Chapter Text
His vision was dizzying, a little like he’d hit his head one too many times, which- considering the lack of seatbelts in the escape pod he’d been stuffed into and then rocketted into what had looked a lot like a blackhole- was very possible. The door mechanism was still jammed, but there was gravity, and the readings on the ship’s dashboard indicated an atmosphere he could breathe in.
Peter’s memory was fuzzy, but he distinctly remembered the Guardians of the Galaxy asking for his help dealing with some sort of intergalactic threat. He also remembered being vaguely offended because said intergalactic threat was a colonizing species of insectoid aliens and they thought he was actually a spider under his mask.
That same mask was in tatters somewhere on the floor of the pod, discarded sometime after he’d had the urge to violently vomit. His suit was similarly torn. Peter shucked his ruined gloves as well, feeling along his side. He’d had broken ribs when he passed out after getting sucked into a black hole. Now they felt bruised. He’d probably been unconscious for a number of hours. The inside of the pod smelled overwhelmingly like bile, and smoke. He needed to get out.
With a steadying breath, Peter braced himself against the wall of the pod and kicked the door. The metal bent, He’d been too gentle the first time. He kicked at it again and it popped off, hitting the smoldering earth with a twang.
The rush of air was welcome, despite smelling of sulfur and smoke it was better than the sterile recycled air he had been breathing for months. The sudden onslaught of daylight seared his eyes and sent a spike of pain into his poor battered brain. He staggered out of the door of the pod, his spidey senses clanging like warning bells. Sound, there was so much sound. There was a city nearby, he could hear the people, the traffic, even the pigeons. He clutched at his head.
“-I'm seeing bruised bones, and possible concussion.” A voice was saying. Whoever it was, they were closer to Peter than the city was.
“Definitely a concussion. Where’s J’onn when you need him-” A second man was saying, “Kid’s got eight eyeballs and not a single pupil.”
“Easy.” The first guy said, Peter clutched the frame of the door like a lifeline, blinking dizzily at the outside world. His brain buzzed with all the input he was receiving and his spidey sense screamed a general blaring warning. Lock In Pete. He grit his teeth trying to focus. Three men stood in an array around the crater his pod had created. The first man, the point of the formation, was close to the edge of the crater, hands out in front of him. He was dressed in a mostly blue suit with red and yellow accents and a large red cape. On his chest was a large stylized S. “We’re here to help.”
He blocked out the sun, easing the pain in Peter’s head minutely. He hadn’t realized his eyes had shut until he jumped at the feeling of hands steadying him. He blinked up, way up, the guy (who he was going to start calling Big Blue because noone had ever taught the man how to introduce himself) had closed the distance quickly. His mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes were expressive. It took Peter a second to identify the current expression as concern.
“Are you alright?” The man inquired.
“Just a little dizzy-” Peter tried to say, jumping as his words came out as a garbled mess of clicks and trills. Shit. He usually only started making those noises when he was grievously injured, concussed or had fallen deeply into his spider instincts. Two out of the three of those things held true.
“Sorry. I don’t speak your language.” The man chuckled, “What do you say we get you away from this and treat your wounds?” He suggested in a gentle tone despite thinking that Peter wouldn’t understand him. “My friend over there is going to take a look at you.”
He tried to make a human sound, frustrated when it came out as a long rattling series of clicks or a whistling sound. Peter tilted his head and unfortunately it made the rest of him tilt with it. A bad idea to do that when he was probably, maybe, definitely concussed. The man supported him effortlessly and, much to Peter's mortification, picked him up, cradling him to his chest. There was a rising sensation that made Peter feel ill all over again. He scrambled to hold onto the guy as they lifted off the ground. Peter’s mortification continued when a garbled chirp left his mouth. The man shot him an apologetic smile.
They slowly and gently lowered in front of a man dressed in red with yellow lightning bolts all over his suit. He grinned easily at Peter. “Hey there kiddo.”
Peter blinked owlishly at the new face, clinging to Big Blue even as he tried to put him down. Not because he was scared, but because his brain was being slow on the uptake. Big Blue huffed a laugh, staring down at Peter with fondness.
“I’ll need you to let go of Supes here so I can take a look at you.” The new guy said in a calming tone. He also probably had never been taught manners since he wasn’t introducing himself to Peter.
Peter smiled sheepishly and allowed himself to drop, over estimating his own coordination. Luckily he was caught by a pair of sturdy hands and gently placed on his feet in front of the red clad super hero.
“Careful.” Red said, keeping his tone low and calming. He was also obscenely tall. “I’m Flash. I’ve got a handheld scanner here, just going to scan you for injuries, alright?” He pulled out something vaguely gun shaped and waved it slowly over Peter’s whole person.
Peter shuddered as his spidey sense tingled minutely. These men were definitely powerful, but they didn’t mean Peter any harm.
“Anything aside from the obvious, Flash?” ‘Supes’ asked.
“No broken bones, no ruptured organs. A concussion,” Flash replied, sounding distracted, engrossed in the readout he was looking at. Peter blinked and Flash had a first aid kit in his hands instead of the little scanner he’d been holding. He leaned slowly into Peter’s space, looking into his eyes. “multiple lacerations and abrasions are the worst injuries.” He reached for one of Peter’s arms, gently hiking up his sleeve a little to look at his wrist. “Interesting readouts on his physiology. I’m a little worried about this spineret.”
Spineret? Peter didn’t have organic spinerets… He peered down at his wrist, still aching from where one of the wasp-like aliens he'd been fighting with the Guardians had slammed their gun into it. There was some pretty intense looking bruising. White was bubbling out of a small opening that hadn’t been there before. He made a distressed sounding trill.
“I know bud.” Flash said absently, using a piece of gauze to wipe it up. Instead of throwing it in the small bio hazard box he had at his feet for waste, he put it into a container and tucked it into a hidden pocket in his suit. “Physical trauma can cause blockages and infections, so can debris. But the fact that he generates his own silk is just fascinating-”
“Focus, Flash.” Supes chided.
“Right, Sorry.” Flash used an alcohol wipe to wipe the area, making a noise of interest when the webbing stuck to the wipe too. “I’ve got him, why don’t you go supervise the removal of that pod.”
Supes agreed quietly and drifted over towards where Peter’s pod was still smoldering.
“Thanks.” Peter said, trying to ignore the fact that it was more of a chitter than a word.
“You’re welcome.” The man replied with a gentle smile and Peter leaned forward eagerly.
Did he understand him? “Can you understand me? How? Do you have a universal translator? Or do you just know lots of languages-” Peter’s rambling was cut off by Flash’s chuckle.
“Woah, Kiddo.” Peter scrunched his brow at that. He was definitely not a child, he’d turned 16 two months ago. “I can tell you’re intelligent and probably understand what’s going on. But I don’t speak your language. Sorry, Bud.” He sounded apologetic.
Peter let out a low wordless trill. Once Flash had finished patching up his wounds, he packed the first aid kit back up and stood. “Stay here, Superman or I will be back with you in a moment.” He made the universal sign for stay, a palm facing Peter.
Peter's attempt at nodding ended up looking like he was just clutching at his head, feeling nausea well up in his stomach.
Flash made like his namesake and flickered over to the other two men, one of which was lifting Peter’s mangled escape pod into the air with a green bubble that seemed to extend from his fist.
“You have something on your mind.” Superman murmured to his friend.
“He’s confused, in pain, and far from home.” Flash answered. “He’s just a kid.”
There was the assumption that he was a child again. They were all freakishly tall. Maybe that was why they thought he was a kid. He frowned, fiddling with his fingers nervously. His vision was still dizzying. Almost kaleidoscopic and it was hurting his head.
“That much is obvious.” Superman stated.
“Do we have to drag him up to the watch tower?.” Flash inquired. “He doesn’t belong in a holding cell, while we debate over his existence.”
“He’s not being put in a cell.” Superman responded, voice tight.
“Yeah?” Flash sounded skeptical. “You gonna break that to Bats?”
Peter closed his eyes trying to ease the pounding in his head, his ears were ringing.
Superman strode up to him, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. “Hey kiddo, we’re going to try and help you out. Okay?”
“Do you have aspirin?” Peter squinted his eyes open. “God I could really go for some morphine right now.” He rambled a bit, knowing that they wouldn’t understand. “Or just good old fashioned knock out gas. Especially if I’m getting stuffed into an alien holding cell. Knock out gas would be greatly appreciated.”
Superman’s eyes crinkled as his smile brightened. He put a finger to his ear. “Alright, bring us up.”
Peter felt a tugging sensation, his spidey sense shivering sending vague signals all through his body. He scrunched his eyes shut and the smell of smoke faded from his nose. Replaced with a familiar smell of sterile recycled air. He opened his eyes to find himself in a room straight out of Star Trek. Superman still had a hand on his shoulder, patiently waiting for him to adjust to the change of scenery.
“Woah.” He breathed, the word coming out as soft clicks.
“Welcome to the Watch Tower.” Superman said, turning towards the door and gently guiding Peter through it. The hallways were wide and tall, the walls made of windows that looked out into space. He paused staring down at Earth. He had originally thought that he’d been slung into a far off galaxy, not sent home. But this space station didn’t exist at home, and he didn’t recognize any of the heroes that had helped him out.
He allowed himself a moment to theorize. Getting slung through a black hole may have tossed him into an alternate dimension, despite everything in science proving that a black hole wasn’t a portal, but a giant gravity well that tore apart anything that came too close and stripped it down to an atomic level adding that thing to its own mass. Maybe the blackhole was actually a wormhole?
“That’s Earth.” Superman informed him, pulling him from his thoughts. “Home for most of us here in the tower.” He was gently pushed forward.
They were passed by various people, all in super hero attire, all unfairly tall. Suits of all kinds. Some mechanical, some fabric. All of whom Peter didn’t recognize. Peter's fingers itched to touch, and he wished they could understand him. Maybe after he’d had some sleep he would be able to communicate. Despite how loopy he felt, his head was on a swivel trying to take it all in. Superman remained patient through it all, greeting everyone they passed. Finally he was steered through a doorway into a room that was 100% a medbay and not a holding cell. The air was a touch cooler in the room, Peter suppressed a shiver. “I’m sure you want to get a little cleaned up.” Superman guided him to a door on the side.
The door slid open to reveal a bathroom. Superman entered to show Peter how to operate the sink and flush the toilet. Peter smiled at the man as he exited and ushered Peter in. Peter took a moment to breathe.
He made his way to the sink, splashing water onto his face and grimacing at the brown and red that swirled down the drain. He rinsed a few more times before he looked up and froze.
The face in the mirror was him, but not. His eyes were black all the way to the edges and he had eight of them instead of two. Each normal sized eye had three smaller eyes fanned out to the side of them. He had a massive bruise along one side of his face. He was also smaller, baby fat clinging to his cheeks. He now understood why they had called him a kid. He fucking was. He looked maybe 13. He lost a whole three years. He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. If the Guardians saw him now they’d feel justified in their weird logic to ask for his help.
He thought again about his theory. Getting slingshotted through a black hole or a wormhole was… not exactly a solid theory and certainly didn’t explain the deaging, or the extra eyes or the inability to speak english.
If the blackhole he’d ended up going through acted as blackholes should, and he had been stripped down to atomic matter, his body would have tried to hold itself together, his inhuman healing working to keep him together despite everything. It could be theorized that it rearranged what it held onto. But his pod had also survived more or less intact. So unless the escape pod had healing powers too, this wasn’t a very good theory.
A wormhole would be more in line with that theory, though he still didn’t exactly know how he would have been altered like this.
A tap on the door pulled him from his spiralling panic. “Hey bud?” Superman. “You alright in there?” Peter splashed water on his face a few more times before patting it dry with some paper towels. He could freak out later, breathing deeply a few times he squared his shoulders. With a press of his hand on a pad next to the door it slid open. Superman was smiling still, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Peter tried to smile back, through his anxiety. “There you are. You okay?”
“Oh yeah, totally fine. Not freaking out at all.” Peter chirped at him. Trying to sound cheerful, but it didn’t quite land if the furrow in Superman’s brow was anything to go by.
“Alright, we’ll put a pin in that.” The large man ushered him over towards a bed, urging Peter to sit. “You don’t really have pupils, but you don’t seem nauseous anymore. So that’s a good sign. You heal fast huh?” He looked around the room rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s not the best, but I think it’s best to keep you in the medbay until we’re sure you’re feeling better. You should get some rest.”
“Yeah cool, cool, cool. Much better than a holding cell.” His eyes darted around the room. “Love sleeping in wide open spaces.” He’d never been a fan of hospitals, but he didn’t have a choice in where they stashed him right now. Peter hopped up onto the cot and blinked up at his chaperone? Babysitter? guide?, twisting his fingers together as a shudder racked his frame. “Could I get a blanket? It’s space… and space is kind of cold.”
“Oh.” Superman, smacked a hand to his forehead. “I can be so thick sometimes.” He reached for his shoulders, unclipping his cape and wrapping it around Peter’s shoulders. The fabric was warm, and softer than he thought it would be. “There, that should help a little.”
“Thanks.” Peter wrapped himself up tighter in the fabric and flopped to the side. His eyes felt heavy. Superman reached out hesitantly and gently ran fingers through his hair, easing some tangles free making Peter click wordlessly at him. After a few moments the lights dimmed and Peter felt himself fall slowly into oblivion.
Clark let out a deep sigh when the kid finally dropped off to sleep. Someone would meet him here soon with a pad to update their brand new file on the child that crash landed on Earth.
The pod had crashed outside of Metropolis and Clark had wasted no time making his way to it, preemptively calling for backup. They were a few months out from the last alien invasion attempt so tensions were high. He didn’t need civilians arriving on scene and shooting before assessing the situation. He’d been cautious, unable to see through the hull of the pod, and unwilling to potentially trigger any defense systems or threaten any potential lifeforms inside. He hadn’t had to wait long for Flash and Hal to come to his aid.
Before they’d fully come up with a plan of action something slammed against the pod’s door, denting it. Another slam had the door shooting off of it and landing in the crater.
Clark hadn’t been expecting to see a battered child stagger out from the pod. He was in a torn suit, red and blue with a spider motif on the chest, webbing patterns emanating out from there. Clark had quickly approached, steadying the boy. He looked a few years younger than Jon, covered in blood and soot. He had eight eyes all pitch black but he looked unsteady and confused. It had made something unpleasant twist in his chest. A quick glance showed that there were no other life forms in the pod, A flickering display with unfamiliar alien glyphs the only thing he could gather before he turned his attention back to the child.
He’d answered Clark's questions and statements with a series of chirping clicks and trills. Something that Clark found deeply endearing. He was what Clark’s Ma liked to call a gabber, and Clark wished he knew what the kid was saying.
Maybe Bruce was rubbing off on him, but he felt the overwhelming need to squirrel the kid away to Metropolis and ply him with breakfast foods.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. The ship was no doubt in the hangar, being poked at by a multitude of curious heroes. Hopefully they’d find some way to contact his parents. Anyone from his home planet would do at this point.
Flash flickered into the room, handing Clark a pad and looking over at their guest. “He crashed out fast huh.”
“He needs the rest. He’s going to need a shower and some clean clothes at some point.” Clark observed, gaze flickering over the boy huddled in his cape. “We should find an empty room for him as well. He can’t stay in the med bay.”
“Definitely more welcoming than a holding cell though.” Barry grumbled in agreement. “Hal took a look at the universal database. They have nothing on any species like him.”
Clark frowned. “That’s not promising.”
The kid made a disgruntled noise, clicking rapidly. And Clark hunched a little, motioning for Flash to come with him. They exited the med bay doors sliding closed behind them automatically. Clark used the pad to set up an alert if there was movement near the door.
“Hopefully they find something in that Pod.” He said once they had walked a bit further from the room. He’d noticed the kid’s head tilting at things most humans wouldn’t be able to hear, wincing when he caught sounds too far for a normal range of hearing to catch. “Someone has to be missing him.”
“J’onn should be back soon.” Barry reminded him. “He’ll be able to get more info out of the kid.” There was a gust of air and Barry disappeared and reappeared with his cape in hand. Probably having replaced it with a blanket. Clark swung it over his shoulders with a weary sigh.
Peter jolted awake, loud voices down the hall startling him. Superman’s cape was gone, and in its place was a thick overly large comforter. He blinked blearily around at the empty med bay. Which in and of itself was a little odd, they had been talking about having someone with him at all times. Completely valid since they’d brought him to their orbiting hero headquarters and he was an unknown entity. The lights were back at full fluorescent strength and he hissed unhappily. He felt the urge to hide up high or find some dark little crevice to crawl under. He sat upright feeling groggy, but better than when he’d arrived. He peered around the medbay, spotting a cozy area under a desk by the wall.
“-a veritable unknown-”
“A child.” Superman’s voice countered, sounding irritated.
“His age isn’t a good enough reason to disregard protocol.” The gravelly serious voice replied.
“I trust Superman’s judgement on the matter.” A woman cut across the argument. “The child was injured, so it makes sense to keep him in the med bay.”
Peter disregarded the desk as an option. Too open, he would be easily cornered. He considered one of the room’s upper corners. The voices were getting closer. The corner was defensible, high with good sightlines. Peter could easily make a small hammock structure in it and drag the blanket up with him. He rubbed at his bruised wrist, still sore, but the bruising was looking further along than it had yesterday.
By the time the door swished open, Peter was safely up in his new hideaway. The blanket was large and thick enough for him to create a little burrow to hide himself from prying eyes and stay warm.
“Hey there kiddo.” Superman cooed, levitating up to peer back at Peter with a small smile.
“Hi.” Peter replied, the word a small trill that morphed into a drowsy yawn. Superman looked like he was melting.
“He’s certainly made himself comfortable.” The woman observed aloud, sounding amused. Peter caught sight of her from over Superman’s shoulder. She had dark hair, a tiara and was dressed in a red white and blue outfit with knee high red boots and a golden coil of rope at her hip.
The man beside her was shrouded in a formless black cape. His cowl had two pointed ears on top. The eyes glowed white, and if they’d been in a dark alley instead of a well lit medbay, Peter was sure he’d look absolutely horrifying. He made a faint humming noise that sounded displeased.
Superman drifted closer to Peter’s corner. “Want to come down from there bud? I’ve brought some friends who would like to meet you.” He held out his hands, an offer to carry him, Peter was too cozy to consider vacating his new spot. He clicked wordlessly at Superman. Still irked that he couldn’t make a human sound despite feeling much better. “And we need to check those injuries.”
The dark cloaked man pulled something from his belt revealing a bat symbol on his chest. Peter’s spider sense stayed quiet. It looked a lot like the scanner that Flash had used on him at the crash site. The device beeped lightly and he hummed. He reached up to the side of his cowl, pressing something that made his cowl eyes flicker.
His response to the man on the floor and the hovering Superman was to pull the blanket around him tighter, making the opening Superman was peering into smaller. Superman seemed to sag a little at the rejection. Floating down to land on the floor. “He didn’t break out, or break any equipment.” He turned to face the dark cloaked man with his arms crossed. “He’s scared.”
The door swished open again and Flash strode in balancing a large tray full of food. “Oh wow.” He said, catching sight of Peter’s hideaway. “Well I guess his spinnerets haven’t been damaged or clogged so this is a great sign.” He passed the two newcomers with a winning grin, setting the tray on the closest cot to Peter. “Hey there, bud, special delivery for growing spiders.”
Peter felt his mouth water at the smell of the meats and cheeses on the tray. Possibly a breakfast burrito, he poked his head out from his blanket, eyeing the food and ignoring the concerned sounds made by the trio that had entered before Flash. His face probably looked gnarly, hues of purple yellow and green like his wrist. Flash had brought multiple breakfast burritos with a side of fruit and what looked like homefries.
“How do you know what he eats?” The dark haired woman inquired.
“I caught a peek at his teeth yesterday, totally an omnivore.” Flash said as Peter fought his way out of his blanket. “Plus his scans didn’t indicate he’d have issues with our food. He’ll need more proteins because of the silk he produces and animal fats are essential.” Flash remained casual as Peter skittered down the wall and sat cross legged on the cot in front of the tray.
“You are possibly my favorite person in this room.” Peter chittered at the man, reaching for the first burrito. “Further proof that the best heroes don’t wear capes.”
“Let me see that arm again, buddy.” Flash reached forward as Peter was finishing his first burrito. Peter allowed him to turn his wrist to take a look at his spinneret. The man made a pleased, noise. “Bruising looks to be weeks old, not days.” Flash narrated in a calm casual way to the rest of the room. “I bet if Supes used his X-Ray vision he’d see the kids ribs are perfectly healed.”
“Yeah they look good.” Superman confirmed. “Healing like that probably means an enhanced metabolism.”
“Three big meals and multiple snacks throughout the day for this one then.” Flash responded, letting Peter reclaim his arm to grab the next burrito. “We should also get him into a shower, and a change of clothes.” That sounded great to Peter. He felt grimy and gross, he wanted his suit off desperately.
“Still think he should be in a holding cell, Batman?” The woman asked, prompting the guy with the bat emblem on his chest to cross his arms over his chest. Her tone was amused and knowing.
“No.” Batman replied, a thoughtful frown aimed at Peter. “That would break any trust that’s been built. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep an eye on him.”
“That brings me to the next topic of discussion.” Superman interjected. “Cyborg’s finished analyzing his pod. The originating coordinates for it are in a sector that’s been completely obliterated.”
“Some sort of cataclysmic planetary event?” Flash asked, trying to keep his tone even.
Peter finished the burrito and reached for the fruit. Squinting at the pineapple and flicking it away from the strawberries. The acidic fruit set off a low buzzing warning in his head. Any coordinates they’d get out of the pod were going to be for a different dimension. In the one he’d been in before, that quadrant had been open space.
“Most likely. The beacon is damaged beyond repair, and Vic said the recorded signal is corrupted. So if there are any survivors other than him, we couldn’t get in touch with them.” Superman continued, sounding grave. “He’s stuck here.”
That Peter knew. Even if he could replicate what had launched him here he doubted he’d survive it a second time. He paused, frowning down at the potatoes on the tray. He’d never see Aunt May again-
“Hey-” Flash frowned over at the other heroes in the room. “Ix-nay on the doom and gloom.” The conversation halted, he could feel all eyes migrate to him and he curled in on himself a little. He nudged the tray away, bringing his knees to his chest defensively. Flash dipped so he could catch Peter’s eye. “Hey bud, how bout we get you cleaned up and changed while these guys talk?”
The Flash flickered, suddenly holding a pile of clothes in one arm and a toiletry bag on top. Peter uncurled and took the offered hand that was extended his way.
Bruce had been internally debating the problem of the mysterious alien child since before he’d arrived at the Watch Tower. He’d already compiled a threat assessment that was, as usual, continually evolving as new information became available. All of his contingencies and arguments had died a swift death upon entering the medbay. The boy looked so small once he’d emerged from his blanket cocoon. About Damian’s age maybe a few years younger.
Without a way to contact anyone from his home planet, and the discovery of nothing but planetary debris at the originating coordinates he was likely alone in the universe and stranded. They’d need to come up with a more permanent solution for him. The Watch Tower was often attacked, and certainly wasn’t a good environment for a child to grow up in. He’d need agemates, to be socialized properly. He’d need to be taught to communicate.
Bruce resisted the urge to sigh, the medical scans had revealed that the boy’s vocal chords couldn’t produce phonetic sounds like a human’s. He’d need to be taught to communicate using sign language at minimum. Something Bruce was best equipped to deal with, considering his daughter used it as her main method of communication on bad days.
He’d already lined up some paperwork with his lawyers to take custody. The kid needed training to control his abilities and to blend into society. He’d need help defending and concealing himself from government agencies like CADMUS. Bruce was the best equipped to offer the child all of that as well as a stable homelife.
He knew as soon as he broached the subject with the rest of the founding members of the league, Clark was going to argue. He’d already become attached to him, no doubt empathizing with the kid's circumstances.
A problem for later. For now, Bruce would simply establish casual contact with him. He faced the doorway to the kid’s temporary room. The door was locked, and only a few league members had access to open it. Currently during daylight hours one of them would be on shift with the boy, making sure he ate, and trying to establish an actual line of communication with him.
Bruce let himself into the kid’s room and swiftly located him, he was perched on the ceiling in a corner, his feet bare. Eight black red rimmed eyes trained on him as he stood in the doorway of the kid's temporary quarters. He noted there were tear tracks on the kid’s forehead.
Bruce’s heart ached for the kid. Being unable to communicate probably added to his confusion and grief. Being upside down may be a self soothing thing for him then, a behavior that would need careful monitoring in the future. Something he could do freely at home, but would need reminding not to do in public.
He’d kept the cowl on until he stepped fully into the room. Making sure the door locked behind him, he noted that the boy shifted nervously before Bruce took the cowl off entirely.
“Hello.” He walked further into the room, sinking into a cross legged posture on the floor when the boy skittered back a few steps. “I’m just here to talk.” He placed a tablet on the floor a few feet in front of him. The child had thus far seemed to be somewhat aware of what was happening. At least able to read tone and intention. His race was obviously technologically advanced enough for space travel. Bruce was hoping he could point out his home on a star map, reinforcing the assumption that the originating coordinates on the pod were actually where his home sector was located. If it was then they were clear to move forward to place him in a more permanent living situation.
The boy stayed on the ceiling, wiping his face in an odd circular motion to wipe away his tears using the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He tilted his head with a small sniffle and a series of soft clicks. He seemed to come to a decision and he dropped to the floor, effortlessly twisting midair to land on his feet. He imitated Bruce’s sitting position and reached out to touch the tablet. The interface lit up displaying an interactive star chart. The boy chattered, dragging the tablet closer, using his finger to move around the chart.
Bruce reached out slowly, projecting his movements. He moved the chart to display their current position. “This is Earth.” He murmured in a steady low tone. He gestured to himself and tapped the floor to try and indicate that this was where they were currently. He’d noticed that the kid reacted well to how Barry usually interacted with him. The speedster had unsurprisingly been quick to build rapport with the kid, something that made Clark mope. “Can you show me where you’re from?” He pointed to the kid’s chest and then to the tablet.
The boy clicked at him and then started scrolling on the tablet, his brow furrowing above his solidly black eyes. After a few moments and some changes in direction, the kid showed him the tablet with a trill.
It was the same quadrant. Bruce let out a sigh at that. “Thank you.” He’d have to update the team on this. He reached for the tablet but the boy recoiled, hugging it to his chest with a frown and a rapid series of clicking. Bruce smiled, raising both hands to show he was going to leave the thing with the kid. It had a limited operational capacity. Having star charts along with other simple language and mapping programs. Bruce reached into a pocket and pulled out a few protein bars to give to the boy. They’d all started giving the kid snacks whenever they saw him. Noting he always seemed a little hungry. Bruce also saw it as positive reinforcement. The kid cautiously leaned forward to inspect the bars, eyes narrowed but flicking between him and the offering. He finally took them after a few minutes of intense internal debate. Bruce would have to increase his time on the schedule to spend time with the kid.
The kid blinked at him, and then with effort, closed six of his eight eyes. An attempt to look more like Bruce if he had to guess. The eyes were practically invisible when closed which was good, it meant they wouldn’t have to do much to make him able to blend into the population. Maybe a mild hologram.
“It’s late.” Bruce said, knowing his words likely didn’t mean much to the kid. “You should get some rest.” He pointed to the bed in the corner, draped with the overly large blanket he’d had in the medbay. The kid chirped at him, mirroring him when he stood, clutching the tablet and protein bars to his chest.
Bruce donned his cowl and made his way to his own quarters, mentally drafting a missive to his lawyers to push forward with the custody papers.