Chapter 33: Ill Advised Summary:

Bruce was a terrible driver.

Bruce was an exceptionally skilled driver.

Both of those statements should not have been able to be true simultaneously, yet they were. The polite, overly enthusiastic and most definitely suspicious man turned out to be perhaps the most reckless driver Peter had ever had the displeasure of riding with. He was even more brazen than Tony, which was an incredible achievement. After promising him they would be in time for his shift, which was less than fifteen minutes away, the stranger had stepped right onto the gas petal and had barely lifted his foot since. The only times they ever slowed down were before entering a corner and even then, they were still going way too fast for comfort.

This was made so much worse by the model of car the man was driving. On the outside, the vehicle looked like a classic supercar, sleek and painted in black with touches of blue. The inside was larger than expected, with enough space for maybe five or six people to sit in. More surprising, there was no brand name or logo anywhere on the vehicle. Did Bruce have this commissioned? Could cars even be commissioned? Either way, it had looked fast before he even got in and his first impression had not been wrong. Peter had no idea how that thing could possibly be street legal.

Honestly, it probably wasn't, but who was he to say anything about it? All he knew about cars was that they had four wheels and that he had no idea how to drive them. Oh, and that he never wanted to sit into one ever again.

Note to self, never accept rides from shady wealthy strangers . 

Was everyone in Gotham as thoughtless as Bruce when behind the wheel? Thinking about it, Jason was also an extreme risk taker whenever he rode his motorcycle, it was a wonder he hadn't wrecked it yet. He really hoped those two were outliers and not part of the norm. Stopping speeding cars was not his specialty, it always used so much webbing. As it was, he had enough left in his shooters for a couple big swings, perhaps three or four if they were short distance. Definitely not enough to end a chase or stop two cars from crashing into each other. 

Every single one of the Bats he had met on the road had been completely ignoring any kind of traffic law as well. Perhaps it really was a Gotham thing then. He just had to get used to it, he supposed.

He fought the urge to sigh and tried to distract himself by looking in the rearview mirror at Damian. The boy was sitting right behind him, openly staring at the back of his neck with a blank look on his face. No help there, that kid was almost as stress inducing as his father's unhinged driving style. Great. He was just destined to suffer then. He twisted one of his hands into the strap of Barbara's book bag, regretting every decision that had led him to this point. He was already on thin ice at work, missing another evening because he got into a fight on his way to his shift would not help his case in the slightest.

That's what I get for not saying no when I should have.

His inner voice took on a bit of May's lecturing tone. He could almost see her, shaking her head, exasperated but affectionate. She had always been clear about one thing: He had to look out for himself and not only for the civilians he protected.

Well... He had never been very good at self preservation.

Damian's eyes were still on him. He made it seem as if he never blinked. Peter had never met such an eerie kid before, and that had to be the boy's usual behavior since his father didn't seem concerned about it in the slightest. Bruce was thoughtlessly babbling about how commendable it was that such a young man worked and how he wished no kid his age had to go through that. Most definitely born into privilege, that one. The way he put it, he was risking his life every night delivering pizza.

In a way, he was. Perhaps the man even knew about it, if he was aware of his history at the Pits.

His Spider sense was bothering him. It was a low buzz in his mind, a tingling at the back of his neck that ran down his spine. He had a feeling the whole situation might be turning sour if he did one wrong move. Something was up, but he wasn't able to decide what exactly, other than the fact he was riding in a supercar alongside a reckless, shady man and his equally reckless, shady son. He tugged at the bag's strap again, crushing the urge to scratch his skin and shift in his seat. Act natural.

A trap was looking more and more likely. Unfortunate. He had hoped this would be a simple, nice ride to work but he was never allowed to have nice things. Sure, he could bust one of the doors open but that would be putting the kid in danger. He couldn't believe a father would dare drive like this with his own child in the vehicle. Even knowing he, as a metahuman, wouldn't be hurt too badly by a collision, and probably could dodge the crash before it happened, Peter kept on tensing up at every violent turn. He couldn't look away from the road for more than a few seconds at a time, afraid they would smash into a truck or a wall while he wasn't paying attention. 

His brain screamed at him to run before they ended up colliding with a building but, with the boy there, he had to make sure nothing bad happened. He couldn't let a kid be punished for his dad's mistakes, no matter how creepy said kid was and how weird it was that he hadn't looked away from him once since they left the library.

He only noticed Bruce had stopped talking when the leather of the seat behind him creaked, the only sound in the car except for the roar of the engine. How long had the man been silent? He was too tired for this. He hoped the ride wouldn't get too awkward.

"What is it like to rely on someone else for employment?" Damian leaned forward, speaking too close to his ears for comfort. He could hear the kid's heartbeat. It was fast. Was it from excitement or from fear? 

"Phrasing, Damian." Bruce tapped a finger on the wheel, swerving away just in time to avoid colliding with a massive delivery truck.

It took a moment for Peter to understand the kid's question had not been an insult. He bit back a comment that definitely would not have made either of the two strangers happy and tried to gather his thoughts as best he could. What part of his pizza delivery job would be interesting to a rich, potentially criminally involved, child? 

Maybe…

He tilted his head to look at Damian. The boy was completely focused on him, ignoring his father's reckless driving or, more likely, so used to it he didn't notice it anymore.

"It can be risky." Peter said slowly. "I deliver food at night so I occasionally get into… difficult situations." He hoped that was subtle enough not to incriminate him, just in case neither of them had any idea of what he was talking about. 

Bruce's heartbeat did not change one bit, neither did his breathing. His son, however, inhaled sharply, pupils widening. It was subtle but it was there. The kid knew what he was talking about. So he hadn't been wrong about his suspicions, the two of them were involved in criminal activities.

"Oh no!" Bruce gasped, sounding genuinely horrified despite his steady heart rate. "I'm so sorry you have to go through this."

He either believed fully in what he was saying or he was the best liar Peter had ever met. In Gotham, the latter was much more likely than the former. Unfortunately for him though, his son was not as well trained in the art of deception. The boy's eyes had tightened, some muscles close to his mouth were twitching. Yes, he was aware of who he was. Why would a ten year old know when his father was oblivious? Whatever the man's role in the underworld actually was, it had made him an excellent liar. One so skilled he could steady his heart and control his breathing perfectly.

"No worries," Peter smiled sweetly, "It's never any trouble to get them to back off."

Don't be so threatening they try to shoot me but push just enough that they reconsider whatever they have planned. I can do this.

"Silly me, of course you would have a weapon!" Bruce laughed, a touch of awkwardness thrown in, his scent still completely unidentifiable. Too many chemicals there. Was this on purpose? How common was it for metahumans to have enhanced senses? The more he noticed about the man, the more uncomfortable he was getting. His air of enthusiasm and happiness rang fake somehow. He had no way to tell why it felt so wrong, he could only rely on his Spider sense and his ability to spot micro expressions. 

Alright, maybe he could push just a little bit more. He put on his best confused civilian face and gasped.

"A weapon?" He shuddered in faux horror. "Oh no sir, I would never. I don't need a weapon to be safe." He ended the sentence with a wide grin of his own. There, the picture of perfect innocence. And no way to figure out the true meaning of his reply without being connected to the underground.

Good job, Parker, you did something right for once. Reminding the guy he could beat him with his pinkie should be enough to get him off his back. If not, he would just have to subdue the two of them and get them out of the car safely before he bounced. Easy, he could do that in his sleep. 

Damian's heartbeat picked up and he heard his breath catch. When he glanced back, the kid's pupils were slightly dilated. Scared? No, focusing on his scent, he didn't smell afraid. That… that was most definitely him being excited. But over what? 

A very odd theory popped into his mind.

What if they were criminals but they were not there to trap him? 

The boy was oddly… enthusiastic to hear him subtly remind his dad about his ability to beat up pretty much anyone who did not have similar powers to him. Could it be that they weren't mad at him but instead…

Oh no.

Please no.

Did Peter have fans?

He tried extremely hard not to let any shock color his face. Oh if there was any kind of higher divinity in this universe, please have them give him some mercy and let him be wrong.

Now, Spiderman had a very large following back in New York. Even after the Mysterio incident, he still had a lot of supporters. He had just as many detractors back then but his fans kept on standing up for him until the end and often clashed with Jonah's rabid audience whenever they met. Those people had decided to support him because of his actions, or simply after he had a talk with them on the way to patrol and somehow made a good impression. It was a bit uncomfortable to know people looked up to him like this when he hadn't even been out of high school but at least he had known this was connected to what he thought were pretty good deeds.

But now…

Did his fights at the Pits make such an impact he had acquired fans? And if Damian wasn't scared of him but excited to see him in person, did that mean he was one of them?

Was this even a trap or a roundabout way for the kid to meet him?

Should he be happy or creeped out?

And if that was the case why the hell did his neck not stop tingling?

His head spun with the dozen of questions that suddenly rose up in his mind. He clutched the bag, pressing it closer to his chest and feeling the shape of the books inside. Everything was under control, he was going to be alright. What if he had fans who thought he was a ruthless fighter, driven by bloodlust and gain? Could he fault them for thinking that? Spiderman had only appeared once in this world, and he had completely failed at saving the victims of Firefly's attack. He wouldn't be a fan of himself either.

Damian seemed completely unaware of his inner turmoil and kept on talking. With a straight face but a slightly trembling hand the boy asked:

"Are you a martial artist?"

It took a lot of willpower for the New Yorker to keep the horror he was feeling off his face. 

Oh no, he really was a fanboy. He could smell that eagerness from miles away. He wished he could disappear into the ground, erase everything that had happened since he went to Gotham and launch himself at another dimension.

Or not. He still had to fix things with Jason.

"I… Sort of?" He coughed, wondering if what he did was considered a martial art. He had some formal training but most of it was instinct and overwhelming physical superiority. He had been told he had an excellent fighting mindset before, but he had only received a few dozen hours of formal training in total. He knew approximate boxing forms and some other bits and pieces from other disciplines, did that count? It had to count, if the boy had asked. It was becoming obvious the kid had seen him fight before and he had thoroughly enjoyed it.

"I practice several martial arts." Damian told him smugly, clicking his tongue again. "They are an excellent way to sharpen the mind and body, as long as you master them properly of course."

How old was he supposed to be? Peter had never met a kid that talked like this before. 

"That's pretty cool." He said eventually, hoping this wouldn't devolve into the boy asking him for a demonstration of his fighting prowess. He had that happen to him before as Spiderman and, despite asking for it, many people did not like being reminded they could not hold a candle to most vigilantes, even if it was just play fighting or for a social media video. Civilians got pretty touchy about being reminded mutants like him existed and that some could erase them from existence with a sneeze.

Of course he wasn't that strong. But he had been involved in interplanetary battles and he was pretty sure Thor could pulverize a mortal accidentally, especially when he was at his angriest.

"It is indeed very… cool." Damian wrinkled his nose slightly at the word but kept on talking, inching even closer to the back of his seat. "Father knows as many as I do, perhaps a bit less. I have practiced a lot you see."

Bruce nodded agreeably, slowing down just enough that they didn't swing into the side of a dilapidated hotel. The tires squealed worryingly. Peter gritted his teeth. The tingling was getting worse. If this wasn't a trap, then he probably had to worry about them crashing. Without his web shooters, how could he deal with that situation? Grab Damian in a way that wouldn't hurt his spine, grab Bruce, break the windshield, jump out? That could work… They already knew who he was anyway, so he couldn't make it any worse.

"You must be very dedicated." He nodded politely, smiling at the kid. "I haven't trained as much as you."

The boy scoffed. "Of course not." He raised his hand, reaching up above the front seat and-

The light tingling turned into a knife stabbing at his mind, screaming at him to MOVE. Peter shot forward, bending so fast he heard the seatbelt tear, its strap dangling off, half of it snapped at his waist. It hadn't been strong enough to keep him in place. He looked up, expecting to see a wall headed straight for them, or a car going too slow and staying in their way but, instead, his Spider sense quieted. He hid his hands, which had instinctively become tight fists, into the book bag, feeling the paper and the covers inside.

Behind him, Damian let his hand drop. Both of their hearts were thumping ridiculously fast albeit for what he assumed were two very different reasons.

What did that kid just try to do?

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow and oh god he was looking away from the road whywhywhy.

"I'm fine sir." He lied, hunched over slightly. "Just a cramp."

Please don't notice I ripped part of your million dollars car off. Please don't make me pay for it. I need money for groceries.

He felt hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest, he shoved it back down.

"Make sure you stretch, then." The man nodded sagely. The chemicals hiding his scent were utterly maddening. What was he thinking? Was he even aware of… whatever his son had been planning on doing?

"I will." He took a deep breath, aware of Damian shifting behind him, settling back down. Not a fanboy. Definitely not a fanboy, that had been such a stupid idea. This was a trap. Not a fan meet up. He was so arrogant, thinking someone would want to meet him that bad. "You can let me out here, thank you." 

"Nonsense! We're almost there." Bruce tapped the wheel with his fingers. Anxious? It was so hard to tell, his face wasn't giving anything away. "Damian, get him some water, please. It might make him feel better."

With perfect obedience, his son opened up a small door under his seat, revealing a fridge of all things. Weirdest part was it was absolutely stocked, with several bottles of water, juice, cans of sodas and even some snacks. Probably some rich people thing Peter wouldn't get to see again for a long time. The boy picked a bottle from the top row and handed it to him with a perfectly neutral expression. He didn't need his Spider sense to tell him not to accept it, but the tingling still confirmed his suspicions.

"Thank you but I'm..."

I'm allergic to water? No I can't say that.

"I'll be fine." He smiled, feeling sweat run down the side of his forehead. 

The boy ended up cracking open the water for himself, although he did not drink from it. Some of it spilled on his fingers during one particularly rough turn. It smelled perfectly ordinary but…

Don't scratch your neck, don't scratch your neck, don't scratch your neck…

Perhaps the universe had finally decided to show him some mercy as they soon slowed down and Bruce expertly parked them right next to Jason's motorcycle. It was secured in front of Marco's, in its usual cocoon of chains and locks of varying sizes. They were there. He had survived the ride. They hadn't crashed. Behind him, Damian set the bottle down, sighing disappointedly. His unsettling behavior had took on creepy undertones after what had just happened. If his luck held, he would never have to interact with him ever again.

Peter almost threw himself out of the car, only barely remembering to keep up appearances and exit in a somewhat natural manner. To his dismay, the two potential criminals followed him out of the vehicle, stepping on the curb. With their designer clothes and their expensive car, it was only a matter of minutes before someone tried to mug them. Were they even aware of that? Would he have to protect them if it happened? He really hoped not. They should be smart enough to bring a way to defend themselves along, especially if they had been trying to catch him in some kind of trap.

Bruce smiled, still as enthusiastic as ever and walked towards him, holding out his hand expectantly. 

"Once again, thank you for looking after my son, it was a pleasure to meet you, Peter."

He was obviously expecting him to shake the proffered hand, and the teenager almost did. Something in his gut twisted.

DON'T.

STAY AWAY.

He took a step back instinctively, surprised by the intensity of that feeling. Bruce was still smiling, towering over him. Now that they were out of the car, Peter could hear the wind, feel it against his shirt. It was so cold. In between that, the stretching shadows and the man's indistinct chemical scent, Damian's father appeared incredibly eerie. He felt like he could see a glimpse of something bigger, something darker hidden inside of the small oddities that surrounded him. Oh he was involved into some really messed up stuff, wasn't he?

Why did his Spider sense consider him so dangerous? He bit his lip, fingers twitching at his sides. With how things had been going lately, he had to be one of the rogues.

"Peter!"

He shot up, backing away a few more steps and almost crashing into Jason, who was rushing out of the restaurant. The young man grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back, placing himself between him and the car. He was wearing his usual leather jacket and dark clothes, smelled of gunpowder and cigarette. But there was also some...

Wait.

What is that?

He could feel…

Rage. 

Hatred.

Grief.

Pain.

Swirling anger, a crimson storm of fury and violence clouding his senses. He didn't understand how Jason could even bear to stand there when he was feeling such strong emotions. Had it been him, he would have left already, or he would have risked exploding at people. There was so much intensity in that rush of feelings he completely forgot about Bruce's eeriness and Damian's suspicious behavior. The only time he had ever felt something similar coming from his coworker, they had been driving away from the Pits, chased by a more experienced, more established vigilante.

Red Hood's face twisted into something terrible, eyes burning with promises of blood and revenge. His hand tightened around Peter's shoulder, digging into the fabric and pressing against the skin under. It would have bruised any regular person. He wanted to move away but his feet wouldn't obey him. If he left, he had a feeling the situation would escalate very quickly. 

"Jason," he lied, "you're hurting my shoulder."

His friend did not react to his voice. He did not even spare him a glance, all of his attention was on the two strangers, on Bruce specifically. And the worst part was...

Bruce was looking back at him with the same intensity.

There was no anger in the older man's gaze, but that cold gaze was perhaps even worse. He was completely stone faced, no emotion seeping through other than grim determination. The chemicals were still shrouding his smell, but several muscles in his neck had tensed and he was standing slightly straighter. He was expecting some kind of fight.

What the...

"Jason." Peter tried again. "Let's go inside."

"Shut up." His partner snapped. "You have no fucking clue what-..." He shook his head. "Do you even know who that asshole is?"

Bruce chose that moment to speak up, tilting his head down slightly. The only light in the street came from the restaurant, it turned his face into a mask of sharp shadows and angles. He did not sound very friendly anymore, although he was not fully hostile.

"Are you going to attack me?" Violent words but said in a deceptively soft tone. His heart rate was slow, steady.

Jason snarled, tearing his hand off Peter's shoulder and stepping forward. Fury rolled off of him, thick and overpowering. "You fucking..." 

This time, he was the one getting grabbed, stopped in the middle of his lunge by a hand tugging the back of his jacket. For a few terrifying seconds, it seemed as though he would ignore it and keep on going, forcing Peter to use more of his superhuman strength to keep him from starting a street fight. Eventually, the former rogue stopped, shoulders drooping slightly but eyes not moving from their target. He had so much hatred in him, so much sadness.

The restaurant's door slammed open once more and the sound of someone running out caused some of the tension to dissipate. Bruce stepped back, putting a hand on his son's shoulder and frowning down at his feet, looking thoughtful. His face was a lot more expressive than it had been in the car, and Peter thought he could read some sort of pain hidden in there. He felt as if he was looking at a foreign movie without any subtitles. He could see what was happening but he was completely missing the context of it.

Marco limped to stand in between the four of them, arms crossed and eyes glaring furiously.

"Why the hell are you idiots starting a fight in front of my restaurant?"

He stared straight at Jason, gritting his teeth, then turned to Peter. The disappointment in his eyes made the teen cringe but his boss was already looking away, at the last two people involved in the altercation. The Gothamite's eyes went from anger to surprise then to utter confusion. 

"What the-" The man muttered, eyes widening. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Peter felt left out, it looked like everyone but him was already acquainted with each other.

Nobody had any time to speak, Marco was already whirling around and pointing a finger at his delivery boys, voice low and dangerous. "Both of you, get inside." He ignored Jason's growl, despite the younger man being a few inches taller than him, and significantly larger. "Look, kid, I don't give a shit what beef you have with Wayne of all people but you'll be resolving it somewhere that isn't right next to my business. If you don't like it, you can pack your shit up."

"Fuck off!" Jason raised a fist, which Peter easily caught and forced back down, using perhaps a little too much strength. His friend's rage turned towards him in a flash as the older teen tried to free himself. "Let go. Right now."

"I don't think it would be a very good idea." The metahuman replied, as calmly as possible. His other hand tightened on Barbara's bag, he wondered if it would be okay to drop it. The ground was still a bit wet, mud remained from the many snowfalls and the wind was splashing water around his shoes. 

"It isn't." Marco agreed. "Get your ass inside." He turned to Damian and his father, not looking intimidated in the slightest. "Unless you're going to buy some food, you should leave."

For the first time that day, Bruce's composure cracked and he took in a sudden, sharp breath. He shook his head slowly, tearing his eyes away from Jason with apparent difficulty. He looked like a man who had just woken up from a weird dream. 

"Maybe we'll come back another time." He said. "I apologize for..." He frowned, looking down at his son, who had spent the entire exchange glaring daggers at everyone involved. "... the situation."

"Don't apologize to the likes of him." Damian protested, sounding both threatening and petulant. "He's a-"

The insult never left his mouth. His father had already dragged him back into the car and was gently but firmly pushing him into it. With a curse, Jason tried to free himself from Peter's grip one last time, slipping out of his jacket and lunging towards the vehicle. It was easy enough to catch the back of his shirt and wrap an arm around his waist. He was strong but he couldn't compete with his coworker when it came to raw physical power. The two of them struggled, slipping on the wet sidewalk. Despite his bulk, the older of the two was surprisingly slippery, almost managing to escape a few times.

"Stop fighting and get in there!" Marco snapped at them from the restaurant's front room.

In the end, the books did end up on the ground. 

Peter felt terrible about it. 

Notes:

Imagine going out to see what weird fight your latest strays/employees are starting in front of your restaurant and they're about to fist fight a billionaire.

Marco doesn't know Bruce personally but he can recognize him on sight like most people in Gotham.

Bruce and Jason are both running on zero sleep and an unhealthy amount of caffeine, I call this the Tim Drake lifestyle.

Oh boy oh boy I hate writing dialogue