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Barbara cried as she pushed.
When she heard the cries of her son, she let out a sob of relief; finally! After carrying him all those months, carrying him in her womb, she could now hold him in her arms.
The doctor and nurses cheered as her little one cried so fiercely.
Dick pressed his lips to Barbara’s brow.
“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” Dick smiled as tears of happiness fell from his eyes.
“We did it. He’s here!” Barbara gasped.
The doctor had Dick cut the cord.
A nurse cleaned some of the blood off his face before she handed the squirming, crying babe in Barbara’s weak arms.
He was so small.
He was loud.
His cries delighted Barbara as he was letting the world know he was here.
He was the most precious thing Barbara had ever had.
He was the most dangerous thing Barbara had ever held.
For this baby in her arms she would wage war, she would destroy everyone who was a threat to her precious baby boy, she would level cities just for her son to smile.
For this baby in her arms Barbara was willing to step down from being Batgirl. She was willing to take only a supporting role so she could come home to her boy. She was willing to walk away permanently.
“Oh,” Barbara cooed at her screaming son. “Oh, my baby!”
“Hi!” Dick sounded breathless, in awe, of this miracle in her arms.
“Hi, we’re your parents.” Barbara pressed her lips to her son’s wet forehead. “We’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
“Have you two thought of a name?” The nurse asked.
Barbara shared a smile with Dick before turning her gaze back to the babe.
“Peter. His name is Peter Benjamin, after his uncle.” Barbara brushed a finger on his cheek.
“Peter is a good name. A strong name.” The nurse agreed and led Dick over to fill out the paperwork.
Barbara couldn’t take her eyes off Peter.
He was so perfect.
He was hers.
He was-
His screams sounded off.
Mechanical.
Almost like-
Barbara slammed her fist on her alarm clock and let out a whimper.
Today was August 10th.
Today was her due date.
What should have been her due date.
The day that should have been the happiest day of her life was now a solemn reminder of what could have been.
She didn’t want to look, she didn’t want to feel, but Barbara was a factual woman and needed proof; when her hand laid over an empty abdomen, no child kicked, she didn’t have a swollen womb, the world spun on.
There was nothing there but a scar from where the bullet had entered her and damaged her spine.
Peter would never live.
Would never get to breathe, laugh, scream, cry.
Peter would never know how badly Barbara wanted him.
Peter would never know how his grandfathers loved him dearly and missed him just as much.
Peter would never know the lengths his father went to avenge him, to avenge Barbara, to avenge his uncle Jason.
Barbara reached out and grabbed the bunny that was supposed to be Peter’s and held it as she sobbed.
They didn’t make sense; why would grief influenced dreams make sense?
Barbara knew it was only the grief, but she had gotten to the point where she would rather sleep. At least when she slept, she could hold her son and kiss his cheeks.
Barbara gave a half hearted noise of acknowledgement when her father came to say “good night” to her; he was worried, of course he was. But nothing was wrong with Barbara.
She was fine.
She got to see Peter in her dreams.
She could watch him grow up.
“Sweet pea,” her father hesitated leaving her doorway. “Perhaps if you kept a journal? Or spoke to Dick? Or even if you could see a-”
“Good night, dad.” Barbara said shortly as she rolled over and closed her eyes tight as if it would summon her Peter.
She heard her father sigh before saying, “I love you, Barbara. I just don’t know how to help you if you don’t let me in.”
Barbara didn’t say anything; she just pretended to sleep.
///
August 10th,
Peter Benjamin was born healthy and whole.
7 pounds, 3 ounces.
19 inches long.
The hair on his head was dark.
His cries were loud.
He-
Barbara didn’t know why she was doing this.
She wiped her tears away and shoved the journal away.
///
“Mamama…”
Peter’s first word was ‘Mama’ much to her delight and Dick’s dismay.
He was crawling now.
He was so speedy too, Dick joked he was going to be a speedster.
Barbara didn’t care about that, just so long as Peter kept calling her “Mama” and was healthy, Barbara was happy.
“Mama!” Peter called to her and Barbara’s heart stopped.
He-he was standing!
He was standing on his own!
His arms were out to her!
He was walking!
Oh God, she was watching Peter’s first steps!
“Come here! Come to mama!” Barbara held out her arms, ready to catch him.
Peter, her sweet, darling boy, kept walking to her and-
It was cruel walking up and not being able to hold her son.
Barbara clutched the bunny and cried herself back to sleep.
///
Peter took his first steps towards me.
He called out to me just to make sure I was watching.
Oh my precious little boy wonder, don’t grow up too fast or try to run just yet.
Mama will still be here for you if you fall.
Barbara put her pen down and tucked the journal away.
Her dad never asked about what was inside.
///
Peter’s hair is soft, an auburn brown with my red undertones.
Peter’s eyes are a blend of his father’s blue and my green.
Peter loves dinosaurs, science, and animals.
Peter is my greatest joy and dearest love.
Peter loves playing with his uncle.
Barbara kept writing the entries.
Her dreams of this child that would never be.
Of a life that would never happen since Joker shot her.
She and Dick still haven’t talked about the child neither of them would get to hold.
Bruce and her father never pried into her writings, only wordlessly handing her a new journal when the previous one ran out of pages.
///
We had to leave Peter with his aunt and uncle. Peter cried and begged for us to not go, for us to not leave him. Dick and I had to leave on a work trip; I don’t know what we did, our careers were not as important as Peter was but I hated it for forcing me away from my son. I can’t wait to see his eyes light up when we come home.
We’re supposed to go to the science museum when we come home; it’s an insect exhibit this year.
Barbara read through her last entry; eyes watering.
She hadn’t had a dream about her Peter for the past few months when she used to have a dream almost every week.
Why?
Why couldn’t she even have her dream child?
It was quiet at the library…
With a shudder, Barbara pulled out her phone and called Zatanna.
“Babs? How are you? Are you okay?” Z sounded good.
“Hey, Z. Um, I’m fine. I just had a question.” Barbara felt her heart pounding in her chest; it felt difficult to breathe; it felt like the words were getting stuck in her throat.
“Of course honey,” Z said.
“I keep having these dreams,” Barbara started.
“Okay?”
“Of Peter. I’m watching him grow up. I’m there with Dick. I held him after I gave birth. His first word was ‘Mama.’ He took his first steps towards me in the living room and now they’ve stopped. Did I lose him a second time, Z?” Barbara felt her eyes sting.
“Barb…” Z said gently.
Karen. Jessica. Kara.
Dad.
B.
The Birds.
The Robins.
When will they all stop walking on egg shells around her?
“I’m not crazy! I know Peter is gone but isn’t there something about dreams and alternate lives?” Barbara pleaded.
Z was quiet for a bit.
“Z, please!”
“Sometimes when we dream, our consciousness can see into other versions of ourselves. The most common version of that is waking up and not having a child. But to have the frequency that you’re describing,” Z sighed. “If, if, you stopped dreaming of Peter, it’s not because you lost him.”
“Oh thank God!” Barbara felt relief.
“No, Babs. If you stopped dreaming of Peter, it’s because he lost you.”
Barbara felt her heart stop.
///
Barbara Gordon was Batgirl.
Barbara Gordon has survived so much hell.
Barbara Gordon has picked herself back up and became all the stronger.
Barbara Gordon became the most powerful information broker and entity known as Oracle.
Barbara Gordon passed on the Batgirl mantle and trained her girls to be better to be her and watched them blossom and grow.
And yet Barbara Gordon did not have Peter here to share that with.
And somewhere out there, Peter B. did not have his mother.
///
Barbara woke up in a sweat.
The dream was vivid, like before only she was merely a spectator, not a participant.
She watched as Peter, she would know her boy anywhere and at any age, and his uncle walked to a convenience store. She had watched as a robber held up the store at gunpoint. She had watched Peter’s uncle be shot in front of her son.
Barbara reached out for her old journal and wrote one sentence.
With great power comes great responsibility.
///
The dreams happened infrequently.
There were some that were wholesome; Peter, dressed as a superhero, protecting little kids from bullies, helping grandmothers across the street, getting kittens out of trees.
There were some that were horrifying; Peter screaming as he was buried under rubble, begging for someone, anyone to help him only to have to dig himself out. Another was of a girl falling and her neck snapping, her death breaking her sweet son. Peter’s best friend betraying him and becoming a villain.
There were equal good and bad dreams that followed.
The worst ones were when she could only watch as Peter was beaten down by the weight of responsibility, questioning if it was even worth it, wondering if he was a curse to everyone.
Barbara wanted nothing more than to be able to hold her son and tell him she was so proud of him, that it would be okay.
But she couldn’t.
///
There was one dream that happened but Barbara couldn’t for the life of her remember what happened.
She was in the middle of cataloging books to be shipped to the Metropolis library when she heard the door open.
She looked up briefly and had to do a double take.
He was small, around 9 or 10.
His hair was fluffy, still auburn brown; a perfect mix of her red curls and Dick’s black waves.
His eyes, oh he had his father’s shape but those colors were also a perfect blend of blue and green.
His nose was her father’s.
His chin was Dick’s.
He looked like something out of a dream.
Had she moved on to hallucinations?
“Excuse me? Could you point me to the-”
“Peter!” Barbara breathed out.
He looked surprised.
Barbara wheeled herself out from behind her desk.
“Are you real? Are you really here?” Her lip trembled.
Her hand shook as she hesitantly reached out.
“You know me?” Peter looked like a cornered animal questioning whether to fight or flee.
“I’d know my son anywhere.” Barbara said.
Peter’s eyes watered. “My parents are dead. My aunt and uncle are dead. I have no one.”
"You have me." Barbara told him.
Peter must have had many thoughts running through his head.
Barbara sure did.
Then all her thoughts went quiet.
Peter’s arms were around her, he was crying into her shoulder.
Barbara could finally hold son and oh, he was so precious!
“Shhh, I got you.” Barbara said as she brushed her fingers through his hair. “I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens. I’m here.”