Chapter Text
20th December 2014
What does a man buy his newfound son?
That was the predominant thought in the mind of Dick Grayson. A challenge, certainly - made all the worse by his wonderfully frustrating family.
All the childhood milestones were previously accomplished. Dick couldn’t very well buy his kid his first bike, not when he was sure that Peter hadn’t already ticked that off with his uncle. Certainly not a pet, not when there were already a half dozen of Damian’s animals traipsing the manor. Bruce surely wouldn’t want another dog running around the manor, nor another cat to startle him as it leapt from some high surface.
Peter, bless his heart, had told Dick that he was just happy to have a nice day with his family. And God, if that didn’t melt his heart. All his kid wanted was to be with them, to know that he had somewhere safe - full of love and trust - to lay his head and spend his days.
Jason apparently had Christmas ‘in the bag’. Whatever he’d bought Peter was supposedly perfect, not that he would share what it was. Instead, he would look to his elder brother with a truly smug expression.
None of his other siblings were much help. The older lot of teens were all keeping rather quiet about their ideas, likely having plotted together over their presents for their newest family member. Damian was similarly secretive. Considering that he spent the most time with Peter, he surely had the best ideas out of the bunch. But when Dick hinted at needing help, the boy had merely raised a brow and asked Dick if he thought himself an incompetent father.
At least the kid had only meant it as a chastisement for Dick’s stress, not as an insult. He hoped so, anyways.
In the end, his utter lack of a clue led him to Bruce’s door.
Behind the dark wood (startling ever so slightly, as Dick was not the type to knock whilst panicking), Bruce Wayne was quickly minimising the tabs on his too-bright computer screen. Though the man was practiced at masking his emotions, his son was not blind to the flash of guilt that crossed the man’s eyes.
With a hefty sigh, Dick leant against the door frame and raised a brow.
“Morning, Bruce.” He grinned as his adoptive father tried to suppress a gulp. “Up to the usual, huh?”
“Whatever do you mean, chum?” Bruce spoke flatly.
With a roll of his eyes, Dick strode through the room - quick to knock Bruce’s hand before he could try and block his eldest son from reopening the previous tabs. His eyes roamed the screen, scanning through maps and signals until he glanced to Bruce with narrowed eyes.
“Are you…” Dick blinked, squinting at the screen, “tracking Ethan Bennett?”
It was the only logical conclusion. Though there was no name on the screen, who else could Bruce Wayne be hunting? Who else would be in the Metropolis cemetery? Dick clicked open the other tabs, scrolling through page after page of notes. Contingencies attached at the side in hasty notes - plans for each route that Ethan Bennett might take. Warning set to ring if the man ever stepped foot in Gotham again, notes on how to safely get Peter to safety if his former father ever got too close.
Despite the… overall intensity, it was somewhat endearing to see the lengths Bruce would go to just to keep Peter safe. Dick had worried greatly about how Bruce might treat his grandson in the revelation of Peter’s dual nature. Both a Metropolis kid lost to cultist bullshit and a superhero of another world, lost to a war that he would not speak of in full.
Whatever Peter Parker had fought… it was more than just some purple alien and a configured glove of fancy rocks. It was a guilt that Peter carried with himself, every single day. Half of another universe walked within him, trapped inside the stone in his chest. Billions of souls that he had to get back to another world.
Dick would be lying if he said that it didn’t terrify him. Because, however slim it may be, there was a possibility that he wouldn’t have his son at the end of this fight. If Peter managed to save his home universe… there was a risk that he would go back with the billions of souls in the gem. Best case, he got to keep half of his son. Worst case, he would lose both Peter Bennett and Parker in saving a universe that he would never know.
And while he spent sleepless nights just thinking about that possibility, Bruce was tracking the man that had once changed his son’s diapers.
“He was my friend, once.” Bruce finally sighed. “But he’s spent too many years seeking blood for me to hope that he might stay quiet just because he cannot fight as he used to.”
“Bruce.” Dick frowned, gesturing to the map. “He’s… he’s grieving. He lost his brother, had to give up his son.”
“Grief can make monsters of us all,” was the man’s reply. “A connection to your clone doesn’t make him good, Dick. It makes him dangerous in a very different way.”
“So you’d rather believe him to be a monster forever, than hope he might change?”
“My expectations are not high for his salvation.”
“He’s going around, begging us to stop his sister from hurting Peter, and you wanna call him a villain, still? Fuck. I always knew you were paranoid, but I hadn’t realised you were…” he exhaled slowly, fingers reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose, “you barely forgave Jason.”
The man spun to look at him, eyes slightly widened.
“Where has that come from?”
“Reality.” He snorted in reply. “You’re so… confident that your low expectations must be correct, that you can’t bring yourself to trust him again. And if you can’t trust your own son, why in the hell would you trust your oldest friend?”
“Dick-“ Bruce winced as his son huffed sharply, stepping back from the desk. Dick raised a hand to halt Bruce’s speech - scoffing as he turned to the door. As he walked through, something caught inside his stomach. A dread, an unsettling puzzle that the man was beginning to solve - one buried deep inside his soul.
“I have never known where the line is drawn between sacrifice and self-slaughter.” Dick spoke, fingers rested on the frame. “I have you to thank for that.”
And then, with all the silence of a man trained to fight since childhood, Dick Grayson drifted room the room - not even a squeak of his shoe against the flooring.
——
25th December 2014
Over time, Peter had slowly begun to emerge from the closet in his too-big bedroom. Most nights, he slept in the large bed in the centre of the room. It was like sleeping in a cloud, or some other whimsical description. An experience he’d never had before, not in either rendition of his life.
He felt so… small.
Peter walked the halls of a massive mansion, he sat in a giant dining room, played video games in a room with a ceiling that would take three Jason’s stacked on top of each other to reach.
Most days, it made him feel inhuman. Othered by his smallness in this space, like a spider skirting the rafters of another family’s home. He would spend all day with uncles that went to the same school that he had briefly gone to, barely giving himself a moment to just… feel anything but the overwhelming sensation of being more spider than boy.
It wasn’t something he talked about. Not when Dick was so glad that his newfound son was slotting into his family. Not when… well, not when Peter really did feel like he had a family. He just… he wasn’t like the rest of them. Not fully human, not even fully from their world at all.
In the early darkness of the morning, Peter regarded his additional eyes in the closet mirror - the light swishing and spinning through his bedroom like strands of a web.
Sometimes, he forgot they were there. Sealed tight on his forehead, it was easy to ignore the itch and pretend like he was normal. Other times, he was all too aware of this disparity from his prior self. Not quite as human as he had been before - changed irrevocably by his rebirth in this world. A little more odd, a little less of the Peter he was born as. Asthmatic but flexible, awkward but kind.
Now, he was just… uncomfortable. Uneasy in his skin, in the body of his younger doppelgänger - a terrified child woven through his soul, etched with all his memories. Marred by traits so inhuman that it unsettled him. He radiated an aura that literally gave Duke a headache if they spent too much time together - a radiation from the stone in his chest that burned his heart as he watched the boy wince and smile awkwardly on retreat.
Duke… he tried, he really did. But part of Duke’s power was seeing just how inhuman Peter was. And though Peter had never flashed the boy his additional eyes, he could see Duke’s gaze flicker towards them every once in a while.
It just made him more glad he was hiding them.
Though, as much as he wished to conceal it from everyone, the changes were not unnoticed by Damian. Kindly, as the abrasive boy always was beneath his grumpy demeanour, Damian had not pressed Peter about it. He’d recited facts about different species of spiders, about all these traits that made Peter something ‘extraordinary’. Murmurs of how every animal had a role in the ecosystem, of how Peter had one of the most important roles of all.
Spiders were protectors. They kept the house clean and safe and removed all pests that might harm those inside. And Damian had always liked animals more than people, anyways.
So when Damian opened Peter’s door on Christmas morning, Peter did not force his additional eyes shut. Instead, he turned to face his best friend in this new world with all his vision. He looked to him with hues that the other boy would never see - spying the stripes and patterns of his skin that Damian only knew in academic theory.
They were both still in their pyjamas - Damian in a red flannel set, Peter in Duke’s old sweats with one of Dick’s workout shirts.
“Good morning, Damian.” He spoke shyly, dipping his head slightly.
“Good morning, Peter.” The other boy nodded, his face carefully blank as his eyes fixed on Peter’s own.
“Say what you wanna say, Damian.” Peter let out a weak chuckle, oddly amused by how hard Damian was trying not to comment on the change of Peter’s appearance. “I look ridiculous, right?”
“Do not put words into my mouth.” Damian frowned. “You look… oddly like a cross between Dick and Rachel.”
“I’m sure he’d be unsettled by that.” Peter smiled.
“Because of his infatuation?” Damian raised a brow. “He is quite obvious, isn’t he?”
“At least he’s not overboard about it.” Peter shrugged, snapping his secondary eyes shut - a hand to itch at the closed eyelids. “Plus, it’s nice to see that my biological father isn’t the womaniser that the press makes him out to be.”
Damian let out a snort.
“He’d sooner perish than insult a woman’s honour.” The boy’s lips twitched. “Shall we?” He jerked his head towards the hallway. “Alfred and Jason have prepared a breakfast.”
“Alright.” Peter nodded, snatching a zip up from the pile of clothes on his chair. “Best not keep them waiting.”
Christmas with the Waynes was just as hectic as Peter had suspected.
Breakfast was a fast affair - the teens practically inhaling their food as they whispered about the stack of presents in the family room, tucked beneath the gaudy tree. Before Peter had even finished his pancakes, Duke and Tim were pulling him away from the table and yelling for the rest to hurry up. Cass followed them with great amusement, grinning at Peter’s fluster.
They sat in the comfy sofas and armchairs, surrounded by piles of brightly wrapped gifts. Duke grinned at the range of yellow paper that everyone had used for his presents, quick to rip into his stack with a gasp of utter excitement. Tim sat beside him as the pair showed each other their gifts, whispering of plots and plans for the rest of the day as Cass curled up on the floor by their feet.
Luckily for Peter, Damian and Cass were much calmer as he began to unwrap his own pile. Damian gently pulled the tape from each gift and tucked it into a pile - folding the sheets of paper into a stack between the youngest of the family. For each gift he opened, he would look to Peter as though waiting for him to match his movements. Cass would poke his knee as he unwrapped each gift, silently asking to see what each person had gotten for him while the adults of the room sat in their armchairs and watched the kids. Their own gifts were briefly forgotten in the excitement.
There were piles of video games and apparel between Tim and Duke - film for Tim’s camera, card games and puzzles by Duke’s feet. Damian collected a pile of new toys for his pets, new art supplies and tickets to some exhibition soon to pop up at the museum. Cass grinned at her new binoculars, at the soft hoodies that she’d been given. Though hesitant, Peter began to sort through his own stack as he marvelled at just how many gifts there were for him. In neither of his lives had he been given so much stuff on holidays - between Uncle Bennett’s salary and hospital bills for Uncle Ben, there had never been the money for something like this.
But here he was, sat in a warm manor, surrounded by everything he dreamed of. A Han Solo leather jacket from Duke, a new camera from Tim (with a promise of the pair going to take pictures later). Books on advanced astrophysics from Bruce, merch for each of the bats from the assorted family (with several purple hoodies from Steph, busy with her mother that day). All the while, Dick flittered around trying to pick up the torn paper - refusing Alfred’s help as he tried to encourage the butler to sit and enjoy the festivities.
Finally, Peter reached his largest of the gifts. An unwrapped cardboard box that had all the markings of Jason. With a little nod from the white-haired man, Peter untucked the top, peering inside with a gasp.
“Really?” Peter beamed as he glanced between the metal frame and the cardboard that shrouded it. His eyes were a little misty, crinkled in true joy - tinged by disbelief.
“What is it?” Dick called from the hallway, punctuated by the shuffle of feet as he finished up his task.
“I bought him a bike.” Jason grinned, his eyes bright as he ruffled the teen’s hair.
“A… bike.” Dick blinked from the entryway, eyes darting to his son with hitched shoulders.
“Yep.”
“I’ve never had a bike before.” Peter giggled, shredding the paper further - revealing a red framed bicycle.
“Really?” Dick frowned.
“We never had the space for one.” The boy shrugged - his fingers still idly tracing patterns along the painted metal. It was almost reverent, how the teen strummed the frame and roamed his eyes over each detail. “I can’t believe you remembered.” He muttered, glancing towards Jason with glassy eyes.
“Thought you and Dick could take it out for a spin, later.” He shrugged, offering his elder brother a little smile. “He taught me how to ride a bike too, you know?”
“Really?” Peter smiled as he glanced to Dick with bright eyes. “You can teach me?”
“Of course.” Dick nodded. “It’s a rite of passage, and all that.”
Peter grinned up at him, bashfully tucking his hair out of his face.
“Speaking of, there’s one more gift for you, bug.” Dick’s smile was nervous, fretting as he slid a large, flat box from beneath the tree. He placed it by Peter’s feet and sat down, the teen naturally slinking to sit beside Cass on the ground as he inspected the odd wrapping. It was a pattern of glittery spiderwebs on a dark red background.
With careful fingers, Peter pulled at the seam of the wrapping - passing the tape to Damian’s waiting hand. The other boy looked to him with a little impatience, nodding his head towards the box in encouragement. And so, with nerves that did not fit the joyous situation, Peter slid the box undone.
And he froze. Blinking widely, first at the box and then to Dick, Peter frowned in utter confusion as he slid his gift onto his knees.
“I made you a suit.” Dick smiled - eyes crinkling from years of that gesture, of supplying kindness like a birthright.
“You made me a suit.” Peter repeated, blinking widely at his dad. Then, with a painful pull, he forced his eyes back down to the fabric bundled in his lap.
It looked… perfect. All the details were right, down to the webbing along the sides and mask. A mask that would completely cover his face - just like Peter needed to keep his senses steady on patrol. Thin slits on the wrist for his biological web shooters, but set with a little notch in case Peter preferred to make the web shooters that he’d offhandedly mentioned using in his other life.
Dick had looked into his memories, into his dreams and perfectly brought them to life.
“This is…” Peter started, looking to his dad with wide and watery eyes. “I… thank you.” He gasped, leaping to wrap his arms around his dad. The force knocked Dick onto his back - super strength briefly forgotten in Peter’s utter gratitude. Dick’s arms slotted around his back, pulling the pair upright.
“So you like it then?” Dick whispered to him, gently rocking Peter as the boy clung to him - sniffling as he tried to will his tears to settle. He pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, not breaking their embrace.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.” Peter’s face was coated in tears, but his smile was breathtaking. It was worth every moment of stress, every second of turmoil, of finding his son squatting in a broken dance studio, bringing him home and watching him be forever transformed by the magic inside him warring with the magic of this world.
Every second of stress was completely worth it, just to see that smile on his son’s face.