𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ━ peter parker

xiii. ″Gothamites are slippery″

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DICK DIDN'T EVEN make it half an hour into the movie before he began to grow restless.

The problem wasn't that the film was bad (actually, it was pretty good), but that Peter beside him was so engrossed in the CGI city on-screen that he didn't even notice Dick's occasional side-long glances. And the Wayne heir didn't have the attention span to sit still for longer than ten minutes without, well... attention.

So it was really a stroke of luck and good timing on Dick's part when the action scenes on the screen were quite suddenly and aggressively replaced by some 'real' action. Because nothing grabs attention quite like a theatre's hundred-year-old walls imploding. And okay, sure. Maybe it wasn't a 'good thing' in theory – the chunk of brick torn from its foundations was huge, and so was the crowd of people it almost mowed down, but.... Pretence.

You win some, you lose some. And Dick most definitely considered himself to be winning with Peter's fingers clasped tight around his sleeve.

"Wow. They've really improved 3D graphics, huh?" he yelled over the chorus of screams, ducking down as rubble flew over their heads.

Peter's eyes were wide, his muscles tensed as he placed a protective hand over the back of Dick's head. The web-slinger was studying the situation, forcing Dick low behind the seats as his eyes darted between the well-dress and depressed celebrities rushing en-masse from their assigned stalls. He glanced down at Dick as he spoke, a little peeved and much perturbed.

"Are you seriously making a joke right now?"

"If the opportunity presents itself," Dick mumbled in reply, bracing himself against the back of the chair in front. The plush material squished beneath his fingers uselessly as he tried to push against it, craning his neck to see what was happening. But Peter shoved him back down – as if the seats were going to do anything to cushion the blow should a tonne of concrete decide to fly into his face. "Dude, get off me! I wanna see what's going on."

Peter shushed him absently, holding his breath as another round of something was fired from a cacophonous weapon that Dick couldn't see. It spat an illuminating flash of indigo amidst the roar of a strange sound – like the rumble of a jet engine. Or a whistling arrow. Really, it was more a love child of the two, and Dick didn't love the sound of it.

Definitely not a normal gun.

"Everyone shut up and freeze!"

A rough voice echoed out across the theatre, somehow louder than the brooding music of the movie that still played, now forgotten. Hushed whimpers and nervous inhales charged the gathered mob of socialites and influencers as they teemed about the exits. Another shot was fired; punctuated by screams of soft surprise. And in the chaos, a charred hole of smoke and burnt plastic stretched across the silver screen.

"Peter, what's happening?" Dick hissed, trying to wiggle out of the other teen's hands. He poked his head up to peer over the sea of empty seats and spilled popcorn. The perpetrators weren't exactly hard to miss.

It was a group of four- no, five men in thick hoodies and bandanas with tacky flaming sculls printed across the front. Dick raised an eyebrow, watching as they gathered in the steaming pile of what used to be wall. How unoriginal.

Only one of the men appeared to have access to The Weapon™. And really, weapon was putting it lightly: the metal contraption in the dude's grasp was like a death ray from War of the Worlds. The others all appeared to be toting regular, old, boring firearms. Obviously they hadn't levelled up enough to warrant the upgrade. It thrummed with a rich hum that Dick could only attribute to sci-fi movies, and glowed with an eerie purple that made him... pause.