3 Spreading Rumors with Just a Word

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Sending Alfred off with the little stubborn one to the manor’s fourth floor to check out the newly renovated game room and gym, Dick watched their figures fade into the distance. Suddenly, Bruce’s deep voice came through the communicator behind his ear: “Everyone, Arkham has issued a warning—there’s a mass breakout. Dick, Peter’s in your hands for now.”

Dick’s expression shifted. “Why am I staying behind? When has there ever been an incident without me? And this is a mass breakout at Arkham!”

“Arkham has daily escape attempts. The Batcave doesn’t get new arrivals every day! Besides, you make him relaxed. He trusts you.” Tim’s voice was hurried, mixed with the rustling of fabric, as if he were changing clothes. “Please, I’m still on my way from the company!”

“What about Damian?” Dick called out a different name.

The boy—or rather child—responded coldly, “No way. I’m already in Father’s Batmobile.”

“When did you sneak in?” Bruce asked.

Damian immediately fell silent.

“Babs? Stephanie? Cassandra?”

The girls completely ignored him.

Dick gritted his teeth at the empty air.

They had all agreed to have dinner together to welcome the newcomer, but with this sudden breakout, the Bat-family members were being so uncooperative. Tim had even accidentally let slip “Bird Mom.”

Even Alfred had to assist Bruce in the Batcave, while Dick was left to have dinner with Peter—of course, not because he didn’t want to eat with Peter, but how could a big event happen without him!

Dick’s mind raced, and suddenly he remembered something.

When he arrived, he had seemed to be near the underground parking entrance, where he had seen Jason’s flashy motorcycle.

Peter, fresh from a shower and drying his hair, stared blankly for a moment at the skincare products and lipstick placed before the bathroom mirror. He wasn’t sure if Alfred had prepared them especially for him. He picked up the lipstick and then put it back down—if the lipstick was meant for him, wouldn’t not wearing it seem disrespectful?

Shivering at the thought of himself with blazing red lips, Peter quickly put the lipstick away. Alfred must have thought he was a girl!

Having tidied himself up, Peter then fretted over the shirts in his backpack. These casual shirts and pants were all too nerdy; wearing them to a first dinner meeting seemed wildly inappropriate.

He had been too busy protecting New York before to shop, and these clothes were all bought by Aunt May, so he was reluctant to throw them away.

As the dinner time Alfred had told him approached, Peter nervously tapped the table with his fingers, afraid of leaving a bad impression on his host family.

Meanwhile, Jason was sprinting toward the Batcave entrance. He had hurriedly parked his motorcycle there earlier.

Of course, he couldn’t miss a mass breakout at Arkham.

But Jason’s steps faltered sharply when he saw his parking spot.

Where was his bike?

Who dared steal a bike right in broad daylight at the Batcave!

Jason hesitated, then dashed over. On the floor where his bike had been parked, he spotted a spray-painted bird head.

“Dick!”

At that moment, Dick was speeding on Jason’s motorcycle, the wind howling past. The loud noise gave him a perfect excuse to ignore Jason’s frantic calls over the communicator. “What did you say? Signal’s bad—I can’t hear you!”

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“I’m going to personally take down your wife.” Jason said with a sinister tone. “I’ll make sure she dies in agony…”

“That’s enough, Jason!” Stephanie sternly reprimanded.

“Hands off my bike,” Dick retorted. “Yours is still with me!”

Jason ignored the warning, threatening, “I’ll disassemble her bolt by bolt, panel by panel…”

“That’s too cruel,” Barbara and Stephanie shared a car; Barbara covered the radio. “Kids can’t listen to this.”

Jason coldly declared, “Dick, you’ve crossed me.”

Facing an impending confrontation with the Arkham inmates—psychopathic criminals—the mood seemed far too relaxed. Bruce had to intervene: “Jason.”

Everyone held their breath, bracing for the storm to come. Jason fell silent and stood ready.

Bruce spoke slowly: “Please.”

Jason seemed to hold back a breath, then quietly said, “This won’t happen again.” With that, he decisively logged off the team channel.

Silence fell for a few seconds.

Barbara was the first to break it: “Pft.”

“He must be poisoned. Otherwise Todd wouldn’t be so obedient,” Damian commented.

Only Tim pragmatically asked, “Have you two finally made up?”

Bruce refused to answer, clearing his throat. The little birds regained their seriousness, standing ready.

Peter arrived at the dining hall a few minutes early. It was empty; the kitchen showed no signs of cooking.

“Takeout? Takeout is fine too.” Peter sat at a corner of the long table, talking to himself.

But ten minutes passed, and still no one came. Peter grew increasingly uneasy.

Could it be that no one in the Wayne household liked him, so no one wanted to dine with him?

Worried and anxious, Peter stood and peered toward the dining room door. After a moment, he closed his eyes, using his spider senses to listen for any movement in the manor, trying to detect if anyone else was present.

Before his keen hearing fully engaged, he sensed a fast-moving unknown object rushing toward him.

Peter opened his eyes just in time to see Jason striding toward him, fierce and imposing, looking like he was about to tear him apart.

Peter instinctively raised his hands defensively to his chest—

Jason huffed as he approached, placing something on the table. “It’s just you and me now. What’s with that stance?” He paused, suspicious. “Afraid I’ll hit you? Am I that scary?”

Jason was still simmering with anger over his beloved bike being ridden off by his older brother, his tone aggressive. But Peter realized Jason had just come to eat with him, and the worry that the family disliked him vanished almost entirely. Peter breathed a grateful sigh. “Of course not! What...what are we eating? Just the two of us? What does this mean? Where’s everyone else?”

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