A Son of Shadows
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Peter found himself wandering the streets of Gotham again, trying to clear his head. His encounter with Bruce Wayne had been surreal. He had spent the last few days replaying the conversation over and over. How was it possible that Bruce had wanted to adopt him—Peter Parker—without even knowing his true connection to the Bat-family?
It was all too much.
He knew he should go to Richard, try to talk things out, but he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to accept that Nightwing was his father. And he certainly wasn’t ready to dive deeper into the complicated family dynamics of Gotham’s vigilantes.
For now, he just needed space.
The park he was walking through was one of the few relatively quiet spots in Gotham. Not entirely crime-free, but a rare pocket of calm in the otherwise bustling, dangerous city. Peter found a bench near the edge of the park, away from prying eyes, and sat down, letting out a long sigh.
It was moments like these that reminded him how much he missed New York. Even the chaos of swinging between skyscrapers felt more manageable than this. Gotham’s shadows weren’t just literal—they were emotional, creeping into every corner of his mind.
Peter heard footsteps approaching, but he didn’t bother looking up. It was Gotham; someone was always nearby. The footsteps stopped near him, and a young, sharp voice cut through the air.
“You’re not as good at hiding as you think.”
Peter blinked and glanced up, only to find a boy standing in front of him. He was maybe thirteen or fourteen, dressed in an expensive-looking black jacket, his posture rigid, arms crossed in front of him like he owned the world. The boy’s green eyes were piercing, with a sort of cold confidence that felt unnerving for someone his age.
Peter immediately had a sense of who this was.
“Damian Wayne, I assume,” Peter muttered, leaning back on the bench. The resemblance to Bruce was unmistakable.
Damian’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly sizing him up. “And you are...?”
“Peter Parker,” Peter replied, keeping his tone casual, though he was on alert. He knew enough about Damian to understand that the kid was far from ordinary. The stories about Bruce’s youngest son were... intense.
Damian studied him, his sharp gaze making Peter feel like he was being dissected. “Father told me about you,” Damian said, his tone neutral, but there was something guarded in his voice. “The stray he found at the gala.”
Peter frowned. “I’m not a stray.”
Damian raised an eyebrow. “That remains to be seen.”
Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This kid was Bruce Wayne’s biological son, and yet he acted more like a trained assassin than a teenager. Then again, given what Peter knew about Damian’s upbringing with the League of Assassins, maybe that wasn’t far from the truth.
“What do you want?” Peter asked, not in the mood for games. He was tired, confused, and the last thing he needed was some rich kid analyzing him like a chess piece.
Damian didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat down on the bench beside Peter, his posture still as straight as ever. For a moment, they sat in silence, the hum of Gotham in the background.
“I’ve been watching you,” Damian finally said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “You don’t fit in here. You don’t fit in anywhere.”
Peter shot him a sideways glance. “Thanks for that. Really helps the self-esteem.”
Damian ignored the sarcasm. “But you fight like someone who’s seen more than he should have. You move like you’ve been in battles. Real ones.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. The kid was observant. Too observant. “You’re not wrong. But I’m guessing that’s not why you came over here.”
Damian smirked slightly, just a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “No. I came because I wanted to meet the person Father is so oddly... interested in.”
Peter snorted. “Interested? That’s one way to put it. He wants to adopt me.”
Damian’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes flickered with something like curiosity. “Father has a habit of collecting strays. Grayson, Todd, Drake... They all needed something. He gave it to them.”
There was a hint of bitterness in Damian’s voice, though he tried to hide it.
“But you... you’re different,” Damian continued, his gaze locking onto Peter’s. “You don’t need him. And yet, you have that same look in your eyes.”
Peter frowned. “What look?”
Damian’s voice lowered. “Like you’ve lost everything.”
The words hit Peter harder than he expected. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that he hadn’t before. Damian might’ve been a kid, but he had a terrifying knack for cutting to the heart of things.
“I get by,” Peter muttered, trying to brush off the heaviness of the conversation.
Damian studied him for a moment, then surprised Peter by leaning back against the bench, relaxing just a fraction. “Father isn’t wrong. You’d be useful in Gotham.”
Peter laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly come here looking to join the family business.”
Damian’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Good. You don’t need to.”
They sat in silence for a few moments longer, the tension between them easing slightly. Peter didn’t know what to make of Damian. He was clearly intense, trained, and far too mature for his age, but there was something else there. Something that Peter recognized.
Loneliness.
“You’re not what I expected,” Damian said quietly, his tone less guarded than before.
Peter glanced at him. “Neither are you.”
Damian tilted his head slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “You thought I’d be different?”
“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “I guess I thought you’d be...”
“A spoiled brat?” Damian finished, raising an eyebrow.
Peter winced. “Your words, not mine.”
Damian chuckled—a short, sharp sound that almost didn’t seem to fit him. “I suppose that’s fair. But you’ll learn soon enough that nothing in Gotham is as it seems. And neither am I.”
Peter wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a warning or just a statement of fact. Either way, Damian intrigued him. There was a depth to him, a complexity that reminded Peter of himself in some ways. He had a feeling that, like him, Damian had been forced to grow up too quickly, to deal with things no kid should have to deal with.
For a moment, they just sat there, two people who had been dealt more than their fair share of burdens.
“You should stay,” Damian said suddenly, breaking the silence. “In Gotham. With Father.”
Peter frowned. “Why?”
Damian’s eyes locked onto his. “Because this city... it has a way of choosing people. And you’re one of us, whether you like it or not.”
Peter stared at him, trying to process the weight of those words. Gotham had already started to sink its claws into him, that much was clear. But Damian’s words held something deeper—something that felt inevitable.
“I don’t know if I belong here,” Peter said quietly.
Damian stood up, his posture once again sharp and formal. “That’s irrelevant. Gotham doesn’t care what you think. You either survive, or you don’t. But if you stay, you won’t have to do it alone.”
Peter looked up at him, seeing for the first time that Damian wasn’t just extending an olive branch—he was offering something more. Acceptance. Even if Damian wouldn’t say it outright, Peter could see it in his eyes.
And for the first time since arriving in Gotham, Peter felt something close to... connection. It wasn’t the same as the bond he had with Ned or MJ, but it was there, lurking beneath the surface.
“Think about it,” Damian said before turning on his heel and walking away, his footsteps barely making a sound.
Peter watched him go, feeling the weight of Gotham’s shadows settle back over him. But this time, it didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.
Maybe Damian was right. Maybe Gotham *had* chosen him.
And maybe it was time to stop running from it.
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**To be continued...**