Doctors and Sandwiches
Peter wanted to disappear, to retreat somewhere no one could see him. He had caught glimpses of his scars at Jason’s place—hideous marks etched across his skin, each one a permanent reminder of what had been done to him.
As he followed Dr. Thompkins down the hallway, his steps were hesitant, his heart heavy. When she opened the door to a small, private room, Peter lingered for a moment before stepping inside.
He took a shaky breath, his fists clenched at his sides. He knew this was necessary, that he had to let her see. Just once. If it meant proving to everyone that he was okay—at least physically—then maybe they could stop worrying.
Still, the thought of exposing those scars, of letting someone else bear witness to the reminders of his pain, made his stomach churn. But Peter squared his shoulders, forcing himself to move forward. This was for them.
The doctor sat in her chair and rolled across the room to the exam table. Peter froze.
“Could I stand…” He asked, staring at the white bed.
“If that would make you more comfortable, then absolutely.” She rolled and grabbed a step stool, putting it in the centre of the room. “Hop on so I can see you better.” She tapped the step gently.
It didn’t take long—perhaps an hour at most. Dr. Thompkins meticulously marked every scar on her chart, her hands gentle but precise as she noted the damage that Peter had endured. She prodded his sides and stomach, checking for any signs of lingering pain, shining a light in his eyes to test for any neurological effects. She carefully examined his body for traces of metal or anything that could indicate more serious internal injuries.
Each test, each scan, passed without issue. Peter flinched only a few times when she pressed against the deeper scars, but he kept his composure. As she finished, she gave him a soft smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. She could see the toll those marks had taken on him, both physically and emotionally.
“You’re in the clear,” she said, her voice reassuring but tinged with concern. “Everything’s healing well. No signs of any internal issues.”
Peter nodded, his face still distant. It was a relief, but the weight of the experience didn’t leave him. Still, he had done what he needed to do—proved that physically, he was alright. He could go back to pretending that everything was fine, even if it didn’t feel that way.
Leaving the small room was a relief to Peter. The sterile smell, the bright lights, the clinical atmosphere—it all reminded him too much of the place where it had all happened. The cold, confining walls, the harsh sounds, and the way everything had felt so suffocating. His chest tightened at the thought. He had been trapped there, isolated and powerless, and the memories still lingered like shadows that refused to fade.
As he stepped back into the hallway, the familiar sounds of the manor—voices, footsteps, the distant hum of the Batcave—grounded him. It was a different world here. Safer. But the echoes of the past still clung to him, and he couldn’t just shake them off.
Jason was just outside of the Medbay, waiting for Peter.
“Big guy! You feeling better?” Jason asked, his voice gentle as he slowly approached Peter. He could see the hesitation in Peter’s movements, the way he kept his head lowered, like he was trying to shrink into himself.
Peter only nodded, still a little shaken. The events of the past few days had left him on edge, and the doctor’s examination hadn’t exactly helped. It had been thorough, but each touch, each question, had made him more acutely aware of the scars that now marked his body.
The doctor had given him proper clothes, and he’d specifically asked for pants and a turtleneck. He didn’t want to be seen. Not like this. Not with every mark a reminder of what had happened to him, what he’d been through. He wanted to hide, to pretend none of it was real.
Jason noticed Peter's guarded expression, the way he wrapped his arms around himself. “Hey, it’s okay,” Jason said softly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. You’ve been through a lot.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to the floor. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, though the words didn’t seem to carry much weight.
Jason didn’t press, but he wasn’t about to let Peter retreat into himself. “You’re not alone, alright? We’ve got your back. All of us.” He slowly let Peter go.
“I’m tired…” Peter said, his voice soft and barely above a whisper, still looking down at the floor as if it could swallow him up and hide him from the world.
Jason paused for a moment, his expression softening. "Would you like to take a nap before lunch?" he asked, standing up and looking down at Peter with gentle eyes, trying not to push but offering comfort in his words.
"Yes," Peter replied quietly, his shoulders sagging as if everything was finally catching up to him.
Jason gave him a slight, understanding nod. "Okay, big guy," he said, “Let's head to your room..."
They walked side by side, Jason adjusting his pace to match Peter’s slower, more cautious steps. Peter’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, and he did his best to block out the memories that crept up as they approached the hallway.
When they reached his room, Jason stood by the door, letting Peter enter first. The moment Peter crossed the threshold, he seemed to breathe a little easier, even if just for a second. Jason followed him in, and without a word, he helped Peter up into the bed, pulling the covers around him.
Peter clutched his old rabbit to his chest, its button eyes staring blankly up at him.
Jason lingered at the foot of the bed, watching Peter carefully. "You’re safe here, Peter," he said quietly, his voice soft but reassuring.
Peter didn’t respond immediately, but he nodded slightly, the weight of the day still lingering in his tired eyes. He didn’t want to think about anything else right now. Instead, he squeezed his rabbit a little tighter, allowing the small, constant presence of it to calm his racing thoughts.
Jason paused at the door, his hand lingering on the handle for a moment as he looked back at Peter. The boy was still clutching his rabbit, the softness of the moment not lost on him, even if Peter remained quiet.
"If you need anything, I left a comm by your bed," Jason said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just talk into it, and Dick will come for you, okay?"
Peter’s gaze remained fixed on his rabbit, but he nodded slowly, the reassurance a small comfort. Jason gave a soft smile, though it was barely visible, before he closed the door softly behind him, leaving Peter in the peace and quiet of his room.
As Jason stepped back into the hallway, he sighed, his mind racing with all the thoughts he’d been holding in. But for now, he knew Peter was safe, and that was all that mattered. He walked slowly down the hall, taking a moment to himself before checking in with the others.
___
After taking a few moments to compose herself, the doctor finally made her way into the large meeting room where the rest of the family was waiting, their tension palpable. Jason followed closely behind her, his eyes scanning the room before he took a seat.
"Where's Peter?" Dick asked immediately, his gaze sharp as he turned to Jason.
"Asleep," Jason replied, his tone calm but firm. "He was tired."
Dick’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You left him alone?"
Jason hesitated before adding, "I think he wanted to be alone for a little while..."
The doctor stepped forward, her hands gripping her notes tightly, her eyes momentarily scanning the room. "I'm really unsure how to start this conversation..." she admitted, her voice trailing off. The weight of her words hung in the air, and the family’s collective tension grew.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself before continuing. "Peter's condition... is stable. In fact, medically, he would be considered perfectly healthy." She paused, her expression softening slightly. "But when he mentioned that he heals faster now, he wasn’t exaggerating. His scars are healing at an alarming rate—scars that should have taken months to heal, yet they're already well on their way to recovery. These aren’t just surface wounds; some are deep, and they weren't there the last time I treated him."
She placed her notes on the table, revealing a detailed diagram of a body. Lines marked the locations of various injuries, and at the center of his chest, a large Y-shaped scar stood out clearly. "I’ve documented every injury, every scar," she said quietly, her finger tracing the lines on the page. "The damage is extensive, and yet, he’s already healing from it all."
Not a word was spoken; they simply stared at the page. The doctor continued, her voice steady. “Some wounds appear to be the result of…” She hesitated, “Severing body parts.” She took a slow breath, “Others seem to stem from deeper cuts, slicing into the skin.”
She paused again, scanning the report. “The scarring patterns suggest he fought against the blade, leading me to believe he was conscious for most, if not all, of the injuries.”
More silence.
“He also had plenty of healed fractures and other injuries—some quite severe. A full list, along with his scans, has been uploaded to the Batcomputer if you want to review the specifics,” she added, her voice heavy with concern. Placing the paper on the table, she sank into the nearest chair, the weight of her words settling over the room.
The silence that followed was thick and oppressive, pressing down on everyone like a heavy fog. No one dared to speak, the reality of Peter’s ordeal sinking in deeper with every passing second.
‘It’s not fair…’ Cass broke the suffocating tension.
“Nothing ever is,” Dick replied softly, his tone heavy with both anger and sorrow. His gaze remained fixed on the drawing, the scars mapped out like a story of pain that no one should ever have to endure.
Peter’s bed was soft and inviting, but no amount of comfort could silence his restless mind. Exhaustion pulled him under within minutes of Jason leaving, but peace did not follow. His dreams became a prison, replaying his pain in relentless loops. He was back there—trapped, helpless. He felt the cold, unyielding grip pinning him down, the phantom sensation of the woman’s hands invading his body. Her hands wrapped around his neck while she tried to make a clean cut. He tried to wake, to escape, but the nightmare held him firmly in its grasp.
I wonder… will you reattach to your old body or grow a new one? Her laugh clouded him—a sickening, loud laugh that he heard over and over while she experimented on him. He hoped he’d die that he’d die, and it’d be done. That she’d go to fair and his heart would stop. But even after his heart had been ripped out and his blood was cold, his mind still remained. His endurance, not letting him pass out.
Peter jolted upright in bed, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as if he’d just surfaced from drowning. His chest heaved, the air catching in his throat, and his trembling hands instinctively curled against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor himself. He reached for the comm on his bedside table, his trembling fingers gripping it too tightly. A soft crunch sounded as the device shattered between his fingertips. Desperately, he held the broken comm to his lips. “Dick?” he whispered into the silence. Nothing. The realization hit him like a weight—he’d broken it. He was alone.
Peter’s panic mounted as he reached for the lamp on the nightstand, hoping for light to ground him. His hand fumbled, and the lamp toppled to the floor with a loud crash, shards scattering across the room. Startled, he scrambled to the opposite edge of the bed, only to lose his balance and tumble off. His head struck the floor with a dull thud, sending a flash of pain through his skull.
Dazed, he pushed himself back, his breath coming in quick gasps. He retreated into the corner of the room, curling into himself, his knees pulled to his chest as his heart pounded in his ears.
Everything is fine. Everything is fine.
The sound of the fall echoed through the manor, cutting sharply through the tense air of the meeting room. Instinctively, everyone sprang to their feet, rushing toward Peter’s room. Bruce reached the door first, striding fast and panicking for his son's safety. Panic twisted in his chest despite the absence of alerts from the new security system—no sign of intruders, no imminent danger. But the fear for his son's safety gnawed at him all the same.
He pushed the door open, his eyes immediately scanning the room. The shattered lamp lay strewn across the floor, but it was the figure in the corner that caught his attention. Peter was huddled there, his small frame curled in on itself, trembling like a frightened animal. Bruce flicked the light on, filling the darkness with a light glow.
Bruce’s heart clenched at the sight, but he moved forward slowly, each step measured and deliberate. The others had gathered at the doorway now, their concern palpable as they held back, allowing Bruce the space to approach Peter first. Their instincts screamed to rush in and wrap the boy in their arms, but they knew it had to be Bruce for now.
“Peter… it’s Bruce,” he whispered softly, his voice steady but filled with concern, trying to pierce through the haze of Peter’s panic. Peter, lost in the chaos of his own mind, didn’t respond or even flinch. Bruce took a cautious step closer, lowering his voice further. “Peter.” This time, his tone was louder but still gentle enough not to startle the boy, “It’s Dad.”
Peter flinched the noise breaking through the fog of his panic. His eyes darted to Bruce, wide and filled with fear. He shrank further into the corner, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. His breath was shallow, ragged, as if he couldn’t quite catch it.
Bruce took another step, his heart aching at the sight of the boy so broken. He kept his voice low and soothing, trying to reach the part of Peter that was still able to hear him. “It’s okay, Peter. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Peter’s body trembled as his eyes flickered between Bruce and the broken pieces of the lamp on the floor. His mind was still spinning, unable to ground itself in the present.
“I know it’s hard,” Bruce continued, crouching down slowly, keeping his distance but trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible. “But you’re not alone. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Peter's breath caught in his throat, a soft sob escaping him. His hands gripped his knees tighter, as if trying to hold himself together, but it only worsened his trembling. His voice was barely a whisper, thick with guilt and fear. “I—I don’t want to break anything else...” He paused, his eyes filling with pain. “I’m... broken.”
Bruce’s heart clenched, but he didn’t move closer just yet. "Peter," he said softly, his voice steady but firm. "You’re not broken. You’re not a danger to anyone here. We’ll help you. You don’t have to carry this alone."
Peter looked at Bruce, nodding softly.
“That’s it, Peter… You’re doing so good,” Bruce reassured him as Peter slowly loosened his grip on his knees.
“Can your friend help me...?” Peter asked softly. His voice shaking slightly.
“Yes, of course,” Bruce responded, moving closer and sitting down in front of him, his hand resting gently on Peter's shoulder. “I didn’t set up a meeting yet because I wanted you to feel comfortable first, but if you want to meet him now…”
“Yes, please.”
Dick guided Peter to the kitchen, trying to ease the tension with something simple: sandwiches. It was about all Dick could make without burning down the place, but the familiarity of the task helped him focus. As the sandwiches piled up, he tried his best to make light conversation, but Peter’s quietness hung in the air like a weight. He ate silently as Dick talked.
Alfred, ever the caretaker, had tried to convince everyone he was perfectly fine and that he could cook for them. As none of them really had any idea how to cook, but even he couldn’t escape the gentle, very aggressive, insistence from the doctor. For once, the ever-composed butler was being coaxed into resting, despite his protests, as the team rallied to make sure everyone—especially Peter—was truly okay.
Bruce's voice was steady, but there was a hint of weariness beneath it. "Yes I know I originally said it’d be a few days, but the timeline's changed. I’ll take over the watch today. You can focus on training him." There was a brief pause as he listened. "Nightwing will be with him. Keep an eye on things." There was another pause, then a soft sigh. "We’ll meet at the training hall in thirty minutes.” He hung up, his tone still calm, but his mind was already on the task ahead.
Once the sandwiches were finished, Bruce guided Peter down to the Batcave, where he carefully placed a mask over Peter’s face to cover his features.
“Peter,” Bruce began, his voice steady but soft, “you remember that Batman’s identity is a secret, right?”
Peter nodded, his eyes focused on Bruce. “Yes.”
Bruce adjusted the mask, making sure it fit snugly. “Good. Today, you’re meeting a friend of Batman. That means you can’t tell anyone I’m Bruce Wayne. You can call me Batman, or B—like the others do,” he added, pausing for a moment before continuing, “Or Dad—if you want.”
Peter’s expression softened slightly. “Okay, I’ll remember.”
Bruce gave him a small, approving nod before turning to a nearby desk, where he retrieved a black training suit. “I’ve got a suit for you. It’ll protect you while you train.” He handed it over to Peter. “It’s thick enough to keep you warm, but breathable so you won’t overheat. And there are knee pads so you won’t hurt yourself.”
Peter examined the suit, his fingers brushing over the fabric. The bat logo was subtly stitched into the back.
Bruce watched him for a moment before speaking again, his tone turning more serious. “Jason wanted me to remind you that this isn’t a hero suit. It doesn’t make you a hero, and you’re not to use it for anything like that.” He paused, his voice softening, adding, “But in and out of the costume, you must always defend yourself if someone comes after you. You are too important to me.”
Peter nodded again, looking up at Bruce. Bruce gave him a small, reassuring smile and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, Peter. Get changed, and we’ll head to the station.”
Peter hesitated for just a moment before he turned to change into the suit Bruce had given him. Bruce walked over to his own suit, beginning to prepare for their mission.