bruce stayed seated next to his oldest son. “I think they were fine. I’ll develop them soon, but I think I took about thirty, so at least one of them should be good.” 

Dick reached a hand out to grip Tim’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze and a slight shake. “I’m sure they’re great, and this was really fun, Tim.”

Dick glanced at Bruce but looked back at Tim before continuing. “I enjoyed spending time with everyone, and Peter also enjoyed taking pictures.”

Bruce knew that babies could have fun in the traditional sense, and he wasn't sure if Peter had had that. Still, enjoying a meal, feeling the soft afternoon sun, and seeing and smelling new things sounded like an enjoyable experience for anyone. Even the way that Peter was studying his nails seemed idyllic, and Bruce could only hope that Peter would have dreams as lovely as this day when he fell asleep to Dick’s index finger gently brushing between his eyebrows.

Alfred didn’t talk, but he looked at Bruce with much more warmth than he usually let anyone see. Alfred had occasionally reminded Bruce that they were employee and boss, but it sometimes felt different. They had been a family long before Dick had come into the picture, and they were still one now that the family had expanded multiple times. 

The pictures ended up beautiful. Most of them were aesthetically perfect, but Bruce’s favorite was one of Peter focusing on his bottle with widened eyes and Dick looking soft and proud down at Peter while drinking his beer from Bruce’s hand. Bruce had been too busy looking at Dick with love to notice the way that Alfred was looking at Bruce with the same look. Soft, loved, and something precious no matter what age their little boy was. 

Chapter Text

Peter was almost hyperventilating as he stood in front of Duke. His hands were pulled into tight fists, and his eyes were wide and nearly manic. “Can I brag about something?” 

Perhaps Duke shouldn’t encourage bragging. Peter was a sweet kid, but Duke would have had less than stellar reactions if he had been Peter’s age and heard a much more privileged child brag. However, Duke was also eighteen and too curious for his own good. “Of course.” 

Peter clapped his hands together with a loud sound and a huge open-mouthed smile. “I got an amazing gift from Pawpaw for the first night of Chanukka.” 

Peter appeared to be as mindful of Jewish traditions and customs as a child raised primarily in an Atheist and Catholic environment could be as he made the throaty sound instead of a “ch” or “h,” just like Duke himself did. However, it still felt strange to hear while looking at Peter’s sweater with three elves dancing.

Duke also regretted letting Peter brag. Duke was unlikely to want anything that a six-year-old was this excited about, but an ugly, green lump would sometimes grow when he saw Peter's privilege. Duke had been lucky if he had gotten a single present that wasn't worn from a secondhand store growing up, and his inner child was raving at a child growing up with a grandfather who wasn't even practicing Judaism but used it as an excuse to gift all his legal and unofficial children and Peter. Duke had been excited about the DVD version of Fight Club, but it still felt a little unfair that Peter wouldn't remember a time without being showered in gifts for both Jewish and Christian holidays.

Peter jumped straight up. It was a little higher than an elementary schooler should be able to, but still nowhere near Peter’s occasional heart-stopping feats. “It was two packs of Pokémon cards!”

Peter had gotten Pokémon-themed gifts from Damian for his birthday, including a few holographic Pokémon cards that Duke knew were way too expensive for a child. They were probably way too expensive for someone his age, and he was legally an adult.

“Did you get any good cards?” 

Peter pressed his lips together and nodded with eyes the shape of crescent moons. 

“Which ones?” 

Peter jumped like a spring. “Okay, so I already have six Pikachus and two Evees, but these are different. Pikachu hasn’t had snacks and is skinny on the card I got of him, and Evee looks like he has eaten Pikachu’s snacks.” 

Oh, yes. Duke wasn’t as into Pokémon as he was in other cards, but he had noticed when Pikachu stopped looking like a full moon or a cheese truckle.

Peter jumped a step closer to Duke. “And I got a Charmeleon in one pack and a Charizard in another!” 

Duke’s hand went limp in Peter’s tight grip, and he let it swing around as Peter reminisced about his cards. “Wow, that’s great.” 

“It is! It is!” Peter stopped jumping and gasped. “Do you want to see them?” 

Duke nodded and blinked. “Sure, yes, show me your cards.” 

Peter let go and started to back away. “Okay, just stay there, and I’ll come back. Stay.” 

Duke almost laughed as Peter threw a hand out toward Duke.

Duke stood silently and compliantly to Peter’s demand as minutes passed. Peter was yelling through the manor that he had left his cards in Dick’s car, and a door opened to presumably lead Peter and Dick toward said car.

Duke glanced around the room and wondered if he could sit or if Peter would need to run around him excitedly at someone looking at his cards. Duke hadn’t expected Peter to be this excited by card decks, and he habitually moved when excited about something.

Duke looked toward the door with widened eyes when he heard small feet scurry across the floor and bigger steps sauntering. He had expected Peter to either only carry the new cards or a plastic bag with all of his cards. Instead, he saw Peter holding a binder that was wider and over half the length of him.

“Are those all your cards?” 

Peter giggled and lifted the binder to hide his grin. “No, these are just the different ones that I have. The extras, or as Uncle Dami says, the duplicates, are at Tati’s.” 

Duke blinked twice before he found his words. “Did your father help you with that?” 

Peter furrowed his thin brows and glanced at Dick. “He bought the binders, but I control the cards. They’re my cards, and Tati doesn’t like Pokémon cards.” 

“I like listening to you tell me about the cards,” Dick piped up.

Peter shook his head and sighed. He looked almost like Alfred when one of them was being hardheaded, but he refrained from Alfred’s brand of sarcasm as he replied, “But you don’t like cards.”

Dick tilted his head from side to side before he nodded and countered, “Fair point, but the TV series is good.”

Peter nodded sagely. “It’s very good.” 

Peter then ran into the room far faster than should have been possible for someone his size, especially while holding something that big. 

“Uncle Duke, you want to see the cards, right? I’m not annoying, right?” 

Duke hesitated at Peter’s rapid speaking pace and saw the light slowly dim in Peter’s intense stare before he found his words. “No, I mean, yes. I want to see the cards, and you’re not annoying. Can I please see your cards?” 

Peter’s smile was even larger than before. He laid the binder on the floor before Duke and explained how he got each one and how the different types fought against each other while running, jumping, and waving his arms constantly, except when he was turning a page. 

“It’s like rock, paper, scissors so you can win with any card. I haven’t played it against anyone, but that’s what I’ve heard, and it’s like that on the TV show.” 

Duke nodded along. He had a vague understanding of Pokémon, and it was clearly nothing compared to Peter’s excessive knowledge of the game and the series. 

“And here we have Evee that can bite and Evee that can gnaw. Jason says it means the same thing in this content, but I don’t know. Oh! And now it’s the water types, and this is Magikarp.” 

Duke tilted his head as he looked at the card. It was Magikarp, but he could have sworn that his two cards had darker Magikarps leaping out of the water while the one in front of him was underwater and about to bite a lure. 

“Can I check something quickly?” 

Peter stopped another set of jumps and pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. His nod was short, and Duke quickly left the room and went up the stairs toward his room to find his cards. It took a while, but he eventually remembered that he had put them into a binder of miscellaneous cards and hurried down the stairs.

“How do you know that he wasn’t bored, Tati?” Peter asked as Duke opened the door.

Dick’s mouth was open, but Duke interrupted before Dick could say a single word. “Because I wasn’t. I just needed to see if your Magikarp card differed from mine.” 

Peter’s slumped shoulders rose, and his frown turned into a wide smile. “You have Pokémon cards too?” 

Duke returned the smile. “Yes, although not as many as you.” 

Peter’s Magikarp was different than Duke’s. Peter’s card even had the move flail, while Duke’s two Magikarps could make an epic splash.

Peter stood on his tiptoes to look at the binder in Duke’s hands with lifted eyebrows and sparkling eyes. “Oh, a different one! And this one is not about to become dinner.”

“Yeah, I have two, so you can have one of them if you want.” 

Peter gasped again. “Really? This is the best second day of Chanukka!” 

Peter fell to his knees in front of his binder and removed his Magikarp from its plastic sleeve carefully. 

“You don’t have to give me yours. I have two.” 

Peter shook his head vigorously. “No, you don’t have this one, and I have two more of this card in my other binder.” 

Duke didn’t care as much for Pokémon cards as most of his other trading cards, but the Magikarp got the prime spot in his binder of miscellaneous cards. 

“You don’t have a lot of Pokémon cards. I could bring my spare cards binder the next time we visit Pawpaw’s house, and then you can have some of them.” Peter narrowed his eyes and sent Duke a hard look. “But only the spares.”

Duke put his hands up. “You don’t need to give me any cards at all.” 

Peter pursed lips and tilted his head as he glanced at both binders. “Then maybe we could trade the spares so we have as many different ones as possible, and maybe we can play the game together. We can use my spares.” 

Duke hadn’t ever considered playing the Pokémon card game, but he was suddenly excited to use all the strategies and knowledge Peter had thrust upon him.

“I would love to.”

Dick smiled almost as wide as Peter did.

Chapter Text

Damian knew of Peter’s preschool. Grayson had informed him that it was the best in Blüdhaven and had even better reviews than the best preschools in Gotham. It was technically Christian, but Damian hadn't seen signs of it other than one line on the preschool's website and the occational play or time leading up to it.

The facilities also seemed fine when Damian had stepped foot in them. Everything was much more colorful than he thought it should be, but so were most of the things Peter owned.

“Hello, Mr. Grayson,” a woman in her 40s said. Damian had never been introduced to her, but Damian had personally vetted all caretakers, and none of them had any records yet. Damian was still waiting for any of them to stumble and ensure that Peter’s educational institution would take prompt action. If not, then Damian knew precisely where they resided and where they were employed. 

Grayson smiled kindly and made a poor attempt not to look around the room. “Hello, Rita. How’s he been today?”

Rita’s green eyes narrowed slightly as she smiled, and her shoulder-length chemically permed hair swung like a brown cloud as she moved her head. “He and the other children have been excited about the nativity play all week.” 

Grayson nodded along and sent one last look around before leaning toward Rita. “Talking about that. Peter told me about the different roles when we talked on the phone last night, and he was hoping for a specific one, and I just wanted to ask if he could-” 

Damian looked away from Rita’s stiff smile and haunted eyes as a small force ran into Grayson’s side and then threw his head into Damian’s lower stomach. “Dami! Tati! You’re here!” 

“That we are, Peter. Did you have a good day?” 

Peter let go of Damian and nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, it was good. I’m happy to see you. I missed you. I missed you both all week.” 

Grayson swallowed and bit his lip before answering, “I missed you too, Gudlapishun."

Peter gripped Damian’s hand and shook it as he whispered loudly, “Uncle Dami, you have to help me.” 

Damian looked at Peter from his head to his toes. He seemed uninjured and not pained or agitated beyond nervous, darting eyes and jittery hands.

“What do you require assistance with?” 

Peter looked at Rita and waved at Damian to bend forward so Peter could whisper in his ear. “What noises does a donkey make?” 

The logic behind needing that knowledge was still unclear, but Damian would comply. “They bray. It’s a loud and jarring sound.” 

Damian stood up straight again, and Peter made an obnoxious sound, but it still sounded nothing like a donkey. Damian would have to further Peter’s animal knowledge with documentaries. 

“Did it sound like a donkey?” Peter’s eyes were sparkling as much as Damian’s katana when it was newly polished and waiting to punish villains. 

“No.” 

Peter stuck his bottom lip into his mouth and hummed before releasing it with a slight, and very disgusting, sound and a wet quality to his lower face until he brushed a sleeve over it. “Can you show me?” 

“No.” 

Peter sighed and let his upper body fall until he touched the ground in a standing toe touch. 

“I admire your valid attempt at demonstrating the physical attributes of a donkey.” 

Peter stood up straight and jumped where he stood with widened eyes and lifted eyebrows. “Does that mean I can be the most important person in the play?” 

Damian did not kill anyone anymore, and he did not harm any civilians, but he was the grandson of Rä's al Ghül and the son of Batman and Thalia al Ghul. No preschool administrator or children would stand in the way of Peter getting his wish of a particular role in the pointless play. A play had never been a priority when Damian was Peter’s age. Still, Damian had researched the importance of performances in small children after finding out that Peter was to participate in such an endeavor, and the benefits to communication, literacy, cognitive abilities, creativity, social skills, and self-confidence were undeniable, according to several trustworthy sources. It stood to reason that the importance of the role would influence the benefits, and it was, therefore, only right that Peter would be the most critical role in the play. 

Rita laughed nervously. “Several other parents have asked similar questions, and unfortunately, we already have ten wise men and women and several kids asking to be Mary or Joseph, so we can’t take any more suggestions despite the influence of the parents.” 

Peter stopped jumping, and his shoulders and head fell. “Oh.” 

Grayson’s eyebrows tilted outwards, and he frowned before looking back at Rita with a neutral expression. “That’s understandable, but I think that Peter’s definition of the most important role of the play isn’t quite what others would think.” 

Rita inhaled deeply but sounded strangled as she answered, “Okay, lay it on me; what role does he want?” 

“He wants to be the donkey that carried Mary.” 

Rita closed her sparkly eyelids for almost an entire second before she opened them and smiled genuinely. “A donkey? Does he want to be a donkey and not Jesus or Joseph? Not even a wise man?” 

Grayson smiled warmly as he glanced at Peter, and his eyes sparkled as he looked upon Rita again. “Yes, he felt a connection with the character." 

"I read books about donkeys at the library," Peter interjected.

Calling what Peter did reading was generous but Damian kept quiet. He was advancing in his attempts at reading every time Grayson or Damian helped him through his picture books, and shouldn't be discouraged. 

Peter waved his arms as he presented his case. “And the donkey carried the Virgin Mary. They would never have found Bethlehem without the strong donkey, and I’m very strong.” 

Peter lifted his arms as if to demonstrate his strength. It did not have the desired effect, but Rita and Grayson untensed every muscle, and Rita nodded after a few moments. “I’m sure that we can reserve the role of the donkey for Peter.” 

Peter was still holding his arms up but spread his fingers and closed his eyes as he exclaimed, “Yes!” 

Damian poked Peter’s forehead and waited to talk until he caught Peter’s gaze. “It is vital that you practice your brays. Perhaps there are documentaries for you to listen to their calls until you can imitate them well enough for it to be believable that you’re a donkey.”

Peter let his arms fall to his sides and his eyebrows and mouth turned straight as he looked at Damian with a gaze as sharp as an obsidian knife blade. “I will practice every day.” 

Damian hadn’t expected Peter to desire the role of an animal, but he would not accept anything less than perfection if Peter were to take on any role. “Good, I expect you to do the role of the savior’s steed justice. Don’t bring shame to your family name or the family as a whole.”

Rita’s soft purple jumpsuit came into view as she stepped toward Peter. She sent Damian a wide-eyed look but quickly focused her attention on Peter. “The play is meant to be fun. You don’t need to feel pressured, Peter.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be the best donkey in the world. I’ll take Mary, Joseph, and everyone else to Bethlehem and only bray when I’m supposed to.” 

Rita nodded a few times. “You’re right. You’ll be the best donkey Blüdhaven’s Clever Thinkers have ever seen, but remember that you’re not a disappointment no matter how you take on the role.”

Peter nodded curtly, walked over to Grayson, and raised his arms. “Can we go home now? I want to watch donkeys on TV and play with the small LEGOs.”

Said small LEGOs were for four and up, but Peter had always been advanced, and Damian had not caught Peter putting foreign objects, other than a pacifier, into his mouth since some time before his second birthday. Observing Peter playing was a waste of time. Still, Damian would rather use his valuable time for other endeavors than save Grayson from wasting time looking at Peter as he repeatedly demonstrated his ability to avoid choking.

Grayson bent down and pulled Peter into his arms, and his cheek was smushed as Peter pressed his head hard enough against Grayson’s cheek to potentially cause tooth damage or cut Grayson’s cheek on his teeth. “I missed you, Tati. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Did you know that the Virgin Mary is named the same as Mommy?” 

“That’s so interesting,” Grayson answered with careful mouth movements and stood up straight with Peter in his arms.

“Mm hm, and I’ll be a good donkey. I’ll be a male donkey, and they’re called jackasses.” 

“Yes, that’s correct, anyway, Rita, did he eat all his lunch? How did the naps go?” 

Rita’s under-eyes made her look as tired as Damian imagined he would be if he had been stuck in a room full of preschoolers. “The same as last week. He’s a good eater and not a great napper.

Grayson usually didn’t protest any physical touch from Peter, but he lifted an arm to dislodge Peter as his grip tightened further around Grayson’s neck. “As expected, he has always liked food and has not wanted to sleep since he was a few months old.” 

“Naps are stupid. Only the little kids need naps.”

Rita shook her head at Peter. “All your friends are five, and many four-year-olds still need naps. Especially the ones with brains that work overtime.”

Peter threw his head back dramatically but pulled it back with a snap only a millisecond before staring at Damian from his perch in Grayson’s arms. “Uncle Dami, how much do donkeys sleep?”

“Much less than you or I need.”

Peter leaned his scalp on Grayson’s cheek until one of Grayson’s eyes turned into a slit. “What do donkeys eat?” 

“Almost all plants, grass, fruits, and carrots.” 

Peter stopped his violent attempt to cause Grayson permanent eye damage and looked to the side thoughtfully, only to be interrupted by Grayson. “Don’t eat grass, Peter. You can have carrots and fruit in your lunch box tomorrow, but you can’t eat grass.” 

Eating like a donkey seemed excessive, but Damian would never have discouraged Peter from committing to his endeavors if Grayson hadn't already denied the silent request.

“Will you help me build a donkey stable out of LEGO, Uncle Dami?”

Damian gave a curt nod. Helping with Peter’s cognitive and fine motor skills would be an acceptable use of Damian’s time. Perhaps it would even ease Grayson’s insistence that Damian was subpar at socializing outside of vigilantism.

Chapter Text

Babs had seen allusions to nativities on television and seen one or two as a child, but she still felt unprepared for how… lively this one was. 

Peter did a decent job of pretending to be a donkey as he crawled with kneepads under his donkey onesie. However, it still looked almost comical when either a small five-year-old or an average four-year-old pretended to be the pregnant Virgin Mary and walked with spread legs over Peter’s back. 

“Hee-haw,” Peter exclaimed when Joseph, the above-average four-year-old or average five-year-old, and the innkeeper of similar height forgot their lines. 

One of the barn animals started to cackle, and the rest followed suit. 

“Disgraceful,” Damian scoffed from his seat between Dick and Babs. 

Babs put a finger in front of her lips as she shushed him and glared with just as many hard lines as Damian sent her.

Joseph and the innkeeper remembered their lines when an adult had fed them to them, and the Virgin Mary “rode” Peter toward the barn backdrop.

“There’s no space,” a sheep announced in a perfect imitation of how Babs had imagined the innkeeper was supposed to sound when he and Joseph had talked. 

The innkeeper took it upon himself to create room despite it being a whole barn for Mary, Joseph, and three animals. He lifted Peter from beneath the Virgin Mary and thrust him into an ox’s arms. Both children were much taller than Peter’s tiny stature, but the poor ox still stumbled when Peter screamed and kicked his legs. 

“Put me down. I’m a donkey. I weigh 400 pounds, so you can’t carry me!”

Babs glanced at Dick’s barely suppressed laugh and Mary’s tired expression. Even Peter’s grandmother was silent and stared expressionless at the unexpected volume. 

“Put Peter down, Aaron,” a teacher scolded. The ox put Peter back on his feet and carefully patted his head. Peter hit the child’s hand and puffed out his cheeks before standing next to the sheep.

The three wise men, who had turned into twelve wise boys and girls with only two camels between them, came running to give their gifts when the Jesus babydoll was born after four north stars had run past the barn. Babs could barely see the golden rock, yellowish blob, and brown bag, that the teacher informed the audience was frankincense when the four wise boys who gave it all forgot, but Mary and Joseph did an admirable job thanking them profusely. Although Babs didn’t think anyone would be as spirited after childbirth as the Virgin Mary in this play. However, it could be different with divine childbirth.

Mary and Joseph thanked the wise boys and girls one last time while Peter and a brown-haired wise boy hugged each other in the background. The boy appeared to be no more than five, but the top of Peter’s head only reached the boy’s ears. The sight would have been adorable at any moment, but Peter’s donkey onesie and the other boy’s long robes and glued-on beard made the display even more endearing.

Babs held her loud coos back and forced herself to glance in Dick’s direction to make sure that he was photographing it. He was, and he and Peter's mother were smiling wide and amused at their son’s display.

Peter and the boy let go, only to hold each other’s hands for over a minute before the other kids did the same. A line was quickly created, and everyone either sang loudly or lip-synced Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. It was cute, but Babs felt like she had gotten whiplash from the direction of the twenty-minute play. 

Peter jumped off the stage as soon as the last note was sung. All the kids were adorable, and there was nothing like the sound of happy children, but Babs was grateful that the song hadn’t been longer with the inexperienced singers. 

“Was I a good donkey?” Peter asked as soon as he stopped before Babs and walked slower toward his parents. 

Dick lifted Peter, and he kicked the air with excitement instead of annoyance. “The best donkey in the world.” 

Peter’s arms reached toward the ceiling. “Yay! I did my best.” 

Mary, Peter’s mother, brushed a hand over Peter’s hooded head. “That’s all that anyone can ask of you.” 

“Did you also like it, Granny?” Peter asked. 

Babs didn’t like how cold Peter’s grandmother could be at times, but she smiled softly at him now. “You were the best donkey on stage.” 

“I was the only donkey, Granny.” 

“The best character on stage then. I’m very proud of you, Peter.” 

Peter giggled and reached his arms toward Damian. 

Damian wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t scowling as Dick placed Peter in his arms. 

“Do you think I was a good donkey, Uncle Dami?” 

Damian hummed. “You did an adequate job despite the chaos on stage, although you need to practice your escape techniques. That boy held you captive for far too long during your subpar escape attempts.”

Peter blinked and threw his arms around Damian’s neck. “I didn’t understand that, but thank you, Uncle Dami. You’re the best.” 

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed, and Babs could almost laugh at the startled gleam in his eyes. 

Peter reached an arm out toward Steph when she braved the distance between them, but he didn't let go of his tight grip with the other arm. "Was it good, Aunt Steph?" 

Steph made the sign of the horns, bit her bottom lip, and closed her eyes after she had replied, "It was so sick. You were amazing as a donkey." 

Peter released his tight grip around Damian’s neck and smiled open-mouthed at Babs. “Did you like the play? Was it good?” 

Babs was unsure if any plays less than twenty minutes would have a chance of being substantial, and her ears still rang from the high tones of children trying to be heard, but it had been very entertaining.

“It was amazing.” 

Damian glowered but released Peter into Babs’ grip, and Peter took his throne in Babs’ lap. 

“I’m the donkey, but you’re carrying me,” Peter giggled. 

Babs put her hand under Peter’s hood and ran a hand through Peter's soft and slightly sweaty hair. “That I am, and you can crawl into my lap until you’re thirty, you little Equidae.” 

Damian grunted. “I doubt that he would like to sit on your lap for that long, and your atrophied legs will be crushed if he tries so after puberty.” 

Babs put a hand under Peter’s butt and shoulders and lifted him above her head. “I guess I’ll just have to train every day so he can be carried in my arms forever then.” 

“I weigh 400 pounds!” Peter announced. 

Peter realistically weighed around 30 pounds, but Babs couldn’t help but have a little fun herself. “Oh, no, you’re right, and I haven’t trained enough yet. Arh, gravity.” 

She lowered him in jerks to his high-pitched delight. 

Peter’s grandmother tutted in the background when Peter pretended to die under his own weight when he landed on Babs’ lap. “The weight. It’s too much. Like a whale on TV when they go to the beach.” 

Peter put a hand over his forehead. “Death. I’m dying. Dead, I’m dead.” 

Peter ended his display by sticking his tongue out and going limp. 

She gave both Dick and Mary a look before walking closer to tell Peter in a sweet voice, "Don't joke about death, Peter. It's very insensitive." 

Peter's eyes widened, and he seemed even smaller than he already was when he looked at her. "I'm sorry, Granny. I didn't mean to be in-sense-o-tive." 

Mary took her mother's arm and pulled her toward their seats. "Mom, he's just having fun after being in a play that's literally about Jesus Christ, who famously died brutally." 

Peter's grandmother shook her head and shook Mary's hand off her. Babs looked at her with steely eyes, but there was no need as Peter's grandmother walked the last step toward her seat, folded the pamphlet for the show, and put it in her handbag. 

“Was I bad?” Peter asked in a tiny voice. He had been loud and uncaring about who saw or heard him before, but he sounded and looked as if a breeze could cut him in half. 

“You’re incapable of being bad, Peter,” Damian said. His glare was intense, and Peter folded a little more into himself, but the words were far kinder than Babs thought Damian would use for anyone else. 

Dick walked over to stand by Babs’ chair and brushed a hand over Peter’s head. “Damian’s right. You can’t be bad because you’re my perfect little boy.”

“I’m big. Adult donkeys can weigh over 400 pounds, and I’m an adult donkey.” 

Dick shook his head. “Of course, how could I forget? I guess that means there’s more ice cream for me tonight.” 

Peter sprang up and gripped Dick’s hand. “Ice cream? I want ice cream.” 

Dick shrugged. “Donkeys can’t eat ice cream, but we have carrots if you want dessert after you’ve eaten your hay.”

Peter used his free hand to pull his hood down. “I’m a human, Tati. Humans can have ice cream.” 

Dick leaned as far back as he could while holding Peter’s hand. “Holy donkey, you are my Peter. I guess that you can have ice cream then.” 

“Yay!” Peter exclaimed with eyes that shined even brighter than the stage lights.

Babs glanced at Peter’s grandmother. She frowned, but her eyes looked regretful as she saw the joy everyone else could bring Peter.

“Tati, can I get the knee things off?”

Dick was still smiling, but the playfulness was gone. “Yes, of course. I have a change of clothes for you in my bag.”

Peter shook his head, and the hood and his hair flew around him. “No, I want to stay a human donkey, but the knee things itch.”

Dick let a hand rest on Peter's cheek and brushed his cheekbone with his thumb. "Okay, you can be a donkey without knee pads." 

"Yay!" 

Chapter Text

Babs had had a calm shift at the library and had driven to Blüdhaven to pick Peter up to spend a few hours with him until his mother finished work right before Peter’s bedtime. Dick would usually do it even if it were Mary’s week, like now, but he was on a multiday mission as Batman, so it fell on Babs.

“Hello,” a young brunette in her early 20s greeted Babs almost as soon as Babs rang the doorbell to the preschool. “Are you here to pick up a child?” 

Babs pushed her wheelchair back to look at the worker properly. “Yes, Peter Grayson.”

“You’re just the woman I was waiting for then. I know that you’ve picked him up before, but can I ask you for the code and to see your ID? I’m a temp, so I haven’t seen any guardians before.” 

Babs’ brain was still not functioning at full capacity after a day of boredom, but she eventually remembered the code: “Vulpix.”

The worker looked down at her papers and Babs’ driver’s license. “Yes, Barbara Gordon.” 

She held the door open for Babs. Babs could have done it herself, but it was nice not to have to push the door and her chair simultaneously.

Screams and laughter filled Babs’ ears when they arrived at the preschool room. Babs was trying to tune in to Peter’s voice when he jumped into her lap and put his hands on her shoulder with his knees on her thighs. 

“Hello, Auntie Babs!” 

Babs smiled at Peter’s cute face and lack of personal boundaries with the people he knew. “Hello, Peter.” 

“Hello, Aunt Babs,” Peter repeated with shining eyes and pressed his forehead toward Babs’ mouth. It wasn’t quite a kiss on the forehead, and her teeth almost cut into the soft flesh in her mouth. 

The young worker shuffled next to Babs and Peter and looked around the room, but all the other adults seemed busy with tired children and busy parents. “Peter was unfortunately written up today.” 

“What?” Babs asked, muffled, and leaned back to repeat it without fear of eating Peter’s hair. 

Peter sighed and leaned forward until they were glasses to glasses. “I was bad, and the teachers said I was a liar.” 

Babs looked at the worker as she rearranged the papers in her hands. The worker handed two over to Babs. One was entirely made of writing, and the other was a drawing of a circle with a face with stick arms and legs emerging from it. 

The papers rustled as Babs looked down at the writing with sharp blue eyes. Peter wasn’t nearly as innocent as Dick seemed to think, but he was the furthest thing from bad, and his lies were usually him trying to convince people that he wasn’t tired or that he could eat a cookie instead of his vegetables.

The worker glanced at Peter and then returned to gaze toward Babs. “Peter was bit and bit someone else today.” 

“What?” Babs repeated. “He hasn’t bitten anyone since he was one. Are you sure that it was him?” 

The worker cleared her throat. “Yes, I and another preschool teacher saw him.” 

Peter rearranged himself in Babs’ lap and crossed his arms. “And I would do it again.” 

Babs’ eyes widened. “Peter! That’s not nice. You should never bite anyone. You’re three, and you know you shouldn’t ever bite anyone.” 

Peter sighed and leaned on Babs’ shoulder. “He deserved it. He was a butthead, bited me, and said I’m a liar.” 

Incorrect grammar aside, it sounded like Peter had been in a dire situation and reacted rashly. Babs wouldn't bite someone, but she would probably hit anyone who bit her. 

The worker startled and turned her gaze on Babs when she felt Babs’ eyes on her. “It was a little spat shortly before naptime. Peter said that his father is an angry bat in the circus and had a disagreement over it with another child.” 

Babs ran her hand over Peter’s wavy hair and started to rake his bangs. Peter seemed to have a vague understanding of Dick’s and Damian’s vigilante lives, but he had never seen Dick as Batman as far as Babs knew. “Peter, what exactly did you say?” 

Peter shook his head enough to dislodge Babs’ hand and leaned toward it when Babs was about to remove her hand. “I said he was a circus boy before living with Pawpaw, and Eugene said I was a liar.” 

“We tried to intervene, but the other child became agitated and bit Peter, and Peter retaliated before we could separate them.” 

Peter closed his eyes at Babs’ repeated touches along his scalp. “It hurt.” 

Babs blinked as a short arm was shoved into her face. “Look.” 

There wasn’t anything to see even as Babs used her other hand to pull his sleeve down. Peter’s mother would understand the situation, but Dick would embarrass all of them when he would come back from his mission tomorrow. Maybe Dick would even convince himself that there was a massive, bloody mark where the other boy’s mouth had been, and Babs could only hope that she could calm him down before he acted rashly.

“The teachers don’t believe that Tati was in the circus. They say that he’s not an angry bat.” 

Babs ran her nails along Peter’s tiny and cute ear. A lump in her chest loosened when she finally realized what Peter had been trying to say. “They’re correct about him not being a professional acrobat anymore.” 

The worker moved in Babs’ peripheral vision. Her shoulders were tense, and her eyebrows raised when Babs looked at her. “Wait, he was actually an acrobat in the circus?” 

Babs nodded. “Yes, Haly's Circus.” 

The worker’s eyebrows furrowed, and she glanced between Peter and the papers in her hands. “His surname is Grayson. Peter’s father was in the Flying Graysons?” 

“They falled and died!” Peter announced loudly enough for several parents to send them a look. 

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I didn’t think you were serious about him being in the circus.” 

Peter leaned his head back and threw his nose toward the ceiling. “I never lie. Lying is bad, and I’m a good boy. Tati says so.” 

Babs hummed. Peter didn’t lie often, but saying he never lied might be one of the biggest lies she had ever heard. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the worker added into the awkward silence. 

“It’s okay. I don’t know them, but Tati says that they were fun. Maybe I’ll be a circus boy one day.” 

Everyone would rather have Peter be an acrobat than a vigilante. Still, she feared that Dick would take on the role of safety net if Peter ever got into acrobatics instead of gymnastics. Peter excelled in gymnastics despite his asthma; however, she hoped he would rely more on his intellect than on physical feats, if only for Dick's future health. 

“Maybe you will be,” the worker agreed before inhaling deeply. She looked back at her papers with a gasp, and her eyes widened. “Wait, Richard Grayson. The oldest adopted son of Bruce Wayne?” 

“That’s my Pawpaw and Tati! Or was. I miss him. He’s gone.” 

She swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths. “Bruce Wayne was your pawpaw? Oh my god, I’m so stupid, that’s why you said you live with your youngest uncle. Isn’t Bruce Wayne’s youngest eleven?” 

“He’s twelve,” Babs corrected. 

“Right, twelve, and I’ve looked after Bruce Wayne’s grandchild today.”

Peter sent the worker a tired look before leaning toward Babs’ ear. “Is she going to be weird like the gala people?” 

“No, I’m sure she’s just a little starstruck.” Babs paused in petting Peter. “Anyway, we were talking about Peter biting someone in retaliation. Is there anything specific that you want me to tell his parents? I’m seeing his mother later today, and his father will be home from his business trip tomorrow.” 

The worker inhaled but held her breath for several seconds before answering, “It should all be in the report, but maybe we could figure out something else if they’re unhappy with our methods.” 

Babs glanced at the paper. It was mostly just them ‘telling Peter in a firm tone that biting is unacceptable’ when he had bitten the other boy and monitoring other reactive behaviors in the future. “I’m guessing the other boy got a similar note home.” 

The worker looked around before looking back at Babs. “I can’t discuss the other kids, but this is the standard plan for first bites, according to the permanent staff.”

Babs nodded firmly and almost hit Peter’s head when he decided to lay his head on her shoulder.

The worker sighed in relief before she tensed again. “And I’m so sorry, but Peter didn’t sleep his full hour and twenty minutes. He was agitated after the bites, woke up after 50 minutes, and couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m so sorry.” 

The worker looked more like she was standing in front of an executioner than a disabled woman with a toddler in her lap. Babs could still do impossible feats even with her disability, but the worker couldn’t know that. “I’m sure that it’s fine. Anyway, was that all? He ate, he slept some, he was bit and gnawed on a child?” 

The worker's shoulders rose, and she looked down at her feet. “He played too and even drew the hopscotch court on his own. We drew them with the older preschoolers, and Peter started to do the same.” 

Babs tilted her head. “That sounds nice. Did you have fun playing with the others?” 

Peter let go of Babs and let himself fall dramatically into her arms. “No.” 

“No?” Babs looked at the slowly paling worker. 

“Yes, it was a little hard to understand the rules for the other kids in Peter’s age group, and the older kids were a little too physically developed for him.” The worker gasped again and waved her hands. “Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Peter. He’s perfectly on track for a three-year-old, but he tried to play against five-year-olds.”

The worker's eyes widened even more, and her nostrils flared until she gazed at the drawing in Babs’ hand. “But he and the other three-year-olds became friends again when they drew pictures about an hour ago.” 

Peter reached toward the paper but did not attempt to sit up. “I drew Tati. I miss him.” 

Babs glanced at Peter’s proud expression before looking back at the worker. “Okay, I’ll tell his mother that he was bit and bit someone else, but he otherwise had a nice day.” 

“Thank you. Have a safe drive home.” 

Peter sat up so Babs could wheel toward the door but sat primly in her lap until they drove past a boy around Peter’s age. Peter started to clank his teeth together and gave the other boy the worst stinkeye that Babs had ever seen on his young face. 

Chapter Text

Dick tensed his hands around the steering wheel as they neared Mary’s house and wiggled in his seat. 

“The exhibit is always great, but now I have someone to share it with, and I can’t wait to see Peter’s face when he sees all the ways people have taken pictures.” 

Dick wiggled more intensely in his seat. “I can’t wait to see Peter. It's been three years of this, but any day without Peter is a day wasted.” 

Peter seemed to agree. Tim heard an inhuman shriek as soon as Dick drove into Mary’s driveway, and Tim looked on as Mary had to grab Peter’s upper arm firmly before he ran out in front of the car. 

“Tati!” Peter yelled and started speaking Romani very quickly as soon as Dick opened his car door. Tim understood nothing except Dick’s title and could only separate that and the words ‘dikkamengris’ and ‘parranitch’ from the rest of the words in the run-on sentences. 

“Ava, ava!” Dick answered with shining eyes and a wide smile. 

Tim walked out of the car and over to Mary, as Dick and Peter embraced in a manner that would have been more fitting if Peter had been away for war and not been at his mother's place. 

“Tati! Tati!” Peter repeated and let out a giggle when Dick showered his face in kisses.

“I can never get used to that,” Tim mumbled, and Mary nodded without looking away from Dick, lifting Peter up toward the sky before squeezing Peter with barely enough restraint to not bruise a rib. 

“Me neither,” Mary muttered. Her mouth was in a straight line, and her eyebrows lowered when Tim glanced at her, but she didn’t otherwise show her annoyance or jealousy. Mary wouldn’t be alone if she was jealous about the bond between Peter and Dick, but Tim would never tell anyone that he wished that he had a parent who adored him as much as Dick adored Peter. He was too old to want something like that, but it sometimes hurt when he was near such evident joy and remembered his parents’ distant type of love.

“Mommy, we’re looking at photographs today!” Peter screamed when Dick reluctantly put him back on his feet. 

“I know, Honey. You told me about twenty times already.” 

Peter shrugged. “Well, you’ve been told twenty-one times now.” 

Mary nodded slowly enough for her wavy, red hair to not noticeably move. “And I’m glad you’re looking forward to a fun day with your tati and uncle.” 

Peter grunted once, gave a determined nod, and looked back at Dick. “We need to go see the photos before they close.”

“Of course, Gudlapishun. We only have six hours to see all the pictures.” 

Mary huffed out a breath as Peter tackled her, and his head hit her directly beneath her breath in a very sudden hug. 

Peter looked up at smiled brightly at her. “Goodbye, Mommy. See you next week.” 

Mary patted Peter’s head and breathlessly answered, “See you. I hope that you have fun with your tati and uncle.” 

Peter squeezed her middle in a move that might have bruised a rip if he had been a little taller, but instead, he squeezed her hip bones. 

Peter let go of Mary, skipped to the car, and stopped when he saw the booster seat. “No!” 

Dick shook his head at Peter. “It’s the booster seat or the old car seat.” 

Peter crossed his arms and pouted, but he relented after a staredown with Dick. He slowly climbed into the car, settled on the seat, and let Dick buckle his seat belt. 

Dick closed the car door and saluted Mary. “See you next week, Mary.” 

Mary waved. “See you. Have fun with the exhibit.” 

Dick and Tim walked back into the car, and Dick started to back out of the driveway as Mary and Peter waved to each other. 

“Mommy said to tell you to call her about me support when we have seen the photos.” 

Tim’s seatbelt bit into his shoulder when Dick pressed the break a millisecond before turning around to look at Peter. 

“Did your mom ask you to play messenger again? And about child support of all things?” 

Dick’s face was hard, and his eyes looked a scary shade of blue beneath lowered and furrowed eyebrows. Tim turned to look at Peter and almost reached out toward him at the wide-eyed expression and tilted eyebrows that met him. 

“Yeah.” Peter’s pout grew even more as Dick sighed. 

Tim turned to look at Dick when he felt his eyes on him and was met with the full force of Dick’s displeasure. 

“Can you stay in the car with Peter for a bit? I need to talk to Mary about something.” 

Tim blinked and nodded. “Yeah, sure. We’ll stay here.” 

“Good.” Dick turned around to look at Peter with a small and hurried smile before he turned the radio up and walked toward where Mary was still standing. 

“Can you turn the radio down, Uncle Tim? It’s hurting my ears,” Peter yelled over the radio.

Tim looked at Dick and Mary’s big arm movements and mirrored scowls. “No, I think we need the radio up.” 

“I know that they’re fighting, and my ears hurt.” 

Tim carefully turned the radio down until he could barely hear Dick’s and Mary’s voices but not any of the words. 

Tim turned back to look at Peter, who was playing with the seatbelt next to him. Peter didn’t look quite bothered, but he didn’t look comfortable either. “Do they fight a lot?” 

Peter pulled the seatbelt a little harder. “No, but sometimes. It’s always when I say something wrong.” 

“You did not say something wrong. Your father is just annoyed with your mother.” 

Peter sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Tati almost never gets annoyed. Mommy sometimes does, but never Tati. He’s always so happy and never shouts.”

“I know, Buddy, your father is pretty easygoing most of the time.” 

Peter worked his lips from side to side before looking up at Tim. “Do you think that we’re still going to the photography exhibit?” 

Tim glanced at Dick throwing his arms up and Mary crossing hers. “Yeah, we’re going. I don’t think your father would deny you something like that, but I will take you alone if he doesn’t want to go anymore.” 

Peter hummed and looked down at the seatbelt again. 

“I mean it. My car is at your father’s place, so we could hop in and leave your father behind.” 

Peter’s head popped up, and his eyes were only slightly haunted by the sudden excitement. “Can we drive without the booster seat?” 

Tim shook his head. “Your father had a hard enough time accepting you no longer using a car seat, and he might kill me if I drove you around without a booster seat.” 

Peter threw his head back and groaned. “No one else needs to use the stupid seats.” 

Tim leaned his head on his seat and softly shook his head. “I’m sure that your classmates use booster seats too.” 

Peter huffed and crossed his arms. “They don’t even need seatbelts in the busses.” 

“A bus is different than a car. I’m sure that they’re in booster seats in cars.” 

“No, they’re big kids. Big kids don’t need stupid booster or car seats.”

Tim glanced at Dick pacing in front of Mary as he repeatedly clapped the back of his hand against the palm of the other one. 

“Dead kids don’t need any seats, and you might survive a car accident, but your father would kill me if we get into a car accident and you’re not as secure as possible.” 

Peter kicked his feet and pulled aggressively at the seatbelt around him. “No one will die.” 

“Yeah, sure, we’re immortal. How lucky for us.” 

Peter’s legs began to kick more rhythmically as another minute passed, accompanied only by the sound of the radio and Mary’s raised voice. Tim didn’t know much about parenting, but he wished that Mary and Dick could at least have gone into the house to argue if it couldn’t wait until a time when Tim and Peter weren’t in the car. 

“Did Pawpaw and your mom fight when you were a kid?” Peter asked. His eyes were big and innocent, but Tim frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Peter, I don’t remember if B and my mother ever said more than four words to each other. I think my father and Bruce talked more to each other than Bruce did with my mother.” 

“You had another dad while knowing Pawpaw? I thought that you were adopted like Tati.” 

Tim crossed his arms at the reminder of how he had come into Bruce’s care. “I was adopted as a teenager, but I was Bruce’s neighbor before his child.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows and looked out of the window. “Pawpaw has neighbors?” 

“Kind of. The Drake Manor is a few blocks away from Wayne Manor, but we were strictly speaking neighbors.” 

Peter bit his bottom lip and hummed while still looking. “Okay. Tati wasn’t adopted until a few years ago anyway.” 

Tim’s lips rose in a teasing smile. “It was about 3 years ago.” 

Peter turned to look at Tim with slightly widened eyes and raised eyebrows. “How do you know?” 

Tim’s lips rose even more. “I was there. I even held you for a bit while Bruce and Dick signed the documents because you wanted to tackle everyone’s legs in excitement.” 

The car door opened, and Dick lowered the radio volume before he smiled at Tim and Peter. His cheeks were flushed after the argument. “Ready to see some photos?” 

Peter’s shoulders rose until they almost touched his ears. “I’m sorry for making you mad.” 

Dick’s smile faltered and looked even stiffer as he stared at Peter’s tense body. “It’s not your fault that I got annoyed at Mommy. I was just telling her that it’s not your job to give messages for her, and she got a little annoyed, too.” 

“You were both yelling.” 

Dick blinked and glanced at the spot where he and Mary had been only moments before. “Yeah, we were. I’m sorry that you noticed that, and it’s not how adults should communicate with each other.” 

Tim broke the heavy silence with a loud clap that startled Dick and Peter out of their intense stares. “I’m ready to see some photographs.” 

Peter clapped once but with far less power and volume. “Yeah, photos, please.” 

Dick turned back to look out the front windshield and started the car. “Gotham photography exhibit, here we come.” 

Chapter Text

It didn’t happen right away, but they all had to find a new sense of normalcy at some point after Father returned to the right time and place.

Father seemed forlorn about not living with Grayson or Peter permanently. Still, he seemed just as excited about returning to his duties as Batman as Grayson and Peter seemed about living in the same city as Peter’s mother.

Damian was forced to swallow the onslaught of emotions and readjusted to Father’s brand of Batman without any character breaks for laughs or mindless commentary when they were out of hearing range of anyone else.

Off duty was meant to be free for Damian to express himself, but the manor was silent, and Damian spent more time with Batcow, Ace, and Titus than before. It wasn’t the same as with Grayson and Peter, but the pets' inability to be quiet was comforting when all Damian could hear were echoes of the life he had had for two years.

Father was trying to reconnect with Damian, but the silences between him and Damian were frequent, and Damian still felt ill-equipped for the recent changes when a silent week passed and Peter hadn’t returned, as he had done every other week for two years.

Damian was pulled from his thoughts, and the half-hearted illusion of doing homework, when his phone buzzed. Only two people had his number. It was unlikely to be Father; he was elsewhere in the manor and perfectly aware Damian was in the library. Grayson, on the other hand, almost never called. He preferred to text, and even then, Damian rarely bothered to respond.

So when Damian saw the incoming call, he frowned. Something was off.

The phone buzzed across the table and Damian sighed and accepted the call before it could fall over the edge. “What do you want, Grayson?”

Damian straightened his back at the pathetic sob on the other end of the line. “What’s wrong, Peter? Are you hurt?”

Peter’s cries filled the line for almost half a minute, but he eventually caught his breath enough to answer. “It hurts on the inside.”

Blüdhaven was far from a safe place. Some would argue it was worse than Gotham, and Damian had let Grayson move Peter into such a place without anyone but Grayson to protect him. Peter was smart, but he was small and feeble. Above-average strength for a five-year-old wouldn’t get him far when he couldn’t run from dangers, and a knife to the gut could kill him either instantly or over a slow and painful amount of time.

He could also be poisoned. Damian didn’t think that there was anything wrong with the water supply in Blüdhaven, but perhaps there was, and Peter was suffering from the consequences of quenching his thirst. 

“What happened? You can tell me.”

“I don’t know, Uncle Dami. I miss you.”

Damian closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Perhaps he had been rash in assessing everyone else’s views on the changing circumstances.

Peter needed comfort, but Damian had never been sufficient in soothing emotional pain. However, he still had to try and hope Peter understood the meaning behind his words. 

“The manor feels different without you yelling about trivial and reasonable things, and the animals miss you.”

Peter’s breath was ragged. “I miss them too. I miss everything. Mommy is closer, but it doesn’t feel like it, and I’m without you.”

Damian wasn’t one for frequent physical touch, but he wished he could have gone through the phone and embraced Peter when the sobs intensified.

“No, Tati!” Peter yelled through gasping breaths.

Damian’s ears hurt from the rustling on the other end of the line, but he pressed the phone tightly to his ear.

“Hey, Damian, sorry about that. Peter took my phone when I went to the bathroom. I hope everything is going well with you and B.”

Damian almost didn’t answer. Grayson’s words were clear, but all Damian could hear was the soft sounds from Peter’s tiny frame. He could practically see the shaking shoulders and pout and feel his small hands gripping someone’s pants or shirt and pulling until they gave him their full attention. Peter should have been spoiled in attention, and Damian had failed.

“Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Peter seems upset.”

Grayson sighed. “Yes, he misses you, but he knows you can’t stay in Blüdhaven every other week. He’ll get used to it.”

Peter should never be in pain. Physical pain was always a sin upon the Earth if associated with Peter, but emotional pain wasn’t far behind.

Peter should be happy. He had been joyful and carefree in the manor with a father who loved and made time for him, and Damian, who could be pulled into his inane schemes and games. He had been happy when reacquainted with Father, Drake, Alfred, and Cassandra. Perhaps Peter didn’t remember them as family, but he had seemed to enjoy their company after getting over his wariness.

Peter was unhappy now, and that would not do no matter how much Grayson insisted that he needed time to get used to the new circumstances.

“Father has insisted on going on patrol with Drake and Cassandra this weekend, so I can visit from Thursday to Saturday this week. Although, I will require help with transportation to and from my school on Friday.”  

Damian would have thought that the line had cut off if he couldn’t hear Peter cry and call out to both Damian and Grayson, but Grayson eventually answered. “Of course, yes, you can come over any day, and I’ll drive you to and from school on both Thursday and Friday.”

Peter shrieked loud enough for the microphone to cut out, but the ringing in Damian’s ear was far better than the sobs.

“Yes, that’s right, Gudlapishun,” Grayson said, a little muffled through the phone line. “We’ll have to assemble Damian’s bed today. Yes, you can help.”

Grayson cleared his throat and spoke into the phone again. “We can look at decorations and other furniture on Friday or this weekend, but it’s okay if you only want to relax or do something more exciting.”

Damian furrowed his brows and stared intensely at the wall before him. “I thought you had decorated your house before moving Peter into it.”

Grayson laughed, but it wasn’t genuine like when they were alone or mockingly like when he was out as Nightwing. Instead, it sounded nervous and brittle. “Everything is in its place except your room, Dami.”

“My room?” Damian looked toward the library door. He was on the same floor but still far away from his sleeping quarters.

“Yes, your room. For when you come here. That is if you want to make it a frequent thing. It’s okay if you are uncomfortable with it, and we can make it into a guest room.”

“No!” Peter yelled a distance from the phone, but the word was still clear to Damian’s ears.

“No, yelling inside, Tati,” Grayson corrected with barely any sharpness to his words.

Damian turned his gaze from the door to the desk. “A dedicated bedroom would be convenient. I could leave some clothes and pack less each time I come over.”

Grayson exhaled in a way that somehow brought on an image of a bright smile. “You don’t have to pack anything if you don’t want to. I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe, so you can always come over to Blüdhaven without any preparations, and I’ll buy anything that makes you feel more at home here.”

Damian swallowed. Hearing Peter cry had awoken all the emotions that Damian had wanted to forget, but hearing the joy in Grayson’s voice at Damian being in Blüdhaven had brought on a new set of emotions.

“I’ll see you in two days.”

“I can’t wait to have my boys under one roof again.”

Damian’s heart twitched at that, but he disregarded it with a quick breath. “Can I tell Peter the news?”

Grayson laughed. It still held a nervous air but was much more genuine and familiar. “Yes, of course, although I think he knows most of it from just hearing me.”

The rustling was less loud, and Damian pressed the phone tightly to his ear in preparation for Peter’s high-pitched voice. “Are you coming home?”

Damian's breath hitched, but he had swallowed the reaction before he spoke. “I’m visiting on Thursday after school.”

“Yay, but also boo, Thursday is forever away. I want to hug you now.”

Damian’s arms felt too light and his chest too cold without Peter near him, but he was the oldest of the two and an al Ghul and Wayne by blood. He would have to dignify both bloodlines by caring for the less strong but still admirable ones, like Peter, who had his mother’s blood to dilute Grayson’s strong attributes.

However, duty didn't fill the empty spaces Peter left behind. Logic couldn’t hush the ache in his chest.

“It’s in two days. Perhaps even a little less since I’ll be arriving shortly after school, and it’s nearing dinnertime now.”

Peter’s breaths were still loud but sounded less labored and more like an ecstatic balloon slowly losing its air.

“Okay, I’ll see you then. We can build LEGO together or train with swords. We don’t have a training room, but the backyard is big.”

Damian pushed his homework away and pulled a blank paper toward himself. “Practicing in another terrain would benefit your further education in swordsmanship. Is the garden flat, or is the ground inconsistent?”

Peter explained the garden in great detail. It was unfortunate that it was mostly grass and flat, but there were some bushes and a slight angle on the bottom part of the garden for Damian to use to further Peter’s combat skills.

A knock on the library door pulled Damian out of planning and listening. Although he held Alfred in great regard, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed by the interruption.

“Dinner is ready, young Master Damian.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Peter was silent on the other end of the line. He wasn’t stupid and had heard Damian say those words every day that he had stayed in the manor after everyone’s return to Gotham.

“I have to eat dinner now, Peter. Perhaps we can pick up this conversation tomorrow at five.”

“Okay!”

“I’ll call you at five pm,” Damian said before Peter could get any ideas about calling him at five am. Peter was excitable enough to do that, smart enough to handle a phone, cunning enough to play dumb, and charming enough to get away with it.

“Okay!” Peter repeated and did not indicate tears as they said their goodbyes.

Damian momentarily lingered on the quiet line, unwilling to put the phone down even after they hung up. The silence in the manor would be just a memory in two days — but tonight, it echoed louder than ever.

Chapter Text

“What kind of mom does this?” Dick rubbed his right eye violently as he navigated through the dimly lit streets of Gotham, streetlights flickering across the windshield. “No, what kind of parent?”

“Someone who has to work overtime, maybe,” Babs said quietly. She knew even as she spoke that it sounded hollow. The pit in her stomach grew with her words, an unease she tried to swallow down.

“Yeah, sure,” Dick sneered, flicking on his turn signal. “Overtime that just can’t wait until I have Peter next week. Because no other retail worker could do overtime this week, right? And it has nothing to do with the trip she’s taking with her new boyfriend next week.”

Babs exhaled.

She wanted to support Dick and Peter, but it wasn’t always easy. Dick was usually calm, especially around Peter, but Babs hadn’t forgotten the fire that used to live just under his skin. It flickered now, barely controlled.

Perhaps that was why she didn’t fear his furious driving. He seemed to have it under control, even as he allowed Babs to see him unravel.

Dick blinked hard and swallowed.

“I love every damn day with Peter. I’ve changed everything, my whole schedule, just to be there for him. And I’ll keep doing it. Always.” His voice cracked. “But I shouldn’t have to. Mary shouldn’t put him in a position where that’s even needed. He’s our son, but he’s my little boy. And she’s hurting him.”

He bit down on his lip, blinking rapidly. A few quiet sniffs escaped before they crossed the bridge from Gotham into Blüdhaven. Babs could feel the soft grief in Dick's movements and see moisture escape onto his long, dark eyelashes.

Dick sniffed loudly. “How do you protect someone against their mother? I know she loves him in some twisted way, but she’s making everything so hard. She’s making Peter’s life so hard, and no court would forgo the 50/50 agreement for this. At least not to give me more time.”

Babs hadn’t heard Dick talking about the custody agreement since he and Mary moved away from each other, but she had thought about it more times than she could count.

Peter was fed, bathed, and clothed regardless if he was with Dick or Mary, but sometimes it felt like that was the only thing similar about his two homes.

And Peter loved his mother too much for anyone to come between them. Trying to separate them would only hurt him even more. 

Peter was their little campfire, and all she could do was watch from the sidelines as Dick tried to keep the flames alive and shield them from the storm.

Babs’ stomach knotted as she thought about the future. Maybe it was the paranoia everyone who worked with Bruce eventually developed, but there were moments when Peter’s smile didn’t seem quite as bright. 

Babs was pulled back into the present by the leather of the steering wheel protesting in Dick’s tight grip. There was fury in how his nostrils flared, and the harsh slope of his eyebrows, but his shiny eyes showed pure devastation.

“Does she even care how Peter feels?” he rasped. “How does someone like her end up with a kid like him? He’s incredible, and she won’t even skip a trip to spend time with him. It’s fucking infuriating.”

Babs shifted in her seat, trying to catch his eye with a jittery hand, but Dick pressed on as they approached a red light.

“Or you know what? Take Peter on the trip. He thinks that she hung the fucking moon and would do anything for her to take him to a fucking drive-through, so a trip to Evanstown would set him for life. Fucking hell, I would pay for it if it meant that he could see Dayton State Forest or whatever she has planned.”

Babs exhaled slowly, her eyes on the dashboard. Her pulse raced, and her palms felt damp against her lap. She knew her words wouldn’t land immediately, but they would hopefully sow a seed of understanding once Dick calmed down. Mary’s actions weren’t excusable, but she wasn’t acting out of malice. Dick had to remember that if he wanted to keep the peace for Peter. 

“To be fair… you did say you didn’t want Peter to meet the guy before you had.”

Babs glanced at Dick’s furrowed eyebrows and hard stare into the 7 pm traffic. His anger had subsided somewhat, but the flames still licked every word from Dick's mouth, leaving Babs feeling as though she needed to put her entire body under a cold tap.

"So? She could bring our son if she wants to go on a trip. But no, she would rather not see Peter for half a month because I don’t want some stranger alone with our son. Especially in my week with Peter. How the hell does that make sense?" 

Dick swallowed, and the car jerked when he slowed down with a harsh push on the brake. “I even offered to take Peter more permanently when we broke up and a few more times since then, but she still insists on having him every other week. She can't just say that and then do this. It's not even the money. I offered to pay the same in child support, but no, she has at least as much right to Peter as I do. Did I ever tell you that she said that?”

He had, but Babs didn’t have to answer before Dick continued to the inpatient horn behind them when Dick took a second to notice the green light.

“Why is a boyfriend that important anyway?” Dick’s voice cracked on the last word, the sound sharp enough to make Babs’ throat tighten.

Babs stopped herself before even starting. She knew nothing she said could convince Dick that risking Peter’s happiness wasn’t a crime, especially when she didn’t believe it herself.

As she reflected on her situation, the pit in her stomach changed from a hard lump into something squishy and nauseating.

She sometimes wished for someone, anyone, to care about her. In those moments, she wanted to accept whatever she could get. Yet, she couldn’t imagine sacrificing her friendships or Peter for a man.

Dick took a sharp turn and stopped the car on the side of the road before muffling a scream from deep in his throat. His face turned bright red, and the veins on his neck surfaced as he let go of his frustrations.

It only lasted a few minutes, but Babs was almost as breathless as Dick when he started the car again.

His sadness and anger slowly faded as they neared Mary's house, and he shook off the last signs of it before exiting the car and knocking on her door with a smile. Babs knew every ugly emotion was still under the surface, but she would be fooled if she hadn't just seen him dry his eyes. 

“Hey, Dick,” Mary greeted them with a kind and tired smile.

Peter wasn’t at the door, and Mary their view into the house. Dick seemed outwardly calm, but Babs jumped in before his emotions could get the better of him. “Hey, Mary, is Peter ready to go?”

“Yes, he just needed to pack Spiderling and some things for preschool. He has had a shower and is ready for bed when you get to Gotham.”

Mary stood still in the doorway, blocking their entry, but kept shifting her weight from one leg to another. It reminded Babs of an animal seeking refuge from a hawk, but she stood firmly between them and Peter.

Mary glanced at Dick but focused on Babs. “How are you two?”

Dick stepped forward with no regard for Mary’s presence in the door and glanced into the hallway before clenching his jaw. “I’m pissed, so get Peter before I say something I’ll regret.”

The corners of Mary’s lips lifted, but her eyes widened, and her shoulders tensed. “You’re not going to say something to Peter, right?”

Dick leaned back and gripped Babs’ wheelchair tightly. He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something foul as he stared at Mary. “No, I won’t be the one to make my son cry harder than he already does because of you. I'll tell Peter you are needed at work, but you know he’s much more important than any work. I would never do this to him.”

Mary crossed her arms, her mouth twisting into a defensive frown. “That’s… that’s not fair. I didn’t get a fat check before I was eighteen or an even bigger one after being adopted by a billionaire. I don’t have anything to fall back on like you, so I have to work hard to do anything but survive.”

Dick let out a sharp scoff and leaned back, blinking hard. “Oh yeah, being an orphan was a dream come true. I especially loved the part where a stranger had to take me in.”

Babs flinched as Dick’s eyes twitched, and a flicker of something, guilt, maybe, passed through his eyes. He opened his mouth, and she knew he would regret what came next before she heard a single word.

He leaned forward slightly, voice low and biting now. “Don’t act like you can’t work more when I have him. I rearrange my entire life to be there for our son. Every time. I work all day when Peter's here and Damian's in school and skip sleep if I have to make it work. And you? You plan trips.”

Mary looked to her right, and her face tightened in several ways before she muttered, “You think I want this? I don’t have the same safety net, Dick. I can’t just drop everything like you can. I would get fired if I refused to work more than six hours a day for half the month. So, stop acting like you understand anything!"

Babs could almost hear Dick's teeth protesting with how hard he clenched his jaw. "I understand that my son will cry because of you! He’ll cry because you’re so fucking selfish!"

Both their voices were loud, and Peter had excellent hearing. Babs wasn't sure how Peter was coping with everything, but she needed to intervene before they caused him even more pain than Mary already had.  "Lower your voices. Peter’s going to hear you."

Mary's breath hitched, and she stepped back into the house. “I’ll get him for you.”

Dick gave a brief nod and didn’t flinch when the door slammed so hard that Babs almost fell from her wheelchair. The echo rattled her chest, and her hands tightened around the armrests.

Her heart pounded as she glanced at Dick’s cold eyes. Peter shouldn't see this side of him, not if they could help it.

Babs tapped her nails on the metal frame of her wheelchair, then clasped her hands to still them, trying to project a sense of calm. “You have to relax, Dick. Peter is going to be here soon.”

Dick’s bangs flew out of his face with the sharp exhale. "I know. I didn't want to lose it in front of her, but I'm guessing I'm not winning co-parent of the year anymore. Fuck, I hope Peter didn’t hear any of that."

Babs almost wished that she hadn't seen it. Being around Dick's emotions could be overwhelming when he was happy, but his anger and sadness left Babs with a dominanting sense of unease. 

She needed Dick to relax before she exploded or Peter saw him, but she didn't get the chance. 

However, she didn't need to so anything as his shoulders relaxed when the door opened to a sniffly four-year-old. 

Peter's shining light brown eyes were enough for tears to threaten to escape from Babs’ own eyes, and she had to close them when he caught sight of Dick.

He had looked devastated before, but his shoulders shook, and he reached his arms out and continuously opened and closed his hands as soon as he caught sight of Dick. Peter wasn't a baby or toddler anymore, but Babs couldn't help the urge to spring into action when he stumbled toward Dick. 

Both her paralyzed bottom half and parents would stop her, but her body longed brush Peter's tears with her hands and keep them away with her words.  

Peter's gaze was fixed on Dick, and his steps were unsteady, marked by rough inhales and faltering attempts to call out to Dick, which only ended in shaky exhales. 

Dick knelt with a sharp sound and opened his arms for Peter to fall into. His voice was soft and his presence warm as he gazed at Peter's shaking form. “My little boy, you don’t have to cry. Tati is so happy that he gets to spend time with you. We're going to have so much fun. Dami has been working on teaching Batcow tricks. He and Batcow can’t wait to show you what she can do when we get home. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Peter let out another sob as he stumbled into Dick's waiting embrace and wrapped his arms around Dick’s neck. He pressed his face tightly into Dick's shoulder, but Babs heard every hitch of breath and wet inhale.

Babs knew pain, but she never remembered it as clearly as when she looked at Peter’s violently shaking shoulders or his red face. It was too much, and Babs closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart, but the pained noises from Peter only intensified until she opened them again.

One of Dick’s forearms supported Peter’s backside while the other rested gently on the back of Peter’s head. Peter had cried about much easier things back then, like hunger or teething pain, but this scene brought back memories of seeing a younger Dick walking countless circles around Babs with Peter in his arms.

Dick had been sad at seeing Peter in discomfort, but there had been a warm glow to him. It would come back, but nothing seemed warm about him when Babs looked at him now.

He turned his gaze toward Mary. His eyes were cold, and his voice was unemotional. “Goodbye, Mary. See you in two weeks.”

"See you, Dick. Take care, okay? And, um, Peter, I… I’ll miss you, okay? Maybe we can get that ice cream you wanted when you’re back." 

Peter let out a loud whine, and Dick pressed Peter’s body tightly against his torso and turned toward the car without saying another word. Babs hadn't seen Peter in a toddler carrier in at least a few months, but he was kept just as tightly to Dick's body as he had been then. 

“See you around, Mary,” Babs hurried out, but Mary's whole focus was on Dick's retreating figure. 

Babs lingered for a second, but Mary seemed to be frozen, and Babs wheeled herself back to the car and got in while Dick carefully buckled Peter into his car seat.

There were no protests about the seat itself, but Peter’s cries continued even after Dick buckled in, each one slicing through Babs like a knife.

Dick turned on the car but turned in his seat. The seatbelt looked painfully tight, but his hands were gentle as he brushed Peter's tears away. 

"I know. It sucks."

Peter opened his mouth, but only a choked sound escaped.

Dick cupped Peter’s chubby cheek and tilted his head. "I'm here. I'll always be here no matter the week or what anyone else says or does. Tati will always come, and you can always come home. I'll always come for you. Always.” 

Peter looked small and fragile in his car seat, with Dick's elegant hand on his face. Babs knew she was biased, but she couldn't imagine how anyone could intentionally hurt the sweet cherub's face. 

"I'm going to turn around now. Dulceață. Your uncle Dami is waiting, and we can do whatever you want when we get home."

The car was filled with quiet sobs and wet sniffles from the backseat. Peter didn’t stop crying until they reached the bridge. Babs turned around several times, each glance catching Peter curled up in a small ball of despair.

She looked over at Dick once, but his stiff posture and the way he was biting his lip told her everything she needed to know. She turned away, her throat tight.

Peter didn’t move a muscle as they left the bridge behind, and each mile closer to the manor made Babs’ heart beat faster. She knew Damian would be aware of Peter's tears as soon as he saw him.

Damian was never softer than when Peter or his pets were involved, and never more dangerous than when one of them was hurt.

The car stopped in front of the manor, and Babs felt as though her heart had stopped too. Nevertheless, she made an effort to appear relaxed. 

“We’re here, boro rai mea. Your royal treatment and entertainment of animal tricks await. Even Aunt Babs wanted to be here so you could have the best week ever. Your uncle Dami and I have to go out some nights, but she’ll stay with you until I come home to cuddle you.”

Peter started to cry audibly once more, and the whole car seemed to shake from how hard Dick slammed his door in his quest toward Peter.

Babs’ chest tightened, and her hands longed to soothe Peter’s pain, but they had no better balm to the sting than Dick’s hugs.

She tried to ignore the heavy feeling of her head as she got out of the car. Maybe she could reach the manor before Damian heard Peter’s anguish and acted rashly.

“Tati,” Peter mumbled when his face was pressed against Dick’s shoulder once more. Babs didn’t need to see most of his face to see how red and coarse his cheeks were from the salty tears. “I want Mommy. Why don’t Mommy want me?”

Dick bit his lip and leaned his cheek against Peter’s head. They stood still as Babs rushed toward the front door, but their presence seemed to reach much further than hers. “Mommy wants you, but she had to work. Mommy just had to work, and it has nothing to do with you.”

Babs’ chair didn’t move as quickly as she wanted it to carry her away from Peter’s and Dick’s despair and toward the manor before something triggered the landmine that was Damian.  

“Why don't Mommy love me?”

Dick’s breath hitched once more, and he kept his lips on Peter’s head when Babs glanced back. “Mommy loves you. Everyone loves you.”

Babs finally reached the manor, but Damian opened the front door when she wheeled herself up the ramp.

She’d expected his usual barrage of curses and biting words, but instead, his eyes held no light as he gazed at the scene behind her. His face looked much graver than should be possible for a thirteen-year-old, and his shoulders were tense and unyielding, like a soldier preparing for war, not a teenager watching his nephew or little brother cry. 

Babs braced herself for him to explode into shouts, curse words, and threats to burn the world in seconds, but his continuous silent fury and clenched fists promised something much more frightening.

“Damian, hey!” Dick shouted. “I’m sorry, but I already told Peter that Batcow has learned a new trick, and he can’t wait to see what it is.”

Damian swallowed and blinked robotically. His voice was usually full of ferocity and self-importance but was monotone when he answered, “Batcow has been working hard.”

Peter inhaled wetly and barely lifted his face from Dick’s moist shoulder. “I want to see cow tricks.”

Damian's gaze shifted toward the car and the general direction of Blüdhaven before his shoulders relaxed, and he nodded curtly. “Come along, then. She’s just finishing her evening meal and will be ready to show you her trick shortly.”

Babs hadn't known that a cow could learn tricks. Peter watched as Batcow spun around, but it did little to lift his spirits, even though Damian kept repeating it until Batcow stumbled, dizzy from her efforts. Damian's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked around furiously until Dick suggested they watch cartoons while Batcow rested. 

Babs had often heard Damian dismiss Scooby-Doo as beneath his station. However, Damian didn’t object when Dick asked him to put on a season. He even moved to Dick’s other side once they’d settled into the couch, with Peter clinging to Dick’s chest.

Babs kept glancing at them, taking in the scene. Peter’s pain shifted from outbursts to quiet whimpers, but Dick’s heartache was continuously written all over his face.

His chin would tremble whenever Peter sniffled, and he closed his eyes tightly when Peter cried.

He hid it from Peter and would smile during the few times Peter looked up. However, he seemed unable to refrain from reacting to Peter's pain and kept looking down at Peter's wet eyes and mute pain for the rest of the evening. 

Babs caught Damian sending Peter vulnerable looks of his own and gingerly leaned on Dick’s free shoulder. Dick lifted an arm from around Peter’s tiny body and draped it over Damian’s shoulders, folding the boy into their small circle.

Damian grumbled after a few seconds with Dick's arm around him, “I’ll never understand why they never check the van for stowaways." 

Babs caught sight of Peter’s wet cheek as he pressed the other one against Dick’s shirt, forgetting to cry for a moment and letting out a breathy giggle. It was less carefree than when he had left for his mother's two days prior, but closer to it than she'd expected to hear the rest of the week.

Damian met Babs’ gaze with a sharp glare but didn’t pull away when Peter reached for him. The three of them sat connected: Dick in the middle, Peter pressed to his chest, and Damian sharing the weight of it all.

Dick’s thumb traced lazy patterns on Damian’s shoulder while his other hand gently moved through Peter’s hair. Finally, Peter closed his eyes and drifted off, leaving behind the sting of rejection to Dick humming familiar songs. 

John Lennon’s Beautiful Boy and the Beatles’ Hey Jude had always been Peter’s songs for almost every mood: happy, sad, or restless. But tonight, with Damian fitting quietly into the picture. 

Nothing was perfect. But the weight in Babs’ chest eased, replaced by a gentle warmth as Peter smiled in his sleep. For now, this moment was enough. Tomorrow, Peter would face the day a little stronger, and Babs would be honored to watch the boy he was becoming, one day at a time.

Chapter Text

A lot had changed while Jason was gone. Not just in the city but in the people he’d called family. Dick had once been his caring, occasionally reckless older brother, but he was now a calm, steady father to a five-year-old.

The former Dick could barely fry an egg or keep his room clean. This one made elaborate meals and kept the sink empty. He still joked, but now there was calm where there used to be chaos. 

Everything was strange and twisted, like looking in the mirror and seeing a grown man instead of the kid who’d died in that warehouse. Even being in Dick's home felt off. Some of the furniture was familiar from when he’d moved out of the manor, but the rest, and how it all fit together, belonged to a completely different life.

It felt like visiting a life that could have been his if he hadn’t died, hadn’t come back wrong, hadn’t been left behind.

The ten minutes since Dick went to pick up Peter from Mary’s house felt like an eternity, allowing Jason’s mind to wander until the front door opened with a loud sound and an even louder voice.

“Uncle Jay! Uncle Jay! Look what I have!” Peter yelled the second he and Dick stepped inside.

Jason followed the voice, unhurried, and was met by two oversized cranberry muffins and an even bigger smile.

“Mommy made them for me! Well, for her work, but I got three since I helped! One for you, one for Tati, and the pocket muffin is for me!”

“Wow, that’s great.” Jason tilted his head, a memory stirring.

Peter had said the muffins were for him, Jason, and Dick. Jason thought he remembered Dick dry-heaving at the taste of his stolen cranberry muffin when they had been teenagers, but maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Or maybe, like everything else, it had changed.

Jason had laughed so hard at Dick's dry-heaving that he could still feel phantom pain in his ribs, but he had been wrong before.

“Yeah! Mommy’s the best baker ever! Did you know that? She can make anything—except pizza.”

Jason shook the memory off and tuned back into moment. “No, I didn’t. Can we try the muffins now?”

Jason caught the twitch of Dick’s mouth and the slight wrinkle of his nose just before he straightened his face and smiled at Peter’s sparkling eyes.

“You sure you don’t want them all to yourself?”

Peter furrowed his brows, puffed out his cheeks, and planted his fists on his hips. “No! Sharing is caring. So you have to eat it. You deserve the best, Tati!”

Dick inhaled and nodded. “Alright. Let’s eat. Perfect early lunch.”

Peter dug into his muffin when they sat down, happily munching away. Jason, in contrast, took his time, savoring each bite. The muffins weren’t revolutionary or the work of a master baker, but they weren’t bad either. They were tangy, sweet, and pleasantly moist but lacked a finishing touch to lift them above just fine.

Not that it mattered. Watching Dick eat had Jason’s full attention anyway.

He’d seen Dick inhale pizza like he was trying to unhinge his jaw, but now he looked like a cautious bird, nibbling as though each crumb might detonate on his tongue.

Meanwhile, Peter hummed contentedly as he devoured his muffin, and his little legs swung beneath the table. Jason finished his soon after and glanced at Dick, who was still only halfway through.

“You’re eating really slow, Tati. Does your tummy hurt?”

Dick set the muffin down. “No, I’m fine, Dulceață, but you can have the rest if you want.”

Jason was startled at the nickname. Peter had been called Gudlapishun, Chavvi, and Tati a few times in front of him. Still, it was staggering to hear Dick throw Romani nicknames out so casually after only hearing any Romani whispered to Dick’s parents’ brooch and Dick’s stuffed elephant.

This new nickname, insignificant on its own, was yet another stark reminder of how much had changed.

“No! You deserve the whole muffin, Tati. I can wait for you. You always wait for me when I need time to eat.”

Jason tilted his head, eyeing first the muffin, then Dick's pained look

Dick sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “Fine, I get it. I deserve the muffin.”

He took a huge bite—then lurched forward with an audible gag. Nothing came out, but the sound was wet and desperate enough for Jason to check on and under the table for any vomit.

“Tati! You are sick! Oh no. I’ll get the bucket!”

Peter jumped down and bolted, tiny legs pumping hard with no clear sense of coordination or speed control.

Jason glanced at Dick when Peter had disappeared. “You really hate cranberry muffins, huh?”

Dick coughed, eyes watering, and gave a stiff nod.

A disbelieving light flickered in Jason's eyes. The Dick he remembered hadn't been inherently selfish; no one willing to shoulder the emotional weight of his father and brother could be called that. Still, Dick had always done what he liked. His help had often come with sarcasm or a blunt refusal to deal with anything inconvenient unless it involved a crisis or emotional breakdown. This quiet, unspoken selflessness toward Peter sharply contrasted with the younger version of Dick that Jason had known. People could change in six years, but this transformation still baffled him enough to ask, "Then why the hell are you eating them?"

Dick glanced toward the door, then lowered his voice. “Peter helped Mary bake them. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t appreciate it.”

For fuck’s sake. Everything had changed, but Dick was still a big idiot.

“Just tell him you don’t like cranberry muffins. It’s not a big deal. He can make you chocolate or something next time.”

Before Dick could reply, Peter reappeared, lugging a bucket nearly the size of himself, and dropped it in front of Dick with a loud bang.

“There! Now you can puke!”

Dick glanced at the bucket warily. “That’s sweet, but I’m not sick.”

With a loud scrape, Peter dragged his chair over until it hit Dick’s, clambered up on his knees, and started patting Dick’s back like a tiny medic.

“There, there. You can puke now. It’s not scary. Just gross. Like when I get sick." 

Jason snorted, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, Dick. Puke your guts out.”

Peter’s hand began to thump between Dick’s shoulder blades with surprising force, considering his size, and it was enough that Dick’s breathing sounded strained.

Dick twisted, caught Peter’s hand, and gently stilled it. “It’d help if you made me some cereal.”

Peter leaned back in his chair, brows furrowed, bottom lip in his mouth. He let the lip go with a smack but looked just as puzzled as he asked, “Really?”

Dick nodded. “Yes, please. Cereal. Then I’ll be okay.”

Peter hopped down, opened the fridge, and made a bowl. It wasn’t the sugary stuff Dick had lived on as a teen, just some joyless beige, fiber-packed adult nonsense that couldn’t possibly taste good.

Peter turned, careful not to spill a drop of his masterpiece. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his eyes laser-sharp until they widened, and he gasped. “You can eat the other half when you’re better."

Dick closed his eyes and couldn’t quite hide the pain in his voice.

“I can’t wait.

Chapter Text

Steph didn’t spend a lot of time with Peter in public.

He was a fun child with a quick wit and innocence, but Steph wasn’t the type to watch children play in sandboxes or push them on the swing. Perhaps it would be different when Peter was older, and she could go on the swings with him, but for now, he was a little over one and attached to Dick’s hip.

“So, how’s everything?” Dick asked as they found a table at Batburger. Tim would meet them there but that was at least half an hour away and they were all hungry now. 

“Fine, I got an A in history, so that’s cool,” Steph mumbled.

“Hish,” Peter repeated before moving his arms in a big arch.

Dick’s eyes widened, and he flashed Steph a wide smile. “Wow, really? That’s amazing! Right, Chavvi?”

Peter’s eyes widened too, and he looked from Steph to Dick a few times with a slightly opened mouth before clapping with a smile even wider than Dick’s.

Steph wasn’t stupid. She knew Peter probably didn’t understand why he was clapping, but his big smile made her smile, and she felt something funny and warm inside her chest.

“Now you really have to let me treat you today,” Dick announced. His blue eyes shone, and he looked lighter than air. “What do you want?”

Steph pretended to think, but she had tried almost everything on the menu and now chose the same thing most of the time.

“Large Batgirl Burger Menu with a Coke.”

Peter patted Dick’s knee until he caught Steph and Dick’s attention and started patting his chest.

Dick knelt, pulled Peter into his arms, and kissed his soft cheek. “It’s a Little Robin Menu for you, but you can choose if you want apple slices or share some fries with Tati.”

“Eyes,” Peter announced with his high voice and unclear words.

Steph furrowed her eyebrows when Dick leaned his face into Peter’s hair and inhaled deeply. It was sweet in a way, but also incredibly weird to see that amount of soft care and love in Gotham's dark streets and buildings. It was almost like seeing a bubble of clean water in a bucket of oil. Entirely impossible, but somehow in front of her.

“I'll get you apple slices. Can you be good for your Aunt Steph while I order?”

Peter’s face changed into a mischievous grin, and he exhaled wetly. “No.”

His giggle sounded pure evil but also too adorable for Steph to feel anything but fluttery and barely suppressed the sudden urge to coo at Peter’s attempt at rebellion.

Dick poked Peter’s nose and moved the soft cartilage into a small circle. “You’re my good boy who will be good for Aunt Steph.”

Peter went limp, and he leaned backward over Dick’s arm in a sharp arch, but his smile grew impossibly big and showed off his six teeth. “No.”

Dick sighed loudly, and Steph looked around to see several eyes on them.

“You're lucky you're cute, but I need you to be good for Aunt Steph while I'm gone.”

Peter sighed with his whole chest. It was a tiny, thin chest on a below-average one-year-old body, but the sound echoed across the restaurant.

“Will you be good?”

Peter let out another sigh. “Yesh.”

Dick kissed Peter’s cheek loudly and brushed a hand over Peter’s brown waves. His smile was smaller than before, but the pure emotion made something clench in Steph’s chest until Dick looked at her with less emotion but still pure happiness.

“Sorry, I'll grab the food now. Please look after him while I’m gone.”

Steph scoffed at the implication that he had to ask. Of course, she would look after him. He was her nephew even though they didn’t share any blood, and she had protected and comforted several kids as a Spoiler and one or two as Batgirl.

Dick had only been gone for a minute when Peter grew bored of sitting quietly on the seat next to her and started to play with Steph’s zipper and sang a song of pure gibberish. Dick had said that Peter’s ability to speak almost ten words in English and Romani and understand much more was advanced for someone only a little over a year, but she wasn’t sure as he babbled.

“Bruh bah bah bah!” Peter sang loudly, and Steph looked around the room of strangers, either ignoring the nonsense or sending her looks at Peter’s loud voice. She sent them glares back but was about to quiet Peter down when a dark-haired woman came over.

Steph’s shoulders tensed, and she readied herself for whatever complaint the stranger might have about a baby entertaining himself in a fast-food restaurant.

However, the woman’s shoulders were relaxed, and her eyes looked far more joyful than most in Gotham.

“Isn’t he just the cutest little thing?”

Steph glanced at Peter. He was adorable with his wavy hair and soft features, and even his furrowed brows and bottom lip hidden inside of his mouth were endearing enough for Steph’s heart to beat slightly quicker but soft as a caress on the inside of her chest.

“Yes, he’s cute.”

Peter never looked away from the woman and clutched the zipper of Steph’s sweatshirt.

The woman closed her eyes and hid her mouth behind her fingers. “Oh, he’s just precious. I could just eat him up.”

Steph gave a polite but stiff smile. The woman seemed harmless, but Steph was cautious about friendly strangers, especially those who seemed overly familiar to frightened toddlers.

Peter inhaled sharply and stepped closer to Steph until his dirty sneakers were on her thigh.

The woman chuckled. “Oh my, I didn’t mean it like that. Come here.”

She barely registered the movement before the woman’s hands were suddenly under Peter’s arms.

“Hey—!”

Steph stood the moment Peter’s feet left her lap, but it was a second too late to stop his little legs from kicking into the air or the tears from forming.

“Ta! Ta!” he screamed.

And suddenly, it didn’t matter whether the woman meant well. Peter was scared, and Steph’s body moved before her brain could catch up.

The woman stumbled as Steph’s fist connected with her cheek—not a full-force punch, just enough to knock her off balance. Her grip on Peter loosened, and Steph caught him in her arms before he went down with her.

“Ta! Wan Ta!” Peter cried but stopped kicking as soon as he was pressed tight against Steph’s chest.

He was a small boy with little bird-like bones and watery eyes. He shouldn’t have seen any violence, but that woman should have never thought about touching him.

His tiny fingers turned pale with his tight grip on Steph’s hoodie, and his eyes looked around the room frantically as he repeated his plea for Dick’s return.

Steph glared at the woman on the ground. She looked dazed but more shocked than hurt, and Steph had to suppress the urge to kick her until she was properly hurt. 

“What is wrong with you? I was trying to comfort him, and you’ve scared that poor boy.”

Steph’s heart was pounding so hard she could barely think, let alone listen, over Peter’s loud crying. The whole world only consisted of crying and keeping herself from more violence. 

Steph felt Dick before she saw him coming, and she felt both a rush of relief that an adult was taking over and a heavy unease at his expression. His eyes were alit, and his jaw was firmly set as he took in the scene under lowered eyebrows.

“What the fuck is happening here?” he asked. His voice seemed to have lowered at least two notches, but it cracked slightly, and his tight fists were clenched so tightly that they trembling by his side.

Dick had a smaller frame than Bruce, but he still appeared strong and broad under the cheap lighting, and Steph suddenly understood why Gotham’s criminals would turn themselves in if Dick wasn’t joking as Nightwing.

“She hit me,” the woman yelled from the floor and rubbed the red mark around her eye.

Dick’s head had moved sharply toward the woman. He took a sharp step toward her but stopped when Peter whimpered. 

Dick's eyes were still sharp and predatory, but his gaze moved around the room slowly until he saw Peter’s red and wet face.

His nostrils flared, and his chest moved with every deep breath, but his hands stopped trembling, and he reached his arms out toward Steph and Peter. 

He looked like a man who would burn the world, but Steph knew that no place was safer for Peter than in Dick’s arms, no matter his emotional state.

“Ta! Ta!” Peter cried even as he was safely snuggled beneath Dick’s chin. “Ta, Ta, Ta, Ta.”

People were staring, and Steph’s mouth went dry. Dick wouldn’t want to hurt anyone with Peter in the room, and he would never do anything to put Peter in danger, but she wasn’t sure how she would react if someone came over at that moment. 

Her arms felt heavy, but her legs wouldn't stop shaking at the sight of all the unknown in the room, and her stomach clenched as Peter continued to cry.

Dick had said that there were different cries for whatever a baby needed, but she had never learned the system before Peter had been old enough to indicate what he needed in other ways. However, she didn't need any instructions to know that this wasn’t just a bored or slightly hungry cry.

Peter quieted down eventually but didn't stop crying entirely, and Steph's eyes stung even as she forced the tears away. It wouldn't be fair for her to cry when she had been a part of scaring Peter, and she was too old to cry in public. 

Dick kissed Peter’s forehead, shut his eyes tightly, and inhaled Peter’s hair shakenly like a drowning man gasping for air. It was frantic where it had once been calm, but his shoulders relaxed, and he appeared less volatile when he opened his eyes.

Steph moved on stiff legs over to the woman. She glared with her uncovered eye but didn’t move to attack or escape when Steph stood before her.

“I think that you should leave,” Steph mumbled. Steph glanced behind her as Peter quieted down a little more, and Dick seemed oblivious to the world around them before staring down at the woman again. “You should leave now.”

The woman removed her hand from her eye. It was red, but Steph had received enough bruises to know what a future black eye looked like.

“I’m going to sue your ass.”

Steph’s chest moved at the incredulous laugh.

“You’re welcome to try, but I’m a minor, and you took a baby without permission. Who do you think a jury would side with?”

Peter wasn’t a baby at thirteen or fourteen months, but he was small enough to be convincingly nine or ten months to a stranger.

Steph glanced as Dick bit his lip and began to hum the same John Lennon song he sang to Peter every night. She wanted to believe that things would be okay, as they usually were when she had heard Dick singing, but Peter’s cheeks were red and raw from tears, and Dick's voice cracked when he was interrupted by another wave of Peter's cries. 

“And that baby’s dad is studying to be a lawyer.”

Not to mention Bruce Wayne’s son. It would raise more attention than Steph cared for, but she held that card tightly in case it was needed.

A weight fell on Steph’s upper back, and she looked away from the woman on the dirty floor.

Dick didn’t look tender or enraged. He just looked tired and almost dead as he glanced at the woman and with barely any light as he looked at Steph.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. I know another place we can celebrate until Tim's finished with school.”

Peter hiccupped and hid his face in Dick’s shirt when he saw the woman, but he didn’t start to cry again.

Steph looked at her reddening knuckles and swallowed the dread inside of her. Her breath was still ragged, and it took her a while to collect the energy to look at Peter’s tear-streaked face and nod.

Steph's heart was beating too loud for her to think clearly, but she could still imagine the pure anger heading her way for letting Peter be snatched for even a second and then acting rashly. 

However, minutes passed without any blame as Dick silently secured Peter in his car seat and looked at Steph with a vulnerability he didn’t usually show to anyone.

“Thank you. I don't know what went down, but thank you for defending Peter.”

Steph glanced at Peter’s little fists, rubbing his red eyes, and furrowed her brows. “I hit someone in front of Peter.”

Dick glanced at Steph’s hands and then the front of Batburger. “I know, but I’m grateful that Peter has people willing to defend him like that.”

“Ta,” Peter mumbled. It sounded identical to when he was trying to say ‘Tati,’ but Dick tilted his head instead of rushing to Peter’s side.

“He’s saying thank you.”

Dick said it with his full chest, but Steph wasn’t sure if Peter was thanking her or simply wanting his dad. Still, she walked around Dick and knelt in front of the car door. Peter’s hands were small and soft in her grip, but surprisingly strong when he squeezed her fingers.  

“You’re welcome, Peter. No one messes with my nephew.”

Peter hummed and took hold of her hand before reaching his other hand out toward Dick.

Steph still felt on edge, but the warmth in her chest returned as she looked at Peter’s growing smile and attentive but carefree gaze. 

Maybe hitting wasn’t the best idea, but Steph didn’t have time to think about it when Peter played with the zipper on her hoodie again.  

Chapter Text

Tim liked Christmas, but listening to Christmas songs in November was excessive. Unfortunately, none of the radio stations agreed, and he was subjected to ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.’

Peter gasped dramatically from the backseat when the second verse started and lifted his blanket as high as his little arms could reach. “You can’t tickle Santa!”

Dick kept his focus on the road, but he glanced at the rearview mirror often, his smile growing a little each time. “That’s right. It’s not nice to tickle if someone doesn’t like it.”

Peter nodded with determined but unbelievably cute toddler noises. Then he started to make some more as he rearranged his car blanket before turning to look out his window.

Tim bit his lip to stop any laughter from escaping at Peter's serious demeanor about a fictional woman kissing Santa Claus, and glanced toward the side mirror. He caught Peter’s furrowed brows and adorable pout as he looked out the window at the ever-changing landscape.

Peter glanced at the back of the driver seat. “Has Mommy kissed Santa?”

Dick let out a grunt, but it wasn’t hidden well enough for Peter’s keen senses. “No laughing at me! It’s not nice! Bad Tati!”

Dick bit his lip and shook his head before looking into the back view mirror. “Sorry, boro rai mea, I didn’t mean to laugh at you, but I was surprised by the question. No, Mommy hasn’t kissed Santa.”

Peter crossed his arms, and Tim almost didn’t subdue his reaction at the sight.

“Santa is old.”

Peter couldn’t see Tim behind the passenger seat, but he nodded anyway.

Christmas songs were still horrible in November, but seeing Peter discover them after almost a year without them was entertaining. He must have heard all the songs during his other three Christmases, but even genius toddlers seemed unable to remember something from a year prior.

The song ended with the singer begging the listener to believe she had seen her mother kissing Santa Claus, and the next song started. It was a classic, but fortunately, not one of the overdone ones.

Unfortunately, the first lines of Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer featured a violent wail from the backseat.

Tim turned toward Dick, but he didn’t look nearly as panicked as when Peter had stubbed his toe or had a nightmare. He instead deflated with an exhale and flicked the signal to park illegally on the side of the road.

Peter’s cries grew so loud that Tim didn’t notice the radio had been turned off until he looked at it himself. 

He quickly looked back to check Peter for injuries or other reasons for the sudden distress, but found nothing noteworthy. Dick had taken Peter’s thick coat off when buckling him into the car seat before they started the car ride, and Peter had kicked his blanket off at some point during his outburst. It should have been easy to see where Peter had hurt himself, but Tim struggled to find any signs of injury. There was no blood, and he was only covering his face.

“Where does it hurt?” Tim asked and then repeated the question when Peter didn’t react.

Peter removed his hands from his face for only a second, but everything looked damp. His cheeks were shining with tears, his nose had started to run, and he had started to drool slightly, along with a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. It was disgusting and heartbreaking enough for Tim to almost miss Peter’s answer of, “In my heart!” before hiding his face behind his hands again.

Tim's chest tightened at Peter's words, and his eyes widened as he focused on Peter's chest. He wasn't wheezing like he had during any other asthma attack, but Tim's heart was pounding too loudly to be certain. “Your heart? Is it your lungs? Are you having an asthma attack?”

Dick opened the driver’s seat door but looked at Tim instead of exiting the car. “He watched the movie version of Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer last week.”

“They laughed at him!” Peter screamed into the palms of his hands.

Dick sighed with a tired smile in Tim’s direction before moving to Peter’s door and pulling him out of his car seat. “Everything is alright. No one is laughing now, Chavviko.”

Peter’s whole body shook, and his hands clutched tightly to Dick’s coat. “They laughed.”

Dick unzipped his coat wide, slipped Peter inside alongside him, and zipped it up again. It didn’t seem comfortable or advisable for the coat’s longevity for both a toddler and an adult to wear it simultaneously. However, Peter looked warm and tried to get even closer to Dick inside of the coat.

Dick’s coat creaked as it stretched around both of them, but neither Tim nor Dick acknowledged it while Peter's whole body shook with ragged inhales. Each one was accompanied by a wave of kisses in his hair, but it still took him a good minute to let out a single word: “Mean.”

“I know that they were mean to him.”

Peter made some noises that sounded vaguely like words but amounted to nothing but Dick hushing him and walking toward the driver’s seat. He threw the seat as far back as possible, and the loud wind stopped entering the car when Dick closed it behind him and Peter.

Tim’s chest tightened at being closer to Peter’s red face and loud noises, but he neither moved closer nor farther away from the source.

Peter cried much more than anyone had in Tim's childhood. Dick had reassured Tim more than once that it was normal for toddlers, but Tim still felt unprepared to watch someone express so many feelings so intensely. 

There was no manual on how to soothe a toddler, and Peter seemed to grow every time Tim thought he had figured it out. Every word or action seemed ill-fitting, and he reached out and awkwardly patted Peter’s head. “I’m sorry that you’re sad.”

Peter’s cries stopped for a moment, and Tim almost celebrated. He had no idea what he was doing, but it only took a touch and hardly any words to calm Peter. It was a little late, with Peter already being three, but he couldn't help but smile at the thought of finally acting appropriately around Peter. 

Tim’s smile fell when he focused on Peter’s face. It was still damp, and his eyes, cheeks, and, ironically, his nose had turned bright red, but it was just furrowed brows and slightly narrowed eyes that caused Tim to stumble internally.

“You’re weird, Uncle Tim.”

He would have protested if anyone had said that in other circumstances, but Peter was right. Tim was odd.

Peter inhaled deeply. “No, don’t be sad. I didn’t mean to be mean. Not like the reindeers. You’re good.”

Dick brushed the hair out of Peter’s face and kissed his sweaty forehead. “Uncle Tim knows you didn’t mean it like the reindeer did. Peter, you’re a good boy, and Uncle Tim knows that.”

Something squirmed under Dick’s coat until Peter’s arms emerged into the open air and reached for Tim. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Uncle Tim. Sorry.”

It was apparent what Peter wanted, but Tim didn’t reach out to Peter before Dick nodded.

Peter was damp and a little gross but warm and sweet as Tim pulled him out of Dick’s coat. Tim’s coat would need to be washed, but it was worth it when Peter hid his face in it. It was completely different from how he remembered anyone around him being allowed to act during his childhood, but much better. 

Peter sniffed, and the soft fabric wrinkled in his tiny fists. “I’m sorry.”

Tim laid his hand on Peter’s head and ran it over Peter’s soft hair. It barely felt less awkward than patting his head, but Peter calmed down and looked at Tim with watery eyes. “Sorry.”

Tim smiled. Peter’s emotions were volatile, but he was too sweet for anyone to mind. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it like that, but I am a little strange. I think we all are.”

Peter didn’t cry again, but he gasped and turned to look at Dick. “I’m strange?”

Dick did a single downward wave. “Normal is boring, and your tati is also strange.”

Peter shook his head enough for his whole body to shake. “No, Tati is cool!”

Dick shrugged and nodded at Peter’s high praise. “I know, but being a little strange is cool.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, and his eyes seemed to calculate the whole universe before turning his sharp gaze on Tim. His eyes were wide, and his nostrils flared as he kept Tim’s attention hostage. “Then you’re strange, Uncle Tim. Very strange. Very weird.”

Tim's cheeks hurt from smiling, but he relished in the slight pain. 

Chapter Text

Bruce had been particularly reserved that day. Not volatile, but withdrawn somewhere Tim couldn’t crack the code to.

Tim felt like a spring waiting to release its tension all day, but any move he made seemed like the wrong one. Ignoring Bruce felt cruel, but he had angrily left the room when Tim asked him to tell him what was wrong.

The tight ball in Tim’s stomach had only loosened when Bruce had opened his mouth when Tim put his shoes on, but it had tightened even more when Bruce had sighed and turned toward his study.

Tim had thought that Dick would help him figure out how to deal with Bruce’s emotional setback in half an hour when he knocked at Dick’s door, but the gaze that met him held even less life than Bruce’s, even when carrying the source of most of Dick’s joy.

“Hello, Tim,” Dick mumbled and stepped aside to let Tim enter.

Peter snuffed and whined, but went limp with minor rocking and a kiss on his forehead. He was only three months old, but Tim thought babies were supposed to pick up on the atmosphere, and Tim almost choked on the tension.

“What do you need?” Dick asked. His eyes were slightly red, his lips chapped, and his tan skin looked even more gray than the drizzling sky outside or the slush on the dirty ground.

Tim looked around the room. It was just as colorful and only slightly messy, but it seemed like every piece of dust begged him to leave Dick to whatever was affecting him. “I can come back later.”

Tim glanced around the room one last time to look for any signs for how to help or Mary stepping forward to take over as Peter’s mother and Dick’s girlfriend. Unfortunately, there were no signs or other adults to take over.

Dick pulled Peter higher with one arm and stroked a finger over Peter’s cheek and then nose bridge. There was the imprint of a smile on Dick’s lips, but it disappeared as soon as his gaze returned to Tim.

“No, I have time. I always have time for whatever you need.”

Dick’s jaw tensed and he blinked rapidly, but was interrupted when Peter woke from his slumber with a soft but emotional series of cries.

Dick rocked Peter once more and hummed some old, Beatles song, but Peter continued to cry.

Tim almost forgot his dilemma when he watched Dick comforting Peter even when he was visibly going through something. Tim had had nannies who did the same, but they had been paid and expected to find ways to make Tim’s life easier if it didn’t interfere with his parents’ lives. Dick had no such incentives but poured everything into easing Peter’s discomfort.

“Oh, Tikno, don’t cry. We’re okay. Tati’s okay.”

Dick did not sound okay. His smile looked brittle, and he kept sniffing even as he brushed what might have been Peter’s first real tear away.

Tim shuffled his feet and glanced at the closed front door. “Did I come at a bad time?”

Dick looked up even as Peter continued to grunt and whine.

“No, you’re fine. Today is just a sad day, but you’re good. I would rather listen to you than think too much about everything else anyway.”

It was said as if Tim should know what today was about. He had instantly understood it when Bruce had become unstable enough for Alfred to drug his tea on the second Robin’s first death anniversary, and Bruce had cried enough for Alfred to send Tim away on the funeral date. However, that had been over a week ago.

Bruce was allowed to be sad about his son’s death any day of the year, but there shouldn’t have been anything special about today.

Peter hiccupped and Dick touched every part of his face in rapid but confident moves. The touches seemed to lower Peter’s discomfort, but his soft cries continued as Tim tried to figure out how to deal with Dick’s obvious distress.

Tim was a teenager and should have known how to deal with things like this by now, but Dick was supposed to know how to redirect or soothe Bruce when Tim couldn’t. Instead, he seemed to need Tim to keep him upright and safely on the ground, even through whatever storm he was bracing himself for.

Tim had been training, but he was suddenly afraid that he wouldn’t know how to be helpful to Dick when he wasn’t enough for Bruce even on the best days.

Dick sat at the kitchen table and pressed Peter's torso against his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as he placed another kiss on Peter’s head, and looked a little less fragile when he looked up at Tim.

“What do you need?”

Maybe it was the inexperience in dealing with anyone but Bruce or the fatigue after worrying about him twice in quick succession a little over a week ago, but the words still came out regardless of the reason.

“Bruce is acting weird, and I don’t know why. Alfred won’t help, and I don’t know what to do. It’s almost like he was last week and the week before, but different too. He’s not screaming or training, just empty. Gotham needs Batman, but he’s not himself.”

Dick scoffed and glanced at Peter before looking almost as detached as Bruce had all day.

“Maybe Gotham needs Batman, but Bruce should deal with this alone. He’s a grown man who made his choices, and I’m sure Alfred is coddling him more than half of Gotham combined would.”

Tim’s eyes widened, and he scanned Dick’s body for any signs of recent battles or mind control. Things were tense between Dick and Bruce, but they were always cordial. Bruce had only pleasant things to say about Dick, and Dick was neutral, with only the occasional petty jab.

Dick sneered. “You don’t know, do you?”

Tim glanced at Peter who had finally stopped crying and was shaking his fists behind Dick’s back.

Dick inhaled deeply when Tim’s gaze returned on him. "Today is the anniversary of when I returned from space and was told that Jason died. Bruce is probably having a pity party about not having the decency to give me a call before I landed.”

Peter grunted, and Tim’s eyebrows furrowed at the knowledge. He hadn’t considered Dick’s role in it fully when dealing with Bruce’s distress.

Dick was always fine. He had been as sharp as a broken glass bottle when he had told Tim that he would never be Robin again and that Bruce should find some other kid to put through hell, but he hadn’t seemed vulnerable. Just angry and bitter about a history that Tim wasn’t privy to.

Tim glanced at his hands. It was the hands of an aristocrat who never had to do any physical labor, but he was developing calluses that would make his mother cry.

He had been terrified and happy about becoming Robin, especially when he got explicit permission from the Dick Grayson, but he hadn’t understood why Dick wouldn’t want to take up the mantle.

Peter had been born months later and Tim had though that he understood then, but Dick’s current tense shoulders and teeth marks on his dry lips conjured the outline of the reason.

“That must have been hard.”

Dick let out a sharp huff. It almost sounded like laughter, but it was cruel enough for Peter to screech and Dick to have to pull him from his shoulder and into his arms to rock him and hum the same song as before.

Dick had reached what Tim assumed was the chorus when he finally collected his bravery to continue, “It must have been hard to lose him and never get closure.”

Dick’s movements stopped, and he looked at something behind Tim, but when Tim looked over his shoulder, there was nothing.

“I didn’t know your brother, but I can listen if you need to talk to someone.”

Dick closed his eyes at bit his lip before focusing on Tim. His voice was stern but barely loud enough to hear over Peter’s cries.

“No, I will not let you become my emotional sponge.  No child should be that.”

Peter’s arms moved around and Dick looked into his arms with wide eyes. His eyebrows tilted downwards, and his eyes seemed slightly wet when he looked at the baby.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to feel bad because of adults’ problems.”

Tim swallowed and looked around the colorful living room. The yellow couches were garish but looked homely, and the TV was huge. Even Tim’s parents wouldn’t have bought a PVM-4300, but Dick had some time before Tim met him officially, and Tim couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to see something on such a big screen outside of a cinema.

“Do you have a lot of movies?”

Dick moved Peter into a kangaroo hold, pressed Peter’s ear to his heart, and rested his chin on the baby’s head. “I have a few. They’re probably a little old now since I haven’t been into TV for a year, but you can go look.”

Dick had everything from Chuckie to Kindergarten Cop, but Tim thought that he had chosen wisely when he found Back to the Future.

Dick looked even more worn when the movie started, and Peter continued to cry louder than the characters on the screen. Tim was almost ready to leave and try to figure out how to deal with Bruce alone so he could do something right today, when Peter fell asleep to the sound of Lorraine asking Marty to the school dance.

Dick looked tired but relaxed when Tim looked at him. He seemed to lift the world with the corners of his mouth when he smiled, but his eyes crinkled when he inhaled into Peter’s sparse hair.

“Thank you for being here, Tim. You helped me take my mind off today, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to care for me.”

Tim glanced at Peter’s relaxed face and smiled softly.

“I won’t,” Tim lied, but this weight didn’t seem as heavy as before.

Dick scooted over to Tim on the soft couch. “No, I mean it, you’re 13. You’re a child, and no child should feel responsible for an adult’s feelings. So, you can come to me if you need anything. You can come to me with anything, and I’ll listen and try to help you sort it out.”

Peter let out a snort and Dick’s whole body softened.

“Well, if you’re okay with little ears listening. I’m afraid we’re a packaged deal, so no swearing.”

Tim reached a hand out but only made contact when Dick nodded.

Peter wasn’t as chubby as Tim had thought babies were, but he was warm, soft, and made a high-pitched sigh when Tim touched him.

“He can listen.”

Peter smacked his lips and started to whine.

Tim’s gaze turned sharply to Dick, but he was only met with a gentle smile.

Chapter Text

Alfred had tried, but Bruce's birthday had been cake and sorrowful looks from the day his parents had died until Bruce’s wild child came crashing into his study and demanded that Bruce celebrate his birthday with songs and presents.

Dick had always been outstanding in that way and brought Bruce joy only months after Bruce had to stop him from killing Tony Zucco.  

That infectious joy had stopped when Dick had stopped talking to him years ago, and it had slowly crept into Bruce’s life over the two years they had been on speaking terms, but he should have known that it wouldn’t last forever.

Bruce’s bedroom door opened with a loud crash, and he sat up in one harsh movement. His tousled hair and dark under-eye bags told the story of a long patrol, but he was ready for the potential attack in seconds.

He looked around for the threat but only saw Dick leaning on the doorframe.

Dick sighed when he saw Bruce sit up and looked down toward his left. “You woke Pawpaw.”

Bruce turned his gaze down to Dick’s thigh level and saw a beaming face holding a cupcake with a single candle.

“Good morning, Pawpaw!”

Bruce blinked a few times. He could feel everything as he ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his tired eyes, but it still felt like a dream to look at Dick and Peter in the morning light. Last evening had been a daydream of eating dinner together and listening to Dick tugging Peter into bed before they went on patrol on opposite ends of Gotham, but Dick and Peter were still in the manor. They were still with Bruce as the next day arrived. 

“Good morning, Peter,” Bruce’s voice was gruff and he had to clear his throat before glancing at Dick. “Good morning, Dick.”

Dick looked a tired but much more alive than Bruce felt. “Good morning, Bruce.”

Peter jumped toward Bruce with the cupcake and candle in his hands, and Dick’s exhaustion vanished as he hurried after Peter with wide eyes and quick steps. His hands were extended, but Peter arrived at Bruce’s bedside without incident.

“Happy birthday, Pawpaw!”

Bruce furrowed his brows. It took a few seconds for his brain to remember the date with only a few hours of sleep, but he soon remembered it. February 19^th. He was born 39 years ago today.

“Thank you.”

Peter bit his lip and glanced at Dick.

Dick smiled softly at Peter and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, give Pawpaw the cupcake, and then I’ll light it for him.”

Peter nodded vigorously and thrust the cake into Bruce’s face.

“Blow on it, Pawpaw,” he demanded with equal firmness and excitement as soon as Dick leaned back with the lighter, and Bruce could cry. Bruce could really cry.

The little boy that Bruce had taken in over a decade ago was gone. He had been gone before Bruce angered him enough to stop talking to him, but Bruce was allowed to get to know the steady man his once-chaotic son had become and quietly enjoy the happiness Peter brought into the world. His sweet grandson could light up a room just like Dick and would never see the horrors that had haunted everyone else in the family.

“Blow on it!” Peter repeated with a bit more firmness and Dick’s fingers tightened briefly around Peter’s thin shoulder.

Bruce was powerless to do anything but listen to Peter’s demands and blow on the flame until it extinguished, and Peter’s delighted squeal filled the room.

“Happy birthday, Pawpaw,” Peter repeated before continuing with a similar sentiment. “Tati said it is your birthday! Happy birthday, Pawpaw! You get birthday cake!”

Peter had many words at two, but ‘Happy birthday, Pawpaw’ seemed to be his favorite phrase today.

“Thank you, Chum. Is the cupcake for me?”

Peter’s whole body moved with his nods. His shoulders tensed almost as much as his tiny fists just like Dick’s had done in his late preteen years before jumping or swinging on a chandelier.

“You can have cake before real food on your special day” Peter turned around to stare up at Dick. “Right, Tati? He can eat cake?”

Dick tilted his head and looked soft around every edge. “Yes, he can eat the cupcake, but he can also eat it after breakfast or even when he, your uncle Tim, and your aunts are back from school and work. It’s Pawpaw’s day, so he decides when he wants it.”

Peter’s mouth opened, and his light brown eyes sparkled as he looked at the cupcake in Bruce’s hands.

“Do you want it now? Or after food? Alfred is cooking, but it will take a million minutes.”

A million minutes sounded like a huge exaggeration, but Bruce was weak and took a bite of the sweet dessert. It was as delicious as everything Alfred cooked, and the crooked swirls on top of it made it taste like Peter's love. However, Bruce had only woken up after a long night, and his taste buds weren’t as awake as Peter seemed to be in the early morning hours.

Bruce glanced at the time. It was only a little after six, and while Dick was correct that Bruce would need to be at Wayne Enterprises at 8:30 a.m. for a meeting, it was still almost an hour earlier than Bruce had planned to wake up.

“Are your friends gonna sing to you?”

Bruce could barely keep from laughing at the mental image of Lucius Fox singing Happy Birthday or the terrified interns scrambling to earn Bruce’s favor with birthday cards and presents. Bruce often played the part of a clueless billionaire, but today he’d have to do it even better. Hopefully, his employees had prepared something that would make the act easier when all eyes were on him.

Bruce cleared his throat again. “No, I don’t think my colleagues want to sing.”

Peter gasped dramatically with a hand in front of his mouth and furrowed eyebrows. “No singing?”

Peter didn’t wait for a single moment before launching into a slightly off-key version of the birthday song and took a bow when Dick clapped excitedly at the single minute show. It was still dark outside, but Bruce felt like he was lying on the sun as he watched Peter and Dick’s smiles.

Bruce pressed the cupcake paper into a little ball and smiled at Peter’s beaming face. “Thank you for your excellent performance. It was great.”

Peter smiled open-mouthed and his eyes turned into the exact shape of crescent moons as Dick’s did when he was particularly thrilled about something.

Peter’s face soon crinkled into a mischievous smile, and Bruce’s chest tightened in preparation for what his grandson would put him through. Bruce was a young grandfather, but he sometimes felt like the oldest man in the world.

“Can I have cake too?”

Dick let out a huff and smiled softly as he shook his head. “You can get cake later.”

Peter blinked rapidly and tilted his head to look at Dick through his lashes. He always sounded young, any two-year-old did, but he sounded even younger when he plead his case to Dick, “But Pawpaw gets cake now.”

“Is it your birthday?”

Peter frowned and crossed his arms.

“No,” he muttered with his usual voice and glared at the floor.

“Then you have to wait until it’s time to celebrate Pawpaw with a big cake after he returns from work.”

Peter stomped his feet. “I want cake!”

Dick closed his eyes for just long enough for him to exhale deeply. “I know, but you’ll get some this afternoon.”

Peter let out a high-pitched whine and kept stomping his feet. Dick bit his bottom lips tightly at the display but didn't intervene. 

"Cake now!" 

Dick bit his lip even harder and Bruce lifted his blanket to intervene, but stopped at Dick’s sharp look. 

Bruce settled down in the bed at watched as Dick put both hands on Peter's shoulders and moved their faces near each other. 

"I know you're frustrated, but this is Pawpaw's day and not yours." 

Peter took a step back, and Dick's hands fell, but his steady gaze didn't waver as Peter's tears fell and were quickly wiped away with hurried, uncoordinated motions.

Dick's shoulders rose the longer Peter cried, and he only glanced at Bruce when Peter stopped crying quite as loudly and mumbled, "Sorry about this. I know it's not how you pictured your birthday." 

Bruce’s ears hurt, and he wasn't sure what he was allowed to do, but he wouldn't want to be anywhere else, even as Peter continued to cry a little more subdued, but nowhere near as loudly as before.

Peter lifted his face after a few minutes and stared at Dick with huge, brown eyes before turning them on Bruce.

“Pawpaw, can I-“

Dick cut him off sharply before he could ask or Bruce comply to Peter’s demand. “Peter, no. Tati said no, so it’s a no until this afternoon.”

Peter stomped his feet a few more times and pouted. “Why no cake for me? Is it 'cause Pawpaw is old?”

Bruce’s hand lifted to his head. He had seen a few gray hairs hidden in his otherwise pure black hair and was only a year away from turning forty. Peter was only two and had little concept of people’s ages beyond baby, child, or adult, but Peter’s question still tightened Bruce’s stomach into a ball of tension.

Dick kneeled. “Peter, you’re getting cake later, but today is Pawpaw’s day. Did Pawpaw ask why we celebrated you when it was your birthday?”

Peter let his arms fall to his sides and sniffed once. “No.”

“Exactly, so today is about Pawpaw.”

Bruce’s hands twitched at the forlorn look in Peter’s eyes. He should never feel negative emotions, especially when it was just because Bruce was eating a cupcake. Bruce didn’t even need cake on his birthday and would have happily given up his cupcake if he had known Peter wanted it.

Peter rubbed an arm over his eyes and walked into Dick’s waiting arms.

“I want the biggest piece later.”

Dick shook his head but smiled brightly up at Bruce before leaning his cheek on Peter’s head.

“Pawpaw should get the biggest piece, but you can get a second piece if you finish the first one.”

Peter squirreled around in Dick’s arms until he was released and smiled up at Bruce. “I’m gonna sing to you again later! Then we have cake! I love cake. And you’ll get cake too. I love birthdays, and I love you, Pawpaw!”

Bruce looked at Peter’s beaming face and felt something loosen in his chest. It was something old, sharp, and long buried. It didn’t vanish completely as he sat on the bed; Jason's absence and all the missed opportunities to be even half the father Dick was were too great for that to be possible, but Peter brought a light to the darkness Bruce lived in.

Bruce smiled and didn’t dread getting older for the first time in years.

Chapter Text

Babs, Steph, and Cass didn’t have the time for many spa days, but they usually bought premade masks when they had one together. Babs had attempted to find some masks that were suitable for seven-year-olds after Peter asked to join them, but all the ingredients were too harsh for young skin, according to what Dick said before dropping Haley the dog off at Wayne Manor and leaving on his multi-day mission.

“Is it turning out okay?” Babs asked from her wheelchair, with a clear view of the open-concept kitchen.  

Steph sent a look over her shoulder. “I think that I can deal with the two-ingredient recipe.” 

Peter finished slicing the cucumber, glancing over at Steph’s bowl of yogurt and honey as he did.

Babs hadn’t ever seen anyone use cucumber on their eyes outside of movies, but Peter could have almost anything that brought him joy, and buying a cucumber was the easiest request that Babs had been given since she was eighteen years old. 

Steph paused in mixing the yogurt mask to look on as Peter arranged the cucumber slices on a wooden board. “I’m kinda shocked your dad lets you use a knife this sharp.”

Peter tilted his head toward his shoulder and hummed before eating a slice and looking up at Steph. “Tati and I cook together all the time, and Grandpapa Alfie always says that a dull knife is much more dangerous than a sharp one. He says that dull ones slip, so I’ve been given sharp knives for a while now.” 

Peter walked over to Babs and Cass to set the board on the coffee table, crawled up the recliner, leaned back, and pulled the lever until he could lean back like the little prince that Dick sometimes called him. The sight only got more stereotypical and adorable as he crawled back to the table to collect two slices of cucumber and his glass of lemonade before sitting with his feet up. His glasses were smeared almost instantly, but the slices stayed in place remarkably well, and he looked ready to devolve into the recliner. 

Steph finished mixing and turned around with a short laugh. “Oh my god, Peter, you’re so dope.” 

Peter lifted his lemonade in a toast before putting his arms on the armrests and turning his face up toward the ceiling. 

Babs’ stomach bubbled at Peter’s display. His cheeks looked incredibly soft from her seat, and he looked far more relaxed than Babs had seen him in weeks.

“Ready for face masks?” 

Peter didn’t answer verbally, but the way that he put his glasses and lemonade on the table made his stance clear.

Maybe it was a little gross, but Babs loved the wet and chilly feeling of the mixture between her fingers as they all put their hands in the mixing bowl and smeared the contents on each other’s faces. 

It felt almost like being a child again, even when she was caring for one today. 

She swept a finger over Peter's nose bridge, and his face scrunched like it did when he was being forced to wear sun cream, but he didn’t protest like he did every summer. He just looked young, slightly uncomfortable, but content with everything.

Peter’s face was quickly off-white, and he blinked up at her with a soft smile and scooped up as much of the honey-yogurt mixture as he could with his tiny hands. 

Babs’ glasses had been between her eyes and the world since she was a child, and her throat constricted at the thought of letting one near her now unprotected eyes with perishables.

Peter was an excellent child in every way, but her heart knocked on her ribcage with every memory of Peter falling, dropping, or breaking something with uncoordinated movements. It had only been a few years since he had semi-regularly pressed hard enough on paper to break both it and his pencils, and there was no Dick to replace it if he poked her eyes out. 

However, her throat relaxed and her pulse settled when she felt his small hands gingerly apply the mask to her face. The view of Steph and Cass was slightly blurry without her glasses, but she caught Cass flinching when Steph smeared the mask under her eyebrow while Peter made sure to keep a distance from Babs’ eyes.

Every movement was so slow and deliberate that Steph and Cass had washed and dried their hands before Peter announced that he was done with Babs’ mask.

Cass walked back into the room as Peter sprinted toward the sink. “Can I push you?”

Babs glanced at her hands and then at her chair. “Yes, please.”

Cass tilted her head and looked almost as young and eager as Peter when she left Babs at the sink, and was just as relaxed when Babs wheeled herself toward the sight of Steph putting Cass’ black hair with the white mixture into small pigtails.

“Look at me!” Peter demanded and did something resembling a somersault onto the recliner.

The corners of Babs’ mouth lifted, and she shook her head with every slow clap.

Steph whistled and Cass clapped much faster and louder than Babs, but Peter’s broad smile and shining eyes were fixed on Babs. She almost felt like she was floating when she looked at him, but her arms still strained when she pulled herself onto the couch.

Peter bit his lip and swallowed when his teeth scraped a bit of the face mask off. “What now?”

Babs loosened her shoulders and leaned back. “Now we relax for twenty minutes.”

Peter gave a curt nod, leaned toward the table for another pair of cucumber slices and his lemonade, and relaxed all his muscles.

Babs’ dad usually went straight for the recliner when he visited, but no one had ever looked as comfortable as Peter did in it. 

Peter grabbed some of the cucumber slices and chewed on them before leaning back once more. “I can understand why you do this. It’s very relaxing and I need at least a hundred days like this.” 

Steph let out a huff of laughter. “What do you have to be that stressed about? You’re seven.” 

Peter turned his head slowly and pulled a cucumber slice off his face. “Most of my family is in danger almost every night.” 

It wasn't said with a wave of sadness or bitter resentment, but something far worse: factual acceptance. 

Babs, Cass, and Steph shared a wide-eyed look before Steph replied with a strangled voice. “That’s fair.” 

Peter sent Steph a disturbingly sweet smile, put the cucumber back, leaned back into the recliner, and hummed happily as he crossed his legs. “This is so nice.” 

Cass and Steph leaned back, but Babs couldn’t look away from Peter. He was happy, but still so small. Small enough that Babs could still carry him and coo at his every noise and movement, but he was no longer the baby that Babs had panicked about holding or the reason she learned how to change a baby’s diaper while not being able to stand.

The Joker had changed her life forever in an instant. He had taken her ability to walk and the possibility of carrying a pregnancy to term, but Babs had been able to see a baby grow into a fantastic boy. A little boy who needed spa days at seven to deal with his daily life. A little boy who lit up everyone’s lives but seemed to have a darkness inside of him. 

A wave of guilt swept over her, so sudden and intense that the mask’s sweetness became cloying and too acidic all at once.

Peter sipped his lemonade and let out a slight hum. “You need to relax, Auntie Babs.” 

Babs smiled at Peter even as he couldn’t see it through the cucumber slices and the way that he was lying like the little royal boy he was. 

Babs closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth until the timer filled the room with incessant ringing and opened her eyes to Cass jumping out of the couch to prepare four warm towels to remove the masks and four dry ones to pat their faces with.

“My skin is super soft now!” Peter exclaimed as soon as everyone had cleaned their faces.

Babs looked over to see him squish his cheeks. Their eyes met, and Peter looked at Babs’ damp face and beamed. “Your face is radiant, Auntie Babs!” 

“Nice word,” Cass commented and received a massive smile from Peter. His smile was far bigger and far more carefree than something should be able to be only twenty minutes after sharing any big worries. 

“Thank you. Jason taught it to me last month, and your skin is glowing, and Steph’s skin looks… incandescent! Jason taught that to me, too!” 

Babs swallowed the heavy feeling in her throat. If Peter was carefree and happy, then she could be too. “Your skin looks lovely too, Peter. It looks very soft and radiant.” 

Peter looked at Babs with his incandescent eyes and glowing smile. “Thank you so much. Can I join you three the next time that you’re having a spa day?” 

“Of course,” Cass piped up. 

Steph gasped dramatically. “But we’re not done yet. We need manicures to end the spa treatment.” 

Peter looked at his hands. “Tati cut my nails a few days ago, so I don’t think that there’s anything to do with them.” 

Babs put her hands on the couch to stretch and look at Peter’s hands. “You’re right about your nails not needing to be cut, but you can use some nail oil.”

Peter bit his bottom lip and nodded feverishly. 

Steph put nail oil on Peter. “And now you massage it into the skin.”

Peter looked at his nails with sharp eyes and gave a curt nod before massaging the tips of his fingers. His sheer determination was almost enough for Babs to forget to apply nail oil on herself, but she remembered when Cass poked her shoulder with the bottle. 

Peter was still massaging his fingers when Babs, Steph, and Cass went into the kitchen to wash their hands and brought in the nail polish. There were both neutral and bright colors, but Peter stayed on the recliner and looked forlornly at it. He kept massaging his fingers, but it suddenly looked half-hearted, and Babs’ fingers twitched at how lonely his little hands looked.

Cass followed Babs’ gaze to Peter. “You can wear some too if you wash the excess oil from your hands.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows and turned his gaze to his hands. “No, I can’t wear nail polish.” 

Steph crossed her legs on the couch. “We asked Dick when arranging the spa day, and he said that it was okay with him and Mary.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed even more, and he swallowed. “No, one of the fifth graders wore nail polish once, and even the ones from my grade teased him. They called him really mean names.”

Babs’ heart might have broken in two at that, and her eyes watered as she tried to think of the right words to say. Everything felt wrong, but she blurted out the least horrible ones a split second before anyone choked on the silence. “We don’t need to wear nail polish.” 

Peter shook his head with quick and large movements. “You can wear nail polish. I’ll watch.” 

Cass pursed her lips and hummed before looking at Peter’s downcast face. “It’s Friday. You can wear nail polish all weekend and borrow some nail polish remover before Monday.” 

Peter’s head lifted in slow but steady movements. “Really? Can I have pretty nails all weekend?” 

Steph lifted her hands and put them down with spread fingers. “First of all, you’re always pretty. Second of all, yes, you can have pretty nails all weekend and then remove the nail polish if you’re worried the assholes will tease you.”

Peter smiled brightly as he looked at all the colors. “Can I have all the colors?” 

Babs looked at the nail polishes. “You only have ten fingers, but yes, you can paint all your nails a different color if you want. You can even paint your toenails, and then you have twenty nails to paint.” 

Peter gasped and put his fingers on his chin. “That would be so cool!” 

Peter had to be reminded to wash the nail oil from his fingers before he could put nail polish on, but Peter’s nails and the skin surrounding said nails were brightly colored before long. She should have known that Peter didn’t do anything by half, and the neutral colors didn’t receive a second look, but her eyes stung and her stomach flipped when she saw how young and happy he looked among all the colors. 

Babs was happy with her brownish pink nails, but Peter beamed as he looked at his two red and two blue nails in different nuances in addition to the yellow, orange, purple, pink, darker pink, and green nails. His toenails received the same number of colors, but there was no attempt at creating a pattern otherwise.

Peter almost vibrated as he looked at his toenails drying when Babs wheeled over to him. 

“Wow, that looks great.” 

Peter lifted both feet and extended his hands toward Babs. “I know, right? They’re so colorful!”

Babs’ nails fit her much better than any of the bright colors Peter wore, but he should always wear as many colors as possible. Maybe she could even introduce him to glitter and watch his nails try to shine as brightly as he did.

Peter’s hands didn’t look lonely anymore, but she took them anyway and admired Peter’s messy but beautiful nail polish application.

“You look perfect.”

Peter’s cheeks turned as dark pink as one of his nails, and Babs admired how they shone even more when Babs gently touched his soft cheeks.

Chapter Text

The drive from Gotham to Blüdhaven was boring. Damian couldn’t speed off in the middle of rush hour, but he still had to keep looking out for idiots who didn’t know how to drive and idiots who liked to wave guns around. Even the radio was only full of static and boy bands.

At least he didn’t have to wait for Grayson or inconvenience Pennyworth now that he could legally drive himself at seventeen. He learned to drive at nine, but Grayson and Pennyworth were annoyingly insistent that he only drive unsupervised after getting his probationary driver’s license.

By the time he pulled into Grayson’s neighborhood, the thrill of independence without future nagging had already faded. The houses were neat, but everything looked washed out in the gray January light — even the grass was damp from the thaw and dead from frostbite. 

The door was unlocked and swung open immediately when he pushed it, revealing Grayson and Peter singing an ABBA song at full volume. The stereo blared in the kitchen, and neither of them sang with even half the finesse Damian knew Grayson was capable of.

Damian's gaze moved downward, and he saw Haley, the dog, who usually greeted him with an energetic bark, was too caught up in the music, turning in circles when Peter did, and jumping with Grayson.

“She said, ‘I'm sure we must be perfect for each other. And if you doubt it, you'll be certain when you meet my mother’,” Grayson sang-screamed at his tall girlfriend as he slowly fell to his knees. He looked almost as if he were praying to her, despite it being the punchline of the singer finding out that an ad for companionship was for both Alice Whiting and her mother.

Koriand’r was dressed modestly for her and sitting inconspicuously at the kitchen table. Still, her huge, bright red hair and orange skin would have given her away even if she had swapped her crop top for a full blouse.

Her unnerving green eyes locked onto Damian as he closed the front door behind himself, and she gave him a wide smile. 

He almost smiled back, but her bewildered gaze shifted toward Grayson as he jumped up and started marching with Peter in sync with the synthesizers. Damian's gaze turned farther down, and he watched as Haley tried to keep up despite her tail wagging so wildly that her three legs nearly gave out. 

Damian returned his gaze to Peter, who was leaning back laughing, while Grayson held him up by his arms before swinging him around to the music. It probably wasn’t advisable for developing joints and ligaments, even if Peter’s hypermobility came from his father and a touch of metagene from his mother.

The synthesizer slowed down, and the sound lessened until Peter was deposited on the floor, and both he and Grayson were breathing heavily.

Grayson leaned over Peter, hands on his knees, and smiled, holding the mood of the whole room up. “One more song and then Damian will be here.”

Peter threw his closed fists toward the ceiling. “Yay!”

“I am present,” Damian mumbled, but both Peter and Grayson turned their faces toward Damian right as the next song started about a girl leaving for school in the early morning. Haley ran as fast as her legs could carry her over to Damian. She grunted happily when he scratched her head, but quickly went back into the kitchen.

Grayson placed a hand on his chest, took a deep breath, and twisted his face into an unflattering and exaggerated version of his real crying face. “Oh, you have your license and don't need me to drive you anymore.”

Damian furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at Koriand’r and Peter. “Yes, that was the intention with the theory test and supervised driving for the last six months.”

Grayson put a hand over his mouth and keened. It was pathetic and flattering at the same time. Haley barked once and sniffed Grayson's leg, but no one seemed concerned otherwise. 

“You’re so grown and slipping through my fingers. Soon you’ll leave me.” Grayson glanced at Peter, still lying on the floor and looking wide-eyed at his father’s antics. “And you’re already eight and will get your license in nine short years, Peter.”

Damian sighed and removed his wet shoes and walked into the kitchen against his better judgment. “I’m sure you and Peter will have many years together even after he grows up.”

Grayson stumbled toward Damian and threw his strong arms around him. The height difference shouldn’t have mattered, except as a sign of success. Damian had expected to grow taller than Grayson. It only made sense since Damian's father was taller than Grayson, and his mother was several inches above the national average for a woman.

They had once calculated their probable heights in biology, and Damian was supposed to be around 6'1" when fully grown. He was already seventeen and might have already reached his full height, but listening to the singer say her daughter keeps growing and looking down, down, at Grayson was unnerving.

Grayson sniffed loudly and dramatically before pulling himself away from Damian’s unresponsive body and tapping his index finger against his shoulder with a flat hand.  “It feels like yesterday that you were this tall.”

Damian cleared his throat and walked over to help Peter up from the floor. It wouldn’t do to let him inhale dirt or get cold.

“Holy sleeping, Kory, you won’t believe how cute Damian and Peter were when they came down to the breakfast table every morning in the manor. It was just me and my boys for a while, and both of them would rub their eyes and wait for me to prepare breakfast. It was so cute, especially when Peter still used his binky and Damian tried to look tough with his chubby cheeks.”

Koriand’r patted Grayson’s back with hard enough pats to push Grayson's breath out in huffs and pressed his face down into her bosom. It didn’t look overtly sexual, but Damian still put his hand in front of Peter’s innocent eyes.

“There, there, Dick. Damian and Peter are simply developing into adult humans.”

Grayson groaned loudly and muffled. “Do Tamaraneans grow up this fast?”

Koriand’r shook her head and pressed Grayson even more into her breast. “No, we have very long lifespans, so our childhoods are noticeably longer than yours.”

Grayson leaned away from her and bent at his hips until he touched his toes. “Please give me a million Tamaranean babies, Kory. I need babies that won't grow up on me.”

Damian felt a surge of adrenaline at the glint in Koriand’r's eyes and prepared himself to shield Peter's ears when she opened her plump lips. Peter had above-average hearing, but Damian could attempt to preserve his purity from the alien's lack of decorum. 

Fortunately, she closed her mouth when Grayson lifted his head and smiled at Damian and Peter with white teeth and glowing blue eyes. “Or even better, make those two stop growing up so fast. I’m too old for this kind of heartbreak.”

Damian had heard Todd’s comments about Grayson’s age, but a few months away from thirty wasn’t very old. Father was turning forty-four next month and was still a fearsome foe for the criminals of Gotham.

Peter’s small but superhumanly strong hands pulled Damian’s hand away from his face. “But you’re young enough for a million Tamaranean babies with Kory?”

Damian felt a surge of pride throughout his whole body and hummed and nodded in response to Peter’s clever observation and question. Peter turned his gaze upon Damian and sent a curt nod back. 

Grayson groaned and threw a hand over his wrinkle-free forehead. “I know, but you and Damian keep me young, so I need you kids to stay young forever.”

Grayson didn’t seem seriously injured at the prospect of Peter and Damian growing up, but Damian still rolled his eyes and shook his head in Peter's direction. His slight smile quickly grew into something too genuine for most people to gaze upon, and he turned his back toward Koriand’r to bask in how dramatically Peter rolled his eyes in response. 

“Hey, kids, it’s not nice to bully your poor father or former legal guardian. I house and water you, and this is the thanks I get? And here I was considering cooking you two ungrateful children dinner.”

Damian put a hand on Peter’s thin shoulder. It would not have taken a lot of convincing for someone to believe in Grayson’s unwarranted threats of starvation if they hadn’t seen that the oven was on and presumably baking a vegetarian dish.

Damian turned to look at Grayson and was met with the view of Koriand'r letting a finger brush over Grayson's upper back. "Don't worry, Dick. I know ways to both show gratitude for a great evening and keep you young with or without any future children." 

Damian wrinkled his nose and steered Peter toward the kitchen door. “Come, Peter, I can legally drive and get us away from their demented antics."

Grayson straightened up. “Are you really leaving? I mean you can leave for an hour or two, of course, but I’ll have to get Peter’s booster seat from my car before you can take him anywhere, and dinner will be done soon.”

Peter threw his head back, and his glasses looked as though they would have flown off, but miraculously stayed in place. “I’ve been eight for months. When can I lose that seat?”

Grayson put his hands on his hips. “When you’re at least 4’9” and over 80 pounds and not a moment before.”

Peter scowled at Damian’s tall frame before walking over to stand by Grayson’s.

Grayson was slightly taller than the average American male, but Damian often forgot it unless he was standing next to Peter, who still needed almost half an inch to reach his elbows.

“That’s forever away," Peter complained and crossed his arms. 

Grayson’s eyes shone when he smiled down at Peter and ran a hand through his hair. Peter puffed out his cheeks, but he still leaned his head back to get the full experience of Grayson petting him. “Yeah, it will be a while before you’re that tall.”

The singer once more sang about the daughter waving goodbye with an absentminded smile before the next song began with a slow melody about nostalgia, and Peter leaned into Grayson’s side.

Damian huffed and crossed his arms. “Putting in a booster seat sounds bothersome, and you promised riz au lait as a dessert, so I guess Peter and I will take our chances of you deciding to feed us.”

Grayson squinted his eyes with his smile and reached his free hand out toward Damian. Haley snuffled around and stretched her neck, but Grayson kept his arm up for Damian to take his hand. 

It was embarrassing to let Koriand’r observe such private moments, and Damian letting himself be pulled into Grayson’s and Peter’s inane behavior. Still, he grunted and braved the short distance and let Grayson hold his son against his side and hold Damian’s hand with the other.

Grayson turned to look at Koriand’r over his shoulder. “You know what, Kory? Maybe I don’t need a million babies. I already have two amazing babies to hold in my two hands. Who needs more than that?”

Koriand’r sat back on her kitchen chair and crossed one thick thigh over the other before gently petting Haley as she walked over to her chair. “Good, because Tamaranean gestational periods are quite a bit longer than I understand human gestational periods are, and a million of those would be bothersome. I would not subject myself to that.”

Grayson nodded enough for his body and Peter’s face to move. “You know what? You’re so right, at least nine million months would be a very long time for someone to be pregnant.”

Peter’s glasses were crooked, but it didn’t stop his wide-eyed look or shaking his head in Damian’s direction. Damian rolled his eyes, and a beaming smile appeared on Peter's face.

Chapter Text

Duke never thought he would enjoy entertaining a child, but Peter’s constant smiles made the tough days easier. Whether it was a patrol gone wrong or days when Duke couldn’t bear thinking about what happened to his parents, Peter was always eager to brighten everyone’s day. So, Duke happily volunteered to entertain Peter when he was dropped off at the manor while his parents worked.

Duke’s powers were usually used to hide or intimidate criminals, but Peter was smiling and clapping as he watched Duke’s unpracticed shadow tricks.

“Uh! It's The Little Prince on the Moon!” Peter said enthusiastically as one shadow jumped from ball to ball. 

“Exactly.” Duke smiled and tried to figure out what a prince had to do with what was meant as a penguin jumping from glacier to glacier. 

“Can you make him meet the fox?” 

It was challenging to make shadows look detailed, but having a little cheerleader made the experience of practicing amazing. The results were subpar, but Peter smiled even bigger when he saw a shadow with a bushy tail.

“Uncle Duke, do you want to see something that I can do?” Peter asked several minutes later with hopeful eyes. 

“Sure.” Duke mentally prepared himself to seem properly impressed with a handstand or maybe a crumpled drawing from Peter’s pocket. Peter was talented at gymnastics and could draw fine, but he was still six years old and would occasionally show the same accomplishment multiple times.

However, Duke didn’t have to fake his surprise when Peter took off his glasses and then performed a perfect backward handstand.

He was about to clap when all his energy had to focus on hiding how his stomach fell and his mouth dried up when Peter took hold of his ankles and let himself fall to the ground, and then smiled at Duke with his butt right behind his head. The smile was as innocent and joyful as always, but it made the display even more terrifying. 

Duke carefully pinched himself, but the pain changed nothing about the scene. It was still something straight out of a horror movie, and he had seen enough to know that the black character was almost always the first to die horribly.  “Wow, that was some trick.” 

Peter’s face fell momentarily at Duke’s unenthusiastic tone. Duke usually loved it when Peter smiled, but he only felt dread as the smile widened again. 

Peter put his feet on the ground and pulled his torso over the floor to stand up, and then sat down only to stretch his legs over his shoulder. Duke knew logically that Peter had bones, but everything moved with a fluidity that didn’t seem to include anything harder than cartilage and eldritch horrors.

Peter's eyes widened, and Duke clapped quickly, desperate to avoid seeing more nightmare fuel. He and Tim genuinely liked horror movies, but seeing body horror in real life would haunt him for years to come. He never knew when a scene like that would arise, but at least he was prepared when starting a movie.

Peter’s face fell again, but he didn’t remove his legs from his shoulders. “Didn’t you like the tricks?” 

Duke took a deep breath. He was a smart guy who had qualified as a finalist for the Gotham Genius grant at the age of twelve, and he couldn’t let a six-year-old think that he wasn’t impressive for moving in a way that Duke had always hoped was only movie magic. 

Peter might look like a nightmare demon, but he was still Duke’s little cheerleader, and it was time for Duke to remember his vigilante training and ignore how petrified he felt.

He inhaled deeply and put on an almost genuine smile that only took the tip off Peter’s downcast face. 

“It was magnificent,” Duke said, and he only had to wonder for a second if Peter knew the meaning of the word before he smiled brightly. 

Peter looked like himself if Duke concentrated only on his bright smile and ignored the feet around his ears. It was almost enough to ease the churning in his stomach. “Really? You liked it?” 

Duke nodded with every word. “It was unlike anything that I have ever seen.” 

Peter changed which arm to lean on and looked like he would tilt to the side for a moment. “Do you think the others would like it?” 

Horror had coated the inside of Duke’s entire body with oil, but Peter’s words lit a fire to it, and his lips lifted in a grin. The others had been trained for far longer than Duke had, but perhaps he could amplify the horror until every one of them was ready to pee their pants. “How do you feel about some more shadow shows while you show the others your tricks?” 

“That would look so cool!” 

Duke’s eyes and cheeks hurt a little from how huge and maniacal he smiled. He must have looked like a dark brown Joker, but Peter didn’t seem to mind. Good, he needed Peter to shine bright as he made the shadows dance around Peter and his contortions.

Duke had pulled almost everyone to see Peter’s show before long. Bruce was unavailable in the Watchtower, and Babs was not at the manor at the moment, but everyone else either had the night off or was waiting to suit up until after dinner. Even Alfred paused dinner to watch the show. 

And what a spectacular show it was. Peter moved as if his limbs were secured with loose strings, and everyone looked far more terrified than Duke would have thought possible.

Peter almost stopped performing at one point, but kept going when Duke yelled encouragement and was rewarded with Peter lying on his side and pulling his legs behind himself to put his feet under his chin while Duke made the shadows a little longer. Peter even started to crawl on the wall at one point. He only crawled a few feet up before falling, but the way he moved his legs was satisfyingly petrifying even without Duke changing the light and shadows.

Peter eventually walked to the middle of the floor and bowed sweetly. Only the sound of Peter’s breath filled the room to the point that Duke wondered if he should have made Peter stop in the middle of the performance to use his inhaler instead of only right before.

Peter lifted his head, and his eyes widened until Duke clapped loudly. “Wuhu! You go, Pete!”

Peter jumped up with the praise. His eyes shone with glee, and his wavy hair swayed with each movement, creating an adorable display of pride. It was almost enough for Duke to forget the intention of the show, but nothing could stop him from basking in everyone else’s reactions.

Alfred seemed uncharacteristically stunned, Jason looked to be either praying or cursing, and Damian ran towards Duke and pulled him down by the collar of his shirt to stare him down with far more strength than any fifteen-year-old should possess. “Thomas, what the hell did you do to Peter? What was that?”

“Nothing, he was just doing tricks.” Duke turned his head and eyes enough to see Peter standing confused, and he had pulled his shirt into his mouth. “Right, Peter? You were just having fun?” 

Peter nodded and shuffled his feet. “Didn’t you like it? Did I do something wrong? I practiced forever, but did I do something wrong?” 

“No, it was so good,” Stephanie tried, but sounded as unsure about her own words as Duke suspected he had earlier.

"Yes, quite," Alfred agreed, but looked a little pale. 

“Do you want to see it again?” Peter asked with an eager smile. 

“No!” Tim cried out. “Please don’t.” 

Peter’s sweet little mouth turned down, and his eyes became misty at everyone’s reaction, and he started to sniff.

It could be sadness, disappointment, or confusion about everyone's reaction, and Duke’s shoulders felt heavy when Peter hid his face in his arms. 

Duke pushed Damian in the hope that he would let go, but Duke only succeeded in stretching his shirt further when Jason walked over to Peter with long, quick steps. 

Peter looked up with sorrowful eyes before making a dejected and high-pitched sigh. His legs were limp when Jason lifted him, but his arms circled Jason's neck as soon as it was within reach. 

Jason leaned his head on Peter's and ran a hand through the hair on the back of his head. “Thank you for the show, Pipsqueak.”

Peter still looked unsure and far too sad when he lifted his head. Duke thought that he would be haunted by the image of someone’s limbs moving like Peter’s had, but instead, he felt a deep sense of guilt at Peter’s dead eyes as he realized that not everyone liked his physical abilities. 

Peter sniffed and opened his mouth a few times before he could utter any words. “Did you like it? Like really, really liked it?” 

Jason’s smile was a little tight, but his voice sounded almost warm as he answered, “I’ll be thinking about your performance for the rest of my life.”

Duke fell on the floor as Damian let go of him.

Damian lifted his chin and gave Peter a definitive nod. “It was remarkable, Peter. Far better than any of the other imbeciles could do.” 

Peter looked between Damian, Jason, Duke, and his smile replaced his frown, and the smile only grew and grew as Alfred, Steph, Cass, and Tim sounded more sincere with their compliments. 

Duke looked over at Tim as he walked over to him after having praised Peter to the sky and back. “He’s a meta, right?” 

Duke huffed out a laugh. “You saw him crawl on the wall.”

Tim’s eyes widened, and his face paled. “That wasn’t you or suction cups or something? That was him?”

Duke smiled as he watched Peter being let down on the floor to do a handstand with Cass and Steph at his sides. Peter eventually fell, and Damian pulled him up by his collar before brushing him off, all while Peter mirrored Jason’s habit of giving a shaking thumbs-up at people.

Duke returned his attention to Tim. “He’s not only flexible, but it can’t be normal for a six-year-old to be able to carry his weight with one arm that easily. Plus, I’ve seen metas with enhanced flexibility, but not like that, so he’s either a meta or possessed by a demon.” 

Tim cleared his throat and started to look less gray and just pale. “Dick’s going to freak.” 

Duke nodded as Damian started to train Peter in high kicks that reached Peter’s scalp. Peter was truly remarkable, with a sharp mind and frightening abilities, and Dick was going to scream so satisfyingly when they told him. Perhaps Peter would even consider doing another show, and Duke would get to watch Dick torn between horror and pride. 

It would be glorious, and Dick would never let Peter look as dejected as he did before. 

Chapter Text

The world hadn’t ended today, but it didn’t mean that Bruce wasn’t bone tired after the fiftieth meeting about how it almost did. Diana had shouted about better strategies, and Hal had said something stupid about keeping the balance in the universe. 

At least Bruce could come home and relax. All his kids had too much energy, and Peter had even more, so hopefully they had tired each other out, and Bruce could relax with his kids before either helping the ones keeping Gotham safe or pretending not to keep an eye on everyone from the manor. Maybe one of the dogs, Alfred the cat, or Peter would keep him warm while he listened to his kids put their lives in danger. 

“Po-po-po-po Pawpaw!” Peter beatboxed playfully with hand signs and a wide stance as Bruce descended the stairs.

Bruce cleared his throat and tried to look more awake than he felt. “Hello, Peter.”

“Pawpaw!” Peter screeched, and Bruce’s fast reflexes were the only things saving him from an ocean of pain by putting his hands on Peter’s shoulders and stopping him from headbutting Bruce directly between his legs or in his lower stomach. 

Peter extended his arms and puffed out his cheeks. His eyes were steely, and his eyebrows furrowed until Bruce bent down to lift Peter into his arms and received both a smile and a firm grip around his head.

“Mmm,” Peter hummed, and Bruce was sure he could hear his skull splintering, but he finally felt relaxed after a very long day.

Bruce ran a hand over Peter's back and savored the warmth and scent of him. “Did you have a good day, Bambi?”

The top of Peter's head dug into Bruce’s eye as he nodded. It made stars form, but Bruce rubbed Peter's back a little more. “Yeah, I did tricks. I don’t think everyone liked them, but they said I was good, and Uncle Jay lifted me when I got sad. I’m not sad now, but I like you lifting me anyway. Mommy don’t lift me anymore, even when I get sad, but you do, and I love it.”

“I’ll carry you for as long as you would like,” Bruce settled on and considered if he dared to walk with Peter in his arms when said child was blocking half of his vision. “What were the tricks?”

Peter giggled. It was sweet and pure evil, just like Dick the first time he had met The Justice League. “I’m not supposed to tell you yet. It’s a secret.”

“A secret?” Bruce asked, and looked down at Peter’s beaming face. Gotham had been grim Bruce’s whole life, and Blüdhaven had even more crime, but Peter was a shining light in every room. Something pure that Bruce still couldn’t believe they had preserved in the oily streets, where only one drop would be visible in him forever.

Peter raised his arms and screamed in Bruce’s ear, “Yeah! A secret until you and Tati come home. Uncle Duke is helping me again, and Aunt Steph is going to be my spotter.”

The volume hurt, but the pure trust was amazing. Children and adults trusted Batman, but not even his kids trusted Bruce Wayne enough to consider not having anything to hold on to. Peter, on the other hand, seemed to be actively trying to see how much he could move and still be held securely in Bruce’s arms.

“Wow, that sounds exciting.”

Peter was many things: clever, adorable, kind, funny, and much more, but he was still a child, and kept secrets and details about surprises from his family, as one would expect from a newly six-year-old. It was a gift and a curse when most of his family had secret identities, but so far, he hadn’t revealed anything to outsiders besides his love and admiration for his family.

 “It’s going to be so-.“ Peter froze, and Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed in worry until Peter’s hands landed on Bruce’s cheeks, and he whispered. “Tati is coming home.”

Bruce listened but heard nothing but the slight chatter of his kids before Peter sprang out of Bruce’s arms and ran toward the front door, and waited for almost a minute before Bruce heard a car engine in front of the manor.

“Tati!” Peter cheered and raised his arms when the door opened.

Dick raised his arms and echoed the sheer excitement. “Peter!”

“You’re back!”

“I am!”

Peter shook his raised fists and spread his legs slightly. “Throw me!”

“Oh-kay!” Dick nodded and let his arms fall as his knees bent, then lifted and threw Peter into the air. The manor ceiling was high, but Bruce’s throat closed anyway as Peter flew through the air and landed safely in Dick’s arms a few times. It was the same tight feeling he experienced when watching his kids swing between rooftops with only grappling hooks the first few thousand times he was out with them, until it started returning only at infrequent intervals.

“Higher, higher!” Peter demanded, but Dick just laughed and threw Peter with even less power.

Peter giggled anyway, and Dick stopped throwing Peter and kissed his forehead with bated breath.

“Welcome home, Chum,” Bruce said from the front seat of Dick and Peter’s love.

Dick’s head turned, and he sent Bruce a soft smile. “Thanks, B. Was it a good JL meeting?”

Bruce hummed. “It was fine, how was work?”

Dick shrugged with Peter pressed tightly against his torso. “Eh, fine, but it’s amazing to come home to this kind of reception.”

Peter inhaled deeply but whispered into Dick’s ear. It was too low for Bruce to hear without any gadgets, but Dick’s widened eyes and lifted eyebrows would have been a clue enough even if he hadn’t asked, “Uh, a secret or surprise for Pawpaw and me? Can I see it now?”

Peter nodded and threw himself backward in a sharply arched back and went limp. His hair spread like a brown halo around his head, and his face reddened slightly before long. It was only Dick’s grip on his legs that kept him secure, but there was nothing but smiles and a demand to be carried toward the living room.

“What? Am I a horse now?” Dick asked and stood still as Peter pulled himself upright with an offered hand, only to climb onto Dick’s shoulders.

“Giddy up, Tati.”

Dick placed a hand on each of Peter’s shins, neighed, and galloped around the entry hall a few times before trotting toward the training room at Peter's direction.

“Wow, I love what you’ve done with the place,” Dick mused and casually walked in with Bruce behind him.

Bruce had not been nervous about the secret until now. Dick had done a lot for Peter to take pride in all his accomplishments, and Bruce celebrated each average or amusing win. Still, the amount of care that had been put into hanging Bruce’s longest tablecloth from Dick’s gymnastics rings and pulling the landing mat in the middle of one of the walls seemed excessive for what Bruce had expected to be energetic cartwheels with Steph keeping Peter safe as his spotter. 

“You and Pawpaw gotta sit there,” Peter demanded, pointing to a spot in front of the landing mat, only to protest when Dick stopped in the middle of that space. “No, no, you have to park to the side. No, the other side.”

“I think you’re messing up your metaphors there, boro rai mea. Am I a horse or a car?”

Peter extended his tongue and crossed his eyes in Bruce’s direction before straightening his face and demanding to be let down, and for Bruce to sit close to Dick’s left. Bruce looked around, but the room was only filled with Bruce's kids and grandson. Alfred always knew when something was happening, and Bruce's mind was spinning with all the possibilities of why he wouldn't be present for Peter's performance or why Damian would be complicit in whatever Bruce was about to experience. 

“Ready for the show, Pete?” Duke asked and extended a hand toward Peter.

Peter’s glasses moved with his growing smile before he took them off and gave them to Dick. “Now I am.”

Duke’s hand tightened slightly around Peter's shoulder before letting go and moving behind Dick and Bruce. He kept out of sight as the show seemed to begin with Steph deepening her voice and throwing her arms around. “I would like to present the great, the amazing, the talented, Peter Patrick Grayson.”

The rest of Bruce’s kids clapped, and someone wolf-whistled as Steph stepped toward the tablecloth and let Peter take the stage between the wall and the cloth. He bowed a few times to the cheers and claps from everyone before starting the show. It started impressively but predictably with a handstand that ended in a forward roll, followed by a backward roll, and a cartwheel that culminated in the splits, executed with such power and speed that Bruce had to cross his legs through the phantom pain of watching it. The transitions between tricks were less coordinated than those in Peter's competitions, but still much smoother than when Peter showed off a new or practiced move. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but it hadn't been predictable either.

What was not predictable at all was Peter contorting his body in ways not even fear gas could have replicated. Bruce’s breathing quickened, and he looked around the room for any leaks but found none as Peter bent his legs over his head and walked a few steps before pulling his torso backward.

Bruce’s sight might have darkened for a few moments as Peter pulled himself into a small ball and rolled over the mat. Something must have been wrong with either him or Peter, and he turned his head with small and jagged movements to look at Dick.

Dick, his unhinged child who had wanted to kill a man before puberty, and instead spent years tormenting gala guests with almost as flexible joints and an unexplainable thirst for swinging in chandeliers. Dick, his child, who perhaps deserved to taste his own medicine.

Dick, his child, who had shining eyes and clapped along to every horrifying crime against physics and reality itself.

"Holy gymnastics, you’re doing so well! Arh, I could eat you up right now,” Dick exclaimed as Peter leaned toward the floor and threw a leg over himself to walk with mismatched feet.

Duke’s hands moved behind them, but even that knowledge wouldn’t stop Bruce’s lips from trembling as the shadows changed shape and made every horrifying move even worse.

Was this punishment for ever thinking Peter didn’t look enough like Dick? Bruce had his kids to horrify him, and all he wanted was not to feel close to death inside his own house, or at least be less frightened of what his grandchild was doing. His heart was beating rapidly, and his back was sweating as Peter bent his back in a way that shouldn't be possible with a spine. 

Closing his eyes would be cowardly, and glancing around the room and then at Dick barely felt less so, but Bruce couldn't stop himself. At least Dick's unhinged smile was familiar, and even comforting when he could feel cortisol being released in his body. He just needed a few moments, and then he could look back before Peter noticed anyone not giving him their full attention. 

Then Dick’s smile fell, and his eyes widened. Bruce's breath increased, but Dick's chest jerked until it stopped. 

Bruce swallowed and inhaled before turning his head toward the performance. If Dick was fearful of whatever was on the stage, then it was sure to be the source of nightmares to come. Peter should only conjure images of careless playfulness and warmth. His cherub face was too innocent for anything else.

Instead, it was Peter crawled on the wall. 

Bruce furrowed his brows and searched for any holds on the wall or skin-colored gloves, but there was nothing to indicate how Peter was defying Newton's law of gravitation. 

Peter moved higher up the wall, with his knees seemingly trying to hold his body against it, but his hands did most of the work. Steph stepped out of the shadows to stand beneath Peter. His limbs moved smoothly and without the impression of having bones. Instead, he looked like water flowing down a stream, free from the limitations of a solid form.

Peter was just out of Steph’s reach when he slid down a few inches, and Dick inhaled sharply.

Bruce glanced at Dick and saw his slightly open mouth, widened eyes, and grayish skin. He wasn’t blinking, but he seemed to be seeing everything as Peter once more climbed toward the high ceiling.

“Get down, Peter,” Dick whispered when Peter was halfway, but it echoed through the whole room.

Peter’s light eyebrows furrowed, and he puffed out his cheeks with a pout before a smirk replaced it.

“Okay, Tati,” Peter agreed before leaping from the wall. His laughter filled the room, but the rolls he did through the air before landing with a thud on the mat behind Steph were all Bruce could see.

Dick’s breath stopped for over a second before he jumped up and sprinted toward Peter’s still form. “Oh my god, Peter? What the fuck? Are you hurt?”

Peter giggled as he was pulled up by his arms and smiled even when Dick pressed him tightly against his torso.

“What the fuck? What the actual fuck was that?”

Duke stepped forward with a stagger and a crooked smile. “Did you like it?”

Dick’s face snapped toward Duke. “Did I like it? What the fuck, Duke? Did you put glue on the wall? You can't do this with a child. He could have seriously hurt himself when he fell.”

Peter’s shoulders had been moving with giggles, but Peter went silent and his tiny arms struggled against Dick's grip. Dick was still glaring at Duke, but all Bruce could focus on was the moment when soft sobs escaped Peter. 

Bruce’s throat was still tight after the performance, his chest tightened with Peter's cries, and he felt unsteady on his legs, but he still staggered toward Dick and Peter to place a hand on Peter’s soft hair. "What's wrong?"

Peter turned his head when Dick tried to run a hand through his hair. "I thought you and Tati would like the show. I'm sorry, I wanted you to like it." 

“Your father and I liked the show very much. We’re just shocked how you climbed up the walls.”

Peter’s hands pressed against Dick’s chest, but he was barely allowed to move an inch in Dick’s secure hold, and ended up rubbing his eyes on Dick's shirt. “Why are you shocked? Everyone can climb. Tati said he used to climb up to swing in circus tents, and Grandpapa Alfie said you climbed the trees outside when you were a child, Pawpaw. Why doesn't Tati like me climbing? ”

Bruce removed his hand, and Dick instantly sat on the floor to pull Peter into his lap. He encased Peter even tighter against his torso and pressed his nose into his hair. Bruce’s nose itched at the sight, but Dick didn’t sneeze or even look uncomfortable as he inhaled deeply moments before letting Peter lean back with Dick’s hands on his thin shoulders.

Dick closed his eyes momentarily and inhaled deeply before returning to the conversation. “What was a very different kind of climbing. What you did was… It was a lot. Pawpaw has very tall ceilings, and you could get hurt if you fell from them.” Dick removed one hand to run through Peter’s hair, and his eyes were wide as he scanned Peter’s whole body. “You can’t climb when Tati isn’t there to catch you. I need to catch you if you fall.”

Oh, Bruce thought with an imaginary punch into his gut, Dick had too much experience with his family falling from great heights. It had been about two decades, but the first two fatal falls had left even Bruce with mental scars. 

Peter rubbed his eyes with his forearm and blinked at Dick. “But did I do good?”

Dick’s eyebrows tilted outwards, but he let out a huff and smiled. “Yes, you did very well, but please have a safety net under you before you even consider climbing toward the ceiling.”

Bruce knelt by Dick's and Peter's side and studied the palms of Peter's hands. There was no evidence of what had made him stick to the wall, and Bruce's eyebrows knitted together when he remembered the distance Peter had flown from the wall. It was almost as if something had simultaneously kept him glued to the wall and then thrown him off it harshly, but there weren't any gadgets or residue on his hands. 

Peter's eyes and cheeks were slightly red, but his face was dry when he looked at Bruce. "Is there something on my hands, Pawpaw?" 

Bruce shook his head and glanced at all his kids. "How did Peter climb the wall?" 

Everyone shuffled, and Jason pulled his T-shirt harshly, but Steph's giggle quickly caught Bruce's attention. It wasn't purely happiness, but close enough to explain why she wasn't already changing into her suit before patrol. "Peter can apparently just do that. He showed us tricks earlier today, and I was more... surprised by the unbelievable hypermobility, but he did climb a few feet up the wall earlier today." 

Bruce's shoulders felt heavy. Peter was supposed to be different from Bruce's kids. They had all come to Bruce ready for vigilantism, but Peter was supposed to have been safe from that. He was supposed to live the life of a normal, but brilliant, boy and be protected by everyone from both danger and the rot in Gotham and Blüdhaven. They could forbid Peter from climbing the walls, but Bruce didn't know if they could shield someone who was already this noticeable at six years old. 

Bruce stared at the emotions flittering through Peter's eyes. He was still young enough to do what he was told, but Bruce could already see how a fire would be lit in Peter's heart, and a thirst for justice would run through his veins. He was already a genius, and the call for action was that much louder with every natural advantage and year watching others with less. 

"Oh..." Dick's eyes glossed over for a second, and he swallowed before laying his chin on Peter's head. "I should have expected Peter to develop more powers." 

Tim let out a grunt and lifted his palms in front of his chest. "Wait, you knew he had powers? How?" 

Dick lifted his head and stared around the room with a thinly pressed mouth. He then squinted his eyes and shook his head. “Well, I didn't know-know, but I suspected that Peter is a meta. He has gymnastics lessons every week, where I get to see his flexibility and strength. He has become... very gifted in gymnastics in the last couple of months.”

Dick’s eyes widened, and he turned toward Damian. “Wait, why are you surprised? You’ve seen him during almost half of his lessons for years. He's stronger and more flexible than any of the other students."

Damian huffed and crossed his arms. There was a harsh scowl, but Bruce felt giddy at Damian’s rosy cheeks. “I was not there to compare Peter to less dedicated athletes.”

Peter pushed harder against Dick's chest when Damian mumbled something too low for Bruce to hear. Peter's eyebrows were furrowed, and his mouth was open for over a second before he breathlessly exclaimed. "I do not have Elmo sin-drone!" 

Dick bit his lip and glanced at Bruce with such joy that the world stopped for a moment. Bruce's entire system needed to reboot from his eyes, to his heart, to the tips of his toes, but it was worth it to see Dick's shoulders raise slightly and the smile that escaped when he let go of his lip. The amusement was still evident, and Bruce was unable to take his eyes away as Dick kissed the top of Peter's head before glancing between Peter and Damian. "He probably doesn't have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome if that's what you said, Damian. His skin isn't stretchy or fragile, but you are right. We need to make sure his flexibility and increased appetite are just him being meta, and he doesn't have any other issues besides asthma and needing glasses." 

Peter let out a high-pitched whine and crossed his arms as well as he could in Dick's lap. "Asthma is dumb. Glasses are dumb. They keep me from showing my tricks." 

Peter's sigh sounded like a deflated balloon, and he pouted and muttered, "And you didn't like my tricks when I did them anyway." 

Dick threw his head from side to side as he let out grunts before finally speaking. "I loved your tricks. Pawpaw loved it too, right, B?" 

There was no need for Dick to stare as intensely at Bruce as he did. Bruce might be much less animated than Dick, but he had comforted more children than he cared to count and had formed an emotional bond with eight of them, and fallen in love with his only grandchild. "Your tricks were fantastic, Peter." 

Dick hummed. "Except when you climbed without Tati there to catch you. I didn't like that." 

Peter frowned and blinked a few times before looking at Dick with huge, brown, and glassless eyes. A smile grew and shone so bright that Bruce almost didn't see the wetness of his eyes. "So I can do it when I'm with you? We can crawl to the top of a skyscraper together! Like Spider-Boy?!" 

Dick's eyes widened, and he finally stared at Bruce with the horror Bruce had felt since the second day of knowing Dick. It was a fear unlike anything else of wanting to keep a child happy, but sure he would fall and break his neck. 

Chapter Text

Peter had been in the manor for two days, and he was already getting on Damian’s nerves. 

Alfred the cat and Peter had taken to napping together consistently, and Peter’s nickname for him had stuck. Alfred was even starting to respond to being called Tux, just as much as when Damian called him Alfred. 

“Tux!” Peter celebrated loudly enough for Alfred’s ears to flatten momentarily and take a step back when Peter sat on the floor with a thump. “Tux, tux, tux!” 

Alfred answered with a meow and trotted toward Peter’s outstretched hand.

“Gentle hands,” Peter mumbled. His eyes were wide, and his nostrils flared as he admittedly touched Alfred very gently over his back and scratched Alfred’s cheek. 

Damian’s hands tightened into fists, and he tensed his jaw. Everything was focused on the way Alfred was rubbing against Peter’s hands and blinking slowly in his direction. It wasn’t fair. Damian fed Alfred, changed his litter box, and petted him daily. It wasn’t fair that Alfred liked Peter. Peter had both his parents, while Damian’s mother was unavailable, and his father was either lost or dead. Cats couldn’t fill the void left behind by Father’s disappearance, but it was easier to return to the manor every day when Damian had someone waiting for him.

The expensive wooden floors were polished enough for Damian to see his silhouette, but it didn’t make glaring at it any more satisfying. 

“Oh!”

Damian turned sharply in Peter’s direction, but there was no blood or tears. Only Alfred pressed his head against Peter’s hand and kept his eyes closed. 

Peter looked up with wide eyes and spat the pacifier out of his mouth and into his lap. Alfred’s eyes opened, but he quickly returned to a serene expression. “Tux makes noises.” 

“He is a living creature,” Damian mumbled. 

Peter lifted a hand to gently chew and leave a trail of spit, which reflected in the light. “Weird noises like: reeeeeh.” 

Damian blinked and looked at the happy kitten. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him, but Damian slowly walked toward the pair, only to discover what Peter was inquiring about. Alfred made it quite obvious, but Peter’s attempt had sounded more like a broken motorcycle than anything living. He would never be able to make bird calls or change his voice for a mission if that was an earnest attempt at imitation.

There was no use in dwelling on Peter’s lack of skills, and Damian took another step closer to Peter and Alfred. “It’s called purring. He’s showing you that he’s happy.” 

“Ohh.” Peter’s mouth stayed slightly open for a few moments as he observed Alfred before he gingerly touched Alfred’s thin throat. “Feels funny.” 

Damian took one last step before kneeling in front of Peter and Alfred and placed a hand on Alfred’s back. Alfred opened his eyes momentarily but quickly closed them again. His purring intensified, and Peter let out a shrill but fortunately short laughter. 

Damian gently rubbed the loose skin on Alfred’s neck and shoulders. “Purring is vibrations.” 

“Vi-bra-nions,” Peter attempted. 

“Vibrations,” Damian corrected. Parroting words should be easy, but he found that he didn’t mind Peter’s evident lack of simple skills. 

“Pretty kitty,” Peter praised when Alfred let out a light sound. 

Damian let his fingers stroke the soft fur on Alfred’s back. “He does have a handsome coat.” 

Peter lifted a hand with its fingers stretched out. “Hand-some?” 

Damian followed Peter’s intense gaze on his hands and scoffed. The fire in his body had been distinguished at some point after discovering Alfred’s purring, but he still had to remember Grayson’s words about deep breaths before answering. He had come a long way with his patience, but it was a struggle not to show his disdain at being the only one available to correct Peter in his deconstruction of adjectives. “It’s a male-oriented word for beautiful.” 

Peter smiled and scratched under Alfred’s chin before reaching out toward Damian’s face. “Pretty.” 

Damian wrinkled his nose and stared at the seemingly clean hand. Damian had seen Peter touch his disgusting pacifier too many times to be fooled into letting Peter touch him. “I am not pretty.”

Peter furrowed his brows and nodded. “Of course, you are hand-some. Very hand-some.” 

Damian must have been poisoned. It simply wasn’t possible to feel this amount of pleasant unease in his stomach at a stupid toddler’s words. 

Damian stared at Peter and tried to remember another lesson that both Grayson and Father had tried to instill in him. Many people were dishonest about their compliments, but Damian was supposed to return them no matter what. Peter seemed genuine, and Damian was supposed to put more effort in returning compliments if they were that, and if he wished to either strengthen relations or create alliances. Grayson had used other words, but perhaps it would be beneficial for Damian’s further mentorship to have a positive relationship with Grayson’s son. 

Damian stared at Peter’s light brown eyes and rosy cheeks, but his voice was still flat when he replied, “And you are objectively cute.” 

Peter huffed out his cheeks, and Alfred let out a scolding sound when Peter stopped petting him in favor of crossing his stumpy arms. “I am not cute. I am a big boy.” 

Peter looked slightly larger when sitting with a kitten in his lap, but he seemed delusional about his size. Damian was perfectly average for his age, and he doubted that he had been as small as Peter was since he had needed diapers. “I have seen children months short of their second birthday the same height as or perhaps taller than you.” 

Peter slumped down in contrast to his following words. “I am big. Three is bigger than two.” 

Damian sighed. He would have been punished if he had made such inane protests to his better’s observations, but Grayson would probably take issue with such things. He was far too lenient with Peter and Damian outside of vigilantism. Still, Damian had learned in the last week and a half not to underestimate his stubbornness or insistence on Damian only being allowed to don the Robin suit if he had done well enough to do so. Homework and regular sleep were annoyances, but they, as well as showing good will to his lessers, were an easy price to pay to strengthen his capabilities under Grayson’s guidance. 

Peter continued to act immaturely, and Damian sighed before trying to please him. “You are much bigger than Alfred.” 

Peter extended a hand toward the feline and smiled when he touched the short fur on his head. “Yes, but Alfred is a baby.” 

He didn’t personally think a kitten could be considered a baby after being weaned, but he shrugged. “Sure.” 

Peter leaned forward, and Alfred let out a short growl and his tail whipped around, but he restrained himself from clawing him for kissing his forehead. “Pretty, pretty baby.” 

Damian’s body tensed, and he turned around when he heard a sharp inhale. He would have relaxed his muscles under usual circumstances of seeing Grayson’s carefree expression, but the slimy feeling in his throat stopped him. “How long have you been observing us?” 

Grayson’s smile grew, and he lifted a foot to rest against the doorframe behind him. “Just long enough to know you take note of toddlers’ heights, and that I need to teach Peter about cat consent again.” 

Damian lifted his chin and glanced at Grayson’s whole stature. “Did I do well in interacting with your child?”

Grayson tilted his head and stood up straight. “You did very well, Damian, and I’m very proud of you, but you don’t have to do anything with or without Peter. You’re a child, too.” 

Grayson’s assessment was technically accurate, but Damian still took great offence at being put in the same category as other twelve-year-olds.

“Uncle Dami is hand-some,” Peter declared and highlighted his point by extending a hand toward Damian. 

Grayson nodded excitedly. “Wow, good job with a new word, and I agree, Uncle Dami is very handsome.”

Damian clenched his jaw and furrowed his brows as he focused on Alfred. Their attention and words caused heat to rise from his chest to his cheeks, while Alfred only purred louder when Damian touched him.

He could still feel the heat on his face, but maybe it wasn’t so bad to share the manor with Peter. It might even turn out to be enjoyable.  

Chapter Text

Peter was sitting around a halo of glitter when Cass came down into the dining room. 

She walked closer and saw Peter had drawn a pink circle with uneven lines sprouting from it, and nothing resembling a body, while he was now making zigzags around it with uncoordinated movements. 

“What are you drawing?” 

“Mommy. Look.” Peter pulled the drawing up for Cass to see, and Dick sighed as multicolored glitter fell everywhere. 

“Very shiny,” Cass said with her best attempt at being articulate. It was easier, but her stomach would still flip every time she had to say a new phrase or tilt her words in a way others understood. The tonal shifts were confusing, but their body language never lied when she missed the mark. 

“It’s for Mother’s Day,” Dick explained as if that should mean something for Cass. 

“Okie dokie,” she replied. She had heard both Tim and Dick say those words once, so it must be an acceptable response. 

“You too?” Peter asked with wide brown eyes before putting his drawing down and looking very closely at every little stroke he made. “I have penils.” 

“He’s saying pencils,” Dick translated before trying to collect the fallen glitter off the expensive table. “It’s a very nice offer, Peter.” 

Peter smiled at Dick. “Thank you, Tati.”

Dick stopped collecting the glitter for just long enough to run a hand through Peter’s hair and kiss his forehead. Peter leaned back and let out a giggle when he received another one on his nose, but he quickly returned to his drawing. 

“Does he want me to make a gift too?” Cass observed Peter’s concentration. His tongue stuck out to the side, and his eyebrows furrowed as he leaned over the paper. “I don’t know his mother like that.” 

Peter looked up with flat eyebrows and a pout. “Not my mommy. Your mommy.” 

Cass shuffled around on her feet. “I don’t have a mommy like you.” 

Peter nodded, but Cass wondered how much Peter really understood about other family dynamics. He knew that Dick only had Bruce, and his mother only had his grandmother, but perhaps the nuances of no mother were too advanced for a toddler. Peter was learning at lightning speed, but he was still only a year and a half old, and had an even smaller vocabulary than Cass to explain what he understood. 

Peter lifted his drawing once more, and the paper flapped around and let glitter cover more of the table. “Auntie Babs like draw.” 

Dick’s gaze followed the last pieces of glitter falling before smiling at Peter’s drawing. “She does like drawings. Especially from you, Chavvi, but Cass doesn’t have to make one if she doesn’t want to.” 

Cass’ mouth felt oddly full, and her breath became labored as she tried to make sense of Peter’s words. Nothing did, and Cass tensed her shoulders as she turned toward Dick. “Peter wants me to draw something for Babs?” 

Dick sent Cass an amused smile. “Peter thinks that Babs is your biological mother. I tried to tell him she isn’t, but he’s stubborn, and it didn’t seem like that big of a deal at the time.” 

Cass did feel a deep appreciation for Babs, but she still furrowed her eyebrows at those words. There were only six years between them, and Peter couldn’t possibly think that Babs had somehow become a mom at that age. 

Peter lifted a hand and shook his head with every word. “Not think. I know.” 

Dick ran a hair through Peter’s hair but got no response except Peter looking very pointedly at his drawing and adding a bit more glue and glitter around the zig zags. 

Cass knew she had heard both Dick and Peter correctly, but there still had to be a mistake. There was something that she was missing, but all she could do was pretend to understand and try one last time to escape from the confusing situation. “There’s no more paper anyway.” 

Peter looked up with a scandalous look and looked around frantically, only to point at a tote bag in the corner. “Paper.” 

Dick collected the bag and pulled out several sheets of paper, and Peter really only had to put a pencil in Cass’ hand and look at her with his big brown eyes before she started to draw a landscape that was only marginally better than Peter’s drawing. She was almost sure that she would never give it to Babs, but she felt proud and carefully wrote To Babs From Cass at Peter’s insistence. 

“Look good!” Peter praised. “You very good. Good at draw. Good at write.” 

Cass looked down at her shaky letters and wrinkled her nose. The hills were too steep to be realistic, the trees grew at odd angles, and her letters were crooked. 

“It’s true,” Dick insisted. “Your drawing is great, and you write far better than I did after only knowing my letters for a year.” 

“I can’t read,” Peter supplied helpfully. “I know alpha.” 

Cass looked at Dick in the hopes of knowing what kind of secret code Peter knew as a small toddler. Tim used something called Python, so maybe Peter knew a coding language too.

Dick smiled with shining eyes and tilted his head toward Peter even as he looked at Cass. “He knows a bit of the alphabet.” 

“You good,” Peter praised again. His words sounded as sure as before, but it was the earnestness in his eyes that made her chest tighten both horribly and addictively.  

She swallowed around the feelings and sounded out her words. “Thank you. Your drawing is good too, Peter.” 

“Thank you,” Peter said with a nod. “Glitter.” 

Peter turned his head as he looked between his twinkling and Cass’ mostly blue, green, and brown drawing. He pointed over to it and asked, “Glitter?” 

“It’s okay. I don’t need glitter.” 

Peter gave Cass’ drawing another critical look before he looked back at Cass and established the truthfulness behind his words with a fist falling from shoulder height to right above the table. “Drawing good.”

“Yes, the drawing is good,” she replied. She silently disagreed, but she was starting to accept that Peter meant his praise. Perhaps a lot of things were impressive to a toddler, but it was much better than the high praises and dead body language that she occasionally saw in adults. 

“It’s a good choice to forgo the glitter, Cass.” Dick wet his thumb with his tongue and rubbed where a small amount of glitter had fallen between the coarse grain in the wood. “Glitter never disappears.”

Peter gave Dick a disappointed look. “Glitter good.”  

Cass couldn’t help the smile blossoming on her face, and her chest untensed when Peter turned toward her with narrowed eyes and a pursed mouth. “Glitter for Auntie Babs?” 

Cass glanced at the table. It was already shiny, and Dick was barely making any progress in removing the glitter. Any more and the table might be ruined forever, but a little glitter could perhaps make her drawing good enough to give to Babs. 

“Can I borrow your green glitter?” 

Peter sent her an open-mouthed smile and roughly placed the bottle in her hand, and the green slowly came to life until it looked like rain-touched leaves facing the sun. They even looked joyful when Peter wasn’t scrutinizing her skills anymore, and Cass let herself dream a little. Babs would smile brightly in a perfect world. She would be proud and Cass would never have to feel awkward in her presence. 

However, dreams were idealistic, and Cass had to consider the possibilities more realistically too. Babs was caring and would never laugh at her, but even the thought of letting her see a piece of Cass’ heart was frightening. Babs would try to hide it, but Cass would know if she was disgusted or confused. It settled some of the anxiety in her chest but made her ears ring at the knowledge that she would know immediately if Babs never wanted to see her again. 

“Good mommy gifts,” Peter commented and pointed at his and Cass’ drawing when he didn’t receive an immediate response. 

Cass clenched and unclenched her hands a few times. “Yes, they are good.” 

Peter hummed. “Good for Mommy. Good for Auntie Babs.” 

"I don't know," Cass mumbled. She ignored Peter's scandalized look, but couldn't ignore Dick's intense stare. 

Her neck felt stiff as she turned it to look at Dick taking a break from cleaning up the glitter. “He’s right, Cass. Babs would love to know that you thought of her. She would love whatever you got her, but perhaps we could go out looking for a card for her if you're unsure about giving her the drawing.” 

Cass’ gaze returned to her drawing, the leaves glinting softly under the light. She traced the crooked letters with her fingertip, and for a second, she could imagine Babs’ face when she received it. It would look kind and surprised no matter what, but perhaps it would look full of love too.

But the image shattered as quickly as it formed.

Her fingers curled hard around the paper until it bent. “I think a card is best right now.”

Peter looked up with a bright, confident smile. “Draw for Auntie Babs,” he reminded her like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Cass forced herself to look at him, but her chest felt tight. Handing the drawing over would feel like stepping off a ledge without knowing if there was anything to soften her fall, and she needed to know. She could take certain death, but not the unknown. 

Dick walked over to her. His shoulders were loose, and his smile was genuine. “She will love the card, and she’ll be ecstatic when you’re ready to give her the drawing.”

Cass let a finger slide over the glittery leaves and swallowed as some of it stayed on her finger. Hope bubbled, but fear was keeping it contained even with Dick’s earnestness. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” 

Peter reached out a hand across the table and patted Cass’ hand sloppily. “You scared, I hold hand.” 

“Okay,” Cass whispered and carefully smoothed out her drawing. “We can hold hands when I give Babs the card.” 

Dick walked to the other side of the room and offered Cass a sheet protector, and Cass looked closely at the drawing when it was safely put inside. Babs would not get a drawing this Mother’s Day, but perhaps she could get one for her birthday. 

Perhaps she would take Peter up on his offer of holding her hand then. 

Chapter Text

Damian scoffed at Drake. ”I’m the blood son, and you’re just a neighbor that no one could get rid of!”

Drake shook his unworthy head with its ugly haircut and twisted his features and coloring. He looked much more like Grayson and Father than Damian, but Damian was the blood son, just like Peter was Grayson’s son, despite them not resembling each other as much as Peter resembled his mother.

Drake rolled his eyes. “What a feat to be the child of someone who didn’t know you existed until you were ten. At least my parents planned for me meticulously.”

Rage filled Damian’s chest, and he exhaled sharply toward Drake’s infuriating smirk. “And you still found your way into my father’s life! You should just-”

A light tap caught Damian’s and Drake’s attention, and they saw Peter leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. “I don’t like it when you’re mean.”

Blind kindness was weakness, but Peter had tamed something feral in Damian, and the slight headshake was enough for Damian to bite back the rest of his words.

Peter straightened his back and shook his head slightly with every word. “It’s not Tim’s fault that his parents are bad people, Dami.”

Drake shook his open palms in front of himself. “Wow, wow, wow, my parents were fine.”

Peter wrinkled his nose and furrowed his eyebrows for the duration of his full-body scan of Drake before putting his hands on his hips and evening out his features. “And it’s not Dami’s fault he was an accident.”

Damian scoffed. “I was not an accident.”

Peter’s eyes looked huge when he focused on him, and everything else seemed much smaller. Peter was a child at eight, but he should have seemed bigger every day instead of small and helpless when butting into discussions that didn’t concern him.

“It’s okay to be an accident.” Peter hesitated and studied both of their faces before mumbling. “I was one too.”

“What?” Drake spat out venomously. His eyes were wide, and his shoulders were tense.

Damian’s rage against Drake had been hot, but an icy chill made his body tense as he bit out, “Who said something like that to you? Was it that snot-nosed brat Flash? How did he contact you? How did he find you? Do you need me to pay him and his family a visit?”

 Peter tilted his head and squinted behind his glasses. “No one told me, but I’m not dumb. Tati and Mom were twenty and only together for a month before getting pregnant with me.”

Damian wasn’t sure that Peter was correct about the timeline of Grayson’s and Fitch’s relationship. Still, he feared that his theories would have steered this into something unproductive and too much like the mindless gossip his classmates engaged in.

Damian glanced at Drake and was met with his even mouth and downward tilted eyebrows before both returned their attention to Peter.

“And you’re okay with that?” Drake asked before Damian could find more delicate words.

Peter shrugged. “I guess.”

Drake took a few steps toward Peter and touched his shoulder. It looked soft, but Damian kept a sharp eye on the interaction.

“You are wanted. Like, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as loved as you.”

Peter blinked and looked toward the floor with furrowed eyebrows.

Damian tightened his hands into fists and raised his shoulders, but the churning in his stomach intensified as he found nowhere to spill anger into or any words of comfort. He was supposed to be the best support for Peter besides Grayson, but Drake was taking the lead, and it seemed much more effective than anything Damian could reassure Peter with.

Peter’s crying was challenging to watch, but often easy to fix. There were rules for tears: find the cause, offer comfort, and wait it out. However, Peter’s happiness was not immediately threatened in this moment, and he only showed minor signs of distress.

“Don’t bite your lip that hard,” Damian ordered, and received a fierce glare from Drake.

Peter released his lip and looked at Damian with huge but sharp eyes. “Did it make you sad when Tim and I said you weren’t planned ?”

Damian would have instantly denied such claims from anyone else, but Peter didn’t seem to have any malice.

Damian instead let himself reflect on the discomfort living in his chest and throat. There were a lot of feelings associated with Peter’s statement, but Damian wouldn’t classify it as anything forlorn. Just annoyance and a jittery feeling, he didn’t want to name at the thought of him possibly being discarded by Father, Grayson, or Peter as quickly as he had been by his mother.

“No.”

Peter narrowed his eyes into almost nothing before smiling softly, reaching out, and walking into Damian’s arms.

“It’s okay to be sad about it.”

Damian let a hand run through Peter’s wavy hair before settling both arms around Peter’s slight body. He was just as warm as always and a small but firm presence.

Drake glanced at the display and smirked. It was calculated as the smartest rogue in Gotham, and barely a warning before he sighed dramatically and opened his idiotic mouth.

“I think I’m a little sad about being told I’m not part of the family. I’ve been adopted for years and looked for Bruce for two years. I need a hug. Bruce never hugged me when I was a teenager.”

Peter tried to pull himself away, but Damian tightened his arms around the small body.

“Uncle Tim,” Peter said, suspiciously, “are you just saying that because you want a hug too, or is this a part of your and Damian’s weird fights?”

Damian glared at Drake before focusing on the only worthwhile person in the room. “You were correct in your assumption, Peter. I am suddenly distressed about the prospect of being the result of an accidental pregnancy.”

Drake opened his mouth, but Damian raised his voice as he continued, “Father didn’t initially want me. He often acted like he immensely disliked how I had been raised to behave until after he returned from the Timestream.”

It was meant to assure that Drake wouldn’t receive any of Peter’s attention, but a lump grew in his stomach. It felt weak, and Damian bit back the reflective assurance to everyone in the room that he knew he was one of the most integral parts of his father’s life. It wouldn’t do any good at that moment, but he didn’t know if he should have uttered them anyway when Peter lifted his face to scowl in Damian’s direction.

“He did what?”

Peter’s nostrils flared, and his eyes widened as he waited for Damian’s reply.

“He was surprised by my arrival. It’s in the past, and Father and I are close now.”

Peter huffed and hid his face in Damian’s shirt before throwing an arm toward Drake.

Drake took a few tentative steps but ended up with his arm clutched tightly in Peter’s grip.

Damian stiffened, but he was too surprised to be annoyed by Drake’s filthy arm pressed against his stomach. Pulling back wasn’t an option, so Damian would have to endure.

“I love you, Uncle Dami and Uncle Tim. You are the best in the world, and Pawpaw loves you too.”

Damian placed a hand on Peter’s tense shoulder and enjoyed the breathless feeling of Peter shoving his face tightly into Damian’s sternum.

The hug, unfortunately, eventually stopped. It meant that Damian didn’t have to feel Drake through both of their clothing, but it also meant that he didn’t have Peter near him to forget about the lump growing until it felt like it would burst.

Peter took a few steps backward and looked at Damian and Drake with firm shoulders and tight fists. “Be nice to each other. I’ll have a serious talk with Pawpaw.”

Peter turned around stiffly, but the illusion of a dictator or highly ranked soldier died when he screamed through the manor. “Tati! Tati, I need your help to talk with Pawpaw about something.”

Pride and slight fear rose in Damian’s chest when Peter pointed toward someone on the other side of the wall.

“No hugs! I am mad at you, Pawpaw.”

Peter’s shoulders fell momentarily, and Damian stepped forward until Peter exclaimed, “Tati! There you are. I need you.”

Grayson never backed down from emotional declarations and responded fiercely to those directed to him. Peter seemed to know that too, as he smiled widely before ordering Grayson and Father toward the study for their talk.

“Am I dreaming, or is Peter about to tear Bruce a new one?”

Damian hummed, and his stare didn’t waver from where Peter had been. “Peter sounded adamant about telling Father about his supposed wrongdoings.”

An eight-year-old’s ire shouldn’t have awakened such tension, but Damian was smart enough to know that Peter was one of Father’s most significant weaknesses, and Peter was unlikely to ignore what he deemed as ‘mean’. 

“Want to see if we can listen in?”

The lump shriveled as he smirked in Drake’s direction, and it was almost non-existent when Drake responded with a smirk of his own.

Damian was still the blood son, and Drake the neighbor they never got rid of, but they didn’t need words to sneak along the hallways and warn each other with a raised hand when they heard footsteps or voices that could have exposed them before discovering the rage of an elementary schooler.

Chapter Text

Bruce had seldom felt as hopeful as he did when he woke up on this Saturday afternoon. The sun was shining surprisingly bright for Gotham, and he didn’t hear any of his kids fighting.

It was also only one pm, and he had gotten seven uninterrupted hours of sleep and still woke up before he had wasted a whole day of his kids and grandson being home. Perhaps he had slept so well because of the lack of activity during last night’s patrol. There had been a few muggings and a hit and run in the early morning, but no one had died or been permanently injured, so Bruce was optimistic that he would one day see and hear about a whole night without any reported crime.

So, today could only be a good day.

“Tati! Tati, I need your help to talk with Pawpaw about something,” a young voice screamed, and Bruce’s chest seized with the seriousness put into every word.

Bruce sprinted around the corner and looked at Peter’s unharmed face and rigid posture in the doorway to the sitting room. There was no immediate threat, so Bruce spread his arms to offer comfort while they waited for Dick together.

Peter was usually a very tactile person, especially during happiness or distress, but he sneered and he pointed between Bruce’s eyes. “No hugs! I am mad at you, Pawpaw.”

Bruce’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyebrows furrowed. Every neuron sparked as they tried to understand what he had done to provoke such a reaction. Dick had looked the same, with an accusatory finger every time Bruce had made a mistake during Dick’s teenage and early adulthood, but Peter had been fine with Bruce that morning. Peter had woken up just as Bruce was returning to the manor, and he, Dick, Peter, and Duke had eaten breakfast together before Peter hugged Bruce goodnight. Bruce hadn't seen Peter since then, and he couldn’t understand what he might have done wrong in the minutes it had taken him to go to bed after the hug or the ten minutes he had been awake.

Peter’s shoulders fell, but he rose to his tiptoes as he looked at something to Bruce’s right. “Tati! There you are. I need you.” He smiled widely and with such joy that Bruce almost forgot about the strict finger pointed in his direction. “Tati, will you help me have a serious talk with Pawpaw in his study?”

Dick turned his head to scan Bruce with narrowed eyes, and Bruce could only shrug and finally let his heavy arms fall to his sides. Dick then turned his gaze to Peter and tilted his head. “Sure, yes, I can help you talk with Pawpaw.”

Every step toward his study felt like a mile. Maybe even longer, given how easily Bruce could run with fewer issues than now. Still, they eventually entered the study, and Peter immediately toppled the picture of all Bruce’s kids, Peter, and Alfred to face the table.

Dick closed the door, and Bruce forced himself not to jump at how much it felt like a warden closing the door to a jail cell. Dick’s steps were soft, but they felt like boulders weighing Bruce toward the bottom of the ocean, and he couldn’t look away when Dick kneeled in front of Peter. “I can see that you’re mad at Pawpaw right now, and I don’t know what he could have done since this morning, but I want to understand. Like I expect you want to understand why he made you angry instead of yelling at him.”

Peter pouted but nodded toward the floor, and Dick stood up to walk toward the wall next to Peter and Bruce.

Bruce wet his lips and stared at Peter’s tiny and tight fists and stiff back. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Peter lifted his face slowly and looked at Bruce over his glasses with such fury that Bruce’s chest tightened, and he thought he could feel the pins in his left arm. Bruce had been doing well in the last couple of years. It was clear in how Dick visited regularly now, Jason hadn’t yelled at Bruce in years, Duke came over even though he aged out of foster care, and Tim and Damian usually listened when Bruce told them to stop their squabbles. So why was Peter suddenly mad, and why did he immediately imagine all the reasons Peter might think he’d done something terrible?

Peter’s face resembled a fawn, but his fury made him look more like a vicious bear. “Why have you been mean to Dami and Uncle Tim?”

Bruce’s breath shuddered in his chest, and it didn’t get any better when Dick huffed and asked the question running through Bruce’s mind, “What exactly did Pawpaw do?”

Peter put his hands on his hips and looked up at Bruce. It was just like looking into a memory of a preteen Dick had once more been told he couldn’t do something he wanted to. Unfortunately, Dick would probably not accept Bruce buying Peter a plane or even as much ice cream as Bruce had given Dick in the early days to sweeten every occasion.

“Uncle Tim said that you didn’t hug him as a teenager, and Dami said that you didn’t like him when he came to the manor.”

Bruce had hoped that Dick would jump to his rescue, but Dick was only squinting around the room with furrowed brows. Bruce instead had to inhale deeply and lift his hands in front of Peter’s venomous ire. “That seems to have been taken out of context. I can assure you that I tried to-“

“But is it true?” Peter interrupted and leaned toward Bruce. He closed his eyes and nodded at every emphasized word. “You didn’t hug your son, and you didn’t like Dami? Dami is awesome, and Uncle Tim is super nice and deserves all the hugs.”

Bruce swallowed his next breath and tried to ignore how it stayed in his chest even as he spoke. “I know, and you’re right. I was wrong, but I thought Damian and Tim were okay with me now. I tried to make it better.”

It felt like breaking all his ribs when Dick slowly turned his head and looked at Bruce in a way he hadn’t since before Jason came home. He didn’t speak, but Bruce knew that Dick was remembering how Bruce had once been. He hadn’t been perfect with Dick or Jason, but he had been rash and self-destructive with Tim and judgmental with Damian. He was better now, but the damage had been done.

Peter crossed his arms and glared at Bruce. “I thought you were never mean!”

Bruce’s mouth went dry, and his eyes threatened to water. The weight of the world felt much heavier now, but he would take anything his family threw at him. He hadn’t been ready to face his mistakes before, but he would be now, and he would prove to himself and everyone who mattered that he could be better.

Dick walked over to stand behind Peter, ran a hand through his hair, and rubbed his shoulder. “Hey, now, I know it can be a shock to know Pawpaw had a less nice period, but it was years ago. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but everything you’re talking about happened when you were barely more than a baby.”

Peter’s inwardly tilted eyebrows turned outward, and his frown softened into devastation rather than fury. “I thought you were nice, Pawpaw.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce replied softly. It felt like too little, but there wasn’t anything else to say. He had once been lost in several different pasts in the Timestream, but he couldn’t change his own. He could only bandage the hurt he had caused and hope it wouldn't scar severely. 

“You can apologize to Uncle Tim and Dami,” Peter said and stalked over to the door of the study, opened it roughly, and looked down as Tim and Damian fell.

“Wow, you’re right, Damian. I can see where the batboots have scraped the floor,” Tim exclaimed loudly with his face down onto the undamaged floor.

“I’m glad you see reason, Drake,” Damian scoffed and brushed himself off.

Bruce sighed. At least Tim and Damian were getting along, even if it had been to hear Bruce having his heart ripped out.

Damian reached a hand out and pulled Tim up from the floor before both of them looked at everyone else in the room. 

Peter looked up at them and tilted his head before asking with the same seriousness that Bruce used to discuss the patterns of drug rings. “How long did it take Pawpaw to hug you, Uncle Tim?”

Tim, Bruce’s sweet and scary child, smiled with white teeth and sharp eyes. “At least a year.”

Peter gave a curt nod and wrinkled his nose at the sight of Bruce. “I will not hug you for at least a year, Pawpaw.”

“A year?” Bruce croaked.

Peter nodded. “Yes, a year, but I know what you can do if you need one.”

Bruce’s lungs felt like they were collapsing, but he somehow still uttered, “What?”

“You can hug-,” Peter’s arm flew through the air to point at Tim, “your son.”

Tim’s hands shot up in front of him. “Wow, hey, Pete, do I not get a say in this? Why do I have to be B’s hug-buddy?”

Peter’s head swirled slowly to stare at Tim. “Because he’s your dad, and dads hug their sons.”

“Why do I have to be punished?” Tim mumbled and turned to look at Damian with almost as much despair as Bruce felt at the prospect of being without Peter’s warm hugs for a year and knowing Tim saw Bruce’s hugs as a punishment. His stomach felt like it was filled with lead, but there was nothing he could do if Tim never wanted to hug him again.

Peter scoffed and shook his head at Tim. “You’re not being punished. Hugging your dad is the best. Tati gives the best hugs, and Pawpaw is an amazing hugger too.”

Bruce’s body was still frozen, but a tiny flame flickered at Peter’s compliment.

Peter sighed and turned his gaze toward Bruce. “Anyway, you should say sorry to Uncle Tim and Dami.”

Tim leaned on Damian and groaned. “No, please, not again. Bruce apologized like a gazillion times, and I can’t take more of it.”

Damian stepped aside, and Tim barely saved himself from falling to the floor. He wrinkled his nose at him but quickly turned his gaze on Peter. “I’ll have to agree with Drake on this one. Father has apologized with both actions and words, and I will vomit and lose my remaining respect for him if I have to be subjected to more.”

Dick crossed his arms and hummed.  “It also means something that you can’t remember Bruce being mean to anyone. I didn’t think about it before, but I don’t think I have seen him be unkind to anyone who wasn't actively hurting others in the last couple of years. I'm not sure if he was unkind anymore by the time he disappeared into the Timestream, now that I think about it." 

None of his kids’ words were said kindly, but they loosened the tight feeling around his chest. It was troublesome if Bruce’s earlier actions still plagued Damian and Tim, but it sounded like they all agreed that he had changed for the better.

Dick rubbed Peter’s shoulders once more and leaned forward until his sternum rested on top of Peter’s head and he could glance down at him. “It’s very kind of you that you want to defend your family, but this isn't your battle, and it sounds like your Uncle Tim and Dami have forgiven Pawpaw already.”

Peter sighed and looked at Damian and Tim. “Have you forgiven Pawpaw?”

Damian rolled his eyes, and Tim’s shoulders slumped, but they both mumbled, “Yes.”

Peter bit his lip and squinted at everyone in the room for several moments before shaking Dick off and walking over to stand in front of Bruce. Peter should never fear anything about Bruce, but it was still impressive that someone who barely reached over his hipbones could look up at him without a flicker of hesitation.

“Are you sorry about being mean to Tim and Damian?”

Bruce swallowed. “Extremely.”

“Okay,” Peter glanced at Tim and Damian. “Are you still hurt?”

“No,” Tim muttered immediately and rolled his eyes, but Damian didn’t answer.

It was a risk. Damian was prickly with everyone, even Dick, who could bring the softest part out of anyone, but Bruce couldn’t let Damian look so vulnerable. The longing in his heart was much stronger than the lead in his limbs, and he wouldn’t have let anything stop him from comforting his distressed children.

Bruce opened his arms slowly. His every move was clear about what he couldn't verbalize. Damian would never accept any softness he asked for, but he needed it and would occasionally accept it if there was the illusion of being forced.

Bruce wrapped his arms around Damian, and he couldn’t understand how he could have looked at a tiny Damian and not felt pure love and devotion the first time they met. Damian hadn’t been ready to accept softness in his first year in the manor, but Bruce could have shown it was an option anyway and then tried harder to help Damian accept it before he grew into a teenager.

Damian jumped and sneered when Bruce rested his cheek on his temple, but he didn’t pull away, and all the guilt was more obvious than ever and just background noise as Bruce allowed himself to feel the weight of one of the children he had been gifted.

“Can I hug him?” Peter asked, and Bruce opened an eye to see Tim nod.

Bruce had woken up thinking this would be a good day, and he had been wrong. It wasn’t just a good day, but a great one, and he promised to make it even better by hugging each of his family members one after the other.

Chapter Text

Feelings had been seen as hindrances until Damian was placed in Father’s care and ignored until Father disappeared. However, they had been encouraged when he had to rely on Grayson for guidance in both vigilante and civilian life.

Feelings were still weak, but Grayson wasn’t.

“I never got to ask, how was your math test today, Little D?” he asked as they rested on a rooftop on a calm Tuesday night.

Damian looked at the few people scurrying around like rats in the dark. Maybe they were low-level criminals looking for places to stash drugs or similar foolishness, but they weren’t causing a commotion. “It was fine.”

Grayson leaned back and turned his face up toward the cloudy sky. Most criminals didn’t notice a difference between Grayson and Father after the Batman suit had been padded, but Damian saw almost no similarities. Grayson’s tan skin could have been excused for Father getting a tan if they had lived in a sunnier place, but they didn’t, and it made the lack of age lines and less growly voice even with a voice modifier more obvious.

Even the night air felt different around Grayson compared to Father. It was refreshing and provided an excuse to pause and breathe around Grayson, whereas Father had encouraged using it to rewire or distract oneself until the chill became unnoticeable. Not that Father had let Damian take the mantle of Robin. 

Grayson inhaled deeply with closed eyes and a soft smile on his lips. “You should be asleep right now instead of following me, but this is nice.”

Grayson hadn’t quite jinxed it, as he occasionally described particularly optimistic or pessimistic statements as having the ability to, but Damian’s stomach tensed when Grayson’s phone buzzed.

Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed, and he sighed while pulling his phone from the utility belt. Batman appeared on his face as his gaze lingered on the phone before accepting the call.

Nightwing could be serious, but only Batman was as stoic as Grayson was when answering the phone. “Hello, Mary, what’s happening? Is Peter okay?”

Grayson’s shoulders slumped, and he lifted a hand but gave up when he couldn’t rub his eyes behind the cowl. Batman left and was replaced with Grayson’s groan. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought he was in the hospital, not sick with a cold. Anyway, why are you calling me at –“ Grayson pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced at the screen before continuing, “Half past two am? I want to know if something’s happening to Peter immediately, even if it’s your custody week, but why are you calling me at night?”

Grayson lifted his shoulders with his inhale. “Okay, I’ll be there in about 40 minutes.”

His shoulders tensed, and Damian looked around the silent night for a threat. There was none except Grayson’s tight grip around his phone when Damian looked back. “It takes 34 minutes to drive to you from the manor, so you’ll have to be his mother for 40 minutes, Mary.”

Damian looked at Grayson as he muttered into the phone with almost as much fury as he used for the scoundrels of Gotham. Batman’s shoulders were broader than Grayson’s and cast a large shadow over the rooftop until he turned toward Damian, revealing Grayson’s smile beneath the emotionless cowl.  

Damian’s chest gave a twitch at the sudden change, but his body relaxed as Grayson did.

“We’re picking up my sick little boy, so we'd better hurry.”

They hurried to the Batmobile and toward the manor. They even hurried as they changed clothes and ran toward Grayson’s car with wrinkled clothes. It was undignified, but he could fix his rumpled appearance before anyone but Grayson saw it.

Grayson didn’t start the car immediately when they buckled their seat belts, and Damian sat primly in preparation for the hurried ride through Gotham’s streets. “You can stay in the manor. Maybe go to bed so you can sleep for another hour.”

Damian turned toward Grayson. It was naive to think Damian could relax without knowing the state Fitch had left Peter in. His stomach tensed at the thought and his hands tightened into fists. “Drive.”

Grayson exhaled with the hint of a smile and drove them in relative silence toward Blüdhaven.

Peter’s mother, Fitch, opened the door as soon as they knocked. Her hair was in a messy braid, and her large T-shirt was threadbare.

“Hey, thanks for coming. I could have handled it, but I appreciate it.”

Grayson grunted and looked over her shoulder without acknowledging her statement. “Can we come in, or will you get Peter?”

Fitch turned her head and stared for several seconds. Damian could usually wait, but he heard a young voice coughing and pushed her aside. 

Fitch’s sink was filled with dishes, the kitchen smelled burnt, and her trash can overflowed with takeaway containers. It wasn’t fit for an adult, much less someone as small as Peter, especially when he was unwell somewhere in the house.

Nausea coated Damian’s throat at the thought of Peter living in this. The house looked clean from where Damian had stood near the front door when he and Grayson had delivered Peter to his mother days earlier, and it didn’t look like she had cleaned it since then.

Damian's hands were made for greater endeavors, but he had observed Alfred’s efficient cleaning and could have quickly made this livable for Peter. Perhaps he wouldn't even have to, as Grayson had learned to clean at some point, judging from how immaculate the manor was despite Damian only taking care of his pets and room, and Peter setting and clearing the dinner table each morning and night he was at the manor.

Fitch turned around to stare at Damian. “You can’t just… I was going to get him down for you.”

Damian turned toward the next cough. It was weaker but more than enough for Damian to locate Peter.

Damian found the small bedroom and stopped when he looked at the small figure in the bed. The bedsheets were clean but worn, and the pillow was stained. Napkins, tissues, and toilet paper decorated the floor around a plastic grocery bag. Peter didn't deserve to live like that. He deserved new sheets and a trash-free floor. 

Damian glanced at his feet. They were covered with sensible shoes, but wouldn’t protect him from the biohazards in the room.

“Uncle Dami?” Peter’s hoarse and feeble voice asked.

Damian stepped on the contaminated floor. Fitch was right behind him, but Peter’s gaze stayed on him.

Peter’s hair was tousled, with his bangs sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, and the rest of his skin was an unsettlingly pale hue even in the dim light. “I don’t feel so good.”

Damian didn’t wear any gloves, and he analyzed Peter’s sweaty skin and sheets for a spot to lay his hand. “I can see that.”

Peter’s cheeks puffed out, and he lurched forward. Fitch grabbed the plastic bag, turned the contents onto the floor, and placed it into Peter’s hand right as he started to throw up greenish vomit. Damian took a step back as he was hit with the acidic smell of bile, but Fitch leaned forward and patted Peter’s back hesitantly.

Damian’s nose wanted to wrinkle, but he kept his face neutral for Peter’s sake. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t control his bodily functions at a time like this, but it didn’t make it easier to observe.

Peter coughed and burped before filling the bag with more, and tears started to fall before he pulled his smeared mouth out of the bag. “I want Tati. Where’s my tati?”

Grayson arrived from the shadows outside the bedroom and hurried over to the foot of the bed. “Tati’s right here.”

Peter was four, far too old to ask to be carried, but he lifted his arms, and Grayson complied with a hand under each of Peter’s armpits, not glancing in Fitch’s direction. The bag tilted, and nausea filled Damian’s throat as Fitch’s eyes dimmed further. It wasn’t her unearned jealousy but instead the deep sadness that woke something cruel and triumphant in Damian. She would have to clean the vomit from Peter’s bed sheets while Damian and Dick would show Peter who his real family was. 

Peter sobbed and dried his cheeks roughly with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Tati. I feel bad.”

Grayson rearranged Peter and pressed Peter’s dirty face into his shoulder. “I know. Your mommy told me that you were feeling sick.”

Peter let out a long, keening breath.

Grayson lightly scratched Peter’s back and kissed his sweaty brow. “Come on, let’s wash your face and get you into bed at home.”

Peter let out a short series of coughs before letting himself be limp in Grayson’s arms. “I want to sleep with you and Dami.”

Damian straightened his back when Grayson glanced at him. He felt slightly woozy at the intense smell of disease and vomit, but kept his face flat and shoulders strong.

Grayson’s hand soothed Peter’s wild and sweaty hair. “Tati will sleep with you. Your uncle Dami has school in the morning, but he wanted to make sure that you were alright before we all go to bed.”

“Yes, I’m assessing your well-being. You are quite unwell and require intense care. It's a good thing that we came despite the late hour.”

Peter glanced at Fitch before locking eyes with Grayson. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed. It resembled the Batman cowl but held far more love and resentment. “You don’t need to apologize for needing me. I’m your tati, and I’ll happily come for you and nurse you back to health.”

Peter grabbed Grayson’s shirt in tight, little fists. “I’ll be good.”

Damian’s insides lit on fire. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t friendly or kind, but no one anywhere could make his nephew feel like an inconvenience. Not even said nephew’s mother.

He turned his gaze away from Grayson, who was arguing with Peter about his general amount of goodness, to glare at Fitch. She had the gall to tense her shoulders and avoid Damian’s gaze, but he let his presence be known.

Damian opened his mouth, but Grayson interrupted. It was probably for the best with Peter in the room and infected with some disease.

“Come on, Damian, let’s go home.”

Damian gave her one last venomous look before following Grayson and Peter toward the front door. He allowed himself a single moment to breathe when they were back in the fresh air, but quickly walked over to sit next to Peter’s car seat in the back of Grayson’s car.

Fitch lingered in the doorway to her house. Her red hair seemed dimmer in the late-night or early-morning light, and she kept a firm grip on the doorframe. “Will you let me know how he gets on?”

Peter was almost asleep as Grayson placed him in the car seat and made a feeble protest about his safety, but Damian noticed the flicker in Grayson’s eyes and the muscles around his mouth before he turned to Fitch. "I’ll update you sometime tomorrow. Will ten am work for you?”

Fitch’s knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip. "Yes, ten's fine."

Dick smoothed Peter's pyjamas and laid the car blanket in his lap before looking at her again. "Get some rest until then. I'll update you, and Peter can say hi if he's awake and up for it then." 

Fitch leaned forward, but her feet seemed glued to the floor and her hand to the doorframe. “Okay, get well, Peter. Mommy will look forward to hearing how you are tomorrow.”

Peter opened his eyes halfway, grunted, and his shoulders tensed at Fitch’s voice, but he settled down when Damian took his hand, and he stayed asleep until he woke up to both Grayson and Damian helping him when he woke up from a fever dream. 

Grayson had said it wasn't necessary, but Damian could sleep just fine with him and Peter for one night. It was a small request, and Damian's chest felt lighter knowing that each of Peter’s labored breaths was followed by another soon after. Even school felt better knowing Peter had been safe overnight, and he saw Dick write an e-mail to his comic book editors about rearranging a meeting. 

Peter got happier the sicker he got in the next few days. It would be an enigma for anyone less intelligent or less observant.

However, Damian was both intelligent and observant and noticed Peter becoming increasingly emotional as he grew sicker, but he also responded well to Grayson’s doting and Damian’s presence. He would cry every time he threw up and bloom like a flower when he looked up teary-eyed to feel Grayson’s warmth or see Damian’s even stare. 

It was weak, but Damian couldn’t stop hovering over Peter. He was too little and too sick to be careless about. Coughs and vomit were unfortunate, but Peter had asthma, and every hurried breath made Damian’s fingers twitch in preparation for Peter’s inhaler.

Maybe that weakness was why Damian quickly met the same fate as Peter and spent his days in the cinema room instead of ignoring the teachers while finishing his schoolwork or training for his future battles as Robin.

“I hate when they kill the savanna deer,” Peter complained as a lioness jumped toward her and her pride's dinner. There was barely any blood on the screen, but there was no confusion about the prey’s fate.

“They’re called antelopes, and the lions would starve without it.”

Peter coughed, and Damian didn’t want to assess if Peter’s watery eyes were caused by emotion or exertion. Both would be unfortunate, but out of Damian’s control since Peter didn’t want to change the channel, and Damian had also been a victim of tears as a symptom of coughing or vomiting.

Peter’s eyes sparkled a little more as he turned toward Damian. “I know. The baby lions need food, too.”

Damian hummed. He wasn’t opposed to the circle of life, and most of his animals lived on a carnivore diet, but there was a cruelty to seeing an animal fight for its life on TV. It had to die, but his stomach felt hollow at unnecessarily watching it.

Peter coughed again until he gagged with his whole chest.  

Damian’s muscles were sore, and his joints stiff, but he got up from the couch and shuffled over to Peter. He couldn’t do much, but Peter seemed to appreciate a hand on his back as he expelled water and acid between weak sobs.

Damian’s throat tightened, and his mouth filled with saliva at the terrible smell. Still, he stayed by Peter’s side, placing a firm hand on his upper back before turning his face toward the door to watch Grayson arrive with a freshly washed bucket from Damian’s last bout of vomiting.

Grayson’s eyes widened, and he hurried over to place the bucket in front of Damian and sat on Peter’s other side. Peter cried when he stopped vomiting and became entirely pliable as Grayson cleaned his face with wet wipes and pulled him into his lap.

Grayson threw the wipes in a plastic bag and instructed Peter to blow his nose before disposing of the last wipe. “My poor boy. Are you okay?”

Peter looked small but safe in Grayson’s arms. He was shaking with tears and exhaustion and made pitiful sounds, but once again bloomed under Grayson’s careful touches.

Damian glanced at the television to see the lioness pull the carcass toward the pride, and the male lions started to eat, but let the cubs get their share too. Even lions knew to let their children eat their fair share, and the lioness that had killed the antelope cleaned her cubs in the following clip.

Peter got showers at his mother’s. His hair was sometimes still damp when he was picked up every Sunday, but Damian couldn’t imagine Fitch cleaning him with as much care as the deadly predator on the screen or anywhere near the care Grayson showed when he cooed at every little sound or move Peter did.

Grayson held an arm under Peter’s bottom and scooted over to sit next to Damian.

“How are you doing? Do you need more blankets? Do you need me to open a window?”

Damian sighed. He could take down grown men, but Grayson still acted like Damian would fall apart because of an illness even Peter could withstand. “I’ll survive this horrible disease.”

Grayson’s eyebrows tilted inward, and he bit his lip for a moment before replying, “I want you to do more than survive. I love you and I want you to feel as well as you can.”

Grayson should listen to himself and stop caring for Damian when his nose was red from blowing it, and he walked much slower than usual when cleaning Damian’s and Peter’s buckets of vomit.

“I’m fine.”

The corners of Grayson’s lips lifted, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Damian huffed. “I would be better if you cleaned up your offspring’s stomach content.”

Grayson’s gaze turned toward the bucket as if it wasn’t stinking up the room, and then glanced at Peter’s fluttering eyes.

Damian sighed and reached his arms out toward them. “I can look after Peter while you clean it.”

Grayson let a hand run over Peter’s soft hair, and his eyes softened. “Okay, I’ll be right back. Call me if you two need anything while I’m gone.”

Damian accepted Peter’s light weight and leaned back to let him slump on his chest. “I’m sure that we will be fine until you return with a clean bucket and wet wipes.”

Grayson’s eyes were almost as soft when he looked at Damian as when he looked at Peter, but his eyes crinkled more when he smiled widely.

“I’m on it. You two enjoy Animal Planet, and then I’ll be back before you know it.”

Peter hummed and mumbled into Damian’s shirt. It was vaguely intelligent and seemed related to felines of various sizes, including the one living in the manor.

Alfred the cat jumped down from the windowsill where he had been observing Peter and Damian and let his tail brush along Damian’s leg a few times before jumping into Damian’s lap and brushing his cheek against Peter’s soft elbow.

Damian’s hands were currently full, but he would remember to scratch Alfred a few more times for showing Peter the care that he deserved, even as some of the cheek rubs started to linger on Damian’s clavicle.

“Tux,” Peter mumbled and yawned before his subtle weight went entirely limp.

Damian rearranged Peter and lifted a hand to brush over Alfred’s small head and malleable ears before rubbing Peter’s back.

The antelopes on the TV were running from hyenas, and a calf got left behind. It was ripped apart almost instantly, and Damian tightened his grip around Peter’s small body.

Grayson had to know that Peter wouldn’t survive outside of the manor, and he had to know a way to keep Peter with them. Arranging childcare most nights would complicate patrol, but Peter and Grayson trusted Gordon and Brown enough for Damian to accept their presence if it would make Peter feel safer in the manor while Damian and Grayson patrolled.

Peter snuffled in his sleep, and Damian carefully extended his neck to rest his chin on the top of Peter’s. It didn’t bring nearly as much comfort as Grayson radiated when he did a similar action, but it settled Peter even more.

Damian found himself unable to move even when Grayson returned with a clean bucket, rags, wet wipes, a new plastic bag, and cola.

Grayson’s head tilted, and his smile was small, but his eyes were a blazing source of warmth. It was a look that Damian only saw when he and Peter were interacting, and he hoped that it meant that Grayson would be of service to Damian’s mission.

Damian’s hand paused on Peter’s upper back. “We need to keep Peter here permanently.”

The look disappeared, and Grayson looked far more drained than Damian felt. “I’m sorry. We can’t.”

Fire travelled from Damian’s chest to every limb. “Like hell we can’t! You can’t let him return!”

Peter uttered a loud cry as he woke from his slumber and was pulled out of Damian’s arms and into Grayson’s.

Damian thought that even the toddler stage was too old for rocking, and he didn’t believe that Peter had been rocked for years. It was almost embarrassing to see Peter be infantilized. Still, he couldn’t deny the results when Peter’s cries were replaced with heavy breathing after only minutes, and he went limp when Grayson gently brushed a finger between Peter’s eyebrows.

“He’s safe here,” Damian argued in a low tone. His voice had deepened over the last month, but Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth turned into a line instead of showing signs of cowering.

“I know, but it’s complicated.”

Damian stood up with tightened fists, but he sat back down when Grayson’s sharp eyes met his. “He’s happy and wanted here.”

Grayson bit his lips and looked at everything in the room before staring at Peter’s slack face. “He is, but we can’t just take him. Peter loves his mom, and she isn’t doing anything wrong according to the law. It would also count as kidnapping if we kept him away from her.” Grayson laid his cheek on Peter’s head. “We would lose him forever if we did that.”

It was a weak excuse. Damian could keep Peter safe forever. The police were useless, and Damian had enough money, connections, and skills to keep everyone’s eyes off Peter.

Grayson sighed. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. You’re a child, and Peter is my responsibility. Custody is more complicated than you think, but I’ll make sure that it all works out.”

Damian had killed before. He could do it again. It would be easy to make it look like an accident or blame it on someone else.

Peter smacked his lips and shook his head into Grayson’s chest with tiny and slightly wet noises. He was safe here. He should always be safe and be able to be happy in Damian’s and Grayson’s care, even when he wasn’t sick.

Peter opened his eyes halfway and reached a small hand out toward Damian with much more care than he deserved. It was entirely open and vulnerable to attacks as if Damian was something to trust and care about. As if he hadn't just played with the thought of killing his mother. 

Damian barely grabbed his bucket before he threw up his pent-up emotions at the thought of Peter looking at him with as much disdain as Damian held for Fitch.

An adult's and a child's hands rested on Damian’s upper back, and he looked up to see Grayson’s crooked smile and Peter’s sleepy eyes and pout.

Mary didn't deserve someone as brilliant as Peter, but Peter loved her and would never forgive Damian or recover emotionally if she died mysteriously.

Damian reached for Peter’s hand and held it tightly. He would have to be the best relative possible for Peter to know where he belonged and what he deserved. Perhaps Peter would realize in his own time and express a wish to see only those who treasured him, and Damian would be able to patrol without thinking of Peter in his little, worn bed.

Damain's lips lifted into a smile at that thought. It would be perfect when that time came. 

Chapter Text

Damian had expected his plan to take much longer than it did. Peter had talked to his mother the first morning he had been in the manor while Damian had been in school, but he hadn’t commented on it beyond telling Damian that his mother supposedly missed Peter.

Grayson called Peter every evening he was at Fitch’s house, but her lack of the same routine was making it easy for Peter to forget about his mother.

It only got easier when Peter’s illness left, and he started to play happily, and if he had never been sick, except for taking longer naps with Alfred the cat and occasionally Grayson and having to be reminded to blow his nose. It was truly disgusting, and Damian swore never to reproduce.

Damian was still feeling sluggish when Grayson was annoyingly close to his usual high level of energy and announced he would be patrolling.

Damian sniffed wetly. “Let me grab my suit.”

Grayson smiled and shook his head. “Yeah, no, you’re not going out like that. I was thinking you could keep Peter safe for a few nights until you’re well enough for school and patrol.”

Babysitting was not on Damian’s agenda, but Peter smiled at Damian and leaned into his side. His hair was wild from playing and napping, but soft when Damian accidentally touched it in his quest to rest an arm along Peter’s

“I will only subject myself to this until my ability to be stealthy has returned.”

Grayson let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Okay, that’s fine.”

It was not fine. Grayson took forever to tuck Peter in, and Damian was ready to throw himself out the window when Peter’s incessant stream of questions about when Grayson would be back stopped. Grayson had a pleasant singing voice, but Damian could only listen to the same two songs for so long before being ready to use a batarang on himself. Death or deafness was preferable to it all.

Then Damian brushed his teeth when Grayson left a few minutes before ten pm. Peter had been sleeping uninterrupted for two hours and didn’t seem to wake up a lot when Brown or Gordon was at the manor, while Grayson and Damian kept Gotham’s streets safe.

Peter’s sobs filled the manor, and Damian’s eyes sprang up. He was in his pajamas, but found his sleep knife in his bedside drawer and rushed toward Peter’s bedroom.

There was no assassin or villain, but only Peter crying loudly, and both Alfred the cat and Titus came to investigate.

Peter hiccupped and reached his arms out toward Damian when he saw him. He was still far too old for such childish tendencies, but Damian swallowed that thought when he remembered his mission. He would be the best at comforting Peter, and then he would see that the manor had two people willing and capable of comforting him, while Fitch’s house had no one.

Damian moved his hand slowly and held his breath when he touched Peter’s warm arms. Peter probably wanted a hug, but Damian squeezed Peter’s shoulders together until they started to feel uncomfortably malleable, and he pulled Peter against his chest.

Peter rubbed his cheeks against Damian’s shirt. He could only hope that he was leaving tears and not snot on Damian’s clothes, but held his comments back as he sat on Peter’s bed.

“Sorry for waking you,” Peter mumbled against Damian’s clavicle.

Damian lifted a hand to rest on Peter’s upper back. “It’s fine. I’m here to alleviate your reasons for nightly activities.”

Peter’s breath hitched again. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Damian looked at the top of Peter’s head and tried to understand exactly what Peter didn’t. His mind was slowly returning to its sleepy state, and he came up with nothing.

“I had a nightmare,” Peter whined.

Damian wrinkled his nose when he felt additional moisture through his shirt from an unknown source. He would have to wash the area and change clothes, but the damage had been done, and he let Peter stay pressed against the damp spot. “I’m sorry to hear that. What was it about?”

“I was alone. Everyone disappeared.”

Damian didn’t have to pretend at those words. The tighter grip around Peter’s body came naturally and Peter weighed practically nothing and didn’t resist when Damian moved to lean against Peter’s headboard.

He wanted to tell Peter it would never happen, but Father had disappeared without a trace, and Drake and Alfred the human had left with barely any warning. Damian instead settled on the truth. “That is an uncomfortable concept.”

Peter rubbed his face into Damian’s clavicle. “Never leave me, Uncle Dami.”

“Your father and I will do our best to be there for you. Especially when you’re here.”

Peter’s tiny fists felt strong and desperate as they gripped Damian’s shirt. It was enough for Damian’s clothes to protest and Damian’s hands to grip Peter a little tighter.

“Can I sleep with you, Uncle Dami?”

Damian could have said no. He had left before Peter could have asked it of him most other nights, and he was still feeling sluggish from illness, but denying Peter comfort and reassurance would be cruel even without the mission in mind.

“Let me change my clothes and then I’ll come back.”

Peter gripped Damian’s shirt even tighter and crawled slightly up Damian’s body from how fiercely he was trying to unite their bodies with sheer strength and will. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

“Okay,” Damian allowed, but promised himself to sneak out to clean himself up when Peter fell asleep again. Unfortunately, Peter stayed glued to Damian and looked far too peaceful to be disturbed before his even breaths lulled Damian into a dreamless sleep.

Damian closed his eyes tightly and tensed his arms around the warm pillow between them when he heard a loud click.

“No pictures, Tati,” Damian’s pillow groaned. Its voice was high-pitched, but the volume was low.

“Sorry, you and Uncle Dami are just so cute,” Grayson said.

Damian slowly opened his eyes. ‘Uncle Dami’ meant that Peter was nearby.

“Good morning, Sunshine. I was checking in on you two, but you should sleep some more. It’s only five am.”

Peter started to move more in Damian’s arms, and he knew that the chance of sleeping had already passed. Pete elbowed Damian and threw his arms toward Grayson before he was pulled out of Damian’s grip.

It left Damian cold, but it was the promise of breakfast before Grayson would go to bed that pulled him out of bed and toward the kitchen.

Grayson was wearing sweats and an oversized t-shirt, but it was apparent from his sweaty hair that he hadn’t taken the time to shower yet. However, he still fried eggs, toasted bread, and cut cucumbers and carrots into sticks as Damian sat and rubbed his eyes, and Peter set up the breakfast table with proper utensils and plates, but plastic cups depicting Loony Tunes characters.

There was no talking as they slowly ate, but Grayson’s broad smile and sparkling eyes were still loud enough for Damian to glare at him between bites.

“Do you want to play with my LEGOs?” Peter asked when most of his plate was empty.

Grayson leaned his chin on his hand. “I would love to, but maybe Uncle Dami will play with you while I get some shut-eye.”

Damian grunted and bit into his last carrot. It was a death sentence waiting to happen, but he would show Peter that the manor was full of people wanting to entertain him. Even if said entertainment consisted of Peter pushing a LEGO monster truck around while Damian barely made an effort to make the LEGO police car catch it. It ended with a crash against the couch, but Peter was delighted to pull the pieces of both cars apart and act shocked before making one of the little yellow figures carry the pieces around and assemble both cars without instructions.

Next on Peter’s agenda was reading. His literacy was abysmal, especially when he wasn’t holding the book himself. Still, Peter made up for it with sheer imagination, and Damian found himself enjoying listening to how the dalmatians escaped Cruella and the dialogue between the dogs. Although he would have to find a documentary about both dogs and adoptions to remedy Peter’s belief that not only was one dog pregnant with 101 puppies, but she was also pregnant for 101 times the duration of a pregnancy with one puppy.

Grayson woke in time to make lunch, and Peter almost vibrated when the smell of the traveler’s stew filled the kitchen. He didn’t even seem to mind when Grayson made him change the plates for bowls, and he, fortunately, gave Damian and Grayson drinking glasses instead of the last clean plastic cup.

Napping was childish, but Damian did it anyway with Grayson and Peter before waking up to be pulled around at Peter’s every whim.

“You don’t have to do what he wants to. He can play by himself, too,” Grayson mumbled when he walked in on Peter and Damian reenacting a medical drama with stuffed animals.

Peter put his hands on his hips and puffed out his cheeks. “Yes, he has to.”

Damian moved the stuffed rabbit around firmly. “I want to see how Dr. Tiger treats this mysterious ailment.”

Peter gasped dramatically. “His name is Rajah.”

Rajah, the stuffed animal, was a white tiger, but Damian knew where the name came from before Peter encouraged him to see Aladdin before bed. It was rated for slightly older children than Peter, but this was Gotham and Peter could put on and rewind VSH-tapes.

Every day was the same, and it was only the mission that gave Damian the strength to prevail in entertaining Peter and letting him crawl into Damian’s arms at odd hours of the day. Damian’s skin would occasionally crawl, but Peter was warm when he snuck into Damian’s bed almost every night, and his little grunts and slight movements made the call of vigilantism a little fainter.

“This has been the funnest week ever!” Peter exclaimed and threw his arms into the air on Damian’s sixth day of slow torture. It looked as if he wanted Damian to pick him up, but the arms fell after half a second.

Damian silently congratulated himself on a well-executed mission before asking Peter, “So you’ll stay here indefinitely?”

Peter tilted his head and furrowed his brows.

Damian huffed. “Well?”

Peter moved from side to side for a few moments. “I like being here.”

Damian’s stomach tensed the same way it did when preparing to attack a criminal he had been tailing. Those moments usually didn’t require words, but Grayson let him call them crude names he would never repeat in front of Peter. Instead, Damian had to force his words to come out at a reasonable volume and neither seem too serious nor too soft. “Better than at your mother’s?”

Peter stopped moving around and puffed out his cheeks. Damian could only hope that it wasn’t meant as intimidation, but didn’t react to it either way.

“I like Mommy’s and I like Tati’s place. Mommy has good snacks and sometimes watches Scooby Doo with me.”

The manor had better food than anything he thought that woman could provide, and Damian knew that Grayson had watched several renditions of Scooby Doo with Peter, but he kept those facts back to cut to the core of his argument. “But the manor is better. You could stay at the manor forever and be with your father and me.”

Peter started to chew on his fingers. It was a dirty habit that Damian usually stopped swiftly, but he was more focused on the tears welling up in Peter’s eyes.

“What’s wrong? Are you scared of going back? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can make sure of it.”

Peter’s words were muffled with fingers in his mouth and emotions radiating from both his voice and face. His face was bright red, and tears quickly started to fall from his light eyelashes. “Don’t be mean to my mommy. My mommy is nice.”

Damian crossed his arms but tried to make his voice soft, even though every instinct told him to bite and draw blood if he had to. “Your mother is not nice.”

Peter pulled his fingers out of his mouth so he could swing tiny fists at his sides and glare up at Damian with slightly red and very teary eyes. “She is! You’re not nice! I don’t like this!”

Damian opened his mouth to explain why she had failed repeatedly, but Peter turned around and ran through the manor. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Peter was supposed to understand. He was supposed to have seen how great life was at the manor and agree that he belonged with Damian and Grayson. He was supposed to be happy and relieved and let Damian fix everything.

Peter’s sobs echoed through the halls and toward Damian until he heard Grayson’s attempt at calm, and then true calm when he no doubt had checked Peter for physical injuries.

Peter continued to cry, and each sound filled Damian’s lungs with water until he was sure he would drown where he stood. Grayson’s voice echoed as well, but his words were too low and mumbled for Damian to understand anything before Peter quieted after Damian had counted to 616. A single pair of footsteps filled the manor in the silence, and Damian lifted his face to see Grayson with a drowsy Peter slung over his shoulder.

Grayson turned his head to stare at Damian for a moment with something he had rarely shown Damian before. It wasn’t quite anger, but something akin to it made Damian want to cower instead of fight.

Grayson’s voice was neither particularly deep nor high for a fully grown man, but it sounded booming when he asked, “Do you know why Peter is convinced he’s never seeing his mom again?”

Damian’s neck was stiff, but he nodded anyway and gasped for breath to add, “I didn’t mean to upset him. I didn’t mean to upset you, Peter.”

Peter let out a slight sound at his name, but didn’t seem to register much when Grayson lifted a hand to run over Peter’s back. It was so small that it almost disappeared behind Grayson’s long and thin fingers and average-sized palm.

Grayson turned his head to kiss the crown of Peter’s head. The action seemed to calm Grayson more than Peter, but it allowed Damian to meet Grayson’s gaze.

“I’m going to put him to bed. His nap would have been in thirty minutes anyway, and he tired himself out, and then we’ll have a talk about what is appropriate to ask of a four-year-old.”

Damian could have come up with several explanations why it wasn’t needed. Most of which consisted of Peter’s astonishing logic, language, and interpersonal skills compared to his peers, but Damian was looking at the evidence of his failing as Grayson walked up the stairs and let Damian see Peter’s bright red cheeks and slack face.

Damian could have escaped or at least hid in one of the many rooms in the manor, but his feet didn’t seem capable of moving in the minutes it took Grayson to tuck in an unconscious toddler.

Grayson didn’t comment on it, but walked over to stand next to Damian. His eyes were firmly set on the wall in front of them, and his jaw tensed every time Damian tried to catch his gaze. There was no other indicator of the storm brewing inside of Grayson, but Damian had done his research and feared he would see the supernova Grayson had released in his early days as Robin, according to the text between the lines of reports and comments Alfred had thought Damian hadn’t understood.

It didn’t come, but the careful way he was talking told Damian how close he was to experiencing it. “What did you say to Peter?”

Peter must have said some of the things Damian said, but being allowed to explain himself when Peter had been distressed and misunderstood was a kindness Damian hadn’t been sure he would have been permitted when hurting Peter. “I told him he could stay at the manor full-time if he wanted to.”

Grayson nodded once and carefully asked, “You didn’t insult his mother?”

Damian swallowed and inhaled shakenly. “I said she wasn’t being nice to him.”

Grayson closed his eyes and licked his lips. “Okay, that’s not as bad as I thought it would be, but it’s still not appropriate. Mary and I are Peter’s parents, and you can’t insult a four-year-old’s mom. I don’t care what you wanted out of it; you can’t put him through having to defend her against you. He’s too young to understand why you would talk unkindly about someone he loves.”

Damian visualized every triumph from before and after moving to the manor. Every time he had succeeded in beating an enemy with his sword, fists, or superior intelligence. This conversation made his limbs lock up instead of readying themselves for battle, but he used just as much force to explain, “I was trying to do what’s best for Peter.”

Grayson’s body tensed, but he didn’t explode. Instead, he lowered his voice and glared at the wall. “That’s not for you to decide. You’re a child, and don’t need the responsibility of Peter’s wellbeing, and I’m an adult and don’t need help in deciding what is best for him.”

Damian held his breath until his lungs and nerves couldn’t keep his words back anymore. “Are you going to send me away?”

Grayson’s head turned slowly, and his eyes narrowed further for every inch until he was looking down at Damian with his torso still turned ninety degrees from his face. “What are you on about?”

Damian inhaled and tried to remember his training. The training from before he learned the strength of softness and how strong you had to be not to be hurt when showing someone your vulnerable parts. “I distressed your son, and you clearly disapprove of both my methods and intended results.”

Grayson’s eyes closed for a moment. Such trust in safety would have never happened when someone dishonored themselves in the League of Assassins. Still, Damian felt like he was the one open to attacks without being able to see Grayson’s eyes.

“I’m not going to send you away. You had good intentions, and I shouldn’t have let my feelings get the better of me when we picked up Peter. I was mad at her, but I should have explained that forcing a separation between Peter and his mom wouldn’t end well.”

Damian’s lungs were struggling to expand enough for him to breathe, but he still found enough air to risk Grayson’s ire. “But you said that you would make sure that it all worked out. How can it work out if Peter is being rejected by his mother constantly?”

Grayson glanced at the ceiling and bit his lip before turning his body to face Damian when his gaze did. “I did say that. The best for Peter would be if Mary stopped doing that. I don’t understand how she could want to be apart from Peter for a second, and if she keeps doing it, I will fight her for primary custody so Peter knows where he will be.”

Damian inhaled and couldn’t stop the smile before Grayson’s hands fell on his shoulders, and he put his face so close to Damian’s that they were sharing air. His eyes seemed to laser in and hold every part of Damian hostage.

“But Peter would be devastated about that. You know that. Peter won’t understand why he can’t spend as much time with his mom as he’s used to, and custody battles can get ugly. Worst case scenario, we see Peter less because I get painted as unagreeable, or Mary doesn’t call when she needs help with him. So, the best would be for Mary to get her act together.”

Damian squared his shoulders. “The best would be for Peter to be here. We can make sure he will never feel rejected here. We don’t need a judge to know that.”

Grayson swallowed and leaned back slightly. “I want him to stay here, too. I don’t want to have to share you or Peter with your mothers, but you love your mothers, and I have accepted that. I will do damage control if I have to, but I can’t keep you away from your mother when she visits once in a blue moon, just like I can’t force Peter never to see Mary again.”

Damian crossed his arms. “My mother and Peter’s mother are nothing alike.”

Grayson breathed heavily and flashed a smile with dead eyes. “Yes, your mothers are very different.”

“So, it’s stupid for Peter to want to spend time with his mother. I don’t know anyone else who would want to spend time with someone who doesn’t treat them right. Even if it’s their mother.”

“I do,” Grayson whispered. His lips were barely moving, so Damian must have misheard. It was the only explanation, but Damian tried to remember if anyone in Grayson’s close circle had mother issues. Perhaps the Titans had shared secrets, but Damian thought he would have known even if they had only shared them in confidence.

Damian had still not come closer to an answer when Grayson inexplicably pulled Damian into his arms and rested his chin on top of Damian’s. His heart was beating at a slightly increased rate, but it was steady and calming.

He tightened his grip around Damian after a while and let go enough to look down at Damian. “It’s my job to catch Peter if he falls, just like it’s my job to catch you if you fall, and then when you’re both older, you can catch each other.”

Damian grunted but didn’t cross his arms in fear of Grayson letting go of his shoulders. “I don’t need backup.”

Grayson’s lips lifted in another sad smile. This one was slow to arrive and made Grayson’s eyes look sad instead of dead.

Damian’s heart shuddered when one of Grayson’s hands lifted from his shoulder, but it soon landed on the crown of Damian’s head and brushed over his hair. Grayson’s voice seemed to command the room as he whispered, “Okay, I just needed you to know.”

Chapter Text

Bruce got himself out of the Timestream, but the fact that Tim was actively looking for him would have been enough to free him of much heavier shackles, and prevented him from carrying all his burdens alone as they travelled towards the manor. It wasn't right for a child to a parent, but Tim had always been good at supporting Bruce when he needed it.  

He needed that support when he opened the front door to the manor and heard scream-singing through the whole building. 

“Na-na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, yeah!” 

Bruce’s stomach clenched, and he walked through the familiar rooms and hallways with Tim at his heels. Neither of them hesitated, but both of them were cautious about the reason for the noise. 

“Hey, Jude, don't make it bad,” Dick's voice sang before a child’s voice sang with a more natural pitch but less practice, “Take a sad song and make it better.”

Bruce’s heart was beating too loudly for him to hear any following lyrics until he stood in front of the party room where The Beatles were playing, but the loud singing drowned them out. Dick was standing and seemed to serenade both Damian and either a large toddler or a small preschooler.

Bruce would always recognize Damian, but he looked like he had grown at least five inches, and he had lost some of the softness of his cheeks. There was no mistaking that he wasn’t an adult, but Bruce’s youngest looked like a teenager. Bruce’s mouth went dry when he remembered the years that had passed and realized that Damian was a teenager now. Tim had grown too in the years that had passed, but the jump from twelve to fourteen suddenly felt much larger than from seventeen to nineteen. Tim would have graduated from high school by now if he hadn’t dropped out to look for Bruce, and Damian would be halfway through his first year of high school by now. 

Bruce had no idea how he would react to seeing Cassandra or Stephanie. Damian looked so different, Tim appeared less so, and Dick looked exactly the same as when Bruce last saw him, except much more relaxed than he had appeared for years before Bruce’s disappearance. Every familiar and unfamiliar feature hurt, and Bruce didn’t know what to do when Dick started to use the little boy’s hand as a microphone as they sang and stomped to the beat together, and Bruce realized who it was.

Peter was still tiny. The top og his head only reached somewhere around Dick’s hipbone, but he had barely reached Bruce’s upper thigh the last time that he saw him. This Peter was sure on his longer legs, and Bruce could see the increased intelligence from the other side of the room, but he was still the grandson who had brought Dick into Bruce's life.

Peter let out an unrestrained laugh, and Bruce’s chest warmed even as his heart clenched. Peter sounded the same as before, and both of them jumped around like Dick did as a preteen with infectious joy, easy movements, and shouted lyrics.

 “Yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah. Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na. Hey, Jude.” 

Bruce looked back at his youngest son. Damian wasn’t participating in singing or jumping, but he was looking loose and happy as he observed Dick and Peter. Bruce had been focused on survival and plans to escape for most of his time away, but the quiet moments had allowed him to worry about how his family was holding up without him. Tim and Damian had been underage when he left, and all of his kids faced their own challenges. CPS could have taken them multiple times, and Bruce had barely managed to keep Dick when he had been a little older than Dick had been at Bruce's disappearance. He would be the next of kin to Tim and Damian, but influence and a small biological child could have been against him. 

Bruce had reminded himself that Dick was the man Batman attempted to be when the world had pressed on his shoulders, but all his kids were prideful, and Damian hadn’t made himself liked at twelve. It looked like it had worked out much better than Bruce could have imagined, but he couldn’t stop wondering if there were cracks in the foundation of the life Dick had seemingly created for himself, Peter, and Damian. Dick was a young father and must have been even more challenged with having a twelve-year-old to take care of.

There was only joy in front of Bruce’s eyes until the music abruptly stopped, and everyone’s eyes turned toward Damian, with his finger still pressed on the music system, and his eyes glued on Bruce.

“Welcome back, Father.” 

Bruce felt it as everyone else's eyes moved towards him, but all he could focus on was the sight of Damian and the knowledge of how much he had missed. 

“Thank you, Chum.” 

Bruce could cry. He had cried a few times on the way home, but Tim had politely looked away, and Bruce had pretended that Tim couldn’t figure out why Bruce had left the bathroom with red and puffy eyes.

“I did it, Dick, I brought him back!” Tim piped up behind Bruce with much more energy than he had had all day. It was unnecessary information with Bruce’s presence and the encrypted message that they had sent to the manor, but Bruce relaxed at the joy on Tim’s face.

Dick smiled. It was soft and warm in a way Bruce had tried to recreate since seeing Dick’s last performance with his parents, and Bruce’s breath hitched at how fatherly Dick looked. His son had matured into a father over the previous five years, and it seemed to have grown to radiate toward more than just Peter. “I can see that. You're amazing, Tim, and you even brought him back a day earlier than expected.” 

Tim's cheeks darkened as he bent his neck and took Bruce’s arm to lead him further into the party room. “Let’s go in. You all have a lot to catch up on.” 

They did, but Bruce had no idea where to start. He hadn’t even been able to start the conversation about Tim not having been in school for the last two years, and they had found each other days ago. 

Peter looked up at Bruce with wide brown eyes like a deer caught in headlights and mumbled unfamiliar words to Dick while pointing in Bruce’s direction. The only recognizable word was ‘tati’, but Bruce had been sure that Peter had been able to talk clearly two years ago. 

Dick whispered back with a rhythm similar to how he would speak to the moon and every bird when he had just moved into the manor. Right, Romani, Dick had always wanted someone to share it with, and he had found that in becoming a father. It had been easy to forget how little they used anything but English outside of Dick's small apartment with his girlfriend, but Bruce could imagine Dick healing with his inner child by sharing half of his heritage with someone he loved.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he looked back at Bruce with suspicion and hesitancy. 

“Come over so I can tell you how much I've missed you, Peter,” Tim called, but Peter sent him the same suspicious look.  

“What’s wrong, Peter?” Damian asked as he stopped his slow journey from the sound system to Peter. 

Dick looked around the room and ignored Peter as he put his arms around one of Dick’s thighs. “They disappeared when he was three.” 

Bruce nodded. It was correct, but it didn’t explain anything. Bruce looked worn and hadn't been able to get his usual haircut, but he thought he looked like himself. 

“I thought that Peter had greater than average memory,” Damian commented. “He hasn't seemed to have difficulties remembering months prior since he was two."

Dick let one hand rest on Peter’s wavy locks and looked over at Damian. “He does have a good memory, but he can’t remember someone he hasn't seen for almost half his life. Photos can only do so much.” 

“Oh,” Tim let out and lost his excited grip on Bruce. It hurt almost as much as seeing Peter look at him without any recollection. 

“But I remember you.” Dick let his eyes glaze over Bruce. “Both of you and I’m thrilled that both of you are back.” 

Bruce turned around when he heard another voice that he had missed dearly. “I am too.” 

Alfred was usually a master of keeping his emotions at bay, but even he looked misty-eyed as he stood in the doorway to the party room. 

“Alfred,” Bruce breathed out. He would have run towards him, but every instinct in his body begged him to move toward Damian and Dick instead of farther away.

Fortunately, Alfred moved closer himself and gave Bruce a fierce hug before pulling back and collecting himself with a single breath. “And where have you been for all these years? I was sure that you had perished until Master Dick told me about your and Master Timothy's message.” 

“I was lost in time. Literally.” 

“Hmpft, I expect to hear the whole story after you've been welcomed properly.” 

Bruce returned his gaze to his eldest and youngest sons, and Damian slowly stepped closer to Bruce until they faced each other. Bruce held his breath and tried his best not to show the hurt about missing when the top of Damian's head reached Bruce's chin or when his jaw started to widen. Bruce's gaze lowered, and he saw where there would one day be strong lines instead of a delicate shin. 

Bruce’s lips barely moved, but his words echoed in the empty room. “I missed you all.”

Damian looked up at Bruce with a fierce expression before sending a searching look towards Dick, who nodded encouragingly, with Peter standing on his foot and hiding his face in his hip. Damian looked back at Bruce and inhaled deeply with his whole chest before he spoke. “I have looked forward to this day. Your absence was noticeable, but Grayson and I kept the manor and Gotham safe.” 

“What about Steph or Cass?” Tim asked. 

“Brown was here, too, and Cassandra is in Hong Kong.” 

Bruce breathed a little lighter now that he knew that Stephanie was presumably safe and Cassandra was hopefully reachable, but he couldn’t breathe completely carefree with how much tenser the atmosphere was now that he had arrived. 

Bruce put a hand on Damian’s shoulder and was met with no resistance but also no signs of affection. Bruce had missed everyone dearly, but he was unsure how well it would be received if he pulled Damian against his chest and pretended that they lived in a world where nothing could hurt them.  

Damian sighed and looked seconds away from rolling his eyes. “Just get it over with. I’ve learned to withstand hugs from Peter and Grayson.” 

Bruce tried not to look at Peter at that, but he couldn’t help noticing how firmly he was holding Dick’s leg. Peter used to jump into Bruce’s arms regardless of the time or place, and Bruce could only hope that they would get some of that familiarity back. Peter would remember a life without Bruce, so Bruce needed to ensure Peter saw his return as a positive change after he had hugged his sons. 

Bruce inhaled deeply and extended his arms toward Damian. The hug was slightly awkward and done gingerly, but Bruce’s body relaxed as Damian slowly let his guard down and circled one of his arms around Bruce.

Bruce let his cheeks rest on Damian's head. “I’m sorry for taking so long to come home.” 

Damian’s voice didn’t betray too much as he mumbled, “It was fine,” but Bruce knew what it wasn't. 

Bruce didn’t want to let go, but Damian’s patience or ability to be vulnerable wasn’t eternal, and he loosened his grip when Damian did the same.

Damian brushed himself off immediately. It would be offensive coming from anyone else or in any other situation, but Bruce had traveled far since his last shower and was elated to see the socially untrained boy he remembered peek out in the eyes of the teenager in front of him.

Damian cleared his throat and looked toward Peter, who was being carried by and was almost strangling Dick. “Come and greet your grandfather, Peter.”

Peter looked up and let both Bruce and Damian see his light brown eyes. “Grandfather?” 

Damian closed his eyes, and Bruce could not remember Damian showing that amount of restraint, even as he was learning to handle disagreements in nonlethal ways. “It’s your Pawpaw. My father.” 

“Pawpaw? From the pictures?” Peter asked, but he was only looking at Damian and then Dick, who both nodded before he looked up at Bruce with a startled expression. “Hi, Pawpaw. I thought you were dead.” 

Bruce was at a loss for words after that. Tim had told him that most people presumed he was dead, and it was only paintings that convinced Dick of Tim's theory about Bruce being trapped in the Timestream. 

“We initially thought you were dead,” Dick answered with a slightly labored voice, and let his hands run through Peter’s hair. He kept messing it up and then smoothing it down in an eternal circle. 

Peter smushed his cheek against Dick’s and looked at Bruce. “I’m happy that you’re not dead, Pawpaw.” 

Bruce flashed him a slight smile. “I’m happy about that too.” 

Dick looked almost emotionless when he looked at Bruce, but there was far more under the surface than Dick had let him see before. “I’m also glad that you’re back. It’s been strange not to have you nearby.” 

Peter stopped his slow assassination of Dick and turned his head. It was barely a movement, and he said nothing, but Dick’s expression immediately changed into adoration as he looked down to hear what Peter had to say. 

Peter glanced around the room and leaned forward to ask in a low voice that echoed enough for Bruce to catch every word. “Is that your dad, Tati?” 

Dick sent a fleeting look up at Bruce before looking down at Peter again. “Yes, the one I went to live with when your first grandparents died, and Tim's your uncle. They've both known you since you were a baby.” 

“Should we say hi?” 

Dick removed his hand from Peter’s hair and slowly lowered Peter to the floor. “Yes, we should.” 

Peter didn’t grab Dick’s pant leg, but he walked close enough to him that Bruce was sure that Dick would accidentally kick or step on Peter any moment. 

“Hello, Pawpaw. Hello, Uncle Tim,” Peter said with a soft and shy voice. He sent both Damian and Dick a look and smiled when they both nodded in return.

Bruce slowly kneeled. He was still noticeably taller than Peter, but it brought them closer to eye level, and Bruce was trained enough to stifle the memories of being hugged almost every time he had been in a similar position in front of Peter. “Hello, Peter, you’ve grown a lot.” 

Peter closed his eyes as he gave a single nod. “Thank you.” 

“Hello, Dick,” Bruce said as he looked up at him. “I’ve looked forward to seeing you again.” 

“Me too, B,” Dick replied, and Bruce’s world became a little lighter with that simple nickname. He had been Bruce for so long that he had almost forgotten how it felt to have Dick call him anything else. 

“You’ve broken Father, Grayson.” 

Bruce looked over at Damian and realized that he was smiling so widely that his untrained facial muscles were straining. 

They strained even more when Tim offered Peter a hand in something that looked like a blend of a business deal and coaxing a skittish cat. It seemed to work in Tim's favor after a few seconds, and Peter took a few steps toward Tim and offered his hand in return.

Peter hadn't been shy about demanding hugs from them at three, but he and Tim gingerly held hands now.  

A lot was different, but Bruce had found his way in the Timestream, and he could find it in his home with his family.

Chapter Text

Damian liked Jon Kent. He was a little too energetic, but he was fun, and he could withstand even the most brutal training sessions that Damian could muster. He could also fly, which was a plus even if being carried was undignified.

He was also young. He was eleven years old, and he acted like it, while Damian usually acted much older than almost fourteen when he wasn’t actively losing his temper.

“He’s just so cool,” Jon whined about Connor Kent. “He’s always been so cool. I wish that I could be a teenager soon. Maybe he would stop thinking of me as a little kid then.” 

Damian disagreed that Connor Kent was particularly cool, but he could understand the feeling of looking up to someone much older than oneself. Although Damian’s and Jon’s familial dynamics were different, as Grayson was around thirteen years older than Damian and his legal guardian, and Connor Kent was around ten years older than Jon and either his brother or uncle who lived with Jon’s grandparents.

Jon started pulling grass out of the ground. “Sometimes I feel like he just thinks everything I do is childish. I don’t have as cool or dangerous missions as him, and I just started middle school while he’s all grown up.” Jon squeezed his own cheeks with his palms and looked over at Damian with a face that would make a lesser boy laugh. “Do you know what I mean?” 

Damian did, but he found himself relating more to Connor Kent than Jon. Drake was away and was not missed, and Grayson felt like a confidant and an adviser rather than an unreachable entity. They spent multiple nights together a week while Peter slept in his bed with Alfred the cat and the dogs watching over him. 

“Uncle Dami!” A high voice called through the grounds. 

Damian looked over in the direction of Peter’s voice and the sound of short legs running through the dry leaves. Peter had started and ended Kindergarten recently and was currently the youngest in his class by a few months. Peter’s curriculum was far lower than Damian thought it should be, but Peter found joy in showing Damian his attempts at spelling and subtracting with two digits.

Peter stopped running when he turned the corner and saw Jon. “Oh, sorry.” 

“What do you want, Peter?” Damian asked when it was clear that Peter wasn’t going to talk or walk closer on his own. Jon usually only visited the manor during the weeks when Peter was at his mother’s, but that didn’t mean Peter had to act that startled. Damian glanced at the corner where Grayson was loitering and nodded in response to the glance he received before Grayson turned toward the manor. 

“Nothing,” Peter answered with a stage whisper. 

Damian sighed. His cheeks already felt warm, but he huffed and waved Peter toward him. “Come over here.” 

Peter shook his head vigorously so his wavy locks blew around his head, and he almost stumbled where he stood. 

Damian rolled his eyes. “Jon isn’t dangerous. You’ve seen him before, and I thought you were the brave Spider-Boy.” 

Peter stomped his tiny foot on the grass. “I am.” 

“Then come over.” Damian waved Peter over once more and didn’t push him away when Peter decided it meant he could run over and attach himself to Damian’s side. 

Damian looked up to Jon’s wide, blue eyes. Jon’s mouth opened slightly, and he glanced between Damian and Peter a few times before he talked. “I thought it was only Bruce who collected children. Where did you even find a preschooler?” 

Peter narrowed his eyes at Jon but moved even closer to Damian when Jon looked back at him with a confused stare. “I’m in first grade.” 

“You’re also barely five.” 

Peter made a sound in his throat similar to the one Damian made when he didn’t want to admit that others were making sense. Damian didn’t know if he was more pleased to have taught Peter anything unintentionally or annoyed that Peter was using something that Damian used towards people beneath himself. 

“So, where did he come from?” 

“I came from my mommy’s tummy,” Peter informed Jon, his words carrying slightly more strength than usual when addressing strangers and people he hadn’t seen in a few months. 

“Yes, Grayson and Mary had sex,” Damian supplied. 

Jon let out an undignified sound before closing his eyes and contorting his face. “You can’t just say that to him. I didn’t recognize him immediately, but I know that Dick will be mad about you saying stuff like that in front of him.” 

Damian looked over at Jon with searching eyes. “Why? It’s the truth. Most children are born through sex.” 

Jon’s eyes furrowed, and his mouth opened slightly as he looked at Damian before turning his gaze down to Peter. “Do you even know what sex is?” 

Peter hummed and stroked his chin. “Not really. Tati says it’s a boring game that only adults want to play. Like paying taxes.”

Damian’s fingers found Peter’s tiny and weak shoulder at the thought of that. There were sick people in the world, some had even made comments towards him before he had reached his teens, but no one would survive it if they tried anything on Peter. “Yes, only adults can play that.” 

Peter’s head moved as he looked up at Damian with innocent brown eyes, holding on to Damian like a sugar glider on a branch. “Why do adults play boring games?” 

“Adults are boring, and you can tell me if anyone tries to play something like that with you. I would take care of the threat while Grayson deals with everything else.” 

Jon’s eyes were even wider as he looked at Peter beneath Damian’s arm. “I’m sure your family would be able to take care of it.” 

Grayson could take care of it, and Father would have too if he had still been around. Damian knew that, but even the thought of it ever happening to Peter was enough for Damian to disobey every order that both Grayson and Father had given him. Both were against murder, with Father having been a lot more vocal about it, but Damian would deal with the punishment if anyone ever touched Peter. 

Peter pushed himself further into Damian’s side but kept his gaze on Jon. “But it doesn’t matter. Tati says I can’t do it until I’m thirty.” 

Damian let out an amused huff. “Grayson’s a hypocrite.” 

Peter looked like he was about to ask something when Jon interrupted. “Should you talk about Dick like that? And he must have been as old as Connor is now when he had Peter.” 

“Exactly, he is an irresponsible hypocrite, even as the result is acceptable.” 

Jon’s eyes focused on the way Damian’s arm was around Peter’s entire side, but he had a moment of brilliance and didn’t comment on how much Damian liked the result of Grayson’s probably reckless affairs. 

The silence stretched for several seconds before Damian broke it. “Why were you looking for me, Peter?” 

“Nothing, just wanted to tell you about school, but I know big kids don’t want to hear about it.” 

Jon’s face looked strangely calculating as he looked down at Peter. Damian didn’t want to fight Jon, but he would if that look meant anything nefarious.

“You can debrief your day with me when Jon goes home.” 

Jon’s eyes kept focusing on where Damian’s hand met Peter’s shoulder, and it looked to be more strenuous than even the heaviest weight for him to pull his gaze towards Damian. “Do you like to hear about his day?” 

“It’s fine. Peter has anecdotes about situations that I won't experience myself.” 

Peter’s shoulders tensed, and he snapped his head to look between Damian and Jon. “You don’t have to listen to me, Uncle Dami. I can try to keep my mouth closed. Mrs. Henriksen says that I should learn it when I forget to put my hand up.” 

“School does need you to put your hand up if you need to ask something,” Jon explained, but was met with Peter’s incredulous look. 

“I just answer the questions and forget to let the others answer the easy ones in math. The other kids can say the number too. I sometimes even wait until forever after I’ve found the answer, but waiting is boring.”

“Didn’t you just start school a month ago?” 

Peter tilted his head. “Yes, and we’re still adding. It's always two plus two or five plus four. It’s boring and everyone already knows the answers and just doesn't say them.” 

Jon looked at Damian as if he were supposed to say something in response. Peter had expressed his boredom in school before. Still, Grayson and Fitch insisted that Peter needed to try to relate to his older peers instead of being placed in even older classes, and Damian was not about to challenge Grayson’s parenting on the matter. 

Jon blinked a few times, and his eyebrows rose impossibly high. “I think they might not be pretending.” 

“They’re pretending. I’ve been adding for the last year, and some of my classmates are a whole year older than me and say they don't know subtraction.” Peter looked back at Damian. “They’re just pretending, right, Uncle Dami?” 

Damian kept his face firm. “I have no interest in wondering what goes through the minds of first graders.” 

Peter’s entire body shrank in Damian’s hold, and he looked towards the manor with a sigh. “You can always tell me about your theories, Peter. They’re much more interesting than wondering about your subnormal classmates.” 

Peter’s body stopped trying to disappear into nothing, and Damian felt the kindle inside of himself quiet down into a pleasant warmth with the easy acceptance. 

“I’m sorry, Uncle Dami’s friend. I interrupted your talk.” 

Damian studied Jon’s features. He didn’t look too bothered, but Damian could send Peter back inside if Jon needed to let out more of his frustrations. 

Jon smiled widely and openly. “It’s okay, Peter, I think you might even know more about my situation than Damian does.” 

“Really?” Peter tilted his head.

Jon smiled widely and boyishly. “Yeah, I was just feeling a little insecure about being so much younger than my big brother, but you’re doing so great.” 

Damian rolled his eyes. “Peter’s an only child, Jon.” 

Jon’s eyes were shining as he looked at Damian and Peter. “Narh, not really.” 

Peter got on his knees and used his hand to whisper into Damian’s ear, “What does your friend mean?” 

“Jon is just being weird,” Damian answered in a normal volume. Jon would hear every word with his sensitive hearing, but Damian wouldn’t.

Chapter Text

Bruce had had a good week, compared to how his life had felt for almost every day of the last year. 

The Joker had been in Arkham for the past week, and Tim had accepted being Bruce’s ward. These simple facts had left Bruce in such a great mood that he hadn’t done anything rash enough to need Tim to save him from falling into despair or violence.

All of this had left Bruce uncharacteristically chatty for Batman as the Justice League wrapped up another meeting. 

“I’m happy to see you in such a great mood this week,” Superman said and smiled big with his white and straight teeth and slightly too blue eyes. Most of him looked human and all-American, but those eyes were outwardly.

“Hm,” Bruce hummed with the hint of a smile. 

Superman tilted his head and looked down at Bruce with a calm air. “Maybe I can visit you after I’ve seen Nightwing today.” 

“Hm?” Bruce hummed and furrowed his eyebrows under his cowl, and the hint of a smile turned into a visible frown. 

Clark smiled brightly, and his eyes crinkled. “Unless you want to come with me? It would make it easier if we could go through the tubes to the cave and then drive to Nightwing.” 

Bruce tensed his jaw. “Hm.” 

Clark sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly. “Don’t be like that. I saw Nightwing grow up, and I’m just excited to see your grandson.”

“Son? Who has a grandson? Wait, Spooky is a grandpa?” Green Lantern’s mouth fell open. “Wait, did you say Nightwing?”

Clark smiled brightly. “Yes, Nightwing had a baby a few months ago.”

Green Lantern looked around the room before focusing on Clark once more. “Are you sure that you’re not thinking of Arsenal’s baby? Didn’t he have one this summer?” 

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed more, and his frown turned into a scowl. “Hm.”

Clark tapped his chin and perched his lips. “I think that she was born in August. Nightwing told me about it, but he had a son a few months ago.”

It had been eight weeks, and Bruce narrowed his eyes when Clark’s smile brightened.

“I hope that Lois doesn’t get any ideas about giving Jon a little sibling when I show her the picture Nightwing sent me, but he’s so cute and needs to be shared.”

Diana walked up from behind Green Lantern. “Do you have the picture with you?” 

Bruce made a sound resembling a growl as Clark looked slightly down at Diana. “It was an e-mail, but it’s adorable. He’s lying on a blanket with red, yellow, and green robins and biting his fist. His eyes are like-” Clark spread his fingers in front of his eyes. “and he looks so intensely at the camera.”  

Bruce knew exactly what picture Clark was talking about. It was smart not to let Lois see it, but Bruce was more afraid of Clark forgetting the horrors and pestering Lois into having another child. Jon was a fine boy, and Kon was much better than could be expected from a mixture of Lex Luthor and Clark, but the world might not recover if Lois were ever to fall pregnant again. Even Diana had been nervous about it, despite the excitement of a human-Krytonian baby, and Bruce swore he would never have biological children or visit Metropolis if Lois ever fell pregnant again.

“Bring the picture to the next meeting,” Diana ordered. 

“Hm,” Bruce let out with slightly less furrowed eyebrows, and his scowl was slightly less firm. “Nightwing wouldn’t want you to advertise his son’s identity.” 

Green Lantern let out a huff. “We’re hardly going to out the identity of a baby, and it’s not like we will recognize him in a few years anyway.” 

Bruce would always recognize any of his kids and Peter. They could be gone for a decade, and he would instantly recognize them. Peter might look like a stereotypical white baby, but he was Bruce’s grandson and Dick’s child, and would be recognized regardless of time, place, or circumstances.

Clark patted Bruce’s back. “I’ll bring a printed-out picture next time.”

Bruce grumbled but resigned himself to informing Dick about Clark’s inability to keep Peter’s identity safe. Most of them already knew Bruce’s, Dick’s, or both of their identities, but they could never become too vigilant.

“Come on, let’s visit Gotham,” Clark declared loudly.

Bruce only grumbled and led the way to Bruce’s home so they could visit Dick’s. There wasn’t a question of whether Bruce wanted to see Dick, but he could only hope for the best when he came unannounced.

The drive was silent, and they arrived at Dick’s apartment complex before long. It was nice for Gotham, but it still had graffiti and people loitering and sending hungry looks at the building, and one scoundrel tried to follow Bruce and Clark inside the building.

Bruce didn’t have any issue climbing the stairs, but he had to check that Clark wasn’t floating with the way he soared up the stairs. He wasn’t, but knocked on Dick’s door before Bruce had climbed the last step.

Dick opened it with a wide grin. He looked just as tired and happy as he had the last time that Bruce had seen him, and a tiny piece of Bruce broke off his heart and left it both lighter and bleeding. His son was as happy as one could be less than a year after Jason’s death, but he still wouldn’t let Bruce make his journey to parenthood even easier. 

“Hey, Clark,” Dick cheered with much less volume but just as much excitement as he had had as a child.

“Hi, Dick,” Clark cheered back and looked at Dick with almost as much love as he seemed to hold for Jon. It was just a candle to the fire that was roaring inside of Bruce every time he saw Dick, but it was much more presentable.

Dick turned to look at Bruce. His smile fell slightly, but his eyes didn’t dim as they had before they lost Jason and a good while after. “I didn’t expect to see you, Bruce.”

Bruce squared his shoulders and looked around the entry inside of Dick’s apartment complex. “I thought that I would join you and Clark today, but I can leave if you want.”

Dick sighed and shook his head. “It’s fine. The more the merrier.”

Bruce’s socks were clean and whole, but he felt naked when he took his shoes off in the entryway.

Soft cries started inside the apartment, and Dick sent a glance at Clark before leaving. “You too, Clark. I don’t want dirty shoes inside.”

Clark blinked but quickly complied before both of them walked into the living room and toward the coos from both Dick and Peter. Dick smiled softly, but with much more love than should fit into a human body. Perhaps that was why it radiated out of his eyes and into the whole apartment until everything felt soft, light, and warm.

Peter’s arms reached up, and Dick offered his hand. Small hands grasped Dick’s index and middle fingers, pulling them much farther apart than Bruce’s could without breaking, but Dick only chuckled. Peter let out a squeal, and Dick rested his forehead on the bundle in his arms. The squealing continued, and tiny hands waved around Dick’s head until Dick slowly straightened his back and glanced between Bruce, Clark, and Peter. “It’s actually his naptime, but this one has suddenly decided he doesn’t like to sleep anymore. All he did before was sleep, and now he’s so full of life.”

Peter waved his arms and squealed even louder.

Dick sighed and tilted his head. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

The answer seemed to be breaking Bruce’s heart and healing every hurt Clark had ever had, as Clark was barely ordered to sanitize his hands before being handed Bruce’s grandson. Peter was older now, four weeks in adjusted time, but seeing Clark being praised and trusted with Bruce’s grandson left a sour taste in his mouth.

“He’s so small,” Clark whispered, and everyone looked at Peter, looking even smaller in the crook of Clark's elbow. “I don’t think that Jon was ever this small.” 

Dick let out a huff of laughter as he reached a finger out to Peter before he could fuss any more than he already was without Dick’s arms around him. “I hope for Lois that Jon wasn’t much bigger than seven pounds. Peter was tiny, even for being four weeks preterm, and it looked horrible for Mary to give birth to him.” 

Clark lowered his finger toward Peter as well, and Peter widened his eyes. Bruce knew that Peter was only noticing the contrast between Clark’s dark hair and light skin. Still, Bruce had a similar contrast and hadn’t been looked at as intently when he first met Peter just a week earlier.

Clark wiggled his finger, and Peter put his tiny gums on it and left saliva behind when he attacked the next one. Bruce had hoped for more viciousness, but Clark’s eyes only softened. “Yeah, Jon was a little over nine pounds, but I don’t remember him ever being this small.” 

Dick cringed at that. “Nine pounds? Poor Lois, but good for everything after. It was horrible for a while with how small Peter is, and he didn’t have a sense of hunger until a month ago. We're still on fortified milk and a million doctor's appointments, but he's gaining weight and can be awake for almost forty minutes at a time now.” 

Clark poked Peter’s cheek and slim chest. “That just proves that you’re an even better father than I thought you were.” 

Dick leaned on Clark’s shoulder just like he had as a boy and turned his head to look up at Clark. “You mean that?” 

Bruce’s chest tightened at that. He should be happy that Dick was comfortable with Clark, but every tender moment left Bruce’s insides feeling coated with slime. Bruce had built walls inside himself and hung signs on every one of them, reassuring himself that Dick had grown and therefore wasn't hanging off Bruce like he had as a child, but every one of them crumbled at Dick's easy touch. The dust was choking Bruce, but he only cleared his throat and hoped he wasn't radiating any of his feelings. 

Clark turned his head to look at Dick and smiled softly, like he had every time an excited Dick had done a backflip at seeing Clark as a preteen and young teenager. “You’re doing amazing. Jon’s already six, and Lois and I are still not always sure what to do.” 

The smile on Dick’s face grew, and Bruce looked out of the window before he could sneer. This was his son and his grandson, and Dick was finding comfort in Clark instead of him. Bruce had told him multiple times that he was doing well with Peter, and he had never looked as reassured as he did at Clark’s words. Dick had always felt comfortable with Clark, even when he and Bruce had fought, and Peter was now finding comfort and amusement in Clark as well.

Bruce wanted to be better. Alfred had said that he was doing better, but it wasn’t good enough if Dick was capable of being more comfortable with someone else.

“Oh, look at that smile,” Clark whispered, and Bruce’s head turned around fast enough for his ligaments to protest.

“What? He shouldn't be smiling for another few weeks.” Dick pressed his head against Clark’s cheek until Dick’s face was in front of Peter’s.

Dick’s breath was rapid, and his wide eyes looked at Peter. It was a fantastic moment that made Bruce feel ready to float away, but also weighed him down with the knowledge that he was more of a spectator than a participant, like Clark was.

Dick’s shoulders suddenly fell, and his manic look lessened into sparkling eyes. “That’s a poop smile.”

Clark gasped. “What? No, it’s not.”

Bruce wrinkled his nose at the sour-sweet stench of formula-fed baby poop, but a smile grew on his face when Dick pulled Peter out of Bruce’s arms for a diaper change.

Clark continued to smile at Dick’s retreating figure before turning toward Bruce. “He’s an amazing boy.”

Bruce’s chest warmed. He didn’t know if Clark was referring to Dick or Peter, but he didn’t need to know to send the door to Dick’s bedroom a fond look and whisper, “Yes, he is.”

“Fresh baby!” Dick announced as he opened the door.

Bruce swallowed and asked quietly, “Can I hold him, too?”

Dick’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah, sure, just sanitize your hands.”

Bruce drove toward the hand sanitizer and grabbed Peter as soon as he could. He fuzzed, but it just meant that Dick stayed nearby to soothe both of them with his presence, and Peter refrained from pooping while Bruce held him. He did eventually pee, but it was okay. Bruce got several moments of looking at Peter and Dick looking at each other while Dick talked to Clark. Peter's small body felt heavier than Bruce expected, with soft limbs and jerky movements. He was almost uncomfortably warm but smelled pleasantly of powder. 

Bruce could have touched Dick if he reached an arm out, but it would have taken away from holding Peter, and the illusion of the possibility of Dick leaning on him at any moment was far better than rejection. At least he had this. His grandson was safe and happy in his arms, and his oldest son was comfortable with Bruce being nearby and holding his most treasured person.

Not to mention that Bruce was not being pooped on. 

Chapter Text

Tim didn’t think much about Peter’s mother. He had seen her a few times, but he usually saw Peter with Dick and no one else. She was present in a picture or two on Dick's living room walls, but Tim would only be able to describe her in vague details if anyone asked. However, his head turned so quickly that it felt like his neck would snap when he heard her voice during his post-school skateboarding. 

“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” Mary's voice mumbled from a bench in Robinson Park. She sounded monotone, but there was no mistaking who she was.

Tim’s skateboard whipped up when he stepped off it and put a foot on the bottom, and he caught it without looking away from Peter, who was collecting weeds and adding them to the pile of plants and dirt next to Mary.

“Whale cum,” Peter exclaimed with his whole chest, and Tim’s hand was slower than his quick burst of laughter. He had heard Peter’s attempts at saying ‘welcome’ before, but it never failed to brighten his day.

“Unc’ Tim!” Peter cheered and walked fast with his arms extended. His little hands kept closing and opening rapidly, and left tiny claps behind as he closed the twenty or so feet between them. He stumbled and fell twice on his uncoordinated feet, but he quickly got up with only a bit more dirt on his knees and hands. 

Tim kneeled and extended the arm that wasn’t holding his skateboard. “Hey, Pete, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Peter leaned into Tim’s arms and put their foreheads together with a hand on each of Tim’s temples. His eyebrows were furrowed and almost looked like one monobrow from the close distance of their faces. “Why? I here.”

Tim stood up easily, with Peter balanced on his arm, and let a smile grow on his face. “Yeah, I can see that. You’re hanging out with your mom, huh?”

“Yes, flow-eh. Mommy flow-eh.”

Tim glanced past Peter with great difficulty to see the few flowers in the pile of dirt and leaves. It mainly was dandelions, but there were a few other wildflowers. Tim’s chest felt warm at the sight, but he still looked around in case Poison Ivy would be nearby to avenge the plants Peter had killed.

Mary scooped up the pile. They bent in her grip, and a few leaves and petals fell to the ground. Her eyes shifted around for a few moments, but they settled on Tim when they were a few feet apart. Her eyes were strangely intense, and her shoulders squared. Tim had checked her background and current activities multiple times in case Dick had somehow gotten into a relationship with an upcoming villain or vigilante, and each time had resulted in her being a normal civilian from a lower-class family. She had no way of knowing the things Tim had trained to do in the last year and a half, but her fierce look made Tim’s legs and stomach feel much heavier than before.

Tim tried to pull Peter down, but his grip was surprisingly firm for someone who was only a year and some months. He instead pulled Peter a little closer and smiled politely. “Hey, Mary.”

She glanced at Peter before sending Tim a smile and a look more drained than he felt after most patrols. “Hey, Tim.”

He tried to look around the park, but it was tough with a toddler breathing into his face and blocking most of his vision. Peter seemed to disagree about air quality and leaned in closer until his nose flattened against Tim’s.

Sharing Peter’s breath felt a little gross, and remembering how little toddlers cared about hygiene made Tim’s skin crawl, and he smelled like a horrible mix of yogurt and shampoo. However, putting Peter down when he was this determined seemed cruel, and Tim was sure that Bruce had some decontamination chamber to save Tim from whatever diseases Peter might or might not be spreading around.

Tim mentally shook his thoughts away and cleared his throat. “So, does he pick flowers a lot?”

Mary inhaled deeply and smacked her lips before answering with narrowed eyes. She had been polite every other time Tim had spoken to her, but he could sense the resentment even before he heard the monotone, “Yes.”

Tim nodded but didn’t know how to answer that or how to explain the heavy atmosphere. Peter seemed to notice it too and softly stroked Tim's left cheek. 

Mary narrowed her eyes and turned her head slightly until she was almost in profile to Tim. Her voice was even flatter than before, and there seemed to be no life behind her eyes. “Is it a problem that he’s picking flowers?”

Tim blinked, but no number of blinks made the words have a different meaning. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why would I care if Peter likes to pick flowers?”

Mary’s eyes narrowed even more for a second before all the tension left her body. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume that you would be against it. Not even my mom cares about that.”

Peter turned to look at Mary over his shoulder without letting go of Tim’s head. It felt less intimidating, and Tim felt like he could finally breathe when he asked, “Has Dick been an ass-“ Mary sent Tim a look between her raised eyebrows and glances at Peter, and Tim sent her a quick smile before correcting himself, “I mean, has Dick been mean about a one-year-old’s interests?”

Mary crossed her arms. “He’s sixteen months old, and no, Dick actually has no prejudice toward any of Peter’s interests. He even said that there are no girl or boy toys, only what Peter likes or dislikes, when my mom didn’t want us to get Peter a baby doll.”

“Baby sleep,” Peter added to the conversation with a determined nod that looked as if it could break Tim’s nose.

Mary’s smile flickered when she untangled her arms and reached for Peter’s shoulder, but both her smile and hand fell in only a moment. “Granny would be mad if we got you a doll.”

Peter's hand froze on Tim's cheek as he frowned and turned to squish his face into Tim's shoulder. “Want baby.”

Tim’s head hurt, and he carefully brushed the arm holding the skateboard over Peter’s back. He had cared about his parents’ opinions his whole life, as did every one of his former and current classmates, but he had thought that those urges were gone in adults. “Why does your mother’s opinion matter?”

Mary sighed. “Sometimes you have to pick your battles. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Tim’s stomach clenched, and his mouth felt too full of words. There was a fire inside him that wanted to get out and burn Mary for acting as if he didn’t know anything. She was a coward, and Tim’s chest hurt when he realized that it meant that Dick was probably being one, too.

He swallowed until the fire died down enough for him not to shout and almost keep the displeasure out of his voice. “Getting him a doll seems easier. It’s not like Dick can’t afford a toy, and he can tell her to mind her business if you can’t.”

Mary threw her head back and scratched her auburn hair. Her eyes widened, and she exhaled harshly. “I can’t have this discussion with a teenager. It’s none of your business, and Dick is relentless and overbearing enough on his own. There’s no need to make a big deal out of it when Peter is fine picking flowers and only playing with unisex and boy toys. The doll thing will pass, so there’s no reason to waste money or have everyone else be on my case about giving my son a doll, and who knows, maybe it will even be good for him not to get everything he wants.”

Peter’s voice was muffled but easily comprehensible. “Want baby!”

Mary closed her eyes and spoke with slow and even words. “I know, Honey, but you have a lot of other toys at home.”

Peter shook his head and tightened his grip on Tim until a few strands fell out at the rough treatment. Tim carefully let go of his skateboard and ignored Peter’s whines when he pried Peter’s hands off his head. The whining got louder with every hair strand and brain cell saved from Peter’s grasp, and Mary reached for Peter.

Tim had hoped it would save him, but Peter started to cry and cling to his neck and hide his face in Tim's shoulder until Mary leaned back with a deep exhale.

Mary was twenty-two, but she looked as resigned as a child and as worn as an old lady, and she seemed unable to keep her gaze directly on anyone. “Mommy and Tati decide what you can and can't do, Peter, and you’re not getting a doll. You have trucks, your Duplo, and all the rest of your toys when you aren’t picking flowers for Mommy.”

Peter made a sound that sounded more like a laser than a word, but Mary’s shoulders tensed and she crossed her arms. “You don’t call Mommy stupid, Peter.”

Peter let go of the tight grip on Tim, but he kept his face hidden. It made Tim's throat feel tight, and he felt strangled as he asked, “Are you sure that he’s going to let go of the doll-thing?”

Mary exhaled through a few nods. “Yes. Last week, he wanted to drive a car and cried for days because we wouldn’t leave him alone in Dick’s car. The week before that, he wanted a kitchen knife because it had a glittery, blue handle, so I won’t fight with my whole family when he’s going to forget that D-O-L-L-S exists in a week or two.”

“Sleep baby,” Peter mumbled, but otherwise seemed determined to ignore Mary until he started to squirm and turn to look at Mary with big, innocent eyes and mumble, “Oh-oh, die.”

Tim’s eyes widened despite knowing what Peter meant, but Mary only retrieved Peter from Tim’s grasp. The moves looked as practiced as Dick’s did every time Tim saw him, but there was nothing underneath. No laughter or concern about Peter sounding threatening every time he asked for a diaper change. Only a blink and telling Peter, “We’ll have to change your diaper then, Honey.”

“Yes, die, pleh,” Peter mumbled and squirmed some more when Mary waved at Tim with the droopy collection of plants in her hand.

She lifted the diaper bag higher on her shoulder and turned around without a single glance back. “I’ll see you around, Tim.”

Tim lifted a hand and watched as she walked toward a public bathroom. Peter kept squirming and whining, but at least he would soon be changed with how quickly Mary was walking.

Tim shook his head. He knew next to nothing about babies and parenting, other than seeing Dick in action, and Dick seemed to be more of the abnormality, with how observant he was of Peter compared to every other adult Tim had seen. Mary seemed to know Peter better than any nanny Tim had, but every move looked tiring and flat. Perhaps she was tired after work, and Tim was being unfair comparing her to Dick, who seemed larger than life in everything he did, but Tim still felt tense when Mary closed the door behind her. 

Tim gently kicked his skateboard before jumping on it and heading toward the nearest payphone to call Alfred and ask him to pick him up. Dick could fix anything wrong in Peter’s life, so Tim figured he should just go home, do his homework, and only worry about Gotham's nightly victims tonight and the lack of sleep tomorrow.  

Chapter Text

Red Hood was a violent killer, and Jason was Red Hood, which meant that Jason was a violent killer.

It was a fact, and he couldn’t be angry when Tim had jumped away from him on the last patrol. He couldn’t even be angry when he saw the look beneath Dick’s and Bruce’s masks.

 He had hurt Tim, Dick, Bruce, and countless other people knowingly just because he was hurt and confused when he returned to Gotham. Tim had annoyed him with his excellence, and Jason had wanted to prove that he was better and stronger than a teenager. He had been physically, but Tim had been better in everything else. He was still a better Robin than Jason had ever been, and Jason had only gotten worse since he had come back to life broken, hurt, and dangerous.

He wasn’t even sure why he had returned to the manor at Bruce’s request or stayed until morning at Dick’s. He should leave and let them forget what he had become or how the old Robin suit didn’t fit physically or metaphorically.

“There you are,” a young voice cheered from the hallway to Jason’s bedroom.

He didn’t want to look, but Peter was a magnet for everyone’s attention. He could walk into any room, and people would instantly notice his sharp eyes and soft features.

“Hey, Pete,” Jason mumbled. His hands were still unfamiliar. Big and powerful enough to destroy everything around him. Peter should run. Dick should take Peter and hide him away from Jason’s poison before it would be too late.

“Oh no, you’re sad,” Peter mumbled, putting his pale hands on Jason’s. They were small and unscarred, while Jason had lost count of the scars on his own body.

Jason should pull his hands away. Peter was untouched by Crime Alley and should stay pure in a world of trash, but he couldn’t. He was smart enough to admit that some part of him hoped that Peter’s pure being could take away some of his sins.

Peter’s mouth fell into a frown, and Jason’s chest tightened further. He tried to sound casual and calm, but there was a little too much sincerity in his voice as he replied, “I guess that I am a little sad right now.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, and his whole face looked tense when Jason looked at him. Even his free hand was in a tight fist by his side. He slowly patted Jason’s hand, and his voice was serious to a point that should be comical, but the tone was unnerving coming from a five-year-old. “You’re going to be okay. You have no choice.” 

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know that?”

Peter looked away for a moment before his bright eyes returned to Jason’s face. “I just know that everything will be good, and you cannot stop it.” 

Jason blinked and looked around the room. There must have been someone hiding behind a camera or even just a corner, but the hallway seemed deserted, and only Jason and Peter were in the bedroom. Jason swallowed and inhaled deeply. “I appreciate it, but you don’t even know why I’m sad.”

Peter tilted his head and hummed before nodding determinedly. “You’re right, I don’t, so why are you sad, Uncle Jay?”

The name made Jason’s chest twitch. It was both terrible and wonderful to be called Peter’s uncle. Peter had a lot of uncles, but Jason had never thought that he would be part of the family again. However, Peter had accepted him the day they met, and now said Jason’s title with the same casualness and love as everyone else.

Peter continued to stare unnervingly. His light brown eyes made him cuter than any other color would, but the amber color could be a little intense when he stared unblinkingly at someone. “I asked why you are sad, Uncle Jay.”

Jason sighed. “I just feel bad about a few things I did. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Peter chewed on his lip, straightened his back, and turned his head to face Jason straight on. “You just say sorry. Then they have to forgive you, and everything is okay.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jason tried to smile, but it failed just like almost every apology he had tried to shout or whisper. He had had multiple chances to apologize. It should have been easy, but his mouth would fill with cotton, and his hands would be jittery until he would find an excuse and leave with or without his pride. Sometimes he would look at himself in the mirror and try to practice, but his eyes were toxic green, and he would see all his failures until he remembered that he couldn’t expect others to forgive him when he couldn’t forgive himself.

Peter pulled his hand back and stomped his foot in a way eerily similar to Dick as a teenager, but with even less restraint. “You will succeed.” Jason shook his head, but it only made Peter nod more vigorously and cross his arms. “You will succeed, Uncle Jay!”

Jason carefully touched the hem of his shirt. Each fiber calmed the surface of the storm brewing inside of him. “Okay, sure, everything will turn out great.”

Peter was smart. Probably the smartest boy in North America and at least in the top ten worldwide, but he was still five, and he looked at Jason with an earnest smile and sparkling eyes that didn’t always understand sarcasm. “Yes, exactly! Everything will turn out great. You don’t have a choice.”

Jason tried to smile once more, but it ended with a sigh. “If you say so, Pipsqueak.”

“I do!” Peter almost shouted and leaped toward Jason with outstretched arms. It should have been sweet, but the top of Peter’s head reached an unfortunate part of Jason’s anatomy and made him bend breathlessly over at the waist.

Jason’s soul might have left him, but his body somehow stayed upright when Peter used Jason’s position and distraction to encase his arms around Jason’s neck and jump up to ensnare his legs around the front of Jason’s chest. He had seen Peter crawl on Dick and occasionally on his other uncles or aunts, and had experienced it once before, but it was still a shock through the stinging pain to experience it again.

Peter pulled Jason’s shirt, and ended with his chin on his shoulder and his warm breath in his ear. “Beep beep, you’re no longer a sad car. You’re a happy car now.”

 Jason’s arm was a little shaky, but it easily supported Peter’s slight weight with his arm under his butt as Jason carefully straightened his back. The dull throbs from between his legs were sharp and could have prevented Jason from becoming a father if he ever changed his stance on parenthood, but they would never be enough to let Peter fall. He couldn’t save many people, and he would probably hurt everyone else in the manor, both physically and mentally, but Jason could at least spare Peter from some hurt.

Peter’s arms tightened around Jason, and each of his words made the hairs on Jason’s arm stand up straight. “Happy days are coming. It’s too late to change now.” 

Jason gulped and bent his other arm to support Peter’s back. “What do I do until then, Master Peter?”

Peter hummed, and Jason could feel the slight vibrations through his shoulder and ear. “Wait and nap. Big things are coming, Uncle Jay.”

Jason inhaled deeply. “Did you learn to talk like that from Damian?”

Peter leaned back and looked at Jason. His cheeks were flushed and his smile so wide that it turned his eyes into crescents. “Yes, did it help?”

Jason looked at Peter’s hopeful eyes and smiled genuinely. “Strangely, yes.” 

Peter closed his eyes momentarily with his growing smile. “Good, because you can’t stop the good things anymore. They are coming.”

Jason exhaled unevenly. He had never been this comforted and intimidated at once, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Peter’s body was warm and soft, and his reassurances were both frightening and reassuring.

The tightness in his chest was still there, as well as how clogged his throat was, but Peter’s steady warmth and breath made it bearable while he waited for better days to come.”

“Things are good now.” Jason carefully laid his cheek on the top of Peter’s head and received a long exhale on his neck.

Chapter Text

Damian was introduced to Grayson shortly after being entrusted to Father’s care, but he had been at the manor for weeks before they asked if he wanted to meet Grayson’s offspring.

Father’s eyebrows furrowed, and his jaw looked squarer as he tensed it briefly. “Remember, he’s a small toddler, Damian. You can’t be rough with him.”

Damian scoffed and crossed his arms. He almost rolled his eyes, but Father’s gaze turned stern, and Damian nodded with a sigh. Grayson had informed him of it in great detail, and Father had repeated the words in the days between Damian agreeing to see Grayson’s son and today.

Father’s shoulders moved with his deep breaths, and his eyes looked piercing as they followed every little move Damian made. “He’s only a little over a year, Damian, and you need to be calm and kind to him.”

Damian inhaled deeply. He was a goddamn delight and knew how to tolerate most creatures.

Father’s mouth opened, but it closed at the sound of the front door opening, and Grayson’s voice filled the space with far more energy than necessary. “Hi, everyone, we’re here!”

“Hi!” A light voice echoed.

Damian turned to look at the commotion and was met with Grayson standing firmly in the doorway, yet allowing himself to be undignifiedly used as his son’s transportation. The boy, Peter, was strapped to Grayson’s chest in a baby carrier and waved his hands and arms toward Father.

“Hi! Hi!” he repeated with a pacifier and a smile that took up his whole face as he looked at Father, but it fell into a neutral expression when his unblinking gaze turned toward Damian.  

His eyes were huge and seemed to take up a quarter of his face. It was a strangely unwavering stare, and Damian would never admit how tight his chest felt at it. He instead turned a narrowed gaze toward Father. “I thought you said he was a toddler. This baby is tiny.”

Father blinked. “He is a toddler. He turned one a few months ago.”

“That he did, but he’s still my little baby-boy.” Grayson ran his hands through Peter’s thin, wavy hair. It quickly turned into a brown halo around his head, but neither Grayson nor Peter seemed to take note of it beyond both of them suddenly only having eyes for each other.

Damian kept his gaze firmly on Father, but he received no further explanation on Peter’s restricted growth. He looked tiny for being any number of months past his first birthday, and his erratic arms didn’t raise much confidence in his physical or cognitive development. However, Damian wasn’t sure what age bracket he would have put him in. Damian had more important matters to attend to than studying infants. He also had far more important matters to attend to than meeting Peter, but it seemed like an easy task for the potential rewards.

Damian’s stomach tensed when he realized that this meeting could be a test to see how Damian would react to those who were less than him. He would have to show himself as patient and able to deal with all kinds of people if he wanted to become Batman’s vigilante partner. It could also make Grayson more likely to train Damian if his son felt comfortable near Damian.

Peter started to grunt and pull at the straps over his chest, and only received weirdly fond looks from Father, and Grayson’s breath was loud through his smiling mouth.

Peter threw his hands down, and his pacifier moved when his whole face scrunched into a deep scowl between chubby cheeks. “Dow’, Tati. Dow’!”

Grayson shook his head with a breathy chuckle. “Yes, yes, you’ll get down now, boro rai mea.”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed when he saw Grayson carefully unstrap Peter. There were no physical or verbal corrections to Peter’s undignified behavior or the foolhardiness of commanding his betters to release him.

Damian’s eyes widened when he saw Grayson carefully place Peter on the floor on his front. It had been a smooth motion, but Peter was placed at the perfect height and distance for Grayson to step on him instead of putting him on his feet.

Damian’s throat felt full at the possibility of Grayson and Father looking calm before enacting such a harsh and potentially permanent punishment. Damian hadn’t received such humiliating harshness in his years of training in the League, but he had seen grown men being stepped on, and some of them had walked differently since then. Peter was far smaller, but he must have been accustomed to it, as he didn’t make any moves to stand up to defend himself. He instead seemed intent on escaping on his hands and knees at an impressive speed, albeit without any subtlety and with an unbelievably loud volume for his small body.

His escape attempt also seemed in vain when he crawled away from Grayson and towards Father. Damian furrowed his eyebrows when he realized that Peter might not be disobeying but instead knew that punishments fell on Father’s shoulder. It would make sense that the patriarch of the family dealt with punishments, and it would allow Damian to observe the severity of punishment when Damian would inevitably step over the invisible line that would change Father’s sighs and annoying conversations into something concrete and physically painful.

“Hi!” Peter exclaimed when he was in front of Father and used a tight fist around a piece of Father’s pressed pants to pull himself up, and stood unassisted for a second before falling on his behind and lifting both arms toward Father.

Father bent down in a smooth motion. There seemed to be no malice in Father’s face or movements, but Damian’s stomach tightened further with the possibility of Peter being dropped from over six feet. Damian would survive far worse, but Peter had thin and useless limbs and chubby, pale cheeks that looked as though they would bruise easily.

“Up, Pawpaw,” Peter demanded, and unexpectedly got his wish when Father straightened his back and lifted Peter over his head briefly before folding his arms around him and pressing him to his chest.

Father’s face lit up when Peter smiled with his sparse number of teeth, and Father’s voice made it sound like Peter had defeated an invincible enemy instead of standing unassisted for a second between acts of effrontery. “You stood on your own.”

Grayson shuffled over to stand next to Father and gaze at Peter. “I know. I think he’ll walk soon.”

Damian wet his lips. Peter was clearly not being punished, just like Damian hadn’t been when he had lost his temper repeatedly, but he still had to collect his bravery before asking, “Shouldn’t he be walking already if he’s over a year?”

Grayson’s smile was still wide, but there was a strictness in his eyes. “He’s thirteen months adjusted, so barely over a year development-wise, and he’ll walk far before there’s cause for concern.”

“Wah!” Peter exclaimed, but Damian couldn’t figure out if the word was senseless noise or supposed to be mimicking any of Grayson’s words.

Grayson wrinkled his nose, crinkled his eyes, and leaned toward Peter. “Wah, wah, wah. I love you so much.”

“Wah!” Peter repeated and threw his arms into the air momentarily.

Grayson’s face lowered until it was next to Peter’s ear. “I could just eat you up.”

Damian’s nose wrinkled when Grayson started pretending to eat Peter while repeating “nom, nom, nom.” It made Damian’s mind go blank and his ears ring as he remembered that Grayson had created the mantle of Robin before Damian was born, and he was even more fearsome in the hearts of criminals as Nightwing. He didn’t look fearsome when he pretended to nibble on Peter’s ear and hair, despite his impressive build, and Peter’s giggles filled the hallway and slowly grew into loud laughter that caused his pacifier to fall to the floor and attracted the vermin Father insisted on keeping in the house.

“Is that Peter?” Drake asked with even more stupidity than he usually possessed.

“Un’ Tih!” Peter yelled and extended his arms toward Drake.

Grayson knelt and collected the pacifier, and Drake threw his arms out and collected Peter from Father’s arms. It looked far less smooth than how Grayson and Father had interacted with Peter, but Drake smiled at Peter and received quick pats on his arms that didn’t look to be intended to cause harm.

Damian sighed and tightened his crossed arms. “I thought that I was meeting Peter and not watching Drake.”

Drake rolled his eyes. “Get over it. He can probably feel your murder vibe while everyone else only shows him love.”

Damian was about to tell Drake how little he valued love over commitment, loyalty, and the further development of his skills, but Peter had clearly had a stroke of genius and looked at Drake with wide eyes and nodded at his few but powerful words, “Loathe you.”

Drake’s eyebrows furrowed, and he frowned. “What?”

“Loathe you!” Peter repeated with more firmness than Damian had initially thought he could possess.

Expressing such strong feelings would usually be far from the line of tolerable misbehavior, but there was only a wide-eyed expression on Father’s face and a wide, white smile on Grayson’s as he explained, “He’s saying that he loves you.”

Damian frowned at the explanation and tried to figure out if Peter was smart enough to fool Grayson, Grayson was foolish enough to be fooled by an average baby, or if Peter’s ability to speak was that subpar.

Peter leaned back in Drake’s arms and looked at Grayson and Father upside-down and kicked his legs. “Loathe you, loathe you, loathe you.”

Peter’s eyes turned toward Damian, and Damian uncrossed his arms and squared his shoulders. He admired bravery, but he would not let it go unpunished if Peter decided to disrespect Damian, even if Grayson was right about Peter mispronouncing a sign of endearment. Peter instead started to chew on the back of his hand, and his voice barely sounded intelligible as he mumbled, “Hi.”

Damian glanced at Father and received a few short nods that returned his gaze to Peter. “Hello, Peter.”

Grayson waved his index and middle fingers for Damian to step closer. He almost stepped back when Peter exhaled against his hand with a gross and wet sound, but Damian was far stronger than the sound and sight of drool, and soon stood near both Drake and Peter.

“I see that you enjoy your acts of self-cannibalism, Peter.”

“Oh my god,” Drake muttered loud enough for Damian to sneer at him.

Peter blinked a few times before letting his wet hand shine under the light and waving all his limbs. His smile grew, and he yelled senselessly with far more excitement than loathing usually awoke in people.

Peter started to tip backwards through all his rapid movements. Drake’s eyes widened until they looked ready to fall out of his stupid head, and Damian didn’t think of the consequences or rewards when he pulled Peter out of Drake’s filthy hands half a second before Grayson could catch him.

Grayson put a hand on his chest and took a deep breath. “I thought he was going to fall for a moment there.”

Damian nodded but focused on carefully turning Peter to face him and watching him swing limply with Damian’s hands under each of his armpits. Peter’s mouth curled into a frown, but nothing else happened for several seconds of intense eye contact before he suddenly let out a wail and extended his arms in Grayson’s direction.

Damian’s hands were soon empty of Peter’s slight weight. He had only held Peter for seconds, but it was enough for him to feel off-center, and his throat went dry when Peter’s cries intensified before quieting down.

Peter only cried for a few minutes, but it felt like hours of Damian staring at his hands. He didn’t think that he had hurt Peter, but he must have done something wrong for Peter to cry at Damian saving him from hitting his head on the hard floor. Peter was light with bones so delicate that Damian could have bent one of his ribs easily, or maybe Drake was right, and there was something fundamentally evil about Damian.

Damian wasn’t used to failing, but he had done something terribly wrong for this to be the result, and he blinked rapidly when he realized that he had failed the test. Father hadn’t punished him beyond banning him from training when he became too rough with Drake and having to see Drake be Batman’s partner when it was Damian’s birthright, but failing such an easy test would bring punishment if not total banishment from Father’s legacy.

Damian tensed as a hand fell on his shoulder, and he held his breath when he turned to look at Grayson. He stayed silent as he gazed into Grayson’s soft eyes and saw a clear smile next to Peter, who was lying limply over his shoulder. “Thank you, Damian.”

Damian grunted, and Grayson tightened his grip on Damian’s shoulder. “I mean it, thank you for saving Peter from launching himself out of Tim’s hands. You were even quicker than I was.”

Damian turned his gaze down to Peter’s still back. “I made him cry.”

Grayson sighed with a smile. “He just got startled at being pulled out of Tim’s hands and being held by someone he doesn’t know. He’ll get used to you, and I know that you’ll grow to love each other.”

Damian’s mouth stretched into a line at that thought. It would complicate Damian’s mentorships if Peter feared him, but he didn’t think he could love someone who cried openly and enjoyed chewing on their own limbs.

“I think we could grow a mutual respect,” Damian settled on. Damian was sure that Peter would one day realize that Damian was the obvious choice of aspiration for reasons unrelated to his superior ancestry, and he respected Peter’s boldness and choice of words toward Drake.

Grayson’s throat tightened as he choked back sounds that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Okay, sure, I’ll look forward to seeing the mutual respect between you two as you both grow up.”

Damian’s gaze scanned Grayson’s whole body, but he soon turned to look at Father. “Did I succeed in your test, Father?”

“Test?” Grayson mumbled, but Damian’s eyes were only on Father’s tense mouth and slight nod. “You did brilliantly, Damian.”

Damian’s stomach bubbled pleasantly at Father’s words.

Chapter Text

Alfred had seen a lot in his sixty-six years, and he thought that he had prepared himself for the complications that would come with a new family member when Dick had recently rejoined the family. However, he had forgotten the waves of emotions that still raged in one’s early twenties and the complications of newborns. He himself hadn’t had strong opinions about how to raise his daughter when she was an infant, but he had seen Martha and Thomas Wayne discuss tradition and the recommendations for infants in the mid-1950s.

“Holy parenthood, Alfred,” Dick said with a sweet voice. “I don’t know how anyone can be that horrible.”

Alfred sighed and put his tea on the kitchen table to gaze upon Dick holding a ruddy-cheeked Peter with a gummy smile. A blanket was wrapped around Peter’s legs and back, but his arms were free to wave around near Dick’s face. Every movement was jerked, and his slim body was still small enough that Dick held his entire body securely with only one arm. “I presume that something has happened for you to have such strong words despite your surprisingly pleasant tone.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his mouth stretched into a tense smile as his voice kept being light. It looked similar to the one he had used at the end of his time as Robin and now as Nightwing, but much more frayed around the edges. “Peter doesn’t understand words, but he’ll get upset if I sound even half as pissed off as I am. I almost yelled at her before I left with him.”

Alfred nodded and waited for further explanations.

Dick bit his lip and stalked across the room a few times before turning sharply toward Alfred’s seat. His voice turned sour, fast, and biting. “She left him to cry.”

Peter started to whine, and Dick began to sway and mumble to him until he quieted down.

Alfred lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? I assume you mean his mother.”

Dick’s head rolled around, but his voice turned almost happy again, but it looked fragile and like it would cut everyone on its sharp edges if it broke. “Yes, I’m talking about Mary. His mother, who was sitting in the hallway when I got home from my mission to see my son screaming his head off. She was sitting and smoking a cigarette while he needed her. I was gone for days, and now I can’t trust that she didn’t let him cry constantly when I was away.”

“Have you had time to change him?” Alfred glanced at Peter. His thin hair was wild around his head, but his clothes looked clean, and he was chewing on his hand as he often did.

Dick furrowed his eyebrows and lifted Peter’s behind. Alfred had never been in the habit of smelling the children in his care, but he had to admit it seemed efficient with how quickly Dick moved to feeling around Peter's diaper area and lowering him. “No, he’s still clean.”

Alfred glanced at his tea. It was Earl Grey imported from Britain and brewed perfectly, but it was getting cold the longer it sat abandoned. “I meant before your no doubt dramatic departure from the mother of your child.”

Dick glanced at Peter before dignifying Alfred with his full attention. “No, he was clean.”

Alfred sighed. “Was he fed?”

Dick nodded. “Yes, he was fed. The bottle was still next to the sink, and it’s not his naptime either.”

Alfred inhaled. “I am well aware that the Young Master Peter doesn’t sleep at six pm, but thank you for the clarification.”

“What are you getting at, Alfred?” Dick asked with a sharp tone that evened out into velvet as soon as Peter started to whine. “I mean, why are you asking for his basic needs when the problem is his mother letting our infant cry without doing anything?”

Alfred should not have been the authority on infant care. He had been more involved in caring for Bruce than he had been for his daughter before he left to work for the Waynes, but that had still only been when Martha Wayne was needed at a gala or a few nights when she needed a full night’s rest to face another day and night of her infant’s needs.

However, he was the only one, other than Dick, who had cared for a baby for more than an hour, and he had received extensive training in childcare before being entrusted with Bruce thirty-six years ago.

“I understand why you would feel emotional after being away from home and seeing violence, but it seems like his mother made sure he was taken care of.”

Dick’s face lowered toward Peter’s. Several seconds passed with him inhaling Peter’s scent from the top of his head. Alfred had never found comfort in relishing the smell of any child, but Dick’s shoulders relaxed, and it gave Alfred the time needed to enjoy his tea before it turned cold.

Dick’s face remained near Peter’s. His lips had lifted into a soft smile, but his eyes were sharp, and his voice turned breathless with his words. “Mary did not take care of him. She said that she had let him cry for almost ten minutes when I arrived. Ten minutes of him wailing because no one wanted to pick him up.”

Alfred put his now-empty teacup on the table. “Infants cry a lot. Perhaps Young Master Peter has reached his peak crying age.”

Dick slowly lifted his face and sent Alfred a narrow-eyed look. “Yeah, he cries more now than before, but it’s no big deal. He just needs to know someone is nearby.”

Alfred nodded. “Perhaps you are right, but babies can be inconsolable.”

Dick frowned. “That’s even more reason that she should have never left him alone to cry. He doesn’t need to cry. He’s not crying right now.”

“Not crying at all would be very concerning at this age.” Dick rolled his eyes, but Alfred continued without delay, “Did he cry more with only his mother nearby?”

Dick lifted Peter closer to his face and offered a finger when Peter started to pull the hair he could reach. “I don’t know. I don’t care. He’s six and a half weeks adjusted, and crying is his main way of communicating. She should have said long ago if she can’t deal with that.”

Alfred tightened his lips. Inexperience often turned frustration into absolutes, and Dick was still young enough to believe only one kind of care counted as love. It was unfortunate but expected, given his barely completed childhood, and Alfred suspected that Dick only felt validation when Peter’s gummy smile widened and brightened as he was brought closer to Dick’s face. Alfred hadn’t seen Peter smile at his mother yet, but he had barely started to smile socially and had seemed to enjoy his mother's company when Alfred had seen them together. “I’m sure neither of you were fully aware of what an infant entailed, and purple crying can be frustrating.”

Dick breathed loudly. “I know. I get frustrated too, but I don’t abandon my child because of it.”

A sharp pain seemed to tear Alfred’s stomach from the inside, but it left almost as soon as it had arrived. He swallowed the memory down and softened his voice. “Taking ten minutes to self-regulate is far from abandoning and far more preferable than the dangers of an overwhelmed parent.”

“What are you saying, Alfred?” Dick asked and pressed Peter so tightly against his chest, neck, and face that both of their cheeks flattened, but Peter somehow showed no signs of anoxia, hypoxia, or even simple distress.

Alfred hummed. “I’m not saying anything other than perhaps she chose wisely in making sure his physical needs were met and then removing herself until she could cope with his crying. I’ve heard his impressive volumes myself and am very grateful to have moved past listening to such crying daily.”

Peter let go of Dick’s finger and sharply pulled his father’s lip down. His nails looked like they needed a trim, and Alfred’s mouth tightened in sympathy. Dick slowly took Peter’s hand away and kissed it before holding it and Peter close to his chest and glared at Alfred. “How can you say that you think it’s good that Peter cried? I can never leave him with anyone else if you all think it’s okay for him to cry helplessly.”

Alfred lifted his hands, and his voice evened out as his face did. “Then don’t.”

Dick blinked. “What?”

Alfred sighed, and only old age stopped him from rolling his eyes. “Never leave for a mission or have any time alone if you’re that adamant that you can’t leave Peter in the care of anyone else. All possible caretakers could get overstimulated and leave Peter to his own devices for even a smile bathroom break.”

Dick’s furrowed eyebrows smoothed, and his breath hitched. “Is it really normal to leave a baby to cry? This is not some backwards sleep training, right?”

Alfred inhaled through his nose. “No, it’s not sleep training, simply parents calming down before interacting with their infants. It’s quite normal, but there would be fewer cases of shaken babies if it were more common.”

Dick’s eyebrows tilted outwards, and his eyes widened. “Peter is never getting shaken.”

Peter responded with a loud coo and started to chew on the fingers around his hand. He left wet patches behind, and the corners of Alfred’s mouth lifted. “Quite true, and I hope you’ll inform Peter’s mother about it when you apologize for leaving with hers and your child.”

A burst of laughter escaped Dick’s lips. “Yeah, I probably should apologize for basically kidnapping our son and not believing her when she said letting him cry for a little bit was for the best."

Alfred could have said a lot about how there was no ‘basically’ about the kidnapping or the hypocrisy of leaving because of the fear of lashing out when he judged someone for leaving for less time to calm down. It wouldn’t amount to anything, but he couldn’t help a deadpan remark, “You do that before Batman is alerted to the abduction.”

Dick let out a breath with crinkled eyes and a wide smile. “Of course. Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred stood up and started the kettle. “Anytime, my boy.”

Dick smiled widely and self-consciously. He looked exactly like the little boy who had brought immense joy and worry to the manor over a decade ago. Alfred was almost ready to look for whatever Dick had broken while showing off his acrobatic skills, but it wasn’t a child, but a young man who leaned down to look at Peter.

“I promise to be better with your mommy, okay, Chavvi?”

Chapter Text

Babs’ heart hurt at how cute the baby in Dick’s arms looked.

He was pale, had an NG tube, tape that seemed to take up a quarter of his face, and he seemed unable to stay awake for more than two minutes at a time, but nothing could take away from how adorable the rest of him was.

Her fingers flexed, and her gaze was firmly on his wispy hair, relaxed face, and how limp he looked when held between strong arms. Even his outfit was the cutest thing she had seen in years, from the light brown tights to the brown onesie underneath a darker brown romper with frayed ends. 

Babs smiled at the sight and slowly rolled through the door. “He’s all ready for Halloween tomorrow.”

“Cute, right?” Dick asked and leaned down for Babs to properly see the tiny, scrunched-up face peeking out from his brown hood.

Babs leaned forward, but Dick leaned away before she could move the fabric away from the slim but soft-looking cheeks, and she could barely speak through her awed smile. “Is he a robin?”

Dick smiled and shook his head. “He’s a nightingale. My little nightingale.”

Peter let out a snort, but otherwise looked unaffected at being smushed against Dick’s chest, and Dick looked halfway to breaking his neck as his head went down far enough to touch Peter’s.

Babs wheeled into the apartment and halfheartedly tried to avoid running over Dick’s feet and closed the door when it was clear that Dick needed both arms to hold a baby that weighed a third of the turkey Babs, her dad, and one set of grandparents had eaten last year. Peter had endured being born a week prior, but Dick held him as if Peter was made of cracked glass and any sudden movement would cause him to break into tiny pieces.

Babs’ gloves came off in seconds, but her coat was more difficult, despite having been paralyzed for a few years. “Did I come in the middle of his nap?”

Dick let out a huff that sounded more like a laugh than a breath. “All day is naptime when you’re on fetus time. Hopefully, he’ll be more awake by the time we reach his due date. I can live with him being a sleepy boy, but I can't wait for him to get hungry and be awake long enough for a bottle. He's amazing, but I hate the NG tube.”

Peter let out a series of squeaks so meek that Babs almost mistook it for a kitten, and Dick bit his lip and his eyes shone brighter than Babs had ever seen them do before. “He’s the cutest little boy, isn’t he, Babs?”

“He is. Does he make that noise a lot?”

Dick tilted his head. “Only when he’s pooping.”

His tone made it sound like Peter was achieving an incredible feat, but Babs still furrowed her eyebrows. “He’s pooping right now?”

Dick nodded. “Yeah, he is, and soon I’ll have to change my tiny, stinky boy.”

Peter must have stopped pooping or just felt uncomfortable because the squeaks turned into a shrill yet weak cry. His clenched fists struck his nose hard, making him cry out even more piercingly, though the sound was nearly drowned out by the traffic outside.

"Oh, don't cry, Chavvi." Dick started to sway and kept most of his attention on Peter even when he addressed Babs. “I’m just going in to change him. Do you want anything to drink when I come back?”

Babs waved a hand. “I know where the kitchen is, Dick.”

There were toxic-looking energy drinks in the fridge, but Babs eventually found a Coke for herself and ‘just water, Babs’ for Dick, and she rolled into the living room to wait for Dick and stare dumbly at Peter’s outfit when they came back. It had only been a few minutes, but Peter was already asleep again and had been changed into bright green tights over a loose pumpkin costume and a dark green crocheted hat.

“How many costumes did you buy for him?”

Anyone else would look embarrassed, but Dick only shone brighter than the sun when Peter’s eyes opened and stared unfocused at Dick’s nose. “Eight. One for every day Peter was early for Halloween.”

Babs inhaled deeply and squinted her eyes. “You are aware that he didn’t choose to be a month premature, right?”

Dick sat on the couch with Peter in his lap and rolled his eyes. “I know, but he’s only going to be this little and not care about his clothes for a few years. I can’t wait to see what he will want to be when he’s older, but I get to choose now.”

Babs looked around the apartment but didn’t find Mary, who should have as much, if not more, to say about Peter’s wardrobe. “Where did you even find eight costumes in a week?”

Dick let out a deep chuckle. “A toy store. He’s wearing doll clothes over a onesie. Very expensive doll clothes with buttons and zippers instead of Velcro, but I saw them when I was looking for high contrast toys.”  

Babs rested her cheek on her hand and shook her head. “Dick, you’re ridiculous sometimes.”

Dick gasped and whispered into Peter’s wide-eyed face, “Did you hear that? Auntie Babs is being mean to us. You deserve to be a spooky baby if you want to be a spooky baby, and your tati won’t let anything stop that from happening. Especially when you fill out the doll clothes better than the premie clothes the nice nurses recommended. You have a whole closet of clothes that actually fit you, my skinny, spooky boy, and I will hear no slander of where we got your clothes from.”

Peter did not look the least bit spooky. His tiny legs and arms moved randomly, and he kept grunting and crossing his eyes.

“For shame. Maybe we should tell your mommy when she wakes up that your aunt is jealous that you look even better in orange than she does.”

Babs pushed a strand of her ginger hair behind her ear and glanced at Peter's dark green hat. “I promise you that there’s space for everyone to enjoy having red hair or looking like a pumpkin.”

Dick pursed his lips and scanned Babs from top to toe before sending Peter a look. “Sure.”

“Ah,” Peter yawned and slowly fell asleep. His body was limp, but there was occasionally a tremor in his chest, and he was breathing very quickly even in his sleep. 

Babs wheeled closer to Dick. “Can I hold him?”

Dick’s smile fell slightly. “Sorry, no. He’s very delicate right now. Mary and I don’t even take him outside unless we’re going for a check-up.”

Disappointment weighed Babs' chest down. Peter was so small and squishy that she felt like she would die happy if she got to hold him. “I can wash my hands.”

Dick glanced at her hands. “I know, but his immune system is very weak. You’re the first one to see him other than Mary’s sister and mother, and they didn’t get to hold him either, despite their protests. I promise to relax in a few weeks, but I don't want him back in the NICU.”

Babs sighed. “That’s fair, and I’m happy that I get to see him.”

Dick slowly ran a finger over Peter’s delicate eyebrows and the slope of his nose. “Me too. I don't know how I feel about him being outside soon, but he’s actually getting a Romanichal baptism next week, and I was wondering if you wanted to come. It will be small with just Mary’s sister and mother, Mary, me, and hopefully you.”

Babs’ heart soared at being included in the short list, but there was a bitter taste in her mouth. “No Bruce?”

Dick didn’t answer for several seconds. “No, no Bruce. I told him about Peter, but I’m not ready to see him yet.”

Babs carefully put her hand on Dick’s elbow and smiled as warmly as she could. “I can’t wait to see the baptism. Will you need me to do anything special?”

Dick let out a huff. “I don’t even know. He'll be two weeks, as is customary, but I’ve already failed by not isolating Peter and Mary from everyone until the baptism, and we've already announced Peter's name. I’m still learning, and it took forever to find someone to do the baptism or tell me anything since I don’t really have a Romani community. Not to mention that most Romanichal people are in the UK, but I found one who didn’t mind. He even seemed happy that more people from the same subgroup are here in the US.”

Babs blinked at Dick’s earnest tone. “Wow, that's a lot to take in.”

Dick smiled. It was brittle, and a vulnerability shone in his eyes. “I know it seems sudden, but I've thought about reclaiming my Romani side for a while now. It felt like that part of me died when my parents did, but I want to share it with my son even though I know how a lot of Romani and non-Romani people won't understand.”

Babs would have called a negative reaction to Dick embracing half of his ethnicity racist, but she wasn't sure how her thoughts would be received. She wanted Dick to be proud of who he was, but her throat felt a little dry and her hands a little heavier at the thought of Dick and Peter being exposed to people who were against them simply for being half and a quarter Romani respectively.

Peter snorted like a piglet in his sleep, and warmth replaced the vulnerability in Dick's gaze. “I’ll figure it all out, and then Peter and I can share everything. My Romani is worse than when I was nine, but I’ll get better, and Peter and I can share the language.”

Oh, Babs thought, he really wanted it. Perhaps he had always wanted to share half of his identity with someone. Bruce had tried, and Babs thought she had done even better, but neither of them had fully understood the non-white-non-stationary parts of Dick. She had thought his inability to settle was just part of his personality. However, he looked content sitting completely still and whispering in a language Babs had rarely heard before into Peter’s sleeping face.

Babs didn't know where to begin to understand what Dick was rekindling, but she decided to give it a try. She doubted she would find anything Dick didn't already know or would discover through his new connections, but she wanted to understand and be prepared to handle whatever he threw at her, regardless of how she felt about it.

She couldn't control others' reactions to Dick reclaiming what he had lost, but she could work on her own. 

Chapter Text

Tim hadn’t expected to want to spend time with Jason. Sure, he was cool, but he was also terrifying and almost killed him and he wreaked havoc for everyone for a while.

However, he was also resourceful and seemed as smitten with Peter as Tim was, despite only having known him for about half a year. The choice if partnering up was obvious and they didn't have to like each other to work together. 

Jason laid down next to Tim on the roof and put his binoculars in front of his eyes. “I have to admit that Bruce’s equipment is cool.”

“They’re needed for surveillance.” Tim zoomed in on Peter skipping over the pavement with his little brown-haired friend Harry, and Dick, Damian, and Harry’s mother following them closely behind.

Jason grunted. “Yes, but the binoculars I used when I was Robin didn’t have fucking infrared and night vision. I can even zoom in on Peter, either burping or roaring into his friend’s face.”

Tim zoomed in and watched as Peter, probably, roared into Harry’s face and received a similar gesture in response. It made sense that dragon-Peter would be roaring, but he wasn’t entirely sure why the Monopoly Man would.

Jason inhaled sharply, and Tim glanced at him for a split second before following his gaze and watching a shadow disappear around the corner of the opposite roof.

“Did you see that?” Tim whispered.

“Yes, someone’s following them,” Jason whispered back equally quietly but with enough acid to dissolve a whole building.

Tim glanced at Dick carrying Peter’s and Harry’s baskets as the two boys started to squeal and run around each other. It wouldn’t do any good to scare two first graders, and he had no idea how to inform Dick without doing so.

Dick and Harry’s mother somehow managed to herd the kids toward the next house. Tim would have laughed at Damian letting Peter pull him toward the front door and enduring Dick putting devil horns in Damian’s hair in any other circumstances, but he and Jason needed to jump to the next roof to be close to everyone without exposing themselves. Perhaps stealth would even allow them to sneak up on the stalkers and take them out without anyone else knowing. 

“Trick or treat!” Peter and Harry said in unison, with Damian mumbling something similar.

“Oh, aren’t you three darlings. Such cute boys with their parents, and one of you even brought your big brother,” the elderly woman cooed and her eyes softened further when both boys ran toward Dick to get their baskets. 

The shadows moved a few rooftops away, and Tim held his breath as he frantically turned around to see where it had gone.

“Get down.” Jason put his hand on Tim’s shoulder and pulled him down with such force that Tim was sure that his skin had cracked as his knees hit the flat roof.  

“Can we get candy, please?” Harry asked and thrust his pumpkin-shaped and colored basket toward the woman. His basket swung a few times but quickly stopped. 

“Yes, candy, please!” Peter shouted and jumped around enough for his caldron-shaped and colored basket to swing around for several seconds after he calmed down.

The woman threw something in the baskets Dick was holding. It was too fast for Tim to zoom in and determine what it was, but he was sure that Dick would check every wrapper before letting Peter indulge.

“What do we say?” Harry’s mother asked, and the Harry and Peter immediately responded with a choir of, “Thank you!”

The woman put a hand on her chest. It was rare to see uncomplicated joy in Gotham, especially from seemingly harmless people like old ladies, but she looked exactly like the grandmothers in cheesy movies, even as she looked at Damian. “Young man, don’t you want some candy too?”

Dick pushed Damian forward, and Damian's eyes widened when he reached out a hand and got a chocolate bar for his efforts.

Peter pushed Damian’s hip, and Damian mumbled something too low for Tim to hear, but he had a good guess when the woman responded, “You’re very welcome, Dear.”

Tim and Jason crawled along the roof as everyone below moved farther down the street. Tim hadn’t thought it was possible, but the roofs in Blüdhaven were even more uncomfortable than the ones in Gotham. Almost no buildings were without wear in the more criminal areas, but the number of cracks in Blüdhaven was ridiculous.

“No, not that house,” Dick said when Peter was about to walk toward the next house.

“Why not?” Peter asked, but Tim’s attention shifted to the shadows on the opposite roof.

It moved slowly. Every movement looked practiced and would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Tim had been trained for years and had accomplished unbelievable things in the last few years alone.

Peter clearly didn’t like whatever answer Dick had given him and started to pull Harry toward the house with everyone else at his heels. Peter was usually too shy to talk to strangers and generally well-behaved, but holding Harry’s hand must have given him strength and reckless tendencies. He was too small to know the dangers behind kind smiles, but Tim and Jason weren’t, and barely needed to share a glance before jumping toward the moving shadows as they moved toward Peter and Harry.

Peter’s head moved, and he let go of Harry’s hand and stepped in front of him despite being almost a head shorter than his friend. The shadow fell in front of them, and Harry’s eyes widened before he lifted Peter by the armpits and walked both of them backwards. Dick’s eyes sent lighting through the whole street and he stepped in front of them with Damian moving to stand between Dick and Peter. 

Tim’s staff hit the ground as he did, and he started to swing it when another shadow tackled him.

Tim should focus on his attacker, but he glanced at Peter desperately and saw the tension leave his body and a smile bloom. “What are you doing here?”

Tim looked closer at the figure in front of Peter and saw the dark purple and bright blonde hair. Its head turned around, and Tim’s eyes widened behind his mask.

Harry’s mother ran toward Harry and Peter and pulled him into her arms with surprising speed and strength. “Please don’t hurt the kids, Red Hood!”

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed, and he turned toward Jason’s empty hands and sighed. Of course, Jason didn’t hurt kids, other than Tim, but he was still a criminal who had brutally killed other criminals. Any decent parent would be worried about such a violent man being near her son and her son’s friend.

Jason pulled his vest taut enough that Tim was surprised that none of the stitches snapped. “Don’t worry I was here to… Um.”

Tim pushed himself from the sidewalk and closed the distance between him and Jason in two long steps. “Thank you so much for your help, Red Hood. Those drug dealers will never sell to minors again because of you.”

Jason’s helmet couldn’t change expressions, but it felt like it when he stared at Tim for several seconds before seeming to be reanimated. “Yes, I hate people who hurt kids, and drugs are bad.”

Peter nodded violently enough to catch everyone’s attention despite still being pressed tightly to Harry’s mother’s chest. “Yes! Don’t smoke drugs!”

Jason snapped his fingers and pointed at Peter. “Yes, exactly. You know what’s up.”

Peter’s giggle was adorable and made his eyes shine brightly, and Harry's eyes stopped being as wide as they had been before. 

Dick stomped a few steps closer to all the vigilantes. “Thank you for your services. You can all go now so Emily and I can let our kids have a normal Halloween experience.”

Tim looked around the street. A few people had stopped to watch, but most walked around as if there had never been any commotion. He didn’t want anyone to link their vigilante identities to the Wayne family, but he couldn’t stop himself from hurrying over and whispering to Dick. “We just want to protect Peter when you’re pulling him around to strangers.”

Dick rubbed his right eye. “Seriously? We’re knocking on mine and Norman Osborn’s colleagues’ and friends’ doors, and we’re not unprotected.”

Tim furrowed his brows and his hands tightened into fists. “Anything could happen out here. One gun and you’re all dead.”

Dick smiled, but it was the tight one he did when he was saving his yelling for later, and it only got more tense when Cass stepped closer to him and tilted her head. It looked even creepier with the full mask, but Tim’s hands stopped trembling with tension at her support.

Dick sighed and pointedly looked toward a rooftop on the other side of where Tim and Jason had been. Tim didn’t see anything at first, but a yellow glove lifted, and Tim’s entire body relaxed.

Peter sighed loudly. “Can we trick and treat now? Looking at you whisper is boring and Mrs. Osborn is crushing me.”

Mrs. Osborn's grip lessened but she kept her arms around Peter and Harry and her gaze never left Jason.

Dick shook his head, and his smile turned less tense and more genuine. “Of course, Chavvi. We’ll be on our way, and they will all go back to Gotham and take care of whatever they’ve left poor Batman alone with.”

Peter threw his arms up. "Yay!" 

Chapter Text

Babs would have never thought that Damian would be the one to convince someone else not to use a knife, but she had been wrong about things before.

“But, Uncle Dami, you use a knife!” Peter whined with tight fists by his sides and kicked his feet in his dining chair.

Damian crossed his arms. “I’m also older than you. You’re small, and Grayson said that you have fingers that could be easily separated from your hands.”

Peter opened his mouth and glanced at his admittedly tiny fingers, and Babs locked her chair's wheels and pulled him into her lap before any of the tears in his eyes could fall.

He let out a few hitching breaths, but they disappeared as she gently stroked his back. Babs glanced at Damian when he huffed as if he already knew what she was about to say.

Babs sighed. “You can’t be that morbid with him. He’s barely four.”

Damian scowled and began carving the top of his pumpkin violently. “Tell that to Grayson. I would have been able to control any knife at four, but Grayson has coddled him and insists that Peter should be stopped from potential injuries at all costs.”

Babs threw her arms around Peter and pressed him tightly against her chest. She knew what Damian had grown up with, but any reminders were heartbreaking, especially when looking at Peter’s tiny form. Peter was too little to carve out his own pumpkin, and she couldn’t imagine a small Damian being any safer with a sharp object than Peter was.

Peter turned around in Babs’ embrace and widened his eyes. “Did you carve pumpkins when you were four, Uncle Dami?”

Damian stopped stabbing the pumpkin and glared at it instead. “No.”

Babs’ heart twitched, but she knew that Damian would only grow more thorns if she voiced any of her thoughts.

Peter nodded. “Tati said to draw on them. Did you draw on your pumpkin instead?”

Damian glanced at the door. “Just focus on what he told you. He’ll be back soon and help you carve your pumpkin.”

Peter went completely limp, except for the occasional push against Babs’ legs, until he slid to the floor and walked toward Damian.

Babs rolled toward him and told him sternly, “Be careful. He has a knife.”

Peter turned around with a finger in his mouth that was pulled out harshly by Damian as soon as he turned around in his seat. “I’m careful, Auntie Babs, so why do I have to be more?”

Babs closed her eyes to find an answer that Peter would accept when the door opened and Dick’s voice filled the room. “Because Uncle Dami would be sad if he accidentally hit or cut you, Chavvi.”

Peter puffed out his cheeks and furrowed his brows, but walked toward Dick and the empty bowls in his hands. “Uncle Dami won’t. He’s good at knives.”

Dick shook his head and placed a bowl next to Damian’s tortured pumpkin and the other next to Babs’ untouched one before lifting Peter into the air. “Accidents happen, and there’s no stabbing for you.”

Peter waved his arms in the direction of Dick’s shoulders. “Stab, stab.”

Dick laughed and kissed Peter’s cheek, and Babs’ heart warmed at the giggle Peter let out after looking like the world’s cutest and tiniest serial killer for a few moments.

Damian pulled the top of his pumpkin and put it on the table with a loud splat. He was often sullen, and muttering was a common occurrence, but he looked like a little boy as he muttered, “I wouldn’t hurt him.”

Dick sat in the chair between Damian and Babs. “I know, Dami, but you could have if he snuck up on you.”

Peter giggled some more as he was swung dramatically through the air, but seemed transfixed on the intact pumpkin in front of him as soon as he was put in Dick's lap. 

Babs had to hold her breath when Damian opened his mouth and glared at Dick. “I would not cut him.”

“I know you wouldn’t mean to.” Dick smiled and glanced at Peter. “Draw whatever you want on it, and Tati will carve it out for you, Chavvi.”

Babs smiled wider than she had all week when she saw Peter’s masterpiece. Halloween was a time for everything spooky, so she wasn’t surprised when Peter decided to draw a spider on the side of the pumpkin, but she was surprised by how cute it was. It was all done with a black marker, but the eyes looked almost like googly eyes, and the knees of each of the spider's legs were drawn at uneven points. It was made even more endearing when Peter’s gaze lingered on each leg as he quietly counted to four twice.

Babs rolled over to her pumpkin to cut off the top while Damian started scooping out the pulp, and Dick seemed content just watching Peter destroy a marker with how hard he was coloring in the spider.

The top of her pumpkin came out easily, and she glanced at the uneven hole in Damian’s pumpkin and wondered if his pumpkin’s top would fit on top or if it had been cut up too much.

The pulp was cold and slimy to the touch. It made goosebumps travel up her arms, but Peter squealed excitedly when Dick cut off the top of Peter’s pumpkin and allowed him to scoop it.

“Gross!” Peter exclaimed excitedly when he threw the first handful into the bowl he and Damian shared.

Damian wrinkled his nose. “Yes, very.”

"Gross, Uncle Dami!" Peter extended his shiny hand toward Damian, but was quickly stopped by Dick catching his arm. He looked up at Dick with huge, brown eyes and furrowed eyebrows, only to turn to Babs when that didn’t work. His eyelashes looked slightly wet, probably from the earlier comment about cutting his own fingers off, and his pout was the cutest thing Babs had seen in years.

Babs tried to look away from it, but Peter had a pull so strong that she couldn’t even blink, and she had to figure out something to say before she would help Peter annoy Damian. Her hand tightened around the spoon and the pulp until her brain finally gave her a clue about what to say. “Can you help me with my pumpkin when you’re done with yours?”

“Yes, I’m good at emptying and drawing on pumpkins.” Peter’s eyebrows raised and his chest puffed out. "We're a team!"

Dick smiled and sent Babs a few nods before focusing on Peter once more. “You really are amazing. Now hollow out your pumpkin, Gudlapishun.”

Peter smiled at everyone and started to pull pulp out with only his hands. It was a slow process, and Babs had to slow down her own pace so there was something for Peter to help her with, but she felt like she existed in a tiny, perfect bubble in the manor's dining room.

“I will help Auntie Babs now,” Peter announced, and Babs barely had any time to prepare before he launched himself from his chair into her lap.

“Wow, a little warning next time, Peter,” she said, but it didn’t sound nearly as sternly as she had wanted it to.

Peter tilted his head and furrowed his brows. “Why?”

Babs glanced at Dick, who was scraping the insides of Peter’s pumpkin, before looking back at Peter. “Because you could have gotten hurt if I didn’t catch you.”

Peter huffed and turned around in her grip to sit on her lap, and put his hands into Babs’ pumpkin. “You always catch me. You’re strong like Tati.”

There wasn’t a lot for Peter to remove. She had scraped the insides of her own pumpkin and left only a layer of pulp at the bottom, but Peter seemed happy with squeezing it before putting every handful in Babs’ bowl.

“Uh! A kitty!” Peter exclaimed when he had removed the last piece of pulp and looked at Damian cutting triangles into his pumpkin.

Damian blinked. “It’s a classic jack-o-lantern.”

Peter shook his head and pointed. He still smiled sweetly, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Kitty ears!”

Damian’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood up with all the fury of a hormonal twelve-year-old. “It’s its eyes!”

Dick put down the knife he was using to carve out Peter’s design and sighed. “Both of you, don’t shout, and, Peter, it is its eyes. You can make a cat pumpkin next time if you want, but Damian’s is a face.”

Peter leaned back into Babs’ shoulder. “Spiders are gooder. Spiders are the goodest.”

Dick picked up the knife and carved one of the legs. “Yes, spiders are great, and yours and Damian’s pumpkins will be done soon. Can you get the candles for all of us?”

"Yes, Tati." Peter nodded with two small grunts and a salute before jumping down from Babs' lap and barely saving himself from smacking his head into the table. However, he still stopped by Damian’s chair until he received a head pat. Damian’s eyebrows were even, and his mouth slightly downturned when he patted Peter’s head, but he radiated a joy in his eyes that looked almost as intense as Peter’s full-face smile before Peter ran out of the room on surprisingly loud feet.

Chapter Text

Damian knew he had changed in the years he had been in Father’s care. He had learned how to use the wound care and first aid that Mother had taught him to help the weak people of Gotham, but he had never grown to be weak himself.

Peter was weak. He sometimes stumbled despite being three, and he could not pronounce th-sounds correctly. It was irritating, and yet, for reasons Damian couldn’t name, he preferred it when Peter was at the manor rather than at his mother’s.

Damian also seemed much more capable next to Peter and was even trusted to keep Peter company while Grayson put the cart back after a shopping trip, and Peter was too restless to put him in his car seat before it was necessary. It would only be two minutes, but Damian was too tired to deal with even that amount of Peter kicking the seat instead of sitting relatively quietly on the curb.

“See, Uncle Dami!” Peter demanded, and Damian only listened when Peter continued. “A kitty!”

It was indeed something resembling a cat. He initially thought it was an unfortunate stray cat that had lost its life to the unforgiving streets of Gotham, but it was simply an abandoned toy when Damian looked at it. It looked worn even from a distance, but it must have been seen as having some value at some point.

Damian had seen both Peter’s small collection of stuffed animals and Grayson’s stuffed elephant, but he couldn’t remember ever caring for any inanimate objects that weren’t weapons. He looked toward Grayson, putting the cart back and smiling at the employee, who seemed eager to fawn over anyone with any amount of money. “Kitty!” a tiny but mighty voice shouted, and Damian had less than a second between looking at Peter and pulling him away by the back of his jacket before a car entered the parking lot and nearly hit Peter.

Damian couldn’t see anything but the car and all the ways Peter’s tiny body could have been destroyed. He might have suffered a brain injury, broken all his bones, or maybe something even worse, and it would have been Damian’s fault. Damian had never felt like this before. He cared about the weaklings in Gotham as a way to prove he was strong enough to protect others, but this was different. It was even different than if it had been Alfred, the cat, or one of the dogs that nearly got hit by a car. 

Every nerve in his body protested, and his mind ended on anger at someone making him feel like this.

He lifted Peter by his shoulders and swung him around to face him. “What the fuck was that? Are you an imbecile, or do you just have a death wish? You don’t walk in front of cars.”

Peter’s bottom lip wobbled with every shaky breath, and his eyes filled with tears. “Kitty.”

Damian wanted to tell himself that he was only infuriated at the possibility of Grayson reacting harshly to Peter getting hurt in Damian’s temporary care, but the fire inside of him intensified with every second until he couldn’t remember why they were in the parking lot. “It’s a stupid toy! You could have died.”

‘You could have left me like Father did’, Damian wanted to say, but stopped himself. Father’s disappearance had changed Damian’s life almost as much as when Mother told him he was to live with Father had, but Peter's death seemed nearly as bad. It had only been four months, but Damian had grown to treasure both the weeks he had Grayson alone and the weeks he had Peter to shine against and soak in the happiness of.

Every day was an adventure for Peter, and Damian wasn’t ready to let that go. 

“Not stupid!” Peter argued.

Damian clenched his jaw, but a sliver of his fury slipped past his lips anyway. “It’s a stupid toy, and you’re even more stupid for putting your life at risk. I thought you were supposed to be smart, but you’re such a fucking idiot!”

Peter’s whole chest jerked with his first sob, and the rest followed soon after with tears streaming down his face.

Nausea filled Damian’s throat, and he tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was firm and tightened uncomfortably around the bone. He was ready for a fight, but everything inside of him fell into his legs when he saw Grayson’s stormy face.

“Why are you shaking my child and calling him an idiot, Damian?”

Peter opened his mouth, but only weak squeaks escaped, and Damian turned to look at three teenagers kicking the stuffed cat Peter had risked his life for like a deflated soccer ball. They all had annoyingly cocky smiles and cruel laughs, but Damian didn’t care much if they were only torturing an inanimate object as opposed to a living creature.

Grayson’s jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed further, and he only loosened his grip on Damian when Peter lifted his arms toward him. The tension disappeared from his arms, and he lifted Peter from Damian’s grip as if he was a priceless jewel that could fall apart at the slightest pressure. Peter didn’t seem to hold Grayson to the same regard and gripped the fabric of Grayson’s coat so tightly that any lower-quality fabric would have been torn.

Grayson kept his sharp gaze on Damian for several moments before closing his eyes, and the rest of the tension left him as he ran a hand through Peter’s hair while the other arm was used to balance Peter against his chest. “Don’t cry, Tati’s here.”

Peter cried even louder, and every sound made Damian’s heart clench. He cared what Grayson thought of him, but he wasn’t looking at anything other than Peter’s shaking shoulders. They shook like earthquakes and made Damian feel unsteady and his heart ache.

Damian usually approved of people not talking when they didn’t have anything intelligent to bring to a discussion, but he longed for Peter’s hitched breaths to turn into words. He seemed to attempt it several times, but it sounded like he was being strangled until he started crying even more.

Grayson kissed the top of Peter’s head and mumbled, “Come on, let’s sit in the car for a little bit.”

Damian didn’t need an invitation to join anyone, but he couldn’t even look at the car when Grayson closed the door to the driver’s seat. The car should have muffled Peter’s cries, but they sounded as loud as before, and Damian didn’t know what to do. He wanted to make everything right, but he had no idea how until he heard the jeers behind him.

“Think anyone’s missing this trash, Dude?” Moron One asked.

“Maybe the wittle baby crying for his bottle,” Moron Two answered with a cruel laugh. 

Moron Three mumbled something, but Damian couldn’t hear what with the blood rushing through his ears. It was their fault that Peter wanted to save the stuffed cat without thinking of his own safety. It was their fault that Damian was distracted for a single second and had shouted at Peter when he realized what had almost happened. It was their fault that Damian had felt such overwhelming emotion when there were no more cars to pull Peter away from, but the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins.

“What did you say about him?” Damian asked with clenched fists at his sides.

Moron One kicked the stuffed cat once more and turned around. “None of your business.”

Damian barely looked out for cars as he closed the distance between himself and the teenagers. “It’s my fucking business when you talk like that about my nephew.”

Moron Two threw his head back. “Oh, no, little uncle is getting angry.”

Moron Three scraped the stuffed cat’s stomach over the parking lot pavement with his foot, but stayed slightly behind as Moron Two took a step closer to Damian. Go away, you’re like ten and don’t want to mess with us.”

Damian was twelve and was crawling into the taller half of his classmates. He knew he looked his age, and he knew that age had nothing on his abilities, especially against three teenagers who looked like they were only good as target dummies.

Moron Three looked at the other idiots before speaking clearly, "It's just a toy. Go back to your nephew and leave us alone." 

Damian's blood felt like acid, and his hands tightened into fists as he ran across the parking lot without any hesitation. Moron One's eyes widened, and Moron Two and Three looked at Moron One before moving to stand next to him. 

Damian didn’t know who threw the first punch. It could have been any of the morons around him, but it might also have been his subconscious when he heard the cat’s hard plastic eyes scrape across the rough pavement. 

What he did know was that he was winning the fight when Grayson yelled across the parking lot. His voice was loud and commanding, but there was a hint of panic in it, too. “Damian, get back here this instant!”

It would be smart to turn around and beg for Grayson’s forgiveness, but he instead risked both his guardian’s ire and another punch to his cheek when he leaned down to rescue the cat. The stuffing was peeking out from several holes, and one of the eyes was clouded entirely with scratches, but it seemed like the only way to hope to get back into Peter’s good graces.

Grayson’s hand fell on Damian’s shoulder again when he was within arm’s reach, and Damian kept his face blank when Grayson leaned down and spoke directly into Damian’s face with a low but firm voice, “What is wrong with you? First, you yell at Peter, and now you’re getting into fights while I calm him down?”

Damian didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing and instead looked into the car to see Peter rubbing his wet eyes before widening them at Damian. The tears kept flowing, but they couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes. It made Damian feel too big for his own skin, and he threw Grayson’s grip off him and opened the door to see Peter chewing on his bottom lip.

Grayson often insisted on verbal apologies, but Damian was suddenly as lost for words as Peter had been in Grayson’s presence and he thrusted the stuffed cat into Peter’s arms.

Peter’s bottom lip was released as the cat was caught, and he smiled brightly with red cheeks. “Kitty!”

Grayson’s hands twitched when Peter touched a black spot on the cat’s otherwise red fur. “How nice of Uncle Dami, but let’s clean that before you touch it.”

Peter threw his arms around the toy and pressed it tightly against his chest. “No! Kitty deserves love.”

“Chavvi, it looks like it has been on the ground for weeks.”

Damian thought that was a gross miscalculation, but the toy cat had definitely been on the ground for more than a day.

“No!”

“You need to wash your hands and change clothes, and, um, Kitty needs a bath.”

Peter gasped. “Kitties don’t like baffs!”

Damian looked at the suspicious spots, and he suddenly didn’t know why he had fought for a useless piece of stuffing and fabric and why he had given such a health hazard to Peter.

Dick inhaled deeply. “This one does.”

Peter opened his mouth, probably to say more after temporarily losing his voice, but Damian interrupted. “It really likes baths a lot, and maybe you two can play with your other toys when you’re both clean.”

Peter nodded. “Spiders are clean.”

“Yes,” Damian replied, even though he had no idea what Peter meant by that. It seemed to be the correct answer as Peter let Damian take the toy back and Grayson carry him from the front seat to his car seat with only the customary complaints about being strapped down.

Grayson seemed to have lightened up, but he was still tense and glanced at Damian when they left the parking lot. “Why were you yelling at Peter?”

Damian glared at his knees.

Grayson sighed. “There must have been some reason for you to yell curses at a three-year-old.”

Damian crossed his arms. The intense wave of emotions he had felt suddenly felt illogical, and he mumbled words that were vaguely comprehensible.

Grayson’s gaze flickered to the rearview mirror before focusing on the road ahead. “You can tell me now or you can tell me later, but I need to know why you yelled at my toddler.”

“Uncle Dami said, ‘Don’t walk in front of cars’”, Peter replied.

Grayson’s gaze flickered again. “Wise words. Were there cars nearby, and that’s why he yelled?”

“Peter tried to walk in front of a car,” Damian mumbled. It was barely louder than what he had said before, but Grayson reacted much more intensely.

Dick’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He exhaled slowly through his nose before asking, “He did what?”

Peter nodded. “Uncle Dami said, ‘Don’t walk in front of cars,’ but Kitty was hurt, Tati.”

Grayson looked stiffly at the road. “But Kitty was hurt. Okay, that’s… Okay, don’t walk in front of cars, no matter who is hurt, Chavvi.”

Damian should have been uneasy at the faraway look in Grayson’s eyes as he drove them back to the manor, but he knew that Grayson would never let Peter, and perhaps Damian, get hurt.

Grayson could still punish Damian for scaring Peter, but it seemed more and more unlikely the more time passed, with Grayson changing Peter’s clothes and forcing him to wash his hands up to his elbows and putting the stuffed cat into a pillowcase and then inside the washing machine when Peter wasn’t looking. It looked like a horrible rendition of a drowned kitten, but Damian was unsure if it was meant to spare Peter from the side of his new toy being slung through a washing machine or in the hopes of the stuffing not clotting the washing machine.

They watched the pillow move around behind the glass door, with Peter’s giggles calling them into the sitting room for a few seconds before Grayson’s hand fell on Damian’s shoulder again. It was much softer this time, but Damian’s heart still felt like it had stopped when he turned to look at him.

Grayson slowly released his bitten lip and laid his other hand on Damian’s free shoulder. “Thank you so much for saving my little boy.”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? I thought you were mad at me yelling at him.”

The corners of Grayson’s mouth lifted, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m not thrilled about hearing you yelling that he’s an idiot and seeing him cry in the two minutes I was away from you two, but I’m grateful that you were there to save him. I don’t know what I would have done if he had been hit.”

Damian wasn’t ready to confess how similarly he felt and gave Grayson a curt nod.

Grayson’s eyes started to crinkle, and one of his hands lifted to caress Damian’s sore cheekbone. “I also don’t know what I would have done if you had gotten hurt worse. Don’t get into more fights, no matter how much Peter wants a toy from the trash.”

Damian shrugged and nodded. It was hardly an answer, but Grayson wrapped his arms around him and held him close to his chest. The same hands that had once gripped Damian’s shoulder in anger now held him so tightly he could barely breathe, but Damian could have stayed in Grayson’s warm embrace forever if Peter hadn’t walked in on them, holding his stuffed spider in one hand and Grayson’s stuffed elephant in the other.

“When can Kitty play?”

Damian’s lips lifted into a smile without his permission, but it was okay when Peter smiled brighter than before.

Chapter Text

Tim’s fourteenth birthday had been spent being ignored until a gala that evening, where his parents showed him off and presented him with an expensive camera and four suits that he was expected to have tailored before the summer was over.

He had thought that he was lucky back then. He had received more attention than half of his peers in boarding school got on their birthdays. Some of that was because they weren’t born during the summer, but the point stood that his parents gave him a gift he liked and spent time with him. 

Now he felt like he was celebrating all the best birthdays at once, even though it was the weekend before his actual fifteenth birthday on Tuesday.

Dick clapped loudly through the training room. “You've gotten so strong, Tim!”

Tiny bangs echoed from the other side of the room, and Tim lost Dick’s attention for several seconds. It was fascinating and confusing at the same time, and Tim didn’t know if he would ever get used to the dopey grin on Dick’s face every time that he looked at Peter.

Peter smiled back with a chewable cube in his mouth, at least one pacifier by his feet, and stacking cups that were used both as annoying instruments and built into towers in his hands. He was in a mesh-and-foldable playpen, but his banging couldn’t possibly be suitable for the expensive floor. At least Tim wouldn’t have to worry about anyone being mad at him for scratching the floor when Peter was making dents by the door. 

Dick shook his head and returned his gaze to Tim. “Good job with the pull-ups and chin-ups. I think you’re ready for the rings. I want you to try to pull yourself up like this.”

It was inhuman how high Dick could jump, and he easily grabbed the rings and stretched his arms. They flexed without looking strained, and his face remained relaxed. Everything about it looked effortless, but Tim had no illusions about his own strength or Dick’s incredible abilities. Both Bruce and Dick had repeatedly insisted that Dick didn't possess a metagene, but that couldn't be true when he was casually performing feats like this. 

“Just pull yourself up a little and hold it as long as you can. The mat is there to catch you, and you'll eventually be able to do much more.”

Dick somersaulted in the air and landed on his feet, and flashed Tim an easy smile. Tim would have thought he was showing off a year ago, but Dick made it known when he was showing off, and there were none of Dick’s cocky smiles or wild arms now.  “Now it’s your turn to get up. I’ll lift you to the rings.”

Dick boosted Tim with only an exhale despite how much muscle Tim had gained over the last half year, and waited patiently for Tim to grip the rings before slowly letting go. Tim tried to pull himself up, but he only got a few inches up before the rings moved in opposite directions, forcing him back to his starting position. He tried again, but ended up falling on the mat under him.

Dick clapped once more. “You did so great, Tim! Try to keep your elbows closer to you, but it was otherwise an amazing start.” 

Peter banged on the floor again, and Dick smiled at him for another few seconds before returning his gaze to Tim. “Ready to try again? Most people give up now, but I know you can do this.”

Tim wasn’t sure how much his pride could take, but he was more stubborn than naturally talented and would succeed. He would be the second-best gymnast in Gotham even if he had to train for the rest of his life.

He kept his elbows closer as soon as Dick lifted him to the rings, but he couldn't lift himself higher or hold the position for more than a minute. Peter started banging the cups, but Dick kept his eyes firmly on Tim until his arms gave out, then clapped and smiled at Peter. 

Frustration filled Tim's stomach with lead and he walked around the training room and ignored Peter's babbling at him as he steamed. He didn't have the natural athleticism that Bruce and Dick did, but he still cursed himself for not being able to do more. He needed to be better, and unfortunately that meant trying again. 

Dick exhaled loudly when Tim walked over to face the rings with Dick behind him "One more try, but your arms are already tired, so just hold yourself and don't try to pull yourself up. Control is more important than strength right now." 

Tim hummed and nodded. His arms were tired and started shaking as soon as he grabbed the rings. He held on for just a few seconds, but Dick clapped and cheered regardless as Tim landed hard on the mat. “You did greay! I know it doesn't feel like it, but you’re really improving, Tim. B won’t know what hit him.“

Tim let his head fall onto the mat and frowned. He was even worse this time than his first attempt, and it was almost insulting that Dick insisted otherwise. At least Peter wasn’t echoing Dick’s claps with his own bangs.

Dick tilted his head. “I think we need a little water break. What do you say, Chavvi?” His smile fell, and his eyes widened and turned frantically around the room. Each echo of his voice sounded even more panicked, and Tim’s heartbeat quickened. “Chavvi? Peter? Gudlapishun, where are you?”

One side of Peter's playpen was folded down, and his stacking cups and a pacifier laid in a semicircle around it. Peter exclusively moved by scooting on his butt or jumping on his knees and couldn’t reach door handles, so he couldn’t have gone far. However, he also shouldn’t have been able to escape the playpen, and Tim’s chest tightened when he saw Peter's chewing cube by the closed door.

Tim’s arms trembled, but he ignored them in favor of following Dick around the training room.

Dick had been composed and happy all day, but there was a desperate panic in his voice when he called out, “Peter, where are you? Tati doesn’t like not knowing where you are.”

A very long half a minute passed with frantically searching and calling out Peter's name and nicknames, and Dick’s breathing turned ragged, and he leaped for the door when Tim stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Do you hear that?”

Dick inhaled loudly. “Hear what? We need to find out where my almost nine-month-old is. He’s only seven and a half months adjusted, and he’s gone.”

Tim put a finger to his lips and whispered, “Call out for Peter again and then keep quiet. I think I heard him.”

Dick’s eyes were wide, and he nodded before complying with a loud and almost sugar-sweet voice that couldn’t completely hide the sour panic underneath. “Peter, where are you? Tati is looking for you.”

Tim let go of Dick and leaped toward the built-in closets. They were all closed and filled to the brim with equipment, but he swore that he had heard giggling from one of them.

They all opened easily, and balls fell out when he opened the first closet. The wooden staffs almost hit him in the second one, but the third closet contained a first aid kit, elbow and knee pads, and a giggling baby behind an ajar door.

Peter’s smile shone from behind a pacifier in the dark closet, and he quickly covered his eyes and laughed from deep in his chest when he peeked through his fingers at Dick.

Dick blinked owlishly. “How the fuc-fudge did you get in there, Peter?”

Peter only laughed louder and uncovered his eyes for a second before covering them again.

Dick finally smiled. It was as warm as any other time he had smiled at Peter, but there was an edge of humor and a cliff-edge of self-deprecating. “I thought I had until you could at least crawl before you started plotting your great escape."

Tim stepped aside, and Dick stepped forward and pulled Peter into his arms. It caused a squeal to echo through the whole room, but Tim’s hearing could take a hit when both Dick and Peter looked so delighted at the sight of each other. They tattooed themselves on the inside of Tim’s eyelids and made everything seem like a wonderful dream that he never wanted to wake up from. It was even better than his last five birthdays combined. 

Stars shone in Dick’s eyes. “You really scared me, Chavvi. I thought someone had snatched you.”

Peter covered his eyes before throwing his arms out with another loud sound that made his pacifier fall to the ground. Peter's antics should be grating, but all the tension left Tim’s body, making his arms feel both heavier and as if he could do the same feats as Dick.

Chapter Text

Damian cursed every historical event that led to school being mandatory and to it being so early in the morning. He was the best parts of both his parents, had no need for school beyond pleasing Grayson, and was exhausted after a night of patrolling. 

Peter did not have the same issue and was munching on his yogurt, smiling far too wide for seven am, and pushing his arm into Damian’s.

It wasn’t hard to overpower a four-year-old, but it still got annoying very fast, and Damian put down his spoon before giving Peter a narrow-eyed look. “What?”

“We’re twins,” Peter declared.

Damian’s eyes were still narrowed as he looked at Peter’s long T-shirt. It was white, just like Damian’s school shirt, but they looked nothing alike beyond that. Peter's shirt was soft cotton and casual, while Damian's was an expensive and stiff dress shirt. “I fail to see how white shirts make us look like twins.”

Peter furrowed his brows and tilted his head. “Why?”

Grayson shook his head and smiled widely. “You’re two completely different ages, Chavvi. No one thinks a four and thirteen-year-old is twins.”

Damian nodded. “And we're completely different ethnicities.”

Grayson shrugged, “I wouldn’t say completely different, Dami. You’re both three-quarters white if you count Arab and Ashkenazi Jews as white.”

Damian scoffed. “Well, I don’t. I’m a quarter white and three-quarters brown.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows tilted into sad ski slopes. “I wanna be brown.”

Grayson exhaled and rested his hand on his cheek, as Peter's bottom lip soon stuck out in a pout, and his eyes turned red with unshed tears. His voice turned whiny, and he widened his eyes in Grayson's direction. “I wanna be brown like Uncle Dami.”

Damian’s brain stopped working, and he could only blink owlishly at Peter, who was not only crying but also declaring that he wanted to be like him. Damian knew that Peter liked him, and he had actively tried to make Peter see Damian's greatness, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about Peter becoming distressed at the prospect of them not being alike physically. Peter’s tears made Damian’s throat feel tight, but his words made Damian’s chest feel so vast that it could fill the whole room.

No one appreciated Damian like this. Grayson was an excellent mentor and could easily see and point out Damian’s shortcomings, but no one aimed to be like Damian in anything.

Grayson bit his bottom lip for several moments and glanced at Damian’s wide eyes. He sent him a wide smile before focusing on Peter. “I know, Chavvi, but Uncle Dami is mostly brown and you-“

Peter leaned back into his seat and let the first tear fall. “I wanna be brown.”

Grayson left his seat and knelt at Peter’s side. “We all come in different colors, Chavvi. Some are dark brown and some are light brown.”

Peter’s hand rose, and he hid his eyes behind two fists. “I wanna be brown.”

Grayson leaned forward and snatched Peter’s other hand. “You are a very light brown, Peter.”

Damian had to close his eyes and focus on the breathing techniques Grayson had taught him in order not to scoff at Grayson’s statement. He knew that Peter was a quarter Romani, but he was completely white-passing. All his features except his hair were lighter than Fitch’s, who Damian was almost sure was completely Italian, and even Grayson had gotten the occasional looks for walking around with a very white child, despite being his biological father.  

Peter looked at his hand for a moment before his whole face crumbled. “No, I’m not! I’m not brown.”

Grayson lifted Peter’s hand and put it next to his own. “Look, look, Tati’s pale brown too. We’re all mixed, Gudlapishun. You, Uncle Dami, and I are mixed, and we’re all different shades.”

Peter pushed the hand away and hid his watering eyes behind his loosely closed hands. “Not brown.”

Damian did not understand the need to cry about different skin colors, but he had to agree with Peter that while Grayson was a pale brown, Peter was very fair. His skin looked even paler next to Grayson's, and Damian's skin was darker than both of theirs. It was a simple fact, and Damian’s body felt warm at Peter’s irrational pursuit to be like Damian, but he still didn’t understand why Peter’s skin color mattered to anyone.

However, he also did not understand why his own skin color mattered to some of his classmates who saw him as too white and Arab for the East Asian students, and too colored for the white students, and he wasn’t sure if there were any Middle Eastern students at his school, but they would probably have found a problem with his skin color too. He didn't care much for their opinion of him, especially something as trivial as race, but it usually got annoying. 

All his classmates were academically below Damian, but they could still get annoying, and he was usually close to being called into the principal's office if they said anything about or to him. It didn't matter if it was race, his social skills, or other trivial things they had against him; it was annoying. However, he thought that he could deal with it more easily today after witnessing Peter’s overwhelming and strangely innocent acceptance and distress at not being of Damian’s ethnicity.

Grayson sighed and brought Damian to the presence with a crooked smile before returning to Peter. “Mommy’s white. You like looking like Mommy, right?”

Peter nodded and hummed, but he continued to hold his hands in front of his face.

“I think a lot of people wish that they looked like Mommy.”

Peter sniffed loudly and nodded. Peter was full of chatter when he was happy, but Damian and Grayson needed to be patient for several minutes before Peter’s distress lessened enough for him to mumble, “Mommy’s pretty.”

Grayson nodded. “Mommy is very pretty and so are you.”

Peter fell to the side and landed against Grayson’s chest. He continued to sniffle, and Damian’s yogurt tasted more like chalk than strawberry when he returned to his meal, and it only got worse when Peter turned to look at Damian with huge, brown eyes. They were too innocent and vulnerable, and made Damian’s chest flutter in the same way furry animals did. “Do you look like your mommy, Uncle Dami?”

Damian stirred his yogurt. His shoulders felt heavy at the reminder of the lack of both his parents in his life. He knew that his mother had delivered him to Wayne Manor to help his further growth and that his father hadn’t intentionally disappeared, but he still felt wounded when he remembered. “I think that I’m a mix of my father and mother. I’m a little paler than my mother but darker than my father, and I guess my features are a mix of them too.”

Peter’s eyes filled with tears once more. “I don’t look like Tati. I wanna be brown like Tati.”

Grayson lowered one of his arms and swept Peter off the chair and into his arms before sitting on Peter’s chair, including the cushions that were installed for Peter to reach the table during meals. “You’re perfect the way you are. You have all your mommy’s prettiest features and the best brown eyes and hair in the world.”

Damian nodded when Peter glanced at him. Damian wasn’t sure if Peter’s eyes would be considered honey brown or amber, but they were far better than Fitch’s common dark brown ones. He didn’t have an opinion about the dark brown eyes of most people in the League of Assassins, but he liked that Peter had both darker hair and lighter eyes than his mother. Anything that wasn’t like that woman was good, even if she had desirable and symmetrical features. 

“But I wanna have brown skin. Brown skin doesn’t need sunscreen.” Peter dried his eyes and nose on Grayson’s shirt, but Damian seemed to be the only one feeling disgust at it.

“People with brown skin actually do need sunscreen, and you have something that most people with dark skin don’t.” Damian held his breath when Grayson’s smile turned predatory and his eyes sharp a moment before he folded in half on the chair and attacked Peter’s face with kisses. “Nom, nom, nom, Tati needs your freckles.”

Peter’s laughter was more screaming than anything else, but the volume was tolerable when Damian put his index fingers against his ears, and the sight made Damian’s morning better. He still didn’t look forward to school, but seeing Grayson and Peter happy made Damian’s exhaustion more bearable, and he knew that he would think of Peter’s intense wish to resemble Damian for months.

Peter’s tiny chest moved rapidly when Grayson stopped pretending to cannibalize his son, and Damian looked on silently as Grayson found Peter’s inhaler. Peter’s weak lungs were worrying, but he was still smiling so widely that Damian could see it through the spacer, and looked toward Damian as soon as he had stopped wheezing.

“I wanna go to school like Uncle Dami.”

Grayson ran a hand through Peter’s hair. “You can when you can sit still at a desk for forty minutes.”

Peter crossed his arms and puffed out his cheeks. “I can sit for forever.”

Peter could, in fact, not sit still for forty minutes. He could occasionally sit for thirty minutes during meals, but even that was a challenge, and it was amusing to see him try as Damian returned to his meal.

In case anyone wants the image of who writes Damian refusing to be 3/4th white, this is literally me, as the white-haired child I used to be, on my riding pony's friend. Horses were more my mother's thing, but I loved both Latiffa and Cirkeline (the riding horse), and we visited them every day. 

I have no idea how my mother came up with the Arabic name Latiffa for a horse, but that was the name she gave her. Latiffa was not delicate or particularly gentle, but a good girl all the same, and let me sit on her a few times a year, especially if I held her very heavy head while she was being petted afterwards. 

Chapter Text

“Hey, Mary, is Peter ready for pickup?” Grayson said as soon as Fitch answered the front door. He smiled brightly but seemed unable to focus on her in favor of looking over her shoulder. 

She looked annoyingly put together, though tired, and Damian turned his head to look down the hallway under her arms as tiny footsteps and huffed breaths filled the air.

He soon spotted Peter, and Peter must have seen them too, since he let out a squeal and smiled even as he stumbled. It was a common occurrence, but Damian’s stomach still felt oddly tight and bloated at the same time until Grayson fell to his knees and quickly rose with Peter in his arms.

“Tati!” Peter yelled into Grayson’s face.

“Peter!” Grayson responded, although with far more controlled volume. "Did you have a good week?" 

"Yeah, I told you on the phone. We did everything fun!" Peter threw his arms into the air and finally looked at Damian with his huge brown eyes and round cheeks. “But I didn't like getting my hair cut yesterday. Sorry, Mommy!"

Damian furrowed his eyebrows and turned his gaze toward Grayson, whose face fell into a less manic expression and softened eyes. “Don't apologize, Chavvi. You're allowed to dislike something. And, there’s no need to look confused, Dami, Mary makes sure that Peter’s hair is cut every two months or so.”

Damian’s brows furrowed even more, and he leaned toward Grayson and Peter to inspect Peter’s hair. Damian had never cared about it before or noticed it had never been cut when Peter was at the manor, but he was sure there would be some blatant mistake in everything Fitch was involved with. Even Peter's otherwise strong genes were affected by Fitch's weaknesses. Damian hadn't seen Fitch exercise, but he had seen Grayson perform impossible feats, so Peter’s asthma must have only come from her. 

Peter clapped as Damian pulled wavy strands to inspect the even lengths and feel how baby-soft each strand was. The bangs were a little shorter than what Damian thought they should be, and the sides were cut into a layered, short bob, but he couldn’t deny that Peter’s hair looked very similar to that of the toddler boys modeling kids’ fashion, despite being four. It made him look endearing, and Damian wasn't sure whether the hairstyle would make Peter a bigger target for rogues and child abductors or protect him from anyone wanting to harm a single hair on his head. He looked like a bright light in Gotham’s darkness that anyone would like a piece of, but the way his cheeks looked fuller with the hair around them made Damian's heart soften, and his resolve strengthen, so it only made sense that others would feel the same sense of protectiveness. 

“I guess the hairstylist did an adequate job,” Damian mumbled when he couldn’t find anything to voice in a way that wouldn’t cause Grayson to lecture Damian about when to voice his displeasure about Peter’s mother.

Fitch blinked and frowned when Grayson shrugged and answered her silent question. “It’s a compliment coming from Damian. He is not shy about telling others his displeasure about anything.”

Damian scowled, but Fitch spoke before he could find a way to explain to Grayson how difficult it was to stay civil in front of Peter's mother, without Peter catching onto the subtle clues of his loathing for everything that woman did.

Her lips lifted, but her eyes remained wide with confusion. “Thank you, Damian. It’s actually me who cut Peter’s hair. I have been cutting it since his first haircut.”

Grayson nodded. “You’ve gotten a lot better, Mary.”

“Thank you.” Fitch narrowed her eyes momentarily. “I think.”

“Mommy is the goodest at hair, and I sat still like-“ Peter stiffened his whole body and held his breath for a few seconds before Grayson lifted him higher in his arms and rested Peter’s butt on his arm. Peter exhaled audibly and placed his hands on Grayson’s shoulders with a wide smile. There was no need for additional support since Grayson kept a firm hand on Peter’s back, but Damian felt more secure with the caution for Peter’s safety.

Grayson turned slightly cross-eyed as he focused on Peter and with more emotion than Damian could ever express. “Wow, you’re becoming an amazing client for Mommy, huh?”

Peter nodded with a hum. “The goodest, right, Mommy?”

Damian’s shoulders tensed in preparation for what Fitch would say, and they barely relaxed when she smoothed Peter’s hair. “You did very well. Now, go with Tati, and I’ll see you next week.”

Peter’s face fell, and he turned his torso to grab Fitch’s sleeve. Damian wished they could keep Peter away from her forever, and his throat clenched at the desperation in each of Peter’s frantic movements.

“Come with us, Mommy. The manor is big, and we can have more fun.”

Fitch's mouth opened, and her eyebrows tilted outwards. Her whole body looked stiff before all the tension left her, and her shoulders folded inwards, and she pulled Peter's hand off her arm. "Mommy has to work, and I’m sure that Tati and Uncle Dami missed you this week.”

Peter nodded and looked at Damian with watering eyes as Damian took the hand that Fitch had carelessly pulled off herself.

Damian’s body was filled with lead. Peter hadn’t cried about separating from Fitch for months, and he wasn't good enough to lie to Damian if his week away from the manor had been unpleasant. The way he was clinging to Grayson didn't make Damian believe that he was dreading coming home either, so he didn’t understand what the issue was. Peter should be happy about having had a pleasant week with Fitch, regardless of how unworthy she was of his time, and excited about spending a week at home with Grayson and Damian.

Peter inhaled shakily and exhaled in a sob before explaining, "I wanna have fun with Tati, Uncle Dami, and you, Mommy.”

Grayson's jaw tightened even more than Damian's, but he soon relaxed his face and offered Fitch a foolishly reassuring smile. She didn’t deserve kindness when she constantly made Peter sad, and she deserved even less for forcing all of them to give Peter to her nearly every other week. Peter would be as devastated if she disregarded him as she had when she chose to work overtime for a trip instead of spending time with him, but he would eventually get over it if he never saw her again. Maybe he would even forget about her entirely, just as he seemed to have about Drake and Father outside of pictures and stories. It would enable Grayson and Damian to keep Peter happy, safe, and without disappointment, but Grayson was too blind to see that Peter didn’t need anyone but him and Damian.

Grayson leaned back and moved his hand from Peter’s back to run it through Peter’s hair. “Don't be sad. You'll see her soon, and we’ll have so much fun, Chavvi. I always have fun with you, and I have been waiting all week to spend time with you.”

Peter turned his face into Grayson’s shoulder and let out a soft cry. “Sorry. I have fun with you too. I do. I'm sorry, Tati. Sorry.”

Grayson swallowed and bit his lip for a few seconds before kissing the top of Peter’s head. “Don’t apologize. I know you miss Mommy sometimes, but you two will have lots of fun weeks. Maybe so much fun that you won’t have time to talk on the phone with Tati every evening when you're back with her.”

Peter shook his head vigorously, and Damian tightened his grip on his hand until he started to fear breaking any of Peter’s delicate bones.

Fitch stepped backwards into the house. “Mommy is going in now. Remember the cookie bag, Peter. I’ll see you next week.”

Peter sniffed loudly and gingerly lifted his head. “Cookies again next week?”

Fitch's words came out muddled and hurried enough for Damian to glance at her despite the fire inside of him every time he had to acknowledge her existence. “Yeah, we can make cookies next week. Any kind that you want.”

Peter tried his eyes with a rough swipe of his arm, but his voice was soft. “Chocolate?”

“I’ll have all the ingredients ready when you come over next week.” She moved a step closer and kissed Peter’s head quickly and precisely, like an owl snatching its prey. “Now, go have fun with Tati and your uncle, and don’t forget your bag of cookies.”

Peter’s hand moved in Damian’s, but Damian kept his grip on the tiny hand and watched as the other one reached for the plastic bag before holding it tightly to his chest.

Grayson’s smile grew. “Oh my god, are those peanut butter cookies?”

Peter’s whole body moved with his nods. “Yeah, yeah, and chocolate chips. They taste good, and I have for me, Tati, Uncle Dami, and me.”

Grayson hummed and turned around with Peter in his arms, and Damian attached to Peter’s hand. “Come, my ducklings. Let’s get home so we can have a cookie each, or maybe you and Uncle Dami will have two since you mentioned yourself twice, Gudlapishun.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, and he pouted enough to make Damian glare at Fitch’s wave with suspicion before looking back to him when Peter didn’t cry but only protested Grayson's statement. “Tati too. I have six cookies.”

Damian wasn’t entirely sure if Peter had divided the number of cookies by three or if he just thought six cookies were a lot. However, it wasn’t important when Peter was smiling again, and Damian had to swallow his pride at Peter being happy about something Fitch had provided, especially when Peter’s freshly cut hair showed his joyful face to everyone around him.

Damian glanced back once Peter was secured in his car seat, and Grayson gave Damian the bag of cookies to protect them from being crushed or eaten in the car. 

Fitch lingered in the doorway with her gaze fixed on Peter’s small form. Everything about her was vile, but Damian felt a twitch of confusion at her blank expression and how tightly her fingers were pressed against the doorframe. 

The car door shut, her fingers twitched, and the front door closed in the time it took Damian to blink. 

<- Basically, Peter's toddler hairstyle.

Chapter Text

Babs had liked Christmas shopping when she was younger, but she hated it as an adult. It wasn’t because she was older; it was just a pain to get around the mall in a wheelchair, and the dense Christmas crowds made it a nightmare every year. 

Collecting her electric wheelchair from the library was a hassle, but she still did it every year to avoid using her manual one with her hands full. However, she could see herself liking the mall when her hands were full of precious cargo.

She liked the strength she could feel in her arms when pushing herself around in the wheelchair, and the independence of using her electric one at work, but she didn't need either when Dick was talking her ear off and pushing her manual chair while she held Peter. He was about two months old and tiny. The only thing smaller than Peter now had been Peter himself almost two months ago, when he was wearing exclusively doll clothes and premie onesies. He was much bigger now and even wore other premie clothes than onesies. However, he had been covered with a blanket and several layers of clothes since Dick couldn't find any premie outer clothes warm enough for December 6th. 

The blanket needed to be held under control so it wouldn't tangle with her wheels, but it was fine. It gave her an excuse to focus on Peter's soft, warm body and cute little face while Dick pushed them through the surprisingly big Monday crowd. 

Peter let out a grunt in his sleep, and Babs almost melted. It was so small, cute, and another way Peter could make sure they paid attention to him, even when he was asleep with a pacifier in his mouth, and distracted her from people staring equally at her wheelchair and her secure hold on Peter. Their whispers about a disabled woman holding a baby were barely background noise when Peter yawned, stretched, and relaxed in her hold once more. 

Dick leaned down slightly but kept pushing Babs’ chair. “The doctor said Peter could be out as long as strangers don't hold him, but I don’t know if this was smart. He’s only three weeks adjusted, and he’s so tiny.”

Babs let a finger follow Peter’s thin brows. “He is tiny, but it’s only a few things, and then we can go home and wait for Mary’s shift to end.”

Dick sighed, and his voice tensed. “I promised Mary to stop by her work. Her coworkers are all in a tizzy about Peter, and we’ll have to fend them off with a stick so they won't try to kiss him.”

Babs wanted to tell him that no one would kiss a colleague’s baby, but she had seen how everyone had acted when she had worked at the library for a month, and one of the librarians had brought in her fourth baby. Babs’ colleague had been much more relaxed than Dick, but it had been awkward, yet also seemed normal, to watch the baby being passed around. The colleague had even offered to let Babs hold her infant despite it being their first meeting. Babs could imagine people would have been more composed if the mother had been more nervous about germs, but she found it hard to imagine how Mary’s colleagues would react if Mary was comfortable with Peter being held by countless women and Dick wasn’t. Babs had never seen a man serve as the primary caretaker of an infant outside of fiction until Peter was born, and she wasn't sure how she would have reacted if her former colleague's husband had been there and insisted no one but him and his wife could hold his baby. 

Peter snuffled and grunted like a tiny piglet. He stiffened momentarily when Dick reached over Babs' shoulder, but relaxed and turned his head toward Dick's hand when fingertips brushed over his cheek. 

Babs looked around the mall and pointed with the hand not holding Peter’s head. “Let's go in there.”

Dick leaned away from Peter and shrugged. He didn’t say anything, but he turned Babs’ chair around, and they all entered the store. Dick fished out his hand sanitizer before lifting Peter from Babs’ lap as soon as they entered, and she was free to turn around each sharp corner of the store to look at knick-knacks for her dad.

There were many sexist pens featuring women who were completely bare except for their hair, hands, or strategically placed objects, and the barriers would disappear on some of the pens when someone pressed the top of them. She hated those things, but she could endure looking at them if it meant she could give her father a work-appropriate yet fun coffee mug, paperweight, or figurine.

“Babysitting, huh?” a gruff voice asked. Babs turned to look at Dick as well as she could in her chair and saw him furrowing his eyebrows at someone behind the shelves. The man was wearing a cap with a hunting logo on it, but she couldn’t see him beyond that.

Dick’s jaw clenched, and he spoke very slowly to the man in front of him. “I’m his dad.”

The man chuckled. “I assumed as much. We don’t see a lot of babies around here. Most women take the kids to look at shoes or whatever they do in a mall, and let the men hide in here.”

Dick nodded slowly, and each word sounded deliberate when he responded, “Yeah, well, this is my son, so it’s not babysitting.”

Babs could see the man's fingertips over the shelf when he lifted his hands. “Hey, no need to get defensive. I’ve also been forced to look after my kids when they were small.”

Peter let out a small huff of air as he was pressed tightly against Dick's chest. He turned his face into Dick's chest and relaxed beneath his deep frown and strained words. “Are you finding what you’re looking for, Babs?”

Babs quickly grabbed a cup that would tell the world her dad was an infamous cereal stalker and a stone with ‘Dad, you rock’ ingrained. “Yeah, I found what I need.”

Dick nodded, pressed Peter closer to his chest, and turned his back on the man. “We’re going to check out now.”

The man cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to offend, but I’ll ring you up, and then you can be on your way.”

Dick merely hummed and stepped aside so Babs could roll toward the register and pay for her dad’s Christmas presents. The man in front of her appeared friendlier than his tone suggested. He had a round belly, wore a checkered button-up shirt over a T-shirt, and she guessed he was in his fifties or sixties. He also had an impressive mustache that Babs would've asked about to get ideas for her dad’s birthday in January if the man’s attitude toward spending time with his own kids hadn't left a sour taste in her mouth.

Babs got everything in a little plastic bag that was hung from the handles of her wheelchair, sanitized her hands at Dick's insistence, and held Peter once more as they left the store.

“That was weird, right?” Dick asked after a minute of silence.

Babs looked at Peter’s little face and the constantly moving pacifier and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone who admitted to hating spending time with their kids to a stranger, but I think everyone’s mom was the primary parent when I was growing up. I think one of my classmates’ older sister even became his when their mom died.”

Dick hummed. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he bit his bottom lip as he leaned forward to caress Peter’s cheek. Babs could almost see the thoughts running through his mind, and she felt like she was thinking of the same thing.

High schoolers had seemed grown when she had been younger, but she couldn’t imagine having to take care of anyone at that age. She also couldn’t imagine Dick letting a teenager be the primary parent for Peter if he ever became a single parent.

Peter started to fuss, and continued even when Dick pulled him into his arms. He stopped momentarily when Dick poured warm water from a thermos into a bottle with formula, but he started crying only minutes after finishing his drink.

Dick felt Peter’s butt and front and swayed him slightly. “Someone needs their diaper changed as well, huh?”

Peter let out a few more weak cries and kicked his legs under the blankets around him. The pacifier fell out of his mouth, but Babs caught it before it could hit the dirty floor. 

Peter let out growls, and Dick patted his back. “No need to scold me, you will be clean in no time.”

Babs turned away from the scene and looked at the signs around them before starting to roll in the direction of the nearest restroom. “Come on, Dick.”

He followed silently. It would probably have been quicker if he had steered Babs through the crowd, but she wasn’t about to ask him to let go of Peter and waited patiently as Dick entered the men's restroom.

The door opened in only a minute, and she raised her brows. “That was quick.”

Dick’s shoulders slumped, and he chewed on his bottom lip. “There are no changing tables, and everything is filthy in there. I brought a changing pad so Peter wouldn't have to lie directly on anything, but I didn’t think everything would be so disgusting in there.”

Babs’ heart twitched. “Oh, there’s one in all women’s rooms, and in at least some disabled ones if I remember correctly.”

Dick nodded and patted Peter’s back. “Can you change him? It’s probably pee, but you can say no if it makes you uncomfortable. I can go to the car and change his diaper there.”

Babs had only changed Peter's diaper once while following Dick's very detailed instructions, but she was more worried about Dick feeling uncomfortable with someone other than him or Mary taking care of Peter. She wasn’t even sure what Mary would think about another person changing Peter’s diaper. “Sure, I can change him. Just give me the bag, and we’ll be on our way.”

Dick told Babs in detail how to make sure the diaper was secured correctly, but not too tight, before strapping Peter to her chest and making sure she knew how to get him in and out of it. However, it was still a challenge to push a wheelchair with a wiggly infant in front of her, and it amounted to nothing as the changing table in the women’s restroom was too high for Babs to change Peter safely. There was a bigger stall at the end of the room, but it didn’t have any changing tables, and she doubted that Dick would approve of her changing him on the toilet lid. The stall didn’t even have enough space for Babs to turn around, so she had to back up until she faced the disability sign before she could turn and see where she was pushing her wheelchair.

Babs sighed when she exited the restroom. “The changing table is too high for me." 

Dick sighed. "Okay, let's get to the car to change Peter before he gets a rash or hurts his little lungs." 

She frowned and glanced at the door behind her. "No, we need a changing table, and we've tried to find one in the men's and the one in the women's is inaccessible to me, so just close your eyes and follow me to the changing table. Peter shouldn't be in his own pee or poop because the mall hasn't planned for disabled women or any men wanting to change a diaper." 

Dick nodded. “Good plan. Hopefully, this won’t be on the cover of some magazine.” He spread his hands. “Perverted Wayne Son Invades Female Spaces. More on page six.”

Babs scoffed. “You’re so fucking dramatic. Come on, Dick.”

Dick lifted Peter and held him with one arm, and placed the other on Babs’ chair. “Hey, no swearing in front of the baby.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Babs mumbled and led them toward the changing room.

He hesitated, glancing toward the women’s sign before following her in. His shoulders tensed, but he straightened when Peter whimpered and kicked his legs.

“Just a father wanting to change a diaper,” Dick announced without any attempt at noise control as soon as Babs opened the door. Peter’s cries grew slightly softer at Dick’s announcement, but perhaps he feared that someone would lose their hearing if both he and Dick were loud. He was just a baby, but he was the child of a math genius, and Mary didn’t seem unintelligent either.

The diaper was changed in only minutes, and their stay in the women's room was extended only by Peter fussing and Dick pretending to eat Peter’s toes until he seemed happier. They were lost in their own world, and Babs didn't want anything to break the coos between them, but she felt a heavy weight in her stomach as she watched almost all the women who entered or left the restroom stare at them.

She was used to people staring at her chair, but she felt unprepared for how they sneered or looked wide-eyed at Dick tenderly kissing Peter’s feet. Toilets flushed and sinks were turned on and off, but everything felt stretched out as they stared at Dick and Peter with wonder, thinly veiled suspicion, or disgust.

It was perplexing. She could never get enough of looking at Dick’s pure love and adoration for Peter, but she had seen mothers act the same way and be mostly ignored. It shouldn’t matter that Dick was a man, but it did. Everyone around them made sure that no one would forget how odd they found a man who loved taking care of his child.

“Aaaah!” Peter cooed as Dick folded the blankets around him. It wasn’t quite swaddling, but Peter was soon surrounded by fabric.

The restroom door opened again, and a woman stopped in front of it with widened eyes. She seemed stunned for a moment, but soon let out a short yell. “What are you doing in here? This is the women’s room, Sir.”

Dick rested Peter against his shoulder and blinked. “I’m changing my son’s diaper.”

Babs turned her gaze down to where Dick was staring and saw a toddler and a school-aged boy by the woman’s legs. Both of them were too young to go to a public restroom alone, but Babs couldn’t help feeling disgust at the blatant hypocrisy of someone bringing boys into a space where they wanted to ban a father from changing his son’s diaper.

The woman stiffened and pulled her kids closer before sidestepping until they were by the stalls. She kept her gaze on Dick, but he only shook his head and headed for the door with Peter in his arms. Babs followed but held her breath until she, Dick, and Peter had exited the room.

Dick rocked Peter with every step, but Peter stayed awake and reached for Dick’s face. Small gurgles came from Peter, and Babs wasn’t sure if it was because Peter noticed the tension or because he didn’t.

“It’s okay. People are just weird sometimes,” he whispered. Babs heard every word, but she didn’t know if it was meant for Peter or Dick himself. However, Dick soon smiled and lifted Peter toward the fluorescent lights in front of the restrooms, and asked in a light voice, “Are you ready to see Mommy?”

Peter let out grunts, kicked his legs, and waved his arms. He was too young to smile, but Babs was sure that he would have mirrored Dick’s bright smile if he could.

“Yeah, you’re so ready to see Mommy, and we’re going there now. Yes, we are.”

Peter was clearly very excited, especially when his pacifier was returned to him, and Babs followed in Dick’s heels so the crowd of shoppers wouldn’t overlook her as they headed for the clothing store where Mary worked.

“I’m sorry, we’re sold out of the medium ones in black, but there’s still plenty in dark blue,” Mary told a customer when they entered the store.

The woman in front of her sighed and frowned. “Are you sure? There are none in the back?”

The corners of Mary’s mouth lifted, but her gaze stayed apologetic. “I’m sorry, but we have a lot of other beautiful blouses. I'm sure that there's some other black ones your daughter would like.”

The woman shook her head. “It’s okay, Dear. I’ll keep looking elsewhere.”

"No, Ma'am, please-" Mary’s hand reached for the woman as she turned around, but it dropped again when she saw Dick, Peter, and Babs. She looked exactly how Babs would if she had been in this mall since this morning.

Her eyelids looked heavy, her eyes dead, and her shoulders were slumped even as she went over to hold Peter. It seemed slightly stiff at first, and Peter started to wiggle and whimper. Her arms slowly rearranged themselves, and she robotically rested her cheek on his head until he settled. Her cheek stayed there for only a few additional seconds before she leaned back and looked into his wide eyes. Her words sounded warm, but there was an emptiness to them as well. “Hey, Honey, did you bring your tati and auntie to visit Mommy?”

Peter responded with a series of jacked movements. It looked almost robotic, but neither Dick nor Mary seemed concerned. Mary's gaze softened, and Dick even seemed more smitten than before when Peter looked around the room and stared at him while in his mother's arms. Peter grunted, stretched both his arms out momentarily, and flexed his fingers when Dick waved.

A young woman, maybe in her late teens or early twenties, with wild, brown curls, ran over to them. Her full lips formed a smile, and her almond-shaped eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, is that your baby, Mary?”

Peter’s gaze lingered on the woman for a moment, cooing softly, but he kept turning his head toward Dick, stretching his tiny arms at every movement either of his parents made. Mary wasn't looking at Peter, but Babs still felt a pang of sympathy at how obviously he sought his father first, even as he settled in his mother's arms. 

Mary nodded and smiled brightly at her colleague. She still looked and sounded exhausted, but there seemed to be a new wave of energy in her. “Yeah, this is Peter. I told you that he was probably stopping by today.”

The colleague rested her cheek on Mary’s shoulder and cooed. “Ohh, he’s so cute and small. I could just eat his little face up.”

Peter turned his unfocused gaze toward the colleague, whose hair swished as she leaned back. “Ah, he went cross-eyed. How cute, and he looks exactly like you, Mary.”

Peter let out a loud sound and reached toward Mary’s face, but she ignored him in favor of smiling at her colleague. It might have been the most genuine smile Babs had ever seen on Mary’s face. “I know. He’s my little mini-me.”

Dick appeared unable to look away from Peter for more than half a second, but he made a valid attempt to look at Mary and her colleague. “My genes didn’t even try. Maybe the next one will look more like me, or maybe we will have another Mommy-copy. Either one would be perfect.”

Mary’s smile fell, her eyebrows raised, and Babs felt a wave of goosebumps at how hushed and serious Mary's tone was. Peter was a delight beyond anything Babs could imagine, but Mary looked terrified for a split second as she whispered, “The next one?”

The colleague put a hand to her chest and kept her mouth open as she looked back and forth between Mary and Dick a few times before gently slapping Mary’s shoulder with the tips of her fingers. “Oh my gosh, you really scored, Mary. He’s, wow, he looks exactly like Richard Grayson! You didn’t tell us your boyfriend looked like that.”

Dick bit his lip, but a few sounds escaped his mouth. He soon looked slightly teary-eyed. He was clearly trying to hold his laughter back, but Babs knew that mischievous look in his eyes, and she rolled forward with her heart in her throat. Unfortunately, she was too late to save them all from how dumb he could be. “I get that a lot, but to be honest, I think all his photos are edited.”

The colleague giggled and shook her head. “You definitely don’t need any editing.”

Dick winked at Mary, who turned to look at Babs. The terrified look was gone in favor of a tired but good-natured scorn at Dick’s antics. It eased Babs’ heart, but she could do nothing but shake her head in defeat. She loved how quickly Dick bounced back from almost everything, but he could be such an embarrassing dumbass sometimes, and Mary’s colleague sounded fun but also caused an immense amount of secondhand embarrassment to settle in Babs’ diaphragm. 

The colleague's eyes widened a little more, and she turned her full attention to Mary. “Oh my Gosh, I didn’t mean that the wrong way! He’s just… You know, unexpectedly gorgeous, and he seems really good with your baby while you're stuck here. Sorry again! I thought he was ugly with how little you've told us about him, so I feel a little unprepared.”

Dick’s smile stayed, but he furrowed and tilted his brows. “Ouch?”

Peter let out a loud squeal, and Mary lifted him and gave him a quick peck on the forehead. It was so fast that Babs wasn't sure if their skin had touched before Mary returned Peter to Dick. “Thank you for coming, now go away and let me work in peace before someone else takes all the commissions or more of my colleagues inflate your ego.”

Babs sighed dramatically and leaned her head on the back of her chair. “I fear his ego is already huge.”

Mary nodded with a serious expression. “I think that you’re right, Babs.”

Dick sniffed and spun around dramatically. “Come on, Chavvi. Let’s find a place where they can appreciate true beauty. We're almost at the end of your wake window anyway, and you should get home soon.”

Babs waved. “Okay, bye, good luck getting into my car.”

Dick turned around, widened his eyes, and turned Peter to face Babs. It would have been more effective if Peter hadn’t seen and had become transfixed on the overhead lights, but Babs had to admit defeat and rolled with them out of the store.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s parents hadn’t been religious, but he still had fond memories of going to a Catholic church with his parents and paternal grandparents, and enjoying the eight nights of Chanukah with his parents each year in the manor dining room. It hadn't felt the same when his parents had died, but he still remembered every holiday fondly, and the deep sense of belonging he had felt when celebrating his father's Catholic and his mother's Jewish upbringing. 

His kids didn't have the same attachment to his traditions. They had barely known anything about Judaism before Bruce took them in, and none of them had wanted to visit a church more than a few times. It had hurt, but he had understood that they were already big with their own traditions, and it would be best to let them engage at their own pace. It made every moment he could share with them even sweeter.

Dick had been fascinated by both Judaism and Catholicism, as he had been by anything else after a lifetime of being nomadic, and every moment shared with Dick had made the little boy who had died the day Bruce's parents come to life. However, Dick had had too much energy to sit down for church and almost burned himself several times when lighting the hanukkiah. 

Jason had been used to a sedentary lifestyle, but had been too afraid of breaking anything to relax until his second holiday season at the manor, when he immediately voiced his unwillingness to go to church or participate in Chanukah beyond lighting the candles, playing with the dreidel, and receiving gifts. He hadn't seemed to be listening to the reasons why they ate food fried in oil or the meaning behind the eight candles, and he had not wanted to engage beyond that. It had hurt, but Bruce had tried to understand why Jason hadn't wanted to change his memories of struggling Christmases into a rich mixture of wealth and old traditions. He would have wept happily if Jason were here to complain about a stomachache after eating too much or insist that they should patrol instead of sitting in the manor. 

Having Tim over felt like replacing Jason, but Bruce tried to focus on this being Peter's first holiday season and the first he could spend with Tim. Maybe Tim would grow to love the holidays even more than he did with his parents. It would be best if his parents improved drastically, but Bruce was secretly happy to have an excuse to introduce his traditions to both Tim and Peter this year and enjoy the life they brought into the otherwise cold rooms.

Tim even seemed excited to go to church with Bruce next Sunday, and he listened with furrowed brows as Bruce explained how to light the first candle of the hanukkiah to mark the first night of Chanukah. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to light the one you want instead of using another candle?”

Bruce exhaled with a smile. He had asked the same thing once upon a time, and he couldn’t remember his mother’s explanation, but it brought a sense of nostalgia anyway. “It would, but it’s tradition to use the shamash candle to light the others. It’s the helper candle.”

Tim’s gaze turned toward Dick before moving toward the hanukkiah and lighting it as instructed. His blue eyes looked orange from the intensity of his gaze on the flame. “I don’t know why, but I thought something would happen.”

It was good to stay vigilant, but Bruce still glanced over to share a warm smile with Alfred. It was almost exactly like Dick’s or Jason’s first time celebrating the holiday with Bruce. Both of them had been so small and so confused about the traditions and the reasons for only using something as well-crafted as his hanukkiah annually. "No, nothing happens other than lighting the candles and sharing an evening like tonight until the sixteenth. 

Mary leaned toward Dick. “Are we expected to come here every night for the next week?”

Dick shook his head slightly. “No, just today and the last one for B, but Peter and I might stop by once or twice more.”

It was a loose promise, but it still made Bruce’s stomach flutter with excitement, and looking at Peter’s blank but adorable stare at the candles only made everything better. There was no mistaking whether he was awake with how wide his eyes were, but he still looked floppy, and his arms and legs would sway limply with each movement Dick made. 

“Ready for the tapes, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked before putting on Ma'oz Tzur. It had been different during Bruce’s childhood when he and his mother would sing it together, but he had gotten used to just listening to the tape since he was eight. 

At least the latkes, fried pancakes, and fried doughnuts tasted the same as they did in his childhood. Tim’s face scrunched at the first taste, but he devoured the treats soon after, and Peter seemed interested in the smell until he fell asleep in Dick’s arms. He let out a few snuffles and almost let out a cry when Dick spilled a few crumbs on his face, but was soon comforted by Mary gently brushing them away after a moment of hesitation. 

Alfred offered Tim a napkin when his cheeks started to glimmer more than the flames, and he turned toward Mary. “Are they not to your liking, Miss Fitch?”

Mary lowered the fried doughnut in her hand. “No, it’s delicious. I’m just cutting back on some food.”

Dick sighed. “Mary, you look fine. You literally gave birth less than two months ago. Give it three months, and you’ll be close to yourself again, and it’s the holiday season.”

Mary frowned. “The doctor said to give it six weeks. It has been over seven.”

Dick looked around the room before focusing on Mary. "I can finish your donut off if you need room to have a bite of the latkas."

Mary quickly gave Dick her donut and gingerly bit into one of the latkas. It was impossible to know if she liked them, but she took a few bites before pressing a hand on her stomach and letting Dick finish it off with a sigh from both of them. 

Bruce’s stomach stopped fluttering quite as much at the display in front of him. This was only his second time meeting Peter, and seeing him and Dick was a gift better than any he could have imagined receiving during the holidays. He wanted to make sure this was one of countless visits, but he didn't know how. He was a detective, the best one in the world, but he couldn’t find out what to say.

Mary was a beautiful, young woman, but Bruce didn’t know if her appearance had changed after pregnancy. She barely had a tiny, round belly under her loose, red dress, and he only noticed it when she pressed a hand against it, but Bruce could imagine it was the source of her insecurity. 

He wanted to voice his support for both of them, but he feared that he would offend either of them and push Dick away one last time. However, the silence was stifling, and keeping quiet seemed to be the wrong move as well.

Tim roughly cleaned his face of all the grease and asked as soon as Ma'oz Tzur stopped playing. “Hey, Bruce, you talked about a spinning top game.”

Bruce’s lips lifted in a smile, and he nodded. “We can play it now if everyone’s ready.”

There were no protests, and Alfred left shortly and came back with the dreidel, and Bruce searched the cabinet for all the $1 coins he had collected since last December. Other families used nuts, raisins, or chocolate coins, but he still blinked at Mary’s wide-eyed expression at seeing the glass vase of coins.

“How-how much money is in there?” she asked in a hushed tone.

Bruce shrugged. “Probably a hundred or so. We will find out when we distribute them among us.”

Mary nodded slowly. “Okay.”

It turned out to be $125. Enough for all of them to get twenty each to play with, but five dollars had to stay in the vase for next year. Mary seemed to calm down when he told her they would be playing with a timer for the first seven nights, but her eyes widened when he said the winner could keep all the money on the eighth night. It was a little less than last year, but Bruce didn't know whether he should tell her. 

Bruce turned his gaze upon Dick, but only saw her sending Mary a shrug and a puzzlingly tired smile before they started playing.

Bruce had almost forgotten how warm he felt when playing each year, and he nearly fell into nostalgia with each round despite the cold seat Jason was supposed to sit on. 

He, Dick, and Alfred were the only ones who knew the meaning of the Yiddish writing that told the players what to do with their coins, but Tim quickly picked it up. He would celebrate when he saw ג‎ or ה‎ on the dreidel and collected his treasures just as he complained about seeing ש‎ and having to give away a coin. Even Peter seemed entertained when he woke up to the spinning top and cheers, but he started to yawn and jerk around after a while, and Dick walked around the room for almost as long before Peter fell into an active and noisy sleep.

Peter was the loudest in the room, but started to whine before Tim’s loud cheer woke him, and Dick stood up to bounce Peter and hush everyone until every exclamation was subdued enough not overpower grunts, whimpers, and short bursts of cries. Tim even kept his muttering low when he saw that Peter was taking the lead while Mary and Dick spun for him, but Bruce could only smile at Dick, enjoying pressing Peter against his chest and carefully eating a pancake. 

This evening was much better than he could have thought it could be half a year ago, and Bruce felt bubbles of excitement when the timer rang without waking Peter and gave Bruce an excuse to give Tim, Dick, and Mary chocolate coins and Peter a yellow chew ring for being in the lead. 

Dick probably knew that children usually only received treats or money on the days leading up to Chanukah. However, he only rolled his eyes when Bruce gifted Tim an attachable lens for his camera and Peter a crackly book with simple pictures of penguins, zebras, magpies, and other black-and-white animals, and insisted it was needed for their first Jewish holiday. 

Peter’s gums were exposed when he yawned and fell back asleep before he could close his mouth, but Bruce still sat as closely as Dick would allow and whispered to him. “Don’t worry, Peter. I’ll buy you gifts every day for the next week, and you can get all of them whenever your tati brings you here.”

Peter’s cheek moved with Dick’s sigh. “You really don’t have to, B.”

Bruce turned to look at his grown little boy, whom he wished he could spoil twice as much as anyone else in the world. “He needs to get used to being spoiled before opening his Christmas gifts.”

Dick’s eyes widened, and he looked as startled as Mary had. “You do understand that the list I sent you was a wish list, right, B? It’s not a list of what you have to buy him.”

Bruce’s lips curled into a smile. Anything could spook Dick never to return, but he couldn’t help the devil inside of him from responding, “It’s too late to return all of them now.”

It wasn’t a lie either. Bruce hadn’t gotten a receipt for anything he had bought, and he hadn’t purchased everything Dick had sent as inspiration. Only most of it, along with a couple of more things for Peter, Dick, and Mary. It only made sense when he was already planning on spoiling Tim, regardless of whether he spent Christmas at Drake or Wayne Manor. 

Chapter Text

Bruce felt like this was the first Christmas he had had in years, and in a way, it was. Tim had been a part of his life last year, and they had only grown closer over time. Tim had forced his way in as Robin, and Bruce had forced Tim to have a less neglectful home, but Tim hadn't wanted to celebrate Christmas at the manor last year, and they had only seen each other on a late-night patrol after Christmas had ended. 

Bruce was still unsure whether Tim’s parents had shown up before the twenty-sixth, but Tim had ignored him outside of Robin duties for over a week, the last time Bruce had asked.

Fortunately, that had been months ago, and Tim had offered to attend as soon as it had been clear that Dick would. The manor felt alive with laughter, and Bruce constantly looked to his side when he thought that he heard Jason join them. He never did, and Bruce wanted to cry from both happiness and devastation when Dick lifted Tim to put the star on the Christmas tree. 

Dick hadn’t smiled that carelessly in the last few years of Jason’s life, and Tim was both taller and younger than Jason had been at his death, but Bruce could still see him in Tim’s halfhearted attempt to escape Dick’s grip.

“Oh my God, Dick. Stop lifting me. I’m fourteen, not four.”

Dick’s laughter filled the room, and Bruce held his breath until Tim stopped being shaken with every breath. “I’ll just have to lift Damian if you don’t stop being a brat.”

Mary huffed out a laugh from the couch, with the two other reasons Bruce knew this holiday would be the best in years. Mary was holding Peter, and Damian was glaring beside them. Bruce was unsure whether Damian had celebrated Christmas before, but he hoped he would learn to love it at the manor. It would have been better for Damian to have had a Christmas with fewer people before celebrating it with eight others, four of whom were civilians. However, Damian would have seen the forced cheer if he had attended last year, when it had been clear that Dick had celebrated Peter's first Christmas with only Mary's family. Bruce had understood that Mary had still been healing and that Peter had been a newborn by his adjusted age, but it had hurt just as much as letting Tim wait in Drake Manor for his parents to disappoint both Tim and Bruce had. 

Damian crossed his arms. “Tt, I would never let myself be undignified like that.”

Alfred would have slapped Bruce for that kind of sass, but Bruce could only smile at his youngest’s attempt at intimidating his brothers while his oldest was rolling his eyes and lifting Tim and demanding he put the star on the tree.

Dick tightened his grip, and Tim put the star on the tree, then ran toward the couch as soon as he hit the ground. Dick smiled at everyone before strolling over to turn on the lights.

It was magical each year, but Bruce was captivated by Peter’s gobsmacked expression. Seeing Peter experience something for the first time made Bruce forget all the trauma he had endured. The little boy inside him wished his mother could have held him a little longer, and a bigger part of him wished he could hold his own kids as tightly as Mary held Peter.

Dick’s casual smile lifted until he had deep crows' feet on his young and usually smooth face. “You like that, Chavvi? You like the lights?”

Peter started to clap without taking his eyes away from the tree. “Pretty!”

Bruce hardly knew Mary, but he recognized the look shared between her and Dick. It was full of pure adoration and a shared joy. It was the same look he had scorned his parents for having, according to Alfred, and the same look he had looked on enviously as a slightly older boy and as a parent. However, there were no negative emotions at Dick sharing such a look with someone.

It didn’t matter that Dick was only a few years out of his teens or that he would always be a child in Bruce’s eyes; he deserved every kind of joy in life, and Peter deserved parents who enjoyed his happiness.

Peter looked at the tree until it was time for his last nap of the day, and he only raged for fifteen minutes at the prospect of sleep before Dick came down to sit on the other side of Mary and enjoy a glass of mulled wine with Mary and Alfred while Bruce, Tim, and Damian drank eggnog. Dick’s eyes would sometimes pass over Bruce, but it was fine. He saw him most of the time, and the darkness outside made the manor feel like their own little world.

Bruce was ready for an uneventful evening with only cozy laughter until they would wake up to presents tomorrow. Even Mary's mother, whom Bruce had been told was hard to impress, started to rave at Alfred about his cookies as soon as she took her first bite. Everything bubbled inside of Bruce, and he already knew that he would treasure every second of no hurt feelings or limbs. 

The most dramatic thing should be when Peter cried through the baby monitor, and Dick seemed to soar out of the room.

Bruce’s heart swelled even more at the sight, but Mary sighed with her whole chest. It was only a moment, and she straightened her back as soon as she felt eyes on her, but Bruce was too trained to let that go.

Unfortunately, Bruce was also too invested in his son and grandson to look anywhere else when Dick came into the room with a baby with wild bed hair and the most adorable footie pajamas Bruce had ever seen. He still had marks from the mattress on his cheek, but was already crawling around the room and collecting the toys Bruce had bought for the manor into a pile.

Damian furrowed his brows. “Father, why is your grandson playing with cups?”

Bruce smiled a little brighter. “He’s training his hand and eye coordination.”

Damian nodded with furrowed brows, and Bruce could only smile. It was endearing when Damian tried to seem knowledgeable, but he still kept quiet in case he said something wrong. Bruce would have to ask Dick how to teach Damian to be confident enough to admit he didn't know everything, but not now. Now they were enjoying the festive spirits.

Peter seemed to have gotten about everyone else as he repeatedly stacked and dramatically tilted his cups, and Dick slowly tiptoed out of the room. He would be a fool not know what Dick had planned, but he still felt a tight and pleasant grip on his insides at the thought of how Peter and everyone else would react to Dick arriving in a Santa costume. 

“Ho, ho, ho!” Dick yelled as soon as he entered the room. Mary’s mother furrowed her brows and looked between her daughters, but fortunately kept quiet when there was only joy on Mary’s and her sister’s faces.

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed too, and Bruce put a hand on his shoulder before he could ruin the beautiful moment in front of them. Tim looked like he was ready to destroy it, too, but he kept quiet without prompting when Dick moved further into the room with a giant gut and heavy boots.

“I heard there’s a little boy who is allowed a gift on Christmas Eve,” Dick announced in a forced deep voice.

It sounded uncanny, but Peter didn’t seem to mind and lifted his arms from where he was playing with the cups with his back to Dick.

They should have seen it coming, but no one did before Dick lifted Peter and turned him around in his arms. It didn’t even have half a second for Peter to widen his eyes and throw his head back into a scream.

Everyone leaned back, and the tight feeling in Bruce's stomach turned into a hard ball of dread.

Dick didn't look much better. His eyes were almost completely hidden under the heavy hat, but Bruce saw how wide they went as he kept asking in his usual voice, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

Peter’s cries only intensified, and Mary hurried from the couch to take Peter out of Dick’s arms.

Several beats passed with only Peter’s cries slowly easing until there were only high-pitched hiccups and the sound of Dick’s heart breaking. “What did I do?”

“You look like you smell,” Damian snarked. His nose was wrinkled as if smelling the imaginary odor, but Dick only nodded.

“Oh.” Dick looked around the room, slowly removed his beard and hat, and walked over to Mary and Peter. “Did I scare you, Chavvi?”

Peter’s hiccups turned into loud whines and then into chest-shaking sobs as he turned in Mary's grip to see Dick's uncovered face and reached out toward him. He had clung to Mary, and there were wrinkles and wetness where Peter had pressed his face into Mary's dress, but he clung even harder to Dick. He wasn't even interested in the gift Mary presented him with, despite its bright wrapping. 

Mary shook the gift a few times. “Come on, Peter, don’t you want to know what’s inside?”

Peter pointedly shook his head and hid his face in Dick’s bright red coat.

“It’s just as well. There’s no need to spoil him when I’ve already seen the obscene pile of gifts he’ll get tomorrow,” Mary’s mother huffed and sneered at the pile under the tree. 

Mary’s sister glanced at the small tower of gifts, and Bruce felt a strange lump of shame. He had just wanted to find any and every piece of happiness until he was sure that all his living boys would return the next time he messed anything up, but perhaps he should have tried harder to control his spending. 

Mary’s shoulders tensed, but she continued to shake the box until Peter stopped hiding his face and tearfully accepted it. Fortunately, there were no new tears, and Peter squealed when he saw the dinosaur bath toys.

“I doubt that there were any bright purple Tyrannosaurus Rexes,” Damian muttered.

Tim rolled his eyes and scowled. “Shut up. Peter clearly likes the dinosaurs. You're just sour because you don't care about anything but swords.”

Bruce didn’t want to encourage swearing or the hostile tone between Tim and Damian, so he pretended not to have heard anything and instead focused on Peter roaring and moving two dinosaurs in the air and on Dick’s shoulder.

Peter was too young to remember this Christmas, but Bruce would never forget it.

Chapter Text

Steph liked kids well enough, but she couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t felt weird a few times about being around Peter in the beginning. Sometimes she would avoid him, and sometimes she would seek him out, but everything only quieted down when he stopped being Dick’s son and just became Peter. 

Sweet little Peter, who was hiding his face in his knees and refused to look up at her or even talk since she had picked him up from school.

“Your dad told me that you have finished assembling your LEGO set. Can I see it?” 

Peter nodded even as he kept his face firmly in his knees. 

Steph jumped down to sit next to Peter on the floor. “Okay, Tiger, what’s up your butt today?” 

Peter shook his head, and Steph suddenly missed Dick’s weird ability to know what Peter meant when he went all non-verbal in distress. It was really unfair that Dick could understand Peter so much better than even Cass, who might as well be a professional body language interpreter. 

“Come on.” Steph gave Peter a push with her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Did someone else see Star Wars and try to spoil it for you? It’s only a few weeks until you’re eight and your parents will finally let you watch all the intergalactic wars that you want.” 

Peter shook his head. 

“Okay, so not that. Is it related to school at all?” 

Peter did a heartbreaking little sniff behind his knees, and his arms hid him a bit more from the world. 

Stephanie didn’t know if she wanted to cheer about finally figuring out a bit more about whatever was wrong with Peter or be distressed that it seemed like this was both a real issue and something that Steph couldn’t just kick into submission. 

“What did the kids do now? Did someone from your class tease you about your super cool glasses again?” Steph did a performative stroke on her chin despite knowing that Peter couldn’t see it at the moment. “Maybe I should ask your parents where you’re getting those sick glasses. I need something to freshen up my look.” 

“He took my inhaler.” 

Steph looked back at Peter as a fire awoke in her chest. “Someone did what ?” 

Peter somehow diminished even more at Steph’s tone of voice.

“Why didn’t the teachers do anything? Did they even tell your parents?” Steph shook her head. “No, they definitely didn’t, as your parents have the whole ‘try to be friends for the kids’ thing going on, and Dick would sooner kick a puppy than let the school get away with you being in danger of being without your inhaler.” 

“He just took it and ran. I don’t think that any of the teachers saw.” 

Steph inhaled deeply. This interaction was just another proof that she would not be a great mother, as she just wanted to thrash a literal elementary school student. “He needs to be stopped. Taking someone’s medicine is just sick in a bad way.” 

Peter looked up at Steph with red eyes behind his adorable glasses. They just made Peter even cuter, and Steph would not ask for Peter’s optician and risk being upstaged by an almost eight-year-old. 

“Everyone likes Flash from school.” 

“Well, Flash from school can suck my dick.” 

Peter’s eyes widened, and he sent her an aghast look. “Aunt Steph!” 

Steph sent him an even look. “What? He sounds like a little brat, and what kind of name is Flash anyway? Is everyone in Blüdhaven big Flash fans, or are Foul Flash’s parents just presidents of the national fan club?”

Peter looked back down at his hands lying on his knees. “It’s a nickname. I think his real name is Eugene.”

“Well, Eugene from school can suck my dick then. I can’t believe someone named Eugene would bully anyone, and why would anyone from your school even like a bully like him?” 

Peter’s eyes filled with tears, and he hit his face in his hands. “Because no one likes me.” Peter started to cry harder with his own words, and he took his glasses off harshly before he hid behind his hands again with a sob. 

Steph leaned her head on Peter’s. “They’re all idiots then. Everyone worth anything likes you.” 

Peter shook his head. 

“To be honest, most of those idiots at your school are probably just cowards. It’s much easier for them just to let Icky Eugene attempt to kill you than to get their hands dirty by being decent.” 

Peter let out another sob, and Steph didn’t know if she was making everything worse or actually being helpful. Why did Dick have to ask Steph to pick Peter up from school and look after him until Dick’s shift ended? It was honestly a little irresponsible of Dick to think that Steph was equipped to look after a seven-year-old just because she saved lives multiple times a month and liked every little inch of Peter. 

“But, really, we need to talk to the school. Bullying is never okay, and taking someone’s inhaler and then running off could probably kill them.” 

Peter just kept crying and refused to talk. 

“Your dad will be home in an hour, and then we can tell him that we need to hunt down a nine or ten-year-old.”

Peter shook his head with a whine. That probably meant something specific in non-verbal Peter, but Steph would just have to improvise. 

“I’m just kidding, Peter, we’re not actually hunting down a child. We’re just yelling at the school and then hopefully his parents for raising a bully. A warning would be a favor to them now that I think about it, as attempted murder in elementary school is probably a sign of worse issues later on.” 

Peter cried a little harder again, and Steph stopped talking as every word she said felt like an unnerving game of Battleship. 

“He called me Puny Penis.” 

Steph had to try really hard to not react to those words, and she could only hope that Peter took her tense body as her listening and not the mix of a repressed, surprised laugh and annoyance at anyone calling Peter mean names. She might have called her ex-boyfriend, Dean, a similar name a few times, but he had deserved it, and Peter could probably not do anything to deserve being called anything but adoring nicknames or his actual name. 

“You are not a puny penis.” Steph was honestly proud of how evenly she said those words. “And I have no idea who Flash is besides a little prick, but I’m still 100% sure that he’s not even half as cute or smart as you are.” 

“I am puny.” Peter sniffed. “Some of the six-year-olds are taller than I am.” 

Steph looked down at Peter’s sweet little face. “What kind of mutant 6-year-olds are at your school? Are they all Dutch or something?” 

Peter looked at the wall. “I don’t know. Maybe some of them are Dutch, but it still means I’m small.” 

“Cass and I are not that tall either, and we do just fine.” Cass and Steph were maybe a little above the national average for women, but almost every other Bruce Wayne-associated person was tall as hell, so the point still stood. “You can be in our shorty club.” 

Peter leaned his cheek on Steph’s arm. “Is Tati in it too?” 

Steph’s lips stretched into a smile. She couldn’t wait to tell Dick that his son thought that he was short. “Of course, he’s the original member, and we need all the members we can get now that Dami is nearing Duke’s and Tim’s height.” 

Peter turned to take Steph’s forearm hostage against his chest before leaning back against her upper arm. “I don’t want to be small.”

“Then you have to eat your vegetables.” 

Peter deflated. “Then I’ll be tiny forever.” 

Peter wasn’t crying anymore, and it was really nice to sit with him after talking about how short or tall everyone else was. However, Stephwas still looking forward to kicking a few doors down to find the little asswipe who called her nephew a puny penis, took his inhaler, and probably countless other heartless things. 

Steph raised her head to look down at Peter. “Please don’t call that Flash kid any of the mean names that I said. I’m a bit of an asshole sometimes, but you need to keep being your sweet self.” 

Peter looked up at her, and his eyes looked more intense without his glasses, but the red tip of his nose really made him look like a sweet little reindeer calf. “I won’t call him anything besides annoying.” 

Steph gave him a proud smile. Only Peter could be too good for mean names while also telling people exactly what kind of person they were, and he would always have a whole team of people frothing at the mouth for the opportunity to say all the mean words that he couldn’t. 

Chapter Text

Peter was sniffly for a long time, but he eventually calmed down enough to show Steph his newly assembled LEGO set.

She was not the target age group for the movie or the books, but she was glad to have listened to some of Peter’s chatter about the books to appreciate the details in Peter’s mini-Hogwarts. Perhaps she would even admire them when watching the movie in November.  

“Wow, that’s huge. How long did it take to make?” 

Peter bit the inside of his cheek before he looked up at Steph. “A few weeks, but I didn’t work on it every day, but it took forever to save up for.” 

Steph knew many other ways she would have spent her money at almost eight. Especially if she had had a 20-dollar allowance a month, but if Peter wanted to pay a hundred dollars or more for a LEGO set, she wasn’t going to discourage him. He was the smartest kid she had ever met, but he was still a child, and she liked every piece of his personality and the ways he could be both brilliant and childish simultaneously.

Peter smiled brightly, with almost none of the pain that had consumed him before, and pointed out different details, explaining how he had figured out what everything was supposed to be without the instructions when the front door opened.

They both left the living room and watched as Dick strutted into the house and threw his arms into the air. “Hello, everyone, I’m back!” 

Dick lowered his arms and widened his stance in preparation for the tackle hug Peter gave him almost every time they had been apart for more than a few hours. It honestly looked a little painful to have a head smashed into one’s chest, and the air pushed out, but Steph still wished that she would receive one before Peter reached her breastheight. Maybe she would even settle for one now, regardless of the pain.

However, Peter didn’t tackle anyone today, but instead walked over and pressed his face against the bottom of Dick’s sternum and put his arms around him wordlessly. 

Dick’s face fell, and he slowly ran a hand through Peter’s hair. It turned even messier than it already was, but was soon smoothed down again before Dick leaned down to place a kiss on the top of Peter’s head. “Did something happen at school?” 

“Someone tried to kill your son,” Steph deadpanned. 

“What?” Dick looked up at her with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth before he pulled Peter away from his chest. His gaze moved over every inch of Peter’s body, and his eyebrows furrowed the more he looked. “Was there an attack at the school? Why wasn’t I informed? Are you okay, Peter? What happened?” 

“Apparently, some delinquent named fucking Eugene thinks it’s funny to bully other kids.” 

Dick stopped running his hands over every part of Peter’s body to look at him. "Eugene? Is that the Flash kid?” 

Peter nodded silently. 

Dick looked back at Steph. “How did a nine-year-old try to kill Peter? I thought it was just name-calling, and the teachers said that they were keeping an eye on it.” 

Peter pushed his glasses up with the backs of his hands and silently rubbed his cheeks and eyes. Dick closed the door behind himself and turned back to run a thumb over each of Peter’s cheeks. “Can I know what happened?”

Peter nodded but couldn’t get any comprehensible words out and eventually just pointed at Steph. 

Dick pulled Peter back into his chest and rested a hand on the back of his head, as if he was still a newborn, and Steph felt like she was intruding on an intimate family moment until Dick looked at her expectantly. “What happened?” 

“The little douchebag took Peter’s inhaler and called him some mean words. The teachers either didn’t notice or didn’t care, but he could have had an asthma attack, Dick. He could have been really hurt.” 

Dick kept running a hand over Peter’s shoulders while the other hand held his head firmly. “I know. I’ll talk to Mary about the next course of action.” 

Steph rolled her eyes. “Wow, yeah, okay, talking. I’m sure that will stop the little shit from killing your son tomorrow.” 

Peter let out a small, heartbreaking sound at the reminder of school, and Steph felt only slightly bad. Peter didn’t deserve this, and she only had a vague idea of what Dick had done to stop it, but it had already escalated to some little shit publicly bullying Peter. It didn’t matter that she had thought it had only been name-calling until today; all bullying needed to stop immediately.

Dick sighed. “Stephanie, I can’t just decide what to do about this without his mother.” 

“Don’t make me go back,” Peter said without taking his face away from Dick’s chest. 

Dick leaned down and wrapped his arms around Peter’s tiny frame. “I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to your mom in a little bit, okay? And no school tomorrow while we figure out what to do. I know we’ve already talked to the school a few times, but we will be very firm with them and won’t let you return until we know they will do better. Your safety is the most important thing, okay?” 

“Can’t you just change his school? He has no friends in his grade anyway.” It was only when Peter cried a little bit harder at Steph’s words that she realized that she was being a little too harsh in front of him. 

Dick kissed Peter’s hair and looked up at Steph. “This is really not a conversation I’m having with you before I’ve talked with Peter’s mother.” 

Steph rolled her eyes again. “So, Peter will just have to suffer if she disagrees? You already moved away from the schools in Gotham because of her, and now this? Don’t either of you care about Peter at all?” 

Dick was still bent over, and Peter had taken his arms from Dick’s chest to around his neck, but Steph suddenly saw the man who Tim had said killed the Joker temporarily and was willing to do things that Steph would never know about during a few other low moments. “We care, and it’s Peter’s mother that you’re talking poorly about. He’s seven, and you’re saying that his parents don’t care about him.” 

Steph saw as Peter started to pull away until Dick turned his attention back on him. “I care about you so much, Gudlapishun, and your mom does too. I didn’t know that he was still picking on you, but we will stop it. No one can treat you like this.” 

Steph shuffled and forced her gaze from her feet to the back of Peter’s head. “I’m sorry, Peter. I know that your parents care about you. I’m just frustrated that more hasn’t been done to help you.”

Peter eventually pulled back from Dick’s hold and dried his eyes harshly. “I’m going to my room.” 

Dick’s hand lingered in Peter’s hair before he flattened the most tousled pieces of hair. “Okay, that’s fine, and we’ll be out here.” 

Peter nodded and looked up at Steph, and gave the shadow of a smile before he walked up the stairs. 

“Thank you for defending him,” Dick said quietly enough for Peter not hear when he had closed his bedroom door. 

Steph hummed and could finally look at Dick. “You’re welcome, and we’ll all kidnap your son if this keeps going.” 

He looked exhausted as he stood in civilian clothes and with limp arms. “Good, because I don’t know what to do anymore. He’s going to a more accelerated magnet school when he’s ready for sixth grade, but it will be a few more years.”

Steph thought back on all the things Peter had learned to do. Both the ones that were just nice and the ones that he really shouldn’t be able to yet or ever. “Can’t he just skip a few more grades?” 

Dick sighed. “Skipping kindergarten and second grade didn’t do him any good, and he was barely younger than the cutoff when he skipped kindergarten.” Dick inhaled and bit his bottom lip for a few moments before continuing in a strangled voice. “He already knows that he’s different, and I’m afraid of what would happen if he’s around even older kids. He’s so sweet, but even the older robotics kids don't always understand what he’s saying. I don’t know what to do anymore, and Mary understands it even less.” 

Steph huffed out a breath. “At least make sure that the Flash kid doesn't kill your son.” 

Dick let out a groan as he pressed two fingers against his nose bridge. “Yeah, that’s the most important right now. Fuck.” 

Dick let go of his nose and looked up the stairs and then at Steph. “You can’t tell, Peter, but Mary and I were actually looking into complaining or even suing the school until we thought we had a solid plan with the school. Georgia passed an anti-bullying law in ‘99, and we were trying to see if we could do something even though it’s not nationwide. I guess it doesn’t even matter now that there’s direct child endangerment, but, fuck, Steph, I have no idea how to protect him if the teachers won’t do anything. I don’t even know if homeschooling would hurt or help him if nothing can be done at his school. He would be even more isolated, and Mary just started a BSN degree last month. She can’t be home with him during school hours, and he can’t only learn when he’s with me.” 

Steph was twenty-three, had no plans to have kids, and had no idea how to respond when Dick asked for advice. She didn’t like how passive Dick and Mary seemed, but she couldn’t think of any other advice than, “Maybe talk to Mary before deciding what she can or can’t do about homeschooling.”

“Right, you’re right.” Dick’s shoulders sloped even more. “Sorry for putting all of this on you. I’m just frustrated.” 

Dick was the oldest former sidekick to Bruce, and he had always seemed much more mature than anyone else in her life, but she suddenly realized that she was currently two years older than Dick had been when he had Peter after less than a year to grieve Jason. He had seemed like an all-knowing adult, but he must have had a great poker face if he had felt even half as unsteady as Steph did about child rearing.

“It’s fine. I’m worried, and I would have sent Damian after you with his katana if I didn’t think that you would listen.”

Dick let his hands run along his temples before taking hold of his hair. “Fuck, they’ll all kill me, and Damian will kill Flash if he hears about this.” Dick’s eyebrows furrowed when Steph didn’t respond. “You didn’t tell him, right?”

Steph looked up at the ceiling and hummed. “I didn’t.” 

Dick let out a breath. “Who did you tell?” 

“I just texted Cass and Tim to get some of my frustrations out. He thought calling the little Flash Fucker ‘Eugenitals’ every time he calls Peter ‘Penis’ would be hilarious.”

Dick shook his head and threw his arms up as he paced in front of the door. “Fuck Steph, you know that no one in this family can keep their mouths shut, and now I have to make sure they don’t kill a child while I’m trying to stop myself from doing the same.”

Steph’s lips curled into an involuntary and cruel smile. “Did you like the new nickname?”

Footsteps filled the house as Dick paced and barely stopped when he glared at Steph. “Yes, it was fucking hilarious. I will laugh about you thinking of ways to bully an elementary schooler later, but right now I need to make sure Dami doesn’t kill anyone, make sure Peter won’t get bullied again, and make sure he isn’t crying alone in his room.”

Steph’s smile fell at the reminder that it was a child, barely older than Peter, that she wanted to call by a much more creative, possibly cutting, name. He didn’t deserve any kindness, but perhaps Dick had a point that she didn’t need to be cruel either.

Dick glanced toward the second floor and looked as if he was ready to solve everything when his phone rang, and he let out a loud groan before answering in an even and pleasant tone, “Hey, Dami, this isn’t a great time.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Dami, this isn’t a great time,” Grayson said as soon as he picked up Damian’s call. 

Damian huffed at the dismissal but otherwise ignored it to inform Grayson of how effective he would be in dealing with the unfortunate development. He would usually be careful not to believe something like this unquestioningly, but neither Drake nor Todd would joke about Peter’s safety and health. Both had also seemed affected when Todd told Damian after being informed by Drake. “I am ready to help you take out the threat to Peter’s life.” 

Grayson hesitated for long enough that Damian thought the call had disconnected before speaking almost too quickly for Damian to understand where one word ended and the next began. “...Are you saying that you want to kill a nine-year-old?” 

Damian looked down at his civilian clothes. It was as pristine as always and would serve him well with his mission. “I don’t discriminate based on age.” 

Grayson sighed into the phone. “That’s nice to know, but I’m taking care of it, and don’t hurt any kids younger than you.” 

Damian looked his katana over to make sure it was sharp and clean. “I’m not a child, and I thought Peter’s safety and well-being took precedence over everything else.” 

Grayson sighed. “Sixteen is still a child, Little D, but it’s nothing for you to worry about, especially on a school night.”

Damian liked Grayson. He was a mixture between a father and an older brother and a good ally and mentor, but Damian felt his hands and legs tingle with the urge to run and cut something at Grayson’s words. 

“Where is Peter now?” 

Grayson sighed again. He often reminded everyone that he was still in his twenties, but he sounded as old as Father did at that moment. “In his room. He’s tired and sad, but Mary and I are taking care of it, Damian. You don’t have to worry about this.” 

Damian did have to worry about this. Some unknown child was calling Peter undignified names, and Peter didn’t often need his inhaler, but he could have perished if he had needed it. Deaths directly related to asthma were rare, but they were above zero. Damian protected Gotham, but none of the unfortunate souls deserved even a fraction of the safety to see another day that Peter did.

“I’ll be over in an hour,” Damian informed Grayson. His tone was firm and unfeeling, but the information was a kindness that Grayson barely deserved under the current circumstances. 

“You’re welcome to come over this weekend, Little D, but Peter had a hard day and is going to sleep soon.” 

Damian pulled his cellphone out to check the time. It was only six thirty pm, and Peter usually went to bed around eight on school nights. It would be early even for that, but Damian’s throat threatened to close at the thought of Peter getting ready to go back to his tormentor. “Are you sending him to that hellhole tomorrow?” 

Grayson still sounded worn, but there was a firmness to his tone that made Damian’s back straighten and stomach clench at the thought of disobedience. “No, but he needs sleep and doesn’t need the whole family overwhelming him right now.” 

Damian nodded curtly. “Affirmative.”

“I mean it, Damian. Steph is already here, and she’s an adult who can make her own choices without parental consent.” 

Brown was hardly enough to protect Peter from Grayson’s sudden stupidity and unwillingness to do what was needed without Peter’s mother’s consent. A long-term plan needed to be in place soon to avoid disrupting Peter’s continued education or health, and Damian couldn’t trust anyone other than himself to have the ability to do what was necessary.

“Understood. I will see you and Peter in the near future.” 

Grayson protested further, but Damian hung up and made sure to escape in one of Father’s less attention-seeking vehicles with a packed bag.

Leaving with a stolen vehicle was a risk, but it was necessary after Father’s and Pennyworth’s insistence on following the driving regulations despite the inane nature of not allowing sixteen-year-olds to drive motorcycles or cars, despite other states allowing such things.

“Come back immediately, Damian,” Father’s voice ordered through the car system after only minutes of driving.

Damian briefly considered ending the call without a response, but Father might have a way to prevent even his civilian cars from being stolen. “You’ll have to patrol without me tonight, Father. I am needed in Blüdhaven.” 

Father sighed deeply. “Dick told me you might decide to visit him and Peter, but Peter is not your responsibility, Chum. Dick and Mary are doing what they can for Peter, and you don’t need to do anything in this case.” 

Damian’s fingers moved faster than his mind, and they continued to do so as he ended the repeated calls from the car system. Damian usually didn’t pay much mind to Father’s, Pennyworth’s, or Grayson’s continued nagging about car safety, but he decided to follow every rule except driving without a license and let his phone ring without answering.

It had rung and stopped at least three times by the time Damian parked in front of Grayson’s residence, and hung up when another call came through.

Grayson opened the front door with his cell phone against his ear when Damian opened his car door. “Yes, he’s here, Alfie. See you.” 

Damian closed the door and locked the car. It was a nice neighborhood, but it was still Blüdhaven, and Damian preferred having a way to drive either himself or Peter somewhere if needed.

Grayson crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe. “B is going to kill you.” 

Damian wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes. “He can try.” 

“I’ve put some fresh sheets in your bedroom if you want to change them tonight. Steph might take Peter’s bed since he wants to sleep in mine, but she might take the couch.”

The couch was too short to fit Damian or Grayson comfortably, but would work just fine for Brown. However, Damian couldn’t feel too bitter when it was clear that he didn’t have to fight to keep anyone out of his room. Brown could have refused, but Damian doubted that Grayson had offered anyone to sleep in Damian’s room. It was almost impersonal compared to Peter’s or Grayson’s bedroom, but it was his to use the few times a month he did, and the thought of a bed waiting for him made him feel toasty in a sea of fire and destruction.

Grayson pushed himself upright and waved for Damian to follow him. It was a short walk, but felt much longer with the tension radiating from the entryway. It made every hair stand on Damian’s arms, and it only got worse when Peter came down the stairs with surprisingly heavy thuds for his tiny frame. Everything about him was small, but his voice was usually strong, but sounded feeble now, and Damian almost didn’t realize he was speaking Romani before Grayson answered in English.

“I’ll be right up, Gudlapishun,” Grayson answered with a honey-sweet voice that stuck to everything, but had a sting to every cut inside of Damian.

Peter’s gaze turned, and he looked at Damian with far more intensity than usual. “What are you doing here, Uncle Dami?” 

Damian dropped his bag without a care, and his covered katana with less care than usual. “I came to check up on you after hearing about the events today.” 

Peter let out a high-pitched noise at that and hiccupped. His eyes started to water, but it was clear from his flushed cheeks that it hadn’t been long since the last time he cried. “I don’t like school.” 

Damian’s hands tightened into fists, and he had to fight the urge to let the lava in his veins erupt as he answered. “Understandable.” 

Both Peter and Damian looked over at Grayson as his phone rang, and he answered it with much less amiability than he usually had in almost every situation. “Stop calling me, Jason. I heard you the first fifty thousand times.”

“They’ve been calling a lot today,” Peter said softly and started to sniff. “Especially when Tati stopped texting them back.” 

“I don’t need you on my ass when I’m already dealing with this, and I know it was either you or Tim who spilled to Damian.” 

Peter walked down the stairs and stood next to Damian. He had always been short and skinny, but rarely as fragile as he looked in Scooby Doo-themed socks and one of Grayson’s t-shirts without pants. “Are you sleeping here?” 

Damian gave a curt nod. 

Damian couldn’t find the energy to feel disgust at Peter wiping his nose with his forearm, only the deep hole of despair at letting this happen. Peter should be happy and carefree, not a wisp a slight breeze could break.

“Aunt Steph is staying, too, but don’t you have school? Tati says that I don’t have to go tomorrow, but you’re in high school.” 

Frankly, Damian did not care about the lessons he would miss or the punishment for disappearing, taking a car without permission, and driving without a license. “I’m not going to school tomorrow either.” 

Peter took hold of Damian’s hand and cranked his neck to look up at his face while standing almost on Damian’s feet. Damian couldn’t imagine it would hurt, but he appreciated his attempt anyway.

“Did Pawpaw let you stay at home, too?” 

“Yes.” Well, he hadn’t stopped Damian or followed him in a car of his own. A few phone calls were almost a blessing for him to stay as long as he wished.

“I swear, if any more of you come down here today, then Peter and I will need to go into hiding,” Grayson muttered into his phone after a no doubt idiotic comment. 

Peter started to sniff at a shorter interval, and his face crumbled for a second before he hid behind his hands. Each tiny sound cut deep into Damian’s organs, and he lifted an arm in a silent offer that Peter quickly accepted. His grip was firm, and each of Damian’s pierced organs stopped bleeding as they were crushed.

“Thank you for coming over, Uncle Dami,” Pater mumbled into Damian’s ribs, and eased his grip slightly when Damian patted his back.

“I said goodnight, Jason!” Grayson muttered into the phone.

Peter sniffed loudly and turned his head to look at Grayson. “I’m sorry, Tati.”

Grayson's scowl and furrowed eyebrows disappeared as soon as he looked at Peter. “What are you sorry for?”

Peter’s chin dug into Damian’s side, but he kept his gaze on Grayson. “You and Mom have to talk to the school again because of me.” 

Damian usually preferred keeping physical touch to a minimum, but it was different with Peter and Grayson. Other people could be exhausting, and while both of them could be annoying, they were rarely draining. They could even revive Damian’s energy at times, and there was no discomfort when Grayson walked over and knelt in front of both of them so close that Damian could feel the shift in the air. “We’ll talk to the school as many times as it takes. I just wish I had known it was still a problem at school. You didn’t deserve any of this.” 

“How long has it been a problem?” Damian asked, and Peter’s sweet little face turned up to stare at him. 

“Flash has been mean since we started third grade together, but he usually just said mean things. Tati told me to ignore him, and I almost always can when it’s mean words.”

Grayson chewed on his bottom lip and slowly rested a hand on Peter’s thin shoulder. “Has he done anything other than call you mean words before today?” 

Peter didn’t answer Grayson and instead just turned to stare at the fibers in Damian’s jacket.

The lava was still running through Damian, but he tried to keep it at bay, managing to sound almost completely monotone. “What did he do?”

However, he should have known that Peter would see through his words immediately.

“You can’t hurt him, Uncle Dami. He’s jealous. Tati says that people can be dumb when they’re jealous or sad.” 

Grayson’s shoulders fell with an exhale before he put a hand on Peter’s other shoulder. “Hey, can you look at me for a moment, Peter?” 

Peter turned his head. 

“I know that I said that Flash is just jealous, but I also said that it wasn’t okay for him to pick on you, no matter what. You wouldn’t pick on someone for having someone that you don’t. Do you remember when that classmate of yours visited the original LEGO-land, and both Mom and I said that we couldn’t go?” 

Peter nodded and pushed Damian’s clothes a little further up his body. It felt like he was trying to burrow into Damian’s skin, and he would let him.

Grayson smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Did you pick on him for that?” 

Peter shook his head and tightened his grip around Damian’s stomach even more.

“See? And now I hear that Flash didn’t even stop teasing when the teachers told him off. That’s not okay, and now he’s doing more than just saying mean words, so we have to be extra strict so he’ll stop.” 

“I know, but it wasn’t that bad.” 

Damian’s mind tried to figure out what someone could do to Peter, even though he described it as not that bad. He was stumped by the very idea of someone saying a single ill-intended word to Peter. It felt even worse than when he remembered how little he had once cared for helpless creatures with big doe eyes. He hadn’t found pleasure in hurting animals, even when they had been insignificant, but he hadn’t felt guilty either. Other people could be walking around like that, and Peter looked like an innocent rabbit waiting to be consumed by a fox, or like the same fox looking down the barrel of a gun as it was being hunted for sport.

Damian would never be kind, but he felt nauseous at the thought of anyone being cruel to Peter, who was flawed but always tried his best and gave hugs like the sun gave warmth. 

“What did he do to you, Peter?” 

He turned his face into Damian’s shirt for a moment before returning Damian’s gaze. “Just pushed me on the ground and called me Puny Peter or Peter Penis-face.” 

“His wit truly knows no bounds,” Damian deadpanned, but the fire inside of him was anything but dead. Especially as he observed Peter’s shifting eyes and how they barely hid the number of things that he was holding back. 

Grayson’s hand moved in circles on Peter’s back. “You don’t have to tell Uncle Dami if you don’t want to, but Mommy or I have to know to tell the school what has been happening.” 

Peter looked up at Damian again and whispered a feeble “sorry” before taking Grayson’s hand and pulling him to the kitchen to talk. Damian stood and barely took the time to take off his jacket and shoes, and had to force himself not to listen in, especially as the minutes stretched into almost an hour before he heard Grayson’s voice.

“Damian, can you find my cell phone?” 

Damian instead walked into the kitchen and saw Grayson sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, with Peter on his lap. His arms were firmly around Grayson’s shoulder and his head tucked into Grayson’s neck, but neither of those things could distract Damian from counting the pitiful snuffles.

Grayson tightened his grip around Peter and straightened his back. “Please get my cell. It’s in the living room, and I need to talk to Mary about a few things.” 

Damian respected Pennyworth, but he resented being treated like a servant. It was undignified, and he was born to be served, and should especially not serve to the benefit of a much younger family member.

However, his legs listened while his mind wandered, and he soon found both the cell phone and Brown.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked. 

“Tt, don’t act like you weren’t listening.”

Steph leaned back into the couch on the pillow that Damian was supposed to use tonight. “True.” 

Damian lingered after he handed Grayson the phone, but Grayson didn’t try very hard to make him leave. 

“Hey again, Mary, yes, it’s fine. I was calling before it got too late to hear if you got your classes figured out to come into the school with me tomorrow.” 

Grayson’s fingers kept running up and down Peter’s clothed back in unpredictable patterns, and Damian couldn’t help feeling jealous. He wanted someone to trust him to the extent that Peter did, even as Grayson had proven that he wasn’t capable of protecting Peter from threats, but Damian also wanted to be almost eight and have someone hold him like that. Someone who would protect him and comfort him regardless of whether he had earned the privilege of showing weakness.

“No, Peter is staying here while we go. Steph hasn’t left, and Damian decided to come over despite my protests, and Kory can look after him, too. I’m sure there’s even more babysitters if we need.” 

The envy was even bigger and greener as Peter let out a sigh and turned his head to rest his cheek on Grayson’s shoulder. He seemed to be ignoring the conversation around him, despite the apparent disrespect shown when looking away from his elder.

Grayson’s cheek leaned on the crown of Peter’s head. “Peter told me a few more things that the Flash kid did, and the teachers should have intervened long ago and informed us long before Peter did.” Grayson huffed. “I don’t know. Maybe pay the other good schools enough to find a spot.” 

Damian’s eyes focused on Grayson's grip on his phone, becoming tight enough for his knuckles to turn entirely white, but his tone was still scarily calm. 

“Your mother can hate me all she wants for using my rich privileges, but Peter is her only grandchild, and-” Grayson stopped abruptly and ran his fingers more aggressively over Peter’s back, as if to remind himself of the current company. “Look, I really don’t care what she thinks about it all. Peter told me he has been crying in the bathroom almost daily, and it has only gotten worse since our many talks with the school. Flash’s parents are major sponsors, which clearly means he can pick on younger kids. I’m not going to give that school a cent, but they are kissing the ass of someone with the same amount of money as me and ignoring that Bruce probably has more money than the Queen of England.” 

Damian walked around Grayson and realized that Peter wasn’t only relaxing but had fallen asleep. Seeing him like this with red cheeks from crying and even breaths awoke a need to touch his hair despite the fear of waking him. You weren’t supposed to touch wet paint, but sometimes he wanted to see if it was dry yet. He would only know if he tried, and the wall could be repainted, and his fingers washed if it was too soon.

Grayson sighed deeply enough for Peter to groan in his sleep. “I know we want him to socialize with kids his age, but he’s doing just fine in both gymnastics and robotics. I know he will be othered even more if he skips another grade, so what is your solution, Mary? Seriously, what do you want us to do? He’s already a seven-year-old fourth grader.”

Peter’s face barely moved as Damian brushed his brown waves aside with an index finger, and Grayson leaned his head against the opposite shoulder to free his hand enough to wave Damian away. 

“He’s my son, too.” Grayson pulled his hand back as soon as Damian leaned away, then used it to hold his phone again and rest his head on Peter’s. “Just think about it until tomorrow.”

Peter’s face was slack, and his arm swung limply with Grayson’s movements. Completely trusting, even as both of his parents were failing him in a way Damian hadn’t thought Grayson was capable of. 

“I’ll see you at the school. Peter’s sleeping on me right now, so I'd better get him into bed. Yeah, I’ll kiss him for you when he wakes up. Goodnight.” 

Grayson set his phone on the kitchen table and slid his free hand under Peter’s bottom, while the one on Peter’s back stilled and his fingers spread. He stood with practiced movements and carried Peter’s limp form toward the stairs, with Damian on his heels. 

“I’m just putting him to bed. Have you brought a toothbrush?” 

“I came prepared.” 

“Cool.” 

Grayson then ascended the stairs with Peter’s hands moving limply with every step, and Damian looked on as Grayson came back down alone. 

“I’m just letting Haley out to pee and then going to bed with Peter. You and Steph know where everything is.” 

“We do,” Damian agreed as he watched Grayson let Haley out to smell the different parts of the garden and empty her bladder before both she and Grayson walked toward the bedroom. 

The bed was big, and Damian couldn’t help feeling both relieved that Peter would be surrounded by warmth and furious that Grayson didn’t want to do more to ensure Peter’s well-being. It sounded like he and Peter’s mother were going to talk to the school, but talks had already proven insufficient.

“Sucks balls, doesn’t it?” Brown said as she joined him in looking at the stairs.

“You have a way with words, Brown.”

Brown hummed and bumped a shoulder into Damian. It was barely a tap, but Damian felt like she understood. Perhaps she would even be a priceless asset in convincing Grayson of the need for harsher methods, but only time would tell.

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was a little creepy to stand in front of Dick’s house at six thirty in the morning, but Jason didn’t want to wake up the whole house by knocking or, even worse, trigger a burglar alarm by entering. Dick lived in a nice neighborhood, but it was still Blüdhaven, and Jason wasn’t foolish enough to think he would ever leave a house with Peter unprotected.

Jason could take any trick wires or Dick waving his sticks around first thing in the morning, but it would be loud, and Peter needed his sleep. It would also be easier to get Dick to let him stay if he wasn’t grumpy, despite how fun it was to torment him.

The front door opened without any of the lights turning on, and Jason smiled at the sight of Damian’s sour face.

“What are you doing here, Todd?”

“Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

Damian’s nose wrinkled, and everything else about him exuded displeasure. “You’re disgusting and should go. The house is too full already.”

Jason rolled his eyes and strolled up the few steps. “Yeah, yeah, just act like you wouldn’t be in the dark if I hadn’t personally told you that Dick isn’t doing enough to stop a little fuckface from bullying my nephew.”

Such words would have sent Damian into a tirade about being the blood son of Bruce Wayne, the true heir, and other half-insane reasons he had more right to be called Peter’s uncle than the rest of them a few years ago. It had been both boring and entertaining at once, but Jason found himself grateful it wasn’t the case anymore. It would wake the whole house, and Jason’s patience was less than ideal after an entire night of roughing up criminals as the only outlet for his worries about Peter. 

Damian’s gaze fell to the crackly paper bags in Jason’s hands. “Have you brought breakfast? You can leave it with me, and I’ll distribute it accordingly.”

Jason had to close his eyes and think back to his happy place of reading books, knowing that all the criminals were leaving the Crime Alley kids alone. It brought a sense of peace, but it was still barely enough not to punch Damian directly in his bratty face for thinking he could send Jason away.

“Uncle Dami?” A tiny and young voice asked.

Jason opened his eyes and looked as Damian’s face relaxed before a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and his eyes looked more like fresh moss than mold trying to take over everything Jason loved.

Even his voice was a little softer when he responded. “I’m down here, Peter.”

The lights turned on with a soft click, and the even softer sound of pitter-pattering socked feet came from the stairs. “Why didn’t you turn on the lights?”

Damian sent Jason one last look with thundering eyes and a slight blush before turning toward the sound of Peter descending the stairs. “I just had to check why someone was lurking outside the house.”

Jason adored the sound of Peter’s light feet running toward him, but he resented that Peter’s first instinct upon hearing about an intruder was apparently to run toward it instead of getting Dick from wherever he was.

Peter’s clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was wild, but he looked wide awake and flashed Jason a colossal smile. “Uncle Jay!”

Jason quickly shoved the bags of baked goods into Damian’s hands, then ran the few steps between him and Peter and lifted Peter into the air. “Good morning, my little bird.”

Heavier footsteps walked toward them, but Jason didn’t care, while Peter strangled him with a hug and pushed their cheeks together until Jason's cheek was pressed between his teeth.

“Excuse me, Peter is my little bird,” Dick said in a mock-annoyed tone.

Peter pushed Jason’s temple with the top of his head and spoke loudly near Jason’s ear. “Not little.”

Jason could support Peter’s entire weight with an arm beneath his butt and another one pressing their chests together, but sure, Peter could pretend he wasn’t a tiny seven-year-old. All the current and former bats and birds were in peak condition, but Peter would have been lifted far less if he had been bigger.

Damian sighed. “Todd brought offerings. I guess he can stay until we go to talk to the school.”

Dick shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Jason can stay for as long as he likes while Mary and I, and no one else, talk to the school. You’re going back to your high school with Stephanie driving, so we don’t start the day with a felony or you skipping school.”

Driving without a driver’s license was only a misdemeanor, and Jason knew that Dick knew that from his repeated lectures until he finally gave up on Jason bothering with even a fake license. It had been funny the first few times, but Jason was grateful that Dick had decided to focus his energy on Damian’s inability to wait until seventeen to drive.

Damian huffed and crossed his arms. “I will stay here with Peter. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Jason didn’t know how he felt about that statement when Peter was actively trying to fuse their faces, but he could feel the tightness in Peter’s body before a tiny voice asked, “Can we have breakfast now? I don’t like you fighting.”

Every tension left Damian and Dick, and they both flocked around Peter and Jason.

“You're only skipping today, Dami," Dick told him with a lifted finger before turning a soft smile toward Peter. "Of course, we can eat now, Chavvi. Do you want to see what Uncle Jay brought?”

Peter slowly relaxed his tight grip around Jason’s throat, and air rushed into his lungs once more. He would never discourage Peter from experimenting with literally killing someone with love, but it was nice to breathe again.

However, it was still a little intimidating to have Peter’s hands on his cheeks and face so close that Jason almost got Peter’s eyelashes in his eyes when he blinked. “What did you bring, Uncle Jay?”

“Scones, chocolate croissant, and cinnamon rolls.”

“Wow, everything for a balanced meal,” Damian mumbled, but he quickly grabbed a scone as soon as they sat at the kitchen table.

“No pastry before everyone is here,” Peter scolded when Damian tried to take a bite. Peter looked more like a puppy than a vicious wolf when he was scowling, but Damian complied with a sigh and trampled toward the stairs.

Jason glanced at the bags he had brought. “How many people are here? I only brought four of each pastry. They’re big, but not that big.”

Dick picked a bit of sleep crust out of his eye. “We’re only missing Steph.”

Jason exhaled and relaxed his shoulders at that. He and Cass had an unstable relationship with her strong convictions against killing and Jason’s inability to see the problem, and he didn’t want to complicate it further with an insufficient amount of food for everyone, especially considering Cass’ and Peter’s surprisingly large appetites for their tiny frames.

Everyone in the family could eat, but those two could eat.

“What did I hear about croissants?” Steph asked as soon as she entered the room.

“Wow, good morning to you too,” Dick mumbled, but still filled her glass of apple juice with a smile and handed Peter a glass of orange juice with an even bigger smile. “Here’s your juice, and remember to tell me if you’re still hungry after having eaten your share.”

Peter’s share turned out to be one of each pastry, while the rest of them ate only two of the pastries Jason had brought before Dick pretended to be full, and Jason and Damian shared the last pastry.

Jason almost felt full after eating two and a half large pastries, but Peter still looked uncertain about his own hunger before telling Dick he was full. It was a serious day focused on making sure Peter was taken care of both long- and short-term, but Jason couldn’t help daydreaming about how stressed Dick would be when Peter would eventually turn into an even hungrier teenager. Perhaps Dick would have to dedicate his whole life to feeding Peter’s bottomless stomach.

Jason just hoped that Peter would stay small and cute enough to lift for a long time.

“Tati?” Peter asked as Dick washed the plates they had used. His eyes were wide, brown, and looked fragile enough to break at the slightest look. “I’m sorry you and Mom have to talk to the school again.”

Dick’s neck bent toward the sink for a second before he turned around. He looked the same as he had as a teenager after finding out how much Dick's and Bruce's screaming matches had reminded Jason of his worst days in Crime Alley. Dick had only been seventeen, but he had hugged Jason tightly and made everything seem a little brighter only minutes after cursing everything Bruce touched. 

Dick's cheeks weren't as full as they had been at seventeen, but he looked even softer the longer he stared at Peter. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Your mom and I will always take time to talk to the school whenever you need it. No one should treat you the way you have been, and you can always tell us if someone treats you poorly. Always.”

Peter's eyes widened and filled with tears, and his shoulders tensed until Dick wrapped him in his arms and kissed the top of his head. Damian patted Peter’s shoulder and gave him a firm nod. Jason didn’t understand how someone as sensitive as Peter could handle Damian’s rough edges, but he beamed up at him before clinging to Dick.

"Will you yell at Flash?"

Jason watched as Dick caressed Peter’s hair. Every movement was soft, and Jason had a hard time reconciling it with the way Dick had allowed the bullying to escalate over the past year. Even a hard stare was unacceptable toward Peter, and some little shit was putting Peter’s life in danger in a way no kids would dare in Crime Alley, and no adult would even think about doing to a kid there. Jason had made sure they all feared retribution, and there had been only one acceptable case of an adult stealing an EPIPen. It had almost ended with Jason shooting the thief's legs, but he had realized just in time that it was a medical emergency. He later sponsored a new EPIPen for both the victim and the thief, but there was still respect for medical equipment in Crime Alley since then. 

Everyone in Crime Alley had understood why the thief had needed to steal, while Peter's classmate was just being a giant asshole for stealing an inhaler. 

Dick bit his bottom lip briefly. “No, Chavvi, I don’t think Flash will be there, but I might get angry at his parents. They should have taught him to be as kind as you are.”

Peter's little sniffs cut deep into Jason's heart, and his glasses looked moments away from falling off as he leaned back to look at Dick. “Flash says no one likes me because I act like I’m better than everyone else. I don’t think that I am, but he says that I do.”

Jason personally thought that Peter was far better than any other kid in the world. Far smarter and far kinder, not to mention funny too. He was the whole package, and everyone should either admire that or go far away where Peter’s shine wouldn’t hurt their eyes.

Dick pressed Peter’s head into the bottom of his sternum and hummed. “That doesn’t make any of the things he did right, and it’s the teachers’ job to both teach and make sure everyone plays nicely together.”

“I don’t want to ever play with Flash,” Peter mumbled with far more venom than Jason thought possible with his sweet voice, but still far less than Jason held toward a kid he had never met.

It didn’t matter who that little rich kid was; Jason would make sure he never picked on Peter again, even if it meant throwing the whole family out of New Jersey. Rich people had connections, but so did Jason, and he would bet he had more guns than anyone else in Peter’s vicinity, except maybe Alfred.

Dick soon resumed doing the dishes with Peter drying and Damian putting everything away. It took only minutes, but it still left an impression on Jason until they were halfway through watching a VHS version of Hercules in the living room. Peter seemed fully immersed in the songs and colors, but he sprinted out when he heard a knock at the door. 

"Mom!" 

Dick paused the movie, and the rest followed him toward the front door.  

“Hey, Honey, how are you today?” Mary asked, looking at Peter with furrowed brows. She looked up suddenly, and her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Jason. “Oh, hey, are you looking after Peter while Dick and I talk to the school?”

Jason didn’t think he had anyone looking after him when he had been Peter’s age, but he felt much more comfortable with the implication that Peter had someone looking after him, even if it was only for a few hours during the day. 

“Yeah, but I think that Damian and Steph are staying too.”

Mary’s head tilted as she looked at something or someone over Jason’s shoulder. She seemed to shrink a little under Jason’s gaze and hesitated before responding. “I’m glad that Peter has so many people. I’ll see you all when Dick and I come back with hopefully good news.”

Dick put on his jacket and shoes and leaned down to kiss the top of Peter’s head before he glanced at everyone else. “Ready to rumble, Mary?”

She inhaled deeply, but her shoulders soon fell once more. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Be a good boy for your uncles and aunt, Honey. Tati and I will be back soon, and then we can finally figure this whole thing out.”

Peter sniffed. “You and Tati said that last time.”

Her eyes looked empty for a moment, but her dead stare seemed to awaken Dick as soon as it turned toward him.

“This time’s different. We gave the school and Flash many chances, and we won’t accept any excuses this time, okay? Even if it means that you have to be homeschooled.”

“Dick,” Mary spat. “Let’s discuss options alone before giving Peter hope about something we can’t promise.”

Jason’s stomach clenched when Dick just sighed. Jason would never have let Peter go through all of this if he had the chance. Even heaving Peter around between gangsters felt safer than in a school of bullies, accomplices, and bystanders.

Mary gently pushed Peter away and let a hand brush over his cheek. “Tati and I will be back soon, and you just have fun with everyone until we’re back.”

Dick's loving gaze turned stern, and he pointed his index finger at Peter. “And start your homework after the movie. At least your science and math homework, and we can work on your English when I come back.”

Peter huffed out his cheeks. “I already finished my English homework.”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at the display. It was strangely intense for just Dick telling Peter to do his homework, and it made no sense. Peter was a science genius and seemed to be reading at a fourth- or fifth-grade level when Jason read with him. He understood texts just fine, and Jason’s only criticism of his writing was that he wrote most letters too messily, so he should be fine during fourth-grade homework. 

Dick rubbed his eyes. “Answering the sheets before reading the text doesn’t count.”

There was a tiny stomp a second before Peter crossed his arms. “The homework is answering the questions. I did, and I haven’t had more than one wrong each week.”

Mary looked at her dainty wrist watch and pulled Dick’s arm. “Come on, we need to leave.”

Jason looked at Steph, hoping she knew what that was about, but she seemed as lost as Jason. At least Damian seemed to know, and he crossed his arms and stared Peter down as soon as the front door closed.

“Go get your English homework.”

Peter shook his head and instantly went over to capture Jason’s hand. “No, Tati said that it could wait. You heard it too, right, Uncle Jay?”

Jason knew when he was being manipulated, but he didn’t know how. Dick had said that the English homework could wait, but there seemed to be much more under the surface. Peter didn’t seem to know just how cute he was, but he didn’t use that look unless he wanted something specific. It could be that he wanted to finish the movie first, but there seemed to be more to it. 

Damian shook his head. “Cut the crap, Peter, I know what you’ll tell Grayson that you did it the right way even if you didn't, and you'll blink creepily until he folds, but you can’t manipulate me.”

Jason opened his mouth, but he couldn’t get any words out. Those were some wild accusations, and Peter wouldn’t manipulate anyone. He was too sweet ever to do something like that on purpose. 

Peter pressed Jason’s hand tighter against his chest. “I’ll start with the easy subjects and then come back to it. I don’t know why you’re being so mean, and homework doesn’t matter if I have to change grade anyway. Nothing matters then.”

Damian’s firm stance slouched, and he slowly knelt in front of Peter. He was in the right height to be kneed in the face for talking about and to Peter like that, but Jason couldn’t do it when Peter was letting go of Jason to melt against Damian’s neck.

Damian’s arms slowly lifted, and he seemed to rest his hand on Peter’s shoulders rather than give a real hug, but it was the closest Jason had ever seen Damian actively participate in one “Grayson will take care of your school, but he also asked you to do your homework, so you should. It doesn’t matter if no teacher will look at your work; you’ll learn something with every sheet, just like you’re getting better at gymnastics every time you practice.”

Jason still wanted to kick Damian in the face, but at least he was being nicer, and Peter looked vulnerable but not saddened when he nodded. “Okay, I’ll get it, but I did finish it yesterday at school.”

Damian returned the nod. “Okay, fine, but then I’m coming with you and making sure you don’t memorize the answers before I can check if you can remember any of the text from yesterday."

Peter pushed away from Damian and glanced at Jason and Steph. “I’ll just do my sheets again.”

He ran up the stairs as soon as Damian waved a loose hand in that direction, and Steph’s and Jason’s stares turned toward Damian, who sighed and stood up. He was getting annoyingly tall, almost as tall as Jason, but he looked like a stretched-out giraffe calf even when he was trying to look dignified in front of the others.

Damian smacked his lips and crossed his arms. “Grayson told me that Peter has figured out the algorithm for the multiple-choice questions in his workbook, and I have to agree with his theory. Most of Peter’s workbooks apparently use an algorithm rather than true randomisation for the questions, and the patterns repeat every sixth or seventh page. Grayson has started writing the questions down in a random order and makes Peter answer the handwritten ones before being allowed to fill in his worksheet book, but Peter still tries to get out of it almost every time.”

Jason had a hard time believing Peter would do that. Studying at least seven pages for the algorithm seemed like far more effort than simply reading the text and answering questions about what color something was or which country the story was set in, and it seemed much more underhanded than Peter seemed capable of. However, Peter returned with his worksheet book and watched forlornly as Damian pointedly wrote the questions on a piece of paper, made Peter read the text with another book on top of the original questions, and then answered the handwritten questions. Damian watched as Peter circled the answers to the questions and answered the few open-ended ones that had been left suspiciously blank. 

Damian made Peter fill out several more pages before Peter swore he hadn’t been assigned any more English homework, and they all went back to watching the second half of Hercules. Peter didn't need to be prompted to find his other homework after that, and happily answered each question on the couch next to Damian. 

Nothing would make bullying someone as sweet as Peter okay, but Jason thought that he understood the cause when Peter breezed through his science homework. It was especially evident when Peter started to complain about how easy his math homework was.

“Fine, what’s 66 divided by 11 if you’re that smart?” Damian grumbled.

Peter leaned back in his seat. “6, why are you asking boring questions? Ask me real questions. Everyone knows this.”

Yeah, Jason could easily figure out a reason why a target had been painted on Peter’s back.

Damian rolled his eyes. “What’s the square root of 16?" 

Peter beamed brightly. "4! It's 4! Give me one I have to think about." 

Damian's face was impassive, but each word was spoken so softly that Jason had to look away from the scene. "You've earned a harder one. What's the square root of 10 with one decimal?" 

Peter hesitated for the first time since finishing his English homework. Jason had to think for a few seconds, too, and still ended up guessing slightly slower than Peter. “It’s a little more than 3, so 3.1?”

Damian patted Peter’s head. It looked demeaning, but Peter smiled too widely for Jason to correct Damian’s behavior. “Close, it’s 3.2.”

“Yay!” Peter shook two tightly closed fists and jumped down from the couch. “I don’t want to do math anymore. Do you all want to see my LEGO set? Aunt Steph already saw, but it’s really cool. Right, Aunt Steph?”

Steph nodded with a big movement. “Yes, it’s the best Hogwarts I’ve ever seen.”

Damian squinted for a second, but Jason instantly smiled widely at Peter’s enthusiasm. “Wow, did it come with Harry Potter and his friends?”

Peter’s shoulders rose as he clasped his hands, and his eyes turned into happy crescent moons. “Yes, they can play in the castle now.”

Jason basked in the metaphorical rainbows that followed Peter around and made even Gotham and Blüdhaven’s worst places seem colorful. “Wow, maybe Harry or Lian will play with it with you.”

Peter clapped his hands. “Maybe, they both promised to watch the movie when it comes out, so we can make the figures fight everyone. We can even find something to be the troll and Professor Quirrell in his turban.”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed even more. “There’s a villainous man in a turban? Are all the bad guys wearing turbans in the books? What kind of books have you introduced Peter to, Todd?”

Jason laughed at Damian’s words and threw his head back to laugh even more when Damian glared. “It’s not some book about being racist to Indian people. The main evil is the whitest white man ever. The man in a turban isn’t even Hindu if I remember correctly. I promise you that Peter and I don't read any racist books together.”

Damian blinked a few times. “Okay, if he likes the books, then I guess it’s fine. Now show us the Harry Potter castle, Peter.”

Jason had been sure that Damian hadn’t had any humor the first few years he had known him, but there was a pure joy when he started calling Hogwarts various alternative names. Each wrong name made Peter’s face turn redder than the last, and both Jason and Steph snickered and almost cracked completely when they shared a glance.

Peter stomped with shaking fists and a furious scowl that he could only have learned from Damian. “It’s called Hogwarts! Why can’t you listen?”

Damian shrugged. “Swinewarts, Hogpimple, Pigfarts. It’s all the same to me.”

“It’s not the same!” Peter countered just as fiercely as before, but then his face fell forward, and his shoulders slumped. Jason’s heart shrank, and he was about to step in when the smirk left Damian’s face, and he gripped and shook Peter’s shoulder slightly.

“Don’t be stupid, I know it’s called Hogwarts. You’ve talked about the movie for weeks, and I listen to at least some of your babbling.”

Peter sniffed and looked almost happy at Damian’s words, but Jason saw red. “What kind of twisted apology is that? Especially when we’re here because Peter is being bullied at school.”

Jason wouldn’t be as affected by Damian’s words on a typical day, but this wasn’t. This was the day after Peter had been bullied to the point of being in danger of a medical emergency, and anything that could hurt him was unacceptable. Anyone would be blind not to see how Peter looked up to Damian, and words from your heroes can hurt worse than anything else. Every displeased word out of Batman’s mouth had felt like iron rods as a teenager, and Jason would die once more if Wonder Woman ever told him off, and Peter looked ready to cry. 

Damian’s face fell, and his tan skin paled significantly. “I didn’t intend to… It wasn’t meant to hurt him.”

Jason inhaled deeply, but it wasn’t enough to make his fists relax or his heart stop beating in preparation for a fight that would never end well for anyone. “Teasing is fine. It was even fun, but you can’t blame Peter when he’s hurt by it. What kind of message do you think that sends him? Should he take the blame for the little shitheads picking on him, too?”

Damian was usually prideful, and Jason saw anger start to bubble under the surface, but he didn’t care. Damian was young, and Dick insisted that he was traumatized, but it didn’t make it okay to call Peter stupid when he was hurt.

Steph stepped in between them and threw her hands out. “Hey, macho men, settle down. Damian and Peter have had this weird, teasing relationship for like four years. They both do it, and Peter knows that Damian didn’t mean anything by it. You do know that, right, Pete?”

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and Jason’s heart sank, and the hairs on his arms stood up with anger. One more hurtful word, and Jason would fight someone. It barely mattered who.

Damian glanced at Steph and Jason but seemed to hesitate, and he spoke almost too quietly for Jason to hear through the blood rushing past his ears.

“You’re not stupid or babbling. I actually enjoy that you want to tell me what your interests are.”

Peter inhaled and opened his mouth, but only let out a squeak and shook his head.

Damian shuffled around Peter until Jason couldn’t see his face. He could have worn any expression, but Peter threw his arms around his neck and rested his head on his shoulder for a long while. Jason didn’t quite know how long, but his goosebumps had disappeared, and he was breathing evenly when they let go of each other.

Damian stayed kneeling in front of Peter and asked, “Do you understand that I don’t think of you as unintelligent?”

Peter’s lips lifted in a slight smile. His voice was soft and almost inaudible, but it was present again. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t know why I got sad.”

Damian didn’t answer, and Jason was about to explain when Steph spoke instead. “I would probably be a little sensitive too if I were being bullied, but you really don’t have to fear that anyone in this family would think badly of you. Especially Damian. You don’t see him when he’s away from you, but he’s, like, nice around you, Pete.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, and he turned to look at Damian with his intense stare. “Are you really different around me?”

Damian didn’t answer, but that was practically an answer in itself when it was about him, and perhaps he had grown a lot in recent years. The Damian from years ago would have screamed rather than let himself be embarrassed by normal human decency. He even lifted his arms, and Jason turned his gaze toward the shelves of movies when Peter fell into Damain's embrace.

Most of the movies seemed to be cartoons, but there were some live-action ones, too. Although most of those also seemed to be aimed at children, the few movies with adults as the target audience, such as Fight Club, were on the tallest shelf. It was a mix of DVDs and VHS tapes, but it looked homey with Dick’s house's mix of colors.

Peter’s feet made a slight sound as he moved over the carpet to Jason’s side. “Do you want to watch The Iron Giant?”

Jason had no idea what that was, but he nodded when he saw it on one of the lower shelves.

The Iron Giant was surprisingly good, but Jason could have lived without Dick and Mary walking in on Peter sobbing into his arms and refusing to look up, no matter what the rest of them did. 

Peter hiccuped, and Mary stepped further into the house. Dick usually made everyone remove their shoes when they entered, but he followed without a single glance at the footprints they both left behind. They both looked to be on a mission, and Dick only held back when Mary touched Peter's shoulder. 

“Hey, Honey, what happened?”

Peter mumbled something and let out another sob in response to Mary's question. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she blinked a few times, but her incredulous look had nothing on Dick, who apparently understood Peter’s mumbling.

“How did Superman make you cry?”

Peter said something else. Jason wasn’t sure if it was even words, but perhaps it didn’t matter anymore when he rushed past Mary and launched himself into Dick’s arms.

Jason glanced at Peter’s glasses lying on the coffee table and pulled at the hem of his shirt before he could look at Dick and Peter’s embrace. The slight bumps from the stitching made everything seem a little less loud, but his heart still hammered when he explained the situation to Dick. “We watched the Iron Giant, and the robot called himself Superman when he stopped the missile. I think he died, but Peter started crying before we could see.”

“Oh,” Dick said, and just mouth stayed in a circle for half a second before continuing. “That is a sad scene, but remember that the boy is rebuilding the robot, Chavvi. He will be able to act like Superman again.”

Peter sniffed wetly. “Yeah, but it’s still sad.”

Dick smiled softly. “Very sad, but I’m glad that you liked the movie anyway. Did you do anything other than watch movies and take your Hogwarts castle down from your room again, or was today just a relaxation day?”

Damian stood up and handed Peter his glasses. “He did all his homework. Including his English homework after reading the provided texts.”

Peter grunted at the reminder but smiled brightly when Dick ran a hand through his hair. “Wow, that’s amazing, you two. It’s good that you know how to do that because we need a little while to figure out how to continue your education now that you’re not coming back to the school.”

Everyone held their breath, and Peter stood a step back. “I’m not going back?”

His tone was strange. Jason had expected Peter to either be elated about being away from his bullies or guilty for things that weren’t his fault, but he sounded like nothing and everything at once.

Dick’s hand fell from Peter’s hair to his cheek, and he started to rub it with his thumb gently. “Yeah, the school couldn’t make good enough promises to change, and your mom and I agreed that it was better to find some other way for you to learn until you can go to the magnet school we were talking about, so you will be studying at home for a while.”

Peter chewed his bottom lip and glanced at Jason and Steph. It was only a split second, but it was enough for Jason’s heart to break a little. Peter looked so small and uncertain, but pulling him out of the school was for the best. Hopefully, there would be a better school for him until he could get into the magnet school for gifted students. Still, Jason could understand if Dick and Mary wouldn’t want to put Peter in another potentially harmful and most likely understimulating environment until then. 

Mary cautiously walked toward Peter. It was a little strange that Peter had run past her to get to Dick, but Jason still couldn’t completely understand the thundering look Damian sent her when she was hugging her son.

“I promise that we will do our best, but both Tati and I will be working some on the weeks we have you, and your Auntie Babs agreed to let you stay in the library with her during that. You’ll have to work on the books you got from school, but we will find you some more soon.”

Peter rubbed his nose roughly with his sleeve, but every movement looked lighter than it had all day. “I like staying with Auntie Babs, and she's very smart.”

Chapter Text

Bruce inhaled deeply as he stood in front of Peter’s new school. His heart was racing, and he was trying to remind himself that he was Batman, and Batman wouldn’t be this nervous about a Grandparents’ Day.

However, Batman only had to be one thing, and Bruce would have to be both a playboy and Peter’s grandfather. He couldn’t seem competent and destroy his alibi for being Batman, yet he also couldn’t embarrass Peter before Peter knew what embarrassment was. He probably wouldn’t remember much of this, but Bruce still didn’t want to cause a scene at his five-year-old grandson’s kindergarten function. Especially since Peter had only started school a little over a week ago, and his whole school experience could be ruined if everyone thought Peter’s grandfather was a fool.

Bruce exhaled from deep in his chest and followed the brightly colored signs toward the classroom.

The room was already full of grandparents and barely school-aged children, and Bruce suddenly felt both ancient and young at once. He should have expected to be the youngest grandparent in the room, but he had somehow not thought about the implications of Dick having Peter at twenty-one and only being fifteen years younger than Bruce. He often felt old at forty-two, and he would never be able to spin in circles or run around recklessly like all the five-year-olds were, but he also realized the enormous gap between the children’s ages and the other relatives in the room.

Most of the other grandparents had gray hair and wrinkles, and Bruce realized that many were around the age his parents would be now, while a few looked almost twice Bruce’s age. They could be great-grandparents, but Bruce had known a few to have kids in their thirties or forties, so he wasn’t sure.

“Pawpaw!” A loud and high voice yelled, and Bruce instinctively knelt with a pop from his most recently damaged knee.

Peter barely weighed anything, but he still felt like a loving yet painful punch when he launched himself at Bruce.

“Peter, I’m so glad to see you.”

Peter’s eyes were wide until he smiled so big that his eyes turned into crescent moons and his cheeks into two small mounds. “I’m happy too! Granny is here too, and we’re gonna have fun all three!”

Bruce glanced at Mrs. Fitch. She held her elbow and looked around the room with large eyes, and in general looked much smaller than Bruce had ever seen her.

Peter started to wiggle, and Bruce looked at him just as he tightened his grip around Bruce’s neck. “Pawpaw, what is your job?”

“I’m the CEO of Wayne Enterprise, Peter.” Bruce was only met with a blank stare, and clarified. “I talk to people and make sure other adults have jobs and make things for others to buy.”

“Oh.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked around the room briefly. “Is that important? Everyone says their grandmas and grandpas are important.”

Bruce looked away from Peter for just long enough to see a few of the ones in higher positions in Wayne Enterprise glance at him. Everyone was important, but not nearly as much as the little boy in his arms.

“I’m sure we all have important jobs. Now, what did I hear about an activity and a picnic?”

Peter wiggled again, but this time he let go of Bruce and sprinted toward his grandmother and waved Bruce toward his table. There was a tiny stack of colorful paper and three tiny scissors lying next to the glue, along with the most adorable sign in big, crooked letters that announced to everyone in the room that this was Peter’s table. All the other tables had signs too, but Bruce couldn’t help thinking Peter’s was the best one in the room.  

“Come, Pawpaw, we have everything but the hole punches! We have to ask for them each time, even though Granny could get the scissors. But it’s okay, because there are twenty-five hole punches! I counted them myself!”

Peter jumped next to Mrs. Fitch, and she put a hand on his shoulder and looked around the room with sharp eyes. She glanced and smiled at Peter, but Bruce soon followed her gaze toward all the expensive watches and silk blouses around the room. He knew what her opinion was on expensive items, but she kept all her comments to herself and tensed her shoulders.

It didn’t make sense that a woman with such a big personality would make herself small. Bruce felt like a boy pretending to be an adult, but Mrs. Fitch was a decade older than Bruce and should be much more comfortable with being around older adults.

 “Mr. Wayne, it’s an honor to see you outside of meetings,” a male voice interrupted Bruce’s thoughts, and he turned around to see an older man. Bruce prided himself on learning the names of as many employees as possible, but there was nothing memorable about his round glasses and receding hairline. Bruce did his best but came up with no names or any indication of which section of Wayne Enterprise this man was from.

“The honors mine,” Bruce smiled. He wondered briefly if he should pretend to have a hangover, but then remembered where he was and who he was with. “How are you?”

The man’s eyes widened slightly, and he smiled. “I’m good. I hope you are, too, Mr. Wayne. Who knew our little grandchildren would be in the same class? I didn’t think that it would be your grandson when my dear granddaughter Lauren said that she had made a new friend.”

Peter hadn’t mentioned anyone named Lauren in the short amount of time he had been enrolled in school, but Bruce still looked around to see who the man was talking about.  

“They’re practically best friends, and we’re very interested in family. Maybe it would be good for the kids to play or study together sometimes. Lauren is very well-behaved, and I know the kids would love to see each other outside of school.”

The man gestured toward whom Bruce assumed was Lauren. She looked sweet in her sailor-style dress and pigtails, but he found himself doubting that she was anything to Peter. Maybe they knew each other’s names, but she seemed much more interested in talking with another little girl while an older woman kept gently pushing her toward Peter’s table.

Bruce had seen adults using their kids to get on his good side since he was a boy, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth, and he had to swallow before smiling as dopily as possible.

“Your son or daughter will have to talk to Peter’s parents about when the kids can have a playdate. I can only nod and comply with them when it’s about my sweet, little grandson.”

The man’s smile faltered, then returned. “No need. I’m sure your son and daughter-in-law would appreciate a child-free day, and we can have some time to talk business while the younglings play. We even have a nanny to watch over them while they’re at our house if your son wants to give his nanny a day off.”

Bruce hoped that he sounded as spacy as intended when he shook his head and smiled wider. “I already have too little time with my grandson. I’m still young, and it’s not like I can take him with me to the parties, and Lucius insists that I occasionally show my beautiful face at work, as you know.”

The man’s shoulders sloped, but he had an annoyingly stubborn look in his eyes. “Maybe the kids can play there then. You show your face, and the kids get to know each other outside of school.”

Bruce wondered how harsh he could be without losing his reputation as a ditzy but lovable fool, when one of the teachers clapped her hands.

“Hello, all grandparents. It seems like you’re all here, and I can’t wait to see what you and your grandchildren will create in a few moments. As you know, we will make cards and then enjoy a picnic prepared by the school’s excellent chefs. Afterward, you can take your grandchildren home to enjoy the rest of the day.”

The man in front of Bruce looked as if he wanted to say more, but Bruce used the distraction to conveniently “forget” that he was in the middle of a conversation and returned to Peter happily grasping Bruce’s hand with the one that wasn’t holding Mrs. Fitch’s.

The teacher gestured toward the tables around the room and the one behind her. “There should be safety scissors on all tables, but please come up to the front if we missed your table after you arrived, and please keep the hole punchers at the teacher's desk.”

Bruce looked around as grandparents and grandchildren murmured warmly about the cards and little hands holding scissors proudly. Everyone looked poised, but there were still moments of imperfection that he was never allowed to see during the balls and charity events.

He returned his gaze to Peter and had to hold a smile back when he saw Peter chewing on his shirt. He didn’t want to encourage such habits, but it made Bruce feel like he hadn’t missed all of Peter’s journey from toddlerhood into early childhood.

Peter’s hand tightened around Bruce’s as Mrs. Fitch turned her gaze toward him and pulled the shirt from Peter’s mouth, revealing the wet spit and a tiny hole at the collar of his T-shirt.

"We just bought that shirt, Peter," she muttered, and started straightening his shirt a little more roughly than Bruce liked.

Rage bubbled inside Bruce as Peter shrank and mumbled an apology, and tiny flames lit when Mrs. Fitch offered only a curt nod. Bruce opened his mouth to defend Peter and his need to chew on replaceable clothes, but stopped when Peter straightened his back and asked, “Granny, will you go up to get the star puncher with me?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked sour, but Bruce didn’t care whether she wanted to stay at the table or leave with Peter, as Bruce imagined all the grandparents flocking to him as soon as he was alone at the table.

“I’ll go with you,” he said hurriedly and sent Peter a strained smile.

Peter looked at Bruce with wide eyes before he flashed him a smile with all his bright white teeth. “Yay, Pawpaw!”

It was lousy to use a child as a shield, but Bruce couldn’t help it, since every second away from Peter could stretch into several minutes of trying to get back to him. He didn’t think Peter or Mrs. Fitch minded either, as Peter was happy with any attention he got from them, and Mrs. Fitch seemed strangely reluctant to leave the table.

“Pretty,” Peter commented as he looked at the swirls Mrs. Fitch had drawn on her card during the trips Bruce and Peter had taken to the front to punch holes in the cards and collect as many glitter containers as Peter was allowed. 

She smiled and pushed it over for Peter to see. "Thank you, Peter. Maybe you could make something like this instead of something so... sparkly next time. Maybe with some car or dinosaur stickers." 

Peter shook his head. "Nothing is better than glitter, Granny. Everything needs lots and lots of glitter.”

Bruce hadn’t had the same forefront when creating his card as Mrs. Fitch and Peter, and had instead used all the hole punches Peter had liked to pierce his yellow card, and then glued a green one to it before it could fall apart. It left it an unpredictable collection of stars, hearts, flowers, moons, berries, and trees, but Bruce loved it almost as much as Peter’s very colorful card that rained glitter every time someone touched it.

He especially loved Peter’s card when it started to rain on Mrs. Fitch’s beautiful but boring card.

“Glitter!” Peter repeated in what Tim had once described as his banshee voice. It was loud, shrill, and feral, but no less lovely as Peter shook the card in Bruce’s direction until another sparkling cloud fell toward the floor.

"Peter, don't shout or throw it everywhere!" Mrs. Fitch whisper-yelled and reached up to grab the card when footsteps walked toward them. 

“Peter, what did I say about throwing glitter on the floor?” A very colorful woman asked and crossed her arms.

“That it makes it pretty,” Peter responded, running the glue stick over the blue glitter on his card, then dumping another handful of silver glitter on top. 

The woman sighed and shook her head with a smile. “We step on the floor. It doesn’t need to be pretty, but I’m here to tell you to use the restroom before the picnic.”

Peter loosened his grip around the glitter container, and Bruce barely caught it before the floor turned even more colorful and sparkly.

One would think that Peter had been starved for years, but the teacher, fortunately, just smiled wider when Peter asked wide-eyed. “When is there food?”

“It will be at least twenty minutes, so everyone who needs the restroom can use it beforehand.” The teacher glanced at Bruce and Mrs. Fitch. “We’ve opened the staff bathrooms for all grandparents today, but you can go out and pick a blanket if you don't need to go right now.”

“I’m okay,” Bruce reassured her, and gathered his courage to risk being around the other grandparents when the teachers left with all the children in the room.

Bruce had hoped the twenty-minute bathroom trip was a huge exaggeration. It wasn’t, and he sat in awkward silence with Mrs. Fitch for almost fifteen minutes before an older couple arrived at their blanket.

The woman looked polished in a way only upper-class women with far too much time on their hands did. “Mr. Wayne, what a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know that your grandson goes here, but I should have known that he would be here.”

Bruce would rather not linger on how many of Gotham’s elites had enrolled their children in schools in Blüdhaven, but the grandparents were making it difficult.

“Yeah, well, his parents live in Blüdhaven," Bruce replied, with a bit too much intelligence and sass for his public persona, and shook his head to, hopefully, preserve his public airheaded image. "But I don't know. Blüdhaven, Gotham, schools all kind of blur together, don’t they? Richard just picked the best one and told Lucius to clear my schedule so I could be here.”

“You just tell us if your grandson ever wants to go back to Gotham, and I’ll make sure my other grandchildren take good care of him,” she smiled.

Bruce hummed. He was sure that the woman had a ton of grandchildren in Gotham’s best schools, and he wasn’t sure how to pretend that it was just a coincidence that the one who was in Peter’s grade was in the same school as him.

The woman opened her mouth again, but Bruce quickly looked around for a distraction and caught Mrs. Fitch’s eyes. He gestured to her and smiled his billionaire smile. “Meet Peter’s maternal grandmother, Loretta Fitch.”

“Oh, hello.” Both the older woman and man barely glanced at her before returning their gazes to Bruce. “As I was saying-“

Bruce clapped his hands together. “Did you know what she and her family have been living and working here in Blüdhaven for several generations?”

“Oh, you work?” the woman asked with a thinly concealed sneer, and Bruce realized a second too late that he shouldn't have turned the attention on someone else. 

Mrs. Fitch squared her shoulders. “Yes, I’m a cleaner in RABE Memorial Hospital.”

The woman lifted her chin and looked at her own hands before glancing at Mrs. Fitch’s. “I prioritized staying at home, managing the children and the staff, but it’s so great that you have found time to have a career and raise at least one child.”

Mrs. Fitch’s eyebrows evened out, and she frowned slightly. “I’m sure the patients appreciate the clean rooms, but I’ll make sure to tell all the female staff to prioritize their home if you’re ever hospitalized.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but her face turned neutral when she glanced at Bruce. “I guess that I’m not used to being around the working class, but it’s so nice that Richie decided to find a girl from a more common background. I'm sure that we will eventually see more of her at functions now that her son is school-aged. We already see too little of him as it is.”

Bruce didn’t like Mrs. Fitch, but he disliked this woman far more and made sure to furrow his brows and pout slightly in a way that he knew both endeared him and aggravated countless. “Oh, I didn’t know that your staff is all from the upper class. My butler would never let me use that kind of money.”

The older man opened his mouth, but Bruce saw Peter before he could hear what he had to say.

“Peter! Here!” Bruce yelled loudly without any restrictions. Being Bruce Wayne, a playboy billionaire, could be difficult, but it was also liberating at times.

“Pawpaw!” Peter yelled and ran over to sit between him and Mrs. Fitch with big, doe eyes. “When are we eating?”

Bruce’s lips lifted in a genuine smile. “Soon, Bambie.”

The older man and woman lingered, but left when the teachers started distributing strawberries, small sandwiches, and a roast beef salad that tasted surprisingly good with a bit of bread and no ass-kissers.

Bruce could live without dodging greedy adults, but this seemed like the start of a great school experience for Peter.

Chapter Text

Peter was usually the kind of child Tim had expected Nightwing to have. He was smart, funny, and usually in an amazing mood. Tim could have lived without the surprising amount of sass from a baby, but he couldn’t convince himself that Peter’s sass wasn’t pure Nightwing, annoying villains, rogues, and other criminals.

However, there were no smiles or sass from Peter today despite being in Dick’s loving arms.

Tim tried to coax a smile from Peter anyway, and smiled as brightly as possible, and waved Peter’s neon green foam block around. “Look, Pete, it’s a green block-monster. Help. Only you can defeat it.”

Peter would have either giggled at Tim’s antics or begged for Dick’s attention by now, but his face stayed sour and his gaze unmoving. His little eyebrows were even, and his mouth turned down in a slight pout. Everything about him was adorable, but it still made Tim’s stomach clench, and his eyes darted to Dick in case calling a block a monster was a faux pas among infants.

Dick smiled and leaned forward to look closer at Peter’s unamused face. “Hey, Chavvi, no smiles for Uncle Tim or Tati? Cuckoo, cuckoo, where’s my baby boy’s beautiful smile? Hello, Peter, where’s your smile?”

Half a year ago, Tim wouldn’t have believed anyone who told him that Richie Wayne or Nightwing would close his eyes to play peekaboo or make silly voices, but it was Tim’s reality now, and the embarrassment grew with every second.

Tim put the block on the coffee table and stared at Peter’s frown. “What does he have to be mad about anyway? He’s a baby. Aren’t babies supposed to be happy?”

Dick sighed and brushed a finger along Peter’s unmoving cheek and then his lowered and reddened brows. “Tired babies aren’t.”

Peter was clearly not the only one tired. Tim felt the exhaustion of living a double life, but Dick had huge bags under his eyes and looked pale compared to his usual golden glow. It made the aches in Tim’s body feel both larger and insignificant. “Is Batman patrolling again tonight?”

Dick pressed Peter tighter against his body and kissed the top of his head. “He is. He has been for the last four days, but Mary promised to get up when Peter needs it the night after, so at least B can get some sleep while I patrol.”

It didn’t make sense. If both Peter and Dick were tired, then they should sleep. He knew how close Dick and Peter were, so it made sense that Peter would sleep worse if Dick wasn’t there, but he should be well rested if Dick had been nearby to do whatever he did to make Peter stop crying at night. They could be tired tomorrow, but they should have been well-rested right now if Dick had been at home for the past four nights.

There also seemed to be more to Peter’s sour mood than just exhaustion. Tim had seen Peter fight valiant fights against his naps, but he wasn’t usually grumpy for long stretches of time.

Peter’s tiny hand lifted and pulled at his ear. It honestly looked painful, but Peter only seemed to get madder, and he was slightly red around the left side of his mouth as if someone had hit him.

Tim startled at that. Dick wouldn’t let anyone lay a hand on Peter, and Dick couldn’t do it himself. Dick adored Peter, but Tim’s own parents had given him a few smacks in his life, and they had loved him.

Every smack had been on his hand or butt, but it had still hurt. A baby wouldn’t feel the humiliation, but the pain must have been even worse for someone Peter’s age, and on his mouth, of all places. Tim could only hope that Dick wouldn’t continue when Peter grew teeth that could be hit loose.

“Stop hurting yourself,” Dick commanded in a feather-soft voice. “It hurts me when you hurt yourself.”

The parents of one of Tim’s classmates in boarding school had said something similar. His classmate could have been lying, but laughing about one’s parents saying ‘it hurts me to hurt you’ sounded eerily similar to this.

Tim wet his lips and stared at Peter’s unmoving expression as Dick pressed a finger against the back of Peter’s hand until he let go of his ear. Peter looked at his free hand for a few moments before babbling very angrily.

It would have been funny at any other time, but Tim’s whole body felt stiff and heavy. He didn’t want Dick to be someone who could hurt a baby, especially one he seemed to be devoted to, and Tim could only live in ignorance if he never saw the evidence.

Dick shook his head slightly. “Hey, Grumpy Bee, pulling your ears half off isn’t going to make anything better.”

Peter started to growl, and alarm bells started to ring inside Tim’s head and chest. He tried to keep his voice steady, but Dick furrowed his brows when Tim suggested, “Maybe we should lay Peter down for a nap.”

Dick let out a huff. “Believe me, I’ve tried everything, but he hates sleep, is in pain, and probably a little hungry at all times.”

Tim’s eyes widened at that. Dick admitted that Peter was in active pain. The bright image of the original Robin and the only Nightwing was slowly soiled in dark reality, and Tim didn’t know what to believe anymore. Batman had been completely different since Jason Todd’s unfortunate death, but Nightwing was supposed to be a beacon of hope.

Dick turned toward the ceiling and sighed. “You know what? Maybe some food would cheer him up or let him sleep. He doesn’t easily get milk drunk anymore, but maybe he’ll be drowsy enough for a nap after he’s eaten.”

Tim knew that Peter had had a hard time eating as a newborn, but he hadn’t personally seen Peter be any less than thrilled at the prospect of food.

Peter seemed to know what was happening when Dick put him put in his high chair. Still, the pain must have been horrible, as he only drank half of the bottle Dick provided, and he refused almost every single spoonful of mashed carrots and barely tolerated any yogurt.

Peter had always been thin and couldn’t lose any weight, but Dick only sighed and stood up to unwrap a mango pit that had lain in the fridge. It was clearly too big for Peter, who could only chew on it but not bite off anything.

Peter was getting nowhere closer to getting any nutrients, but he was slowly calming down and even accepted another spoonful of yogurt before gnawing the mango pit aggressively. Spit slowly fell down Peter’s chin and onto the bib, declaring him the cutest troublemaker in the world, but it only made disgust grow as well as concern inside of Tim.

Peter was cute even when he was gross, but Tim was glad that he didn’t have to touch him when he was drooling like that. It was even worse than usual, and he left damp marks in the mango next to the other dozen marks Peter must have made before the mango was put in the fridge.

“Why aren’t we cutting the mango up for him to eat?” Tim asked when Dick offered Peter another spoonful of yogurt, only to eat it himself when Peter refused.

“Hm?” Dick turned his gaze from Peter to Tim with the tiny baby spoon still in his mouth. “Oh, it’s easier for him to hold it like this, and the mango isn’t so much for eating as soothing his gums. We cut it up for him every evening and let him have a new one every morning. I can’t wait till his mouth stops hurting.”

Tim’s mouth went dry as he realized that the illusion of Dick was already dying. He would never see Dick as a savior anymore, and inhaled deeply enough to fill the tight space inside of him. “How did he hurt his mouth?”

Dick blinked a few times with furrowed brows before his downturned mouth lifted into a bright smile. “Oh, he’s growing a tooth. The left front one in his lower jaw.”

Peter started to growl as he bit down on the mango pit, and another tiny stream of drool escaped the corners of his mouth. It sounded like a sick dog, but Dick smiled so wide that his eyes were pushed into crescents.

The image in front of Tim and the one in his pictures wavered too quickly to truly know which was which until he asked, “But why is his mouth red? Did he hit it?”

Did you hit it? He wanted to ask even as the possibility of an answer terrified him.

Dick shrugged. “Baby mouths sometimes do that when they grow teeth. He also has a low-grade fever and has lost at least an ounce since last week. His pediatrician reassured me that it’s normal, but I’ll keep an eye on it anyway.”

Tim would have to research the subject when he got home. It would either allow him to sleep tightly knowing that Dick was up with a growing baby or force him to find a way to break the news of Dick’s abuse to Bruce. He hoped for the first one and smiled when Dick pulled Peter’s lip down to show the tiny bump on Peter’s gums. The flesh around it looked even more inflamed than Peter’s lip, but still too localized for a hit, and there were no cuts in sight.

Maybe Tim could sleep well knowing that Peter was only suffering from growing pains. Peter should never be in pain, but Tim would much rather have him cry endlessly over growing teeth than utter a single whimper because of abuse.

“My little baby is growing up so fast,” Dick said with a thick voice and kissed Peter’s forehead.

Peter didn’t seem to pay any mind to Dick’s love nor his words, and angrily waved his fists around until Dick produced a pacifier from the fridge and let Peter suckle and bite it until he started to slump forward in the high chair.

It was a slow descent, but Tim was still surprised at the speed at which Dick could grab Peter and hold him for a few minutes before gingerly pulling him into his arms and opening a drawer full of cloths without looking away from Peter. He only looked away briefly to wet it under the kitchen faucet, and he seemed to be entranced by Peter’s face as soon as he started to clean around Peter’s slack mouth. “He just needed a little bit to eat and to soothe his gums. Hopefully, he’ll wake up in a better mood.”

Tim nodded, but Dick didn’t seem to notice anything as Peter started to snuffle and grunt, only to settle when Dick brushed a hand over his hair. “Isn’t he precious?”

“Yeah,” Tim mumbled. He was very precious.