Chapter Text
"Spider-Man's real name, is Damian Wayne."
And then the broadcast shorts out, the bloody, panicked visage of Quentin Blake vanishing. If only his words could vanish that easily.
Damian lets out a slow breath. Then an even slower one.
This was… not good.
"Peter?" Ned asked, eyes widening, "Wh-I-he didn't say your name."
No he didn't.
Yes he did.
Damian-Peter makes a show of furrowing his brow, "Why would he do that?" He asks the air, turning to Ned, then to Michelle, "It doesn't make sense."
It doesn't make sense to the seventeen year-old supergenius Peter Parker. It makes perfect sense to the sixteen year-old super genius Wayne-heir Damian Wayne. Of course, he can't say that. To throw away three years undercover at the drop of a hat is plantiive waste of time.
Natasha- Aunt May- leans against the doorframe, her lips pursed, "This is serious, isn't it?"
Working with SHIELD had not been Damian's ideal path when he was thirteen. It had been an unfortunate circumstance of SPYRAL- of Richard's time there, and of the contacts Norman Obsorn had had. One thing led to another, and he had infiltrated Oscorp at the same time as one Natasha Romanov. They had made a silent pact, to not out the other while they did this. If she was surprised by the thirteen year-old dangling from the ceiling, she didn't show it.
He had gotten bitten shortly afterward. He had Zeta Tubed home and collapsed on the floor of the Batcave, files in hand. That "stunt", i.e. running off by himself and not telling anyone where he was going had not been one of his brightest ideas. It had put him on SHIELD's radar. And so Peter Parker was born. Nick Fury was an unfortunate acquinatance and he started living in New York.
Natasha was more than aware that "Peter Parker" was an alias. And he had grown to begrudgingly trust the Widow. Hence, May Parker. Very few people knew of the spy's new identity. And she would like to keep it that way.
They share a brief moment of eye contact before Peter pushes himself to his feet, "I need air," He says, as a way of explanation, "Not as the mask though. There are enough conspriacy theories about "Damian Wayne" for me to add another."
Michelle snorts, "Get out of here, loser. We'll try and piece togehter what's going on."
Natasha doesn't miss the slightl softness in Damian's green eyes when he glances at her. More hazel than green now, but contacts can only do so much against the Lazarus green, soaking into them.
She wonders, to herself, if he'll ever tell them. Ever shatter the lie he has built a life on.
She doubts it.
She remembers being dead one minute, and then waking up, gasping with Steve- panicked, worried Steve bent over her. Sometimes she dreams of her spine breaking, and white-hot pain. Sometimes she dreams of nothing at all.
She shifts in the doorway, rubbing her back. Maybe it was time for another hot water bottle.
Natasha pulls out her phone as the kettle boils.
It was about damn time for someone to wake up, she thinks, and slams her thumb down on Pepper Potts' name. Dropping Quentin Blakes- oh, sorry should she say "Mysterio's" entire employee file plus photograpic proof should be enough for the public to entire dimiss his claims.
Not for the first time, she's grateful she met the thirteen year-old with the sharp eyes. One who reminded her so much of herself. Natasha takes in a deep breath, and holds the phone to her ear.
Damian isn’t sure where he’s walking to. It’s late August now. School- their final year- is about to start up again. He relishes the quiet freedom that exists in New York. And makes his way to the old telephone box that is practically unused now. It’s across the way from a diner. A diner that serves the best damn milkshakes in the city. Which are the only things Damian will get there, because vegetarian. No probing from any Doctor will get him to change his mind. He can afford to live as a vegetarian, so he will. It’s a private decision, and one he upholds as best he can in this persona.
He spins the rotary wheel once, twice, three times, before dialling the number.
“Wayne Manor,” A voice crackles through, “Alfred speaking. How may I help you today?”
“Hello Pennyworth,” Damian says, letting some amusement lilt into his tone.
“Master Damian.” Alfred’s clipped British accent attempts to hide the fondness in his tone, but three years of living with the butler have made that far harder.
“Hello Alfred,” He repeats, “I presume you’ve seen the news?”
Alfred was silent for a beat, “Indeed. Master Bruce wants to speak with you.”
He was deflecting.
“Is everything alright in Gotham?” Damian asks instead, ignoring Richard’s request, “You seem..worried.”
“All is, as it always is,” Alfred said instead.
Fuck.
“You can put Father on,” He says, “It’s good to hear your voice, Alfred.”
“The same to you.”
There’s a brief click, and muttered speaking, and then a painfully warm voice is coming through the receiver.
“Damian?”
“Father,” He responds, leaning against the side of the phone booth, “How are you?”
“Why are you in New York?” Bruce asks, and worry is seeping through his voice. Something clearly is wrong. Father typically withholds his emotions a little more, until he is certain they are safe- or secure.
“You have seen the news, haven’t you?” Damian asks, “I am here to clear my name.”
There’s a pause.
“I know you haven’t been at boarding school Damian,” Bruce sounds so tired, “Why?”
Damian grips the phone a little harder, “I am attempting to keep you out of something. Surely that must be familiar.”
“Damian.”
Damian bites his lip, a habit he’s picked up from Michelle, unfortunately, “Keeping the family safe is a priority we share. I am merely including you in there for once.”
“You’re sixteen Damian!” Bruce says, and panic is now lacing his tone, “You are sixteen years old, and you left Gotham at thirteen. You left Robin, to go to this boarding school, in order to find yourself. So we didn’t pry. I trusted- I trust you. But when you stopped coming to visit, you made us all curious. And then you were never enrolled. And then I find security footage from three years ago missing. And all of these things are linking together in a way I do not like.”
Damian swallows.
It hurts, a bit, to lie to them. He had expected the guilt to be worse, but, it wasn’t.
He closes his eyes,“Meet me?”
“Yes. Explain about Spider-Man, then?”
Damian scoffs, “And you explain what exaclty Timothy has been up to. I may not be in Gotham but that does not mean I don’t pay attention.”
Bruce laughs into the phone, “Never change Damian.”
Change is a constant. Damian flexes his hand, watching the tendons of his hand, “I will see you. Tomorrow. At this phone booth. Agreed?”
“I look forward to it.”
He hangs up the phone, and stares at it for a moment.
Michelle Jones is not an idiot.
She isn’t anywhere near the level of Peter Parker, but she’s smart. She’s good with noticing things about people, even if she’s not the best at interacting with them. One of her greatest tools, is telling when someone is lying. When her parents divorced, that had been a pretty damn good thing to have.
So why was it that it worked for everyone but one Peter Benjamin Parker. He had lied to her face before. And she had believed him. Part of her thought it was in part with this ridiculous crush she had on him. Which she would never admit to anyone but herself under the pain of death, mind you. But it was more than that. If she couldn’t tell- how did she know when he was telling the truth? That had thrown her for a loop.
Part of her wanted to believe he was just a good liar. But there were always tells. Always. Even if they were miniscule, there were tells.
Which meant that for now- she was going to think that everything he said was a lie.
Even if she didn’t want to.
Especially then.
So when she had dragged Ned out after Peter, as Aunt May raised an eyebrow, but turned away- Ned didn’t argue. Because she had told him. Which was another ridiculous thing that Peter Parker had influenced her to do.
He was fucking lucky he was cute.
She didn’t just say that.
He was lucky that she put up with his presence.
Yeah. That was it.
They found him in an old phone booth across from “Joe’s Diner”. Two of the neon lights were broken, so now it just said “Oe’s Dine.” She blinked, refocusing on Peter.
He was dressed in a simple dark green hoodie and grey slate jeans, and converse, and was leaning against the side of it as he listened to the person speaking. He frowned, and clearly, was having some sort of argument with them.
There was, of course, nothing wrong with using a phone booth. There was, of course, something wrong with using a phone booth when you ahd a state-of-the-art StarkPhone.
Personally- she preferred WayneTech over Stark- but she’d take that with her to the grave considering Peter’s role in Stark tech.
Ew.
Why was she thinking about his feelings. C’mon Michelle. He’s just a guy. Peter hangs the phone up on the receiver as they get close, and inwardly she mourns the fact that they won’t be able to eavesdrop. Not that they would have been able to- given his freaky spider senses.
Which she had figured out even with his weird lying superpower.
Hah. Take that.
Peter makes eye contact with them as he steps out, and the golden hour in New York makes his eyes look more green than brown, glowing slightly.
She sucks in a sharp breath, and then points to the Diner, “Ned’s hungry.”
Ned elbows her, “No I’m not.”
Peter lets out a laugh at that, “I could eat.”
They walk together- the three of them, and she tries to analyse him from an outsiders perspective. From someone who doesn’t know him at all.
“Is that designer?”
Peter blinks at her, eyes wide, and then down at his hoodie.
“Maybe?” He shrugs, “Ms Potts gave it to me. Not sure where she bought it from.”
Michelle hates herself.
She makes a note of a lie.
Because Peter Parker was broke. Peter Parker was a broke highschool student who didn’t care about labels or designers.
And Peter Parker is one of the only people on this Earth who can lie to her. So she can't believe a damn word that comes out his stupid, pretty, mouth.
Some would do it the other way around. Believe in the best of people. Peter is-Peter might be one of those people.
But expecting disappointment means you can never be disappointed. She’s dealt with enough shitty people- and been related to enough shitty people, that it has become her personal motto.
Maybe she wants Peter to be the different.
But she can’t let herself hope for that. It’s up for him to prove it to her.
She really hopes he does.
Bruce stares at the phone. The phone stares back, innocently.
He trusts Damian. A lot. And his boy has proved himself of the trust. He has become a part of Bruce’s life that he simply can’t live without, neatly carving his place into Bruce’s heart.
He stares up at the family portrait from four years ago, at the baby fat still lining Damian’s cheeks. at the barely there smile. The Wayne family portrait. Duke is there, looking a little awkward, leaning ever so slightly into Tim. Tim’s grinning- openly smiling, at the photographer, with Dick’s arm thrown over his shoulder, and over Damian’s. And Bruce is right behind.
they all look so happy.
He’s not quite sure what he’s done to deserve this. At the beginning- it was just Batman. Batman and his lady, Gotham. And then Robin came along.
And he had lost Jason to Robin- and that wasn’t something he could ever forgive himself for. He wasn’t sure Jason could forgive him either. But they spoke, now. Bruce and Jason. Batman and the Red Hood- not so much.
And then Batgirl- and Oracle. Red Robin, and Spoiler and Orphan and Batgirl again. And the newest member, Signal.
And then the youngest Robin flew the coop. He had expected that Damian- in his school in San Francisco would make contact with the Teen Titans.
The first alarm bell had been when he hadn’t.
When he came back that summer, he shrugged it off, “Busy with school.”
Then three years went by. Damian didn’t visit this summer. Damain didn’t visit full stop.
Worry- was something that Bruce carried with him always. For his children, for his vigilantes, for his friends- shocked that he always is by their presence.
And Damian is his youngest. The one he has gotten the least time with- to his own detriment, of course. It was no one’s fault but his own.
And Damian lied to them, constantly.
He could tell. Tim could probably also tell. Training with the League of Assassins leaves its mark. And Damian might be one of the best spies- and liars, on this side of the globe, it doesn’t mean he can lie to this family.
Which leaves Bruce with leaving for New York first thing in the monring. To find out exaclty what his son’s been up to.
And to do some reconassicnce on Spider-Man. It was clear to the world that Damian Wayne was not Spider-Man, despite how much the tabloids discussed it.
For one very, simple reason. Damian Wayne didn’t live in New York.
Bruce clenched his jaw. Except for the fact that apparently he did.