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He was sitting on the couch in one of the many living rooms (although was this one a loft? He never understood the difference), one leg tucked under him, the other bouncing slightly as he tried very hard not to think about the fact that the socks Alfred had given him— very nice socks, objectively, soft, expensive, probably imported from somewhere fancy— had fucking seams. The bane of Peter's existence.
And you might be thinking to yourself, “Peter, why don’t you just take them off?” the answer would be because, one, the fancy marble floor around here was cold as hell. And two, Peter hates how the floor feels under his feet. He can feel every grain, every carpet fiber, every unappealing texture… At least the socks make it more tolerable.
Oh, but now we’ve come full circle with the socks, because it’s uncomfortable without them and uncomfortable with them. Peter can’t win. The freaking seams that sat right across his toes.
Seams that he could feel.
Seams that were, at this point, the only thing he could think about. He could have a full course meal in front of him and the rest of his dead family members and he’d still be hyperfocused on the feeling of his socks.
He flexed his foot, trying to work past the irritation. The Wayne’s had already done so much, he didn’t need to sit there and complain about the free socks he was given.
(It didn’t work. Maybe he could get some chopos? It’d be nice to have something else to wear around the house, even if they didn’t let him stick to things…
“…man, I miss seamless socks,” Peter muttered, more to the universe than anyone else. “Those things are, like, life-changing. Why do seams even exist. Who decided that.”
Tim, hunched over his laptop at the coffee table, paused mid-typing.
“…what.”
Peter waved a hand vaguely. “Nothing. It’s just— sensory thing. It’s fine. I’ll live.”
Bruce had passed the arches of the loft, but Peter didn’t think much of it. He was a busy man, so they hadn’t, like, had a whole lot of interactions.
(No, Peter’s not intimidated! Okay, well, maybe a little bit. The guy had the worst case of RBF ever.)
—+—
Peter forgot about it immediately.
Bruce did not.
The next morning, Peter dragged himself into the kitchen, hair sticking up in twelve different directions, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. He shuffled awkwardly, walking on the sides of his feet because it made him forget about The Seams. He looked about two seconds away from face-planting into the counter.
“Morning,” Dick said, already halfway through his coffee. He smiled affectionately, ruffling Peter’s curls. He had magic new-father hands, so it somehow managed to tame his hair into something less I-just-went-toe-to-toe-with-every-rogue-in-Gotham to a nice I-lost-a-fight-to-my-bed.
“Mm,” Peter replied, which could’ve meant anything. He rubbed the crust from his eyes, yawning.
Alfred appeared at his side like he’d been waiting. “Master Peter.”
Peter did not jump. He blinked at him, buffering. “Uh. Yeah?”
Alfred handed him an unassuming box. Peter was a confused for a moment. He hadn’t done something, right? Were they telling him to use this small box to pack up and leave? No, bad Peter. Obviously they weren’t doing that.
Peter looked at it. Looked at Alfred. Looked back at the box. Maybe he’d better just ask.
“…should I be concerned?”
“I believe you will find it satisfactory, sir.” That did not answer the question. What was with these people and being all mysterious? The English Lexicon has thousands of words to describe any situation, and they choose the adjective vague.
Well, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, right? Peter took the box and opened it.
Inside were… socks?
A lot of socks. They were still in their original packaging, plain white ones, plain blacks ones, and a variety of hero themed ones. There was even a pair of Flash ones! He was Peter’s favorite.
Peter blinked. It was nice, but they’d already given him just about every pair of hero socks possible. They liked when he wore their merchandise. “…oh. Uh. Thanks? I mean, I didn’t—”
“They are seamless,” Alfred added.
Peter froze mid sentence, blinking dumbly.
Slowly, he picked one up and turned it inside out. Ran his fingers along the toe. Not only were they seamless, they were damn near the softest thing Peter had ever felt.
Not a single ridge, bump, seam or even a loose thread.
“…oh,” Peter said again, quieter this time. He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks warm. Tim had been the only one around when he complained, did he…?
“Master Bruce acquired the company last evening,” Alfred said.
Peter’s head snapped up so fast it was honestly impressive.
“I’m sorry, he did what.”
Dick choked on his coffee. Damian looked at him judgmentally, but otherwise seemed content watching this go down.
Tim, however, didn’t even deign to look up from his laptop. “He did.” He sighed. Sighed! Like purchasing a whole ass company was something to sight about!
Peter looked down at the socks. Then at Bruce, who had been peacefully reading the news paper. Who even still does that? He literally had state of the art AIs that scanned the internet for keywords and major news!
“…I said I missed seamless socks,” Peter said slowly. “I did not say ‘please buy the entire company that makes them.’”
Bruce looked up from the paper, meeting his stare evenly. “You needed them.” And then he fucking— tilted his head. Like it was a question!
“I needed a pair,” Peter shot back, flabbergasted. He knew he should just shut the fuck up and say thank you, he really did like the idea of the sweet, succulent, seamless socks never making him tweak out again, but did he seriously buy an entire company? Just because he heard Peter complain once in passing?
“Well, now you have several.”
“That’s— that’s not the point!” He did not whine.
“Hey, at least you won’t have to deal with seams anymore?” Dick caught on quickly, trying and failing to help.
“That is not comforting, that is worse,” Peter said, clutching the box like it had personally offended him. But he wasn’t going to give it back, in case you were wondering. “I can’t— you can’t just— you can’t just do that!”
Bruce considered him for a moment.
“…it was a reasonable investment.”
Peter sent him a long suffering stare.
Peter dragged a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”
He looked back down at the socks, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He smiled faintly when he spotted a pair of Batman socks. It was just the yellow and black bat symbol across the front, with little bat ears that suck up past where the sock ended.
Peter kept his eyes averted, unable to look up from the floor. His cheeks felt like they were going to explode and he felt so fuzzy inside, he wanted to go curl up under his bed.
“Uhm… Thank you, I really, uh, I really appreciate it…” Peter did not squirm. He fidgeted, like any normal traumatized teen.
“It’s no problem, chum.” Affection colored Bruce’s voice, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to look up. Seeing it and hearing it was totally different.
Peter turned around and ran to his room.
When he came back down later, once breakfast was in full swing. The corner of Bruce’s lips quirked up at the sight of the seamless Batman themed socks Peter was wearing.