Chapter Text
Damian might hate Peter.
Scratch that. Damian definitely hated Peter.
If it wasn’t obvious by the way he would avoid Peter after he came home from school, it was by the way he would glare at Peter when they were in proximity.
It wasn’t the same type of glare he gave his family—a piercing gaze that still had a loyalty to it—the glare he gave Peter was deadly. As if he were waiting for Peter to let his guard down to attack.
Peter had let his guard down multiple times, wanting to see what the older boy would do. But Jay was there every time, speaking to the “demon brat” in Arabic until he backed off.
If it wasn’t Jay with him, someone was at his side, unless it was time to sleep. Peter wasn’t dumb enough to not recognize their silent protection, but why Damian was so hellbent on harming Peter was beyond him.
Wasn’t he supposed to be a vigilante?
“Sorry,” Tim apologized for the millionth time in three days.
Damian had entered the lounging room where Tim, Steph, Duke, and Peter were playing Mario Kart, promptly glaring daggers at Peter before exiting.
Peter shrugged. “It’s my fault anyway. I shoulda just came up with something. Like Piper.”
“Peter Piper? Really? Picked a peck of pickled peppers, did you?” Steph teased, laser focused on beating Peter.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t be so bad. Or Pan.”
“Now you’re just saying anything. Why would you want to have your last name as a cooking pan?” Duke groaned when Tim threw an ability at him to slow down his character.
“As in Peter Pan. You know, the kid who stays a kid forever? The one who’s friends with Tinkerbell!”
When no one gave a sign of recognition, Peter had to swallow back the bile that threatened to rise. No Peter Pan or Tinkerbell in this universe, then.
“Anyways, it’s not your fault, Pete,” Tim reassured. “Bruce wouldn’t have offered his name if he didn’t trust you with it. Damian’s… complicated. When he first came here, he hated all of us. Dick and Cass were the first people he warmed up to. But if you asked him, he’d admit Jay’s his favorite.”
He took in the info. Digested it. Jay was his favorite, and Peter was taking him too. No wonder Damian was swift to hate him.
“What do you mean when he first came here? I thought he was Mr. Wayne’s biological kid.” Peter couldn’t help but deflect.
Steph winced. Duke perked his attention to the conversation.
“Like I said, he’s complicated. He lived with his mom for a few years before he started living in Wayne Manor. Still, he’s protective of the family. But if you want to fish for a backstory, you’ll have to go straight to the source for this one.” Tim gave him a smile, recognizing the light prodding Peter was doing about the family.
Peter would never find out.
Steph groaned when she got second place. Again.
Setting her DS on the couch, she looked at Peter seriously. “Don’t sweat about it, kid. It’ll blow over eventually. He has mood swings all the time.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Duke half-heartedly warned, settling into the beanbag. “And you don’t have to call him Mr. Wayne. Bruce isn’t really a Mr. Wayne sort.”
Peter glided over what Duke said. There was no way he was calling Batman Bruce. The guy who literally ruled Gotham by night, and day as his civilian self, according to his wealth.
“It’s true, though. A month ago he was ignoring me because I didn’t knock on his door.” Tim sounded exasperated, but there was a lightness to him despite it.
“So he won’t be mad at me forever?” Peter hesitated to ask, his voice dipping into a whisper.
“No, Petey-Pie. He won’t be mad forever.” Tim dipped his voice to match Peter’s tone. “He shouldn’t even be mad at you anyway.”
Peter still felt his body tense up. Not at his voice, but at the nickname. The same nickname Tony rarely called him by—only in those teasing moments in the lab. Everything in his body was ringing to retaliate. To set a boundary between the nickname and himself. Tim shouldn’t be calling him that.
But.
But it made Peter’s heart settle. The kind when he and May would eat from their favorite Thai place. The kind when he and Tony would work together in the lab. The kind when he, MJ, and Ned would build with LEGOS.
And Peter knew he shouldn’t allow it. Shouldn’t allow anyone to get close. The words wouldn’t form anyway.
“When will he not? Hate me, I mean.”
Steph’s eyes softened. “He doesn’t hate you, Bug. He needs to talk to his dad and sort out his emotions, but he doesn’t hate you. When will he stop giving you the silent treatment? That’s a gambler's guess.”
He huffed. It felt too much like when Tony had taken his suit. Ostracized.
Friend coming! Friend coming!
At that moment, Jay decided to enter.
“C’mon, Peter. B and I are taking ya for your placement test.”
Peter was standing, relieved he had an out from the conversation and the tension coursing through his body. He needed an out from the manor, and judging by Jay’s rigid posture, so did he.
“What’s it for?”
“School, genius. They aren’t just gonna stick ya in third grade and call it a day. It’s a whole process. There are levels within the grade, so they hafta see where ya fit.”
Peter waved the trio goodbye, not noticing the concerned looks all three of them were giving him.
“Why wasn’t Cass with ya guys?” Jay asked along the way to Peter’s room. He’d have to grab a coat if they were going out.
Peter zoned back in. “Hm? Oh, I think she’s at Babs. Or they’re doing something together. Steph was talking too fast for me to catch.”
“Too fast for you, really? Ya can talk a million miles a minute.”
Peter could tell that Jay was teasing by the lifted corner of his lip. Not a smile, but a smirk.
“That doesn’t mean I can hear at the same pace!”
With a coat on and Signal in his hand, Peter was ready to go.
“Want the seat heater on?” Mr. Wayne asked, starting the car up.
Peter debated whether he should take advantage of Mr. Wayne’s kindness or not. “Yes, please.” He decided on, the cold settling into his bones even with the layers of clothing on.
He watched as Mr. Wayne and Jay both reached for the button, Jay shoving his hand past the older man to get to it first. He was looking smugly at Mr. Wayne, wrapping the seat belt around him as he did so.
“You’re getting slow, old man. Keep up.”
Mr. Wayne wasn’t bothered by the comment. Instead, he was relieved. As if he were expecting something worse to come out of the younger man's mouth.
By the time they pulled into the Gotham Academy parking lot, Peter had melted into the heated seat. His eyes were struggling to stay open. He was so warm, the car heating up like a blanket basking him in its thickness. If he had the choice, he would stay curled up there forever.
“C’mon, Pete.”
Jay opened the backseat door, both of the men already outside of the car. Peter hadn’t even heard the doors open, let alone close.
He shook off the remaining drowsiness, hopping out of the car with a newfound energy. The hand that wasn’t holding Signal slid into Jay’s, the man pausing before gripping Peter back.
The inside of the academy was as wealthy as its benefactors. Midtown High had only been a public magnet school—but this place was another level of magnet. Trophies and certificates lined the large entrance, a physical display to any newcomer that this wasn’t an average school. It was full of smart kids—with rich parents. Probably was so rich that they had scholarships for the economically poor intellectual kids to attend.
“Mr. Wayne! A pleasure to see you again, sir.” A woman greeted them at the front, her attire all business and sharpness.
Don’t like. Don’t… trust!
Her wry smile meant nothing good, especially as she looked at Jay and the scars lining his face with a burning question.
“Principal Salvatore. I’m sure you’ve been well.” Mr. Wayne didn’t phrase it as a question.
Peter knew, just as Jay and Ms. Salvatore knew, Mr. Wayne didn’t phrase it as a question because he didn’t care. Which was interesting. Very interesting. Mr. Wayne had beef with the principal.
He didn’t need to know why or what the beef was about. He was instantly on Mr. Wayne’s side. This woman meant nothing but bad news.
He tucked himself closer to Jay’s side, wanting to make himself as invisible as possible. Maybe he didn’t want to go to school.
“As well as someone can manage an entire school. You’re here for Peter… Wayne’s placement test?” She squinted at the paper in her hand, as if she read it wrong.
“Yes. You aren’t the proctor, are you?” Mr. Wayne let his dislike bleed into his words, but Ms. Salvatore wasn’t thrown off by it.
“Of course not. Dr. Banner is already waiting in the room. You two are more than welcome to wait in the lobby, however.”
Peter perked at the name. Dr. Banner? No. It couldn’t be. Probably just another Doctor who happened to have the same last name. Plenty of people had the same last name. Like Smith. Why the fuck was there a Smith everywhere?
Jay patted his head, as if he were an obedient prairie dog. Peter felt the urge to bite his hand but resisted the temptation, since Jay was starting to card his fingers throughout it.
He could get used to this, which was exactly why he pulled away.
“We’ll be out here, kid. After we can go get anything ya want to eat.”
“Anything?” He turned to Mr. Wayne for confirmation.
“Of course,” he replied as if it were that simple.
“You’ll have one hundred questions and two hours to answer them. A calculator and pencil are provided for you in the testing room. Any form of cheating will have you immediately disqualified.” Ms. Salvatore explained the basics.
Peter wanted to roll his eyes. No shit.
“Good luck, Peter. I’m sure you’ll do well.” Mr. Wayne encouraged, patting his shoulder.
Jay added on, “He’ll do more than well.”
“Thanks, guys. I think I got this in the bag. But hey! You never know. Can you watch after Signal for me?”
He put the toy in Jay’s care, doe eyes making him cave faster than usual.
“Yup. Won’t let B bore him with his boringness and boring face.”
They shared a laugh.
The principal guided him further into the building, the two men taking seats in the main entrance. Even the seats were really expensive, no cracks or stains hinting at a proposal for better equipment processing by the school board.
When he was led into a room where Dr. Banner stood, he was glad to be met with a darkskinned man, locs of hair reaching his shoulders.
Unconsciously, Peter let out a sigh of relief. If it had been Bruce… what would he have done? Run to him? Hug him? Cry to him about all his problems? Peter was glad he didn’t have to decide anymore.
“Peter Wayne, right?” The man asked with a smile, greeting the principal just as uncaring as Mr. Wayne had. “I’m Dr. Banner.”
Not Peter Parker.
“Mhm. Nice to meet you, sir.”
Dr. Banner didn’t get to respond.
“Alright, pleasantries over. Here’s his test, Markus. I want that man out of my lobby, so get on with it.” She snidely said before walking out.
Once the door shut, Dr. Banner focused back on Peter. “Nice to meet you, too, little Wayne. You a new kid of Bruce Wayne? Or no correlation? Guessing by her scowl… I’m thinking the former.”
“She’s just a bunch of rainbows and happiness, isn’t she?” Peter couldn’t help but remark. He was glad when Dr. Banner laughed along. “As for being a new kid of Bruce Wayne—yes. For six months.”
“Six months? What, is he leasing you?”
Peter shrugged. “It’s not a permanent thing.”
“Alright, alright. Here are the conditions. Based on your scores, you will be placed in one of the five levels in third grade. Five being the highest. If you score past the marks for level five, there will be additional questions provided in order to gauge your level for the next grade. Beware, these questions are not easy.”
“We’ll see about that.”
The doctor squinted. “You really should start this test before she comes back. She has a sixth sense for these things. And good luck to you.”
The test didn’t take Peter the entire two hours. He was an hour in and checking it for the second time, his mind going numb.
“Finished already?” Dr. Banner asked from his seat at the head of the classroom.
Peter sheepishly nodded his head, placing the stapled papers on his desk. He hated being that kid. The one who always finished early and would cause teachers a headache. They always hated how fast Peter was. How much more he knew. Which—fair. When they were expecting a thirty-minute break from energetic children all day, Peter would swoop in with his endless movement and his high-pitched “Done!”
Peter couldn’t help it, though. His mind had always moved at a faster pace than his teachers—but once there were parents at home to challenge him more than he knew—quelling down his fast pace. After they died, Peter became more of a nuisance. That wasn’t to say Uncle Ben or May were dumb—they just didn’t know things that either of his parents did.
“Yes, sir.”
“Awe, Pete. Call me Dr. B. I’ll have this graded real quick, no problem.”
Oh. He was grading it while Peter was still there. He knew he got every answer right—but still.
After a few minutes of Dr. Banner tracing the key along with the test, his eyebrows were raised by the time he was done.
“Not a single question wrong? I must say, I was not expecting that.”
Peter was biting his cheek. He was always causing problems.
Yet, Dr. Banner didn’t look mad, and his heartbeat was steady.
“Were these questions difficult for you, Peter?”
He shook his head.
“None of them? Not even one you had to think twice about?” He didn’t sound convinced.
“No, Mr. B. I’m sorry.”
The man let out a startled laugh. “Sorry? Whatever for, kiddo? Nothing to be sorry about.”
Even with his light tone, Peter could hear the new worry in it. Peter shrugged, unable to answer.
“This isn’t the first time this has happened. I’ll tell you what. I should have a new set of questions and a copy for you to take in a few hours. Come back then?”
“Is Ms. Salvatore okay with that?”
“Is Ms. Salvatore okay with what?” The very woman said as she entered. Her thin lips were scrunched together, making them impossibly smaller.
“Peter passed with flying colors. I’ll need him to return in a few hours for another set of questions.” Dr. Banner easily filled.
She looked reluctant to agree.
“Of course, Mr. Wayne and Peter can happily wait here while I make another. Or come back another day.”
“Fine, fine.”
“That’s wonderful, Bug.” Mr. Wayne said when Ms. Salvatore ushered them out of the building for the next hour. “The same thing happened with Tim and Damian. They both said the second test was significantly harder.”
“Don’t try to discourage him, B.” Jay practically growled in the passenger seat.
Peter’s eyes filtered onto Mr. Wayne, waiting for his reaction.
“I wasn’t trying to discourage him.” He turned to Peter, “I wasn’t trying to discourage you. I’m sure you’ll do amazing just as you did on the first.”
Peter had to stop himself from cackling in the man’s face. “Love the pep talk, Mr. Wayne.”
“Bruce,” Mr. Wayne reminded. “Call me Bruce.”
“Also love the confidence, but not happening.”
Jay had no qualms about laughing in his face. The older man looked like he wanted to retaliate, but kept his mouth shut as he stared at Jay. As if he was taking the moment in.
Jay’s laugh hedged off when he realized Mr. Wayne was staring at him, not laughing along, but looking at him with something soft in his eyes.
The green sparked in defiance, and Peter took that as his cue to speak.
“Can we go get food now? Please?”
The green faded, and Jay was back.
“Ya heard the kid, B. Let’s go get food.”
Mr. Wayne shot Peter one last look—a look that read of curiosity and a dawning understanding.
“Where to?”
“Bat Burger! I want another toy!” He finally had Signal back in his grasp.
“Alfred is going to kill me,” Mr. Wayne said.
“That’s what makes it so good.” Jay agreed.
Peter hadn’t thought about how it would hurt the man's feelings. After all, he continuously cooked for the entire family. Was he expecting them to eat lunch at the manor?
“Should we… not go there?” Since he was sitting in the middle of the backseat, it was easy to see the way they turned and looked at each other. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
Mr. Wayne returned his focus to the road, but Jay was the one to turn back and look him in the eyes.
“Definitely not. No feelings will be hurt in the process. Trust us, kid.”
Trust friend!
Peter did, and they were once more on the inside of Bat Burger. Peter didn’t waste any time in opening the package this time, skipping his food altogether.
“Who’s this?” Peter held up a figure with a red helmet on, the rest of his clothes combat-looking.
Jay smiled. A real one, and large. “Red Hood.”
Peter recognized the name from a few of the monickers next to Batman. He was one of the many vigilantes who roamed Gotham.
He was practically cheesing. No. Not practically. This man was cheesing. Oh. Oh, Jay was so Red Hood.
He made it so obvious. Well, not really. It didn’t help that he was associating himself with the entire crew of vigilantes, but to be fair, he thought Peter wouldn’t put two and two together.
“Why does he have guns on him? Does he kill people?” He noticed the holsters on each side of the figurine.
Mr. Wayne’s eyebrows furrowed, his lips thinning as he looked away. That was a yes.
“Only the people who deserve it.” Jay said.
Peter, who was having a crisis on if Jay was a cold blooded killer, had missed what he said. He didn’t miss the tightening in Mr. Wayne’s jaw, though.
“Hm?”
“I said, only the people who deserve it.” He didn’t elaborate.
Green Goblin deserved it. Peter wished it had been Red Hood who was there with him when May died.
Red Hood might be his new favorite.
Because Mr. Wayne clearly did not like the aspect of killing, Peter didn’t say “Cool,” like he wanted to. He nodded as if there wasn’t anything special about it. Once, Peter would have detested any form of killing. But now he knows. Now he knows that some people are just that. People. Evil. While there could be a good. Could be a redemption. It wasn’t designed for everyone.
He took his time in eating the food, his stomach no longer constantly begging to be filled because surprise!—having a normal diet will do that to you. Who would have thought?
Four Batburgers and twelve Robin-nuggets later, Peter was actively judging Jay on how he ate.
“You’re a slob,” Peter plainly put it. “It’s like you’re trying to miss the food going into your mouth on purpose. And you don’t have to eat that fast. Do you get stomach aches?”
Jay rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know. I could give lessa shit if I’m a slob. And no, I don’t get stomach aches.”
“Language, Jay.” Mr. Wayne scolded.
Jay waved his hand, the flaccid movement to shoo someone off. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I guess that makes sense since half the food is ending up on the table. Seriously, you’re just wasting food at this point.” Peter admonished.
It really wasn’t an exaggeration either. More than crumbs lined Jay’s side. It was chunks of food, the man too busy shoveling it in his mouth to care if pieces broke off.
“Hey, stop hating. I don’t talk about how you clean the entire plate. Crumbs and all.”
Point taken.
“That’s because of my high metabolism, thank you very much. You know, food isn’t supposed to make you cranky. It should do the opposite.”
He looked at Mr. Wayne for backup, not really expecting the man to join in on the teasing.
“Jay always gets cranky after eating. As if the food is fueling his attitude.” There was a shimmer to him—an accompanying memory.
Peter giggled. An honest to god giggle.
“That’s kind of on brand.” And because he was feeling risky, he asked, “Can I get ice cream?”
They both stared at him.
“Is that wise? You aren’t able to thermo-regulate and it is cold outside.” Mr. Wayne questioned.
“Pleaseeee? It’ll be fine! I’m inside so that counteracts it, right?” Peter wasn’t beneath whining.
If Mr. Wayne didn’t want to get Peter ice cream, that was fine. What was not fine was using Peter’s own problems against him.
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“B, just get the damn kid some ice cream. There’s logic to his ramblings. And if he starts to go into a coma, we’ll just—I don’t know. Take it away.”
Peter got the ice cream. Chocolate ice cream, because it was the absolute superior between that and vanilla. It melted against his taste buds, and despite his stiffening shoulders, he ate the entire thing.
Mr. Wayne also got chocolate, much to Peter’s approval.
Jay ordered a neapolitan. Fucking wild. Strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla. This man was not limiting himself.
“Never would have taken you for a three-in-one person.”
Jay moaned around a bite. “Never would have thought you would think so little of me.”
When they returned to Gotham Academy, Dr. Banner was the one to greet them in the lobby.
No one had to ask why.
The second round of testing was more up to Peter’s speed. He took advantage of the full two hours, even uncertain about a handful of the questions.
“I’ll call you with the results, Brucie.” Dr. B addressed with a casual smile on his face.
Mr. Wayne’s entire energy shifted. “Thank you, Dr. B! I’m hoping you’ll be at the next gala?”
Peter looked at Jay for an answer, tugging on his sleeve until he leaned down to his height. “Why is he acting like that?” He whispered.
Jay snorted. Whispering his own response he said, “Meet Brucie Wayne. Eccentric billionaire of Gotham.”
He floundered. “Billionaire?! I thought a millionaire at most. I wonder if he’s richer than Tony Stark.” Peter said the last part under his breath, but judging by the way Mr. Wayne looked back at them, he had too.
“Where’d you find this kid? A different universe?” Dr. B joked.
Friend funny!
How right he was.
Mr. Wayne, or Brucie, laughed boisterously along.
“Will Peter be at the gala as well? Another new face to parade around for the masses?”
Mr. Wayne shrugged his shoulders. “We haven’t spoken about it. I guess you’ll find out when you arrive.”
Dr. B laughed smoothly, as if he were used to his antics.
“How is Damian doing in your class?” The older man suddenly turned serious again.
It was an instantaneous switch, almost at lightning speed as the thunder clapped in Peter’s face. Dr. B noticed it too, standing straighter like he was talking to the parent of his student rather than a socialite.
“Exceptional as always! Jon’s been helping him socialize, that sweet kid. He hasn’t mocked a student in over a week.”
“That being a goal is just sad.” Jay said.
The identical looking billionaire hummed in agreement. “Improvement is improvement. Nonetheless.”
They promptly exited after a round of goodbyes, Signal and Red Hood in each hand like a double blaster rifle grip.
As they stepped foot into the manor, Mr. Pennyworth was greeting them with a tray of sandwiches.
“Hello, Sirs. I’m sure you’re famished after a long errand.”
And despite the mass of food he had eaten earlier, Peter could definitely eat a sandwich.
“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth! This is so good.” He said around a mouthful of bread and all the bits inside.
He held out his hand, a juice box in his grip. Peter happily took it.
“Please, my boy. Call me Alfred.” His tender voice soothed.
Peter shook his head. “Damian calls you Pennyworth. So what if I add a Mister?”
“He’s got you there, Alfie. What now?” Jay egged on.
Mr. Pennyworth wasn’t impressed. “You are far too old to be goading this old man. Now, take a sandwich and go on.”
Both of the men took a sandwich, probably full from Bat Burger but unwilling to say no.
“Never too old for that, and you know it.”
“Don’t I,” he agreed.
The manor felt empty today. Not extremely so, since Steph, Duke, Tim, and Damian were back from school. But Dick had left yesterday and hadn’t been back since. Babs didn’t live there, and Cass had decided to go with her when classes let out.
The manor was still so big, that despite the number of people being there, it still felt sparse.
The three teenagers hadn’t moved since Peter left.
“Pete! Jay! Come watch a movie with us!” Steph called out, pausing whatever was on the television.
Peter didn’t make a move to sit, instead staring at the scene as if it were a bomb about to go off. It was dangerous to insert himself more into the family dynamics. He would be leaving in six months, and he didn’t want to give them false hope. His presence only brought death, hence why he stayed away.
But then Tim patted the seat next to him, and Peter was following the command before he could register his body moving. It felt so safe under the piles of blankets and pillows, cushions from the couch padding him even more. Jay joined on his other side, cocooning Peter.
He felt such an urge to web them to the ceiling, to keep them safe and protected. Warm. But on the couch felt nice too.
He wasn’t paying much attention to the movie, something about a bank heist and the horrible team executing it. He was content enough to close his eyes, that was until he heard the gunshots halfway through.
“Uncle Ben! Uncle Ben, please! Please, wake up! I’m sorry! Wake up!”
He stiffened, clenching his teeth.
The movie was thankfully paused when Mr. Wayne entered, pulling Peter out of his self-angst. Everyone’s attention turned to the man, Mr. Pennyworth coming in behind him.
He was pleased, his usual icy eyes melted into a snow. “Congratulations Peter. They placed you in fourth grade, level five. You did exceptionally well on your tests.”
And Peter was taken out of the cold plunge he was thrown into.
“That’s great! The second test was a little harder. I wonder what I got wrong to only make a level five?” Peter thought out loud.
Stephanie was dumbfounded. “Only? Only? Pete, levels four and five are for the nerds. Like mega nerds. Should be multiple grades ahead—nerds. You, my friend, are a massive one. There is no only in that. I think the only reason they don’t just send the kids up the chainlink is cuz they know we’d eat them alive.”
“I’m taking offense to this as a level five,” Tim grumbled.
“Don’t make everything about you, Tim.” Duke snarked.
“Hey! As a level five—“
“How come they didn’t just put me in fifth grade?” Peter cut off. “Do they think I can’t do it?” There was a note of challenge there.
Sure, the questions had gotten more difficult—things he should remember but was having a fuzzy time recalling unless his dad or mom had taught it to him beforehand. It was concerning, considering the fact that Before he couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to his dad or mom. He had pushed it so far out of his head—now they felt like his most recent memories.
Everything else was still there. Tony. The Avengers. MJ and Ned. Yet his memories containing them felt distant, as if the old and new memories swapped places on a time scale.
“Calm down, Einstein. It’s not as easy as you think it is.” Tim drawled, a teasing lilt to it.
Einstein.
Einstein.
“Hey, Einstein!”
Skip entered the small home of the Parkers. It was a modest three-bedroom apartment, a room for their beloved only child, a room for the loving couple, and their shared office. Toys were in the living room, the majority of them in Peter’s room, who came running out.
Peter had goggles on his face, a pair that fit since Richard was adamant that a scientist couldn’t work with unfit equipment.
“Skip! Finally! Mommy said ya were gonna be here thirty minutes ago! What took you so long? Come look at the experiment me and Daddy are doing.”
The six-year-old was practically bouncing off the walls, pulling the blonde teenager into the dining room.
Lying across the table were several beakers, all with different colors of liquid inside of them.
“Sorry. They were doing maintenance on the L train. You know how it is.” Skip told Richard.
The man had a briefcase in hand, hair unfurled in a mess of brown curls. “Don’t worry about it, Skip. I knew you wouldn’t skip out on us.”
Peter was amused, giggling along with his Mom who exited the kitchen.
“There’s leftover food in the fridge for lunch. Feel free to order in for dinner.” Her sultry voice offered, grabbing her own briefcase and keys.
Peter remembered feeling safe.
“Bye, honeybear. I love you.” Mary said.
“Me too, sport. Remember, no chemicals down the drains!”
And they were gone. The door was closed, and naive Peter turned back to Skip.
“Wanna help me finish the experiment?” He was already bulldozing his way toward the setup. Mommy and Daddy always told him to be nice.
Unlike the usual fanatic response of “Yes! Let’s do this, Einstein.”, Skip was standing there, fists clenching and unclenching.
He looked unsure.
“Skip? Do ya want ta?” Thinking his trepidation was because of a rule, Peter encouraged him. “It’s okay, we’re allowed.”
That pushed Skip over.
He hummed. “What do you say we clean this up and have an experiment of our own?”
Peter, young and wanting to please, bit his lip. “But Daddy really wanted to see—“
“Daddy’s not here right now, Peter. I am. You two can do it some other time. He’s never here, yet we’re always doing what he wants. C’mon, Einstein. Do you really want to hurt my feelings?”
And Peter couldn’t say no to that.
He remembered thinking his parents would never leave him with someone bad. But they didn’t know. Never knew.
He cleaned up the experiment he didn’t get to finish, storing the liquids in a container that would decant them until they weren’t so radioactive. Skip pulled out a packet of magazines, and Peter could feel the air in the apartment shift.
Then he raped Peter on the couch. Made him promise he wouldn’t tell anyone.
“Who would watch you when your parents are gone, Einstein?”
Peter’s ears were distantly ringing as his soul was ripped from his body. He stared at the center of the floor, unblinking as his heart rabbited in his ribcage. It wanted to escape, and Peter did too.
Nothing felt real. Not the soft blanket. Not the fluffy pillow. Not the bodies surrounding him. Not even the actors on the screen. Peter didn’t feel real.
He felt a million miles away from his body.
This didn’t happen to him often. It mostly started after Skip, then progressed when Uncle Ben had died, a third person too many. Moments where Peter wasn’t mentally there, tethered to his body like a boat is to a ramp. One cut away from being lost at sea forever.
May called it dissociation. When Peter would look at the world through a pane of glass. When he would have gaps in his memories, and feel completely disconnected to the current. It was why he had barely remembered Skip as he got older, just the feeling he would get all over his body when the name was said. Disgust. But he wasn’t seventeen anymore. Eleven years hadn’t gone by yet. Only two.
She wasn’t here to help, and all he could do was remember.
A hand was gripping his. Squeezing it intermittently. The touch didn’t make him skitter away, his body instinctively knowing he was safe here.
And it wasn’t like Before where he thought he was safe. Now he had additional senses that would tell him the truth.
Safe…safe, Peter. Calm.
That’s strange. What was going on?
Friend saying hello!…Friend hello!
It took some time and effort but Peter was finally able to focus on the motion, blinking as he looked down at his hand. It still didn’t feel real, like he wasn’t meant to be here, but the hand in his was.
“You okay, Bug?” Mr. Wayne’s voice came from somewhere around him.
His voice was much deeper than Skip’s and it was a relief.
Peter couldn’t fight past the sandpaper in his throat. He couldn’t move his head either.
Instead, he focused on the scarred hand in his. Still squeezing.
Release. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze.
It evened his breathing. He could hear conversation all around him, but to his muddled and uncaring ears, it was indistinguishable.
Eventually he was able to grip back, the feeling of healed tissue and rough calluses slowly registering in Peter’s mind. His surroundings came to him, one blink at a time.
What was going on?
“Are you alright, dear boy?”
His tongue felt too heavy to move, so he hummed. It wasn’t the confirming sound he wanted. It sounded confused even to him.
Another round of voices. This time Peter could tell they were worried. Was he doing that? Was he making them worried? Peter didn’t want to make anyone worry ever again. He wasn’t worth it.
Someone made a shushing sound, and Peter fell quiet along with the other voices.
“Not you, Master Peter. Oh, not you. Master Jay, keep holding his hand. The rest of you must leave.”
Peter was distantly aware of the movement around him. People leaving? Someone else staying? Soda being opened?
Then he felt the sweet and acidic taste of cherry in his mouth. Taking tentative sips of the soda, he blinked back into awareness as the fizz hit the inside of his cheeks and Jay squeezed his hand.
Mr. Pennyworth was kneeling in front of him, Jay and Mr. Wayne on either side of him. Mr. Wayne kept a safe distance while Jay kept the pattern of pressure.
“Jay?” He managed.
There was a pause in the rhythm, but only momentarily. “Yeah, Pete. I’m here. I’m here.”
If it were anyone who could protect Peter, it would be Jay.
He scrambled into the man’s side, practically trying to fuse their bodies together. His eyes darted around wildly, waiting for someone to take advantage of him while he was on the sofa.
When no one did, and Jay remained by his side, not defending him, but not letting him go either, he allowed himself to take a deep breath.
“You are in Wayne Manor, Peter. Gotham, New Jersey. Master Jay is holding your hand. Master Bruce is on your other side, should you need him. And I am here, in front of you. Would you like more Super Cherry?”
He was in Wayne Manor. In New Jersey. Not his New Jersey, but a New Jersey. Far away from Skip. He was with Jay and Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth. He had soda—which was called Super Cherry—because everything here was named after a superhero, vigilante, or villain.
He nodded. The acidic fizz was helping center him.
He wasn’t with Skip. It was okay. There were no prying hands trying to tear his clothes off. No words trying to convince him to just let it happen. No burning shame or disgust or pain.
“Are you back with us, my boy?” Mr. Pennyworth quizzed.
“‘M sorry.” Peter said as he always did when he came out of one of his funks.
It would worry May and Ned to death. MJ had been calmer about it, but only because she didn’t worry about anything. Peter always ran out in time before it stumped him around Mr. Stark. He didn’t want to add people to the list.
He was having trouble focusing his vision, but he could clearly see the frown on the older man’s face.
“Nothing to apologize for.” He fixed some of Peter’s curls with a gloved hand.
Jay didn’t release him. “Are you alright, Peter?”
Peter tried to shrug it off as nothing, even if he felt exhausted. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to remember.
“Yeah. Always happenin’.”
“This has happened before?” Mr. Pennyworth’s voice was tightening by the minute, but still kind. “How long have you had these episodes? How frequent are they?”
Peter recognized that tone. It was the same one May would have right before she sent him to bed rest.
He didn’t want that, so instead of a confusing answer of eleven years, despite him not reaching double digits in age, Peter shrugged.
“For a little bit,” He mumbled, the spacey feeling creeping back on him.
Like whiplash, Mr. Pennyworth changed the subject.
“No worries, Master Peter. I will go get you a snack.”
And not that Peter was hungry, but he wouldn’t say no either. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.”
Jay didn’t move from his side. Instead, he pulled him closer. Peter was comforted by the warmth and weight, feeling like a cub hiding behind its mother.
“You’re safe, Bug.” Mr. Wayne said.
Not expecting anything from Peter in return. It was the pure truth, not meant to comfort or cushion—but fact. Peter could tell by how steady Mr. Wayne’s heart was when he said it.
“Do you want to stay here? You can go to your room if you feel better there.”
Something in Peter’s gut twisted. Of course, they weren’t fine with Peter having a freak out. They wanted to punish him—to send him to his room until he learned his lesson.
“Whatever is going through your head is not what I mean.” Mr. Wayne cut his thoughts off. “I just want you to be comfortable. Whether that's in your room, here, or the kitchen. I just want you to be comfortable.”
Peter needed to get off the couch, but he couldn’t go to his room either and risk falling asleep.
“Can we go to the dining room?”
The dining room was safe. Where real experiments happened.
“Yeah, kid.”
Mr. Wayne and Jay said at the same moment. It was like being near a present and future version at the same time.
So they went downstairs. Peter ate another sandwich with Super Cherry. No one pressured him to say a thing, but he could feel their searching gazes anyway.