Spiders and Hospitals
Peter had passed out at some point. Perhaps they had gassed him, or it was from the panic. He didn’t know where he was but knew it was a lab. The white ceilings above him only bring back memories of pain. The restraints on his arms were made to withstand 3 tons of force. They were pinched around his skin, and he couldn’t turn his arm. His legs were pinned similarly. He pulled on the restraints, but it only felt like he was pulling his skin off. He groaned in pain, and his eyes searched the room. He was alone. He always was alone.
Tears well in his eyes. He was alone.
The door flung open.
“Hello, 444, " a woman said. Her lab coat flowed behind her as she entered the room. She had a mask over the left side of her face, a light brown colour. “You were quite hard to track down…” She chuckled as she sat in the rolling chair on the other side of the room. “But I must say I was slightly happy you escaped the culling… I’m not too pleased about you blabbing to Batman through…” She rolled closer to the bed. “Taking your tracker out was smart… clearly not your idea…” She looked at 444’s arm curiously. “And staying with Bruce Wayne was surprising, but he has a thing for strays…” She looked at his arm, “…it seems you’ve changed some since your last check-up; your file didn’t talk about this, huh?” She grabs his arm tightly, her thumb pushing onto the small mark on his arm where his webs came from. 444 groaned in pain. “That hurt?” She smiles while pinching at the skin, “Fascinating.” She leaned over 444’s face. “Anything else new?” He shook his head. “Disappointing…” She sighed, releasing his arm and rolling the chair to a desk on the other side of the room. “That will change hopefully…”
She smiled while typing on the computer, tapping her foot as she worked. His DNA was on the screen to the right, and on the left was a spider.
“You see, 444, you were the first person to survive the initial transformation—” Her fingers continued to click on the computer. “—so if my hypothesis is correct, I got the formula right, and you’ll survive another…” A machine in the corner of the room comes alive. She rolls to it and starts typing in commands. “You see, your first transformation was with a trapdoor spider, one of the strongest spider species… and a Darwin Bark Spider, which has the strongest webs, if you condense it enough, can be similar to Kevlar—” She leans back to face 444 for a moment “—Isn’t that fun?” Her head falls back onto the machine. “But that limits you, I think… you're more than just strength.”
The machine starts running faster, the noise drowning out 444’s thoughts.
“And if it kills me?” Peter had forced himself to ask. She smiled at him and rolled over to the bed.
“Oh, sweet boy… That would be very inconvenient, so I must ask you to please try not to.” Another laugh came from her throat. “But I guess I would tear your dead body apart and figure out why it worked the first time.”
She beamed, moving away from Peter again. “But I would prefer it if you lived since I’m on the down low for a while and can’t bring any new children in for a while. So don’t worry about it too much.” She made a pretend pouty face before it switched back to her smile.
Peter was worrying.
“Well, this might take a while, so I’ll leave you to stew in your feelings.” She stands up and leaves the room; the machine's hum is the only noise left.
Peter pulled on the restraints again, using as much force as possible. It was no use.
He couldn’t talk his way out, but he knew that. He would cry to the people at the facility to stop… it never worked. He’d been in a similar situation plenty of times… most only being painful before fading, leaving him with nothing extraordinary.
This time was different; she was using the same formula that almost killed him the first time… Or something close to it… Peter was scared, I can’t die, Not yet.
444 didn’t know how long it took before she returned, but it was far too quickly for him. The machine had stopped, and a tube of something was within it. Its red colouring was ominous.
“444! It’s time!!!!!” She excitedly walked over to the machine, grabbed the tube, put it into a syringe, and walked over to 444. Peter's body pulled away but was held in place. She jabbed the needle into the side of his shoulder, pushing it quickly and watching. Peter could feel it enter him. The feeling was painful, as if it were burning him from the inside. As it flowed through him, the burning could be felt all over. Slowly, it took him over, his whole body on fire. His throat hurt from his screams. His eyes were closed, and all the noise around him became a dull hum. The woman's voice faded into the background.
It was hours before he could breathe properly again. Hours before, he could feel more than the burning. The woman left soon after the initial injection, getting bored of the screams.
It only took one hour before he couldn’t cry anymore. He didn’t pass out, his endurance being far too strong for it.
When she finally came back, she looked happier than ever. “You lived!” She looked over 444. “Nothing visibly different, which is to be expected…” She sits in her chair again, grabbing a chart. “I have a few questions for you.” She pauses, looking to 444. She holds up two fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two…” Peter answered.
“Excellent,” She puts her hand down and looks at the list. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how painful was the experiment?” She looked to 444 again. But this time, Peter didn’t respond.
“We’ll just call it a nine…” She whispers, writing on her page.
____
Cass sent the tracker to Dick as soon as she could. He traced it to an open field just outside Gotham—a desolate stretch with an abandoned van at its center. Five sets of tire tracks branched out from the site, each veering off in a different direction, carving chaotic paths into the dirt.
Dick kicked one of the van's tires in frustration, then looked up at the overcast sky. The silence of the field pressed against him as he clicked on his comm.
“They switched vehicles. Five sets of tracks, all heading in different directions,” he reported with a sigh.
Turning back to his car, he caught a glimpse of Damian trailing behind him, unusually quiet.
The only lead they had on Peter’s whereabouts was Vermin—the man they’d captured during the chaos. He was being held in custody, but Batman hadn’t been able to extract any useful information from him. Vermin hadn’t spoken a word since his capture.
Hybrudus was good—too good. She’d stayed under the radar for years, mastering the art of making people vanish without leaving a trail. She knew how to hide someone in places no one could find.
And all of it made Dick furious.
He was angry he hadn’t been at the manor to protect them. Angry his family had been hurt. Angry that Tim was now clinging to life in a hospital bed. And most of all, angry that they’d taken Peter.
Still simmering, Dick and Damian made their way to the hospital. They’d changed back into their civilian clothes, blending into the world outside. Alfred was in surgery alongside Tim, while Duke had been placed in a room on the north wing.
The silence between them was heavy, persisting through the car ride, the elevator, and even as they entered Duke’s room. The lights were dimmed to ease Duke’s concussion. Cass was sitting in a chair nearby, her leg wrapped in bandages. Bruce stood a few steps away, locked in what looked like an argument with Dr. Thompkins.
“—Then how did they find him?” Bruce’s voice was loud. The frustration was unmistakable. His body language was rigid, every muscle taut.
“I don’t know,” Dr. Thompkins snapped back, her tone sharp. “I told you I checked! There were no mechanical trackers on him. None. And don’t you dare raise your voice at me, Bruce.”
Bruce hesitated, the weight of his guilt pulling his shoulders down. “Sorry. I just—”
She cut him off with a raised hand. “It’s fine. I get it. We’ll find him.”
Her voice softened as she turned to leave, brushing a reassuring hand against Dick’s and Damian’s shoulders as she passed.
“Dick. Damian.” Bruce’s voice was quieter now, inviting them into the tense room as he sank into the chair at the foot of Duke’s bed.
Dick stepped into the room, his eyes scanning Duke’s pale, sleeping form. A faint beeping from the heart monitor filled the silence. Damian followed, lingering by the door, his arms crossed and expression unreadable.
“Have you heard anything from the doctors?” Dick asked, his voice strained but steady.
Bruce shook his head, running a hand down his face. “Tim’s still in surgery. Alfred, too. They’re stable for now, but…” His words trailed off, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on them all.
Cass shifted in her chair, watching them quietly. Her usual sharp energy was dulled, replaced by exhaustion. She gestured to Duke. ‘He woke up earlier. Just for a few minutes. Said he was sorry he couldn’t stop them.’
“That’s not on him,” Dick replied, his jaw tightening. “None of this is.”
Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We need a lead. Something. Vermin won’t talk, but there has to be another way to find Hybrudus and Peter before it’s too late.”
Dick nodded, already thinking ahead. “Cass, can you walk?”
She gave him a faint smirk, tapping the edge of her wrapped leg. ‘I’ve had worse.’
“Good. You’re with me. We’ll go through the security footage again, inch by inch. There has to be something we overlooked.”
“What about me?” Damian asked, his voice cutting through the air. He stepped forward, his green eyes flashing with barely contained anger.
“You’re staying here,” Bruce said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Damian scowled. “I’m not a child. I can help.”
“And I need you to protect them,” Bruce replied, gesturing toward Duke’s bed. “If something happens here, I trust you to handle it.”
Damian hesitated, his glare softening into reluctant acceptance. “Fine.” Bruce had left the room, heading towards the doctor again.
They made their way back to the car, the tension palpable. "Do you think Peter’s still alive?" Cass said softly as they pulled out onto the dark streets of Gotham.
Dick’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “He has to be. And we’re going to find him.”
The resolve in his voice was unshakable, but the doubt lingered in his mind. The clock was ticking, and Hybrudus was always one step ahead.
By the time they arrived at the manor, Barbara was already in the Batcave, her eyes glued to the monitors. The glow of the screens lit up her determined expression as she turned to meet them.
“Dick, I need your help going through this footage,” she said, gesturing to the array of feeds displayed before her. “I’m working on getting IDs on the kidnappers. If we can identify them, we might have better luck getting one of them to talk than we’ve had with Vermin.”
Dick nodded, already stepping toward the console. “Any leads so far?”
“Nothing solid yet. They were good—masked, fast, and precise. But everyone makes mistakes. We just have to find them.”
Barbara’s gaze shifted to Cass, her tone sharpening with purpose. “Cass, I need you to search the manor. Check every corner. They carried out the men who were knocked out, but they might have left something behind—DNA, blood, a dropped tool, anything. Gather any samples you can find.”
Cass gave a quick nod, already turning to head upstairs.
Barbara exhaled and tapped at the keyboard, pulling up another camera angle. Dick takes a seat next to her, looking over another screen.
Cass started in the foyer, her movements methodical as she knelt to take samples of the blood drops scattered on the ground. Every trace mattered—every speck might lead them closer to Peter. She moved carefully, scanning the space with the practiced precision of a predator on the hunt.
She made her way up the stairs, her eyes tracing each step. Her fingers brushed over scuff marks on the banister, and she paused to collect more evidence. The air was thick with stillness, a heavy silence that seemed to echo the weight of their failure to protect him.
When she reached the hall, faint stains trailed along the carpet, leading her closer to Peter’s bedroom door. A pile of blood just outside his door, Alfred. Her stomach tightened as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The room was frozen in time, as though Peter might walk back in at any moment. His blanket lay crumpled on the floor, and his rabbit lay face down near the bed. Cass crouched, picking up the toy carefully and turning it over in her hands.
She moved to the bed, sitting down with a quiet sigh. Her hand lingered on the soft fabric of the sheets as she placed the toy gently on the pillow, as if returning it to its rightful place.
Her gaze drifted to the bedside table, where a book lay waiting. She reached for it, opened the book, and saw the pictures inside: a book on sign language.
Cass held the book in her hands, her thumb brushing the worn edges of the cover. Her breath hitched as tears welled up, blurring her vision.
The weight of the book in her lap felt heavier than it should, carrying with it the silent echoes of Peter’s small efforts to bridge the gap. She was so worried she'd say something wrong that she didn't talk to him at all.
She bowed her head, her fingers tightening on the book’s spine. For a moment, she allowed herself to grieve—not just for Peter’s absence but for the pieces of him that they hadn’t fully seen.
But only for a moment.
Wiping her eyes, she stood, tucking the book under her arm. There was no time for more tears. Peter needed them, and she wouldn’t stop until they brought him home.
Cass descended into the Batcave; her footsteps light but purposeful. The cavern was filled with the faint hum of machinery and the glow of screens. She approached Barbara and Dick, their eyes glued to the monitor.
"Find anything?" she asked.
Neither of them looked away from the screens, too focused on the footage playing frame by frame. Cass stepped closer, her eyes following the flickering images on the screen.
The fight.
She froze as the scene unfolded in agonizing slow motion. Alfred, standing his ground. The muzzle flash of a gun. His body crumpling to the floor, limp and motionless.
Her chest tightened, and she turned away abruptly, unwilling to let them see the emotion clawing its way to the surface. She needed to focus.
Crossing the cave, she moved to the DNA machine, placing the samples she’d collected onto the tray with practiced care. One by one, she fed them into the system, her hands steady even as her mind swirled.
Tim was always better at this kind of work—so meticulous, so patient. He’d probably have had the results halfway done by now. She let out a quiet breath, glancing toward the empty space where Tim should have been, where his presence usually filled the room with happy determination.
The machine beeped softly, pulling her attention back. She straightened and watched as it began analyzing the samples, lines of data scrolling across the screen.
Behind her, Barbara and Dick were still hunched over the footage, their tension palpable. Cass glanced back at them, her jaw tightening.
They were all holding on by threads.
Cass placed her hand on the counter, grounding herself. They’d find Peter. They had to. And when they did, they’d make whoever did this pay.
The comm went off, “Alfred’s out of surgery and is recovering.” It was Damian.
“Thank you, Dami…” Brabra said, her face not leaving the computer screen.
____
“444! Thank you for answering my questions. It will help me a lot in the future.” She beamed, putting the board down. She grabbed some tools off the table, rolled her chair, and put the tools next to 444.
“Did I tell you what I was doing this time?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I don’t think I did. Well, do you know some Spiders can regrow limbs?” She smiled brightly, organizing the tools. “One of these spiders is the Sea spider! They live in water and can survive being cut in two! But, of course, the fastest healers are the Tarantulas, so I mixed some of that in there, too.” She rolls closer to Peter’s face. “Isn’t that just grand?”
“Are you going to cut me in half..?” Peter asked nervously, his body almost trying to force him to move. But was unable.
“What? No. I don’t even know if it took hold yet!” She laughs, grabbing the knife from the tray and sitting beside Peter. “I am going to take some blood and tissue samples, though!”
_____
The video footage offered no new leads, just a blur of masked figures and carefully orchestrated chaos. Barbra had already watched it a dozen times, but it didn’t give her the breakthrough they needed. The faces were hidden, the movements too fast. They were professionals, whoever they were.
But the DNA results… They had answers.
Cass turned back to the screen, her breath catching as the list of names flickered across the display.
Barbara leaned in, scanning the names with sharp eyes
Dick stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the screen, his jaw set tight. “We’re getting closer. We need to track them down. Fast.”
Cass nodded, her hand still hovering over the console. The names would lead them toward Peter, each one a stepping stone closer to finding him.
“We know where they are?” Dick asked, his tone low, urgent.
Barbara was already pulling up their data, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Alan Green, Benjamin Bisset, Samuel Miller, and Robert Willson.” She hesitated. “Three all live near the old district, near the docks. It’s a dead zone, mostly abandoned buildings. Benjamin, on the other hand, is assumed dead. If I had to guess, we’ll find him in the old district too…”
Cass stood tall, her mind already racing through possibilities. ‘I’ll go to the docks.’ She was resolute.
“I’m coming with you,” Dick said, grabbing his Nightwing gear with determination. “You’re still injured, and you’ll need backup.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode toward the Batmobile. Cass followed close behind, her eyes briefly meeting his—silent acknowledgment of the unspoken understanding between them.
“B, we have leads in the old district,” Dick called into the comms.
Together, they sped off from the cave, the roar of the Batmobile’s engine cutting through the night air as they headed toward the unknown. “I’ll meet you there”.
__
Tim had just gotten out of surgery. He was still unconscious, but Damian sat vigilantly by his bedside, his gaze sharp and distrustful—eyeing anyone who entered the room like they were a potential threat.
In the bed next to Tim, Alfred drifted in and out of consciousness, his recovery slow and uncertain. Every hour or so, he'd stir, only to lapse back into unconsciousness.
Duke had been moved into the same room, Damian almost fought the nurses on it. The young Wayne had insisted on having him close, ensuring that his brothers were together under his watchful eye.
The knock at the door almost made Damian jump. Jason walks into the hospital. “Hey…”
__
After Dick and Cass left, the machine continued to scan the DNA left, finding one more name: Charles Leroy—a known human trafficker.
“Oracle to team, I have anther ID,” she said, her voice steady but grim. “Charles Leroy. He runs a human trafficking ring by the docks. He was taken down a year ago, but it seems he’s back at it again.”
“Thank you, Oracle,” Bruce replied, his voice calm but with an edge of determination.
24 hours since the accident.