𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ━ peter parker

vi. "blood doesn't stain stain, right?"

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ㅤㅤㅤ"LOOK , SPIDER-BOY-"

"Spider-man."

"Right, whatever – could you hurry this along?" Dick asked, feigning nonchalance as he examined the red shard of glass he'd pulled from his forearm. It glittered grotesquely beneath the elevator's flickering light, beaded with tiny flecks of his blood, and was by some stroke of luck (whoever said injury couldn't be a means to an end?) the perfect distraction for Dick to keep his eyes trained on. Not that he couldn't keep his eyes off Peter, of course, but it... was difficult to not try and rationalize the similarities between them.

Kneeling beside him, Liz shot the Wayne heir a worn-out glare and Dick shrugged beneath the weight of it, neither uncomfortable nor willing enough to respond. He slumped further down the wall, letting her manoeuvre his arm how she saw fit: "He's doing his best, Dick."

"Yeah," Spider-man interjected, words light with lack of oxygen as he played one-dimensional tug of war with his web. "He is. You're more than welcome to take over, rich-boy."

Dick didn't have the rigor left in his to argue and so fell silent, adding the splinter of glass to the growing pile beside him. His fingers twitched for something to do as Liz continued to gently pry another from beneath his reddened skin, and he cocked a brow as she winced, manicured nails unplugging the sharp, foreign material from beneath his flesh. Rich, red blood gurgled from the release in pressure, dribbling slowly out of the wound. Dick dabbed at the liquid with the pad of his finger, smearing it with his thumb.

Liz watched him curiously, doe-eyes gentle as she followed his diverted gaze. "You're sure it doesn't hurt?" she enforced softly, fingernails tracing the bubbling crimson as it webbed it's way through the maze of scars on Dick's arm. He hummed apathetically, blinking tiredly upwards at the flaring orange bulb above them. She set to work on another shard, this one pushed deeper below the skin. "This looks pretty bad; you're going to need stitches."

"I've had worse," Dick mumbled, eyelids fluttering closed. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and brewing, as he spoke, but he was unwilling to allow it to relent. Peter's eyes settled on him momentarily, searching for something on Dick's face as the teen let his head slump back against the wall.

The girl pursed her lips, evident worry pressed into every crease on her face. Liz wiped her hands on her pristine yellow blazer, staining it a gross pink. Dick stared down at the saturated fabric, mouth twisting. He'd pay for the dry cleaning of course. Or Alfred would send for replacements, if the damage down by Dick's plasma and platelets was too much for a little fabric softener to handle.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" Ned queried hesitantly, and Dick pried an eye open to watch the boy exchange a marginally concerned glance with the webslinger beside him.

"Seriously?" Peter exclaimed; words forced out with a sigh. "I really don't think now's the right time to talk about feelings!"

"This is a safe space," Ned retaliated, and Dick wondered if either of them realised that the little act they'd put together of being complete strangers was crumbling before his eyes. He smiled unashamedly at the familiarity of the arguing, fuelled by friendly fire.

"Bit of a stretch to call this safe, don't you think?" Dick added to the flames, grinning. Liz shook her head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Spider-man motioned to him with a single hand and the steady upwards motion of the elevator halted.

"Thank you," said the vigilante, looking pointedly at his friend. Ned rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest, and Dick stiffened as the lift swayed gently.