Archive of Our Own

“You are not required to do anything for Todd, Peter. He is not your father, nor would he expect you to honor him as such.”

Damian’s words were harsh, and they kind of hurt Peter’s feelings, if he were being honest. Good thing he’s not being honest!

So, he just rolls his eyes, which he knows Damian fucking hates when others to do to him (even though he does it to others), “I know that, Dami. I’m not saying he’s my dad, it’s just…” He turns away from Damian, “He does dad stuff for me, so I just thought I should get him something, I guess. But you’re right, it’s stupid.”

Damian tuts, grabbing Peter’s arm as he tries to flee the boy’s bedroom, “I did not say it was stupid, Peter. Do not put words in my mouth.”

Another thing Damian hates.

Peter’s gotten pretty good at remembering things that Damian hates. He sometimes uses that knowledge to annoy the guy. Jason says it’s Peter’s “evil side”. 

“I am giving my father a watch, and a simple card. It will state that he is a decent father and that I am thankful for him. I will sign it with my full name.”

Peter wrinkles his nose, already knowing Jason wouldn’t want a watch, or a card like that. But maybe a card. Peter doesn’t really like the idea of going to the store and finding a Father’s Day card because he already knows none of those cards are going to fit what he wants. Hallmark probably doesn’t even make a card that says Hey, thanks for taking me in after I died and was subsequently kidnapped by a group of fucking insane people. You’re a cool guy that I sometimes (all the time) see as my dad! Happy Father’s Day!

Damian drops Peter’s arm, returning to his chair at his desk. He continues drawing in his sketchbook, ignoring Peter as he always does. Peter doesn’t really mind. He’s learned that Damian’s alright with him in his room as long as he shuts the fuck up. 

It’s really hard sometimes, for Peter to shut the fuck up, but he manages. 

So Peter sits on Damian’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, and thinks.

“Can you print a picture for me?” Peter asks sometime later. 

Damian’s closed his sketchbook, so Peter knows he’s allowed to talk now. He turns in his chair, facing Peter who has sat up in the bed. Green eyes meet green eyes, and Damian nods, gesturing Peter over, “I have glossy and matte photo paper. Which would you prefer?”

Peter… Doesn’t think it really matters?

His opinion must show on his face, because Damian huffs, “We will do matte, then. It is the obvious choice, as the light will not glare off the photo.”

Okay, Peter shoves that piece of knowledge in the back of his head for the next time he gets a picture printed. He still doesn’t think it technically matters, at least to him, but if it means something to Damian then he’ll remember it.

“What picture?”

Peter hesitates, but Damian’s blank stare propels him forward. He slides off the bed, tablet in hand, and shows the picture to Damian. 

It’s the first one ever taken of him and Jason. 

He had been in Gotham for four weeks.

One week after meeting Constantine. 

It’d been a pretty hard fucking week, in Peter’s honest opinion. He had kept that opinion to himself, originally, but Jason eventually exhausted it out of him. Peter could only handle so fucking many “are you okay?” questions before he broke down and shouted “NO!” at the man. 

It’s funny because the picture wasn’t even taken in Gotham. Jason had taken him to Metropolis, stating that he needed the sunlight. Well, Jason’s exact words were, “You’re lacking vitamin D, Peter, that’s why you’re being such a fucking asshole.”

The city was a fucking beast. Jason didn’t seem to care about any part of it, but Peter was enthralled. The contrast between the modern and bright architecture compared to the gothic and gloomy architecture of Gotham was fucking insane. Peter felt like he went to a different planet. Jason did not like it when Peter said, “Damn, I should’ve been kidnapped to Metropolis!” 

Peter had only been joking. He doesn’t think Superman would have been as chill with Peter as Jason had been, anyways. 

The picture was taken at Centennial Park. Jason had some random take their picture as they stood in front of the fucking ginormous Superman statue. The hero looms in the background, and Peter’s grinning like an actual maniac. He thinks he got too much sun that day and it made him fucking loopy. Jason’s smiling, just not as big. His arm is slung over Peter’s shoulder, holding him pretty tight. Peter leaned into his side, one of his arms around Jason’s middle, and the other holding his Robin figure. 

Their white streaks are on clear display, and the sun made their green eyes look like emeralds. The random that took the picture had cooed at them, told Jason that Peter was his spitting image! Peter blushed, pretending not to hear, staring up at the statue.

Afterwards, Peter convinced Jason to let them do the horseback riding at the park, and Peter got to laugh as Jason attempted to make friends with a horse that was very much not having it. 

So… It was a good day overall.

The best day.

He looks at the picture a lot, but he’s never asked to have it printed. 

Until now. 

And it’s not even for him. 

“Do you have a frame for it?” Damian asks, carefully cutting the picture out from the freshly printed page. 

Peter rolls his bottom lip in his teeth, “Um, well, I need one. But I thought maybe I could, ya know, make one? Can you help me?”

Damian watches Peter for a moment, before a very small smile appears on his face. He nods, once, says, “Of course I will help you. We should go to the craft store. I need to purchase some new paints anyway.”

Peter glances at Damian’s art table, seeing unopened, still in the package tubes of paint. He squeezes his lips together to stop from smiling, and sets his picture and tablet on Damian’s desk as he follows the boy out of the bedroom.

Alfred had easily agreed to take them to the craft store, and was now standing dutifully behind them as Peter tried to decide what to make his frame out of. Damian was absolutely no help, as he just kept saying, “Todd will not care what the frame looks like,” Everytime Peter asked for his opinion.

Peter groans, “You said you were going to help me, Dami!”

Damian turned to him, blinking a few times, “I said I would help you make a frame, not pick out the materials for it.”

Good god, Damian can be so fucking annoying sometimes. Peter wants to punch himself in the face. Instead, he takes a deep breath, turns to face Damian head on, and says, “Will you help me pick out the materials to make the frame?”

“All you had to do was ask, Peter,” Damian answers primly.

Peter clenches his hands into fists, but he deflates just as quickly when he sees Damian’s lips twitching. “Oh, you fucking dick!” Peter says, pushing Damian. “I thought you were being obnoxious on accident!”

An actual smile breaks out on Damian’s face as he rights himself, “You annoy me frequently enough, I assumed it was fair to do the same.”

Peter shook his head, turning away to look back at all the shit in front of him. Damian picked up giant popsicle sticks and wood glue, before walking down the aisle to another, “When I first came to live with father, and had to go to public school, there was a teacher that had us glue popsicle sticks together to make a frame. I thought it was entirely childish, but father actually liked the blasted thing. Todd would probably like it as well.”

“I did that once, I think. Around Christmas. My teacher printed our pictures out and we framed them, made ornaments outta them.”

Damian nods his head, steering Peter down the paint aisle. Alfred plucked the items Damian was holding out of his hands and placed them in the basket he was carrying. Peter grabbed a few paint markers, and (at Damian’s insistence) grabbed a simple paint kit with a few colors and paintbrushes in it. When they were fixing to leave the aisle, Peter smirked, and said, “Thought you needed to buy some paints, Dami?”

Damian paused, foot lifted midair, before he snatched two tubes of neon green paint off the wall by him, placing them in Alfred’s basket. After that, Damian took off, heading toward the front. Peter looked at Alfred, smiling.

As they walked at a much slower pace behind Damian, Alfred states, “Master Jason will love whatever you create for him.”

And… Peter knows that. Like, logically, duh, he knows that. But there’s a part of him that’s screaming, what if he laughs at you! what if he thinks you’re a stupid little baby! what if he lies and says he likes it but you hear his heartbeat and so you know he’s lying and then you’re just so fucking embarrassed you have no other option but to scale Wayne Tower and throw yourself from the top and hope the impact is hard enough to kill your stupid spider ass-

“Young master Peter, are you alright?” Alfred lays a very gentle hand on his shoulder, bringing Peter out of his own head. 

He looks up at the man, finding nothing but kind, if a little worried, eyes. Peter nods, even though he feels like a liar, and looks around. “Can we get some, uh, paper? Like, cardstock, I guess. To make a card.”

Alfred answers by leading Peter to the correct aisle, and waits patiently while Peter picks out red, black, and blue paper. Finally, they make their way to the front, finding Damian waiting in the check out line, arms full of various colors of spray paint. Peter looks at everything, and arches one eyebrow as he looks at Damian. 

“And what, master Damian, are those for?” Alfred asks, eyeing the spray paint warily. 

Damian hums, “An art project.”

Alfred nor Peter ask more questions, knowing Damian’s not going to expand anymore. They check out, heading for the car, and Peter keeps looking at his bag of things and hoping that Alfred’s right. Hoping Jason would really like whatever Peter makes. 

They’re buckled in the backseat, despite Damian complaining (loudly) that he is legally allowed to sit in the front seat, when Alfred says, “I do believe a trip out is cause for ice cream. Is that something you would like, master Damian? Young master Peter?”

Damian stops complaining, and simply says, “I would like ice cream.”

Peter smiles, nods his agreement, and they go for ice cream. 

Peter and Damian ended up wearing more of their ice cream than eating it, mostly because Peter leaned over and licked Damian’s, which caused Damian to yell and reach for Peter’s ice cream. Then it devolved into each of them attempting to grab the other’s and neither of them noticing it when said ice cream began melting all over them. 

It wasn’t until Alfred cleared his throat that they froze in their actions. 

One of Peter’s hands was smashing Damian’s face into the car window, while Damian’s hand was twisting the one holding Peter’s ice cream in an attempt to break it. 

Their laps were absolutely covered in ice cream.

The throat clearing made them revert to their original positions in the backseat, hands to themselves, looking at Alfred. The man looked exhausted, suddenly, and Peter and Damian glanced at each other quickly before looking forward again. 

“Sorry, Alfred,” Peter said, looking down at his lap, grimacing as he saw all his sprinkles all over his legs. 

Damian swallows, loudly, and says, “Yes, Alfred, I am sorry for my behavior.”

Peter looks over at him, seeing pecans all over his lap, looking pretty similar to Peter. He can’t himself, though, and just starts laughing. Damian glares at him, but then he looks at Peter’s sprinkle covered lap, and starts laughing, too. 

In the rearview mirror, Alfred watches them, and Peter can tell by the man’s cheeks that he’s smiling. 

They’re spread out on the floor in Peter’s room at the manor. Damian brought over one of his painting tarps, laying it down before Peter spread out his materials. Now, he’s just staring at them, unsure where to begin. 

“You should decorate the popsicle sticks first,” Damian says, sketchbook in hand.

Peter knows he’s not really drawing, or, well, he’s not paying attention to what he’s drawing. He’s just looking at his sketchbook so Peter doesn’t feel watched. 

He grabs his paint markers, pulling out the red and blue ones (Spider-Man colors). He starts coloring over all the popsicle sticks, thankful for the tarp as every now and again his hand falls off the stick and stabs into the tarp below him. He’d hate to tell Alfred he stabbed a blue paint marker into the carpet. 

Peter’s laying on his belly, feet swinging in the air, and he vaguely feels his tongue poking out. Jason calls it his concentration pose.

He colored two sticks blue, and two red, and set them a little to the side, searching for his black paint marker. The sticks are dry enough for Peter to write on them, but he’s still hesitating to actually write the words. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, he just is. 

“You can always paint over it if you do not like it. Or start over entirely. We bought plenty of popsicle sticks,” Damian comments, eyes still firmly on his sketchbook. 

Peter sighs, knowing Damian’s right, and goes to write on one of the blue sticks. He tries to write as neatly as possible, going so fucking slow his hand is cramping. 

When he’s done, he holds the sticks back a little, staring at them. 

On the stick says: HAPPY JASON’S DAY!

He didn’t want to say Father’s Day, just because it didn’t feel right. But saying Jason’s Day feels good. Because it is Jason’s Day, to Peter at least. He grabs the other blue stick, writes love peter as tiny as the marker will allow him. 

He decides to decorate the red sticks, adding spider webs and bats all over them. Him and Jason. He likes it, even though some of the bats look a little wonky. The webs are top notch, in Peter’s opinion. Mostly because he doodles spider webs all the time, so he’s had practice. He guesses he needs to practice drawing bats more.

By the time he’s done doodling, and cleaning up his paint markers, the sticks are completely dry. He grabs his glue, and very carefully glues them together in a near perfect square. Peter moves so he’s sitting on his knees, and holds his frame up, inspecting his work. 

Damian finally sets his sketchbook to the side, and moves to sitting criss-cross on the floor near Peter. He looks at the frame when Peter holds it up, and smiles. “It looks very good, Peter. Todd will love it.”

Something warm floods through Peter, and he says, “I hope so.”

Damian hands him the picture, and helps him glue it onto the popsicle sticks. Damian grabbed a piece of the black paper Peter bought, and cut out a square the same size as the popsicle sticks, gluing it behind the picture so there weren’t any gaps. He handed it back to Peter, who just stared down at it. 

“It looks like a fucking first grader did it,” Peter grumbles, feeling angry with it suddenly, glaring down at it.

Out of nowhere, he feels like an idiot, and has the urge to break the popsicle sticks and rip up the picture. 

Damian snatches it from him quickly, holding it away from Peter, “It does not!”

Peter scowls, crossing his arms over his chest, “It does! I hate it! Throw it away!

“No way!” Is all Damian says, scowling right back at Peter. “You should work on your card for Todd.”

Peter doesn’t want to listen to Damian, but he does. He huffs, throwing himself back to the floor as he yanks out the papers he bought. He’s being rough with them, and he tells himself to stop just in case he rips them. Peter slows down, taking measured breaths, remembering how Jason said it was nearly impossible to be angry if you made yourself move as slow as a fucking snail. 

And he’s right. 

Peter reaches his hand as slow as possible for the scissors, basically inching through the air, taking nearly an entire minute to grab them. He feels silly, but it helps him not feel angry. 

He cuts the blue paper into a smaller rectangle, so it’s similar in size to a Hallmark card. Then he starts cutting out pieces from the red and black paper, attempting to make Red Hood on the front of the card. It looks… Abstract. But Peter finds it kind of funny, so he knows Jason will too. 

On the front, above the Red Hood figure, he again writes HAPPY JASON’S DAY. Flipping the card open, Peter hits a wall.

Shit.

He forgot if he made a card, he’d have to figure out what to write on the inside. 

Shit.

“Um, Dami?” Peter cautiously asks, looking at Damian, who is still holding the frame away from Peter.

Damian raises an eyebrow at him, which is Damian’s way of saying speak. So he does, “What do I even say in my card?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Damian sighs before saying, “Just say anything, Peter. I am sure even a simple ‘thank you’ will make Todd happy.”

True, Peter thinks. Jason’s not one for sappy moments, but still. This is a Jason’s Day card, so he thinks he’s supposed to be at least a little sappy. He puts his pen to the paper, pauses for a minute, and then thinks fuck it, and just starts writing. 

By the time he stops he’s filled nearly the entire card.

There’s enough room for Peter to draw a little Red Hood and Spider-Man, with another love peter written below them. He slams the card closed quickly, setting it to the side. 

“If I give you the frame are you going to destroy it?” Damian asks, still scowling at him.

Peter sighs, and then rolls his eyes, “No, I’m not. I feel okay now.”

Damian nods, handing the frame to him, and Peter places his card over it. Oh goddammit, “I didn’t get a bag to put it in!” Peter yells, eyes going wide.

As if by magic (Peter’s not so sure the guy isn’t magic), Alfred comes into the room with a small gift bag. It’s blue and white striped, with a little tag hanging off the side. Peter smiles, placing his items inside the bag, and then writes JASON in big, blocky letters on the tag. Alfred takes it away, promising to keep it hidden until they have their Sunday lunch, which is doubling as their Father’s Day lunch. 

It’s where Damian and the others are going to give gifts to Bruce.

Well.

Everyone except Jason.

Dick said it didn’t matter, because he always adds Jason’s name to the bottom of whatever Dick gives him. Jason looked a little upset at that piece of information, but he didn’t say anything. 

Anyways, they’re all giving gifts to Bruce for Father’s Day during Sunday’s lunch. 

Which is what prompted Peter to freak out over giving Jason something.

And now they’re here. 

“You should clean your room, Peter. It is a mess,” Damian says, stalking out of the room. 

Peter guffaws, looking around, and yeah, it’s definitely a mess. Jason’s been gone the last few nights as Red Hood so Peter’s been staying here, and it’s totally messy. Alfred only cleans up when Peter asks, because that was the deal they made when Peter first started staying here, and Peter hasn’t asked. 

So there’s clothes everywhere, half his bedding is on the floor in the corner (because his nest fell apart sometime between this morning and now, so all his blankets fell to the floor), and now he has his crafting mess to pick up. 

He grunts, and starts picking everything up.

Peter starts with remaking his nest, because it takes him the longest. He crawls around in the corner, shooting webs from his webshooters to basically make a cocoon. Grabbing the blankets, he starts shoving them inside, not really caring how they go in. He’ll just have to fix it up later anyways. 

When that’s done, he cleans the rest, and by the time he’s placing the last of his dirty clothes in the hamper, Alfred is at the door telling him it’s time for dinner. The man looks around the room, and there’s a pleased smile on his face as he sees it tidied. 

Peter follows Alfred downstairs, and tries his best not to think about this Sunday. Cleaning his room was a nice distraction, but now that’s over, so all he has to do is think about his gift, and his Jason, and this Sunday, and if Jason’s even going to like his gift, and-

“Peter, I’m taking a trip to S.T.A.R. Labs in Metropolis tomorrow. Would you like to go with me?” Bruce asks, voice cutting through Peter’s spiraling thoughts.

All Peter had to hear was S.T.A.R. Labs and he’s so fucking in. He starts jumping up and down, going a little higher each time, and grabs onto Bruce’s arm, sticking to him. “Yes, yes, yes, I wanna go with you, yes!”

Bruce smiles, allowing Peter to basically yank his arm around, and says, “Perfect. We’ll head there a little after nine.”

All thoughts about Sunday go out the door, because all that fills Peter’s brain is S.T.A.R. Labs. He sits by Bruce at the table, yapping the entire time about the labs, ignoring the way Bruce is smiling dopily down at him, when a horrible thought dawns on him…

If he got Jason a gift for Father’s Day…

Is he going to have to get Bruce a gift for Grandparent’s Day?!

Sunday comes around far faster than Peter had wanted it too.

They’ve already eaten, unfortunately, and Alfred has cleared away the dishes. All that’s left on the table are their drinks, which have been refilled, and the gifts. None are so tall that Peter can’t see the others over them, but there are quite a few. It feels interesting to Peter, mostly because his Father’s Days have always been either just him and his mom and dad, or just him and Aunt May and Uncle Ben. 

A very small affair.

This… Is different. 

Bruce looks a tad uncomfortable, saying, “I didn’t need gifts. Having all of you here is enough.” It sounds like something he’s said before, and Peter thinks he’s probably said it every single year. Jason grunts, “Don’t worry, old man. Ya didn’t get a gift from me.” He smiles, all teeth, but deflates when Bruce genuinely smiles back at him, and says, “Your presence is gift enough, chum.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but there is a bit of a blush on his cheeks. Peter finds it very fascinating. 

“Whether you need gifts or not, we got ‘em, and you gotta open ‘em otherwise we’ll feel like ya hate us and we’ll all start crying!” Dick says cheerfully, shoving the bags closer to Bruce.

Tim nods sagely, “Yes, if you reject our materialistic display of love, we’ll all assume you do not feel any affection for us in return. Is that what you want, Bruce?”

There’s a light of panic in Bruce’s eyes, before he grabs a bag at random and starts ripping through the tissue paper. He pulls out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a pair of shiny, silver cufflinks. There’s something engraved on them, but Peter can’t really see. 

Bruce smiles down at them, runs a thumb over them, and immediately turns to Duke (how did he know they were from Duke?), “Thank you, Duke. I’ll wear them to the next gala. I’m sure to receive a lot of compliments on them.”

Peter leans toward Jason, who bows down so Peter can more easily whisper, “Do people actually compliment cufflinks?” Jason smiles at him, whispers back, “Only the most boring fucks in the world.”

The sound of more tissue paper flying draws Peter back to Bruce, who is opening Damian’s gift. He draws out the watch Damian showed him, and the card. It was really as straightforward as Damian made it out to be, but Bruce still looked close to tears as he rested a gentle hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Thank you, Damian.”

Damian says nothing, but looks smugly at Duke, as if it was a competition.

Wait…

Are they competing? Is that why they get the gifts? What’s the contest — see who can make Bruce cry the fastest?

Another gift, this time it’s from Cass and Steph. It’s a… What the fuck is it? It looks like a pin, but a bit fancier. Whatever it is, it says “World’s Best Dad” on it. Bruce sheds exactly one tear, and Damian looks murderous at the sight. He glares at Steph, who simply sticks her tongue out at him. 

Oh yeah, definitely a competition then. 

“Oh, a lapel pin!” Bruce breathes out, sounding wrecked, “I can wear it when I go into the office.”

“My fucking god, is he going to survive the rest of the gifts?” Peter whispers to Jason, who minutely shakes his head, “Every year, kiddo. We take bets on who wins.”

Hey! How come Peter didn’t get in on the bet?! He kicks Jason in the shin, who (wisely) doesn’t make a sound. Jason scowls at Peter, “I bet enough for the both of us, asshole. I put us both down for Dick, he usually gets the most tears.”

Oh.

Well, Peter feels a little guilty about kicking him, but whatever. 

Bruce has moved on, pulling out a thin box. He carefully opens it, and out comes a picture frame. Peter wants to gag at the reminder of his gift. But this is a digital frame, and once Bruce turns it on, it starts cycling through a bunch of pictures already preloaded on. The man holds it back, so the whole table can see as the frame shows a picture of Tim and Duke giving each other bunny ears, Cass, Steph and Babs at the zoo, Damian and Dick at the park with Titus and Ace, even Jason and Peter at the Wayne Botanical Garden, finally showing a picture of all of them, taken a few Sundays ago. Bruce is deadly fucking silent, and Tim looks at everyone at the table like he just won the lottery. 

“Cheater,” Steph whispers to him, pinching his ribs. 

Tim eeks, arching away from her, and they both fix themselves as Bruce lowers the frame and faces the table again. He sheds exactly one more tear, which causes Steph and Tim to just gape at the man. 

A tie. 

Riveting. 

Babs gives Bruce a very simple, but obviously heartfelt card, as he thanks her very graciously. Jason leans over and says, “Babs doesn’t count. She never does Father’s Day, just gives him a thank you card.”

Peter swallows hard, thinking of his not Father’s Day gift. He looks at Jason out of the corner of his eye, and tries to regulate his breathing.

Finally, it’s Dick’s turn. He looks giddy as Bruce pulls out two ultra thin boxes from his bag. Duke huffs, mumbles under his breath, “Shouldn’t count if he’s giving two gifts.” Bruce carefully opens one of the boxes, and pulls out a plain looking grey t-shirt. There’s nothing on the back, so they’re all just waiting for Bruce to show them. He turns it around, showing off a shirt that says “World’s Best Dad” right in the middle. 

Steph glares at Dick, who just sticks his tongue out at her. She whispers, “I thought of it first!” Steph leans over the table as Dick whispers back, “But I thought of it better!” 

Before anything else can be angrily whispered, Bruce opens the second box, pulling a similar grey t-shirt out. When he turns it around, Peter’s mouth falls open when he reads “World’s Best Grandpa”. 

Fuck, he’s totally going to have to get this guy a gift for Grandparent’s Day!

When Bruce lowers the shirt, there’s two tears falling down his cheeks, and Dick has a triumphant look on his face. Cass smiles at them, whispers, “Bruce,” And then, “Real winner.”

And judging by the look of pure adoration on Bruce’s face as he looks at them, and then at his gifts, yeah, he agrees with Cass. Bruce definitely wins.

They all go to quietly chatting amongst themselves, and Peter feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, start flopping around on the table or some other crazy shit. Duke starts shuffling, looking ready to get up, when Alfred walks in. He has Peter’s gift bag in his hand.

“There is one more gift to be given,” Alfred states.

The others look confused, looking around at each other, as if trying to figure out who decided to give more gifts. Tim huffs, looking at Dick, “Really? Two wasn’t enough, ya had to go for three?”

Dick held his hands up in a mock surrender, “Hey! This isn’t from me!”

Peter doesn’t say a fucking word, digging his nails into his palms in order to stop himself from tackling Alfred to the ground and destroying the gift before it can be given. Damian offers him a supportive smile, which helps calm him down. Somewhat. 

“This gift is not for master Bruce, boys, so please cease the arguing,” Alfred interrupts, successfully shutting Tim and Dick up. 

The butler moves around the table, and very carefully places the bag in front of Jason. 

The entire table falls into silence. All that Peter hears is his blood pumping through his ears. He feels eyes on him, which he wants to hiss at, but he stops himself. Instead he turns his entire body so he’s just looking at Jason. He can handle just Jason. He can, he can, he can!

Jason is looking at the innocent looking bag in front him, and then… His eyes shift to Peter, “Is this from you?” He asks, so fucking gently that Peter almost bursts into tears. 

He nods, instead of sobbing, and motions with his hands for Jason to open it. 

Thankfully, Jason listens, and slowly reaches into the bag. He pulls out the frame and card, but they’re wrapped in tissue paper.

Thank you, Alfred!

Jason unwraps them, smiling when he sees the card. He makes a gasping sound, swallows, and shows it to Peter, “That me, kid?”

Another nod, because Peter doesn’t think he can speak right now.

Dick knocks into Peter with the effort of his bouncing, “C’mon, show us, Jason!” He basically squeals.

Jason rolls his eyes, but does hold the card up so the others can see the front. “‘Happy Jason’s Day’,” Steph reads, and then her eyes start filling with tears, “Oh my god, that’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” She whispers, hand moving to cover her mouth.

He lowers the card, opening it. It takes a few minutes, as Jason reads it quietly to himself. His eyes are glassy, Peter notes, unshed tears making the green shine. Jason clears his throat, and quietly says, “Can I have a pen?” The others at the table give him weird looks, but Alfred produces a pen from his pocket. Jason makes a mark on the card, and then carefully closes the card, placing it in his lap, and moves on to the frame. He takes off the extra tissue paper, setting it on the table, and holds the frame in his hands. 

For the longest moment of Peter’s life, Jason just looks at it. He doesn’t blink, or even really breathe, just stares at the frame. Then he swallows, hard, and looks up at Peter. When he speaks, his voice sounds like Bruce’s, “Thank you, Peter.”

And Peter finally breathes, smiles and says, “Happy Jason’s Day.”

That apparently did him in, as the unshed tears turn into shedding tears, and Jason’s actually crying, oh fuck, oh god, what’s the protocol when your pseudo father starts crying over your Father’s Day gift?

Nobody else at the table moves, obviously in just as much shock as Peter, so he figures it’s up to him to fix this. 

He slides out of his chair, moving to stand in front of Jason, and doesn’t let himself hesitate before throwing his arms around Jason, hugging him around the neck. Jason sets the frame down, wrapping his arms around Peter in return. Peter hears shuffling, and when he turns his head away from Jason, looking at the table, he sees Duke has taken the frame and is passing it around the table. 

Bruce looks at it for a long time, before he follows in Jason’s footsteps, tears sliding down his face. Tim looks shocked at the display, and Damian just sighs, staring out the windows behind Bruce.

Under his breath, Peter hears Damian say, “I should have known Peter would do him in.”

Jason pats him on the back a few times, drawing away so that he and Peter could look each other in the eyes. He smiles at Peter, says again, “Thank you, Peter,” pauses and says, “I love ya, kiddo.”

Jason hands him the card, and when Peter opens it, he sees a check mark for YES.

Oh.

Nice.

“I love you, too,” Peter smiles, finishing it off with, “Dad.”

It’s sometime later, when they’re all in the game room, and Jason and Peter are sharing their yellow bean bag, that they talk about the bet.

“So, who voted for Peter making Bruce cry?” Tim asked, leaning into Steph.

Duke had a notepad in his hands, and he rolls his eyes as he says, “Cass, obviously.”

Cass smiles, happily taking the money from Duke when he walks it over to her. 

“Wait…” Duke says, looking down at his notepad, “Babs… You voted that Peter would make Jason cry! How’d you know?” He whips around to look at her, and Babs just has a secretive smile on her face. “I’m Oracle. I know everything.”

Damian glares at her, “I helped Peter make the damned thing, and I did not even think to vote for it.”

Babs shrugs, taking the money from Duke, “Better luck next year, Dami!”

Tim grins, looking maniacal, “Nah, there’s still Christmas, right?”

Steph matches Tim’s grin, “Oh yeah, all in for Christmas.”

Peter tunes them out, burrowing further into Jason’s side. The man has an arm wrapped around Peter, the other holding his gifts. Peter closes his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, and breathing in the scent of apples and gunpowder. Overall, it’s been a rather good Father’s Day, Peter thinks. Probably his best one in a lot of years. 

He’s nearly asleep when he hears Bruce enter the room. 

The man had disappeared when they all headed for the game room, which Peter thought was weird. He always followed them to the game room, standing in his brooding corner until Dick or Tim demanded he sit down like a “normal human being”. So, when Bruce enters the room now, minutes after them, Peter opens his eyes.

He’s greeted with the sight of Bruce, all beefed up, wearing his “World’s Best Grandpa” shirt. Bruce catches Peter’s eyes, and gives him a smile worthy of the front page of every magazine still in publication. 

Yeahhhh, Peter better start thinking about what to do for Grandparent’s Day. 

Jason — 

Thanks for acting like my dad. For getting me a nightlight and clothes and food and letting me build my webshooters and make nests and helping with homework and teaching me that guns aren’t scary and letting me stay up late to see the lunar eclipse and rescuing me from the pits. 

I know you’re not my dad. Like real dad. Obviously. But you’re pretty damn close. Right? I mean you tuck me in at night even though I don’t ask you to and you water down my drinks even though I don't want you to and you give me a bedtime even though I say I don’t need one and you hug me when I’m sad and calm me down when I’m angry and tell me I’m a good kid even when I know I’m not being one so it really sounds like you’re my dad. If you wanna be. You don’t have to be my dad. I don’t have the best luck with them. But you’ve already died so I think we’ll be okay. So if you want to be my dad, check yes. If you don’t want to be, check no. 

O Yes

O No

Either way you’re the coolest kind of dad ever, and I really like having you as my kind of dad. 

Love Peter