Chapter 2: The Bat Cave—What Is This Place?

Peter’s spider-sense tingled—he could have dodged Red Hood’s kick that sent him flying off the motorcycle. But Peter wasn’t wearing his mask and didn’t want to risk revealing his secret identity, so he stood his ground.

Frustrated, Peter bared his claws at Red Hood’s retreating figure, then brushed the dust off himself. He didn’t want to look like a mess and leave a bad impression on Mr. Stark’s friend.

Plucking bits of grass from his curly hair, Peter looked up and took in the full view of the mansion, stunned.

No, this is—too big!

Stark was the only wealthy person Peter knew, but the Stark family made their fortune through technology. This mansion clearly belonged to an old, established family.

Peter glanced down at his ripped jeans and scuffed sneakers. It was hard to imagine how out of place those shoes would look on the mansion’s grounds.

This gave Peter pause, even stirring thoughts of retreat—of returning to his familiar, shabby apartment.

But the university awaited just ahead. He would reclaim his identity as Peter Parker, be remembered by others, and if luck favored him… perhaps find a new family.

Drawing a deep breath, Peter approached the mansion’s front door and knocked gently.

His keen hearing picked up sounds inside: a young man’s voice and hurried footsteps. “Alfred, I’m here.”

Then an elder’s voice replied, “Since when did you become so hospitable, Master Jason?”

The heavy door swung open with a swish. A young man leaned out, revealing striking lake-blue eyes. Peter couldn’t help but notice strands of hair damp with sweat on his forehead. His gaze drifted down to slightly parted lips, unusually flushed for a man, as if he’d just finished intense exercise.

Jason had opened the mansion door and looked at Peter—the same Peter he’d just kicked off his motorcycle a few minutes ago—while suppressing a smirk.

He felt a dark amusement at his own prank. Dust still clung to Peter’s elbow; his hair looked carefully arranged, though a fresh green leaf stuck to the tips. Fortunately, Peter bore no injuries. Jason had controlled his strength well, and his foot had landed on the soft lawn. He felt quite pleased with himself.

God only knew how hard Jason had raced from the underground tunnel to the Batcave, then dashed up the stairs while shedding his hood and changing out of his jacket and pants. He had even zipped up his inner clothes carefully to prevent Peter from seeing them, and kicked off his shoes to create a casual, homey atmosphere.

Peter looked at Jason, his rehearsed opening lines predictably faltering. After a moment’s silence, the young man across had calmed his breath, subtly raising one eyebrow.

Thankfully, the approaching elder eased the tension: “You must be Master Parker. I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler.”

Titles like “master” and “sir” felt overwhelming to Peter, who hurriedly said, “Just call me Peter!” Extending his hand, he tried to shake both Alfred’s and Jason’s hands.

Alfred’s handshake was impeccably polite, but Jason’s grip felt awkward and streetwise—especially when he noticed the dirt still clinging to Peter’s palm, a remnant of his own handiwork.

Jason loosened his grip and turned away.

Peter: “?” What did that mean? Did he mind my dirty hands?

Peter took this as a clear sign that Jason didn’t like him and looked helplessly to Alfred.

Alfred smiled calmly, as if used to it. “Don’t mind him. Master Jason isn’t against you; he’s just shy.”

Hearing this from afar, Jason nearly tripped.

Who was really shy? The newcomer’s face was already flushed!

Peter once again grasped the mansion’s vastness. At home, even if Aunt May or Uncle Ben turned away, they’d only walk a few steps before turning left back to their rooms. Here, Jason walked straight ahead for a long time, stumbled once, then disappeared behind a door on the mansion’s other side.

“I’ll show you around the mansion and your room first. You can take a shower and rest,” Alfred said kindly. “The Waynes are a big family. Tonight’s family gathering will introduce you to every one of them.”

“Every one of them?” Peter’s guard went up, sidestepping Alfred’s offered hand to help with his luggage. “How many people are there?”

“Hope you don’t have trouble recognizing faces or names,” Alfred smiled.

Forget recognizing faces or names—Peter worried he might get lost just walking around the mansion.

The Wayne estate had four floors, with two side elevators and a central staircase. The entire building was perfectly symmetrical, and from the hallway, every room looked identical.

Peter was assigned a bedroom at the end of the third floor. The room’s bathroom even had a bathtub—much bigger than his one-bedroom apartment in New York.

Living at the end was Peter’s request, to avoid family members’ gaze and to slip out whenever he needed to fight crime.

This was also why he chose to trouble Mr. Stark’s friend and move into the mansion. Sharing a dorm room with a roommate at university made secret comings and goings difficult. Here, surrounded by many people, it was easier. Peter was determined to make Spider-Man a name in Gotham.

Peter worried Alfred might ask why he chose the end room, but Alfred said nothing and agreed without hesitation.

Peter shook out his suit, planning to admire it in his new home before tucking it deep in the wardrobe. He’d sewn the suit himself; it lacked Stark’s AI design, wasn’t made of nanomaterials, and couldn’t self-repair. All repairs were manual.

The suit Mr. Stark had given him was still usable, but after losing his identity, Peter had put it away carefully, cherishing it. Losing that would mean losing the last symbol of his past.

With dinner still some time away, Peter looked out the window at the deserted landscape and decided to find Alfred to ask if the house had any transportation he could use.

“Transportation?” Alfred raised an eyebrow at the young newcomer’s question.

“Yes! There should be... a bicycle in the mansion, right?” Peter asked uncertainly. “Broken ones are fine; I can fix them.” Though the Wayne estate was thirty kilometers from Gotham University, cycling back and forth would take two and a half hours at Peter’s pace.

But Peter saw himself as a guest and figured a bicycle was the most he could ask for. Even with his scholarship stretched, he could cover that expense.

“...A bicycle?” Alfred blinked. Such a humble mode of transport hadn’t appeared at Wayne Manor in ages. Changing the subject, he asked, “Do you have a driver’s license?”

“I do, but... I can’t afford a car—even a beat-up one…” Peter trailed off.

“Please don’t be so formal. These are very practical vehicles—useless if they just sit here,” Alfred said, pointing at a convertible Lamborghini. Peter would never call that “practical,” especially since he’d have to wear a raincoat inside if it rained.

Peter shook his head vigorously. “That’s far too valuable, sir. I absolutely can’t drive it! Or any of the cars here!”

No joke—even a minor scratch would mean thirty years of work to pay for it!

Alfred was about to speak when a clear, cheerful voice interrupted him: “Alfred, you’ll scare him off.”

Peter turned to see a dazzling face and a bright, friendly smile. The familiar black hair and blue eyes reminded him of the other young man who had greeted him at the door. They looked somewhat alike—probably brothers—yet their temperaments were completely different.

Peter gave him a shy smile.

Dick was in a good mood, feeling sure he was the first family member to meet the newcomer—the competition of Alfred didn’t count. The sharp old butler could detect any stranger in his domain immediately, so Dick didn’t consider him a rival.

He’d come back specially from Blüdhaven to make Peter feel at home. It definitely wasn’t about jockeying with other family members for precedence—that would be childish, and not like him.

Alfred glanced at Dick’s face, recognized the smug expression, and without hesitation burst his bubble: “Master Jason has already been here.”

Dick’s radiant smile faltered.

No, he was the mature big brother and wouldn’t bash Jason’s thigh with a stick the next time they crossed paths fighting crime.

Having grown up in the circus and tasted poverty, Dick understood. Even though Alfred and Bruce didn’t mind giving new members a luxury car to drive to school and enjoy the spotlight, Dick knew this modestly dressed boy in front of him wouldn’t accept it easily.

But Gotham University was so far from Wayne Manor. If Peter boarded at the manor but had to bike to school every day, the Waynes would undoubtedly be accused of mistreating their boarder.

Dick felt that as the eldest brother, it was his duty to help Alfred solve this little problem.

“Little Pete,” the cheerful young man said, using Peter’s nickname and slinging an arm around his neck, “tomorrow I’ll go with you to register at school. Then we’ll hit the used car market and pick out your ride, okay? Don’t say no—three thousand bucks will cover it. That’s less than the gas for these cars. If you really feel bad, you can tutor Damian for Bruce; he’s a handful.”

Peter thought it over for a long moment, finally nodding, emphasizing once more, “I’ll pay you back!”

Dick choked on his smile. What a stubborn kid!

The Batcave was Gotham’s biggest gathering place for stubborn types. Their stubbornness was off the charts; it really didn’t need any more added.