Chapter 2
Alex might’ve done a big oopsie.
Nothing catastrophic—probably. But still, an oopsie. It was fun messing with the Bats sometimes, watching them scramble behind their little screens. He knew their eyes were always on the cams, watching, waiting, brooding. If they ever figured out what he was and who he was, they’d probably dropkick him into the nearest containment cell, thankfully they don't, he barely knows them, and vice versa.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried.
But that is not what is important right now, Venom rumbled in his head, the ever-present growl curling against his mind like a predator stalking just behind his ribs. You are distracting yourself. The hunger lingers.
Right. That.
Last night had been unplanned. The evening had been fine—dull, even. His shift was winding down, and in just a few more hours, he could finally drag himself back to his rundown apartment. Three blocks of walking through Gotham’s finest crime-riddled streets, dodging a few muggers along the way, and he’d be home. Then he heard it.
Shouting. A scuffle. Too aggressive for drunk college kids, and too chaotic for professionals. A robbery? Are some street punks trying their luck in the alley? Bold. Stupid, but bold.
Now, usually, he’d let them be. Let Red Hood crucify them later. It’s what he does. Gotham’s ecosystem was weird like that—certain types of trash got taken out by certain types of hands. And really, it wasn’t his problem.
Except.
There was a problem.
It wasn’t Venom who was hungry.
It was one of the others.
Alex inhaled sharply through his nose, fingers flexing against the steering wheel as a sharp, feral hunger clawed its way up his spine. Not his. Not Venom’s.
One of them.
He parked the car on the side of the road, shutting off the engine. His muscles tensed, his pupils dilating as he turned his focus inward, searching. It wasn’t just hunger—it was projection. A bleed-through from one of his symbiotes, and that was dangerous. He had to fix this now before it got worse because if one of them was slipping? It was only a matter of time before the others started feeling it too.
And if that happened?
He’d have to hunt.
And Gotham… well, Gotham had plenty of filth to chew through but with the bats scouring Gotham for Joker, Alex has no way of predicting their patrol routes. He'd be hunting blindly, chances of running into one of them in his suit were high so he can't hunt, not now at least.
We do not have time for this, Venom growled, his voice thick with restrained hunger, coiling against Alex’s ribs like a starving beast.
“I know,” Alex muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. He could already feel the others stirring, the faint tremor of something wrong rippling through his bond.
They are waking, Venom warned. If one screams, the rest will listen.
Alex clenched his jaw.
Yeah. He knew.
And that was the real problem. Because when his symbiotes started getting hungry?
They didn't ask nicely.
It didn’t take long to pinpoint the one making all the fuss. The hunger wasn't just a gnawing void in his gut—it had direction, an insistence, like a hand yanking at his spine. It wasn’t about food, not really. The little shit wasn’t just starving; it was demanding attention, practically howling at him to look. Alex sighed through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before flicking his eyes toward the pawn shop down the block. "What? You wanna go there?"
Another sharp twist in his stomach, an impatient spasm that made his skin prickle. The symbiote wasn’t answering with words—none of them talked like Venom did—but the intent was clear. Before he fully processed it, his body was already moving, legs carrying him toward the shop like a marionette on invisible strings. "This better be good," Alex muttered, stepping into the dull neon glow of the storefront, his shadow stretching long against the cracked sidewalk. The windows were fractured but still holding, a sign that Olley had finally invested in something more durable—good for him. The same couldn’t be said for the kid inside, though; barely legal, barely armed, and barely holding his own against a gang of thugs that clearly weren’t worried about fighting fair.
Alex raised a brow at the scene unfolding in front of him. "Really? Ollie? Him? Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, picked someone more… developed?" The kid wasn’t useless—he was scrappy, throwing elbows and ducking swings with decent reflexes—but the second those thugs realized they had the advantage and kept their distance? That was it. Game over. Alex felt a faint ripple through his gut as the symbiote reaffirmed its choice, a tiny pulse of certainty that settled into his bones. "Alright, fine. If you’re sure."
The small, silver symbiote slithered out onto his palm, a shifting mass of quicksilver tendrils curling and uncurling with barely restrained excitement. "Once you bond with this boy, there’s no going back," Alex murmured, tilting his hand so it could get a better look at its potential host. "I won’t be able to feed you, protect you, or listen to your whining. Your survival depends on your bond. You sure about this?" The tiny creature hesitated for only a second before extending a single tendril, pointing—choosing. Alex exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "The things I do for you little shits."
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the symbiote darting through a crack in the window, its liquid form slithering soundlessly over the counter. It moved slow, carefully, barely more than a shimmer in the dim light as it crept toward the boy. Alex watched for a moment before shifting his attention to the bigger picture. He wasn’t about to let his child wander into a warzone without backup, and that meant doing what any responsible parent would do when their kid was about to do something reckless—make sure nobody was watching.
A dark violet symbiote slithered onto his other palm, its tendrils twitching eagerly as it recognized its purpose. "Alright, little fella. Going dark." The symbiote practically vibrated with excitement before launching itself into the nearest streetlight, disappearing into the wires like a drop of ink into water. A second later, the entire block died.
The streetlights flickered once, then snapped off entirely, plunging everything into deep, thick Gotham black. No power, no security feeds, nothing but the distant hum of the city beyond. Alex shot a few thick strands of webbing onto any visible security cameras just to be safe—the last thing he needed was some backup generator kicking in and screwing this whole thing up. The night swallowed him whole, and for the first time in hours, he felt it.
He heard it. That unmistakable, bone-deep screech—the kind only a symbiote could make, something that clawed through the air and rattled the bones of anything close enough to feel it. It was primal, raw, the kind of sound that sent instinctual fear skittering down the spine of anything not made of living ink and hunger. Alex’s grin stretched wide, sharp and full of anticipation. It had been too long since he'd heard that from someone who wasn't him.
"Looks like we’ve got ourselves our first co-worker, bud," he muttered, hands slipping into his jacket pockets as he turned to watch the carnage unfold. The scene in front of him was pure, unfiltered Gotham—blood splattered the pawn shop’s glass, bodies twitched in spasms of finality, and the air was thick with the wet crunch of bones and the gurgled screams of men who realized far too late that they had no chance of fighting back. The boy was barely recognizable under the sleek, writhing mass of silver-black, his form shifting between humanoid and monstrous as the symbiote reveled in its first real meal. A real tearjerker, really—another happy ending. "Well, guess our work here is done. Let’s leave the new partners in genocide alone and head on home—"
Alex stopped mid-step. Something was coming.
Fast.
His pupils dilated, hyper-focusing as the sensation of approaching force registered deep in his gut. Not just any movement—familiar movement, something that carried weight in the way it cut through the night. He barely had to think before sending a mental ping to his silver symbiote, a sharp command for the kid to finish up and cover the hell up. The last thing he needed was for Hood to show up and put a bullet in his newest recruit out of reflex. Alex shifted his stance, head tilting slightly as he pushed his senses outward, listening beyond the alley, beyond the wet smacks of shredded flesh, past the city’s usual background noise. Super hearing was a gift, and while he didn’t use it as obnoxiously as a certain cape-wearing farmboy, it had its perks.
And that’s when he heard it.
A roaring engine, thick and heavy with Gotham’s favorite brand of aggression. The rhythmic growl of precision, of an engine modified for pursuit, for control, for violence. Hood. It had to be Hood—no one else would be tearing through the streets this close to a crime scene, especially not with that kind of speed. The Bat’s rules kept the others out of Red Hood’s territory unless they had express permission, and right now? That meant the only thing coming toward them with that kind of intent was Hood himself.
Alex exhaled slowly, running his tongue over his teeth. He had options. He could just let the guy through, let him see whatever was left of the wreckage, and deal with whatever shoot-first-ask-never approach the Red Hood felt like bringing tonight. Or—
"Venom, do we still have those spiky things the cops use to pop tires during chases?"
A tendril extended lazily from his shoulder, pointing toward the back of the stolen police cruiser he’d been using to get around for the night.
Alex grinned.
"Looks like we’re having some fun tonight after all."
The rest was history, really. In hindsight, he probably should have gone with the distraction plan. He probably should have just created a convenient obstacle, forced Hood to slow down, maybe even led him in the wrong direction. But, well. Spiked tires were a lot funnier.
That was last night. Today was a new day—fresh, full of possibilities, and, most importantly, full of consequences. Since most of his job shifts were at night—because apparently, Gotham’s job market just so happened to have an absurd number of vacant night shifts (he wondered why… sarcasm, obviously)—Alex had plenty of free time during the day. Normally, that meant finding something mildly entertaining to kill time, maybe a little recon, maybe seeing how many hot dogs he could buy before the vendor started looking nervous. But after last night’s events, he had to move. Fast.
In his brilliant pursuit of watching Red Hood ragdoll off his own bike and skid across the pavement like a skipping rock, he might’ve—just might’ve—already stirred the Bats’ suspicions. He’d run into three of them in a single night—Robin, Black Bat, and Hood. In Gotham, that was basically throwing a neon sign over his head that read, HEY, LOOK AT ME, I’M SUSPICIOUS, PLEASE STALK ME. After five months of keeping his head low, playing it safe, and existing just under their radar, this universe was bound to notice him eventually. Sure, he had planned for this—kind of—but he was hoping for at least another month or two of peace before the Bat started poking around his life like an overbearing landlord. Well, no use crying over spilled blood.
His bags were packed. Almost everything of importance was stuffed, stashed, or otherwise ready to be out of his shitty little apartment and far, far away from Hood’s usual stomping grounds. Moving so suddenly would only deepen the Bats’ suspicions—he knew that. A guy doesn’t just conveniently relocate the day after a run-in with Gotham’s most paranoid crime-fighting cult without raising a few eyebrows. But at this point? He couldn’t care less. Let them waste their precious time wondering about him—he had bigger things to worry about, like making sure his newborn murder-child didn’t accidentally get himself executed by Gotham’s unofficial firing squad.
Alex still didn’t blame the kid. Technically, the new symbiote hybrid hadn’t done anything wrong—well, nothing that wasn’t completely understandable for a freshly bonded symbiote running on instincts. Ollie was probably clueless about what had happened. The kid wouldn’t have even felt the shift into his symbiote form—not fully—not when the thing was still adjusting to his biology, still learning how to slip in and out like second nature. Young symbiotes were wild, reckless, hungry. Alex knew that. He’d made the exact same mistake when he first got to New York, only his unfortunate crime scene was a fancy restaurant dumpster instead of a second-floor apartment balcony. Ah, memories.
And technically—technically—if Ollie had bonded with one of Alex’s own, that meant the kid was now… family.
Alex snorted. So this is fatherhood? That was it? People whined and moaned about it like it was some impossible challenge, and boom, here he was—adoptive father of a Gotham teenager. Pfft, amateurs. It wasn't like it was that hard. Feed them, teach them, make sure they don’t get murdered or arrested—pretty standard parenting. He would be watching Olley closely, though. Couldn’t have the kid running around biting heads off in broad daylight. Not unless he learned how to cover his tracks properly.
Not that Ollie seemed to remember much. Alex had watched the whole thing through the symbiote’s eyes—perks of being a god and all. The kid had woken up just before Red Hood arrived, groggy, confused, stumbling around his shop like it was just another Tuesday. He hadn't even noticed the mess outside, which was honestly impressive. Even more impressive? He immediately started cleaning. In the dark. Who the hell cleans in the dark? Alex liked this kid already.
But sentimental overprotective-father-stalking aside, Alex needed to move. By nightfall, the Bats would definitely be storming his place, turning over every piece of evidence they could find. He couldn’t eat all of it—not that he wanted to. He still needed food. And yes, he kept body parts and other assorted flesh in his double fridge. And yes, he stole that fridge during his first chaotic weeks in Gotham.
Survival skills, baby.
He'd save you the time and just say the drive to his new place in Burnley was uneventful up until 8 A.M. Or at least, as uneventful as Gotham ever got.
He could tell he was being followed—not just by the usual Gotham eyes lurking in the shadows, but by something more persistent. Signal. Because apparently, Gotham actually had a daytime hero, which was still so weird to him. He didn’t even need to glance at his rearview mirror to feel the kid tracking his cop car from the rooftops. The daylight crusader was being obvious, even for a Bat. What he wasn’t expecting, though, was the second presence lurking alongside him—moving just as fluidly, just as methodically, but with an eerie silence that sent a prickle up the back of his neck. No way—
Black Bat.
In broad daylight?
A spike of irritation coiled in his gut as he clenched his jaw. Seriously? That little shadow didn’t usually operate outside her preferred hours. The Bat’s own personal phantom, sticking to the darkness like a second skin, and yet here she was, stalking him in the middle of the day like it was nothing.
He hated that.
He hated that he hadn’t noticed her sooner, curse this young new body and Alex's dulled senses -he's getting old and complacent.
Instinctively, Alex focused his senses, reaching outward—not in the usual way, but something deeper, something more. The shadows around him rippled with unseen tension as he tapped into the Void, that black, endless hunger that stretched beyond reality itself. He didn’t like using these powers unless he had to -especially in a different universe with different laws. First off, they interfered with electronics, which was way too suspicious for a guy trying to stay under the radar. Imagine driving past someone’s apartment and their TV suddenly explodes, or someone’s phone combusts in their hand. Gotham already had enough problems without adding that to the list.
Still, he needed to do something.
Just as expected, his little burst of interference sent a ripple through the comms. He heard it—static crackling in their earpieces, sharp enough to make Signal grunt in annoyance, his pace faltering for just a moment as he reached up to adjust his comms. Gotcha. But Black Bat? She didn’t stop. She didn’t pause. She didn’t even hesitate. Just kept moving, gliding along the rooftops like a ghost, utterly unbothered by the sudden disruption.
Alex felt something deeply unpleasant settle in his gut.
He was in trouble.
No time to dwell.
His fingers flexed against the wheel before he flicked on his sirens, letting the wailing scream of the cop car split through the streets. If nothing else, it’d force people out of his way, buying him precious seconds to gain some distance. If someone didn’t move? Well, he had a perfectly valid excuse to hit anyone stupid enough to be in his path. Civilian or not.
He needed to disappear.
He couldn’t lose them completely, not without making them even more suspicious, but he could at least buy himself enough time to set the stage. Make up an excuse. Figure something out.
Dodge Charger Pursuit, don’t fail him now.
As if this city couldn’t get any better, a sudden gush of water exploded from a burst pipe just behind him, sending a fountain of sewage and rusted debris into the air. The construction site had clearly been mid-repair, but whatever poor bastard was working on it wasn’t fast enough—because something big just crashed through the barricades, sending orange traffic cones flying.
Now, Alex had opinions about Gotham’s underground dwellers. The Lizard? Annoying. Spidey really should’ve let him cut off the man’s other arm when he had the chance. But Croc? Oh, he loved Croc. The guy was feral in all the best ways. A walking tank of pure muscle, unhinged aggression, and sewer stench that could peel the paint off walls.
Sure, Croc hated his guts, but that was part of the fun. Not his fault he liked hunting the reptile at his own game.
Did Croc mean to burst out of the sewage system right before Black Bat could pounce onto his car? Probably not. But it worked out perfectly. One second, she was closing in—silent, predatory, calculated. The next? A six-hundred-pound reptilian freak came barreling into the street, sending civilians screaming and scattering in all directions.
And just like that, Black Bat was gone.
Not literally, of course—he could still feel her in the chaos behind him, shifting focus, engaging. His rearview mirror showed the blur of her movements, a flash of her dark silhouette flipping through the air as she descended toward Croc. Then another figure joined the fray—Signal. The little daylight crusader, diving in to assist.
Alex smirked.
They were so predictable.
While those two were busy dancing with Gotham’s favorite sewer monster, he was free to move on with his life. Or at least, free to relocate before his current safe house became the latest Bat-raided crime scene. A quick glance at the rearview confirmed it—still fighting. Croc was holding his own for now, but he was already on the losing end. Tough bastard, though. It was one of the things Alex respected about him. No matter how many times he got knocked down, crushed, beaten, or met face first with a Kevlar glove to the face back into , he never stayed down for long.
But just as Alex was about to take his turn onto the fifth-block intersection, his gaze snagged on something in the mirror.
A kid.
Small, barely older than ten, standing too damn close to the fight. His feet rooted to the pavement, his wide eyes reflecting the chaos before him. There was something off about the way he stood there —frozen, caught between fear and something else. Awe?
Alex wasn’t sure why his focus latched onto the kid so hard. There were dozens of people watching, running, screaming civilians who knew better than to loiter in a Gotham street fight. And yet, this kid—this one—was stuck.
And for some reason, Alex couldn’t bring himself to just drive away.
The Dodge Charger lurched to a sudden halt, its tires screaming against the pavement. The chaos behind him intensified —horns blaring, tires screeching, and the unmistakable crunch of metal on metal as the fleeing cars behind him swerved wildly, some smashing into each other in a desperate attempt to avoid his abrupt stop. Civilians were still running, some screaming, others just booking it because that was the natural Gotham response to a street brawl—get the hell out. But Alex? He was frozen.
The world blurred for a moment as something else took over. Not the city. Not the fight. But memories—ones that came like flashes of lightning behind his eyes. A lab, sterile and cold. The hum of machines, the weight of a dozen eyes on him, observing, controlling. Then—brighter, warmer—New York’s skyline stretching endlessly above him. A red-and-blue blur swinging between its towers, moving with ease, with purpose, with freedom. A young Alex standing below, watching, burning with envy. He and Peter were the same age. Rivals first. Then friends. Then something deeper, something real—brothers in all but blood.
He remembered what it felt like to turn over a new leaf, to finally be someone. May had shown him what it meant to be more than a weapon, more than a controlled monster. She had reminded him how to be Alex again, not just Venom. And Peter, that idiot, that insufferable, self-righteous, good person had made sure he stayed that way.
And now here he was, in Gotham of all places, watching another kid stare into chaos the way he once had.
Stupid Parker. Always hammering in that "great responsibility" bullshit.
The children are afraid. The Thousand whimpers.
Alex barely heard Venom’s voice—low, steady, coaxing the distressed young symbiote inside him to settle. He could feel the faint pulse of its emotions, confused and scared, reacting to his own hesitation and distress, he almost panicked when black bat got near, should've expected to wake up the others because of it.
His foot inched toward the pedal, but instead of speeding off, it shifted backwards.
This was stupid.
This was reckless.
And this was exactly what Peter would do.
Alex sighed, already regretting this. It had been so long since he’d done something heroic. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
But damn it, this kid—this one kid—was still standing too close, still watching the fight unfold with wide eyes that reminded Alex far too much of a younger version of himself.
With a quiet curse, he slammed his foot on the gas, throwing the Charger into a hard reverse before yanking the wheel. The car spun in a sharp arc, tires smoking, before it straightened out—now facing the fight.
The scene ahead was a mess. Croc was tearing into the pavement, his massive tail whipping around in violent swings, keeping both Black Bat and Signal at bay. The Bat was maneuvering through the chaos like a wraith, ducking in and out of Croc’s blind spots, moving soundlessly. Signal was more direct—flashes of golden light cutting through the street, forcing Croc to snarl and shield his face as he tried to retaliate.
Alex narrowed his eyes.
The kid was still standing at the edge of it all.
Foolish. You risk exposing yourself
"Yeah, well, maybe for once, we don’t do the obvious thing and run."
Venom didn’t respond, but Alex could feel the silent disapproval simmering in the back of his mind.
"Alright, Alex," he muttered to himself, cracking his neck as he pressed the radio on the dash. "Let’s see what this new you is made of."
He flicked the radio on, voice slipping into something more controlled, more cop-like.
"This is Officer Cross, Croc out and about near the outskirts of the Alley. Send immediate backup. Black Bat and Signal are engaged—heading to assist."
He clicked the radio off before anyone could respond.
He was really about to do this, wasn’t he?
All this, just to save some random kid who was too stupid or too fascinated to run.
Alex sighed again.
Damn you, Peter Benjamin Parker.
Cass caught a cop last night. Young, but his eyes held years—years of something quiet, something secret. Not the kind of years that came with age, but the kind that settled deep, buried under layers of silence. Maybe if she watched him longer, she’d learn. She was good at watching, good at knowing, good at understanding. But this time, understanding didn’t come easy.
The first time she saw him, he was looking up—not scanning, not searching rooftops, not checking shadows like most Gotham cops with half a brain. Just watching. Cass liked watching the sky too, whenever the stars were strong enough to fight past Gotham’s smog. But he wasn’t looking for stars, wasn’t waiting for something brighter to cut through the dark. He was looking at the smoke, the haze, the city’s filth. And he was smiling.
That made her stop. He wasn’t looking for Gotham’s rare graces, wasn’t searching for hope or pretending this city was something it wasn’t. He was looking at Gotham’s faults and finding something to love in them. That was unusual. That was interesting. Cass crouched at the edge of the rooftop, holding Baby Bat back, keeping still, keeping watching.
She landed on his car, quiet, balanced, a shadow touching down in the night. No reaction. No flinch, no startle, no instinct to reach for a weapon. Just a slow blink, a shift, a look—one that studied her the way she studied him. Most people recoiled under her stare, under the weight of knowing they’d been seen. But he didn’t. He read her, same as she read him.
Cass tried to read him back. She was good at reading people, reading bodies, reading every twitch of muscle and breath of hesitation. But his body language was jumbled, layered, something else inside of him, something that wasn’t him but was him. Not a struggle, not a fight—just two things, held together like interlocked threads. It didn’t make sense. She tilted her head, and he did the same. That made her more curious.
Then Baby Bat called her name, breaking the moment. The job came first. They had been tracking an energy spike—something that set off Baby Bird’s monitors, something worth investigating. But there was nothing there. No sign of anything. Just the cop, the smog, and the weight of a curiosity she couldn’t shake.
Later, when she sat in the manor, she still thought about him. She called him Cop Cap in her head, because of his hat, because of the small chain keychain dangling from it. A strange thing for a Gotham cop to have—small, personal, sentimental. That detail stuck with her made him real in a way most people weren’t. Cop Cap was not afraid of her. That made him even more interesting.
Fear was easy to read—tension in the shoulders, shifting feet, quickening pulse, wide eyes, an instinct to run. She had spent years knowing it, recognizing it, living in it. But he had none of it. Instead, he was curious, like her. That was different. That was new.
Even a night fighting smugglers and weapons dealers with Baby Bat didn’t shake him from her thoughts. The fights were good, sharp, quick—she moved like a knife through the dark, and Damian followed with all the fire of a dragon on a leash. But she still thought about Cop Cap. He lingered in the corners of her mind, quiet, like a puzzle waiting to be solved. When they got back, Alfred caught her frowning. He asked what was wrong.
She lied. She didn’t know why. Lying wasn’t something she usually did, wasn’t something she needed to do. But this time, she didn’t have the words to explain, because she didn’t understand it yet. And if she didn’t understand it, she couldn’t explain it. So she just shook her head and let the silence settle.
Then Red Wing came home. Helmet off, jacket torn, knuckles bruised—same as always, but something was different. Jason was tired. Jason was always tired. But there was something underneath it, something else, something new. Cass watched from the couch, quiet, still, waiting.
Jason didn’t notice at first. He tossed his helmet onto the counter, muttering something about idiots and reckless wannabes. But his shoulders were tight. His hands clenched too hard. Cass was very good at reading people. Jason wasn’t just tired—Jason was thinking.
He had fought something unexpected. Not just a fight. Not just another Gotham criminal, another masked thug with a death wish. Something different. Something that made him stop and remember. Cass tilted her head. Jason grunted.
"Quit starin’, Cass."
She didn’t. She didn’t need to.
Because now she knew.
Jason had met Cop Cap, too.
And that only made her more curious.
Now she was on a mission, without Bigger Bat or Many-Eyes’ approval. No patrol routes, no team orders, just instinct and curiosity driving her forward. She met up with Bulb Bird, who was skeptical but followed anyway. The others were circling the idea of Cop Cap like sharks around blood in the water—Bigger Bat and Bigger Bird suspicious, Baby Bat and Little Wing practically vibrating for a fight, Baby Bird and Purple watching but undecided. But Cass knew people. Knew how bodies spoke even when words lied. Cop Cap was a mystery, but not an evil one. Not yet.
This is why she was running now, darting across rooftops, muscles coiled, and vision locked onto the sleek black Dodge Charger speeding below. Bulb Bird followed, more hesitant, his movements less sharp than hers—he was still unsure, still in the space between trust and doubt. But Cass had already decided. She didn’t need to know yet, not fully, not with words, but her body had already told her the truth: Cop Cap wasn’t normal. The question was why. And she wanted to find out first.
Her legs stretched with every leap, every calculated step over rooftop gaps, pushing faster, pushing closer. She could almost hear his engine growling beneath her, the steady, confident hum of someone who wasn’t running but was leaving. Not fleeing. Just going. She wanted to see his face again, read his eyes, and understand the way his muscles moved when he thought no one was watching. But then the ground exploded. Water, debris, the smell of rot, and sewage burst from a pipe construction, sending a rush of foul air into the street.
Croc.
The fight yanked her attention, an unwanted pull, a distraction. But it wasn’t just Croc—it was civilians. Gotham never stopped moving, never paused even when monsters clawed their way out of the dark. A kid stood too close, eyes wide, caught between fear and fascination. Cass landed hard, feet digging into the pavement, instincts shifting from hunt to protect in an instant.
Bulb Bird had already moved, stepping in to shield bystanders, forcing them back with a quick snap of his glowing hands. Cass turned, scanning for Cop Cap’s car, her moment of hesitation stretching too long. Gone. No taillights, no screech of tires. Just gone.
She clenched her jaw, frustration curling in her gut. Rare, for her. She didn’t let things go easily and didn’t like losing control of a chase. But she forced the feeling down, exhaled, and let it shift into something useful. Croc was still moving, still fighting, refusing to go down, throwing himself at them with all the desperation of someone who knew he was going back to Arkham. Cass could feel the tension in his body, the way his strikes hit heavier, sloppier—he was stalling.
For what?
Cass adjusted, and changed tactics, moving with the sharp precision she knew would end this faster. A strike to the throat—hard enough to stagger. A sweep to the knee—just enough to drop him. Her body coiled, ready to finish this—
Then sirens.
A new one. GCPD but something familiar to it.
She turned, catching a flicker of movement down the street. A car. His car. Cass locked on, but the moment stretched too thin, choices stacking against each other.
One glance was all it took. A solid force slammed into her side, and the world blurred into shattered glass and snapping fabric. She crashed through the display window of a retail store, the impact sending clothing racks toppling like dominoes. Shelves broke apart under the force, mannequins collapsed in a heap of plastic limbs, and her body finally came to a jarring stop against the counter with a crack. The sound rang through her bones, but she was already moving, instincts overriding pain, eyes darting across the store. Civilians—two trapped under racks, one frozen near the door, wide-eyed. No blood. No screams. She could work with that.
Bulb Bird was still outside, locked in a brutal clash with Croc. Cass could hear it—the dull thud of fists meeting flesh, the scrape of boots against pavement, the low, guttural growl that rumbled like something ancient and angry. They were too close. Too reckless. The fight inched closer to the storefront, to the people still huddled behind broken fixtures and spilled merchandise. Cass flexed her hands, feeling the bruises settle beneath her suit, and forced herself to focus. The right call here wasn’t to fight. It was to redirect. But her options were thin. She could radio in Bigger Bat or Red Wing, but they were out of range, unmasked, moving in civilian space. Too far.
That left her.
Cass was already calculating the angles, every possible move shifting like pieces in a puzzle she didn’t have time to finish. She could force Croc away—bait him, draw him out—but that meant leaving civilians vulnerable if it didn’t work. She needed control. A direct hit, enough force to move the fight, not just delay it. She braced herself, about to launch back into the fray—
Then Sirens
The roar of an engine, low and hungry, swallowed the street noise in an instant. Headlights flared, bright against Croc's view, and Cass barely had a second to process before a car—Cop Cap’s car—smashed into Croc’s side with bone-shattering force. The reptilian behemoth lifted off the ground, legs flailing before his body slammed back into the construction pit he’d crawled from. The impact sent a shockwave through the pavement, shaking loose bricks and shattering what remained of the street barriers. Signal barely had time to move, his body snapping into action, hands grabbing the kid by the sidewalk just before the rubble came crashing down.
Cass landed lightly on the pavement, breathing controlled, eyes sharp. Croc wasn’t down. Not yet. She could feel it, the way the air around them shifted, waiting for him to rise again. But for the first time today, the fight wasn’t on his terms. Cass flicked her gaze toward the car, toward the driver’s seat.
Cop Cap.
Alex barely had time to roll his eyes before stepping out of his vehicle, boots crunching against shattered pavement. "What, you looking for an autograph or something?" he drawled, raising his pistol, sight locking onto Croc’s sluggishly rising form. The reptilian bastard was tougher than he looked, dragging himself from the busted pipe hole with a low, guttural snarl, claws scraping against the concrete. Alex steadied his aim, finger tightening over the trigger—only for a gloved hand to shove his wrist upward at the last second, the shot firing harmlessly into the blue sky. The sudden interference sent a jolt of irritation up his spine, and before he could fully process who had stopped him, he’d already reacted, shoving Black Bat back with more force than he intended. She barely moved, but the momentary wideness in her dark eyes told him she hadn’t expected that.
Shit. That wasn’t helping his credibility.
"U-um, sorry. Just—don't touch me," Alex muttered, immediately stepping past her before she could say anything else. He kept moving, shouldering past Signal when the younger vigilante tried to block his path. Not tonight, kids. Not in the mood. Croc was still their problem to deal with, and Alex had a different priority. His eyes zeroed in on the kid standing frozen near the sidewalk, small hands clutched into fists at his sides. Wide eyes, somewhere between awe and fear, locked onto the battle unfolding in front of him, too mesmerized to run.
"Heya, bud," Alex called, keeping his tone light, easy. "You okay? Pretty focused on all that action, huh?" He made sure to stand just slightly in front of the kid, body positioned between him and the fight, even as Black Bat and Signal went back to engaging Croc a little further down the street. Still too close. The kid barely acknowledged him, gaze flickering toward the chaos, and Alex exhaled through his nose. Alright, distraction time. He scanned the area, ignoring the civilians still scrambling away in panicked clusters. What would work? What would get the kid's attention? His eyes landed on a small ice cream stand, abandoned in the chaos, still standing amidst the wreckage. "Wanna hop in my cool cop car? Promise I'm no napper. Kidnappers are boring anyway. I’m just gonna, uh—" He gestured toward the ice cream cart.
That did it. The kid's expression shifted, his hands moving fast as he started signing. Ah. Near deaf. Alex blinked, then nodded, mind immediately switching gears. No biggie. He’d handled worse. The kid had hearing aids in, so he could probably hear a little, but signing was still the best bet. Alex raised his hands, fingers forming each word with practiced ease. "You want ice cream?"
The boy's face brightened, nodding quickly.
Alex grinned. Alright, we’re getting somewhere.
"Can I carry you?" Alex signed, tilting his head slightly, giving the kid an easy out if he wasn’t comfortable. The kid hesitated, only for a second, then gave another nod. Alex crouched, hands moving carefully as he lifted the boy, making sure not to jostle him too much. The kid was light, barely anything, and Alex could feel the slight tremor still running through him. Not fear, exactly. More like leftover adrenaline, uncertainty about whether he was really safe yet.
You're soft, Alex, Venom muttered, amusement curling in the back of his mind.
"Shut up."
The street around them still rumbled with distant sirens, a reminder that the GCPD would be swarming in soon. Alex could already hear the distant roar of Croc, still fighting, still refusing to go down. He didn’t look back. That wasn’t his problem right now. Instead, he turned toward the ice cream cart, already plotting the best way to break into it without making it too obvious. Probably best to not look like he was robbing the place. Again.
Alex barely managed to slam the door shut before peeling away from the chaos, one hand gripping the wheel, the other steadying the kid in the backseat. He kept his movements controlled—no sudden jolts, no reckless speed. The last thing he needed was to scare the kid more than he already had. "Ready for a fun ride?" he asked, signing as he spoke, watching the kid’s eyes light up. The boy gave an enthusiastic nod, grin wide and fearless despite the madness unfolding around them. Gotham kids, man. Nothing fazed them.
The tires screeched as he reversed down the street, dodging panicked civilians with practiced ease. Just as he was about to shift gears, something crashed hard into the pavement right in front of them, making the car jolt slightly. Alex blinked, then snorted as he recognized the yellow-clad vigilante groaning on the ground. "Gotham’s daylight crusader, everyone," he signed to the kid with exaggerated flair, earning a quiet giggle. Good, that meant the kid wasn’t panicking, still anchored to the moment instead of spiraling into shock. The car kept rolling, maneuvering around the wreckage until Alex spotted his target up ahead—the abandoned ice cream cart, still miraculously standing.
"Alright, so what flavor do you want, bud—" The words cut off mid-sentence, his whole body tensing the second he saw it. A deep crimson smear on the kid’s tiny hand. Not blood. Not paint. A symbiote. A damn red one. His muscles coiled, instincts screaming, and before he could think, he shot out a tendril, the black mass snapping toward the pulsing glob on the kid’s palm. "Come here," he hissed, yanking hard—but the kid clutched it tighter, pressing the writhing thing against his chest like a prized toy.
"That is not a toy, that is not candy, that is a problem!" Venom snarled in his head, already surging forward, tendrils twitching with anticipation.
Alex swore under his breath, forcing his hands steady before signing again. "That’s not a toy, kiddo," he emphasized, keeping his face neutral, voice even. The kid shook his head stubbornly, brows furrowing in defiance. Great. Stubborn. "Kid, listen. That thing? Very bad."
Before the child could protest, the car lurched violently, the back bumper slamming into a streetlight with a sickening crunch of metal. Alex barely flinched—he’d crashed worse—but the impact did the trick. The kid yelped, arms flying open, and the symbiote detached, tumbling onto the car floor with a wet splat. Alex wasted no time, extending another tendril to grab the squirming thing and slam it against the pavement outside, pinning it before it could slither away.
Contain it, Venom growled, voice sharp with urgency. Before it finds a better host.
Alex exhaled sharply, dragging his hand down his face before turning back to the kid. The boy's lips wobbled slightly, hands curling into fists again, eyes darting between Alex and the crushed streetlight. The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease until Alex forced a lopsided grin and signed, "Ice cream?"
That did it. The pout cracked, and a reluctant smile peeked through. Victory.
Getting out first, Alex circled around to pull the kid from the backseat, keeping an eye on their surroundings. The ice cream cart was still untouched, a rare blessing in Gotham’s never-ending chaos. Scooping out a few cones, he handed one to the kid before plopping down onto the sidewalk curb. The boy followed, settling beside him, small legs swinging over the edge. Around them, people continued to run, the city screaming in the background as Croc’s fight raged on. It was like watching a live-action wrestling match—except with more property damage and a higher chance of someone getting eaten.
Alex took a slow bite of his ice cream, watching as the kid did the same, eyes locked on the ongoing battle like it was a Saturday night football game. He smirked before leaning in slightly, making an exaggerated Ooooohhh! face when Croc body-checked one of the vigilantes into a parked car. The kid snickered. Encouraged, Alex did it again, throwing in a dramatic wince when the yellow one—what was his name again? Sunbeam? Alex was never one with names unless it's the night bats anyway—got punted across the street. The kid burst into giggles, joining in by mimicking his reactions. Like watching a sports game indeed.
This is babysitting, Venom reminded him flatly.
"This is distraction," Alex corrected, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "There’s a difference."
Alex took another slow bite of his ice cream, watching as the kid kicked his legs idly, eyes still flickering between the fight and his melting cone. The city rumbled around them, the distant wail of sirens and the crunch of metal blending into the chaos. Croc was still going at it, throwing cars like they were toys, but Alex wasn’t concerned. The kid was focused on him now, the momentary tension from earlier fading as he took another bite. “So, what’s your name, bud?” Alex signed casually, making sure to keep his hands loose and easy to follow. The boy perked up, tapping his chest twice before signing back, Ethan.
Alex nodded, committing it to memory. “Cool name. You a Gotham kid?” Ethan hesitated, glancing at the ice cream before nodding. “Then you must be tough,” Alex smirked, waving toward the battle still unfolding. “That guy?” He jabbed a thumb toward Croc. “Bet you could take him if you had the right gear.” Ethan giggled, shaking his head as if the idea was ridiculous. Alex shrugged exaggeratedly. “Hey, don’t doubt yourself, buddy. I’ve seen weirder.”
Before Ethan could respond, the yellow one—Sunbeam, Firefly, something like that—finally made his way over, favoring one leg and looking about three seconds away from throwing something at Alex’s head. The vigilante’s suit was scuffed, his mask slightly askew from getting tossed around by Croc. Alex didn’t acknowledge him, instead turning fully toward Ethan and making a show of scrutinizing Signal’s battered appearance. “Uh-oh,” Alex signed dramatically. “Looks like someone lost a fight with a washing machine.” Ethan snorted into his ice cream, shoulders shaking as he tried not to laugh too hard. Alex grinned. “Or maybe a really angry dryer.” That did it—Ethan cackled, almost dropping his cone as he doubled over.
Signal—because yeah, Alex had heard that name before—made an annoyed sound. “Alright, enough. You, cop guy, whatever your name is—”
Alex finally glanced up, giving the vigilante a deliberately slow blink before turning back to Ethan. “Looks like he really wants to ask me something,” Alex signed to the kid. “Think I should answer, or let him suffer?” Ethan mimed thinking very hard, then shook his head, grinning. “You’re right. Suffering it is.”
Cass, who had silently approached from the side, let out a sharp exhale that was suspiciously close to a snort. Signal groaned, rubbing his temples like he was already over this entire conversation. “You’re really doing this right now?”
Alex grinned, leaning back on his palms. “Buddy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cass crouched slightly, arms draped over her knees as she studied him, her expression unreadable but sharp. She was smaller than Alex expected, but the way she held herself? That was someone who could break ribs in three different ways before he could blink. He’d dealt with fighters before—some trained, some instinctual—but she was something else. A perfect kind of stillness, no wasted movements. He didn’t like it. It reminded him of Venom, of the way they coiled right before striking.
"Cop cap?" Huh, the black bat talks, that was news to him.
She tilted her head, just slightly, like she was reading something in him that he didn’t even know he was giving away. Damn it.
Alex held her gaze, not moving, not reacting. You wanna read me? Fine. But I don’t roll over that easy. Her stare wasn’t threatening—just… digging. Like she was waiting for him to slip up. The challenge clear as day.
She sees too much, Venom muttered, shifting under Alex’s skin, muscles tightening just enough for him to notice.
"Yeah, no kidding." He flicked his gaze away first, rolling his shoulders back like none of it bothered him. “So, Ethan,” he signed, bringing the kid’s attention back to him. “You ever seen a fight like this before?”
Ethan shook his head quickly. No. This crazy.
Alex chuckled, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Yeah, Gotham’s a real fun place, huh?”
Signal crossed his arms, sighing like he was running out of patience. “Okay, seriously. Who are you?”
Alex licked the last of the ice cream off his spoon, chewing over the question like it actually mattered. “Cop cap,” he finally said with a shrug. “That’s what your friend over there calls me, right?” He jerked a thumb toward Cass, who didn’t deny it. “So, let’s stick with that.”
Signal’s jaw clenched, but before he could try again, Cass tapped his arm once, a silent message. Signal hesitated, then sighed, backing off. Alex didn’t know what passed between them, but whatever it was, Signal decided to drop the questioning for now. Cass, though? She was still watching him. Still analyzing. Alex could feel it.
We should leave soon, Venom muttered. They are persistent. Curious.
"I know." Alex stretched, feigning nonchalance. “Welp, looks like the show’s almost over.” He nodded toward Croc, who was finally slowing, reinforcements arriving to pin him down. “Good time for an intermission, yeah?”
Ethan nodded, finishing off his ice cream. Alex took that as his cue, pushing to his feet before offering a hand to the kid. Ethan took it, standing up with a bounce before looking up expectantly. Alex raised a brow. “What, you want a piggyback ride now?”
Ethan’s grin was all the answer he needed.
With a sigh, Alex hoisted the kid up, settling him securely before glancing back at Cass and Signal. “Alright, heroes. It’s been fun, but I gotta get this little dude somewhere safe. Try not to get thrown through too many walls, yeah?”
Signal narrowed his eyes. “We’re not done with you.”
Alex grinned. “I never said we were.” Then he turned, walking off before they could stop him.
Cass watched him go, unreadable as ever. But if Alex had to guess? She’d already decided this wasn’t the last time they’d cross paths today. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he felt it—a weight behind her gaze, a certainty in the way she held herself, loose but grounded. Like she was giving him a head start, letting him run just to see how far he'd get. Alex wasn’t one to flinch from a challenge, but something about Black Bat made him uneasy. It wasn’t fear, no, not exactly. It was like standing at the edge of a rooftop and knowing someone else was already there, waiting, measuring the wind just as well as he was.
Cass was tempted to follow his car as he drove away, and she really was about to until—
"You, young lady, have some explaining to do."
The Many-Eyed One’s voice filtered through her and Signal's comms, sharp as ever.
Cass froze mid-step. Bulb Bird tensed beside her.
"Welp, I’m bailing," Duke muttered, already turning, but Oracle's voice cut through the channel before he could make a run for it.
"Don't even think about it."
Cass barely held in a wince. She didn't like the Many-Eyed One's cold tone. Bigger Bat had a way of shifting his voice to express disappointment subtly, in that way that made your stomach drop, but the Many-Eyed One? She had no such reservations. Barbara’s scolding tone was as clear as her suit under daylight—which, unfortunately, was right now.
"Look up," came the command over comms.
Cass and Duke slowly lifted their gazes. Three cameras. All trained on them. Cass glanced at Duke; his jaw clenched. That wasn’t all.
"Now look to your right."
They obeyed. Across the street, leaning against a lamppost in his civilian gear, stood Jason. Red hoodie. Black mask still covering his face. Unrecognizable to most, but to them? Obvious. His arms were crossed, posture deceptively casual, but Cass saw the tension in his shoulders. He was not happy.
Crime Alley wasn’t exactly patrolled by Jason during the day, but it might as well have been. Fighting Croc here was already bad enough. Bringing attention to themselves? Worse. Cass looked away, digging her heel into the pavement, shifting ever so slightly so neither the cameras nor Jason had a clear read on her face.
"Cave. Now." Bigger Bat’s voice filtered through the comms. Firm. Final.
Duke groaned quietly beside her, looking about ready to collapse on the spot, barely into his daytime patrol and he was probably going to be benched alongside Cass. Cass tilted her head, considering. She could go back. Could sit in the Cave, listen to the others dissect the situation, let Bigger Bat and Many-Eyed One break it down into numbers and logic, watch Red Hood pace and shake his head and maybe throw something. Or—she could do what she always did.
Follow her prey.
Cass bolted.
She turned off her comms before Jason or Duke could yell at her to stop, barely registering the exasperated sigh Duke let out as she vanished. Her feet barely made a sound against the rooftops as she propelled herself forward, taking the fastest route she could without drawing too much attention. Gotham's skyline blurred past, the noise of the city pressing in from all sides, but Cass only focused on one thing—Alex's car, weaving through traffic below.
A normal person wouldn't have caught up. A normal person wouldn't even try. Cass wasn't normal. She didn't have to look at the streets to know which turns he'd take, didn't need to slow down to gauge his speed. People were predictable. Even the strange ones.
She kept pace easily, leaping across buildings, rolling through landings, keeping to the shadows whenever she had to. He wasn’t driving fast—not anymore. No sirens. No urgency. He was taking his time, talking to the kid, signing something. Cass caught a glimpse of the child's expression through the window—relaxed. Not scared. Curious, even.
Interesting.
Cass perched at the edge of a rooftop as the car rolled to a stop at an intersection. She crouched lower, narrowing her eyes. Something about Alex was still off. He moved like he was used to being watched but didn’t care. That was rare in Gotham. People here either learned to fear the gaze of the city or became one of the things lurking behind it.
A subtle shift in his shoulders. His head tilted just slightly, and for a second, Cass swore he was looking right at her.
Then the light turned green. The car moved.
Cass exhaled slowly through her nose. Maybe she imagined it. Maybe not.
Didn’t matter.
She kept following.
Alex was aware of all this but didn't bother to care anymore. Heroism was tiring, and time-consuming, and he was neither patient nor particularly invested in the moral high ground. He still had to move into the new place, still had to set things up, still had to make sure no one in Gotham’s fine collection of lowlives got too curious about the new guy with the weird hours and the empty apartment. But he also couldn't just leave the kid. He was an eldritch god, not the devil. And there was a difference—one that most people failed to grasp.
Leaving a kid alone on the street in Gotham was practically a written invitation for them to get kidnapped, mugged, or worse. Anyone who climbed out of a cop car and wasn't a cop was already marked for trouble. Gotham had rules, unspoken but absolute: cops didn't help people, and the people who trusted them got burned. Either you were arrested, bailed out, or bribed your way free, and if the cop was the one doing the mugging, well, tough luck. Alex had coworkers like that, superiors like that—hell, most of them fell into that category. It was how the system worked. He had his own cut, too. The bribes, the extortion, the skimming off the top. Not the human trafficking, not the ransoms. Eldritch god, not the devil. Big difference.
Not that big, Venom murmured, amused. They would still call us a monster.
"They call everyone a monster," Alex muttered under his breath, checking the rearview mirror. Ethan was nodding off, the weight of the day pressing heavy on his small frame. The kid still clutched the red symbiote close to his chest, tiny fingers curled protectively around it like a stuffed toy. Alex should probably do something about that, but at this point, it was pointless. The damn thing had already chosen him. It was small, barely developed, and not remotely ready to bond with a full-grown host, but Ethan wasn’t a full-grown host. It would be fine. Probably.
You are reckless, Venom grumbled, but there was no bite to it. You let them bond too easily.
"What, you want me to rip it off him?" Alex scoffed, shifting gears as he took a turn. "We both know how that’d go. It’s stubborn as hell, and he’s not letting it go either."
The symbiote made a displeased clicking noise in his head but didn't argue further. He'd take that as a win.
Black Bat was still following him, hanging back, shadowing his car with the patience only a Bat could afford. He should care, probably. Should try to shake her or throw her off his tail, but he wasn’t in the mood. Let her stalk. If she wanted to waste her time, that was on her. He wasn’t doing anything illegal—not right now, anyway—so what was she going to do? Glare at him? Try to intimidate him? He wasn’t some wide-eyed rookie on their first night in Gotham. He knew how this city worked. The Bats watched, the criminals ran, and the people in between—people like him—just kept their heads down and did what they had to.
He needed to figure out what to do with Ethan. That was priority number one. Once he moved into the new place and found someone who could look after the kid, he’d be back to his usual schedule in no time. Ethan could go back to whatever normal life he had before all this, and Alex could go back to pretending he didn’t care. Because that was easier. Simpler. He wasn’t built for this—this watching out for someone else, making sure they didn’t get hurt, making sure they weren’t scared or alone.
You care more than you want to admit, Venom said, quieter this time.
Alex didn’t answer. He just drove, the city blurring past him, Gotham’s smog-drenched skyline flickering in the distance like an ever-present reminder. This place didn’t change. Not really. No matter how many Bats swooped through the night, no matter how many criminals got locked up, no matter how many times people tried to clean it up, Gotham stayed Gotham. And in Gotham, people like Alex didn’t get happy endings.
Knock. Knock.
Alex glared at the red light, sighing through his nose as he leaned his forehead against the wheel. His patience was running thinner than Gotham’s excuses for public infrastructure, and he wasn’t in the mood for—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Slow, deliberate. Someone wanted his attention, which was already a bad sign. He turned his head, shoulders tensing as his gaze flicked to the window—
“We need to talk.”
Ollie.
The kid looked awful.
Alex had seen fresh crime scene corpses with more life than the teenager standing outside his door. Pale skin, sweat-slicked forehead, dark bags under wild, red-rimmed eyes. His hair was a ruffled mess, and his breathing came too quick, too shallow, like he’d just run across Gotham without stopping—not an impossible feat for some people he knew, but definitely a problem for a regular sixteen-year-old.
Alex knew these symptoms. Oh, he knew them well. The post-bonding side effects were kicking the kid’s ass, harder than Alex had anticipated. He’d been expecting exhaustion, nausea, maybe even migraines, but this? This was the bad part. The part where the body rejected what it didn’t understand. Where the mind wrestled with something bigger, stronger, more alien than it could comprehend. It had hit him hard when he first got Venom, and he’d been a crippled cancer patient with a dying body that was tearing itself apart. For someone as young as Ollie? who was pretty healthy mind you, Yeah, he was getting the full worst-case scenario experience.
Alex grinned, unlocking the front passenger door like this wasn’t about to be an absolute trainwreck. “Hey~ Ollie, how you been, kid? Sorry ‘bout the mess, didjya like my early birthday gift?” He waved a lazy hand as the door swung open. “Before you go releasing your undying gratitude, I gotta remind you—keep the compliments on a low volume. Got your little brother in the back.”
Ollie slammed the door shut, yanked his seatbelt across his chest, and then—predictably—swung a fist at Alex’s face.
Alex caught it mid-air with ease, fingers curling around the kid’s wrist like he was stopping a child from knocking over a glass of water.
“Woah! So feisty.” He tilted his head, unimpressed. “Guess Silver chose the right host after all.”
Ollie yanked his arm back, bristling.
“Cut the shi—”
Alex tapped a finger against his lips, motioning toward the backseat. Ethan was still fast asleep, face half-buried against his jacket, the red symbiote curled up on his shoulder like a cat.
Ollie groaned but dropped his voice.
“Cut the crap, Cross. I’m in no mood for your god-awful excuse of a sass joke—”
“Rude.”
“All I wanna know,” Ollie ground out, his fingers digging into the armrest, “is what. the. fuck. did you put into me? Why is this thing—” He lifted his palm, summoning a small silver tendril that flickered in and out of existence. “—inside me? What the hell have you done? What is it—”
Alex sighed, barely suppressing a smirk, and extended a black tendril of his own, casually shoving Ollie back into his seat.
The kid froze.
Oh yeah. He didn’t know.
Didn’t know who Alex was. What he was.
Didn’t know that the very same thing squirming inside his skin was something Alex had already mastered, already worn, already become.
Ollie’s face drained of what little color he had left, horror creeping into his expression as he stared at the writhing tendril curling back into Alex’s sleeve.
“All in time, kid,” Alex said, shifting gears as the red light turned green. “First, I gotta move into my new place. Gotta find your little brother’s guardians. Then I’ll explain the little gift I gave you.”
He pressed the gas pedal, smoothly rolling forward.
Black Bat was still following him. He didn’t check—he knew. The way Gotham’s shadows stretched unnaturally, the subtle shifts in movement above. She probably saw him pick Ollie up from the sidewalk, which meant she’d be even more annoying to shake off now.
Seriously. People carpooled in Gotham.
Not every carpool was a kidnapping.
…Probably.
“I have a literally living biomechanical slime parasite in my organs,” Ollie hissed, his voice rising, “and you’re thinking of me helping you move— wait, little brother?”
Ollie’s gaze darted to Ethan, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“But we’re not related…”
His eyes flicked back to Alex, then down to Ethan again—until he caught a glimpse of the red blob curled on the sleeping kid’s shoulder.
And that’s when it clicked.
Ollie jerked forward, horror flashing across his face.
“YOU GAVE ONE TO A CHILD?!”
Alex winced, glancing at the rearview mirror to check if Ethan stirred. The kid furrowed his brow but didn’t wake.
“Jeez, kid, shout louder,” Alex muttered, adjusting his side mirror. “Dunno if Black Bat heard you.”
She definitely did.
There was a flicker of movement in the mirror. A blur of black against concrete, effortlessly keeping pace with them across the rooftops.
Ollie whipped his head toward the window.
“BLACK BAT’S FOLLOWING US?! I thought only Signal goes out in the day—”
Alex shushed him with a dismissive wave, unfazed.
“Just shut up. We’re just having a morning drive in Gotham. That’s all there is to it.”
He flashed a lazy smile, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming casually against the door. Ollie looked like he wanted to argue—desperately—but was still too busy processing everything.
Which was perfect.
Gave Alex time.
Time to get where he needed to go.
Time to deal with Ethan.
Time to keep Black Bat guessing.
Time to-
“MOVE IN!”
Alex threw his arms out, grinning like an idiot at the absolute dump he now called home. The building looked like it had survived an air raid—and lost. Chunks of brick were missing, jagged holes gaping in the walls like broken teeth. The windows? Either cracked, boarded up, or missing entirely. And the vines—thick, gnarled, twisting up from the ground like nature itself was trying to reclaim the place—were definitely from one of Ivy’s little escapades. Probably from that incident last year, when half of Burnley got turned into a miniature rainforest overnight. Some of the buildings never really recovered.
Alex, of course, loved it.
Ollie, however, looked one second away from hurling himself off the fire escape.
“This place is as—I mean, but—this place is butt,” he corrected quickly, catching himself as he glanced at Ethan.
The kid stood beside him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction. He looked up at the looming wreck of a building, blinking sluggishly before raising his hands.
‘Place spooky, but… like it better than orphanage.’
Alex beamed, spinning on his heel to face Ollie with a wide grin.
“See, Ollie~?” He gestured toward Ethan like the kid had just declared this a five-star luxury penthouse. “Even Ethan likes it! And since your place is probably still being investigated—” He waggled his fingers at him, knowing damn well the GCPD had cordoned off whatever wreckage was left of Ollie’s last safehouse. “—and Ethan here just informed us of his orphan status… Consider yourselves officially welcome to my new abode.”
He clapped a hand on Ollie’s shoulder. “And yours too.”
Ollie looked about five seconds away from snapping his neck.
Alex just hummed, strolling back to his cop car and popping the trunk open. He grabbed a duffel bag—one of many—slinging it over his shoulder with ease.
“Now, don’t mind the desolate surroundings, kiddos.” He waved a hand at the empty, crumbling street. “Burnley’s just quirky like that. Being next to Arkham and all.”
Ollie’s entire body went rigid.
Alex chuckled.
“Relax. No one wants to hang around here unless they have to. Perfect place for us to lay low.” He slung another bag onto his shoulder, shutting the trunk with his hip. “Especially you, Ollie. What with your new passenger and all.”
The silver symbiote stirred, tendrils flickering faintly across Ollie’s arms before retreating. The kid’s jaw clenched.
Yeah. He was gonna be real fun to live with.
Ollie turned to Alex with a furrowed brow, arms crossed so tight it looked like he was trying to squeeze the confusion out of himself.
“Symbiote?”
“Mhm.” Alex popped the ‘M’ with a grin, shutting the trunk with a lazy push. “The thing curled up in your guts right now.” He spun a finger in the air, gesturing vaguely at Ollie’s torso. “Has it, y’know—spoken to you yet?”
Ollie’s scowl deepened, irritation flickering across his face before he scoffed. “It’s a she,” he corrected sharply. “And yeah, I’ve heard the distorted lady voice scream into my ears since this morning about ‘Hunger’ and ‘Must feed.’” He threw his hands up in exasperation, voice pitching into a rough, warbling mockery of the symbiote’s rasp.
Ethan let out a giggling snort, half-buried in his oversized hoodie, watching the exchange with tired amusement.
Alex grinned, nudging Ollie’s shoulder. “See? She likes you already. Calls you ‘must feed’ instead of ‘pathetic flesh-sack.’” He raised a brow. “That’s progress.”
Ollie glared at him, unimpressed.
"You'll learn a lot more about them once you help me move in. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t exactly planning on taking in two kids—"
"I’m seventeen," Ollie interjected, rolling his eyes.
Alex ignored him completely. "-but given how fast shit’s been going, and the fact that the Bats are now on my ass, you two might just be my ticket to normalcy."
Ollie let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shifting the weight of the box in his hands as he followed Alex up to the building’s entrance. "You can't just adopt two people and expect the Bats not to be suspicious. That ain't how situations like this work!" He shot a glance at Ethan, who was carrying something much lighter—a shoebox-sized container with who-knows-what inside—but still taking the task seriously, brows slightly furrowed as he focused on his steps.
Alex snorted, balancing a heavier box against his hip to unlock the door. "Worked for Bruce Wayne, didn’t it?"
Ollie opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it. Damn it, he wasn’t wrong. Say what you will about Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, but the guy had a track record of collecting stray kids like they were going out of style.
Ethan, now standing next to Ollie, grinned and signed, Not wrong.
Alex grinned back at him. "That’s right! Maybe I can even spare some cash to fix that busted hearing aid of yours, little man. After all, you still haven’t had the privilege of hearing my glorious jokes."
Ethan groaned dramatically, which was honestly the correct response. Ollie threw his head back and sighed in defeat. "Just kill me."
"You’d miss me too much."
Ollie shoved his box into Alex’s arms harder than necessary, making him stumble a step back. "I wouldn’t."
Alex just laughed and hauled the box inside. The apartment complex was... well, calling it a complex was generous. It looked like it had been condemned at least twice, possibly used for a few horror movie sets, and was barely standing through sheer Gotham stubbornness. The elevator had an “OUT OF ORDER” sign that looked like it had been there since the Reagan administration. There were vines creeping up the cracked bricks, probably from one of Ivy’s more aggressive eco-terrorism stunts that no one had bothered to clean up. The air smelled faintly of mildew, asphalt, and something vaguely metallic.
A classic Gotham dump.
This is a mistake, Venom rumbled in Alex’s head, displeased. We should have moved somewhere with less exposure. Less risk.
"Yeah, well, maybe if you’d been the one looking for apartments, we’d be in a penthouse, besides, You didn't argue the first time and more escapees from Arkham means more food!" Alex muttered under his breath. Ollie didn’t seem to notice, too busy side-eyeing the rusted-out staircase like it had personally insulted him.
I have excellent taste. You are the one who chooses to live in filth.
"Man, you’re real judgmental for a parasite."
Ollie shot him a look. "What?"
"Nothing. C’mon, we’ve got more boxes."
By the time they finished hauling everything up to the fourth floor (because of course this hellhole didn’t have a functioning elevator), all three of them were out of breath. Ethan, who had been stuck carrying mostly pillows and lightweight stuff, plopped down on the couch—well, what passed for a couch. It was a hand-me-down, covered in a suspiciously scratchy fabric, and definitely on its last legs. Alex was pretty sure it had been abandoned here by the last tenant.
Ollie flopped down next to Ethan, running a hand through his hair, still looking a little green from the whole there’s-an-alien-living-in-my-body situation. His knee bounced up and down, restless energy practically radiating off of him.
"So," he said, breaking the silence. "You gonna tell me what the hell this thing inside me actually is?"
Alex stretched his arms, rolling his neck until he heard a satisfying crack. "The thing inside you—" he wiggled his fingers dramatically, "—is called a symbiote. And congratulations, you and Silver are now besties for life."
"Silver?" Ollie deadpanned.
Alex pointed at his own chest. "Venom." Then at Ollie. "Silver."
Ollie scowled. "That’s a dumb name."
Venom growled in Alex’s mind. He is weak. He should be grateful we granted him one of ours.
"Hey, maybe Silver can pick their own name. Ever think of that?"
They are young. They do not know better.
"Y’know, I think I liked it better when I thought I was going insane instead of having an alien lifeform whispering into my brain," Ollie muttered, rubbing his temple. "This is so much worse."
Ethan, watching the exchange like a tennis match, signed something.
Alex raised a brow. "He says you’re being dramatic."
Ollie shot Ethan a look. "Takes one to know one, dude."
Ethan just grinned and leaned back into the couch, the little red symbiote curled up on his shoulder like some kind of eldritch pet. It twitched and pulsed slightly, its texture shifting like liquid metal, and honestly, Alex wasn’t sure how to feel about it bonding so quickly. Maybe it was good. Maybe it was a disaster waiting to happen. Either way, too late now.
Ollie groaned, running a hand down his face. "I still can't believe you gave one to a kid"
Alex made a so-so gesture with his hand. "I didn’t give him anything. Red latched onto him all on its own." He shot a look at Ethan. "And you don’t seem to mind, do you, little man?"
Ethan shook his head, signing, Feels nice. Warm.
"See? He’s fine."
Ollie let out an exasperated noise. "You don’t know that! What if this thing—this symbiote—hurts him?"
Alex’s expression flattened. "You’re both fine. I would know if anything was wrong." His tone dropped, losing the usual playfulness. "I made them. I know them."
Ollie’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue.
Venom rumbled in satisfaction. The boy will learn
Alex exhaled and clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough existential crisis. We got a long day ahead of us."
Ollie raised a brow. "Oh yeah? Doing what?"
"Making this dump livable, obviously."
"Good luck with that," Ollie muttered.
Ethan signed something quickly, his hands moving fast.
Alex laughed. "Kid says we should just let Ivy overgrow the place so we can live in a cool jungle fortress."
Ollie snorted. "Not the worst idea."
Alex grinned. For once, despite everything—new powers, new complications, Gotham's inevitable chaos brewing just beneath the surface—things actually felt... good. Maybe dragging these two along for the ride wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Alex froze, his stomach twisting into a violent knot, someone was here. No. No. No. Anyone but him. How the hell did he find me!?
Ollie and Ethan exchanged confused glances as Alex turned, his worst fears realized. There, perched casually on his already broken apartment window, legs swinging like a kid on a playground, was the last person he wanted in Gotham.
A red and black-suited nuisance.
"Well, isn’t this just the coziest little murder den," the merc-with-the-mouth drawled, resting his chin on his gloved palm. "All it needs is a fresh coat of paint, a few throw pillows—oh! Maybe a ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ sign. Really tie the place together."
Alex gaped at him, mind short-circuiting. "WADE!?"
"Heya, Lexy~!" Wade threw his arms open. "Give yer ol’ Unc’ Pool a hug!"
Venom recoiled in disgust. Kill it. Kill it now.