Chapter Text
Peter was just a little boy when he arrived at Wayne Manor with his older brother, Richard. After the terrible accident at the circus that took their parents’ lives, the wealthy millionaire Bruce Wayne had adopted them both, changing their lives overnight.
At the time, Peter was barely 5 years old, while Richard was already twelve.
Perhaps because he was born prematurely, or maybe because the Grayson genes hadn’t manifested as strongly in him, Peter was a smaller and more fragile child than usual; in fact, unlike his brother—with his intense blue eyes and straight black hair—he had hazel eyes and curly brown hair. If it weren’t for subtle expressions on their faces, anyone would have doubted that they were related.
It was with those curious eyes that the little boy began to gaze at the immense estate from the limousine window. At his young age, he couldn’t quite grasp the magnitude of what was happening: he could barely write complex words or solve simple math problems. However, his childish mind was able to marvel at the size of that gigantic house, thinking that perhaps it had so many rooms that he could play in a different one every day without ever getting bored.
At the same time, he was trying to process the words of Miss Estefanía, the social worker, who had explained to him very patiently that Mr. Bruce had adopted them so he could become their new father.
That word, “father,” reopened a wound that was still too fresh. Even though he was so young, Peter knew exactly what death meant. The echo of the accident was still etched in his memory: the moment his parents fell from the heights, the terrible sound of their bodies hitting the ground, the horrified screams of the crowd, and the image of the two of them, motionless down below, surrounded by pools of blood. He remembered the chaos, people running in panic, babies crying, and mothers clutching their children to their chests.
But above all, he remembered his older brother’s hands covering his eyes tightly, in a superhuman effort to protect him while struggling not to shed his own tears.
That was exactly why he was now clinging to him, sitting on Richard’s lap inside the car. He hadn’t wanted to leave his side for even a single moment during the paperwork, flatly refusing to accept the possibility that they might be separated. It was the two of them together, or nothing.
That bond gave them the courage to get out of the car. As they walked toward the entrance, the enormous door swung open to reveal a butler who introduced himself as Alfred. Peter liked him immediately; he reminded him of a very kind grandfather, although he found it extremely strange and formal that Alfred addressed him as “young master Peter.”
While Richard stayed in the main hall talking with his new father, Alfred took it upon himself to guide the younger boy to what would be his room. They walked down hallways that seemed endless to Peter, stepping on a red carpet so elegant that it made him feel as if he were in a palace, passing by imposing paintings and beautiful chandeliers whose names he didn’t even know.
However, as he crossed the threshold of the room, his fascination gave way to a strange sense of loneliness. The room contained a huge bed, a desk, a mirror, and its own bathroom: everything seemed too big for his small frame.
There was also a bookshelf and a large window opening onto a balcony, which Alfred warned him would remain closed for safety reasons.
Looking for something familiar amid so much opulence, Peter spotted a large chocolate-brown wooden wardrobe. Beside it lay his small backpack—his only link to his former life—which held barely a couple of changes of clothes and Tito, his favorite little fox stuffed animal.
With infinite gentleness, the butler helped him put away his few belongings while, in a soft voice, he explained the house rules to him.
Relief came shortly afterward with the footsteps of his older brother, who entered the room to tell him, with a smile, that his room was right next door. Even so, the vastness of the mansion remained intimidating for two orphaned children. That night, neither of them wanted to face the distance between their new rooms; they preferred to take refuge in the same bed, curled up under the same blanket, reminding themselves that, no matter what happened, they would have each other.