After dinner, when Jason and Peter were safe from their 'stalker' (Jason's inverted commas) and sated with cheesy quesadillas, rice and roasted vegetables, their discussion of boundaries went a little something like this:
"Sooo. Boundaries?"
"Boundaries."
"Those things your family are allergic to."
"Yes. I wanna to say that this afternoon—"
"And last week."
"And last week — will be a one off, but I'll be honest Pete, they're crazier than a bag of bats—"
"Isn't it cats?"
"Huh?"
"Bag of cats. Not bats. You're the literature buff. Shouldn't you know this?"
"Would you shut up and let me finish a goddamn sentence?"
"…"
"Thank-you. As I was saying. They're crazier than a bag of bats. And you're interesting 'cause you're new. So they'll be popping outta the woodworks like crazy."
"So, we'll have to be on our toes if we want them to think we're madly in love."
"…"
"Don't grimace at me like that. You agreed! You said you'd bring marshmallows."
"I did. I will. I'm moreso objecting to the 'madly' part."
"A situationship, then?"
"A situatio— Jesus Christ, is that what the young people say these days?"
"Wow. What are you, eighty?"
"Sometimes I feel like it. But no. I don't think a 'situationship' is gonna fly. I ain't the kinda guy who'd let a relationship like that lead to us sharing an apartment. And my folks know it."
"Okay. So madly in love it is."
"…"
"C'mooon, Jason! Let me have a little chaos."
"Yeah. Whatever. Anyway, we need to get our stories straight. And we're gonna need to put on a convincing show."
"Sure."
"So… Let's start with what you said to Dick."
"I said we fell into each other."
"… Fell into each other."
"I — look. In hindsight, there's no defence. But at the time I just thought it was a great joke."
"It was. It is."
"You're not laughing."
"I am on the inside."
"..."
"So. We fell into each other. How's a bouncer and an ex-doomsday prepper 'fall into each other'?"
"Oh! This is a good one. So. My parents, they meet some culty-guy and get into real weird shit, okay? Tin-foil-hat conspiracy level shit. Things get nasty. I run away, but they chase me, and then! I run onto the road and nearly get run over by you!"
"Seriously."
"Serious! It makes perfect sense — you drive like a lunatic."
"I drive as sensibly as anyone else from Gotham."
"You say that like you think it's a valid argument. Hilarious. Anyway, I beg you to save me, and like a knight in — well, I guess it'd be leather — armour, you do! There's some swooning along the way. Me, the sheltered waif; you, the rough-around-the-edges softie. It's perfect."
"… You just came up with the most far-fetched story you could, didn't you?"
"I did. But that's what makes it more believable! You wouldn't just come up with something so absurd if you were faking it—shut up, don't look at me like that. I know we're faking it. But they don't and that's what's important."
"You're gonna give me grey hairs, Pete."
"They'll join up with your skunk patch. It'll make you look distinguished."
"I don't want to be distinguished, I'm not forty-five. I want to be intimidating."
"Cute."
"No, you're—hm."
"I'm…?"
"Infuriating. Let's get back on track. There's a lotta loose ends in that story: namely your parents and the guy they get involved with."
"Does that really matter?"
"To my folks? Yes."
"… I could make him an identity?"
"This feels like we're falling more and more down the rabbit hole."
"Which of us is Alice, then? It's me, right? I did the falling, after all."
"Let's not get carried away with the Wonderland allusions. I could… have taken care of the guy."
"… Define 'taken care of'."
"… Threatened? Convincingly."
"With your… guns?"
"… Yes."
"Hm. Okay. That works. And my parents… maybe you scared them off too? They didn't want me if I wasn't going to comply anymore."
"Haaa… it'll do for now."
"Really? Honestly, I was expecting more pushback. Something more mundane, like you catching me when I fell off a fire escape or something."
"Naw. The crazy tracks, honestly."
"Huh."
"Now that that's outta the way, let's circle back to those boundaries."
"Yes."
"What are you comfortable with?"
"… What are you comfortable with?"
"Not what I was asking, Pete."
"But it is what I'm asking."
"… Fine. I'm — Jesus."
"Not that easy, is it?"
"Screw you."
"Heh."
"I will be getting you back. Don't gimme that look. I am genuinely a dangerous guy."
"Okay."
"Ahem. Anyway…. Fuck. Fine, I'm fine with physical touch: hands, hugs… kisses…. Maybe. Not exactly gonna do that in front of my family, anyway. You?"
"I'm… probably the same."
"Probably?"
"I… it's been — a while. Since I… touched someone."
"I see."
"And when I did… we were. Close. We used to do — all of those things. But it — ended badly."
"I see."
"Yeah."
"So, we should probably ease into it."
"… Yeah."
"…"
"…"
"It's not diseased, Pete. It's just a hand."
"… I know…"
"See? Just a hand. Five fingers and all."
"It's warm."
"You're not. Are you made of ice?"
"Ah. Sorry—"
"No, no. It's fine."
"… Sometimes it feels like I am."
"Mm?"
"Made of ice. Sometimes it feels like there's this — wall. Between me and everything. And it so cold and I can't get warm. And then other times. It's too much. Everything is everywhere. All at once."
"I understand."
"Do you? You didn't get the reference. Guess it's a — future thing."
"Mm—!"
"Ah. Sorry. Your calluses feel interesting."
"Yeah. It's fine. Just wasn't expecting it."
"We're totally going to have to get used to this, aren't we?"
"Regretting your choices?"
"Nope. I made this bed. I'll lie in it."
"And drag me along for the ride."
"I think it's only fair. You did put a gun to my head, after all."
"If you recall, you bent that thing like a fucking pool noodle."
"Worried about your hand now?"
"Not on your life, Parker. Now how about a hug?"
"… Okay."
"…"
"… This is weird. It's weird, right?"
"It is. Now, shut up, Pete. And get your elbow outta my damn stomach. I wanna watch Family Feud in peace."
"Can you put the subtitles on?"
"Christ. Fine."
"Thanks."
"Shut up."
— + —
Jason refused to drive them up to the manor. Peter wasn't sure if it was pettiness or something else but given how accommodating he'd been the last two weeks, Peter wasn't about to push it. Besides, the weather was good again (yesterday had poured with rain, as if to make up for a week of moderately okay skies) and he didn't mind the walk from the car. Where the car had come from, he wasn't sure. The understated SUV was a far cry from the monstrous truck Jason turned up with two weeks ago, new old mattress in tow.
He skipped ahead of Jason with Dog, appreciating the sun. It didn't pack much heat (a running Gotham theme), but Peter took what he could get in this hellscape of a city. He was getting sick of playing the game 'gunshots, or fireworks'?
Gunshots. The answer was always gunshots.
Where the bright light might have framed Gotham too harshly for casual examination, Bristol — to the north of the island city — was very green and very fancy. Big fancy fences and gates, fancy rich people cars and even fancier houses. It was the exact kind of place he'd expect to find a 'manor', and the exact opposite of what Peter would associate with the childhood home of Jason's sordid origin story.
Jason caught onto Peter's thoughts as they passed through wrought iron gates that opened (automatically!) upon their approach. "Don't give me that look."
Peter turned back around and continued walking. "I don't know what you're talking about," he called back over his shoulder.
"I'm Crime Alley born and bred. Got taken in by Bruce when I was twelve. Before that I was living on the streets."
Peter winced, immediately guilty. "I—"
"It's fine, Pete. I s'pose it's the kinda shit you should know."
Gravel crunched as Jason jogged to catch up. He held out his hand, fingers wiggling expectantly. Peter took it with only a second's hesitation. They'd been 'practicing' but he was yet to get used to the heat and heft of Jason's hand in his. It was wildly different from MJ's slender fingers. Her skin had been smooth and slightly cool (though she used to complain that holding Peter's hand was like holding a sentient corpse, only to grip tighter anyway) whereas Jason's was work-roughened, warm and dry. He didn't hate it… actually the opposite, if he was honest. But it was still a strange experience after months of — nothing.
Experimentally, he squeezed Jason's hand. Jason squeezed back.
"We could always turn around?" Peter offered.
"No," Jason said firmly.
The manor had emerged from its shielding copse of trees along the drive and Jason eyed it with resignation. Peter was impressed, intimidated and judgemental in equal measure: Wayne Manor was everything you might have expected from old money. Spires, gabled roofs, arched and mullioned windows with — jeez, was that stained glass? — multiple wings lurking behind the grand facade, and a large stone staircase leading up to the main entrance.
It was… a lot.
Dog tugged Peter along by the leash and Peter tugged Jason along by the hand. He followed reluctantly and with a heavy, churlish sigh.
"How bad can they be?"
"… They're not that bad, really. Don't tell them I said that though," Jason muttered. "I just… there's some. Not great memories associated with the place. I don't like turning up unless I have to."
Peter squeezed his hand in mute support.
The manor doors opened as soon as they reached the sandstone steps. An older man with greying hair and a pencil moustache stood by the grand doors. He wore a genuine waistcoat and bowtie. Wild. Beside him was a young teen — Peter thought he was somewhere in that nebulous age between eleven and fourteen, just before puberty would hit full force — with black hair and olive skin. Beside him sat an enormous Great Dane.
There was a moment where Peter froze, unsure how Dog would react — they didn't exactly come across a lot of other dogs in Park Row — but she was calm and sat when commanded. The Great Dane didn't so much as twitch. A good thing too, given it was almost the same size as the kid.
"Master Jason," the man — Alfred, Peter assumed — said in an English accent as fancy as the rest of the house. Because of course he was English. "And I take it, this is Mister Parker?"
Peter, both hands taken by Jason and Dog's leash, resorted to waving awkwardly with the leash hand. "Uh. Hi. Just Peter's fine."
The teen by Alfred's side, didn't actively sneer, but it looked like a close thing.
"Peter," Jason motioned between Alfred and the teen, "this is Alfred. Wayne family butler. He's the brick and mortar of this place." Alfred's expression didn't change, but Peter thought his general demeanour softened at the compliment. "The squirt—" the teen scowled, "is Damian, the youngest of the clan. And the dog is—"
"Titus," Damian said. His voice was pitched low, but Peter got the impression it wasn't naturally that way. More likely an attempt to set himself out as implicitly threatening. And for sure, his narrowed green eyes certainly weren't friendly. Bad news for Damian though: he was a head shorter than Peter and Peter wasn't naturally inclined to be intimidated by others when he was usually — by default — the strongest in the room. And the boy had a dog. Another strike against his intimidation factor.
"Hi." Peter smiled. "This is Dog — not my choice of names," he added hurriedly when Damian scoffed. "That's all Jason's doing."
"Of course it is," Damian sneered. Now that he'd spoken a little more, Peter realised he had a slight accent. He wasn't cultured enough to be able to place it as anything but vaguely foreign, but it was there. "He's always been embarrassingly unoriginal. Dog is on brand."
"Ah yes. From the melodramatic brat that called hisdog after one of Shakespeare's bloodiest characters," Jason drawled back. He wasn't remotely phased by Damian's prickly speech. If anything, when Peter glanced up, he thought he caught Jason's lips twitching in amusement. But maybe it was just a trick of the light…
"It's distinguished."
"Sure, if you wanna tell people your dog's happy to turn its victims into pies."
Damian raised a brow, as if saying: yes, that's exactly what I was intending.
Peter glanced at Alfred. He was looking between the two siblings with dignified resignation. Peter bit back a grin.
"Dami?" someone called from the depths of the manor (Peter refused to think of the place as anything remotely resembling a house. It was the most ostentatious thing he'd ever seen. Mr Stark's lakeside home was a ramshackle hut in comparison). "What are you — oh! Jay, you're here!"
A familiar figure emerged in the doorway, ruffling Damian's hair good-naturedly. The boy scowled and slapped Dick's hand away.
"And Peter!" Dick cried, as if he didn't already know Peter was coming. He grinned and bounded down the steps to shake Peter's hand with the same enthusiasm as before. Dog's leash rattled and bounced on his wrist with the force of it. "Hey! How are you? How you been settling in? I hear you got a new job."
"And where'd you hear that from, Dick?" Jason asked innocently. Dick momentarily froze, but his beaming grin remained untouched — he'd spotted Peter and Jason's clasped hands.
"Uh. Didn't you tell me?"
Peter shared an amused glance with Jason, then chose to give Dick an out. "I think I mentioned it when you… popped in, right?"
Dick blinked. Both knew he'd done no such thing, but only one of them knew why Peter was giving him cover. "Oh! Yeah, that must've been it!" He let go of Peter's hand and tugged on Jason's sleeve. "C'mon—" he ushered them up the steps and through the doors, "Alfred's set up a garden party sort of thing before dinner. You're needed to eat all the cucumber sandwiches[1]."
Jason snorted, but Peter paused with Dog on the threshold. "Um. Is Dog okay?" he asked Alfred. "I don't know if Jason told you she was coming."
"He did not," Damian said. His eyes were trained on Dog with an intensity that was akin to a parent trying to discern if their child's cough was 'normal' or pneumonia. "Is she house trained?"
"She lives in the apartment with us? So, yes."
Damian nodded. "Then she will be fine. I will set out food for her." Peter wondered if he'd have let her in anyway. He had that look about him.
Inside was as horrifyingly ostentatious as the outside. The foyer was less a foyer and more an atrium, with a grand staircase made of dark wood and a whole ass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There were oil paintings — huge ones, the kinds that probably cost hundreds of thousands of dollars — on the walls and delicate porcelain ornaments in glass display cabinets that were probably hundreds of years old or something.
Peter felt sinfully poor just standing there. He determinedly kept the feeling off his face and followed the others, Dog at his heel, through a door to the left and down a hallway with even more paintings and a long line of windows which made it feel wildly more inviting than the entrance did. The whole walk, Jason kept his hand firmly in Peter's, as though worried Peter might wander off and be swallowed by the walls.
Fat chance of that. Peter wanted to see what constituted a 'garden party sort of thing' according to the kinds of people who thought this goddamn palace was a 'house'.
He wasn't disappointed. The garden party was in a conservatory packed with exotic plants: orchids, palms and dwarf banana trees, all sorts of climbing vines, and big elephant-eared plants Peter didn't know the name of. In pride of place was a large iron-work table — glass topped to keep things level — that looked out onto the garden beyond. It was in stark contrast to the verdant chaos of the conservatory: a tightly controlled space of box hedges, neatly trimmed rose bushes (no roses though, what with it being mid-autumn), fading plates of hydrangeas and chrysanthemums, beyond which sprawled a broad lawn and trees lightly flushed with autumn reds and oranges. Alfred led them to the table, already set out with finger foods and sweating pitchers of iced tea. Two women were already seated and stared at them with undisguised interest.
"Master Jason told me you have a caffeine intolerance," Alfred said when he saw Peter eyeing the drinks (it was that or meet the eyes of his watchers). "The red tea is a fruit tea. No caffeine. Unless you'd prefer something else?"
"No." Peter smiled at the man's thoughtfulness. "That's great, thank-you."
The two women — one blonde, the other with pin-straight black hair — lounged at the table as they approached. Their conversation had halted at Peter and Jason's entrance and their sharp stares made Peter feel like a bug under a microscope. He forced himself to return the study in equal measure. Though her hair was different, he recognised the blonde: Thursday, it had been pinned under a cap. It was the 'shy sister' that had stalked them.
"Hello!" the woman crowed and jumped out of her seat. She bounced around the table with far more energy than a Sunday afternoon merited and drew to a stop in front of them. Peter was dismayed to realise she was taller than him. "You must be Peter! I'm Steph! More an adjacent than a family member. That's Cass." She nodded back at the woman who still sat at the table. Cass gave him a wave and Peter's skin prickled with wariness. "And this is your dog?"
"Her name's Dog," Peter offered. "Jason named her. Ironically? … I think."
Steph cooed appropriately, while Dick snickered.
"She's beautiful. Can I?" Steph looked up, and Jason nodded. She held out her hand and Dog gave her a sniff. Her tail began to wag and Steph fell upon her, nonsense baby talk spilling from her mouth.
Peter flicked a glance at Jason while Steph fussed over Dog. "Shy?" he mouthed.
Jason grinned and winked at him, the weirdo.
"May I take Dog for a run?" Damian suddenly asked Peter, surprisingly polite considering the open scorn he'd shown at the front entrance.
"Oh." Peter glanced at Jason, who just shrugged. Great help he was. "Sure. Hang on." He bent down and gave Steph — who was promising a grinning Dog something about flower crowns — an apologetic grimace. Steph just laughed and stood up, skipping back to her seat.
"I won't get between Damian and his beasts," she drawled as she fell back into her chair.
Peter unclipped Dog's leash and she trotted over to Damian and Titus, sniffing at the bigger dog cautiously. Damian nodded at him — apparently all the thanks Peter could expect to receive — then he ran out the conservatory with the two beasts loping along behind.
"Come and sit, Peter," Dick said now that Peter was freed. "You look hungry. Do you want a sandwich? Or cake?"
"Sure. What kind of sandwiches do you have?"
"Do you like cucumber?" Peter's eyes narrowed at Dick's hopeful tone.
"They're okay? I guess," he said warily. Beside him, Jason huffed and let go of his hand. Peter shot him a meaningful glare but let himself be ushered along to sit beside Steph. Dick plopped down on his other side, leaving no space for Jason and Peter prepared himself for the interrogation.
Jason didn't appear concerned by Peter's boxing in. He placed a heavy hand on Peter's shoulder and then leaned in to brush a feather-light kiss against his cheek. "I'm gonna go make sure the gremlin doesn't make Dog do something crazy, like walk on two feet or talk or some shit. Be good."
Peter felt his cheeks heat up not so much from the surprise proximity, than the intense stares levelled at him from Dick, Steph and Cass. They were watching the two of them like Jason had just done something crazy like announce he was leaving for a research mission to Antarctica.
"Shame," Peter managed to say, voice surprisingly calm. "I wouldn't mind her learning how to turn the TV on."
"I'll see if he takes requests." And with a squeeze of Peter's shoulder, Jason abandoned him to the mercy of the Waynes (and adjacent).
Almost immediately, Dick began to pile the plate set out by Peter with perfectly cut sandwich triangles. There were a suspiciously large number of cucumber ones hidden among them. Peter raised a brow and Dick grinned, unrepentant.
"They're good for you."
"… I'm sure." Still… as always, Peter was hungry. He picked one up, just to pacify Dick, but took one whiff of the cream cheese and quickly to put it down. The scent of dill had him holding back a flinch of disgust. The reaction was surprising, and with resignation he assigned yet another item to the 'things I can no longer eat' list.
Oh God. What did that mean for pickles?
You ate pickles on your sub just yesterday, dumbass, a voice suspiciously close to Jason's snapped in response. The horror settled.
"Ah," he said as the others stared at him, unaware of his crisis but still confused by his behaviour. "I, uh, don't like dill."
"Shame," Dick sighed. "I suppose I can share the chicken ones with you."
"Thanks."
"Chuck the cucumber ones here, Peter. I'll eat them," Steph said and gallantly held out her own plate. Peter passed them along and bit into one of the non-cucumber sandwiches. Ham, a sharp and crumbling cheddar with a chutney. It was much more up his alley, and he finished it off in two bites. Peter finished off three more in quick succession.
"Say, you look kinda young, Peter," Steph said while he ate. He paused mid-bite. "How old are you?"
He chewed and swallowed before he spoke. "Eighteen." He didn't like the insinuation in Steph's voice, but smiled like he was used to the misjudging (because he was). "The curse of genetics, right?"
"Can't relate," Steph smirked. No surprise there: she was built strong-boned and no doubt her height led to people misjudging her in the opposite direction. "Cass can, though."
Peter glanced at Cass. The woman did have a youthful face: with her smooth skin, full cheeks, round monolidded eyes and chin length hair, she gave off a feeling of agelessness. His skin prickled when their eyes met.
A threat. Dangerous, his instincts whispered.
Then Cass smiled and the feeling dissipated. He covered his discomfort with another sandwich.
"Drink?" Dick asked. Peter nodded and was poured a generous glass of iced tea, complete with slices of strawberries and a wedge of lime. Very summery and very out of place for mid-autumn. At least the conservatory was warm. Enough for him to wriggle out of his jacket and sling it over the back of his chair.
Dick's knuckles, Peter noticed as he poured, were marred with familiar scars. Peter recognised them all too easily — they were the typical marks of a fighter. Borne from punching a few too many teeth or other hard surfaces. Peter had them too, though his healing factor left them so faint they were practically indiscernible. Jason did too, and… now that he was looking, so did Steph and Cass.
Jason's hands were easy to explain away. He was a bouncer. Inevitably, he'd get into fights. But the others? That was harder to justify.
His eyes shot between the girls and the looming height of Wayne Manor beyond the conservatory, then back to the girls. What were the Waynes and Wayne-adjacents doing to get themselves those kinds of scars? Maybe they all learnt to fight as a hobby… but if that was the case, they'd have learnt to protect their hands. Was it a rich person thing? Were they involved in a fight club?
…Was that a rich person thing?
He'd joked to Jason about his family belonging to the mob but hadn't actually believed it. Besides, Bruce Wayne was renowned for his philanthropy and for being a bit of a himbo. Even a newbie like Peter knew of his reputation. He funded the Justice League. To think they'd let someone with mob ties do that was untenable. At least, if they truly were anything like the Avengers.
(Then again… the Avengers ended up being funded by neo-Nazis, so who was he to judge?)
Peter resolved to check the knuckles of the rest of Jason's siblings when they turned up.
He took the glass Dick set before him and drank deeply. His web link (Peter was still trying out names for his new senses) twinged faintly, and when he glanced up, he saw Cass studying him again. Her smile broadened when their eyes met. She knew exactly what he'd been observing, exactly what he was thinking, and it amused her.
Peter sipped at his iced tea and hoped he wassuccessfully hiding his discomfort. He forced himself to look away.
"So, tell us about yourself," Steph asked. She had picked up a dainty fruit tart and was plucking off the jelly-covered fruits to eat them one at a time. "Where are you from? Do I spy a New York accent? How's a nice guy like you end up in a place like this?"
Peter looked pointedly around the conservatory and the crisp gardens before he spoke, eliciting an ironic grin from his interrogator. "I grew up in New York — Queens — before my parents moved us to Ohio about four years back. Not much of anything going on there, which was exactly what they wanted."
Steph latched on to the breadcrumbs Peter had set out. "Why's that? Hoping for a scene change?" She leaned in, conspiratorial. "Were they trying to dodge the draft?"
"Ah, no," Peter said delicately, holding back a snicker at her ridiculous question. "They got it in their head the world was going to end. A few too many near misses, I think, and not enough faith in the JL. So, they bought a farmstead and started readying it to live out the next apocalypse…."
"Wait wait wait," Dick breathed, leaning forwards, eyes intense. "Are you telling me your parents are doomsday preppers?" He sounded both delighted and disbelieving.
"They prefer the term 'survivalists'," Peter spoke grimly, like it was a dark history he'd rather not think about.
"But you're so normal!"
Oh, how wrong you are, Peter thought, but said: "I didn't take well to the change… We're… estranged now."
His three interrogators grimaced almost in unison and Peter was satisfied. Despite Jason's misgivings, they seemed to take the story well… though he wasn't convinced about Cass.
Dick was the one to ask the question Peter was still expecting. "So how did you meet Jason? I've tried to get the story out of him, but he's been close-lipped."
No surprise there. Since they only had a story as of two days ago. He smiled but kept it tight and unhappy. "It's… well. It's not the happiest of tales."
"Join the club," Steph said. Her tone was commiserating. Peter supposed she wasn't wrong: children generally weren't adopted out of happyhouseholds.
"Spill," Cass ordered. Peter startled. It was the first time she'd spoken. He had to take a moment to re-organise his thoughts, jumbled up with his surprise.
"Uh. Well. I was always planning on leaving. That life held no appeal for me and I missed the city. But I was patient about it — knew things would be easier if I was eighteen before I left. But around the time I turned sixteen, my parents fell down the — well, I think the term you use now is 'conspiracy pipeline'. A friend of theirs got them involved in some… not great things."
Dick was frowning, but it wasn't with disbelief. More like concern. "And Jason saved you?"
Awareness skittered across his senses, but Peter didn't turn. "Ah, no, not exactly—"
"Telling tales about me?"
Unsurprised by the hands that landed on his shoulders, Peter twisted to look up at Jason and smiled warmly. It was a genuine smile: he was happy to see Jason again and was equally pleased to see that he looked a little more at ease. He and Damian must get along better than Peter had previously thought.
"Only the worst of them."
"Hmmm." A callused hand carded through Peter's hair and his eyes fluttered at the full body shiver that resonated at the touch. He resisted the inexplicable urge to rest his face against the other man's waist. "What do I have to do to get you to keep the one about the raccoon to yourself?"
Peter reached up and retrieved Jason's hand from his hair before he did something embarrassing like start purring or dissolving into a puddle of goo in front of Jason's siblings. He laced his fingers through Jason's and trapped it momentarily against his chest. "I want TV privileges for the next three days."
"Again?" Jason frowned playfully. "It was your turn last night."
"Take it or leave it, Jace. I want my Housewives fix."
Jason huffed. "Fine. But if I hear a peep about those grabby masked bastards, it'll be three days straight of Ancient Aliens."
"Noooo!" Peter cried and slumped dramatically in his seat. He wouldn't have minded that, actually. Hate-watching the show brought him a special kind of vindictive joy. Mostly he was annoyed that Jason had implied that was something he wouldn't like. It was like he didn't know Peter at all…
Maybe Peter would let slip some made-up story about raccoons, just to fuck with him.
Unaware of Peter's plotting, Jason laughed at his dramatics and disentangled his hand from Peter's. "Shove off, Dickie," he said and dumped Dick's chair forwards almost absently. Dick squawked but rolled out with preternatural grace. He punched Jason lightly in the arm.
"I was comfortable there!"
"And you can be comfortable by Cass. Thanks ever so." He plopped into the seat and casually threw an arm over Peter's chair. "So, you were talking about me?"
"Only by virtue of your connection to Peter," Steph smirked. "We already know your origin story."
Jason shifted, eyes narrowing. Peter got the impression Steph didn't like him very much. He reached up and took Jason's hand — hanging from his shoulder — in his. Squeezed. Jason squeezed back.
Peter had schooled his expression into something he hoped was appropriately sad when he glanced at Jason. Jason picked up on the cue immediately and frowned like he cared. "You don't have to tell 'em, Pete."
"I know," Peter said softly and looked out the open conservatory doors. On the grass, Damian was teaching Dog some complicated trick with hoops. "But… I know it sounds crazy, but the more I say it, the less real it becomes."
The corners of Jason's lips twitched ever so slightly, but otherwise his expression remained 'serious'. "Is that really a good thing, princess?"
Peter dug his blunt thumbnail into Jason's palm in retaliation for the endearment, unseen by the others. "It is to me. You know how I feel about those days." He looked over his audience as he began to make things up explain. "My parent's friend… he fuelled their insecurities. Isolated us even further. Had my parents thinking the whole world was against them. It was like they were under his thrall. He even made them think I was—" he broke off, grimacing like the unfinished sentence hurt, and let the crowd draw their own conclusions before he carried on.
"At his recommendation, they took me out of school before I could graduate—" something passed over Dick's face, too quick for him to identify, "and kept me on the property. Wouldn't let me leave. At all. Things got bad… then worse. I got scared — realscared. Thought they would—"
He cut himself off again. Looked away again as he pretended to compose himself. Let his hand tremble as he reached out for his drink and sipped it carefully. The sweetness slammed into the back of his teeth. He put the glass down and looked back at his rapt audience.
It took a lot not to grin. Instead, he pursed his lips together as though unhappy.
"I ran," he murmured, still loud enough to project across the table. "They… chased. I don't remember much in the moment, just saw the road and ran for it."
"I nearly hit him with my motorcycle," Jason carried on. He sounded chagrined. "I still say it was a bad move, Pete. Runnin' out onto the road like that."
"Ah, but it brought me to you," Peter said, grinning. "It's a good thing you ride so safely."
Jason barked out a laugh. "That's not what you were saying last week."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Peter sniffed and turned up his nose. Jason snorted.
"Disgusting," Steph said, but there was no heat in her voice. "You two are disgusting."
"Cute," Dick countered. He was holding himself so still he seemed to be vibrating with the force of it.
Cass remained quiet but looked amused. Peter wasn't convinced she'd bought the story, but she didn't say anything to challenge him, either. He tried not to let it bother him.
"It was a moment of divine intervention," Peter confessed. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he pressed on. "I hauled myself up off the road — palms bleeding, legs shaking — and fell right into his arms. I looked up — Jace is stupidly tall, don't you think?" All other heads at the table (except for Jason) nodded. "And I thought to myself: 'Oh. Here's someone who can keep me safe'… I hadn't felt like that in a long time."
Finished with his ridiculous spiel, Peter turned and hid his burning face against Jason's shoulder. He hoped the silent laughter he let out against Jason's shirt was interpreted as something else.
Steph made a vomiting sound and Dick and Cass chucked balled up napkins at her. "Hey!"
"If you can't be mature, you'll be relegated to the little kids' table," Dick warned her.
"Bad news for you, there isn't one."
"Then I'll tell Alfred and we'll make one."
Peter peeked up and shot Jason an amused glance. Looked like he'd won an ally in Dick.
"What were you going in Ohio?" Steph suddenly asked Jason.
Jason shrugged, nonchalant, as they'd planned. "I was riding back from Chicago."
"Chicago? Didn't—"
"What happened then, Peter?" Dick interrupted Steph quickly. Peter glanced between Dick and Jason but couldn't read their expressions. "If you don't mind me asking."
Jason filled in the rest. "I took care of it. Peter begged me to take him away, so I did."
"What about your parents?" Bless him, but Dick sounded genuinely concerned.
"They won't be looking for me," Peter said, and he didn't need to hide the grief. No one knew he was gone, because no one knew who Peter Parker was.
As though sensing the shift in his mood, Jason's hand slipped down to squeeze his arm. "You're not alone anymore, Pete," he rumbled. "You're safe."
For a moment, Peter let himself believe that. He sipped his drink to steady his traitorous thoughts.
"Hard to think of Jay as a knight in shining armour," Steph drawled, but something hard lay underneath it. "More wolf-shaped, maybe. Always thought redwas more his colour."
"Watch it, blondie," Jason growled. Peter frowned.
"I'm just saying, seems like Peter here was in a pretty vulnerable position—"
"I don't like what you're insinuating."
"Why? Hit a little too close to ho—"
Peter slammed his drink on the table with just enough force to get the rest of them to jump. He stood. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't make assumptions about me or Jason," he said tightly. He was angry. Angrier than he should have been. "I'm an adult now, and I was an adult then when I met him. He gave me the opportunity to leave—" a half-lie, "and make my own way—" a half-truth: he hadgiven Peter a job, "but I chose to stay. Don't infantilise me by stripping away my autonomy. I've had more than enough of that to last a lifetime." A truth.
He tugged at Jason's shirt and the man stood easily. Peter levelled Steph with a stern glare. "Jason's been nothing but kind and good. Better than most. He deserves your trust."
Steph blinked but remained quiet. To his relief, she looked thoughtful, rather than offended.
Under his hand, Jason shifted in discomfort. "Pete—"
"C'mon," Peter spoke over him. "I want to see what your little brother's taught Dog."
Jason allowed himself to be dragged away. Behind them, he heard Dick hiss something indecipherable at Steph.
Damian and the dogs had disappeared around the corner of the manor and as they stalked walked, Peter let his anger ease away. He wasn't even entirely sure why he'd gotten so mad, except that he didn't like to see others suggest Jason was anything other than a good, decent man. Sure, he had semi-questionable connections like the Red Hood, but he'd seen first-hand the kind of care Jason showed towards others.
"Peter," Jason tried again as soon as they were out of sight. Damian was nowhere in sight, though Peter could hear a dog barking — too low to be Dog.
Peter rounded on him. "Sorry," he blurted out.
"Sorry?" Jason was frowning at him. "What for?"
"I didn't — I didn't think things through. Didn't think she would imply—" He grimaced at the thought.
"Oh." Jason chuckled. "Don't worry about that. Not the first time my honour's been called into question. Steph's just pushing boundaries. I told you, that's what they do. If anything, she'll like you more now you've proven you've got a backbone."
"Right…" Placated, Peter began to smirk. "I told you it'd work, didn't I?"
Jason burst into raucous laughter. Suddenly Peter was airborne as Jason effortlessly picked him up and spun him around like a child. Peter found himself laughing too.
"You cheeky fuck," Jason chortled. Peter hadn't seen him look so bright before. "You pulled the wool right over their eyes!"
"I didn't know I could be so good at lying," Peter confessed when he was set safely on the ground again, though neither made any move to let go of the other. "But that was fun!" He kept his voice soft just in case someone overheard, but with his senses expanded on the web, he doubted that could happen.
"It was an Oscar-worthy performance," Jason agreed. His blue eyes glittered with delight. "Let's hope your identity holds up to scrutiny, eh?"
"It will." Peter was confident about that. "I'm good at what I do."
"Yeah, you've proven that."
There was a disturbance on the web and Peter glanced up to see Damian round the corner, followed by two dogs trotting in unison behind. He came to a stop when he saw the two of them, and the light expression the boy wore disappeared.
"Todd," Damian said. His green eyes flicked to Peter. "Parker. You should be with the others."
"We needed some space," Peter explained. Damian shared a meaningful look with Jason that Peter assumed he wasn't meant to be privy to. He disentangled himself from Jason and nodded at Damian's companions. "So, your verdict?"
Damian glanced down at the dogs. "She is not without potential."
"High praise," Jason drawled. Damian shot him a sharp look.
"I assume it's no thanks to you, Todd," he snapped. "But. Observe."
Damian ran Dog through a routine of tricks, starting with a paw shake, a number of jumps over Damian's outstretched arms, a funny little army crawl and ending with a bow. Peter grinned and clapped appropriately.
"And you taught her that so quickly?" he asked when Dog was back in a 'sit'. "You know what you're doing."
"Of course. Someone here has to be competent," Damian sniffed.
Peter could see why Jason was fond of the teen. He was a little shit, but there was still something endearing about him. Maybe it was the way his snobbish bluster failed to hit 'genuine'. More than likely, it was a defence mechanism. Much like Peter's snark, which seemed to come out whenever he felt threatened. He could see how Damian's behaviour might get tiring for others, which no doubt reinforced the posturing even more.
"Can you teach me?" At Damian's narrowed stare, he smiled benignly. "I'd like to see what we could do back in the city. There's a park nearby we go to a lot."
Damian's attention flitted between him and Jason. Whatever Jason showed him had the boy nodding curtly. "Very well. Let's see if you're smarter than your partner, Parker."
Peter huffed a laugh, and followed after Damian as he led them back to the gardens, though he thankfully didn't veer towards the conservatory. Jason trailed behind with the dogs but detoured off to steal a plate of food for them, before he sat on the lawn and watched Damian teach Peter how to make Dog crawl.
— + —
Click [HERE] for text only
[1] Dick canonically hates Alfred's cucumber sandwiches and this sends me.
[2] BATFAM: YOUNG ADULT EDITION 3:15PM
2:59PM I'll Spoil YOU: @Rude-Robin @SIGnaturemoves y TF are u2 not here losers
3:00PM Rude-Robin: STOP I'm mad abt this 2. be there at 4
3:02PM I'll Spoil YOU: jst got a telling off frm Pettr for trash talkng his man. He is Good Egg™ Cass agrees
3:06PM SIGnature moves: ughhhhhh I wanted to meet him with y'all. I HAVE to know what kind of crazy matches Js
3:07PM I'll Spoil YOU: O man
3:08PM I'll Spoil YOU: the kinda crazy that grew up a doomsday preppr an nearly got sacrificed 2 a CULT
3:09PM SIGnature moves: :O
3:10PMRude-Robin: :O
3:11PM I'll Spoil YOU: OK so mybe that last bits a lie. He got emotionl @ end and didnt finish. But sure soundd like it
3:12PM SIGnature moves: Can no one in this family be normal
3:13PM Rude-Robin: We fight crime on the reg
3:13PM Rude-Robin: so. No.