Actually, no, why is he focusing on that, when the real question is why the hell did Peter automatically assume Batman gave birth? If he was Seahorseman or something instead of Batman, sure, it might've made sense, but… What?

Red Robin was well and truly speechless.

“—and if it was a live birth, who was his doula? Or a midwife?” Peter continued, fully committed now. “And why are you all birds instead of bats like him? Well, except Batgirl. I really like—”

“—her full face mask, yes, I know,” Red Robin cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You didn't answer the question!” He complained (read: whined), throwing a grape at Red Robin, which he caught in his mouth. A skill dutifully passed on by Nightwing, impressing the importance of airborne-food to mouth coordination unto Red Robin back when he was Robin.

" ...It's classified." Red Robin started, when an idea struck. "But I'll cut you a deal."

"A deal?" Peter tilted his head, looking up from the birdarang. Red Robin was glad it was a deactivated one.

"Yes," he leaned in conspiratorily. "I’ll tell you how, if you tell me your full name and whether you are safe or not."

Peter leaned away, frowning. He looked pensive, but damn if he wasn't curious. What's that saying about a curious cat again?

He gnawed at his lip in silence.

A couple minutes passed, and Red Robin was resigned to thinking he wouldn't go for it. It wasn't his first attempt at getting the kids actual name, and wouldn’t be the last. Considering they couldn't find a face ID and haven't been able to get any DNA yet. Which is blasphemous! Batman literally pet his hair! It was an optimal opportunity squandered!

"...Parker." Peter finally said.

“Really?" Red Robin squinted. "You look more like a Smith or something."

A piece of cantaloupe hit his cheek, sliding down pathetically onto his lap. He picked it up and ate it.

"Jackass." Peter stuck his tongue out. “You look like your name is Tom or something equally lame.”

Red Robin narrowed his eyes, momentarily wondering if Peter knew something. That was uncannily close. The name was, not that his name was lame, obviously.

Well, it wasn't his full name, but Parker was a start. They were fairly certain his first name was actually Peter, anyway. He responds to it too well for it not to be. Peter Parker, huh? Red Robin was honestly kind of expecting him to say Piper, just to be an ass.

"And your safety?" Red Robin asked seriously.

Peter shrugged. "About as safe as any other person in Gotham."

Way to work around the question. Red Robin narrowed his eyes behind the mask, but didn't retort. It was an answer in and of itself.

"Well…” He leaned back, contemplative. The best lies were the ones with a hint of truth, right?

“All of us were live births," His lips curled up into a nearly malicious grin. "Except for Robin. He came from an egg." Tube baby, egg, what's the difference? He certainly saw none.

Peter leaned in, a little too invested. Oh, Red Robin was going to have a field day the next time Robin saw Peter and got asked about how ‘coming out of an egg’ was, as if he wasn’t already dealing with a closet.

"As for Batman's midwife..." he titled his head back in thought. "Superman helped with one or two, but he had most of us alone, I think." He was counting Superman helping train Nightwing, honestly.

"All alone?" Peter said... Sadly? "But bats are very social creatures..." Oh. He didn’t think about that.

Red Robin didn't know whether to laugh or feel bad. Batman was going to have some very awkward questions next time he saw Peter. He ate another piece of melon.

Welp, not his problem.

"You should make him a thank you card."

Red Robin choked. "Im sorry... what."

Okay, so maybe it's also his problem now.

"The working girls were telling me how they were coming together for Cherry because she's having a baby, and how stressful it is, but how excited they were. Said she got a real good job at WE and she and her wife can finally have a baby since they escaped sex work and invited their friends to the baby shower." Peter said casually, grabbing his backpack.

"They took me with them! It was a gender reveal." He pulled out a Frankensteined camera of spare parts, duck tape, and hope. Wires jutting out in several directions. The screen was in pretty good condition, though.

"They're having a baby girl, if you're curious." He handed the camera to Red Robin, who looked through. Oh. He thinks he recognizes some of the girls from the Narrows.

"Huh. And this correlates to the thank you card... how?" The kid was a pretty good photographer, actually. The vigilante could appreciate the angles and lighting.

“For giving birth to you?” Peter said, like that was obvious. “Alone? Multiple times? That’s messed up, dude. You guys don’t even send flowers?”

Red Robin stared at him.

Peter stared back, genuinely judgmental. It was actually beginning to make Red Robin feel like a bad son, even though none of this happened, and hopefully would never happen.

“Batman doesn’t need flowers.” He tried.

“He absolutely needs flowers. Or, like, fruit. He’s a bat, right? Bam, fruit basket. Easy.”

Red Robin pressed his lips together so hard it hurt. “A fruit basket.”

“Yes. With a card.” Peter nodded solemnly. “Dear Batman, thank you for your service and/or uterus. Sorry about the egg one.”

Red Robin made a sound that was not a laugh, because he had self-control and dignity, probably.

Peter adjusted his glasses matter-of-factly. “You joke, but postpartum support is important.” Peter rolled his eyes, like Red Robin was the crazy one.

He shrugged. Guess this is what they were doing now. "Okay, but only if you help me. I've never made one before."

Peter thought about it for a second before nodding. "M'kay, I can do that. Here!"

He dove back into his backpack, fishing our colored pencils and some paper. Red Robin leaned in casually, getting a good look inside. Some notebooks, a zip lock baggie with money, water, non perishables snacks, the gas mask he gave him, a glimpse of some red and blue pajamas at the bottom, and a variety of knicknacks and doodads Peter had evidently decided were essential to survival..

"Do you want to make one too?" Red Robin asked, clearing a space in front of him to place the paper down.

Peter shook his head mutely. "Nobody to give it to." He said shortly.

Red Robin’s expression softened, but he didn’t address it directly. Peter always got flighty when they dug too much. One time he had literally just walked away from Nightwing mid-conversation and climbed down the fire escape. Nightwing had followed, obviously, but Peter had gone almost completely nonverbal after that. Lesson effectively learned.

"I’ve never made one before, so you gotta walk me through making it. Then Batman can get two, so that's twice as much support, right? Gotta support single parents, Pete." Red Robin bullshitted his way out of the somber mood. His specialty.

"You sure he wants one from me?" Peter tilted his head, fiddling with the sleeves of his Robin hoodie. Robin had given it to him in civvies after deciding Peter’s wardrobe was, quote, “tragically insufficient.” Peter and Robin had started hanging out in the library more often lately, and possibly somewhere else too, though Robin refused to tell the rest of them where. Something about “sacred trust.” Kids were so weird these days.

"Peter, he'd probably like one from you way more than one from me." Not untrue. Red Robin’s was coming from a place of teasing and fun, while Peters was adorably earnest.

He got uncharacteristically shy, ducking his head. "M'kay."

Red Robin totally stared. The kid could roast them six ways to Sunday, but writing some sort of weird birth-appreciation card is where he got embarrassed?

Peter pulled out some more paper. "So, fold it hamburger style to make it a card," he did like so.

"Why not hotdog style?" Red Robin asked more for conversation than anything.

"Because hotdog style sucks, don't ask silly questions." He's a very opinionated twelve year old, that's for sure. Red Robin put his hands up in surrender.

"And then on the front put a meaningful thing like, like... 'You're the best bat-dad' or 'thanks for giving bat-birth to me'." Peter nodded to himself, likely thinking he was a genius. He was already doodling little bats and birds around his front page.

Now, Red Robin was absolutely here for the bit, but if he wrote “bat-birth” in actual pencil, on actual paper, he would never recover socially. He chose the first option.

For all that Red Robin liked designing tech, coding, photography, and occasionally committing light cybercrime for the greater good, he wasn’t exactly an arts-and-crafts prodigy. Anything Peter suggested in passing, he sort of just… did.

The front of his card ended up saying, plainly:

You’re my Bat-Dad

He drew a tiny Red Robin symbol beside a slightly lopsided bat symbol. Inside, in his usual scrawl of barely legible writing, he wrote:

Thank you for having me.

—Your son, Red Robin

He stared down at it.

Peter leaned over to inspect his work.

A long silence passed.

Then Peter patted his arm. “It’s okay. Not everyone’s creative.”

Red Robin slowly turned to look at him. “I built a portable signal jammer out of a toaster oven once.”

“Yeah, but can you draw a bat that doesn’t look like a squished moth?”

Red Robin looked back at the card.

The bat did, unfortunately, look like a squished moth.

Red Robin narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like you very much.”

Peter smiled innocently. “That’s okay, the rest of your family does.”

Yeah, this kid definitely made “yo mama” jokes.

RR’s card certainly looked plain compared to Peter's, who was, working on drawing a chibi version of every bird and bat in the city. He couldn't seem to decide on one corny line, so he wrote all of the corny lines he thought of. It was very... endearing? Yeah, endearing.

"Are you gonna sign it?" Red Robin asked, smiling a bit at the bird-birth jokes. Batman was never living any of this down.

Though it made Peter frown again.

Great. Fantastic. Red Robin was somehow distressing him through arts and crafts. Comforting children was not his specialty. He had talents, many talents, but this was not one of them. Wing or Hood would’ve been better at this. Maybe even Signal. Signal had that whole calming-presence thing. Red Robin had “russian sleep experiment” energy, according to Peter.

He put a really, really tiny "Peter P." on the bottom of the page. He probably figured since he told Red Robin, everyone else would find out, eventually.

Then his expression cleared, and he looked over at Red Robin’s card with a raised brow. “You just gonna leave it so… millennial coded?”

"Millennial coded!? How old do you think I am!" Red Robin gasped, offended.

"The only color is for your own symbol! Talk about self absorbed!" Peter fired back.

"The bat is black, though!" Red Robin defended.

"Yeah, but the symbol used to be yellow! Give it some pop, man." Peter tsked, like Red Robin shouldn't have been thinking of the most recent of the bat suit iterations, but from a creative point of view. If he wanted art, he should've gone to Robin!

"Well it's already black, I can't color over it with yellow!" Red Robin held up the paper, gesturing helplessly.

"Just color around it, dummy." Peter rolled his eyes.

"Oh... yeah that makes more sense." Fair enough, honestly.

Peter nodded (somewhat) approvingly at the letters of what he deemed "single parent support, because they deserve love too".

Red Robin gently took Peter's card, tucking both their cards securely into his waterproof pouches. He'd probably dispose of his card and just give Batman Peter's.

Peter was evidently proud of himself, even letting himself pop a couple pieces of fruit. He usually wouldn't eat any while one of them was here, because he insisted it was for them, only eating what they left, since he couldn't keep fresh fruit. They let him think they didn’t know where he was staying. It made him feel safer or something, but Peter was undoubtedly homeless. Though he definitely hadn't grown up on the streets. Big difference. While he was skittish, he wasn't nearly as bad as born and bred gothamites. Nor was he very slick. He was staying in the same abandoned building he waited on top of for them.

“RR, you there?” Oracle piped up, unmuting the comms.

Red Robin tapped his comm. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Need you in the Fashion District. Diamond robbery in progress. Batman’s en route.”

Red Robin groaned. “Does he really need me, though? It’s just a little heist…"

"RR." He could practically hear Oracle’s exasperation.

“Okay, okay. Jeez, I’m going.” He stood, brushing crumbs and pencil shavings off his suit before glancing back at Peter. “Stay safe”

Peter gave him a bland look. “Wow. Groundbreaking advice. You should put that on a billboard.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. That’s what makes it funny.”

Red Robin sighed and pointed at him. “Stay alive.”

Peter saluted with a piece of cantaloupe. “Actually, I had my untimely demise scheduled for today… Might be conflicting interests.”

“Deeply reassuring.” Peter stood up too, following Red Robin to the ledge, “And don’t steal the birdarang.”

Peter froze with his hand halfway toward Red Robin’s gear pouch.

Red Robin narrowed his eyes.

Peter slowly withdrew his hand. “I was admiring it.”

“From inside my pouch?”

“Art is immersive.”

Red Robin stared at him for another second before his expression softened despite himself. “See ya, yeah, Pete?”

Peter looked up just as Red Robin reached out and ruffled his hair.

Much like with Batman a couple days ago, Peter leaned into the touch before he seemed to realize he was doing it. Then he ducked his head, ears pink, swatting his hand away.

“Make sure to give Batman his cards, though! I’ll know if you don’t.”

Red Robin laughed. “I will, I will.”

He backed toward the ledge, fired his grappling hook, and launched off the building. And maybe he added a couple unnecessary flips between rooftops, twisting neatly before landing on the next ledge.

Behind him, Peter cheered.

Red Robin grinned into the wind.

—+—

Once he and Batman finished up with the robbers (and silently thankful it wasn't Catwoman. Batman always went suspiciously dark when it was…), they sat on a rooftop catching their breath. Or, what Red Robin thought was catching their breath.

Batman held out his hand expectantly.

Red Robin raised an eyebrow. “...What?”

“My cards,” Batman said simply.

Oh. He must’ve heard Peter remind him not to forget them. He also sounded a little too eager, which was deeply funny and deeply dangerous information.

“Oh, right. Yeah, it’s right here.” Red Robin pulled Peter’s card out of his pouch, smoothing out the tiny wrinkle it had gotten from being wedged between smoke pellets and emergency lock picks. The pouches were spacious, sure, but they were already crammed with enough gear to survive a small apocalypse.

He handed Batman the card.

Batman looked down, reading the card. Red Robin saw the faintest quirk of his lips.

He looked up expectantly once more.

“He said cards,” Batman said. “Plural.”

If Red Robin had x-ray vision, he knew Batman’s eyebrows would be raised.

Dang it. Caught already.

He could lie. Say Peter misspoke, say there was only one, say the other got damaged, say anything that didn’t involve handing Batman a card that said thank you for having me, your son, Red Robin like some sort of emotionally compromised loser.

Instead, Red Robin pursed his lips and met Batman’s stare for approximately three seconds before losing the silent standoff.

“Fine,” he muttered.

He yanked the second card out and shoved it into Batman’s hand a little too quickly. If Batman noticed, which he absolutely did, he was merciful enough not to comment.

Batman looked down at it.

Red Robin braced himself.

All of Batman’s kids knew he wasn’t a man of many words, especially when it came to openly expressing himself. That was why Red Robin wasn’t surprised when all he did was nod appreciatively, tucking the handmade letters into his pouch securely away. What was the surprising part was how he tucked them away; like they were more precious than the flimsy pieces of paper it actually was.

Red Robin’s throat did something weird.

“Okay, well,” he said, laughing awkwardly, maybe a tad hysterically. “I’m gonna go. Y’know. Head back to the Cave.”

He was not running away. It was a tactical retreat.

Red Robin grappled off the rooftop, ignoring Spoiler’s immediate questioning and everyone else’s nosy chatter. Stupid siblings. Stupid family of detectives. He remembers when he was an only child.

Batman stayed on the roof a moment longer, one hand resting briefly over the pouch that held the cards.

Now, Red Robin wasn’t sure what he’d expected Batman to do with them. Hide them? Put them in a box? Pretend not to care? Burn them in some emotionally constipated ritual? Not that he cared, obviously. Improving Batman’s cybersecurity and designing vigilante gear was one thing. Actually calling him dad, even with “bat” shoved in front of it as plausible deniability, was something else entirely.

But of all the possibilities on his list, coming down into the Cave the next morning and seeing both cards pinned to a new cork board, framed in expensive metal and protected under glass, was absolutely not one of them.

Peter’s card was front and center, little bats and birds scattered around the edges.

Red Robin’s was beside it, yellow-outlined wobbly little bat symbol and all.

The small, pleased smile that spread across his lips didn’t last long.