Any luck?"
Peter hummed from his perch. He clung to the side of the multi-story parking lot at the back of Gotham General. It was nearing nine in the morning and Peter's eyes were grainy from the all nighter. His skin crawled to be out after dark (which was stupid, because that used to be his normal. Gotham really had messed with him), but the itch to know what was up was stronger. Not even talking through the night's events with an alarmed Jason had soothed it.
So here he was, playing spy or sentry or whatever for as long as he could manage before he'd have to leave for work. That gave him at least another hour, but Peter was confident he wouldn't need to wait much longer. In fact—
"His wife's getting up to leave," Peter murmured through their private comms (Jason had started planning ahead the moment he realised Peter was going to kick the Oracle-shaped hornet's nest. Clever guy).
Guilt stewed even as it seemed Peter might be able to finally wrap things up. Jason should have been asleep by now. He needed the z's far more than Peter; warm, squishy baseline human that he was. But Jason insisted, unwilling to leave Peter unattended again if last night was the kind of trouble he was likely to encounter.
As if Jason doing nothing but listening in while Peter watched Robert Maraini in his shared ward was anything close to keeping Peter 'attended'. Hilarious. But Peter, feeling generous (and definitely, totally not unnerved), chose to humour him.
Despite what appeared to be a suicide attempt (drugs or no drugs), the hospital hadn't put Rob on suicide watch, so he must have passed whatever psychiatric tests they'd put the man under. That or Gotham General was worse off than it looked: a brutalist concrete structure streaked black-grey with age and decade's worth of pollution.
Peter hadn't gone looking for Rob's patient records… After going on a whole song and dance about privacy, to do so smacked of a hypocrisy too acute for Peter to stomach. So here he was instead, waiting for the opportune moment to conduct his own brand of reconnaissance.
Rob's wife finally left, though not before giving her husband a sound kiss on the mouth. That was Peter's cue. Making sure there were no prying eyes (or rather, not many prying eyes), Peter leapt across the divide between hospital and parking lot. He walked down the concrete wall until he reached Robert's window and knocked sharply on the glass.
The ward they'd put Rob in had three other beds, their curtains drawn for privacy. So, it was Rob who startled. He'd been staring morosely at the Mexican soap playing silently on the TV — it was up too high for him to change the channel and there was no remote in sight.
Rob startled again when he turned painfully to see Peter, hanging upside-down from the window. It didn't open very wide — only a few inches, probably to stop someone from trying to pry their way out to a four storey drop. But it was enough for Peter to wiggle an arm through and that suited him fine.
Rob slipped off his bed — good to see he could walk fine — and moved gingerly to the window. "Spider-Man?"
"Oh, we've upgraded to the singular. That's good to hear."
"Wh-what are ya doin' here, kid?"
"Checking in, duh."
Rob peered past Peter to the ground several floors below, then back to Peter. "How?"
"Spider-magic!" Peter declared with a flourish of a hand. He put just enough whimsy into his voice that Rob wouldn't know if Peter was being honest or having him on. When Rob placed a hand over his eyes, Peter knew he'd succeeded.
This was how he fostered an air of mystique. The Bats had their darkness and their shadows; Peter had his bullshittery.
"Why are you here?"
"It's like I said, Robbie my guy. I'm checking in on you."
Robert's answering stare was flat and unimpressed. "Kid. C'mon. I wasn't born yesterday/"
These damn Gothamites! So hostile towards the mere suggestion of sincerity…
Peter tossed his head in a way he knew conveyed an eyeroll. "We~ell, if you're not interested in telling ol' Spidey how you're doing… you mind sharing the results of your tox screening instead?"
The immediate vindication on Rob's face was displeasing. Peter really did roll his eyes then.
"I do actually care if you're doing okay, you know. Friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man and all that."
"No one's that friendly in Gotham, kid."
"Well I am. Seems like Gotham needs all the friendliness it can get."
Rob's expression softened. "… If it were anyone else, I'd say nothin'. Never much cared for the Bat… But you're the one guy who's responsible for me being able to kiss my girls goodnight again." He hobbled back to his bed, picked up the med chart, then returned to Peter. "Here. See for yourself… they didn't find anythin'."
The chart was passed through the little gap, and Peter skimmed over the information. Rob was right, though: there was nothing of note except… "Rosuvastatin?"
"For my cholesterol."
"Ah."
Apparently, Gotham took its tox screens seriously. It looked for the usual suspects — amphetamines, alcohol, barbiturates and the like — but there were some fun, bonus categories thrown in for good measure, too. Stuff like fear toxin and Joker venom…
This city was so messed up.
"Kinda wished it wasn't clear," Rob confessed quietly. "Then I wouldn't be worrying…"
He trailed off, but Peter heard the 'if I'd had a psychotic break' loud and clear. He looked back at the man: Rob's face was wan and pale, his eyes bloodshot. It wouldn't surprise Peter to learn Rob hadn't slept at all. Join the club. But he sympathised: a loss of bodily autonomy was one of Peter's greatest fears.
"I didn't think… I've never even…"
"I believe you, Rob."
Peter didn't think he'd ever seen someone look both relieved and troubled at the same time, but apparently there was a first time for everything. "Thanks, kid."
"We're going to get to the bottom of this." Peter hesitated as he was about to return the chart. "Do you mind if I…?"
Rob caught on quickly. "Go on." He chuckled. "Just don't tell my wife."
Peter laughed softly as he took a picture — no leaving his burner at home this time. It required a little manoeuvring to get the text in focus, and Rob made a startled sound as both Peter's hands ended up free in the air.
"Seriously, Spidey! How are you sticking?"
"Like I said, Robbo," Peter said, distracted. He had to pin the phone beneath his chin while he flipped to the next page. "Spider-magic."
That garnered a laugh, and Peter was grinning too when he returned the chart.
"I'll be sure not to say a word to your wife. She's coming back, by the way."
"Lemme guess: also spider-magic?"
"… Something like that, sure."
Rob tucked the chart under an arm and held out his hand. "Thank-you, Spider-Man."
Peter shook the man's hand, something warm and tight filling his chest. He didn't know the last time he'd received such a solemn and sincere 'thank-you'. Usually, people's thanks were thrown after him as he swung off to the next fire. If he got anything at all.
"Any time," Peter returned, and — yep. The warbling that slipped into his voice was the exact reason he usually ran off before someone could thank him. Fortunately, any further soppiness on either of their parts was prevented by the approach of Rob's wife. Peter let go and withdrew.
"Stay safe, Rob."
"The same to you, Spidey. Sorry for causin' you trouble."
Peter didn't have time to say anything else. He crawled out of the window's sightlines just as Rob's wife entered the ward and heard her concerned greeting: "What are you doing by the window, Robbie?"
"Jus'… enjoying the fresh air."
"So long as that's all you're doing." There was a wondering frown in the woman's voice, suddenly. "Rob, baby, did you let the nurses enter your billing into a lottery?"
Peter paused, still in earshot.
"Lottery?"
"Yes… when I went to sort out the insurance, they told me everything had already been taken care of."
"Eh?"
"Something about a Catherine Fund? They said most patient's cases were entered."
"Catherine?" Peter asked softly into his comm. He was far enough away from the Maraini's that he knew they couldn't hear him.
"Huh?"
"Catherine… Jace, was that you?"
Jason was silent on the other end. When at last he did speak, it was to obfuscate… though Peter supposed he wouldn't have heard the Maraini's conversation and could just have been confused. "I don't know what you—"
"The Catherine Fund?" Peter knew that name. He'd bet his insubstantial savings that Jason had his fingerprints all over that.
Sure enough, Jason sighed. "Yeah… that's me. It's a zipcode lottery."
Some kind of funny business was going on in Peter's stomach. Had Jason engineered this without Peter's knowledge? Or was Rob genuinely just a lucky recipient?
Jason must have known what Peter was thinking. "I not nothin' to do with it… I just supply the funds. It ain't even dirty money: the cash comes from the Iceberg Lounge[1]. At the time, I figured… what better way shove it in Cobblepot's face, you know?"
Peter did not know. It was a common experience when it came to Jason, but the feeling never got any less weird.
"I'm… heading back," he said instead of investigating the strange twisting in his stomach.
Laughter. "I'll pack you a to-go bag, shall I?"
Peter smiled, unseen by anyone. "Thanks."
And then Peter fled the scene, thoughts scrambled by the dichotomous mess that was Jason Todd.
— + —
Tim SNAKE 🐍Today, 2:13 PM I know what you didToday, 3:22 PM uh… I'm innocent?Oh I'm COMING for you quick and entirly unrelated question… have u evert considered villainy?try to sneak a peak at my records again and I might just3:41 PM ✔️✔️🔒📞Tim SNAKE🐍is calling📞
— + —
Two days later, Peter had another tutoring session with Duke. Duke was back at school, but classes ended early on Wednesdays. He came around, wooed by the promise of a cooked dinner from Jason, and armed with further comments about scamming money from especially stupid babies that Peter thought were unmerited.
Learning how Earth G changed with a different group of capes and catastrophes was annoying. There were big difference and little differences, and Peter kept getting things muddled up. He'd resorted to making flash cards from the textbooks Duke loaned him, only to push it all to the side about two hours in. His thoughts kept turning to other things: Rob, his amnesiac jumper; improvements to Peter's spider-suit; the irrational desire to use his spider-tracer to stalk Jason. All of it spun around his head, at active war against his lukewarm desire to learn about the socio-economic impact of Superman on the East Coast.
Eventually he threw in the towel, tossing his new stack of flash cards to the side. "I'm done for today."
"Oh, thank God." Duke was immediately shoving himself away from the table. He too had been studying, taking notes for some social sciences assignment. "Walk?"
Dog immediately perked up at the w-word. She jumped off Peter's feet and made a beeline for the door, tail wagging.
"Guess that decides it." Peter grinned wryly as he stood. He took a moment to luxuriate in a stretch, twisting backwards to the left and right as his vertebra clicked satisfyingly. Duke pretended to gag and was ignored.
After sending a text to Jason, who was due home in about thirty minutes, they set off, tumbling down the stairs (even if the lift now worked fine, Peter refused to use it, citing his need to exercise and Duke begrudgingly agreed) and out onto the street. It was a crisp, clear day — a growing rarity in Gotham now that winter was in full force — and the air was still. A faint yellow haze enveloped the city; a day's worth of pollution trapped in a bubble that refused to burst.
The unappetising sky didn't stop the boys from jogging to the park, Dog lolling between them with open delight. By the time they got there, Duke's face was dark with exertion and while his breathing wasn't heavy, it wasn't light, either.
"Remind me never to race you," Duke panted. He swiped at his sweaty face then shot a glare at Peter. "Did your pulse even pick up?"
"I don't think so?" Peter hummed, taking the question seriously. But when he pressed his fingers to his jugular, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. "No."
"Ugh." Duke petulantly attempted to shove Peter, but Peter remained firm and Duke nearly pushed himself over instead. "Oh, fuck you!"
Peter snickered as he threw a ball for Dog. She raced off, leaving Peter and Duke in the dust.
They meandered around the park perimeter, Dog returning time and time again like a boomerang with her ball. Peter kept his hands firmly in his pockets, letting Duke take care of the increasingly slobbery projectile. When he finally decided she'd had enough for now, they sat on the bench usually reserved by smoking teens and basked in the sun. Dog flopped down at their feet after Peter had given her a good drink from his cupped hands.
"Question," Peter asked, feeling loose-limbed and lazy. The sun bore little heat, but the placebo effect had him feeling warm anyway.
"Possible answer."
"What's the deal with you?"
"Eh?"
"You're… you're a meta, right?" Peter kept his voice low, even though he could sense there was no one around to hear except Dog. Not even the electric hum of a listening device attached to the park bench. "You're the one who told Jason I was radioactive."
"… Yeah?"
"Don't phrase your answer like a question," Peter put on a deliberately posh voice. "It's unbecoming."
"Ohhh, terribly sorry!" Duke exclaimed, immediately mirroring Peter's tone. "Then ye~es, dear sir! I did indeed!"
Peter snickered and slipped back into his usual voice. "You got any other tricks up your sleeves?"
"I don't know, do you?" Duke countered. "Strong and — what — sticky? Those webs aren't yours, right?" Peter hesitated, then nodded. It was fair play. "Anything else? Got fangs?"
"God, no!" Peter laughed. "Can you imagine how annoying that would be? Trying to eat?" A wicked mood came over him. "Trying to kiss?"
"Nope! Jail!" Duke shoved him back and Peter let him. "Jail for you, immediately. Do not pass go! Please give me your $200!"
"Just think, it'd be so inconvenient!"
"I am not thinking about you and Todd! Stop it! Stop!"
"You're all a bunch of prudes," Peter scoffed, though his cheeks felt hot at the thought of kissing his very pretend and very fake boyfriend.
"And you're clearly an only child!" At Peter's pointed look, Duke laughed. "Okay, so maybe I was one too, but the point is, I'm not anymore. Therefore, thinking about you and Jason in anything that veers away from strictly platonic is a horrifying thing to contemplate. It's the brotherly spirit."
"Noted," Peter finally gave in, still grinning wickedly. Toying with the Waynes (and adjacent) was best done in small doses, anyway. "Still haven't answered my question, by the way."
Duke groaned. "I'd hoped you'd forgotten."
"I know. But I didn't."
"It's…" Duke grimaced. "I dunno, man. I'm honestly still wrapping my head around it. Sometimes I work something new out and it surprises me all over again."
Tell me about it, Peter thought darkly. That final rewrite for Earth G was still catching him unawares. But he kept the thought to himself, waiting patiently for Duke to explain.
Eventually, Duke got the words out. "So… I can manipulate light and shadows? You know, make things darker or lighter… or invisible, even. It enhances my vision. I can see things clearly from crazy-far distances, or up close. For instance—" He suddenly plucked Peter's hand from his lap, turning it over to reveal his palm. "There are tiny hairs on your hands. Did you know that?"
"Yeah." Peter smirked. "How else did you think I got sticky?"
Duke pulled a face and dropped Peter's hand. "Weird."
"Say's you." Duke attempted to shove him again and Peter laughed. "So? Is that all you can do?"
"Naw." Duke's eyes crinkled like he knew he was about to pull an ace from his sleeve. "I call it ghost vision. If I concentrate, I can replay, like, events from the recent past… or future."
"That's crazy," Peter breathed, and he meant it. He thought the whole 'access to the cosmic powers of life' thing was wild but in comparison, Peter's felt tame. "You can just… see the future?"
"Sure can."
"I'd ask you to prove it, but that doesn't seem like a bright idea."
"Oh my God, I hope you die."
Peter erupted into a peal of laughter that soon had Duke joining in. When they calmed, Duke took back the reins of the conversation. He was awkward about it though, scruffing the back of his head as he stared out at the park.
"So, uh… I want it on record that I was press ganged into this."
Peter shot a curious look at Duke, who was grimacing like he'd been told to do something gross, like clean a toilet or quality test cat food.
"Duly noted. Go on."
"Christmas is coming, faster than you'd think."
"Ah."
"And look — honestly, I don't feel like I care one way or another if you guys just want to do your own thing — I know just how crazy the whole family can be, seriously I do — but Dick and Tim'd really like you both to be there. Bruce, too, though he's not said anything about. But he gets this constipated look when he wants something that he doesn't feel he's got the right to, and he gets it every time Dick brings it up. You shoulda seen them at Thanksgiving: it was unbearable."
Peter's expression had dimmed at the mention of Tim, the nosy parker with no respect for boundaries. They'd had a good long chat about it the day before, with Tim confessing to having listened in on Peter's conversation with Peter, too. It seemed this week was the time for spilling all, and Peter was tired of it.
He kept such thoughts to himself, though. "Bruce already invited Jason to Christmas. Weeks ago."
Duke gaped. "He did?"
"The first time we met. Although I think his exact words were that Alfred would appreciate it and Jason should 'just think about it'."
Duke sighed and slouched deeper into the bench seat. "Yeah, that sounds like a Bruce thing to say. I'm guessin' Jason said no?"
"Well, he didn't not say no…" If anything, Peter thought Jason hadn't said anything about it at all.
He and Duke shared a look. In both their books, a non-answer was as good as saying yes. Jason just didn't know it yet.
"Tell Dick I'll see what I can do," Peter promised. They shook hands on it.
"Just a heads up, they will try and con you into staying the night. I recommend you bring Dog. Oh, and we usually do a steal santa thing, rather than gift everyone. Too many people to buy for."
"Noted."
They chatted some more until intermittent cloud cover and the oncoming dusk made it too cold to remain seated. Peter did a few running laps with Dog to warm back up while Duke scrolled lazily on his phone. When Peter and Dog returned, they made their way back to the apartment, where Jason had probably already started on dinner.
Halfway there though, Dog froze in her tracks. It took a moment for Duke and Peter, engrossed in a debate about Star Wars to realise (Duke was convinced Boba Fett was wildly overrated and he was wrong). Peter doubled back and the slack on the leash gave Dog all the leeway she needed to make an immediate beeline for an alley.
Feeling a strong sense of déjà vu even though Peter couldn't sense any humans on the street or hiding above, he followed.
"Oh, c'mon man, this is a classic set up!" Duke complained, even as he followed Peter into the darkened pocket of grime.
"Hush. There's no one there."
"And I s'pose you can just tell that, can you?"
Peter twisted to give Duke a look of pure derision. "And you can't?"
Duke's eyes narrowed. "That was a challenge. I don't know what you're challenging me with, but that was a challenge."
"If you don't know what it is, then you've already lost."
With a roll of his eyes, Duke fell quiet and let Peter and Dog do their thing. And by 'do their thing', Peter meant 'let Dog sniff along the corners of the alley until she found what she was looking for'.
And when she did… oh man. Peter was going to give Dog the biggest treat in the well-hidden treat box when they finally got home.
By jiloop
— + —
Jason was busy peeling carrots and potatoes when Peter, Duke and Dog returned. He'd heard the lift — finally working properly, sorry Mrs Peng — and after checking the security cameras, pre-emptively washed his hands and unchained the door.
Sure enough, the moment the door was unlocked and opened, a scramble of legs and tapping claws rushed inside. Jason stooped down to give his best girl a good belly rub. She wriggled on the floor, ecstatic while Peter and Duke toed off their shoes and hung up their coats.
He straightened and reeled Peter in for their customary kiss on the cheek (a Wayne family exclusive), pettily rejoicing at Duke's rolling eyes and weirdly grateful he was still allowed to pull off the scam at all.
"Hey, trouble. You guys have a good day?"
"We've had the best of days," said Peter, and there was something in the curl of his mouth that immediately put Jason on edge. Peter had something up his sleeve and Jason wasn't going to like it.
A glance at Duke confirmed: the shit wasn't even trying to conceal his mirth.
"What?" Jason tried to pull away, but Peter's arm around his waist was firm. "What is it?"
The game was up. Peter's grin emerged in full force and Jason knew he was in danger.
"So…" Peter started. "You know how you wanted to know how you could make it up to me?"
Jason frowned. "I thought I had made it up to you?"
"We~ell… I think this is the perfect way to do so."
"Miaow."
Jason's eyes widened with realisation. The sound had come from Peter's hoodie, still zipped up and squirming. "Peter, no."
"Jason, yes."
He managed at last to extricate himself from Peter's sticky grip. "We've already got Dog! We don't need another hungry mouth to feed!"
"But look at him!"
And then Jason was forced to look at him. Peter tugged down the zipper of his hoodie — which, Jason would like to note, he was fairly certain was actually Jason's — and out popped a head of filthy orange fur and toxic orange eyes.
By jiloop
"Isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen?"
The cat miaowed again. It was an awful, nasal sound; about as far from cute as a cat could get. The poor beast sounded like it'd been a chain smoker for twenty years and was days away from collapsing with emphysema. And its eyes. Oh god, the eyes. They bore such resentment for the world Jason was filled with the prophetic certainty it was already planning to smother all three of them in their sleep.
"There's no way that's staying with us."
"Bzzt! Wrong answer!" Peter said cheerfully. He strolled casually over to the dining table and unzipped his hoodie completely. The demon in cat's clothing practically melted out of its cage, leaving behind a thick stream of orange fur. It padded around the table — freshly cleared because both Peter and Duke were slobs who'd not even bothered to clean up after themselves — sniffing at the water glasses Jason had set down earlier.
Peter clicked his tongue and rubbed his fingers together. The demon paused its perusal to return to him, rubbing its filthy face all over Peter's outstretched hand.
"See? He's friendly!" said Peter. A horrifying rumble, like the ground opening up to let out a swarm of demons, filled the apartment. And Jason wanted it on record that he would know what that sounded like[2].
Now more than ever did Jason regret Peter's willingness to see the better side of people. Sure, that worked out okay for Jason, but he'd already predicted such magnanimity was going to bite him in the ass, and here he was, ass predictably bitten by a four-legged, orange-furred spawn of Trigon.
"Where did you even find it?" Jason rasped. He couldn't tear his eyes away from those eyes. Orange like lava, pupils thin slits of evil.
"Oh, around."
"Dog found it behind a dumpster," Duke piped up, clearly enjoying Jason's suffering because he was, like the rest of the family, an asshole.
Peter, the evasive little shit, scowled at Duke. "Dog likes him."
And sure enough, Dog was straining at the table, tail wagging furiously as she tried to get the demon's attention. Et tu Brute. Apparently, Jason was the only one with taste. Or a sense of self-preservation.
"His name is Gary."
"Gary."
"Yes. So mote it be."
"You realise 'Gary' is a girl cat, right?"
Peter's eyes widened and he checked under the cat's tail. "… Her name is Gary."
"You can't just—"
"I don't think the man who called his dog, Dog, has any right to criticise me for Gary's name."
"We can't keep her," Jason tried once again. Where had his resilience gone? He was the Red Hood, scourge of the underworld or whatever bullshit title Dick pulled out of a hat this week. He should not feel his defences crumbling so swiftly.
"Jason," Peter said sweetly, and suddenly he was in Jason's space, clutching at the sides of Jason's shirt and staring up with big, doe eyes. Gentle warmth radiated from Peter and Jason's hands landed on his waist without thought. This must be how Macbeth felt as his wife convinced him a spot of regicide was good for the soul. Spellbound. Unable to tear his eyes away.
Then the gremlin man ruined the effect by opening his mouth again. "Remember? The making it up to me?"
"Pete, c'mon! The flowers weren't enough?" And — fucking hell — it sounded like a whine even to Jason's ears.
"Just pet her and you'll understand," Peter wheedled.
"You're seeing this, right?" Jason turned to Duke accusingly. "He's possessed. You let my man get possessed, didn't you?"
"By looove," Peter sang. "I looove her!"
Duke, helpfully, wheezed with half-bitten laughter.
"I feel like you've overstayed your welcome, Narrows."
"Oh no, I ain't going anywhere, Todd. This is the most entertainment I've had in weeks."
"I will kick your ass outta here."
"Pretty sure Pete would slap you."
"I would!" piped up Peter, already abandoning Jason to return to petting the fucking devil. "He's our guest!"
"Oh man," Duke attempted to sigh mournfully and spectacularly failed. "That guy's got you whipped."
"How about a little defenestration? It's very fashionable these days."
"If Peter didn't slap you for that, Damian would. I'm his favourite."
"Pretty sure Titus is his favourite, actually."
"I'm his favourite brother, then."
"Pretty sure that's Dick."
"His favourite youngest older brother, then!"
"You're really clutchin' at the straws now, Narrows."
"Just give her a scratch! She's friendly!" Peter tried again.
"She's homicidal!"
"Gary wouldn't hurt a fly!"
Regardless of Peter's assertions, 'Gary' was eyeing up those water glasses with nefarious intent. Jason was certain of it. If he said yes, they'd be stuck with plastic cups for the rest of eternity and that was untenable[3].
Peter, the wily bastard, made use of Jason's distraction to grab his wrist and haul him bodily over to the table. He held Jason's hand out to the demon and Jason cringed, fully expecting it to immediately latch on with teeth or claws or both. Those eyes promised curses upon his bloodline.
by confusedhuh
But there was no pain. Instead, the demon sniffed his hand contemptuously, before letting out one of those horrific chain-smoker miaows and rubbing her cheek over his outstretched fingers.
"She booped you," Peter whispered, vibrating at his side. "Now scratch her head! Behind the ears!"
"She'll murder me."
"She won't, I promise."
Bored with Jason's hesitation, Peter did half the job for him, raising Jason's hand and rubbing his thumb along the back of its skull. Its fur was a little greasy to the touch, but soft. That was probably the only part of it that was soft, though: the rest of its long orange fur was badly matted.
"Mrrt," said the devil spawn, and sought Jason's hand out again. Peter let go but didn't move away and Jason's attention was torn between the horrifying creature seeking head scratches and his gremlin housemate who lacked any concept of personal space. Peter was stuck to his side, face pressed tight against Jason's shoulder as he keenly observed Jason's awkward petting.
"Couldn't you have just got another dog?" he asked weakly.
"No space," Peter shot back.
"There's no space for a fucking cat!"
"Untrue. We can put up a run for her there—" he pointed at the wall between their bedrooms. "And a tower there." His finger landed on the spot right where Dog's cage sat.
Jason said as much but Peter was unrepentant.
"Dog won't mind sharing."
Judging by how vigorous Dog's tail was wagging and her near desperation to get on the table, Jason didn't doubt it.
"We don't have anything to care for her with right now." Cats needed a litter box, right? And this one sure as fuck needed a bath and a good comb. Some of those mats would probably need to be cut out and Jason was very firmly Not It.
"Don't worry about it," Peter said absently in a tone that definitely had Jason worrying about it. And then, as though sensing Jason's weakness (and let's be real, that was definitely what Peter did), Peter moved in for the kill, all big eyes and woeful sounds. "She was all alone, Jace. Abandoned, hungry. She just wants someone to care for her…"
Shutting his eyes did nothing. His treacherous brain still summoned up an image of Peter's pitiful expression. And — fuck — when Peter put it like that…
"Fuck."
Peter cheered, knowing he'd won. With a surge of happy energy, the devil's advocate bounced up and planted a joyful kiss to Jason's cheek, before throwing his arms around Jason's neck.
"Thank-you thank-you thank-you!"
"Don't thank me yet," Jason grouched, but couldn't stop his arms from encircling Peter's waist even if he tried. It was like touching a livewire. His muscles spasmed into it. That was all. An involuntary action. "You're the one who'll be bathing her, not me."
"Whipped!" Duke helpfully said again.
There was a garrotte under the table. If Jason was quick enough, he could get it around the brat's neck and prove him wrong. That was the true sign of brotherhood, right? Peter wouldn't begrudge him the fratricide if the cat was still around—
"Don't tease him," Peter scolded Duke, an effort which was entirely undermined by the smug look on his face when he finally pulled away from Jason.
"Did you even get her something to eat?" Jason sighed, running a hand tiredly through his hair.
"Oh, we didn't need to worry about that."
He frowned at the dismissive tone. "What does that—"
There was a loud and insistent knock at the door. Then: "Todd! Parker told me you required help with a cat! I have come prepared as I knew you would be incapable of such care!"
Jason turned on Peter and refused to be swayed by that sweet smile. Nevermind the cat. It was Peter that was the real demon here. What a mistake he'd made, allowing it into his home. His life — and more importantly his reputation — would never recover.
"I figured we could make use of the Wayne fortune to take care of her settling in."
"Divorce," Jason told Peter seriously. "I want a divorce."
That sweet smile just broadened and the little shitlightly pet Jason's cheek. "That's nice, dear. Now let your little brother in before he kicks down the door."
by Onyxmistkes
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🦇YOUNG ADULT EDITION🦇TODAY 5:51 PMyall are NEVER going to believe this🙀🤩😮 I'll Spoil YOUis that a FUCKING CATRude-Robinwow thats an ugly catI'll Spoil YOUWHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEso I've been to JPs. And guess who just rescued a catj put up a hard front but crumbled like a vintage cheese at P's assault. It was a masterful thing to beholdher name is garyI'll Spoil YOUGAARY I WOULD DIE FOR GARY
[1] In the RHATO (Rebirth) comics, specifically Red Hood: Outlaw, Prince of Gotham, Jason reclaims his public figurehood by becoming the owner of the Iceberg Lounge… after the disappearance of Oswald Cobblepot (AKA the Penguin, whom Jason shot in the face with a blank in an earlier volume). This DOES mean that Jason Todd's identity has been revived in Gotham. Jason later relinquishes control of the Lounge to Suzie Su, but officially he still owns it. By this point in the comics I'm sure this had been forgotten about, but for the purposes of ECM, the Penguin's whereabouts are still unknown and Jason's still the official owner.
[2] So, in the final volume of RHATO (Rebirth), Jason and Co. Go up against the Untitled (the monsters he'd trained to kill when he was with the All Caste… this is why he has the All Blades) who had made a deal with Trigon to break open an inter-dimensional portal (kinda) that would allow Trigon to take over all realities. There's a long protracted fight, timeline shenanigans, and Bizarro kills Trigon and ends up becoming king of Hell so the demons don't try to take over the Earth.
[3] As the cat mum of a cup tipper, I'm 1000% channelling Jason's pain here. IYKYK