Forks and Feels
When Jason got the call, he was in the middle of a high-stakes meeting. Across the table sat a powerful crime lord, someone he’d spent weeks negotiating with to solidify alliances and expand his influence. It was the kind of meeting that could shape the future of his operation.
But the second he hung up on Jamie, everything else became irrelevant. Without a word or a backward glance, he strode out of the room, leaving stunned silence in his wake.
Moments later, Jason was tearing through the city on his bike, weaving between cars and pedestrians like a man possessed. He reached the rooftops just in time to spot Peter, darting through the streets below with a group of Jason’s own kids chasing after him. Jason didn’t even need to intervene—he knew they’d never catch him. It had taken the whole team last time, and even that was barely enough.
Peter turned sharply into an alleyway, and Jason followed, cutting off the kids’ pursuit with a sharp gesture.
“Peter!” Jason shouted as he watched the boy scale a wall, already pulling himself toward the rooftop. Peter froze, glancing down at him.
Jason softened his tone. “Hey! Come on, let’s go home.”
Peter hesitated, gripping the edge of the roof. “I can’t…” he said quietly before hauling himself onto the top.
“Wait! How about you just come to my place? Get some food?” Jason called after him, his voice calm but urgent.
Peter stopped again, one hand pressed against his stomach. “…Will you not tell the others?”
“They won’t know a thing,” Jason promised.
After a moment, Peter jumped down, landing lightly in front of him. He kept his gaze fixed on Jason’s boots, avoiding eye contact.
“Come on, big guy,” Jason said gently, turning to lead the way. “We’ll take my bike.”
As they stepped out of the alley, Jason waved off the group of kids who had gathered just outside. With a subtle signal, he told them to disappear. By the time Peter emerged, they were gone. The boy exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
Jason helped Peter onto the bike, carefully fitting the spare helmet over his head. Only now does he notice the scar along his face, from the right side of his face over his nose and to the left side. A large reminder plastered onto him: “Hold on tight,” he said before setting off. This time, the bike moved at a steady, deliberate pace, a far cry from the reckless speed Jason had used to get there.
When they arrived at Jason’s apartment, he helped Peter down, pulling off his helmet and ruffling his messy hair. Peter didn’t protest, just followed silently as Jason led him inside.
Jason headed straight to the fridge, pulling out leftovers and plating them. As the microwave hummed softly, the room settled into a quiet, almost peaceful rhythm. The sharp ding of the microwave startled Peter, making him flinch slightly as Jason grabbed the warmed plates.
“So, big guy…” Jason began, his tone light but curious as he set a plate before Peter. “You wanna talk about why you don’t want to go home? From one loner to another?” He chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. Peter grabbed the fork laid in front of him, his hands gripping it and crushing it instantly. He pauses, looking down at the deformed fork. “Hey, it’s okay, there's cheap metal…”
“Is Alfred alive?” Peter asked, putting his deformed fork down, Jason handing him another. Jason freezes, his hands almost shaking.
“Yes. Alfred is alive.” He looked away from his food and at Peter, who had small tears in his eyes. “Tim and Duke as well.”
“I thought he died…” Peter admitted, taking the first bite of food. “I thought I’d killed him.”
“But you didn’t,” Jason said, his voice trembling slightly at the thought of Alfred dying. “And even if he had… it wouldn’t have been your fault.”
Peter didn’t respond, his focus remaining on his food as he ate in silence.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Peter,” Jason added softly.
It was his fault.
The fork in his hand twisted, the metal bending effortlessly under his grip. With a resigned sigh, he placed it next to another broken fork on the table.
“I’m stronger now…” Peter whispered, switching to his hands to grab at the food. “I keep breaking everything I touch.”
Jason watched him carefully. “You know,” he started, his tone calm and reflective, “I wasn’t always this strong either…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I was normal for a long time, but then something happened, and I got more strength. I could heal faster, too.”
Peter kept eating, almost ravenous, but Jason noticed the slight shift in his posture—he was listening.
“And I was angry,” Jason continued. “And hurt. It felt like too much sometimes…”
Jason leaned forward onto the counter, folding his arms as he studied Peter. The boy’s shoulders were hunched, his movements hurried and tense, as if he couldn’t decide whether to eat to survive or escape from the conversation entirely. Jason let out a quiet sigh, choosing his next words carefully.
“You’re not alone in this, you know,” Jason said softly, leaning forward. “It’s hard, learning how to handle all that strength. It feels like the world expects you to be a weapon, but you don’t have to be.” He paused, his gaze drifting to the table as his voice grew quieter. “I thought I had to figure it out on my own, and… it just made everything worse. It hurt me more than it helped.”
Peter hesitated, his empty plate in front of him. “What if I hurt them?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if… she comes back?”
Jason’s jaw tightened for a moment, but then he softened his expression, meeting Peter’s eyes. “Peter, we found her. She’s locked away in Arkham. She can’t hurt you—or anyone else—again.”
Peter froze, his eyes widening slightly. “You… came looking for me?” he asked, the surprise clear in his voice.
Jason gave a small, lopsided smile. “Of course we did. We never stopped looking for you.”
Peter’s face shifted, his usual guarded expression cracking just enough to reveal the vulnerability underneath.
Jason leaned back, crossing his arms as he shook his head. “Not for a second. Every one of us was out there—searching every alley, every rooftop, every lead we could find. You’re part of the family, Peter. We don’t give up on family.”
For a moment, Peter just sat there, processing Jason’s words. Then, slowly, he nodded, a faint but genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
I’m not alone.
“I don’t think I should go to the manor…” Peter admitted, his voice hesitant, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“Why?” Jason asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
Peter’s hands fidgeted in his lap. “I’m gonna break everything… then Alfred will get mad…” he muttered.
Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about that too much. B’s got a few friends who can help teach you how to keep your strength under control.”
Peter stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay… I’ll try. But if I break something valuable, I’m blaming you…”
Jason grinned, standing back up. “That’s the spirit. Besides, the manor’s tougher than it looks. Alfred would probably just give you a mop and tell you to clean up if you did break something.”
Peter let out a small laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess.”
“See? You’ll be fine.” Jason patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be better at the manor… I promise.”
Jason debated keeping Peter here, in the safety of his small apartment, away from the chaos of the manor and the weight of everyone else’s expectations. The idea gnawed at him. If he could shield the kid—keep him from the others, keep him from Bruce—maybe he could save him. Save him from becoming another Robin. Save him from the pain that came with the cape and the mask.
But Jason knew better.
If it ever came out that he’d hidden Peter, that he’d kept him from the family, it wouldn’t just be Bruce he’d have to answer to. Dick… Dick would come for him, and with the way his temper had been lately, Jason was sure he’d be the first to throw a punch.
Jason leaned against the counter, watching Peter sit quietly at the table, his shoulders slumped, his eyes distant. The kid was exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally. And as much as Jason wanted to keep him here, to protect him from everything he knew Bruce would throw at him, he also knew the truth.
Peter needed help. Help Jason couldn’t provide in his cramped, one-bedroom apartment. Help that could only come from the resources and the people back at the manor.
“It’s late… You should sleep here tonight…” Jason finally broke the silence.
“Okay…”
“Let’s get you out of that dirty shirt first,” Jason said, heading toward his room. He rifled through his dresser, eventually pulling out the smallest shirt he owned. It was still far too large for Peter, but it would have to do. Grabbing a towel as well, he walked toward the bathroom.
“I’ll run you a bath,” Jason called over his shoulder, stepping inside. He set the towel down and turned on the faucet, letting the water run as he adjusted the temperature. As the tub began to fill, he ducked back into the kitchen, rummaging through a cabinet until he found an old plastic cup. Returning to the bathroom, he placed it on the edge of the tub.
“I don’t have any toys,” Jason admitted with a small, sheepish shrug, “but I’ve got this.” He gestured to the cup like it was some grand offering.
Peter stood in the doorway, watching silently as Jason checked the water temperature one last time before turning it off. Satisfied, Jason straightened up and looked back at the boy.
“You’re old enough to handle this, right?” Jason asked, his tone light but cautious.
Peter nodded slowly, clutching the oversized shirt he was wearing. “Yeah… I can do it.”
Jason hesitated for a moment, then gave a small, reassuring smile. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” He handed Peter the towel and stepped out, closing the door behind him to give the kid some privacy.
Peter pulled off the tattered, oversized shirt he’d scavenged from the dumpster, the sour, unpleasant smell hitting him fully now. Grimacing, he tossed it onto the bathroom floor.
Climbing into the warm bath, he immediately felt the soothing comfort of the water against his skin, a small relief from the tension he’d been carrying. As he sank into the tub, his eyes drifted to the mirror above the sink.
His reflection stared back, unfamiliar and grimy. Traces of dried blood clung stubbornly to his face, and his body bore small, faded streaks of red. His gaze locked onto the jagged scar running along his cheek, a harsh reminder of everything he’d endured.
Lifting a trembling hand, he gently touched the scar, tracing its length. The rough texture felt foreign under his fingertips, like it didn’t belong to him. A lump formed in his throat, but he quickly turned away from the mirror, pushing the image out of his mind.
Settling fully into the bath, Peter grabbed the soap Jason had left for him and began scrubbing himself clean. The warm water turned a murky red as dried blood dissolved from his skin, swirling in the tub.
He paused, watching the colour spread through the water, and sighed. The warmth was comforting, but it couldn’t wash away the memories that clung to him as stubbornly as the blood. Still, for a moment, it felt like he could breathe again, as if he was starting to feel human again.
As the water began to cool, Peter pulled himself out of the tub, wrapping the towel around his small frame. He dried off quickly, savouring the clean, fresh feeling before slipping on the oversized shirt Jason had given him. It hung loosely on his body, but it was warm and soft—a stark contrast to the filthy clothes he’d worn before.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Peter felt almost like a different person—anew but still carrying the weight of everything that had happened.
“Big guy… come on, my room’s this way,” Jason said softly, leading Peter down the hall. He helped him up into the tall bed, the mattress sinking under Peter’s weight as Jason carefully tucked him in.
Peter settled into the sheets, the warmth of the bed contrasting with the coolness of the room. He looked up at Jason, offering a faint, tired smile.
“Good night, Peter,” Jason said quietly, smoothing a stray lock of hair from the boy’s forehead.
“Good night, Jason…” Peter replied, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion finally catching up with him.
Jason lingered for a moment, watching him. He’d made it this far—he wasn’t going to let the kid slip away now. With one last glance, he stepped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, just in case Peter needed him. He made his way to the couch, a blanket and pillow laid out for him already. He knew he was going to be given shit tomorrow if he didn’t tell everyone that Peters was okay… but he hesitated. He knew that if he told them, they might come running to his apartment. He didn’t want to scare Peter.
He turned on his comms. “Peter’s safe. Met at my apartment tomorrow at 8 am. Don’t come before, or you’ll scare him off again. It took a very long time to convince him to stay…”
He turned them off before he got a response. Instead, he laid down on the couch and tried his best to sleep