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“I can’t believe I let the three of you talk me into that.”
“Four! Alfred was in on it, too!”
Bruce could protest all he wanted, but the truth was that he’d protested relatively little when Dick had printed off an online flyer to sign up as a visiting Santa at Gotham Pediatrics’ Hospital. At first, the boys had browsed Santa suits to find just the right one for when Bruce signed up, all halting when they came across the holy grail: a Batman suit colored velvety red with white faux-fur trimmings and a thick red cape with forest-green embroidery.
Jason had shaken Peter by the shoulders. “It has jingle bells on the ears! Put it in the cart, put it in the cart!”
“But wait,” Peter had paused. “We can’t just buy a suit for Batman to wear with Bruce Wayne’s money.”
“Just put it on the Bat-credit card,” Dick had said, already putting in the numbers. “It’ll get shipped to the Hall of Justice, and we can have it sent from there to us.”
“Wh–there’s a Bat credit card? How in the world does that work?”
“Eh–Just don’t think about it too much.”
The suit had arrived in the Cave less than a week later, Bruce looking decidedly unimpressed but quickly folding to his sons’ pleas, especially when they unveiled the corresponding elf-themed Nightwing and Spiderman suits they’d found as well. Not to let anyone be left out, they’d made sure Alfred and Jason had already signed up to volunteer at the hospital beforehand.
On patrol, kids could be hesitant with Batman sometimes, unsure of his armor and dark suit. In his Bat-Santa suit, though, even the most timid of children quickly warmed up to him, giggling as they jingled the bells on his ears and ran their hands over the white fur. They’d clamored as Jason had helped the Spiderman and Nightwing elves distribute gifts from a giant, Bat-emblazoned sack.
The Batmobile had been decorated copiously with lights and a wreath, any kids that were able coming outside for a few minutes to see it, bundled in layers of coats and scarves.
They’d stayed for just under four hours, and at the end of it Bruce looked almost more exhausted than after a full patrol, pulling off the cowl once they’d closed the Batmobile’s doors.
“Oh, come on,” Dick teased, winking at Peter from the front seat. “You know you had fun.”
“You let them take pictures.”
Peter bit back a laugh. “It’s one thing for the rogues to get beaten by the brooding Bat, but think of how embarrassed they’ll be to know they got beaten by a guy that can also wear jingle-ears.”
“Hn.”
Peter made the mistake of meeting Dick’s eyes, and they both burst into laughter that lasted nearly the whole way back to the Cave.
Jason’s volunteer hours wouldn’t end for another half hour, but Peter’s phone was full of texts, snuck through in between Jason visiting with the kids and helping clean up from the holiday activities. Though part of Peter couldn’t wait to talk to his little brother about their exciting day and continue making their way through the holiday movie list, he was relieved to have a bit more time before Jason would get home.
As promised, Zatanna waited for him outside of his room.
Zatanna and the League had promised they were working on a more convenient and more efficient method of contact between this and Peter’s first world, but for now the window spell was what they had; it didn’t help that Dr. Strange had already tried the spell twice in the past couple of weeks. Both had been disasters, Peter only knowing they were happening because a small red circle would waver in the space in front of him before shuddering, coughing sparks and fizzling out of existence.
He knew that the League had found a way to send transcripts of the spells, along with a short message, over to Peter’s first world. The window spell was supposedly a lot simpler than opening an actual portal able to be communicated through–had they gotten that one to work, at least? Peter hoped so. The couple of times he’d been able to see his friends so far may open an ache deep in his chest, but they were also some of the most meaningful moments since he’d come here, to see that his friends were indeed still safe and had started moving on.
Zatanna was right by his bedroom door, as promised. She waited until Peter approached with a nod to open the door.
“Which one would you like today?”
“Ned Leeds, please, Z.” Part of him wanted to fill the silence–ask about how her monitor duty at the Watchtower had gone, what she’d been doing to prepare for Christmas, but not even the most social part of him wasn’t willing to let himself get sidetracked by a conversation right now. Not when it only took her a few short moments to do the trans-dimensional window spell once she got started.
“You got it.”
Peter had eventually learned that she was speaking backwards in her spells, not a different language. There was surely more to it than that, whether the magical ability was learned or innate, but the intricacies didn’t worry him right now; just the end result.
He’d been switching between Ned and MJ so far when Zatanna came over to perform the spell, watching each of his friends for thirty minutes of their daily lives. Without them knowing.
It wasn’t creepy.
After all, they were–presumably–doing the same thing to him when he didn’t know about it, as Zatanna said she’d sent a copy of the simpler spell and had registered its successful use more than once since then. Had they seen him patrol, or had to suffer through watching him try to work on his college admissions to Gotham University’s engineering department? Viewed him sparring with Dick, or watching movies with Jason? Had they indirectly met the whole household by this point, just by watching Peter interact with them?
It wasn’t so hard to believe, especially since Peter had seen new people enter his own friends’ lives: the two sorcerer-in-trainings he’d seen at the Sanctum when he’d asked Stephen for help, that Ned had clearly formed a closer friendship with by now; a young man that had apparently started to frequent the donut shop that was interested in MJ, but who for now MJ had semi-politely declined.
Peter wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He’d resigned himself to the idea of MJ dating someone else eventually–it wasn’t like he’d ever be coming back–but part of him was glad she didn’t seem ready to get involved with someone else yet.
He waited the agonizing seconds as Zatanna’s spell readied, only having another moment to wonder what scene would be waiting for him before the image cleared, revealing Ned at his desk, his phone angled in front of him as he spoke.
“Next up in the chat is from Thanoswasright69–actually, we’re going to skip that one, we don’t take questions from crazy people–meaning our final question for this session will actually come from username singlepringle: they ask ‘are the rumors true that you’ve gotten in touch with Spiderman? Is he ever coming . . . back to Queens?’”
Ned’s voice faltered at the end for just a second before smiling again, shrugging. “Well, it’s half a win for the rumor mill I guess, guys: my fellow FOS MJ and I did recently receive a way to see Peter Parker in the world that he was sent to when he saved our universe. We can’t talk to him yet, and unfortunately no, it is not safe for him to come back to this world. I’m happy to assure you all that he’s safe and doing well in his new universe, swinging around as Spiderman over there. And if you’re missing Spiderman, guys, just remember: if you all had appreciated him more while he was here instead of accusing him of murder, he’d probably still be here with us now.
“That’s all for today’s Spidey Q&A, remember to tune in next time and submit your questions to get them answered by Peter Parker’s own Guy in the Chair.”
Ned clicked off the livestream, burying his head in his hands. For a second Peter’s chest constricted, scared he was about to watch his best friend begin crying in grief over his absence–and maybe Ned was, for a moment–but the eventual groan was more in frustration than mourning.
“Why did I say that,” Ned muttered to himself, tapping at his desk idly. “Unprofessional to get sarcastic at the end. Even if they do deserve it. At least I know I probably won’t lose my cool as bad as MJ when she joined for a livestream.” He shuddered at the memory, and Peter huffed out a small laugh, wondering what such a scene might have looked like.
Ned picked up his phone again, scrolling through a few more of the comments on his livestream before forcibly setting it back down again, sighing deeply.
“Distraction,” he muttered, spinning around in his desk chair before standing. “Nothing wrong with a distraction.”
He went out to the kitchen, asking his lola if she needed anything from the corner store; though Peter had once promised himself he’d learned the language, time had slipped away too fast, and now he still had no idea what Ned’s lola was saying. Ned nodded after a moment, though, confirming something to her before grabbing his coat, keys and wallet and waving over his shoulder to her.
Ned hummed a bit to himself as he walked, dodging other pedestrians expertly and zipping his coat further up to his throat.
There was only a couple months’ time difference between the worlds; Peter had left with his world in late Autumn, while Gotham had only been in the beginning throes of fall. Now, Peter was only days away from Christmas, while Ned was passing by a sign advertising an upcoming St. Patrick’s Day street festival. Still, the late winter chill had yet to leave Queens, both of Ned’s hands tucked into his pockets until he reached the nearest corner store, wandering through the few aisles and grabbing a pack of tortillas here, a half gallon of milk there. Stopping and staring at a sign with one of the old Public Enemy #1! pictures, a caption at the bottom reading If he’s so innocent, why’d he run?
Ned ripped the sign down, crumpling it up and shoving the remains into his pocket.
With his bags in one hand, he browsed through his emails as he walked home, most of which were from MIT. Peter had noticed the acceptance letters the last time he’d used the spell with MJ, but every time he was reminded of it his heart warmed. They’d gotten into MIT, probably with really good scholarships, too. No matter what had happened in between, at least part of Peter’s original goals had been accomplished.
The half-hour spell fizzled away as Ned was crossing the street, six seconds left on the crosswalk timer. That was probably the worst part of this window spell: there was no way to end it right. No real goodbyes or closure, just a cutoff that you hoped you’d be able to continue someday. No assurance that Ned made it home safe, or that Thanoswasright69 didn’t try to get into the next livestream. Just a thirty minute glimpse of what he’d left behind.
Peter huffed a breath, shaking his head in both disapproval at the thought and to reset his mind like an Etch-A-Sketch. He’d left willingly, to remedy a disaster that had in large part been his own making, having never expected to see his friends again, let alone see them for thirty minutes at a time, get to be acquainted with a small portion of their day-to-day lives, with the promise of more in the future.
Peter was lucky. Luckier than he could have imagined when he’d suggested the solution to Stephen months ago. And this was enough, for now.
He was half surprised to see Zatanna still in the Cave when he went back down; she didn’t always stick around to the end of the spell, as she’d perfected it so that it didn’t need her constant attention through to the end.
“Hey, B, Zatanna.” Peter met them at the Batcomputer. “Are Jay and Alfred almost back?”
“They’ll be on their way soon,” Bruce said. He turned to Zatanna. “Thank you for the update.”
She gave him a small salute. “No problem, B. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Everything go alright, Peter?”
He nodded. “Thanks again for coming. Happy Holidays, Zatanna.”
“Right back at you guys.” She smiled, waving behind her before she went back through the zeta.
“What were you guys talking about?”
“Some League matters,” he answered shortly, closing out of a tab on the computer.
“Christmas stuff?”
B gave a small grunt, the screen going dark. “Let’s go back upstairs; Alfred promised to
make hot cocoa once he got back.”
Peter smirked, jogging up the stairs behind Bruce. “What was it, the League’s Secret Santa exchange?” Everyone knew that you didn’t keep secrets around the holidays unless it was related to the gifts you were getting someone, after all. “Who’d you get? Superman? Flash?”
Bruce didn’t rise to the questioning.
“Ooh, is it Green Lantern? You’d definitely be all broody about that.”
“Master Peter,” Alfred lightly admonished, having entered the kitchen with Jason just in time to catch up in the conversation. “Are you pressing your father on League matters?”
Peter huffed, pulling himself onto one of the stools by the island and tousling Jason’s hair. “Fine, fine; didn’t realize he was so serious about Secret Santa.”
As promised, cocoa was served shortly, Dick bounding down from upstairs like a cartoon following the scent of a pie, doing his utmost to convince Alfred to let him put in more marshmallows.
When the season had started approaching, Peter could admit that he’d expected the holiday season to be much more chaotic than it was turning out. Though, make no mistake, there had certainly been extreme moments as they’d gone out to choose a tree and decorate it, or when they’d lured Bruce out during the most recent snowfall for a snowball fight that had lasted over an hour and had left Peter shivering nearly all night even with the fire going.
It was busy, but steady; when Peter got more than a moment to think about it, he suspected that the family was trying to keep him too busy to get too upset about not being in his home world for Christmas, but not so busy to truly overwhelm him. It was . . . mostly working. Mostly.
It was harder during the more personal moments, the traditions that transcended universes. He had to step out briefly as they made cookies, throat tight with the memories fighting to drown him. He’d done it before: the first Christmas without his parents, the first Christmas without Ben, but this was different; there was no family coffeeshop to visit, or familiar couches and home videos to watch. No May dabbing flour on his nose, or surprising her with her favorite orange-glazed cinnamon rolls from the bakery on 16th St.
Decorating the tree hadn’t been quite merry and bright, either, Peter’s heart clenching as he remembered his ridiculous grade school ornaments and pictures, the messy garland they’d wind with abandon around the tree. Things he just . . . didn’t have anymore. And wouldn’t again.
Dick must have noticed that he and Jason were both feeling similarly melancholy over the holiday, as he’d arrived from the craft store one day laden with bags and declaring that–somehow–the left third of the tree was entirely too bare, and they needed to make some new decorations, stat. They’d crowded the dining table for hours making paper chains and gluing cotton balls onto felt Santas, piling them onto the tree at Dick’s insistence even though it looked ridiculous next to the sophisticated, more traditional Wayne family ornaments and professionally done photographs.
Like he had over their Thanksgiving meal a few weeks ago, Peter fought in every moment to remind himself that he truly was grateful to be here. To have the opportunities he did. To have the family he did. He couldn’t celebrate Christmas with any of his birth family anymore, but at least he had a family to celebrate with at all.
Besides, there was still a modicum of his first family he could spend time with.
“Hi, May,” he whispered, bundled up in several layers, laying a waterproof blanket down over the frosted grass. He laid a bundle of poinsettias carefully in front of the stone. “ . . . Merry Christmas.”
He didn’t always talk. More often than he’d like, talking while knowing he wouldn’t get an answer just reminded him of her absence, that she was not only dead but not even physically here.
He’d do his best, though. Update her on patrol, or tell her about buying presents for the family with Jason. Reminisce about old holiday memories with her, trailing off halfway through when his throat inevitably tightened painfully.
Today was a quieter visit, after the first few minutes. Just being there was enough, idly watching his breath fog out as he reminded himself to take deep breaths.
Jason joined him after a while, sitting down so that their sides snuggled into each other. He passed Peter a thermos of hot cider that Peter curled his gloves fingers around.
“Alfred made soup,” he murmured. “Reminded me to make sure you don’t freeze.”
Peter nodded, but made no immediate move to get up; not that Jason was expecting him to. He wouldn’t have sat down if he wanted Peter to come back with him right away, or have brought out the hot drink.
“Almost forgot,” he muttered, pulling a small, waterproof-covered book out of his jacket pocket and swapping it out with the current one placed at May’s headstone. Peter glimpsed the cover, and his throat tightened; a beautiful copy of A Christmas Carol, one Peter recognized from the manor library.
“Alfred said it was okay,” Jason clarified. “Helped me wrap it and make sure it wouldn’t get damaged during the rest of the holiday season.”
Peter could do nothing but nod again at first, taking a sip of the still-nearly-scalding cider to distract himself, wincing at the heat.
“Did you . . . did you want to go see your mom again, before the big day?”
Bruce had offered to have a headstone for Catherine Todd put up in the family plot as well, but Jason had declined so far. She’d never been buried, having been cremated by the city after her death when there was no one else to make decisions for her body. The urn had sat in the crematory for over a year until Bruce had thought to go retrieve it weeks ago, asking Jason what he wanted done with it.
“She’d always wanted to travel,” Jason had recalled, his hand in Peter’s. “To see outside of Gotham.”
So they’d gone to the docks on the Wayne’s boat, idling about two hundred feet from the shore as Jason gently poured his mother’s ashes into the water.
After shopping one day last week, Jason had realized how close they were to the docks, asking if they could go back over. It was too frozen to take the boat out, but Bruce had hovered nearby as Jason walked to the end of the icy boardwalk, looking out over the waves for a few minutes before turning back.
This was Jason’s first time celebrating Christmas with a new family, too, Peter was always reminded.
Jason shook his head now. “I’m okay.”
They went inside before too long, Jason folding up the blanket as Peter kissed his gloved fingers and pressed them to his aunt’s stone one last time before starting the trek back to the manor.
The warmth was immediate, and Peter took a deep breath as he peeled off his gloves and coat, smiling at Alfred’s equally warm smile as they took their seats, steaming bisque ladled, Bruce and Dick arriving not long after.
/*/*/*/*/
“Come on, guys! Alfred’s getting ready to serve breakfast in the den!”
Peter groaned slightly. Far from the brooding and sulky teen they’d met a couple months ago, Dick Grayson: Christmas Edition, was nothing more than any other child on Christmas Day–even after the sudden Batsignal that had been sent out at 11 PM last night that Freeze was trying something. It had been quick work, they’d gotten back by 1:30, but it definitely hadn’t been how Peter had been planning his Christmas Eve into the early hours of morning, changing out of his family Christmas pajamas and into his suit, back into his pajamas and into bed a couple hours later.
“Let’s go,” Jason tugged him out of bed. “You know he’ll just come back if we’re not down soon.” He rolled his eyes in apparent annoyance, but Peter could see the way he thrummed with innocent Christmas excitement, his eyes darting in anticipation towards the door.
“I’m up, I’m up,” Peter promised, slipping on the reindeer slippers Dick had slipped into his room. “It’s always an exciting occasion when Alfred agrees to do meals outside of the dining room and kitchen.”
“Yeah, and an exciting occasion when it’s Christmas, Peter.”
Peter chuckled, letting his little brother tug him out into the hall and towards the den where they’d set up the main Christmas tree, presents piled under and around it. Alfred was carrying in trays of food as they entered, kept warm under metal cloches. He smiled warmly as he saw them, even the ever-professional butler wearing a festive sweater that matched the family’s pajamas instead of his usual suit and tie.
“Merry Christmas, Alfred!” Jason grinned as he chose a chair close to the tree.
“Merry Christmas, dear boys.” He gave Peter a short hug. “Please do start eating as I bring the rest in; I believe your brother has already gotten a head-start.”
“Want any help?” Peter asked, not surprised when the butler waved away the offer.
“Busy yourself with getting comfortable, Master Peter. I’ll join you all shortly.”
“Took you guys long enough.” Dick grinned from his chosen spot, mouth already dotted with what looked like raspberry jam from one of the trays. “Bruce would have started without you eventually.”
Bruce huffed at the comment, likely knowing he didn’t even need to refute it; they all knew he didn’t intend to miss one moment of Peter and Jason’s first Christmas there.
They exchanged the necessary rounds of Good Mornings and Merry Christmases as they all got settled, Alfred bringing in hot cocoa and toppings before making himself comfortable in an armchair, a camera in his hands.
Alfred insisted they all eat at least a bit, but it wasn’t long before Bruce started sorting out gifts, passing them around to the boys, only taking one for himself and looking away from the boys’ reactions when Dick reminded him.
They had agreed, at first, to go in order from youngest to oldest, but it only took a few rounds for that order to break down, and Peter found himself grinning as he kept up with watching his family unwrap their own gifts as he opened his own, unwrapping new sweaters, a heated blanket, knitted woolen socks. Silly Spiderman merch that had started popping up around the city, stocking full of both treats that were shared between their universes and ones specific to this one he’d come to love. In between each gift, he’d grab a new pastry or treat from the coffee table, sighing in contentment with each new bite.
“I think that’s all of them,” Dick commented, looking under the tree.
Peter sat back, full and content, wrapped in his new blanket. It had been a near-perfect morning, and he was ready to relax and start using their new spoils; Jason in particular kept eyeing one of the new video games he’d received, and Peter looked forward to figuring it out with him.
“Actually,” Bruce corrected, “there’s one more.”
He pulled it out, not from under the tree but from behind him on the couch. “I wanted to make sure it was saved for last. It’s for you, Peter.”
Peter cocked his head, mind spinning at what could be so significant that Bruce had waited to show it to him, the man looking slightly nervous as Peter leaned forward and took the small but neatly wrapped box into his hands.
“It’s from you?” He checked, starting to pull back the tape.
Bruce cleared his throat. “From the League, actually.”
Even more intrigued now, Peter hastened his movements, his confusion only deepening when he pulled out his own phone.
Bruce had asked for it a couple days ago, only saying there was a fix he needed to make; something wrong Wayne Enterprises brand had found with the model, apparently. Said he’d get it back to Peter by Christmas, but this hadn’t really been what Peter had been expecting.
“I asked Zatanna and Cyborg to work on it,” Bruce explained when Peter looked up, a question in his eyes. “Since the multiversal communication spell hasn’t been working on your world’s end, they mixed the magic with technology instead, implementing it safely into your phone.”
Peter swallowed, feeling his heart begin to race. He didn’t mean . . .
“If you put in your friends’ phone numbers from your world, it should connect to your phone here, allowing you to video chat, text and call them as if you were across the state instead of across universes.”
Peter stared down at the device in his hands. It looked no different than it had before, but there was a new weight to it. New possibilities, a new chance.
Bruce oomphed when Peter launched himself at him, but quickly returned the embrace, squeezing Peter firmly. “You’re welcome, chum.”
“Try it out!” Jason bounced slightly where he sat, staring at Peter in anticipation.
Could he? He had to, yes, he had to try it out now. He briefly wondered what he should say first, even as he knew there’d be no truly satisfying thing to say to them for the first time in months.
Maybe it’d be better to show them, instead.
Turning around, Peter held up the phone, his new family quickly getting his intent and squeezing into the frame. All of them in their matching pajamas, lips stained with hot cocoa and pastry flakes, wrapping paper and presents filling the floor.
Something in Peter seemed to settle as he hit send to a new group chat with his friends’ numbers, mere seconds passing before it confirmed that the Christmas morning picture had gone through. Something right.
He managed to type with shaking fingers, mind whirling at the thought of Ned and MJ’s faces when they saw it:
Merry Christmas from the Waynes!!