A Seat That Finally Feels Real
Wayne Manor – Dining Room, Early Evening
Dinner at the manor wasn’t a rare thing.
Peter had sat at this table before. Watched the arguments. Endured the chaos. Even deflected a bread roll once (courtesy of Jason). He’d smiled when they joked. Nodded when they asked things. Laughed when someone made a dry comment about Gotham’s crime rate.
But he’d always sat just outside of it all.
Tonight felt different.
Tonight, they weren’t talking around him.
They were talking with him.
Cass signed something across the table and Peter, without even thinking, signed back. Her grin was quick and warm, the kind that didn’t ask anything in return.
Stephanie pointed at Peter’s plate. “You actually eat vegetables now? Growth.”
He smirked. “Turns out I don’t hate them. Just hated being forced to eat them by ninjas.”
Tim nearly choked on his water laughing.
Barbara nudged him with a fork. “Try saying that sentence in public and not sounding insane.”
Duke leaned in. “You know, the only one more intense than you at training is Damian.”
“Untrue,” Damian muttered. “He’s just quieter when he’s judging us.”
Peter chuckled. “I don’t judge. I assess. It’s… less rude.”
Jason, walking in late, flopped down beside him and stole a roll. “What’d I miss?”
“Just Peter pretending he’s not becoming one of us,” Tim said.
Peter paused. The table kept going, conversation flowing.
And suddenly, it hit him.
He wasn’t pretending anymore.
He was.
One of them.
Maybe not whole. Maybe not healed.
But here. Chosen. Still standing.
Bruce caught his eye down the table. Said nothing. Just held the look.
Peter gave a small nod.
And Bruce returned it.