Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was, without a doubt, a very bad idea to get drunk with the agents. Dick knew that, and the part of him that was Neal knew that, but the parts of him that were tired of lying to his friends and angry that they'd let a bad guy get away that day overpowered the rest. 

"Another round?" El was giggly, more so than usual, and she held up the bottle of vodka they'd been passing around. 

Jones groaned from where he sat with his forehead on the table. "I think you might be a meta, Mrs. Burke. Nobody can drink that much and still be so chipper." 

The rest of the table except Peter chuckled; Peter just looked at his wife fondly. "I don't know how much further any of us can go, hon." 

El tutted at him, shaking her head. "Just because you FBI agents can't hold your liquor doesn't mean the party has to end." She turned to Dick. "You're still drinking with me, right Neal?"

He grinned at her, nodding lazily. "Sure, El, but I think if I do the agents will feel pressured to stay, to make sure I don't get up to anything naughty while I'm inebriated." 

Peter raised an eyebrow at him, glaring halfheartedly and seeming more annoyed at Dick’s ability to pronounce ‘inebriated’ than the declaration that he might get up to trouble without Peter there to watch him. “It’s my house, and I’ll be damned if I let you stay up drinking without me.” He made grabby hands for the bottle, and El hesitated, holding it out of reach. 

“Maybe it’s not such a good idea after all.” She chewed her bottom lip, looking from Peter to Dick and back again. 

Peter rolled his eyes and tugged the bottle from her grasp, pouring himself another shot. “Alright, well, what do you suggest?” He eyed the shot for a few moments before downing it and making a face. 

El looked to Dick, and he shrugged. “We could play a game, so we’re not drinking so fast.” 

Diana scoffed loudly, snatching the bottle from Peter and pouring herself another drink. “I know you didn’t go to college, Caffrey, but drinking games are usually designed to get you drunk faster , not the other way around.” 

Dick grinned wide at her. “ Neal Caffrey was never enrolled in college, no, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t spent my fair share of time with coeds.” He gave a lascivious wink and Diana made fake gagging noises in response. 

“Are you planning on telling us about your time in college, then, Neal?” Peter asked. Dick smiled wider. 

“Nope. Now do you want to play a game or not?” 

The rest of the group mumbled halfhearted agreements and Dick stood from the table, returning with a bottle of orange guava juice from the Burkes’ fridge. He raised an eyebrow at El, who nodded her approval. With the skill of a bartender who’d spent years on the job, Dick presented each of them with a mixed drink in the span of only a few minutes. Diana looked impressed, Jones was still facedown on the table, and Peter just looked like he wanted to start interrogating him about where he’d learned to do that. 

El took a sip of her drink, grinning brightly back at him. “This is good, Neal, thank you.” 

Dick sipped his own drink, one which he’d added considerably more vodka to. “I’m glad you approve, El. Now, for the game, does anyone have any requests?” Nobody spoke up, and he shrugged. “Alright then, let’s go with a classic. Never Have I Ever.” 

Diana and Jones both groaned and Peter just looked resigned. 

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” Peter asked. Everyone else chuckled as he sighed. “Alright. But Neal, no admitting to any felonies that I might have to arrest you for. No trying to get anyone else to do so either.” 

Dick made a cross over his heart, grinning wide. “I promise, no mentions of my alleged crimes. Just some good old fashioned fun.” 

They all grumbled at that, and El turned to look at Dick. “Well, since it’s your idea, how about you go first, Neal?” 

Dick took a sip of his drink and nodded, not hesitating before he spoke. “Never have I ever been beaten to death by a clown with a crowbar.” 

The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, and Dick looked up to find his friends all gaping at him. He thought over what he’d said and winced. 

“Uh, there’s no way you all would be willing to forget I said that, is there?” 

Peter shook his head, looking serious. “Neal, you had that ready . Why the hell is that the first thing you thought of?” 

Dick shrugged, looking at his drink and wondering if he was drunker than he thought. “I’m used to playing this game with my brothers, that’s always what we start out with since one of my brothers has a really high alcohol tolerance. It’s how we even the playing field, we make him drink first.” Jason always complained about it, too, but he never failed to smile as he drank. 

Peter was gaping at him in horror now, skipping right past ‘brothers’ and landing on the rest of what Dick had said. “You…know someone who was actually beaten to death with a crowbar?” His face fell even further when Dick just nodded, unsure how to respond. “Neal, I’m so sorry.” He reached out and put a hand over Dick’s on the table. “That’s horrible.” 

Dick, who probably had a little more to drink than he meant to, just shrugged. “Yeah, it really sucked at the time, but he’s back now and we try to laugh about it. He’s a big fan of zombie jokes.” 

He realized what he’d said when Peter just blinked, his expression uncomprehending. “He’s…back?” He frowned. “Like, he got CPR or something?” That’s still pretty traumatizing, Neal.” 

Dick shook his head. “Oh, no, he died died. He’s got the autopsy scars to prove it. The explanation of why he’s back is kinda complicated, though and I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you about it, so, uh, maybe let’s just move on?” 

Peter looked like he was bursting with more questions, but El’s hand on his shoulder held him back. “Yes, hon, I think moving on is probably the best plan.” She shot Dick a look. “Neal, how about you think of something that’s not so, um, graphic?” 

Dick nodded, eager to get back on track. “Right, right. Uh, well, never have I ever…failed to land a quadruple somersault—well, after I learned to do it, I guess.” Everyone around the table looked at him once more in disbelief. Dick mirrored their confusion, looking from one face to another. “I know none of you can do it, you have to drink.” 

Diana shook her head at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried. If you never attempt it, you’ve never failed, right?” 

Dick frowned at her. “You’ve never even tried ? But it’s so cool!” 

Lifting his head up, Jones eyed him warily. “You can do a quadruple somersault? You can’t say that and not show us, man.” 

Considering it for a moment, Dick shrugged. “I don’t think Peter has a trapeze in his basement, unless he’s been holding out on me, so I’m going to have to take a rain check.” 

Diana made a ‘pssht’ noise, shaking her head. “Of course, just like you Caffrey, you talk a big game but you’re going to weasel out of it like you always do.” 

Dick stuck his tongue out at her. “Hey, you say ‘weasel’ like a bad thing! Have you seen a weasel? Those things are the cutest animals in the damn world, I’d love to be one.” He frowned. “Wait, you just dared me, didn’t you?” 

She snickered, hiding her smile with a hand. “Only you, Caffrey. Yes, you might not be able to do it tonight, but I’m holding you to that. I want to see the great Neal Caffrey do a quadruple backflip.” 

“Quadruple somersault . A quad backflip is way easier.” She raised her eyebrows at him and he sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “You’re going to make me show you, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

Dick sighed but stood, nodding. “Fine, but I’m doing it in the backyard. I don’t want El getting mad at me because I broke something trying to do it in here.” He shot her a smile to let her know that there were no hard feelings and she just nodded, eyes wide. 

“Of course! I want to see this as much as Diana does.” 

They all made their way outside, with Diana and Jones holding each other up for support as they wobbled in the night breeze. Dick moved a couple of the Burkes’ patio chairs and then took his place on one end of the small lawn. He looked back at his friends with a cocky smile. 

“Now watch closely, I’m only doing this once.” 

Before they could protest he took off, flipping again and again, all the way down the yard. He did seven flips total before he finally reached the fence on the other side. When Dick righted himself, he turned to see all of them looking bemused, with El, Diana, and Jones clapping and whooping. Peter looked amused, but his hands were busy keeping El upright. 

Dick walked back over to them, moving slower than he had been before. “Wow, doing that while drunk was not the best idea. I might need a minute.” 

El patted his elbow. “Sure, Neal, take all the time you need. It’s really nice out, actually, I might stay out here for a minute before we head back in.” 

Dick dropped down onto one of the patio chairs, relaxing into it. “Hey, we’re all out here, how about we just keep playing here?” 

Diana and Jones grunted their approval, dropping into chairs as well. Peter stayed standing, looking at all of them. “I guess I’ll be the one fetching your drinks?” 

They nodded and he grumbled but went back inside to get the drinks. By the time they’d all settled into their seats, drinks in hand, Neal was grinning once more. “Alright, well, I went, who’s next?” 

Diana cleared her throat and then looked around the table with a smirk. “Never have I ever…kissed a man.” 

El grunted and lifted her glass to drink before turning to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek. Peter didn’t drink, which surprised exactly nobody, but both Jones and Dick took sips of their own drinks. 

Jones and Dick looked each other over, assessing. Dick gestured for Jones to go first, and the agent sighed. “It was college, there was a really hot girl, and me and a friend had heard that she was into that kind of thing. Only once, though, I’ve got nothing wrong with guys who do it but it’s not for me.” 

Dick chuckled, shaking his head when everyone looked at him. “Hey, pretty people are pretty people, I don’t discriminate based on gender.” He held his hands up and they all either laughed or rolled their eyes at his antics. 

Jones lifted his glass, swirling his drink around. “Okay, me next. Never have I ever…shot someone.” 

Peter grimaced and drank, as did Diana, with El remaining motionless. When Dick lifted his glass to his lips, however, they all turned to him in shock. 

“Neal?” Peter was frowning at him. “You don’t like guns.” 

Dick shrugged, looking away. “Like I said, just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use them.” 

The others exchanged glances before agreeing silently not to press him on it. El was next, and she grinned wide when they turned to her. 

“Never have I ever…gone undercover!” Her statement garnered a smattering of groans as everyone drank but her. Dick sighed as he realized nobody would question why he was drinking, since he’d been with the FBI long enough now that they’d all seen him undercover at one point or another. 

When everyone had drunk and they’d quieted down again, they turned to Peter, waiting for his turn. He stared down into his glass for a moment, contemplating, before finally speaking. 

“Never have I ever…fallen out with someone in my family.” 

Jones shrugged and pushed his glass away, but Diana took a big gulp of hers. El also shrugged, not drinking, but they all turned to look at Dick as he chugged the rest of his drink, finishing it off before slamming the cup back onto the patio table. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “Something you want to tell us, Neal?” 

Dick laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “I’d have to be much, much drunker before you ever get that story out of me.” 

Peter held his hands up in surrender, although he was still eying Dick with suspicion. “Well I won’t push. But if you ever need to talk about anything, you know that—”

Dick waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I can talk to you about it. Thanks, Peter.” He cracked a smile. “You know, sometimes you remind me of my dad? Only every once in a while though.” 

Peter’s mouth dropped open as he stared Dick down. “I remind you of your dad?” His eyes narrowed as he looked sharply at Dick. “The one who you said was a dirty cop?” 

Dick winced, looking longingly at his empty glass. It didn’t magically refill with vodka. “Right, um, shit. Not him, he’s just a cover.” He winced again, rubbing a hand over his face. “And I think that’s about where I should cut myself off, or I’ll say something I’ll really regret.” 

Peter leaned forward, not letting go. “What do you mean, a cover? You mean like another identity of yours that I don’t know about? Neal, if you’ve got more secrets—” 

Dick shook his head quickly. “No! I mean, yes, god, if you knew how many secrets I really have, your head would explode, but not like that, not what you’re thinking. Nothing criminal.” He frowned. “Well, okay, maybe a little criminal but not the kind that really counts.” 

“Crime is crime, Caffrey,” Diana said, also looking sharply at him. “Doesn’t matter if you think nobody is getting hurt.” 

Dick snorted. “Oh, people were getting hurt, there’s no doubt about that.” His tone was fond and his expression went glassy like he was thinking about something in particular. “Fuck, you know I miss it? I thought I’d like it here, and I mean, I like you guys, but I miss it. What I was doing before, you know?” 

The more he talked, the more interested Peter got, and Dick didn’t seem to notice. El’s hand on his thigh was the only thing keeping Peter from jumping across the table in order to interrogate ‘Neal’ more about everything he’d just said. 

“You mean when you were in jail?” Jones asked, laughing. “I find that a little hard to believe, personally.” 

Dick shook his head. “Nah, I wasn’t actually in jail.” Everyone around the table looked at him in shock, and he looked back at them, his eyes widening. “Oh I really shouldn’t have said that, should I?” Nobody answered, but their silence was answer enough. “I’m…I’m going to go. Before I say anything else. Bye guys!” He stood up from his chair, wobbling, and grabbed onto the edge of the table to keep himself upright. “Wow, I was not this drunk before.” He frowned. “I’ve done backflips while I was drunk before, though. Maybe not this drunk.” 

His mumblings seemed to shake the others from their shock and El also stood, reaching for him. “Neal, sweetie, we won’t make you talk about anything else but I’m not letting you leave here like this, alright? I’d worry about you if you tried to take a cab. You can sleep in our guest room tonight, and go home in the morning.” 

Peter grunted like he was thinking something otherwise, but he didn’t disagree with what she’d said. 

Dick hesitated, looking at them. “Um, yeah, okay. Sure, I guess, thanks.” He shrugged, the wind taken out of his sails. El got a better grip on his elbow and started tugging him towards the house, leaving the three stunned agents behind. 

Peter, Diana, and Jones all exchanged mystified looks as they tried to make sense of what had just happened. Jones was the first to speak. 

“Did…did Neal just tell you that you remind him of his dad? Like, his real dad, the one who is 100% not part of one alias or another?” 

Peter nodded slowly, still stunned. “Yeah, I think he did. He also implied that he’s, what, committed other crimes that we don’t know about? Ones that hurt a lot of people?” 

Diana murmured an affirmative. “Yeah, boss, I’m pretty sure you’re right.” She shook her head. “That’s going to be a problem for tomorrow, though, I think.” 

Jones groaned his agreement, sliding to lay face down on the table once more. “Why did we think it was a good idea to drink with Caffrey, anyway?” 

Peter sighed. “Because he’s a very good con man.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Peter woke to a splitting headache. He flinched away from the light streaming in through the blinds and groaned, rolling into his side, away from the sun. Instead of going back to sleep for another few hours, though, his bleary eyes caught sight of something unexpected. 

There was another person in his and El's bedroom, looming over the bed. When he realized that the figure wasn't going away and didn't seem to be a hangover-induced figment of his imagination, Peter jumped a foot off the bed, startling El awake in the process. 

He forced himself to blink through the hangover and sunlight that were making his vision blurry. It was slow going, however, and he grimaced at the taste in his mouth. 

Behind him, El groaned, pressing her forehead against his back. “Hon, why did we drink so much?” 

“El—” Peter started, trying to figure out how to tell her to stay quiet, but the man above him interrupted him. 

“What did you do to him?” The man’s voice was a growl and as he spoke, he leaned in, wrapping a hand around Peter’s neck. A gloved hand. 

“What?” Peter blinked some more and finally the man came into focus. He blinked a couple more times after that, just to make absolutely sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. 

Batman was standing in his bedroom, one hand half-tightened around Peter’s neck threateningly. Only the bottom half of his face was visible with the cowl, but from what Peter could see, he was scowling. “My son. He called me last night, said he made a mistake and you wouldn’t let him leave. Where. Is. He.” 

The hand around Peter’s neck tightened and he choked, both of his hands coming up to tug ineffectually, trying to get it off. Behind him, El tensed as she realized that something was wrong. She peeked her head over his shoulder and then gasped as she realized who was standing there. 

Peter tried to keep her behind him so she wouldn't draw Batman’s focus, but she ignored him and gathered the bedcovers around herself before sitting upright in order to glare. 

“Mister Batman, sir, whatever you think we’ve done, you’ve got the wrong people.” El put a hand on his wrist, the one that was closing around Peter’s airway. “My husband, he’s in the FBI, he’s a good man. I promise that it’s not what you think—” 

Batman snarled at her but let go of Peter, stepping back. His glare was no less effective from a distance, and Peter gasped in air, trying to regain even a modicum of his composure. “Then explain to me why my son called me last night. I ran it through vocal recognition software, and he sounded drugged. What did you do to him?” 

Peter, still heaving in lungfuls of air, shook his head, completely confused as to why Batman of all people thought they’d kidnapped his son, but behind him El gave a ‘meep’ of realization. He turned to look at her, raising his eyebrows in question. She shook her head, looking at him and then back to Batman. 

“Last night I was putting Neal to bed, making sure he had water and ibuprofen and all that, and he asked to borrow my phone. I didn’t really hear what he said, but he sounded worried. Is this about what he mentioned last night, about um, other stuff he’s done that we don’t know about?” 

Her and Peter both looked up at Batman, who was frowning. “Neal? Where is he?” 

El raised a hand, pointing at the wall next to them. “Guest bedroom, next door down the hall.” 

Batman swept out of the room without another word, his cape fluttering behind him as he went. Once he was gone, Peter and El shared a look with each other, both wide eyed and breathless. 

“Did that just happen?” Peter’s voice was scratchy and he groaned, shutting his eyes against the massive headache. 

El nodded, her hands still clenching the bedsheets to her chest as she stared at the door to their room. “I think it did. That was Batman , Peter.” She gasped again. “Neal? Is Neal Batman’s son? ” 

Peter groaned again, flopping back down on the bed. “Hon, I know as much as you do here.” 

They could hear the sounds of someone moving around in the room next to them, and as they both stopped talking, they heard the sound of Batman speaking through the wall. 

“Dick, wake up.” There was some rustling, and then louder; “Dick, get up now .” 

A beat of silence. 

“Fuck, B, did you get the license of that truck that hit me?” That was Neal’s voice; he sounded about as awful as Peter and El felt. “Wait, B? What the fuck are you doing here? Wait, where are we? Did I get kidnapped again, because I was kind of liking how much that dropped off when I started—” He cut off with a gasp. “This is Peter and El’s guest room. B, please tell me you didn’t break into their house.” A telling silence, punctuated only by a low groan from Neal. “This is going to be so impossible to explain.” 

Batman finally spoke up again, this time sounding less worried. “About that—” 

There was a thump, and before Batman could say anything else, they heard the sounds of someone scuttling to their feet. “B, you better not have—” Neal got out, and then there were footsteps headed their way. Neal appeared in the doorway to their bedroom, looking decidedly disheveled and hungover, wearing only a tank top and a pair of sweatpants that had to have been Peter’s. His eyes took in their confusion and the darkening bruise on Peter’s neck and he straightened, looking at them in horror. 

Before Peter could say anything, Neal disappeared again, back the way he’d come. They heard his voice increase in pitch and tone as he half-whispered, half-yelled at Batman. “B! What the hell did you do to them? Why are you even here?” 

“You called the secure emergency line and left a voicemail, saying that you’d given them too much information and that they weren’t letting you leave. I was off planet, but O got me the info and I got back as soon as I was able to.” Batman sounded a lot less menacing now, more frustrated and annoyed than anything else. “You’re not in trouble?” 

There was the bouncing of springs, like Dick had sat heavily on the bed. “Hungover? Yes. In trouble? Also yes, now that you’re here. You’re sticking around to explain.” It wasn’t a question. 

Batman sighed loud enough for the Burkes to hear him, and sat on the bed as well. “Fine. But we’re doing it my way.” 

Dick gave a choked half-laugh. “Do you think I would assume otherwise?” 

Batman didn’t answer him, but Peter and El could rely on context clues to tell them that he was probably glaring. 

Dick sighed as well, standing up once more. “Alright.” He padded back over to the Burkes’ bedroom, his expression contrite when he entered view. “So, I’m assuming you heard part or all of that. I, um, I can explain. How about…how about I let you two get dressed, and we can talk? Over breakfast? I promise I won’t run, or anything.” 

He waited for them to nod shakily back at him before closing the door to give them some privacy. 

By the time El and Peter managed to drag themselves out of bed and take some ibuprofen, they could hear what sounded like Neal banging around in the kitchen, probably cooking something. They dressed slowly, both moving with the exaggerated care of the hungover, and by the time they made it downstairs the smell of frying eggs and coffee hung in the air. 

Diana and Jones, who Peter had pushed none-too-gently onto the sofas in the living room the night before, were awake when they came downstairs, both looking worse for the wear. 

Diana stood when she saw Peter and looked like she immediately regretted the decision. Her hand caught Jones’ shoulder and held tightly, keeping her upright. 

“Boss! We were wondering, um, you know Neal’s using your kitchen, right?” 

Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah, he mentioned that he was going to make breakfast.” Before he could add anything further, Diana’s eyes widened as she saw the bruising on his throat. 

“What happened?” She stepped closer, reaching out to poke at the bruise. “You were fine when we fell asleep last night.” 

Peter gave a grunt, shaking his head. “Long story. One that Neal has promised to explain over breakfast.” 

Diana’s eyes widened and she nodded. “I see. Is it related to what he said last night?” 

El was the one to nod. “I believe so. Is Neal…alone, in the kitchen?” 

Diana and Jones looked at her with confusion and nodded. At their confirmation she stepped around her husband and into the kitchen proper. 

Dick stood at the stove, wearing one of her frilly aprons and poking at a pan of eggs. There were several omelets already on plates, and El beelined for them despite herself. She picked up one of the plates and inhaled deeply, nearly groaning at how good it smelled. 

“Oh, hey El.” Dick turned to smile at her, looking better than he had any right to be. “Listen, I’m really sorry about B, he’s, uh, a little overprotective sometimes.” He flushed a light pink, looking away from her. “But I’ve got permission to tell you guys almost everything, since he feels so guilty.” 

El, who’d already grabbed a fork, paused with a bite of omelet halfway to her mouth. “Where is he, anyway? I thought you said he was staying to explain.” 

Dick’s blush deepend. “I did, and he is, I just thought it would be better if he wasn’t, um, you know.” He held a hand over the top half of his face by way of explanation. 

Peter, from behind El, spoke up even as he took a seat at the table in front of an omlette of his own. “You mean he’s coming back in…regular clothes? We get to know who he is?” 

Dick grinned wide, looking beatific. “Like I said, he feels guilty.” He waved his spatula at Diana and Jones, who were hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. “You guys should sit, you look terrible.” 

“Thanks,” Jones replied dryly. He and Diana sat as well, and Dick tossed another omelet onto a plate and shoved it in their direction. He also poured them all coffee, placing an extra mug on the table opposite where the four of them were sitting. 

“So…what are we missing?” Diana asked, looking from Dick to Peter and El and back again. “What happened this morning?” 

“Yeah, Neal , what did happen this morning?” Peter raised a challenging eyebrow, daring Dick to try and explain. 

Dick shrugged. “I said I’d explain, and I will, but I want to wait for B. He’s a stickler about that kind of thing, likes to know exactly what information is getting out and to whom, and he’ll be less grumpy about it if he knows what I tell you.” 

Peter grunted but nodded, allowing silence to fall. It was only broken by the sounds of them eating, and Dick frying more eggs on the stove. 

Everyone jumped when the doorbell rang and they all looked warily at each other, nobody standing up immediately to get it. Dick looked back at them and sighed. 

“Do you need me to get the door?” 

Peter shook his head, climbing to his feet. “No, no, I’ve got it.” He put a hand on El’s shoulder when she made to stand up as well. “It’s fine, hon, I’ll be right back.” Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he ambled out of the kitchen with Dick watching in mild concern. 

The rest of the group listened intently, hearing the sound of the front door opening and then a pregnant pause. Eventually, Peter managed to find his voice. 

“You’re…wow. Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. Um, come in, I guess?” 

The response came in the form of a male voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar to Jones, Diana, and El, but that they couldn’t place immediately. “Hello, Agent Burke. Thank you.” There was a second brief pause, and then the sound of the door closing.

Chapter Text

Peter reentered the kitchen, looking stunned; behind him trailed none other than ‘Brucie’ Wayne: billionaire airhead. As he entered his eyes swept the room, and when he saw Jones and Diana sitting at the table he donned a wide, clueless smile. In one hand he carried a beautiful flower arrangement that had to have been at least three hundred dollars, by El’s estimation. 

El gaped, unable to even pretend nonchalance. Diana and Jones did as well, although they just looked more confused than anything else since they weren’t privy to all the events of the morning. 

Bruce turned to El first, offering a hand and not losing his smile. "Hello Mrs. Burke, I'm glad to make your acquaintance. Neal has told me so much about you and I'm glad to finally meet you in person." She shook his hand and then accepted the flowers as he handed them over. Before she could stutter out a thank you Bruce had already turned to Jones and Diana at the table. "And who are you lovely folks? I have to admit, when I got the invitation I thought it would just be the Burkes." 

The grin never left his face and his tone was affable, but El got the feeling he was annoyed that Jones and Diana were there. 

Dick snorted quietly, shaking his head and elbowing Bruce in the side. "Give it up, B, they've gotta know too. It's not like they're going to forget that Peter has a bruise across his entire throat, and they wouldn't drop it without an explanation." He shot a glance at Peter, who frowned at him. 

There was a second where nobody moved and then Bruce sighed, shaking his head and changing before their eyes. His posture straightened from the relaxed slump he'd been in and his face lost its vapid expression, changing instead to a flat, annoyed look. 

"Four people? Really?" His voice had changed too; now his words were sharp and precise and his eyes fixed on Dick as he spoke. "I'm not going to jeopardize everything just because—" 

Dick narrowed his eyes and cut in before Bruce could finish. "Just because you overreacted and assaulted an FBI agent?” 

Bruce glared at him for a moment longer before huffing and sitting heavily in one of the chairs. “That’s not exactly what happened.” 

Peter cleared his throat pointedly, raising one eyebrow as both Waynes turned to look at him. “I’m pretty sure that is what happened, actually. I was there.” 

“Wait, we’re missing something,” Diana piped up from the table. “Boss, are you saying that Bruce Wayne is the one who did that to you?” She gestured at his throat. 

Peter sighed before crossing his arms and looking sharply to the other man. “I don’t know, are you the one who attacked me in my own bed this morning?” His tone was caustically sarcastic and he didn’t make any attempt to hide his annoyance; the ibuprofen hadn’t kicked in yet, his head was pounding, and he was already sick of Neal’s bullshit. 

Bruce held his glare for a moment before looking down with a grimace. “Yes. But I didn’t just—there were extenuating circumstances. I thought D—Neal was in trouble.” 

Dick elbowed him in the arm. “Again, B, I appreciate it, and I’ll try to remember not to call the emergency line when I’m drunk.” He gave the table a self-deprecating grin, and was pleased when everyone, even Peter, smiled back at him. 

Jones raised a hand and then quickly lowered it at Peter’s look. “Um, okay, but why is Bruce Wayne even aware of Neal?” He turned to address Bruce directly. “Why are you breaking into people’s homes and strangling them on his account? How did you even know where he was?” 

Before Bruce could answer, Dick cut in quickly. “Well, I, um, was really drunk and called him last night, before going to bed. I don’t remember what I said, exactly, but I was worried that you guys would be mad about, um, you know. What I mentioned.” He shrunk down in his seat, not making eye contact with any of them. “I knew B would help, he can always fix things.” 

Dick was looking down at his hands so he didn’t see Bruce’s expression, but the rest of the table caught the way the man’s eyebrows flew up and then softened, something like awe crossing his face before he wrestled himself back under control. By the time he put a hand on Dick’s arm, Bruce’s expression was back to normal. Dick still smiled back at him warmly. 

“But why?” Jones butted in, once he was sure neither of them were planning on saying anything else. “How do the two of you know each other?” 

Dick and Bruce shared a look, before both speaking at the exact same time. 

“He’s my dad.” 

“He’s my son.” 

They didn’t even seem to notice that they said it in sync. Jones and Diana both spluttered, looking from one to the other, while Peter and El—who were slightly more prepared—shared a look of their own. Seeing Dick and Bruce talk to each other really drove home the fact that they were close and had been for a long time. 

“Your dad? ” Jones started, but Diana interrupted him with a realization of her own. 

She pointed at Dick accusingly. “You! Last night you said Peter reminded you of your dad! Were you talking about Bruce freaking Wayne ?” 

Dick gave her a sheepish grin and a shrug. “Uh, sort of.” He looked over to Bruce, carefully not making eye contact with Peter. “Not, like, a lot though. Just a few things. The whole dedication to your job thing, wanting to make a difference in the world, stuff like that.” He shrugged again. “I was drunk, it’s not a big thing.” 

“But he doesn’t, um, have a job?” Jones offered, looking with from Dick to Bruce and back again. “I mean, not one that he's really dedicated to, right?” He shot an apologetic look at Bruce, who didn’t notice. 

Peter’s eyes went wide as he realized the truth of Jones’ statement. He whirled around to look accusingly at Dick. “Did you just compare me to—” He cut himself off abruptly, clamping his jaw shut and looking from Dick to Bruce and back again. In lieu of saying it, he was reduced to pointing helplessly at Bruce, which Dick and El understood and Jones and Diana decidedly did not. 

“What job?” 

Bruce sighed and rubbed at his temples, closing his eyes. He spoke without opening them. “All four of you are going to have to sign non-disclosure agreements, and never breathe a word of this to anyone . If you so much as hint at it I’ll make sure you’re discredited, fired, and locked up.” His voice was ice cold, and everyone in the room shivered. “I’m not joking, and I will know if you talk to anyone else about it.” 

He opened his eyes and looked up, making eye contact with each of them. Jones and Diana looked shocked but nodded at him, while Peter just frowned when Bruce met his eyes. 

“I already know, and you can’t force me to sign a non-disclosure agreement if I don’t want to.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed at him, and Peter had to fight the urge to take a step backwards. He’d faced down hardened criminals his whole career, but somehow it was a celebrity in a tailored suit who scared him the most. He gulped and held his ground, not breaking eye contact. 

After a minute of stare-off, to Peter’s surprise Bruce sighed and looked away, towards Dick. Dick just shrugged at him. 

Bruce looked back to Peter, expression wary. “If you don’t sign it, I have the connections to get it removed from your memory. If you want to force my hand, that is.” He drummed his fingers along the table, as though he hadn’t just threatened Peter with a violation that made his stomach turn. 

“What the hell makes you think you can remove people’s memories?” Diana butted in, still looking baffled. “And why is it so important that we not tell anyone that Neal is your son?” 

Dick shook his head. “No, that’s not a secret, people know that I’m his son. What he wants to make sure you don’t spread around is the fact that he’s Batman.”

Chapter Text

There was a beat of silence and then Diana and Jones both cracked up, laughing so hard they were wheezing with it. It took a minute for them to calm down, and they looked around in confusion as they finally realized that nobody else in the kitchen was laughing. Well, Dick was grinning at them and Bruce-freaking-Wayne had a small smirk on his face, but El and Peter still looked more wary than anything else. 

Diana sobered and looked directly at Peter, eyes wide. “You’re not seriously considering that Bruce Wayne is Batman?” 

Jones was still chuckling when he elbowed her in the side. “Diana, the butts match .” He promptly dissolved into another fit of giggling and Diana laughed a little more herself, unable to stop it coming out. 

Peter and El were the only ones who noticed that Bruce’s smirk had broadened at Jones’ statement, and watched as he turned to Dick with a smug look on his face. 

“The butts match, Neal.” 

Dick groaned and dropped his face into his hands on the table. “I can’t believe that stupid idea worked so well.” His voice was muffled by his palms but he didn’t attempt to make himself any clearer. 

Bruce was still smirking as he turned back to Peter and El, although it dropped from his face as he returned to the earlier topic. “Agent Burke, please understand that I’d rather not go the route of tampering with your memories if at all possible. Rest assured though; if it’s needed, our expert is very good at what he does and nothing else would be touched.” 

Peter frowned harder at him. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather keep my memories. I’ll sign your NDA, but don’t think I’m not going to actually read it through—I know my way around contract law.” 

Bruce’s smirk turned into a genuine smile. “I’d expect nothing less. D-Neal speaks very highly of you and I don’t doubt for a second that you’d find anything untoward, if there was anything to find.” 

Peter’s mouth dropped open and he just gaped, looking with shock at Bruce’s face. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to respond, El patted his shoulder and looked at Bruce. 

“Thank you.” 

“Wait, you actually believe that Bruce Wayne is Batman?” Jones spluttered from the table. “Can we go back to the part where that makes sense? Because I’m not seeing any proof other than you saying that he is.” He nodded to Dick. 

Dick turned to Bruce with a wide smile. “Show them the voice!” 

Bruce’s sigh was the tired, long-suffering sound that only dads can make. He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, nor would it work. Most people don’t know what Batman sounds like.” He was frowning as he spoke. 

“Then show us something else, something only Batman would have,” Diana challenged. 

“Like what?” Bruce’s question wasn’t condescending, just curious, and he raised an eyebrow at her. “What would make you believe that I’m Batman?” 

She shrugged back at him. “The suit?” 

El nodded. “It worked for us.” 

Both Diana and Jones turned to look at her. “Wait—” 

Diana interrupted Jones, talking over him. “Are you trying to say that Batman is the one who gave you that?” She gestured to Peter’s neck. “Like full leather and cape Batman?” 

Bruce scoffed. “It’s a kevlar blend, actually. The only people who use leather are the ones going to comic book conventions.” His tone was dry and he gave her a look that said he expected better from her. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Bruce took her silence as assent to continue. “And I’m not wearing it right now.” He gestured to his closely tailored suit. “It’s on the batwing, and since I’m no longer worried about Neal being under threat, I’m not going to put it on in the middle of New York City.” 

“The Batwing?” El asked, hesitantly. 

Bruce nodded. “A plane, designed for stealth. It’s how I got here.” 

All of the kitchen aside from Bruce and Dick turned to look out the front windows, as if they’d see a plane parked there. No plane magically appeared, and they looked back to Bruce. 

“It has autopilot, it’s circling high up in the atmosphere.” He shook his head. “And no, I’m not calling it down here for all and sundry to see.” 

Diana concealed a pout. "So you're not gonna show us the suit, or the plane, or anything, apparently. Why should we believe you again?" 

Rolling his eyes, Bruce scoffed. “I’d rather you didn’t, actually, but Di- Neal trusts you, so I’m willing to extend the benefit of the doubt. Either take my word for it or don’t.” 

To the side, Dick huffed. “Bullshit, you always have something on you.” He reached towards Bruce, patting over his pockets and trying to reach into his suit jacket. Bruce halfheartedly swatted his hands away but didn’t protest when Dick pulled out a small, bat-shaped throwing knife from a secret pocket. 

“Batarang!” Dick declared, grinning. “See, only Batman has these!” He handed it to Jones, who turned it over in his hands, inspecting. It wasn’t much, only a sharpened piece of metal in the shape of a bat, but the material was the best money could buy and it did look like the real deal. 

Diana grabbed it next, holding it a couple inches from her face as she inspected. “You could have just bought this, aren’t you like the third richest guy in the world?” she asked Bruce as she handed it back. “For all we know you’re just some crazy billionaire who thinks he’s Batman and bought a bunch of toys.” 

The long suffering expression on Bruce’s face deepened and he looked skyward for a moment before sighing heavily. “So don’t believe me. You’re still going to have to sign the NDA, though.” 

With a pout, Jones looked over at Dick. “So we don’t get to see anything cool and we’re not allowed to talk about the nothing that we now know about? That seems a little unfair.” 

“Believe me, seeing the full thing isn’t as fun as you’re expecting,” Peter muttered, rubbing at his throat and looking back at Bruce. 

Bruce winced and gave him a half shrug. “It wasn’t personal, if that makes a difference.” 

“That doesn’t actually make me feel any better, no,” Peter responded. “Why shouldn’t I arrest you right now? You attacked a federal agent.” 

With another sigh Bruce just looked back at him. “So you’re going to be able to convince a jury that Bruce Wayne,” he gestured to himself, “dressed as Batman assaulted you? I really doubt that you’d get very far.” 

Peter scowled but sat back in his chair. “Just because a conviction isn’t likely doesn’t mean that it’s not the law, and it’s my job to enforce the law without fear or favor.” 

To his surprise, Bruce actually smiled at that. “And for that, Agent, I thank you. You’ve been a big help to Di-Ne-fuck it, Dick while he’s been working with you and I’m glad that the two of you get along.” 

To the side, Dick grinned. “They get to know who I am too?” 

Bruce gave him a weak glare. “They’d have figured it out soon enough, considering that we already told them you’re my kid.” He gestured to Dick and looked back at the agents. “Dick Grayson, my oldest son.” 

El pursed her lips. “I thought that you were supposed to be traveling the world or something?” she asked Dick, brows furrowed. “I feel like every few months the tabloids mention you being in Bali or Ibiza or wherever.” 

Dick’s grin widened. “Yeah, that’s a cover since it means that nobody would expect me to be working with the FBI in New York.” 

It was Peter’s turn to frown. “So, what, you’re doctoring photos of you in those places and giving them to the tabloids?” 

“Nah,” Dick shook his head, waving a hand. “It’s no big deal to go and get photographed somewhere tropical every once in a while, and it’s nice to get out of the city.” 

All of the agents frowned. “You can’t get out of the city,” Peter reminded him, crossing his arms. “You’ve been leaving to, what, party in other countries?” 

Dick rolled his eyes. “Not really, I just have to make sure I’m photographed somewhere. Usually it doesn't take more than an hour or two, if we tip off the paparazzi ahead of time.” 

Peter’s glare intensified. “I can tell when you’re being purposefully evasive, Neal. So you do have the ability to leave the city undetected whenever you want?” 

“Yeah, I mean,” Dick started before pausing to lean back and pull his leg up to put his foot on the table, showing the ankle monitor to everyone. “It’s WayneTech. Being the best one available means shit when I’ve got the codes to unlock it whenever I want.” 

Peter groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “I can’t believe I forgot that.” 

“For the record, he doesn’t leave very often,” Bruce offered with a wry smile. “You check on him regularly enough that it's hard to find a time that works.” 

Dick shrugged. “What he said.” 

Peter got a bit of a smirk at the confirmation before returning to his frown. “So you leave and, what, pretend to be somewhere else? Why?” 

“Because it's important that people think I'm somewhere else,” Dick told him, earning a huff. “Okay, okay, look.” He pointed at himself. “Richie Grayson, well known party boy who is dumb as a box of rocks. Always seen out drinking with pretty people, usually ends up doing something nice but stupid and spending Bruce's money on useless stuff. Would you expect that guy to be working with the FBI white collar division as an expert forger and CI?” 

They all slowly shook their heads. 

“Wait, hasn't Batman saved Bruce Wayne before? I'm sure there are tabloid photos of Batman carrying you,” Diana butted in, looking at Bruce, who actually grinned. 

“Oh yes, he's quite noble and has saved me from various kidnappings several times.” Bruce was smirking now, waiting for them to ask, and Dick smacked him with a hand. 

“Don't make their brains explode,” Dick chided. “Yeah, there's been a few times where B got kidnapped very publicly and couldn't get away to change.” He smirked as well, making all of the agents wary. “Luckily there's someone about B’s size who can step into the suit when needed so that Batman can save the day when he gets kidnapped.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “You still have that picture saved, don't you?” 

Dick's only answer was to pull out his phone and scroll through his saved images until he found the right one. He turned the phone around and showed the rest of them a picture of Batman carrying Bruce Wayne bridal style, with Bruce looking up wistfully at the man holding him. “This one is my favorite, because this is the one that really got the rumors of Batman sleeping with Bruce going.” 

Bruce groaned quietly, giving his son a faint glare. “It worked, didn't it?” 

“Oh, it did,” Dick said with a grin, pulling his phone back. “And now there are websites dedicated to shipping you with yourself.” 

“Wait hold on,” Peter interrupted. “Who is wearing the suit in that picture, then? If it's not you?” He turned to Bruce. Bruce rolled his eyes and pointed at Dick, who just grinned like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. 

“Alright, disbelief suspended enough to go along with the idea that you're Batman,” Diana started, “but there's no way that I believe you are Batman too.” She angled the last part to Dick, who just laughed. 

“Alright, don't believe us.” He shrugged. “You still can't tell anyone.” 

Jones looked like he was trying to come to terms with a lot of information all at once and he stayed quiet, just trying to absorb. 

“I don't know, I could see it,” El said, giving Dick a once-over. “You're certainly tall enough, and aren't you an athlete or something?” 

“Gymnastics, actually, I was in the circus as a kid.” Dick's smile softened. “That was how I convinced B to let me go out with him, since I was already pretty athletic.” 

Peter gave Bruce a hard look. “And you just let him fight crime as a child?” 

Bruce rolled his eyes and gave Dick a pointed look. “He was going to do it with or without me, if I was there I could at least keep him from getting in over his head.” 

“Yeah, I, uh, I was kind of hell-bent on getting revenge for the murder of my parents,” Dick added, not meeting anyone's eyes. “Bruce made sure I didn't do anything I would regret later.” 

A silence descended after that and nobody said anything for a long minute, shifting in their seats.