Chapter Text
Dick Grayson is five when he finally opens his eyes, realizing really quickly that this life wasn’t his own. He only remembers bits and pieces of what he assumes was his past life, a past life that feels way too close. He supposes he should expect that, it’s only been five years even if it feels like it’s been less than a day. Dick looks around his bedroom, quietly sifting through memories as he did so. His gaze lands on an Iron Man mask, and he finds himself smiling as the memory arises.
Faintly, a part of him wonders if this is all an illusion— if he was dosed with Fear Gas or a modified version of the toxin while on patrol but the other part of him remembers his death vividly. He remembers when the air left his lungs and when his eyes watered— Dick places a hand over his heart, feeling it beat and filling his lungs with air again.
Oh it felt so good to just be able to breathe.
Dick sits on his bed with his back against the wall, taking a moment to properly acquaint himself with everything around him. He closes his eyes, and forces himself to remember.
( Identity. The first that he remembers is his identities— too many of them. Richard Grayson, the last Flying Grayson. Richie Wayne, his public persona when out with Bruce. Dick Grayson, Bruce’s first and eldest son. The first Robin, an identity Dick had had for years until he was 15. Renegade, Slade’s apprentice. A coat he could never really hang up, it always came back to haunt him. Nightwing. His identity, something Dick made for himself. Batman. An inheritance he never asked for.
Names. The next thing he remembers is the names of his closest friends and family. Bruce Wayne, the father who admittedly sucked at being one. Damian Wayne, his kid— no, baby brother. His other brothers, Tim, Jason, Duke— and his pseudo-sisters, Steph, Barbara and Cass. Clark. Diana— weird aunts or uncles, the lot of them. His friends, Roy, Wally, Kori, and so many more acquaintances over the years.
Death. The last thing he remembers is both the blood on his hands, and his blood that stained the concrete. But he can’t remember for the life of him what actually happened— just how it felt.
Uncomfortable. Cold. Clammy. Hot. Fast.
Inevitable.)
Dick inhales sharply before opening his eyes. Okay. Now he has to remember who he is now.
Peter Parker , the name stands out in his mind immediately. He’s a boy from Queens, New York. Son to Mary and Richard Parker. Nephew to Benjamin and May Parker from his dad’s side. He’s a civilian. He’s five. His family are alive.
Dick sighs, breathing out shakily. He has a living family here. He has a chance.
A chance at normality.
He can have the life he finally craves. Just— a civilian. No vigilantism, no late night talks about dead family, no paranoia about whether or not his two lives will mix,
None of that.
He can just be himself. Peter Parker.
Dick —no, Peter—- makes a vow right then and there.
Whatever happens, Nightwing is dead. Vigilantism isn’t for him.
He didn’t realize in that moment that he had just promised not to fly.
Dick recognizes with ease that Mary and Richard Parker are not civilians. While he doesn’t know who they’re working for, they were clearly trained— in something. Probably espionage, He muses. The pair go out at night after their day jobs and after he gets tucked into bed with gentle kisses and kind words, only to return near the morning, blood on knuckles, reeking with iron.
He hears the hushed conversations, the shadows that loom over them, filling the room with secrets Dick is almost intimately familiar with.
Secrets Peter now holds too.
Becoming Peter Parker is almost too easy. Dick’s a master at performance, at disguise. He operated with many names and took on a different form at nearly each stage of his life—being the innocent civilian Peter Parker is almost too easy. Dick carefully crafts his personality, something close to himself, but differentiated just enough he can avoid slipping into old habits.
Dick’s sent to school, and he establishes himself as smart enough to be the top, but not smart enough to skip grades. If he’s going to be completely normal, he has to commit to the bit. He has to do this 100%. If he lets things slide, he knows it’s a slippery slope from there. In private, he reads ahead. Refreshes himself with college-level content to keep himself engaged and grounded. It would be detrimental if he dissociates through school, after all.
Peter’s in third grade when his parents leave for the night and don’t come back. What he gets the next morning is a knock on the door from the NYPD rather than a kiss on the cheek from his mom.
There’s cotton in his ears as the officers speak. All he hears is “dead,” and “custody transfer.” There’s needles in his throat as he forces out his name for the officers, “Peter Parker,” he hears himself say. There’s thorns in his lungs and pounding behind his eyes when he hears the officers apologize incessantly, asking him to come to the station so they could keep an eye on him while the process goes through.
Dick feels bile rise up in his throat that he bites down with a practiced ease that makes him sick to his stomach. There’s something tragic about the way his life is already unfolding that’s making it hard to separate Peter Parker and Richard Grayson.
His parents had been on a plane. A plane. They were flying when they ultimately crashed, falling and dying. Dick wonders if there’s a God above and if they just enjoy toying with him. Giving him a chance just to rip it from his cold, dead hands.
( Richard still remembers that night. He remembers how they flew, his parents. How the rope snapped. And how the thud sounded. He remembers the stench, the noise, the heaviness, and most especially,
What came after.)
May and Benjamin Parker are nice. They look at him with the same warm eyes his parents did, a fact that makes Peter’s heart ( and Dick’s) hurt more than he expects it to. Luckily, these two are actual civilians, so Peter doesn’t have to worry anymore about sudden deaths. Queens’s a quieter place than Gotham, and in many ways, it gives Dick the biggest sense of relief.
May’s an ER nurse. Her shifts last twenty-four hours before she goes home and rests for three days before doing it all again.
Ben’s a cop. Dick’s familiar with that schedule even more than May’s. While his time in Bludhaven’s police force was more than ordinary, Dick knows Ben’s safe as could be in his line of work, and it’s something that makes his days a little brighter and helps him breathe a little easier.
Peter and Ben spend an outrageous amount of time together— since May’s not really around. He’s twelve when Ben comes home shaken— eyes wide and wild, hands trembling— and collapses on the couch.
Dick recognizes the look— something he’s seen all too many times in the mirror before. Must’ve been a horrific night , he muses. Peter, though, blinks innocently and makes his way to Ben’s side. “Uncle Ben, are you okay?”
Ben’s eyes flutter open, an exhaustion weighing down on his shoulders in a way that makes Dick doubt if he’s a civilian for a second before he replies lowly, “I’m trying, Pete. Trying. Come here, kid.”
Obediently, Peter steps closer, and quickly gets engulfed in Ben’s arms. Ben hugs him close, breathing in and out shakily before he says, “I wish I could’ve done something more. I wish I had the power to help.”
Needles prick at his throat as Dick swallows. He knows that feeling all too well, and it’s hitting too close to home.
(Ben probably wouldn’t have had to feel anything like that if you just did your job, Dick.)
(He can’t go back to that. He promised.)
“I’m sorry,” Peter says softly, allowing Ben to hold him as long as he needed, “It’s going to be okay.” He wishes he knew what was going on through his uncle’s head, but Dick can’t read his expression.
“I wish I knew that.”
Peter’s thirteen when he meets someone that resembles his closest friend so much he might cry. Ned’s a kid untainted by hero work— an overexcited kid that rambles way too fast about anime, Star Wars, and other pop culture references Peter’s still catching up with.
They were building legos when Ned starts talking about superpowers and the like. “If you had a super power, what would you choose?”
The question was one Dick has answered too many times. But Peter hadn’t ever considered it. Peter pauses, mind whirling through too many memories before he settles on, “Flight. I think it’d be awesome to fly,” He says.
(Nightwing flies. You could too.)
(No, Dick insists, He can’t make the same mistakes.)
“I think I’d like super speed,” Ned replies, the sentence causing a pang in Peter’s heart.
“Really? Why?”
“Can you think of how easily I could get out of homework?” Ned laughs, eyes twinkling with mischief Peter finds himself drawn towards.
Peter grins, “Oh c’mon. I know you can think of more uses. That sounds so tame.”
“Oh? Do you really want to know?” Ned rubs his hands together, “Well first I’d start by—-”
(Wally starts by seeing every world landmark, Dick remembers. Wally speaks proudly of the countless times he’s gone to the Great Wall of China.
“It’s really breathtaking once you’re there,” Wally says, grinning madly, “I could take you sometime!”
Dick hums, looking up from the case report he was writing for Bruce, “Hm. I dunno if I have time.”
Wally deflates, frowning, “Man, you’re always so busy.”
“Comes with the job, KF,” Dick says.
“Do you ever take a break?”
Dick inhales sharply. Shit. When was the last time he took a break? He was up late after patrol finishing up some Young Justice mission reports— and then had to head to school. He stayed after for Mathletes, and then headed over to Mount Justice for team training, and now he’s here in his room before patrol, doing leftover work and homework. “I take breaks sometimes,” He says, weakly.
Wally raises a brow, “Right. And I’m Batman.”
Dick laughs, but it came out fake and breezy. “I try, Walls, I really do.”
“I know, Boy Wonder.”)
“—and after I’ve seen every monument, I’d—”
(“—perform a prank,” Wally says, “Barry says it’s unethical, but like, do you know the things I can do, Rob?”
“I’m actually surprised you haven’t done it already,” Nightwing says, “I mean if I got super speed, I’d probably take every blue m&m from the factory just to be an inconvenience.”
Wally gasps, “You’re a genius! I can’t believe I never thought of that.”
Nightwing’s laugh rang in the air, “You serious? C’mon, KF, be creative.”
Wally rolls his eyes, “Sorry I didn’t have five years in being a pure menace!”
Nightwing huffs, “I wasn’t that bad. You’re exaggerating.”
“‘We’ll laugh about this someday,’” Wally mocks. “Artemis’s still mad as fuck about that.”
Nightwing snorts, amusement twinkling in his eyes, “Really? That’s crazy.”
Wally laughs, “I wish I had your brain. Having speed would be so much more interesting.”)
Peter listens to Ned ramble on and on, a smile growing on his face despite the pounding behind his eyes. “You’ve got this all planned out.”
“Duh!” Ned grins, “If I got a superpower, it would be so awesome! I’d so be the best superhero ever! Ned, the Avenger!”
Peter chuckles. “You’d be a great hero.”
(Better than Dick ever was.)
Peter’s fourteen and it’s on his eighth grade field trip when he gets bitten by a spider. He goes through a few days of hell on Earth before he wakes up ripped and with superpowers.
Dick panics. His heart pounds, his mind whirls and suddenly light feels painful. He has powers.
Despite this, he insists on continuing as a civilian.
(Privately, Dick sneaks out at night, learning self-control and brushing up on his skills. Just in case, he says, just in case. He’ll never use them, but just in case.)
Just in case.
Ben was coming with him to the store because despite Peter being fourteen, it was nighttime and he wanted him better safe than sorry. It was a just in case scenario, really. The walk there’s pretty silent, something that lets Peter relax but sets off alarm bells in Dick’s fine-tuned mind.
It’s too quiet for a city like Queens.
And Dick knows what to listen for—the fights in alleyways, the heavy breathing, the crying, the sobbing, the screaming— he picks up on it all the time.
But now, it’s silent in a way that makes his skin crawl.
Despite that, Peter continues with Ben knowing none the wiser.
(But in the back of his mind, his muscles tense. Nightwing’s winded up and ready to pounce. Just in case, he says, just in case.)
They make it to the store. Everything’s fine until an alarm goes off, and suddenly, armed robbers storm the place. He and Ben are taken hostage, along with a little girl. A gun clicks as Peter sits, back to the wall. His gaze trails over the three attackers— he could take them down easily but he’s Peter Parker. Peter Parker who’s never been in a fight before. Peter Parker with a mutation coursing in his veins. Peter Parker who’s a civilian. Peter Parker who has the ability to do something.
Peter Parker who stays silent.
Benjamin Parker doesn’t.
When their attackers grab the girl, he rises to the occasion, voice cracking as he shouts, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
The gun shifts, and it’s aimed at Ben’s head. For a second, Peter tenses, but the shots don’t go off. The cuffs on his wrist feel more like a suggestion now as the situation escalates. “Shut up,” The attacker says, roughly. “None of your business.”
“Don’t take her!” Ben says, “You won’t get away with this.”
The attacker grins so wide it sends a shiver up Dick’s spine. He was unhinged and not the good unhinged either.
The look in his eyes is wild.
It reminds Dick of the Joker.
(“Aw! Have you missed your dear uncle J?”)
Shut up , Peter grits his teeth. “Ben,” He whispers, “Don’t agitate them.”
“Like hell I won’t, Pete!” Ben huffs. He shouts at the attackers again, “Don’t!”
“And what are you going to do about it?” The attacker laughs, “We’re leaving. Everyone out.”
Peter didn’t see when Ben got out of his cuffs, but he did see when Ben tenses as if he’s going to pounce.
Dick — no, Nightwing— can’t allow this to happen. The cuffs fall from his wrists before he can realise what he’s doing. The familiar movements send a wave of relief coursing through him and it almost makes Dick laugh because
What kind of freak gets relieved when he can finally fight people again?
He punches the gun up, and slams his elbow into someone else that was getting too close. Dick takes the gun from the air, shooting the hands of the other armed men and making them drop their guns with pinpoint precision.
(Slade would’ve been proud at that shot. And Jason? Maybe the slightest bit impressed.)
Dick slams the butt of the gun into the head of one… two… three… too many men before there’s silence again. Distracted, his hands work before he can process them, and he disassembles the guns with military precision.
He walks over to the crying little girl, gently crouching in front of her. With a voice he’s used way too many times as Nightwing, Dick says, gently, “You’re okay now. You’re safe now. They can’t do anything to you.”
The girl throws himself at her and Dick catches her firmly, “You’re okay, everything is fine.” He repeats as he gently rubs her back.
Dick doesn’t know when he hears the sirens, or when the blue coats come and rip the girl away from him. His mind is fuzzy until Ben places a hand on his shoulder, “Let’s go home, kid.”
Home’s where all the hard questions finally catch up at Dick. The room’s silent. May’s lips thin into a tight line, her brows furrowing and her gaze downturning. Ben stares right at Dick, eyes blaring into his soul. There is low light, and it faintly reminds Dick of an interrogation.
Peter leans back into his chair, relaxed. His head’s still pounding, coming down from the adrenaline rush always takes Dick hours. He’s used to patrolling after the first fight.
Not having a home to come back to.
Ben inhales sharply, before asking, “Pete. Peter. You have to be truthful with us, okay?”
Peter swallows before nodding, “Okay.”
“Where did you… where did you learn to do all of that?”
“Parents were secret agents,” The lie falls from his lips before he could stop it, “Some organization named… er, Hydra?” It comes out more of a question than he intended it to. Dick knows what Hydra are. He knows what crime organizations like them do. Maybe that’s why it’s the first excuse he could grab. “So I know how to fight a bit.”
“That wasn’t a bit, Peter,” May speaks, voice wavering, “Do you know how many people you could save?”
Peter’s eyes widen, mouth going dry. Surely they weren’t suggesting what he thinks they are, right?
“Peter, have you ever heard of vigilantes?” Ben asks.
“No,” Peter says, voice firm, “I’m not doing that.”
May’s eyes soften, “Dear—”
“No,” Peter says again. “Weren’t you the one that taught me to follow laws?” He asks, incredulously, “And you’re literally a cop!” He gestures to Ben. The two have a silent conversation he can’t discern right in front of his eyes and Dick finds his anger rising and simmering under the surface of his skin.
“Okay,” Ben says, “But just know. You have a great ability to help, Pete. And if you can help then—”
(Of course he can help. He still has his patrol routes memorized. Patrol routes of a non-existent city in a non-existent world with non-existent memories of a person named Dick Grayson.)
(Memories of a non-existent vigilante named Robin. Of a non-existent mercenary named Renegade. Of a non-existent vigilante he had grown into, named Nightwing.)
“When bad things happen, they happen because of you,” Ben says, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” His eyes harden, “The responsibility’s going to catch up with you, Peter.”
Something about the words snaps something within him and Dick feels all the fight drain from his body. He slouches forward, holding his head in his hands.
God.
He doesn’t believe he’s considering this.
Everything he’s given up, everything he’s done to prevent himself from coming to this point. Dick can feel the Peter Parker he’s perfectly crafted falling apart at the seams because of a conscience that won’t let him rest.
He just wants to be a civilian and live a normal life.
Why is that so hard?
He still craves the rooftops, the smiles from the people he’s saved, the exhaustion from a night well done.
God.
Where was he when Dick needed him?
(“The responsibility’s going to catch up with you, Peter.”)
“It already has,” Dick finds himself muttering, digging a hand into his now brown curly hair.
“What?”
Dick sighs, lifting his head. Tears bite at his eyes much to his dismay. A wire coils itself and makes itself at home in his chest. “ Fuck, ” Dick curses. Is he actually considering this?
Fuck.
Is he actually doing this?
He shuts his eyes tightly, slouching into himself again. He can’t do it again. All the memories, all the kids that came after him—
Peter. Peter’s still a child.
But Ben’s right. Ben’s so right it hurts and Dick, no, Nightwing knows this.
(“The responsibility’s going to catch up with you, Peter.”)
Dick inhales sharply, voice trembling with the tears that threaten to fall, “Okay. I’ll do it but.” He raises his head, eyes hardening as he stares at his family, “I’m stopping if you ever get involved. No questions. No advice. No help. Look the other way.”
When he sees Ben about to protest, he shakes his head, “No. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it my way. Look the other way.”
His guardians exchange a look before agreeing reluctantly.
Fuck.
(Dick’s familiar with breaking promises.)
Spider-based powers. Dick takes a page out of Bruce’s book and decides on Spider-Man . Both as a homage and as a wall.
(He can’t go back to Nightwing. No. He can’t make the same mistakes.)
Dick breathes in deeply, the hoodie hanging loose as he intended. The utility belt that holds the costume together is a familiar and necessary weight.
Field chemistry kit? Check. Signal decoder? Check. Chelicerangs? God that name was horrible , Dick cracks a smile under the full mask under his face. The familiar white lenses remain, though. Check, though. Webshooters? He rubs his wrist, the new weight would take getting used to but if he’s going to be a spider, he might as well commit, webs and all. Check. Webfluid? Check. Extra webfluid? Also check. Explosive foam? Check. Grapple? Check. Disruptor? Check. Dick breathes in the chilly New York air.
Polluted, but not as heavily as Gotham or Bludhaven.
He’s perched on a roof, the lights of Queens glittering under him. He takes in the breathtaking sight, tension leaving his body as he mentally plans the route for tonight.
Dick grins, his heart pumping adrenaline through his limbs in a way that almost makes him feel dizzy.
(“The responsibility’s going to catch up with you, Peter.”)
It’s time. The night is young. And so is Peter.
Dick backs away from the edge, legs trembling as he did so. He breaks off into a sprint, readying his webshooters as he runs off the edge
And for the first time,
( — Robin flies.)
( — Nightwing glides.)
—Spider-Man swings.