The Black is an overworked single Father of Thousands

How the fuck did it come to this?

Ollie just wanted to close up shop early. Earlier than most shops. He shouldn’t have left it open after dark in the first place. He knew better. He knew the unspoken rules of Crime Alley: when the sun dips, you lock your doors, bolt your windows, and pretend you don’t hear the screams. But nope, he got greedy. Figured he could squeeze in a few extra customers. Dumbass move. Now, he was paying for it.

Red Hood’s gonna kill him.

Ollie and Hood weren’t exactly brothers in arms, but the guy looked out for them—Crime Alley’s own pissed-off guardian angel with a loaded gun and a vendetta. The guy taught some of them how to fight, how to survive. And if you really had no options? You relied on him. Problem was, Hood hated secrets, and he was notoriously suspicious of cops. The rest of the Alley hated them too, for good reason. Cops either didn’t show up, or if they did, it was worse than the criminals they were supposedly arresting. That’s why the GCPD barely patrolled this place unless something major happened.

Like, oh, say—an incident at Ollie’s shop.

God fucking dammit. He should’ve cut his losses. Should’ve shut down for at least a month, laid low, not taken the risk of keeping the place open past curfew, especially with the Joker loose—again. Riots were already tearing through the streets, both underground and overground. Gotham was eating itself alive, like it always did. And what did he do? Ignored the warning signs like a dumbass.

And now? Now everything fucking sucked.

His head was pounding, his nerves were on fire, his whole body was locked in this weird state between wanting to vomit or tear into a raw steak with his bare hands. His lungs burned like they were coated in acid, and there was something moving inside him—something in his gut, slithering beneath his skin like a living thing. And oh, great, now he had to deal with the fact that he fucking blacked out last night.

He remembered pieces. Fragments.

The mugging at his shop. The struggle. Then—blackness. When he came to, the store was empty. No bodies, no blood, no sign of the guys who tried to rob him. He was standing in the middle of the mess, barely even remembering how he got there. He tried to act normal, tried to clean up before anyone saw—

But then Hood showed up.

And next thing he knew, the cops were swarming the block.

Daytime cops, not the usual ones who ignored the Alley’s bullshit. No, these were the ones who actually asked questions. The kind that stuck their noses where they didn’t belong. The kind that had him standing in his own store, blinking against the too-bright lights while they interrogated him.

He barely talked his way out of it.

He should’ve gone upstairs after, retreated to his second-floor apartment. But nope. That was where the evidence was. Where he’d woken up to find something on his goddamn balcony. Something that shouldn’t have been there.

And now? He needed answers.

Before the cops came back. Before Hood put two and two together and decided he was next on his shit list. And before whatever-the-fuck was inside him finally did something worse than making him feel like a live grenade.

So, who else was there to turn to but Crime Alley’s very own cop—Officer Alex Cross.

The only cop who actually stayed in the Alley. Unlike the rest of them, Cross didn’t just patrol—he lived there. Or, well, he did before he disappeared. But Ollie knew the bastard had been there that night. Knew he saw something. The memories were blurry, like looking through fogged-up glass, but he remembered that smug-ass face staring at him from outside the store window.

He wasn’t hard to find.

But getting answers out of him? That was another thing entirely.

Ollie should’ve known something was up the second he got in the car. Cross ignored him the entire ride—which, by the way, was fucking rude—and before he could even start demanding answers, suddenly he was unpacking boxes at the guy’s new apartment.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

Cross had some kid with him. A kid. A quiet, wide-eyed thing who seemed a little too okay with all of this. And he had the same thing Ollie had.

Seriously, who the fuck was this guy!?

And just when he thought the day couldn’t get any worse—

A blur of red and black perched itself on the apartment’s already broken window like it belonged there.

Ollie barely had time to register the new arrival before the stranger clapped his hands together like he was about to start a goddamn seminar.

"Well, isn’t this just the coziest little murder den!"

Ollie blinked. Ethan turned to him, just as confused.

Cross, on the other hand, went rigid.

"No." His voice came out tight, strained. "No, no, no, anyone but him. How the hell did you find me!?"

Ollie turned to the window just as the man in red and black dropped into the room, landing in an unnecessarily graceful crouch before standing up like he absolutely owned the place.

The dude had guns. Swords. Pouches. So many fucking pouches. And his mask—oh god, that mask.

Something about it set off every internal alarm Ollie had.

The man threw his arms out like they were old friends.

"Heya, Lexy~!" The stranger’s voice was way too chipper for the situation. "Give yer ol’ Unc’ Pool a hug!"

Cross twitched. Ollie saw his jaw clench.

Then:

"WADE!?"

Ollie stared between the two of them, his patience—his sanity—snapping like a rubber band.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON!?"

"Not that I mind a little bondage lextacles~ bUut pretty sure they're are laws against eldritch tentacles going up people's butts-"

A razor tendril shot through his head before he could even finish his sentence.

Thank you, Venom.

Alex sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Of course, this bastard survived. Of course. Just when he was hoping for a nice, quiet return to relative obscurity, the one person who could blow that all to hell just had to show up. Let him guess—probably dragged in from that weird MCU multiverse nonsense again.

"Woooow," Wade drawled, lounging like he owned the place, legs swinging off the busted window frame. "Guess you’re not a total fossil after all! Still sharp as teeth, huh? And look at you! Going all lawful neutral on me, playing dress-up as a cop? Damn, your Peter would be so proud."

Alex groaned. "Seriously?"

Just his luck. Just his goddamn luck. As if he didn’t have enough problems. At least Wade showing up meant he wasn’t completely alone in this mess, even if it was the worst possible company.

He flicked a tendril, wrapping it around Deadpool’s torso and yanking him straight into the apartment. Wade barely had time to squeak out a "Weee—!" before being unceremoniously dumped onto the rotting couch, symbiote tendrils coiling around him like living ropes.

"Alright, Pool," Alex muttered, tightening the binds just for good measure, "why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off harassing the X-Men or crashing another Spider-Man’s therapy session? Maybe pestering that Tom Holland kid? Or are we dealing with some other weird timeline where Peter Parker randomly drops into Gotham instead?"

He felt a tug on his sleeve.

Ethan. The kid was signing something.

‘Can I do that?’

Alex blinked, then furrowed his brow, rubbing his chin like he was considering it. Then he smirked.

"With enough time and growth? Maybe." He ruffled Ethan’s hair. "But do me a favor, little bud—go distract Ollie for a bit. I gotta have a private chat with Unc’ Pool here."

Ethan nodded, but before he left, he tilted his head and signed again.

‘Who’s Tom Holland?’

Alex snorted.

"Depends. An actor. Spider-Man. Zendaya’s hubby." He waved a hand vaguely. "Basically, an average Queens teen. Kinda like my Peter, but with more techy nano-bot gadgets and way too much Stark AI babysitting. Still smart, though."

Satisfied with that answer, Ethan wandered off to play rock-paper-scissors with Ollie, who was currently having what could only be described as a mental breakdown in the corner of the room.

Alex turned his attention back to Wade.

"Alright, Pool. Waddya want?" He folded his arms, eyes narrowing. "I’m in the middle of moving in, trying to make sure these two don’t accidentally bite someone's head off, and oh yeah—dealing with a certain Bat who's probably eavesdropping on us right now from the damn roof."

Wade squirmed in his bindings, trying to get comfortable. "Hey, hey, relax, Lexy! I just so happened to be in the neighborhood—visiting, exploring, casually breaking the fourth wall—ya know, the usual." He wiggled his fingers for effect. "Besides, did you know you’re probably the only Venom to land in Gotham? Crazy, right? I had to drop by and say hi!"

Alex smirked. "Gee, lucky me."

"And I gotta say—" Wade gave a low whistle. "—I love the new aesthetic! Cop attire? Bold. Very interesting for the ol’ hero-persona thing you got going on~"

"Heh, thanks," Alex said, stretching his shoulders. "Had to pull a lotta strings. Buy a lot of drugs. Really worked my way up." He grinned. "Wanna buy some cocaine?"

Wade gasped, slapping a hand over his heart. "Wow, okay, offering me hard drugs like I’m some kind of degenerate—" He coughed. "—I mean, I am, but still. Can’t, sadly. I’m on probation from that kinda stuff. Bummer, I know."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Tragic."

"Anyway!" Wade squirmed again, shoving his hand deep into one of his thigh pouches—the crotch pouch, to be specific.

Alex immediately recoiled.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Pool, could you NOT?"

But Wade just grinned, wiggling his fingers around in a way that made Alex want to set him on fire.

"Aha!" Wade finally fished out some weird, sleek-looking device and held it up like it was the Holy Grail. "TA-DAAAA! This!"

Alex let his tendrils slither away from Wade, letting him sit up as he leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

"...What the hell is it?"

Wade dusted himself off, then pointed at the device. "This, my dear Lexy, is an advanced-techy-phone-thingy that can disrupt any camera or intercept nearby radio frequencies."

Alex arched a brow. "Big words, Pool. Proud of you."

"Right?!" Wade beamed. "But that’s not all!" He waggled his eyebrows. "It’s also got these weird bitey thingies that can serve as mini trackers or—uh—nudes."

Alex snorted. "They’re called Nodes, dumbass."

"Pffft, whatever, nerd. Point is—I stole this off Stark, and since your current way of coping—snrk, cop, get it? Heh. I kill me.—is playing Gotham PD’s most corrupt nightmare, I thought, Hey! Dear ol’ Lexy could definitely use a way to track the Bats and screw with their toys! Sooooo..." He leaned in. "Consider it a gift."

Alex took the device, turning it over in his palm.

Huh. Interesting. Definitely Stark tech. Sleek, compact, too advanced for anything this world could even dream of.

Which meant—yeah.

It was useless.

Wade probably had no idea how it actually worked. And honestly, neither did Alex. He wasn’t Peter. He wasn’t Stark. But he had spent a lot of time with both, and if there was one thing they drilled into him, it was that stolen tech could always be repurposed.

"Not bad," Alex admitted, pocketing it. "Might be able to reverse-engineer it into something actually useful."

"See?" Wade spread his arms wide. "This is why we’re best friends."

Alex stared at him.

"...No, we’re not."

Wade gasped again, clutching his chest like he’d just been stabbed. "Wow. Wow. Just gonna say that? To my face? After everything we’ve been through?!"

Alex rolled his eyes. "Alright, you’re done."

He turned around, fully prepared to chuck Wade out the window—

Only to find—

Nothing.

No Wade. No movement. No sound. Just an empty couch.

Alex blinked.

"How the fuck does he do that?"

Venom rumbled in his mind.

We hate it.

"Same."

But whatever. Back to the actual problem. He turned to Ollie, who still looked like he was two seconds away from an aneurysm.

"Okay," Alex sighed, stretching his arms. "You said you had some questions or do wanna have a summary again?"

Safe to say, Ollie was not having an aneurysm.

Not that it would have made much of a difference if he did. Alex could probably restart his heart with some freaky symbiote nonsense, or, knowing his luck, Venom would just eat the problem away. Either way, kid was alive—which meant Alex still had to deal with his paranoid, nervous energy vibrating through the damn apartment. That, and the other problem.

Black Bat.

Major annoyance. Major.

Alex could feel her presence like an itch at the back of his skull, that distinct Bat-stink pressing on his senses, crawling up his spine. She was up on the roof—probably already rappelling down the side of the wall, creeping just outside the window. His gut—the one shared with a thousand alien slugs—was screaming at him, his fight-or-flight response going insane. Not that he was going to do anything about it. Yet.

Ethan, on the other hand? Ethan definitely knew she was there. The kid kept glancing outside, waving something in her direction. God, she was probably watching this whole little domestic nightmare unfold with the usual Bat-like, emotionless judgment.

Alex debated luring her away, but broad daylight wasn't exactly an ideal time to go messing with Gotham’s very nosy protectors. It was bad enough that one of the Night Bats—the ones who only ever came out after dark—was already here in full stealth mode. No way in hell was he about to add a humanoid alien hybrid into that equation.

Besides, getting into a fight with a Bat? Bad idea.

Really bad idea.

Not because he couldn’t win—he was a literal eldritch god, after all—but because getting into a street brawl with one of Gotham’s capes while in his officer getup? Suspicious as hell. It would be way too difficult to explain why a random cop was going toe-to-toe with a Bat and not getting folded in half. Plus, faking an ass-kicking? Not exactly an option. His body barely registered pain anymore. The only thing that came close was the gnawing, never-ending hunger clawing at the edges of his mind. Besides, his attention span is shorter than a list of all good things about Gotham, which is none; he'd probably lose focus and get distracted mid-fight or just leave out of sheer spite.

So, yeah. Black Bat could sit tight and stalk all she wanted. For now, he had a more immediate problem.

Ollie.

Alex wasn't a detective—not like Detective Grayson, solid guy, good sense of humor, barely visits Gotham since he’s too busy babysitting Blüdhaven, but whatever. But even he knew better than to start answering any big, world-shattering, very illegal symbiote-related questions with a Bat actively listening in.

"Before we start this whole—" he gestured vaguely, "group therapy session, let's set the mood."

With a snap of his fingers, the room shifted.

A massive, inky black cube blossomed from his feet, tendrils weaving up and outward, sealing off the space around them. It was instantaneous—a perfect soundproof, sight-proof, Bat-proof box cutting them off from the rest of the world.

Ollie? Yeah, Ollie was losing his mind.

The poor kid practically leapt out of his skin, pressing himself against the back wall like Alex had just thrown him into a coffin. Meanwhile, Ethan—bless his tiny, chaotic soul—just poked at the cube from the outside, watching the jelly-like surface ripple under his fingers.

Alex sighed, crossing his arms.

"Thank god this apartment is big enough for this. Last time I tried, I cracked the ceiling in my old place." He huffed. "And by ceiling, I mean the floor of whatever poor bastard lived above me."

Ollie was still giving him the most hilarious ‘what the fuck’ face he had ever seen in his very long existence.

And that was saying something.

Alex had been alive for centuries-Post-knull speaking, he's not that old. He had seen gods fall, planets burn, civilizations crumble, and yet this—this was one of the top-tier confused expressions he had ever witnessed. If Ollie ever wanted to change careers, he could probably make a solid Joker goon.

Actually, no.

No way in hell was he giving the Joker his first troupe member.

"Now that we’re alone—" Alex clasped his hands together. "Wanna tell me what’s bothering you, or do we have to do another 6,000-word flashback about the hours after you got my present?" He smirked. "I'm sure the viewers would love that."

He tilted his head.

"But the author wouldn't."

"Just shut up. Please, just shut the fuck up," Ollie groaned, dragging a hand down his face like it would physically scrape away the incoming headache and physically scrape the frustration off his skin.

Ah, yes. The post-bond symptoms.

Alex didn't exactly have a checklist of how it felt—mostly because his own symbiote bonding was, well, a little different than most—but he did remember the important ones. Splitting headaches, migraines, eye pain, body aches, and some real fun nausea. Basically, it felt like getting hit by a semi-truck, except the truck was also screaming in your head the whole time.

Funny thing, though—Ethan had none of that.

Not that he felt particularly bad for Ollie. Consequences of playing with alien goo, kid. What did amuse him, though, was how completely unaffected Ethan was by it all. The little guy hadn’t even flinched when he first bonded. No migraines, no nausea—nothing. Just yawned, curled up in the car, and passed the hell out like it was nap time.

Not even a hint of discomfort. The little guy just conked out in the car like a baby after a long day at the playground. A clear sign of a strong bond. Even if Ethan was still a kid and his symbiote was underdeveloped, they'd grow together. In sync. Perfect.

A natural.

It wasn’t a stretch to say Ethan was built for this kind of thing. A bond that seamless, that easy—it meant his symbiote would grow alongside him, evolving in sync rather than fighting for dominance. It was rare, but when it happened, it meant something.

Ollie, on the other hand? Yeah, not doing great. He looked ready to stab Alex in the face. Which was adorable.

Ollie gestured to the black cube surrounding them, lifting his foot slightly as the thick, inky biomass of Venom’s symbiote clung to his shoe. "What exactly is this?" he asked, voice edged with something between fascination and deep discomfort. "Is this the same thing inside of me? Are you really just a cop? Just… what are you?"

Ah. There it was.

Alex hummed, a faint smile curling on his lips. He could mess with the kid. Give him a really fun existential crisis, maybe throw in some eldritch horror flair for extra effect. Would be hilarious. But, nah—he’d already screwed with Ollie enough for one day. Kid hadn’t exactly done anything that warranted this much emotional torment.

Besides.

He had an entire city of Bat-people to mess with later.

And Alex, for all his flaws, had some shred of decency left. Somewhere. Probably buried under all the bad decisions, sarcasm, and cosmic parasites.

So, he decided to humor him.

Because, really—what was he, if not an over-generous GOD-father?

Heh. God-father. Because he was the God of the symbiotes and also technically the dad of all of them, which, by extension, made Ollie his adoptive son in a way—oh, come on, that was a good one! Everyone laughed at Wade! Ugh. Whatever.

"Let's try this again, I’m Alex Cross," he started, voice casual. "GCPD officer—yes, I know, shocking. And no, I’m not a meta. I’m a, uh—" he tilted his head

Yeah, see, this was the part where things got complicated.

How exactly did you explain something like this to someone without causing a full-on existential meltdown? Alex had explained it before—plenty of times, actually—but there was no real elegant way to tell a person Hey, I’m technically an eldritch god of an entire alien species that thrives on bonding with other lifeforms, and surprise! You’re one of them now! without watching them go full 9/11 inside their own heads.

So, he settled for the simple version.

"I'm an eldritch god of sorts. Leader of the symbiotes. That thing inside you? That’s a symbiote. And by extension, so is Ethan’s little buddy." He gestured loosely to where the kid was still poking at the inky black cube outside, giggling to himself like he’d just discovered a new hobby. "Oh, and the reason you currently feel like you took a swan dive into a chemical bath of Joker toxin and fear toxin? That’s just your little sym getting used to a new host."

Ollie frowned. "And where exactly did you get this ‘symbiote,’ Your Highness?"

Alex puffed out his chest in exaggerated mock-nobility. "Why, since I am the source of all eldritch sludges we call symbiotes, they came from me, of course."

Ollie just stared at him.

A long, slow blink.

Then another.

"So you’re the god of the symbiotes."

"Yep."

"Which came from you."

"Mhm."

"Which you gave to us."

"Exactly."

"Which, by technicality, means you’re giving a piece of yourself to us."

Alex smirked. Finally, someone gets it. "Bingo."

Ollie’s brow furrowed in slow realization. "Meaning… you’re a god… of yourself?"

"Exactly!" Alex snapped his fingers, grinning. Finally, the kid gets it!

There was a beat of silence as Ollie mulled that over, his expression shifting through various stages of mental discomfort. And then—

"Wait. If you gave us these parasites—OW, WHAT THE FUCK—"

Alex snorted as Ollie yelped, clutching his arm where his symbiote had clearly retaliated for the insult.

Ollie groaned, rubbing at his now sore shoulder. "Fine. These—things—where do you even keep them all?"

Alex jerked a thumb toward himself.

Ollie stared. "Inside you?"

"Yep."

"Like… inside inside?"

"Uh-huh."

Ollie made a face like he was struggling to comprehend how one guy could contain so many creatures inside him, while he could barely handle one. "How many are we talking here?"

Alex hummed, tapping his chin in thought. He didn’t actually know the exact number—symbiotes self-replicated all the time, often merging and separating depending on need. They were fluid like that. Last time he checked, though…

"Probably around the same amount of blood cells I have in my body," he said with a shrug. "Depends, really. Some don't have enough maturity to form independent blobs yet, so they just fuse with the others."

Ollie looked horrified.

Like a scientist staring at an equation that should not exist.

Alex could practically hear the gears in his brain short-circuiting.

Good. Maybe now he’d stop asking so many questions.

Like he was physically trying to comprehend how one guy could contain so many things inside of him when he could barely handle just one.

Honestly?

Fair reaction. Good, Maybe now he’d stop asking so many questions. Alex just hates having to answers questions he's already answered before, if you paid attention to the last chapter at least, heh.

Bigger Bat is going to be mad. She knows he will.

Going out in colors during the day is Bulb Bird’s thing—Thomas was assigned as such. Going out in daylight is reckless and impulsive, but so was Big Bat, according to Bigger Bird’s old stories of his time as Robin. Cass remembers those stories well. Bigger Bird’s voice always takes on a certain fondness when he tells them, even when he pretends to be exasperated—like he’s caught between admiration and frustration, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling her how he used to leap into fights headfirst, but can’t help but relive it anyway. Nostalgia. Bigger Bat, though? He doesn’t tell stories. He only frowns, that deep, etched-in-stone kind of frown that makes him look even older than he already is. It reminds her of Baby Bat sometimes, except when Baby Bat does it, it’s… cute. When Bigger Bat does it, it just makes people take a step back. Cass doesn’t step back or bite back like Jason, though. She just tilts her head and waits for the lecture.

She hates disobeying Many-Eyed One and Bigger Bat. And she really hates leaving Signal at the mercy of Jason. But this is important. A mission. Who knows when she’ll have another chance to hunt and study Cop Cap before her family starts their own investigation? Because they will, and soon. They just need to finish with Joker first. Joker is—always—the priority. But Cop Cap is new prey. Her prey. She found him first, so he’s hers. Bigger Bat can have his midnight dances with the Nice Cat Lady. Cass gets hide-and-seek with the Happy Officer.

She’s been playing the long game. Watching. Learning. And now Cop Cap has brought more people inside. That’s fine. That’s expected. But one of them—not expected. Someone in red. Cass tenses on her perch, eyes narrowing. Her instincts tell her to pounce—to move, to act—but she holds herself back, waiting, assessing. The man in red isn’t a cop, but he’s no civilian either. He moves wrong. Like he’s here for something he doesn’t want others to know about. Threat?Danger? Maybe. She doesn’t like him. Doesn’t trust him. Before she can make a move, though—he’s gone. Pulled inside. Fast. Too fast.

Cass reacts instantly, launching herself off the rooftop and propelling down the building’s side. She lands, silent, just out of view of the window. Peeking inside. Eyes scanning. And there—there’s the little boy. The same one from the Croc fight. He sees her. Waves. Cass blinks. Then chuckles softly, lifting a finger to her lips in a playful shush. He grins but stays quiet. Good kid. She listens, shifting her weight against the cold brick of the building. Comms low. No interference.

Inside, voices. Low. Muffled. She catches pieces of conversation. A mention of a device. Not much else. Then—shuffling. Then—silence. Cass frowns. Focuses. Stills her breathing. Tries to listen. But there’s nothing. Just the sound of the city in the background. No voices. No footsteps. Just—absence.

Wrong.

Footsteps. Approaching. Cass moves, quick and fluid, flipping up to the next floor’s fire escape just as the window closes. She stays still, watching. Weighing her options. She could break in. But that might spook Cop Cap. And she doesn’t want that. She wants more time. Wants to understand him before her family makes their move. But she also doesn’t want to be benched when they do. She needs to act now, before it’s too late.

There’s another way.

Her eyes flick to her bag. Civilian clothes. She was supposed to go to ballet class today. If she can’t approach Cop Cap in her colors… maybe she can approach him without them. Maybe she can ask Baby Bird some advice, he stalks in his civies all the time. 

There it was again. The sound of movement just outside his window—light, controlled, deliberate.

Alex didn’t need to look to know it was her. Stalker Bat. She’d been watching him for a while now, lurking on the edges of his vision, clinging to rooftops and fire escapes like a particularly nosy gargoyle. He could have acknowledged her, maybe given her a wave or some half-assed “I see you” quip, but—nah. Let her have her fun. If she wanted to play shadow games, he wasn’t about to stop her.

Then, just as he stacked the last of his boxes against the wall, he heard it—the shift. The faint flex of muscle, the push-off, the silent drop. She was gone.

For now.

With a small exhale, he stretched, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness that had been creeping up on him. He'd already moved his fridge in last night—after the whole Ollie Incident—and, honestly, he was feeling pretty good about his setup now. Fridge was stocked. The stove was working. He even had a coffee maker, which was an absolute win considering how much caffeine his job required. If he ignored the fact that a Bat was stalking him and that he was now the reluctant father figure to two semi-traumatized kids bonded to sentient alien goo, things were going great.

Ethan was sitting at the kitchen table, legs swinging under the chair, nose buried in some sci-fi book that was almost as thick as his head. Kid was weirdly good at tuning things out—probably a useful skill when you lived in Gotham.

Alex leaned against the counter. “You good, bud?”

Ethan hummed absently, turning a page.

"Cool, cool," Alex nodded, glancing toward the couch where Ollie had effectively passed out, curled up in a way that screamed stressed beyond human comprehension. Kid had been running on fumes since the bond, so it wasn’t exactly surprising. Alex figured he’d earned some rest, considering all the crap he’d been dealing with.

Not dead. Just asleep.

Yeah, no kidding, Alex muttered internally. Don’t freak the kid out.

Venom rumbled in response, half amusement, half something else.

Shaking his head, Alex grabbed a notepad from the counter and flipped it open, tapping the pen against his chin. Alright. Might as well put his teacher hat on. He didn’t love leaving them alone while he went back to work, but—well, that’s what notes were for.

He scribbled down a rough title at the top of the page:

Symbiote Survival 101

Underlined it twice.

1. DON’T PANIC.

• Symbiotes feed off emotions. Freaking out = more stress = bad.

• Deep breaths. Drink water. Eat food. Yes, really.

2. EAT.

• Your body will burn through energy fast. You’ll feel it.

• Protein is best. Sugar helps in a pinch. Do not just eat sugar, Ethan.

• No, you cannot live off snacks and soda. I will fight you.

3. THE HUNGER.

• If you get too hungry, your symbiote might start making... suggestions.

• Do not listen to them. I will handle the food supply.

• If things feel bad, tell me. Immediately.

4. SHAPESHIFTING.

• Small stuff = easy. Big stuff = takes practice.

• Your symbiote wants to help, so don’t fight it too much.

• But also? Don’t be an idiot. Start slow.

5. THE PAIN THINGS.

• Fire. Sound. Bad.

• Don’t test it. Just trust me.

He tapped the pen against the page, glancing over the list. Not perfect, but it would do for now. He tore the page off, stuck it to the fridge with a magnet, then turned back to Ethan.

“Alright, bud,” he said, dropping a hand onto the kid’s shoulder. “I’m heading out for work. You good to hold down the fort?”

Ethan blinked up at him, finally registering his presence. Do I get to use the fridge?

Alex snorted. “Yeah, dude. Just don’t eat only pudding cups, don't touch the raw meat or organs. And keep an eye on Ollie, alright?”

Ethan gave a mock-salute. Aye aye, Captain Alien

“Smartass,” Alex muttered, ruffling the kid’s hair before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. He paused, glancing back at the apartment once more. Ollie was still out cold. Ethan was already flipping another page in his book.

They’d be fine.

Probably.

Either way—time to get back to work.