My baby, my baby (you're my baby, say it to me)

The battlefield was a tumultuous canvas, an utter chaotic blur, of destruction and desperation. Yet amidst the chaos, Peter's gaze remained unwaveringly fixed on a single figure: Thanos.

The Mad Titan stood resolute amidst the fray, his grim determination unyielding and unshaken. Peter couldn’t help but think what an utter psychopath this man had to be to justify murdering billions upon billions of people in cold blood. He wasn’t some sort of messiah, he was just plain mad.

On Thanos’ massive hand, a gauntlet gleamed ominously, each of the six infinity stones radiating an eerie, pulsating light.

Peter's heart pounded in his chest, his senses heightened to an almost unbearable degree. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burnt metal and flesh. He could hear anguished cries all around him, the relentless clashing of weapons, and the booming roars of explosions. Each sound added to the cacophony of impending doom that seemed to be bearing upon Peter at an unseeable speed.

In a desperate sprint, Peter leaped and swung through the battlefield, dodging debris and enemy fire. His eyes were locked on Thanos, specifically the gauntlet and the terrifying power it held. 

‘Just a few more feet,’ He thinks desperately, ‘I can stop him, I can do it,’ He was swearing up a storm, cursing at himself for being too slow and screaming at himself to go faster.

But even as the thoughts raced through his mind, he saw Thanos raise his gloved hand, and Peter’s heart clenched in horror.

The stones flared brighter than ever, each one a different, mesmerizing hue. Time seemed to slow as Peter's senses went into overdrive. He could feel the raw, uncontainable energy radiating from the gauntlet, a force beyond anything he had ever encountered. Fear clawed at his insides, but he pushed it down, driven by sheer determination. ‘ Come on Parker, hurry, hurry,’ 

With a desperate leap, Peter lunged toward Thanos, his hand outstretched, aiming for a stone… any stone. If he could displace just one of them he could stop all of this insanity. The energy around the gauntlet was blinding, a radiant beacon of power. Peter could feel the heat and the pulsating force emanating from the stones as he reached closer.

Just as his fingers brushed the surface of one of the stones, time seemed to shatter. 

But it was much too late. 

He was always too late.

Thanos' fingers snapped together with a resounding, universe-altering crack.

… And a blast of power exploded from the hand of the Titan in front of him. 

A universe-altering….

….universe-changing…

… heart stopping…. snap .

A random stone displaces into Peter’s hand and he watches the scene as if in slow motion. The Titan’s eyes widen in shock at the missing stone.

There was a fleeting moment of connection that sent a jolt of raw power through Peter’s entire being. It was overwhelming, and it felt like he was touching the very fabric of the universe. The sensation took his breath away. 

The blast from the snap slammed into him harshly, sending him hurtling through the air with a force that felt like a freight train. The impact stole the breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping and disoriented. He was thrown back, weightless and helpless, as the overwhelming energy enveloped him.

The world around him became a blur of light and sound, an incomprehensible cacophony that seemed to stretch on forever. His limbs flailed uselessly, the sheer force rendering him powerless to control his trajectory. He crashed into the ground with bone-jarring intensity, skidding across the war-torn landscape before coming to a painful halt.

Peter lay there, the taste of blood in his mouth and every nerve screaming in agony. His vision swam, the edges darkening as he struggled to draw breath. Each inhale was a struggle, the air refusing to fill his lungs completely. 

He could feel the raw power from the stone still reverberating through his body and coursing through his veins, leaving him breathless, in pain, and feeling like his hands were on fire. Every nerve seemed to scream, his senses overwhelmed by the aftershocks of touching the orange stone now being clutched in his fingers.

As the initial shock began to fade, Peter forced himself to move. His muscles protested with every effort, but he pushed through the pain, driven by the desperate need to know what had happened. He blinked against the residual glare, his senses gradually returning to him.

The battlefield had fallen into a disquieting silence. Dust hung in the air, particles glinting eerily in the fading light of the explosion. Peter's heart pounded as he surveyed the devastation, the full weight of the moment sinking in. The sight of his friends and allies, some already disintegrating into dust, filled him with a sense of profound helplessness.

“No, no, no,” Peter whispers a heartbroken sob escaping his throat. 

“Ms- Ms. Wanda,” He cries scrambling, despite his screaming body, towards the woman who had been so so kind to him and now she was leaving…. She was dying. 

His fault. 

It was all his fault. 

“P-Peter,” Ms. Wanda reaches out a disintegrating arm, “P-Peter, run,” Her eyes were wide in fear, gaze trained at something behind him, before she was gone. 

Gone in a cloud of golden sparks.

And Peter’s throat closes in a desperate attempt to keep himself sane and calm. All Peter wanted to do was cry and wallow in a corner. 

But Peter didn’t get to wallow. He didn’t get to be sad. 

He was responsible for the safety of everyone. That was the vow he took when he decided to be a hero. 

Peter was not normal.

So he didn’t get to act like how normal people usually would. 

The hair on the back of his neck stands on end and his spider senses scream at him to move. To get the hell away. 

Peter whirls around, eyes wide in horror, and he sees the Mad Titan in a rage, heading straight towards him. The monster’s eyes were trained on the stone still grasped in his hand. 

It was in the next second that everything seemed to go even more wrong. 

The stone in his hand cracks straight down the middle. 

Gasping, Peter manages to lift his hand up just in time to see the orange stone begin to disintegrate. The stone fragmented into tiny, radiant specks, each one glowing with an intense, mesmerizing light. These specks, as if possessing a will of their own, shoot toward Peter with alarming speed.

Before he could react, the luminous particles fling themselves into his skin, piercing through his suit and embedding themselves in his flesh.

Peter cries out, the sensation a mixture of searing pain and unbearable heat, as though molten metal was being injected into his veins. 

Everything hurt and a choked sob gets stuck in his throat; he was frozen with the agony searing through his body. 

His vision blurred.

Every single heartbeat felt like a thunderclap, every breath a struggle against the forces trying to tear him apart from the inside.

Desperately, he tried to focus, to ground himself amidst the chaos tearing through him. His eyes sought out someone he knew… anyone he knew, his mind clinging to the hope that they might still be there, still fighting. But the battlefield had fallen into an eerie stillness, the once chaotic fray now a scene of haunting silence and motionless forms. 

“Mr- Mr. Stark,” Peter chokes out, but his gaze lands on the form of the Titan who was now in front of him. 

And Iron Man was not there to help him. 

Peter was on his own. 

Thanos loomed over him, an imposing figure of inevitable doom. The Mad Titan's expression was one of cold resolve, his eyes devoid of mercy. Peter's heart raced, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of the Mind Stone's power. He tried to muster the strength to stand, but his legs felt like they were made of lead.

With a swift, almost effortless motion, Thanos reached down and grabbed Peter by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The grip was crushing, cutting off Peter's air supply, and he clawed at Thanos' hand in a futile attempt to break free. Choked gasps escape Peter without his consent and he claws at the single arm holding him, desperately trying to escape. The pain was excruciating, his vision beginning to blur even more as darkness edged in.

"You fought bravely, child," Thanos rumbled, his voice a deep, chilling resonance. "But your efforts are meaningless. You must not be let to live. Not when you were chosen. For that sin, you must perish,” Thanos speaks as if he was solemn and his eyes weren’t gleaming with an eagerness to end Peter’s life. 

The Mad Titan was still speaking but it was all blurring in Peter’s head. His mind raced, memories flashing before his eyes- Aunt May's warm smile, swinging through the city, Ned’s friendship, MJ's laughter. A surge of regret washed over him, knowing he would never see them again, never tell them goodbye.

Thanos tightened his grip, and Peter could feel his strength ebbing away. His vision tunneled, the edges going black, but he forced himself to focus, to fight against the darkness threatening to consume him. He couldn't give up, not now, not ever.

With a final, desperate burst of energy, Peter used the last of his strength to wretch open the tight grip the Titan had on his windpipe. He could breathe again, but the Titan barely flinched. Instead, Thanos raised the gauntlet, its remaining stones glowing ominously. Peter's heart sank as he realized what was coming.

"Goodbye, Spider-Man," Thanos said, a hint of finality in his tone.

In a blinding flash, the gauntlet's power surged through Peter, every nerve in his body igniting in searing agony. His scream was silent, lost in the overwhelming torrent of energy that tore through him. The pain was indescribable, a total annihilation of his very being.

And then, there was nothing. 

Except for the golden dust of Peter Parker's dead body scattering into the wind. 

It was cold until it wasn’t. 

There was only pain until there wasn’t. 

It was warm . 

It felt safe. 

And Peter felt the gaping wound in his heart and soul begin to soothe slowly. It would never be healed but it could be soothed. It was as if someone was putting a clothing balm on his aches and pains. 

He felt a strange sense of disembodiment, as if his consciousness was floating in a sea of nothingness. There was no pain, no fear- only an infinite expanse of calm and silence.

Gradually, he became aware of a rhythmic, comforting sound. It was akin to a heartbeat; steady and strong, echoing through the darkness. As the sound grew louder, Peter felt himself being drawn towards it, lulled by its sound. It was gentle, and Peter felt like he was floating in this serene, comforting plane of existence. It was as if he were enveloped in a cocoon of safety and peace.

He never wanted to leave. 

Peter had never felt so content and safe before in his whole life. 

Warmth enveloped him, a gentle, soothing embrace. And Peter felt cradled, secure, and at peace. There was a strange, muffled noise all around him, like distant waves crashing on a shore, and the faint, melodious hum of a voice that seemed to reach into the depths of his soul.

Peter's consciousness was hazy, his thoughts fragmented. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. Instead, he focused on the sensations around him—the warmth, the rhythmic heartbeat, the soft, pulsating light that seemed to filter through his closed eyelids.

He was floating, suspended in a liquid cocoon that protected him from the harshness of the outside world. The gentle sway of the fluid around him was comforting, a reminder that he was not alone. There was a deep, intrinsic connection to something much larger, something that nurtured and cared for him.

Time passed in a state of blissful unawareness, but all Peter wanted to do was sleep.

Time seemed to blur in his current state. Moments stretched into eternity, yet they also passed in the blink of an eye. Peter's awareness ebbed and flowed, drifting between a serene oblivion and fleeting moments of consciousness.

Occasionally, he would feel a slight pressure, a gentle nudge. These sensations were strange yet fascinating, hints of a reality he could not yet comprehend. 

In this current state, Peter's thoughts were simple and instinctual. He was safe, he was warm, and he was alive. The heartbeat, the muffled sounds, and the rhythmic motions were his entire world and he couldn’t fathom ever leaving.

It was so strange- being reborn again. Especially because Peter hadn’t been expecting it. 

The thought of reincarnation wasn’t something he had personally believed in. He’d hoped for an afterlife of some sort. 

He’d wanted to see his Uncle Ben. He had wanted to meet up with his mom and dad, embrace them, feel their presence, smell their scents. 

The thought of not getting to see his family, even as he’d supposedly died, made Peter want to cry. 

The realization of his new reality came slowly.

Understanding the gap between life and death wasn't something Peter inherently thought of normally. He didn’t think a lot of people honestly could grasp the difference. However, as he gradually became aware of a floating sensation, surrounded by a comforting warmth, he teetered on the brink of realization. It lingered like a taste just out of reach, consuming his foggy thoughts as he tried to piece together what had happened. His memories were strangely blurry, but Peter soon understood why.

His death was the reason for his confusion.

Death had seemingly scrambled his mind, mixing his once orderly thoughts and memories into a chaotic mess. Peter took his time though, enveloped by the soothing, slightly damp warmth, to reassemble his thoughts. Time wasn’t an issue, slipping away unnoticed as he lingered in that place where distant voices occasionally hummed.

He tried not to dwell on the fact he had died. If he dwelled too much on it, Peter might actually cry. Throwing himself at Thanos had been tantamount to wishing for death, but he had just wanted to stop the Mad Titan. Dimly, some small part of him had hoped Iron Man or another Avenger would appear, as if by magic, to save him. But they hadn't, and he had faced the consequences alone.

Along with the billions of others who had fallen as a result of Thanos’ heart-wrenchingly evil plan. 

Silently, he wondered what his friends were doing now while he was busy being lost on the way to whatever afterlife awaited him. It was typical Parker luck right there. But he hoped he was the only one dead.  It was better to be the only one leaving.

Especially given how he had always been teetering on the edge of life before, always missing out on things a normal teenager should have been doing. It seemed that this time, he simply could not hold on any longer. And he had fallen. 

But, what was done, was done. There was no point in lingering on regrets- something he had learned quickly. He couldn’t change or rethink his past actions.

With that realization, the once-comforting warmth began to lose its solace.

Light was the first thing he noticed, emerging shortly after the movement began, and then everything happened very quickly. Peter blinked up at a white blur above him, whimpering as a soft cloth wiped over his body. Loud noises assaulted his sensitive ears, the language familiar and yet his ears seemed to be clogged. He couldn’t very much hear much at the moment. 

Everything felt dulled down. He couldn’t hear nor see properly. A stirring of unease rose in his gut, and Peter could only look up at the white, slightly blurry ceiling before his attention was drawn to the one holding him.

He was genuinely so small, he realized with a start.

He was being held, cradled in someone's arms- an adult's arms. Peter whimpered, his ears managing to pick up sounds he usually heard in the maternity ward of a hospital, something familiar from late nights with Aunt May. 

He was just so tired.

Exhausted.

Overwhelmed by it all, Peter just wanted to sleep.

And so, he slept.

Peter dangled on the sharp edge of awareness for what felt like an eternity. Time lost its meaning as he floated in a state of confusion, unable to discern how long he lingered in this strange limbo of his mind. Brief moments of clarity flickered in and out, like distant stars in a foggy night sky. He remembered waking up in a place that felt unfamiliar, his body feeling oddly small and out of place. Then, he drifted, caught between wonder and worry, grappling with the unsettling realization that he was not where he expected to be.

The world around him was a puzzle with missing pieces, leaving Peter to question his surroundings and his own existence. He found himself in unfamiliar places, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, trapped in a contraption with bars. The why of it all eluded him, stirring a deep sense of confusion and disorientation. Where on earth was he? It was a question that plagued him, contradicting everything he had ever known and believed.

The tales he’d heard of an afterlife, and the existence of something beyond had been ingrained in Peter since childhood. Yet, here he was, feeling lost and disconnected from everything he thought he knew. The events of his past collided with his present reality, leaving him adrift in a sea of unpredictability.

A sound escaped him -a gurgle- as his hand reached out towards the figure leaning over him. Warm brown hair framed a face that looked down at him with curious, awestruck eyes. Yet, Peter's attention shifted as he noticed his own hand, small and chubby, reminiscent of the many infants he had once saved when he had been a vigilante. 

In that moment, everything clicked into place. The pieces of the puzzle fell into alignment, flooding Peter with a sudden realization.

Peter Parker was a baby. 

Peter thinks he was around four to five months old when he began to actually have enough energy to think and sit up.

Honestly he didn’t remember anything that had happened. He usually slept and ate, slept and ate. It was all very monotonous. He thinks he’s around five months of age. Peter remembered reading somewhere that babies’ minds were usually like sponges and between the age of around four to five months infants usually begin to have massive amounts of mental development.

“Hello, my heart,” A soft voice murmurs from above Peter’s head. Peter thinks this is the first conversation he’s ever remembered in this brief new life of his. He looks up, eyes catching on the features of the woman who was staring up above him from his crib. 

And Peter’s tiny heart freezes in his chest, his eyes widening in shock. 

Her warm brown eyes, deep and gentle, are filled with a love that seems to envelop him completely. They are framed by long lashes and a soft expression that speaks of endless care and devotion. Her hair, a rich shade of brown, cascades around her face in loose, flowing waves, catching the soft light and giving her an almost ethereal glow. Her smile, tender and reassuring, is the kind that can soothe any fear, melting away the confusion and unease within him.

She radiates warmth and kindness, her features soft and nurturing. Her skin has a natural, healthy glow, and there’s a hint of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, adding a touch of endearing imperfection. She wears a simple yet elegant outfit, reflecting her understated beauty and grace.

As she reaches out to him, her fingers are delicate and gentle, the touch familiar and comforting. 

Peter feels a profound connection to her, as if he has known her his entire life. Her presence is soothing, and he instinctively knows that he is safe in her care.

Peter’s heart aches with a bittersweet realization: this was his mother.

His mom. His. 

Mary Parker was staring down at him and Peter wanted to cry. 

He reaches his arms out, begging to be held, even though he wanted to sob into his mom’s chest. His mom coos gently, arms coming around him to cradle him like he was her most precious treasure. 

Even if he had been somehow reincarnated, he had been given the same mother. She was his mom in both worlds he had been born into. The familiar warmth of her gaze, the tenderness in her smile, all confirmed the bond he felt so deeply.

Tears welled in his eyes, not from confusion or fear, but from a profound sense of love and recognition. The universe, in its mysterious way, had granted him this connection again. Her presence, her essence, was the constant in the whirlpool of his existence. He knew, without a doubt, that this was the woman who had loved him unconditionally, who had nurtured him at the beginning of his other life, with every fiber of her being.

There is a pained whine that escapes him and all Peter can do is bury his face in the crook of his mom’s neck. She even smelt the same. 

It made his eyes water. 

And his eyes continued to water, until he was muffling his sobs into his mother’s shoulders. 

“Oh baby, are you alright my heart?” Mary Parker murmurs and her voice was so loving, Peter couldn’t help but cry even more. 

Her gentle words wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and she rocked him slowly, trying to soothe his distress. "Shhh, it's okay. Mommy's here," She whispers, her voice filled with unwavering tenderness, and she rocks him in her arms, seeming to melt as Peter’s tiny fingers dig into her clothes refusing to let her go. 

Each word from his mother seemed to wash over Peter, offering a balm to his aching heart.

Peter clung to her, his small hands grasping at her shirt as he continued to sob quietly. The emotional floodgates had opened, and he was powerless to stop the tears that streamed down his cheeks. The mix of relief, sorrow, and overwhelming love was too much to contain.

He felt so guilty he was actually kind of happy he died. Especially if it meant he had his mom back.

His mom held him closer, her hand gently stroking his back in slow, comforting circles. "It's okay, sweetheart," She assures him, holding him closer to her chest, and cradling him with the utmost tenderness.

Gently, she began to sway, cradling him close, and then she started to sing. Her voice was soft and melodic, carrying a lullaby that seemed to weave magic through the air. 

And Peter forces himself to stop crying so he can listen to her singing; he had never heard his mum sing before. He couldn’t remember it.

In her embrace, Peter felt a sense of security and belonging he hadn't realized he had missed so deeply. The scent, the warmth, the very feel of her was a tangible reminder that he was home, even in this new, strange world. 

Gradually, his sobs began to subside, replaced by a deep, exhausted calm. He nestled into her, feeling her heartbeat against his, a steady rhythm that anchored him. His eyelids grew heavy, the emotional release leaving him utterly spent.

As he drifted off to sleep in her arms, Peter's last conscious thought was a silent vow: no matter the universe, no matter the circumstances, he would cherish this bond with his mother.

"Close your eyes, my little one,  
Dream sweet dreams 'til night is done. Stars will dance and moonbeams play, Guiding you through the night's ballet.”

His mom’s voice washed over Peter, wrapping him in a cocoon of comfort and safety. Her voice was the anchor he needed, grounding him in this new yet strangely familiar world. Each note she sang was filled with love and warmth, soothing his troubled heart and easing his tears. She wasn’t the best of singers but her words were filled with love and the lullaby was beautiful to 

Peter, who hadn’t ever heard his mom sing even when he was a kid.

“Hush now, darling, don’t you weep,  
In my arms, you’re safe to sleep.  
Angels whisper soft and low,  
Cradling you where dreams do grow,”

“My baby, my baby,
You’re my baby, say it to me,
Baby, my baby,
You’re my baby, say it to me.”

“Rest your head and feel my heart,  
Even when we’re worlds apart.  
Love will bridge the time and space, Bringing warmth to your sweet face.”

Peter's sobs gradually subsided, his breathing evening out as the lullaby worked its magic. He wasn’t able to stop his tiny sniffle but he clung to his mother, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his cheek, her voice a gentle whisper in his ear.

“Golden rays will greet your eyes,  
Morning sun in gentle rise.  
Sleep, my love, and know it’s true,  
All my dreams are dreams of you."

“My baby, my baby,
You’re my baby, say it to me,
Baby, my baby,
You’re my baby, say it to me.”

Mary continued to sing, her hand softly stroking his back, until Peter’s eyes grew heavy with sleep. The world around him faded into a gentle haze, her lullaby the last thing he heard as he drifted into a peaceful slumber, cradled in the loving arms of his mother.

He just hoped this wasn’t another one of his dreams. 

Now Peter definitely still had the memories of a sixteen year old teenager, however he still had the body of a baby. 

And as such, he kind of had the brain of a baby, one that wasn’t as developed and wouldn’t develop until he was a bit older. But he’d do anything to see his mom happy. So he kind of played down his intelligence so he wouldn’t worry her. 

It didn’t help that the baby part of his brain was so happy every time she was. 

Mary Parker sat on a plush blanket spread across the living room floor, a scattering of brightly coloured toys around her. She had a very curious Peter held in her lap, who was looking around at everything and anything around him. 

It seemed as if his mother was rather minimalistic and there was no father around. Seeing as Peter had not seen hide nor hair of a man in the small apartment they were living in for weeks now.   

He wiggled around trying to get used to his limbs. Not being able to walk or eat or even go to the bathroom on his own was rather humiliating. As such he needed to get control of his limbs as soon as humanly possible. 

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow and his mom, who was actually called Mary in this world as well, picked up a soft, stuffed giraffe and held it in front of Peter. "Look, Peter! It's Mr. Giraffe," She said in a cheerful voice, gently bouncing the toy in front of him.

Peter’s eyes widened with delight, the colors making his baby brain go wild in excitement and he reached out with chubby hands to grab the toy. His fingers wrapped around the giraffe’s neck, and he immediately brought it to his mouth, gnawing on the soft fabric, to his immediate horror and embarrassment. 

He quickly takes it out of his mouth with a disgusted look, looking up at his mom for help. 

She pursed her lips against her amusement but couldn’t help but laugh at the look on her son’s face. Honestly, her son was going to be a genius in the future… just like his dad. The nagging voice in her head was immediately shoved away with a shake of her head. 

Peter’s mom laughing was always something he strode to hear and as such Peter tended to make an even bigger fool out of himself just so that he could hear his mom laughing all that much more. 

It was a melodious sound that always filled a room and made Peter’s chest grow warm. He’d missed his mom’s laughter. "You don’t like Mr. Giraffe, do you?" She cooed, stroking his soft hair. 

Peter looked up at her with his big, curious eyes and let out a joyful squeal trying to climb on her lap and up to her shoulders where it was safe and warm. 

Encouraged by his excitement, Mary heaves him up higher in her arms, picking up a colorful rattle. She shook it gently, the soft jingling sound capturing Peter’s attention immediately. He dropped the giraffe, well threw it more like it, and reached for the rattle, his movements clumsy but determined. Mary handed it to him, and he shook it with all his might, giggling at the sound it makes. He looked up to his mom for encouragement and his mom beamed at him. 

"You’re getting so strong, Peter!" Mary said, her eyes sparkling with pride.

She leaned in and nuzzled his cheek, making him laugh even more. "You’re my strong little man."

Peter’s laughter was infectious, and Mary found herself laughing along with him. She lied down beside him on the blanket, propping herself up on one elbow, and watched as he explored the array of toys on his tiny tummy. His tiny hands grasped a set of colorful rings, and he examined them with intense concentration, occasionally looking up at Mary with a smile that melted her heart.

"You’re so clever, my little baby," She murmured, reaching out to gently tickle his belly.

Peter squirmed and giggled, the sound pure and joyous. Mary couldn't help but smile, her love for her son overwhelming her.

The fact that her tiny six month old baby was already trying so hard to crawl and talk and even just to do things around the house was amazing to her. Well, considering who her son’s other parent was, there was no denying the intellect that ran in his genes. 

She’d enjoy the time she had with her baby. 

Because, knowing her life, this joy wouldn’t last for long. 

Peter was lying on his play mat, absently reaching for the colorful toys scattered around him. He was so bored. 

Honestly he loved listening to the news. This world was honestly so weird. It was similar to his own world in the fact that there were superheroes, vigilantes and people with supernatural powers - metas as they called them here. 

They were currently in New York, Queens much to Peter’s amusement and nostalgia. 

The small apartment they lived in was a modest, cozy space on the third floor of an aging brick building. The living room, where Peter spent most of his time, was filled with a warm, welcoming light from the large window that overlooked the bustling streets of Queens. The walls were painted a soft beige, adorned with a few family photos and colorful, child-friendly artwork that Mary had hung to make the space feel more like home.

The furniture was simple but functional. A comfortable, slightly worn brown couch took up one wall, with a small wooden coffee table in front of it, cluttered with magazines, baby bottles, and a couple of Peter’s favourite toys. Next to the couch was a tall bookshelf, filled with a mix of Mary’s favorite novels and an array of baby books and toys that Peter loved to explore. A soft, well-used rug covered the wooden floor, providing a cushioned area for Peter to play on, considering that he was already up and crawling around. 

His mom didn’t seem to find it surprising, though she did take an ungodly amount of pictures.

In one corner of the room, there was a small dining table with two mismatched chairs, evidence of their modest means but also of Mary’s resourcefulness in making the best of what they had. The kitchen, though compact, was neatly organized, with open shelves displaying their few dishes and cookware. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee often wafted through the space, adding to the cozy, lived-in feel of the apartment.

Peter’s play mat was set up near the window, where he could watch the world outside. The mat was a colorful patchwork of animals and shapes, surrounded by an array of toys- plush animals, building blocks, and a few noisy gadgets that he loved to fiddle with. His crib was set up in the corner of the living room, next to Mary’s small desk where she worked on her laptop, juggling her responsibilities as a mother and her freelance writing job.

Despite its size, the apartment was filled with warmth and love. His mom had made sure to create a safe, nurturing environment for Peter, even in the midst of their challenging circumstances. The soft hum of the television often filled the room, mixing with the sounds of the city outside, creating a soothing backdrop for their daily lives.

The living room was dim, late afternoon sunlight filtering through the curtains. He could hear the soft murmur of voices from the kitchen, a tone of urgency and concern that made him pause.

It was not an unfamiliar voice. 

It was one he usually heard on the other end of his mom’s many phone calls. 

Because despite Peter actually dying, and getting reborn as his mother’s son all over again, he still had his powers. 

He thinks he’d be classified as a meta in this world however and Peter takes contingencies to make sure no one would realize he was different. 

Peter had definitely learned his lesson from his previous life. It might get lonely, but he wouldn’t be endangering his loved ones, especially when -not if- he decided to become a vigilante again. 

“If you have the ability to do something, Pete, make sure you do it for the good of others.” 

“With great power, comes great responsibility,” 

He hadn’t forgotten Uncle Ben’s words, try as hard as he could. Because he had a responsibility to uphold. 

The woman his mom was talking to was called Daphne and she was his mom’s sister, if Peter was analyzing things correctly. 

They stood in the kitchen, their voices rising slightly as their argument grew more intense. True he could have heard them even if they’d been in another building entirely, but it was nice not having to strain his tiny baby body. 

“You don’t understand, Daphne,” His mom says, her voice strained. “We can’t just leave here. It’s too dangerous. If Ra’s finds out about Peter, he will come after him. You know who his father is,” She hisses at her sister who seemed to cause Peter’s spidey senses to perk up in slight alarm. 

Oh, this woman was dangerous. 

Daphne’s voice was equally tense, filled with frustration. “They’ll eventually find you here just like I did. And Mary it wasn’t that hard.” Daphne snarls. “You need to go underground, somewhere safe.” She hisses at her sister and Peter looks down at his tiny feet, wishing he could help his mom. 

Just who exactly was after them? 

Was this Ra’s his father? 

“I can’t keep running, Daphne. Peter needs stability,” Mary hisses, “He’s just a baby,” She demands. 

“I told you not to have this child!” Peter flinches at the words, biting his lip. He couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt at his aunt’s words. “You’re a CIA agent!? What do you need a child for!? You’ve trained with the top of assassins, you know Ra’s will want your child just to have blackmail over that motherfucking Bat and not to mention you,” Daphne snarls. 

Peter blinks at the words. 

His mom was a CIA agent? So it was similar to his own world. 

His parents' job was the reason they had been taken from him so soon. Why he’d ended up having a couple of inherited enemies from them along the way. 

Peter supposes, this was a bit funny in a manner of speaking. 

This world was shaping up to be very similar to his old one.

“So I’ll go on the run. You’ll warn me when Ra’s starts to get suspicious and Peter and I will run,” 

There is a long pause at her words and Peter can imagine his mom’s sister giving her the same look he was making. 

“And where will you go, Mary? You can’t keep running forever. We need a plan, a real plan. Your son needs stability.”

“I will NOT have my son be made into a child soldier,” Mary snaps back instantly. “I would rather die. I would rather die than have my son, my baby in the hands of that- that man. He already caused the death of one of his Robins, I will not have my son be made into a martyr for his unrealistic ideals and fairytales,” His mom was angry and he’d never really heard her be this cold before. 

He can imagine her now. How his mother became one of the deadliest and most competent CIA agents back in his world. 

How she’d roped his genius father into it as well and how it had gotten them killed in the end. 

He just hoped in this timeline, she was a bit more competent… a bit more deadly. Just so she would survive. 

He would skew his morals for her….for his mom, for her laughter, and her smiles and her kind eyes and her love. 

He would do it in a heartbeat. 

He can hear his aunt sigh, “I don’t disagree,” She tells his mum who exhales in relief. 

Mary’s voice softens but it was still desperate. “Peter’s safety is my priority. I can’t risk him falling into either of their hands. You know what they’re capable of.”

Peter, sensing the tension, pushes himself up to a sitting position, his wide eyes staring towards the kitchen. He could feel the fear and worry in his mother’s voice and his small heart beat faster, a sense of unease creeping into his mind. He decides against checking up on his mom, deciding that the more information he has, the better.

Daphne’s voice wavered. “Peter’s father wouldn’t let anything happen to him. You must promise me that if it gets to be too bad, you will tell him. You will tell him about the son you share.”

“He didn’t even want my baby!” There’s a sound like someone had slammed their fist into a table, probably his mom, and Peter ends up flinching again, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. 

His dad didn’t want him?

Peter feels tears well up in his eyes against his command and once again he despises how little control he has over his current emotions, his life actually. 

True, he had lost his parents much too soon as a child, but at least he’d known both his parents had loved him more than anything in the world. 

But it sounded like his dad kind of didn’t even know he existed? 

Perhaps he would grow to want him? 

“He’d still be the lesser of the two evils. I think Richard would do anything in his power to keep his son safe. It isn’t fair of you to hide the existence of Peter from him.” 

“Peter is mine. My son, mine.” His mom instantly rages and his aunt starts to console her, attempting to calm Mary down.

“Ra’s has eyes everywhere. We can’t trust anyone completely. We can however trust that Richard would adore that midget in there more than anything or anyone in this world.”

The ache in Peter’s heart, the gaping wound that had formed instantly soothes with those words. 

Just the acknowledgement that his dad would love him, was all he really needed. He sniffles as quietly as he could, tiny hands reaching up to wipe the tears away from his chubby cheeks. 

“He’s just a baby, Daphne. He deserves a chance at a normal life, away from all this danger.”

“We’ll figure something out, Mary. We’re family. We’ll protect the tiny brat, no matter what.”

His mom lets out a wet laugh and Peter swallows harshly realizing she must have been crying, “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The tension in the kitchen began to dissipate, but Peter still felt a lingering sense of worry. His mother’s usually comforting voice had been filled with fear and in this new body of his, he couldn’t do anything to help her.

Moments later, Mary and Daphne emerge from the kitchen. Peter looks up, curious about the woman who had been speaking with his mom.

Daphne was striking, with flowing blonde hair that framed her face and warm brown eyes that held a mixture of concern and determination. The same brown eyes that his mom had. Daphne had a calm, composed demeanor, but there was a steely resolve in her gaze that made his spidey senses stand on edge. 

Mary bends down to pick up Peter, cradling him in her arms as she approached her sister. “Peter, this is your Aunt Daphne,” She says softly, her voice still tinged with the remnants of her earlier emotions. “Daphne, this is Peter.”

Daphne’s expression softens as she looks at the baby in Mary’s arms. She reaches out, gently stroking Peter’s cheek with a finger. “Hey there, little guy,” She smiles, her voice warm and affectionate. “He looks exactly like his dad,” She snorts, looking fond, “He has your coloring though; the eyes and the hair,” His aunt points out, gently tracing Peter’s features with her index finger. 

Peter stares up at her, his wide eyes taking in the new face. There was something familiar and comforting about Daphne, a resemblance to his mom that put him at ease. He coos softly, reaching out to grab Daphne’s finger with his tiny hand.

Daphne smiles, her eyes shining with a mixture of love and resolve, “Well he’s a charmer, that’s for sure,” She baby talks him, “You’re so cute aren’t you? I just want to gobble you all up,” 

Mary laughs, rolling her eyes, “You’ll scare him, Daphne,” His mom drawls, unimpressed. 

Daphne chuckles, gently lifting Peter from Mary’s arms. “Pfft, he’s tougher than that. Aren’t you, little guy?” She settles Peter into her hip, her movements careful and tender. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out a small, colorful Rubik’s cube and hands it to him.

Peter’s eyes light up with curiosity as he grasps the cube, his tiny fingers exploring the smooth surfaces and colorful squares. He turns it over in his hands, thanking his new aunt for the toy, seeing as being a baby was the most boring thing in the entire world. 

He couldn’t wait to grow up.

Mary and Daphne move to the small dining table, settling into the mismatched chairs. The tension in the room had lessened, replaced by a quiet camaraderie.

“So,” Mary begins, glancing at Peter and then back at her sister. “How are things on your end? Any updates?”

Daphne sighs, leaning back in her chair. “It’s complicated. You know how our jobs can be, it doesn’t leave much time for anything else. Well you did, until you quit,” She stares pointedly at Peter and Peter smiles a bit at the fact that his mom had chosen him over her very prestigious job. 

That wasn’t something she had done in his past life. 

“What about father?” Mary asks and Peter perks up, hands idly playing with the rubik’s cube, his tiny fingers struggling to solve it. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Daphne scowls at the thought and Mary raises an eyebrow. 

“What? Like you want anything to do with him or Uncle Alfred after they left us?” Daphne scoffs at the thought. 

Mary hums, sighing a little. “We were children and father had lost the love of his life, Daph.” Mary tells her. “I can’t defend our father, knowing now what I do about parenthood. Besides Uncle Alfred had his own son he needed to care for,” 

“Not by blood,”

“But his son regardless,” Mary scolds her elder sister gently. 

Daphne wrinkles her nose in distaste, “We should’ve been prioritized just as much as Bruce had been, if not more. We shouldn’t have been left like orphans out on the street,” She snaps and Mary shrugs. 

“And I agree with you,” Mary tells her, “I just couldn’t give two shits about anyone other than you and Peter right now,” 

“And Richard apparently if you let him knock you up,” Daphne grumbles and Mary goes red in the face, smacking her sister’s shoulder. 

“Daphne!” Mary hisses at her sister who snickers into her free hand.

Peter, meanwhile was trying to act like he wasn’t listening intently to the adult’s conversation, so he was pretending to be engrossed in his new toy, his little face scrunched up in concentration as he twisted and turned the cube.

Daphne watches him fondly, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Look at him go,” She says, her voice filled with a hint of adoration. “He’s a smart one. He certainly has the genetics for it,” Daphne grumbles. 

Mary chuckles softly, her eyes never leaving Peter. “He’s special, that’s for sure.”

Peter makes sure to never actually solve the rubik’s cube, always getting three quarters of the way before starting all over again, just so that the adults don’t end up freaking out over it.

But, feeling the warmth of their love and pride, allows Peter to relax. As the two sisters continue their quiet conversation, the small apartment starts to feel more and more like a safe haven. And be was so lucky to live in such a place.

All that was missing was his aunt May, uncle Ben and maybe, just maybe …. his dad as well.

It didn’t take Peter long for his attempts at crawling to actually make him become a crawling master. 

Sure he was an apparent meta Spider-baby, as he’d taken to calling himself but his body was not in any way shape or form ready to be moving at the rate Peter’s brain wanted it to. 

Peter had been working on it for a while, his tiny body inching closer and closer to mastering the art of crawling. He was quite proud of himself when he managed to crawl from his play mat to the couch, where his mom loved to read.

Mary, who had been sitting nearby with a book, glanced up just in time to see her son make his big move. Her eyes widened in shock and delight. “Peter! You’re finally crawling!” She cheers, immediately sitting up, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

Peter, encouraged by his mother’s reaction, continued his journey across the mat. Mary scrambled to her feet, quickly grabbing her phone from the table. “I need to get pictures of this!” She exclaimed, fumbling with the device as she tried to capture the moment. And Peter, because he was the best son, decided to crawl some more, so his mom could snap pictures to her heart’s content. 

She began snapping photos frantically, trying to capture every angle of Peter’s triumphant crawl. “Oh my goodness, you’re doing it! You’re really doing it!” His mom beamed with pride, her face lighting up with pure joy.

Mary’s fingers flew over her phone’s screen, trying to take as many pictures as possible. She captured his determined expression, his wobbly movements, and the triumphant smile that spread across his face with each successful crawl.

Peter, sensing her excitement, couldn’t help but look up at his mom and gave a proud little giggle, arms reaching up to get his mom to carry him. 

Mary put her phone down and scooped him up into her arms. “You did so great, sweetheart,” She whispered, planting so many kisses on his head, “You’re growing up so fast.” She pouts at that thought, holding her son closer to her chest.

Peter snuggled into his mother’s embrace, feeling her warmth and love. He tried to tell her as such, but his tongue refused to work with his brain.

He ended up babbling nonsense to his mom who hummed and nodded and acted like she knew exactly what Peter was talking about even though they both knew she didn’t. 

He loved his mom so so much.

Peter was standing up in his crib, hands clenching at the bars separating him from the outside world. Honestly his crawling wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t his fault he was curious and he wanted to know what kind of world exactly he’d been sent to. There was a curious spark in his wide eyes as he gazed at the TV screen. His mom had left it on a news channel, thinking he might enjoy the bright colors and the comforting hum of human voices. But Peter, with his much older mind and insatiable curiosity, was doing much more than just watching.

The colorful toys around him lay forgotten as he focused on the television screen, where the anchor was delivering the latest updates. Mary was busy in the kitchen, giving Peter the perfect opportunity to absorb as much information as he could without interruption.

The news anchor's voice filled the room, reporting on the latest happenings going on in this world apparently, “On another high note, the Justice League was once again seen in action today, thwarting the alien assault on downtown Metropolis. Witnesses say Superman, Wonder-woman, Green-Arrow and the Flash were all involved in the successful operation. Spectators also recount sightings of Batman and his Robins at the scene to assist,”  

Peter's ears perked up at the mention of the heroes. He strained to catch every word, his tiny fingers gripping the edges of his play mat as he listened intently.

And Peter’s sharp mind began piecing together the snippets of information. The Justice League was a team of superheroes dedicated to protecting the world from threats. They apparently seemed to be the obvious counterpart to the Avengers team back from his world.

The screen shifted to footage of said heroes in action. Peter had gotten used to the familiar skyline of Metropolis and Gotham, given how many crimes actually happened in those cities. Now he knew why his mom moved them to New York. 

Superman, with his iconic blue suit and red cape, was clearly one of the powerhouses of the team, along with Wonder Woman who ,with her strength and agility, fought alongside him. There was a black blur that also seemed to be flinging himself around buildings, confronting the robots and saving civilians. The whole scene was kind of bringing back some of Peter’s own trauma. The blur of black, seemed to be Batman, based on Peter's deductions. He was dressed in dark, intimidating armor, and appeared to be the obvious brains of the operation, always a step ahead of the enemy team.

Peter’s mind raced, with every new Justice League member he saw on the screen, his genius mind making instantaneous deductions. The Flash was an obvious speedster, able to move faster than anyone else. Based on what he could see, perhaps even faster than the speed of light, but Peter wouldn’t be sure without actual test results. The Flash seemed to be in charge of saving as many lives as possible as opposed to actually fighting the villains, which was smart. 

There were many others in the team, and there were even some teenagers fighting as well. Kids basically. 

The sight kind of made him sick to his stomach. 

Child soldiers. 

That was the word his mother had used back when she’d been arguing with his aunt Daphne. 

Could his father perhaps be one of these heroes? Could he be employing children and putting them out on the streets and having them fight crime. 

Peter knew what it was like to be a child soldier. 

He’d only been a teenager when he’d been bitten by the spider after all.

His mom walked into the room, a gentle smile on her face as she noticed his rapt attention to the TV. "You like the heroes, huh?" She asks, picking him up and cradling him in her arms. "They're pretty amazing, aren’t they?" She rocks him in her arms and Peter fights the urge to nod along to her words. 

His mind was buzzing and it was kind of hurting now, from how hyper aware he was of everything. 

Also what sort of name was Superman? A bit of an obvious, dull name if he was being serious. 

Not that he was one to talk… being called Spiderman of all things.

Mary sat down on the couch with Peter in her lap, still watching the news. "You know, when you're older, maybe you'll get to meet them at a signing event or something,” She smiles, her voice full of warmth, “I’ll get you a plushie of Superman,” She adds, giggling to herself, “That would definitely piss off your grandfather,” She cackles at the thought and Peter’s tilts his head in question,  thinking hard about what she could mean. 

Did his grandfather hate Superman or something? 

Peter had an insane amount of Superman merch. It was getting to be a bit too much. It seemed that his mom was obsessed with making his hypothetical grandfather enraged with every new Superman onesie Peter owned and wore. 

And Peter wasn’t picky honestly. Plus Superman seemed like a cool guy. 

And if it made his mum look much more smug whenever she dressed him in his onesie…. then 

Peter wasn’t going to ruin her fun.

Currently the sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the park as Mary pushed 

Peter’s stroller along the winding paths. Birds chirped in the trees, and children’s laughter filled the air, creating a lively and cheerful atmosphere. Peter sat comfortably in his stroller, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in the sights and sounds around him. He watched the people as they strolled by and he took in their surroundings. 

It was actually almost identical to the Queen's Peter had been raised in. 

Mary paused by a bench under the shade of a large oak tree, parking the stroller and sitting down to take a break. She pulled out a small container of snacks and handed Peter his bottle, occasionally feeding Peter spoonfuls of baby food, smiling as he eagerly accepted each bite. 

At least the baby food was a nice break in the monotonous experience his taste buds had been going through all this time. 

“Do you like the park, Peter?” Mary asks, her eyes sparkling with love. “It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?” She speaks and Peter adores how she speaks to him, like she knows he can understand her. His mom is honestly so cool. And he loves her all the more for it.

Peter gurgled in response, his little hands reaching for more of the baby food. As Mary spoon fed him another bite, he suddenly stopped, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity Mary hadn’t seen before. 

Mary was honestly much too proud of her son. And if she had any friends or family, other than Daphne, she’d be showing off her baby to all of them . Peter had always been an observant child, his bright eyes taking in everything around him with an intensity that often left Mary marveling at his perceptiveness. Today was no different. 

And so she watched, heart beating rapidly in his chest, as her baby’s lips moved tentatively, forming the shape of a word. Would he speak? Was this the moment he said his first word?!

“M-ma-” Peter starts to say and then pauses, scrunching his nose and scowling in frustration. He looks up at Mary as if asking her to help him. And Mary’s heart sings with laughter, her lips curling in amusement. 

“You can do it baby,” She cheers him on, her brown eyes sparking in excitement. 

“Ma- Mama,” He finally exclaims, arms coming up over his head in the cutest little cheer Mary had ever seen in her life. Her heart instantly melts but the words from her baby were soft and uncertain yet unmistakable.

Mary’s eyes widened in shock and delight. “Peter! Oh my gosh! Baby you did it!!” She squeals in delight, her heart swelling with pride and joy. She kneels down beside her baby, her hands taking her son’s small fingers in her own.

And her son, encouraged by his mother’s reaction, tried again. “Mama,” He repeats, this time with more confidence, and the cutest smile on her baby’s face. The word came out clearer, more distinct.

Tears of happiness welled up in Mary’s eyes as she reached out to cup Peter’s chubby cheeks. 

“Oh, my sweet boy! You’re talking!” She says, her voice trembling with emotion. 

Peter giggled, the sound like music to Mary’s ears. He reached up and patted her hand with his tiny fingers, his eyes sparkling with the pure, innocent joy of his accomplishment.

Mary looked around, spotting another young mother with her toddler nearby. “He just said his first word!” She calls out, unable to contain her excitement and needing to share the moment with someone else.

The other mother smiled warmly and clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!”

Peter beamed at the attention, his confidence growing. 

Yes he was probably a bit too young to speak, and it might come off as suspicious. He was around nine months now but his mom didn’t seem to care and Mary was just so proud of any of his accomplishments.

Was this what it was like having a mom?  

Peter was getting addicted to the feeling of being loved. 

After that, Peter took to speaking quite quickly. He could only speak singular words though and it was infinitely easier to tell his mom what he wanted when he could actually somewhat control the muscles in his mouth like a normal person. 

With every month that passed, and the more he grew, Peter became much more comfortable in his body. 

At first, it felt like he was an alien in his own skin. His mind was far more advanced than his tiny frame could handle, making every movement feel awkward and foreign. It was as if he was trying to pilot a vessel that was still being built, each day bringing new pieces he had to learn to control. 

His mind screamed commands, but his body lagged behind, sluggish and unresponsive. It was as if his limbs were wrapped in heavy chains, each movement a laborious struggle. The disconnect between his thoughts and actions was maddening to him.

His limbs were uncooperative, his coordination lacking, and he often wanted to cry out in frustration. The process of trying to get his hands and knees to work together was a frustrating challenge. His mind knew what to do, but his body lagged behind, a clumsy and slow reflection of his intent. The smallest tasks required immense effort and concentration.

Every failed attempt to stand or grasp an object sent waves of frustration crashing over him.  His limbs felt foreign, like they didn't belong to him, a constant reminder of the chasm between his mental acuity and physical ability.

Even his attempts at speaking were fraught with difficulty. Words formed perfectly in his mind but emerged as incoherent babbles, the muscles in his mouth untrained and clumsy. The inability to express himself had added to his sense of alienation, making him feel like an outsider in his own life.

But, now, at least he could move around and speak somewhat. 

However, his continued attempts at standing remained clumsy wobbles and falling over on his butt. Thankfully and embarrassingly enough…. his diaper usually broke his fall. 

Peter was nearing his one-year mark and he honestly had never been happier, despite his whole becoming a baby issue, and his whole dying and coming back to life thing. 

But all of the calm he and his mom seemed to be experiencing calm to an abrupt halt in the early echoes of the morning that day. 

The room was still bathed in the dim, soft light of dawn when the door burst open with a loud crash. Daphne stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with urgency and fear, her blonde hair disheveled.

"Mary, we have to go! Now!" Daphne's voice was sharp, cutting through the peaceful morning silence like a knife.

Mary, starting from her sleep, sat up quickly, her eyes darting to Peter's crib before focusing on her sister. "What's happening?"

"Ra’s found out where you’re hiding,” Daphne says, rushing into the room. Her brown eyes were filled with a mix of panic and determination. "Pack whatever you can. We don't have much time."

Mary's face drains of color, her eyes darting to Peter, who sat, wide-eyed and confused by the sudden commotion. "Oh my God," She whispers, panic creeping into her voice. “Daphne, does he know about Peter!?” She demands, needing to know the answer, as she leaps to her feet and quickly moves to pack some bags, her hands trembling.

Daphne steps forward to help, her expression determined. “No. He knows where you are hiding, and he’s finally sending assassins to get his revenge.” She tells her sister who scowls in rage. 

“That fucking insane bastard,” She starts to swear and Daphne and Peter stare at each other, both with wide, startled eyes at Mary’s language. 

“Your son is still learning to speak Mary, Jesus Christ,” Daphne snorts but starts throwing all of Peter’s clothes in a huge carry-on luggage. 

Peter swallows harshly, feeling heartbroken at the thought of leaving their little apartment home.   

"I'll handle the rest. Just get the rest of Peter's things together and be ready to move. We can’t afford to stay here any longer." Daphne orders her sister who starts muttering curses under her breath, her eyes hard and cold. 

Her entire body had shifted and instead of the kind and loving mom he knew and adored. Peter’s spidey senses, for the first time since his birth, were going insane in the presence of both Daphne and his mom. 

His mom, who was acting more akin to a predator than a civilian. 

It was interesting to watch the change. 

He’d never seen his mom like this…. in either his lifetimes. 

Peter watched as his mom hurriedly packed, her movements frantic and shaky. The sense of urgency and fear in the room was palpable, seeping into his awareness and making him uneasy.

Mary, her voice cracking, called out, "Peter, sweetie, we’re going on a little trip. Everything’s going to be okay." She tried to keep her tone soothing, but the tremor betrayed her anxiety.

As Daphne took over packing some of the heavier items, she glanced at Peter, her eyes softening briefly. "We’ll keep you safe, little guy. I promise."

The room was a whirlwind of activity, the once calm morning now shattered by the urgency of their escape. The fear and determination in his mom and aunt's eyes told Peter everything he needed to know: their lives were about to change drastically, and he had to trust them to protect him, because as he was now, he could not protect himself let alone anyone else. 

With bags hastily packed and the reality of their situation sinking in, Daphne and Mary exchanged a grim look. They were ready to face whatever lay ahead, united in their determination to protect Peter at all costs.

Mary hurried to Peter and scooped him up, holding him close as she tucks him into the baby carrier on her chest. She covers him up with a blanket. 

“If he were older, I’d tell you to dye his hair,” Daphne cringes, but helps Mary hide Peter’s presence by securing the blanket over Peter’s head and into the straps of the carrier. 

“He’s barely ten months old, Daph,” Mary’s voice drawls but her eyes and body language remained alert. 

"Alright, let's move." She orders, two huge bags being carried in one of her arms while the other is wrapped around Peter’s body protectively.  “Are we taking your car or mine?” 

Peter notices that his mom had changed into more protective clothing and he could see a couple of knives and guns on her body. The sight has him blinking in shock. 

“Both. We’ll split up and head to safehouse D-34,” Daphne responds, her tone brisk and businesslike.

Peter kind of wishes he understood what the hell they were talking about regarding the safehouse, but he decides to stay quiet and not cause any trouble for his mom at the moment. He nestles closer to his mom, finding some comfort in her familiar scent and steady heartbeat.

Mary nods sternly. “Got it. We’ll meet you there.” She adjusted Peter in her arms, holding him securely as they headed towards the door.

They hurried out of the apartment, the dawn's early light casting long shadows behind them, marking the end of their peaceful existence and the beginning of a desperate flight for safety.

As they exited the complex, Daphne took a quick look around, ensuring no one was watching them, “Stay alert. If anything seems off, we change the plan immediately,” She instructs Mary, who nods in agreement.

The two women quickly made their way to the cars parked outside. Daphne’s sleek black SUV and Mary’s reliable sedan were parked side by side. Daphne opened the door to her SUV, tossing in the bags and quickly getting into the driver's seat. Mary, with Peter still held protectively in one arm, managed to get the bags into her car all the while keeping Peter secure to her chest. She’d drive with him on her chest until they were away from any cameras that could catch her son’s presence.

“We’ll be okay, baby,” She whispers to her son, her voice filled with determination. 

The engines roared to life, and the two cars peeled away from the curb, heading in opposite directions. Peter’s eyes stayed glued to his mom’s face, trying to make sense of where they were going. 

It took half an hour, approximately, for Mary to find it safe enough to stop the car and buckle Peter into his car seat. Mary watches Peter closely, her face softening at the panic on her baby’s face. “Just a little longer, baby. We’ll be safe soon,” She murmurs, kissing his forehead, though her words sound as much a promise to herself as it was to him. 

Peter’s mind raced, trying to process everything. Despite his advanced intellect, he felt the helplessness of his infant body acutely in moments like this. He wanted to help, to protect his mom as much as she was protecting him, but for now, all he could do was trust her and hold on tight. Peter thinks he was feeling so many adult emotions in his tiny body, it literally exhausted him, his eyes well up with tears and he sniffles a little when his mom pulls away from him. 

Mary swallows heavily, her gaze heartbroken. 

“It’s okay, my heart. I promise. I’d kill anyone who thinks to harm a hair on your head,” She assures Peter who sniffles again. 

“Mama,” He tells her and his mom beams, through teary eyes of her own. 

“Mama is here, baby. Mama will never leave,” She says and Peter’s heart thuds rapidly in his chest at her words, feeling anxiety despite the fact that he knew his mom was badass, he couldn’t help but be scared for his mom and aunt regardless.

As they drove through the city, the tension in the air was palpable. Every red light felt like an eternity, every passing car a potential threat. Mary’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her eyes constantly scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger.

After what felt like hours, they finally approached the outskirts of the city, the landscape changing to more secluded and wooded areas. Mary took a deep breath, glancing back at Peter. “We’re almost there, sweetheart.”

Peter’s tiny hands gripped the edges of his car seat, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity. The safehouse loomed ahead, a hidden sanctuary amidst the chaos. As they pulled up to the secluded building, Mary quickly unbuckled Peter and gathered their belongings, her movements quick and efficient.

Daphne arrived moments later, her SUV coming to a stop next to Mary’s car. She jumped out, her eyes scanning the perimeter before nodding to Mary. “Let’s get inside.”

The sisters, with Peter securely in Mary’s arms, hurried into the safehouse. The door closed behind them with a heavy thud, sealing them inside the reinforced structure. The interior was sparse but functional, designed for safety and survival.

Mary set Peter down on a blanket on the floor, his wide eyes taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. She crouched down beside him, her expression softening. “We’re safe now, Peter. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Peter looked up at his mom, the anxiety in his chest easing slightly. Despite the fear and uncertainty, he knew he was surrounded by his trusted adults. And that, for now, was enough.

They have been in the safe house for a couple of hours, and Peter was watching his adults munch on a pizza while he was stuck eating carrot baby food from a spoon his aunt Daphne was feeding him with. 

His tiny fingers fumble with the edges of the spoon she was using and her brown eyes crinkle in humor whenever he attempts and fails to steal the spoon from his aunt. 

“Aunty!” Peter grumbles and it earns him a cheek pinch. 

“No brat. You are a literal baby, stop giving me those disappointed eyes. I already disappointed my father, I don’t need the other man in my life mad at me,” She jokes cheekily.

Peter scrunches his nose at her words and his aunt Daphne snickers. 

“I swear your kid can understand us sometimes,” Daphne tells her sister who snorts, giving her a tired smile. 

“Of course he can,” Mary boops Peter’s nose with her finger, “He’s my little genius,” She coos and lights up when her baby absolutely beams up at her. 

“Damn him for being so adorable,” Daphne grumbles, flicking her blonde hair behind her back. “Crept up into my heart and decided to live there rent free,” His aunt stuffs her face with more pizza.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at his aunt, his heart warming with love for the woman. 

“ See! Mary!! Your son is laughing at me!” Daphne mock-whines and his mom just decides to ignore her, a very non-innocent smile on his mom’s face.

There was a pause in the conversation, until his mom decides to break it. 

“Do you think anyone followed us?” Mary’s voice was soft but edged with worry.

Daphne’s reply was firmer, more confident. “No, I made sure we weren’t tailed. We took every precaution, Mary. No one knows we’re here.”

Peter’s heart ached at the fear he heard in his mother’s voice. He knew she was trying to stay strong for him, but the strain was evident.

“Are you sure, Daphne? Ra’s is relentless. If he finds out about Peter…” Mary’s voice trailed off, choked with emotion.

“You’re the one who went undercover in his base and decided to blow his whole base of operations to ashes,” Daphne grumbles at her sister and Peter fights the urge to do a double take because what the actual fuck? 

Daphne sighs though, a sound that conveyed both exhaustion and determination. “But, we've covered our tracks. This place is off the grid. No one will find us here. We just need to stay put until it’s safe to move again.”

“What about father or uncle Alfred?” Mary asked, her tone hopeful. “Do you think they would help us discreetly?”

Daphne was silent for a moment before responding. “I would rather eat shite than ever ask father for help after what he did to us. Besides… he would probably end up barring us in CIA protective custody until Ra’s is dead,” Daphne says with a cringe, “And you know Ra’s is immortal,” She says and Peter has to force himself to blink through the shock.

Because what!?

Immortal?!

Wow… That was some enemy his mother decided to make. 

“And Uncle Alfred would probably steal Peter from you, seeing as he’s Dickie’s son,” Daphne rolls her eyes, “Technically Peter here is his nephew and grandson at the same time. Who would have thought?” His aunt was being sarcastic and Peter was not appreciating it because what in the incest was going on!?

“Adopted grandson, Daphne. Richard was adopted, idiot.” 

Oh thank god.

Peter could breathe easily, knowing he would not be having any recessive genetic diseases pop up in his life. 

Peter blinks up at his mom and aunt, his head swerving between the two of them as they speak back and forth. 

“And I’d never let Uncle Alfred take my son. He may be ‘The Eagle’ but he’s an old man now, and I’m pretty sure I can kick his ass if I bring my gun,” Mary murmurs the last sentence to herself and Daphne chortles in laughter. 

“I’m going to tell him that. That is hilarious.” 

 “Please don’t. I don’t want him to actually beat me up. I enjoy life, you know,” 

Peter watches them burst into laughter at memories Peter probably couldn’t relate to, given that he didn’t really know any. 

“So if worse comes to worse, Uncle Alfred is the backup plan?” Mary asks and Daphne nods. 

“Yeah, we can tell him Peter is some rando’s son if you still want to hide him from Richard,” 

Daphne was giving his mom a very judging look. 

“It’s not just Richard, Daph. It’s fucking Bruce I don’t like. I won’t have my son living with the fucking Bats and feeling inferior to them because I refuse to have my baby become one of his soliders.” She states, “We’ve discussed this before. I will not allow him to kill another kid, especially not mine,”  

Oh. 

Oh.

That put his mother’s actions a bit more into the light. And as a former vigilante, Peter completely understood his mom. 

Even if she had kept him from his dad and vice versa… it was all for him, all for Peter. And Peter knew that his mom loved his dad, even if his dad probably didn’t really feel the same. 

And it hurt that she couldn’t pursue her love because of his presence. 

In the small living room of the safe house, the atmosphere was markedly different from the tension of their arrival. The furniture was sparse but comfortable enough for the trio to settle in. 

Daphne sat on the old couch, her blonde hair catching the dim light from the single overhead bulb, while Mary was on the floor with Peter, who was busy trying not to die from boredom. 

Hewished he had some books to read.

Peter crawled towards a stack of wooden blocks that had been hastily brought along in one of their bags. His chubby hands reached for the nearest block, and he studied it intently before throwing it against the tower he had made. The destruction made him grin and the amused look on his mom’s face made him giggle, a sweet, infectious sound that drew laughs from both women.

Daphne, her brown eyes softening, leaned over to grab a block herself. “Look at you, embracing your inner villain already,” She teases, holding the block out to him. 

Mary laughed, shaking her head as she watched Peter take the block from Daphne with a look of pure concentration and then chuck it at his stuffed bear. “He’s definitely going to keep us on our toes,” She grumbles, “Peter, we don’t throw things baby,” She sighs, taking the block from her son only to have Peter pout up at her with a devastatingly convincing pair of adorable eyes. 

“Damn Mary. I would fold in an instant.” Daph grumbles, and proceeds to hand Peter another block. Peter’s smug look only causes the women to laugh again. 

“He knows he has us wrapped around his little finger,” His mom sighs. She glances up at her sister, “I’m just glad he’s handling all of this so well.”

Daphne nods, her expression thoughtful. “Kids are resilient, Mary. He’ll be fine.”

Peter, sensing the weight of the conversation, decided that the blocks needed to be knocked over again, as he couldn’t crack the joke he wanted to at the moment. 

He claps his hands in delight as the stack tumbled, then looks up at his mom and aunt with bright, curious eyes.

Mary reaches out and ruffles his hair, her touch gentle and affectionate. “You’re quite the little troublemaker, aren’t you?” She teases, her voice filled with love.

Peter’s response was a joyful babble, and he crawled into his mother’s lap, nestling against her. Mary held him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you so much, Peter,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with emotion.

Daphne watched the two of them, her heart swelling with affection. She reached over and lightly squeezed Mary’s shoulder. “We’re going to get through this, Mary. Together.”

Mary looked up at her sister, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I know we will. Thank you, Daph.”

Daphne smiles, a determined glint in her eyes. “Anything for you and this little guy,” She says, ruffling Peter’s hair again, to the annoyance of said baby, who shoots her a glare.

“Little brat,” Daphne snickers and she doesn't hesitate to collapse on top of both Mary and Peter, who both shriek with laughter at the eldest Pennyworth sister’s actions.

As the laughter echoed through the small room, Peter squirmed happily between his mother and aunt. Mary brushed a stray tear from her cheek, her eyes crinkling with amusement as Daphne settled beside them, her head resting on Mary's shoulder.

“You know, Daph,” Mary began, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips, “Do you remember the time Dad and Uncle Alfred decided to teach us how to properly climb trees?”

Daphne’s eyes light up with recognition, and she chuckles. “Oh, how could I forget? We must have been, what, eight or nine? They insisted that knowing how to climb was a survival skill every Pennyworth needed.”

Mary nods, her fingers gently combing through Peter's soft hair. “I remember being absolutely terrified. Those trees looked so tall back then, Peter. But Dad was so patient. He climbed up first, making it look so easy, and then he talked us through every step…. I’ll teach you when you grow up baby,” She tells Peter, smiling at the wide eyed look of interest on her son’s face.

Daphne grins at Peter, “Your great-uncle Alfred was right there with him, cracking jokes to keep us from getting too scared. I think he called us ‘little monkeys’ the entire time.”

Daphne stares at her nephew who, wide-eyed and fascinated by the story, babbles softly, his gaze shifting from one face to the other as he tries to keep up with the conversation. Honestly her nephew was so smart, it made her chest fill up with pride. She was almost certain he’d grow up to end up in one of those gifted children schools she heard so much about. 

Mary continues the story though, more for Peter’s sake than for her own remembrance, “I remember finally making it to the first branch and then bursting out into tears, honestly I’m pretty sure Daphne wanted to pee herself.”

Daphne laughed, her voice warm but she still smacks her sister for the cheek. “And then your mom got stuck halfway and was sobbing so hard I thought she’d pass out,” Daphne snickers and her words make Peter beam.

Mary giggled. “Uncle Alfred so casually backflipped up onto the branch I was on and carried me down. I was so pissed at him for showing off,” Both sisters laugh at the memory and Peter joins in the giggles, not wanting to feel left out. 

It was such a heartwarming scene, Daphne had to click a couple selfies of the three of them on her burner phone, as discreetly as she could. Her expression softened and she placed the picture of the three of them with Peter laughing hysterically in it, as her wallpaper.

“Those were the best days. Dad and Uncle Alfred were always there for us, no matter what.” She grumbles, “ Unlike now,” 

His mom purses her lips and shrugs, “That’s life you know,” She stares at her sister, with sadness in her eyes, “People grow apart and the closest people in your life one day become stranger in the next,” 

“I’m supposed to be the older sister you know,” Daphne scoffs. 

“Motherhood trumps your age,” His mom teases, making Daphne snort. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever. I still can’t believe you got knocked up by my ex-boyfriend,” His aunt admits with a Chesire grin and Peter feels himself go into cardiac arrest. 

“You dated him for barely a month, it doesn’t count unless you loved him,” Mary waves her away, “Besides he knocked me up when I was two bottles into the wine. Blame the alcohol,” 

“You love him though,” 

His mom is silent, her eyes wavering at his aunt’s words. 

“You’ve always loved him, Mary. Ever since you first met him when we were kids and he defended you to father and Alfred,” Daphne continues. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I will never have him. He’s with someone else. All I am to him and ever will be is a one-night stand he had that he probably doesn’t even remember.” 

“He remembers you.” Daphne murmurs, “You did tell him about the pregnancy,” 

“Which I then told him I aborted after he freaked out and raged about being a parent too young,” 

Daphne is silent, “He’s dating Koriand’r, you know. That Starfire girl he was teammates with,” She suddenly blurts out and honestly Peter can’t believe how much gossip he was learning just from being supposedly a baby. 

Being a baby was really good for information gathering. 

Ms. Natasha would be so proud of him.

“Wow Daph, thank you so much, for that information,” Mary drawls, unimpressed and Daphne winces. 

“What!? I thought you’d want to know!” 

“Know that the father of my child is in a relationship with someone else? Yeah, thanks for that,” Mary rolls her eyes and even Peter had the urge to wince in his aunt’s direction. 

Daphne bit her lip, looking genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought… I don’t know, I thought you’d want to be kept in the loop.”

Mary sighed, her expression softening slightly. “I appreciate the thought, Daph. It’s just… complicated, especially since we have a kid in the mix he doesn’t even know about,” She seems genuinely remorseful about the fact but Peter still thought his mom had a right to keep it to herself, especially since his dad hadn’t wanted him in the first place. 

Peter forces himself to swallow harshly against the wave of emotions he was feeling right at that moment. 

Mary took a deep breath, her eyes distant as she spoke. “Sometimes, I lie awake at night, wondering how things got so complicated. I think about Peter’s father and what we had, and it hurts, Daph. It really hurts. But then I look at Peter, and it’s like all that pain melts away. He’s my whole world now. I wouldn’t trade him for anything,” Mary’s voice was firm and a tad threatening and Peter couldn’t help but feel his chest warm with her words. 

Daphne’s expression tightens with pain, her voice gentle. “I know it’s tough, Mary. But you’re strong. You’ve always been strong. And Peter is lucky to have you as his mom.”

Mary’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I just… I want him to have a normal life. A life where he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder all the time. I want him to be happy, to be safe. And sometimes, I feel like I’m failing him because I can’t give him that.”

“You’re not failing him,” Daphne says firmly. “You’re doing everything you can to protect him. And that’s what matters.”

Mary nods, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Thank you, Daphne. Your support means everything to me.”

Peter, feeling the weight of his mother’s emotions, crawls into her lap and nestles against her. Mary holds him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you so much, Peter,” She whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with emotion.

Daphne watches the two of them, her heart swelling with affection. She reaches over and lightly squeezes Mary’s shoulder. “We just have to lie low for a couple months, then we can move to another country, dye our hair and disguise ourselves as different people. It’ll be okay,” His aunt nods firmly, trying to convince all three of them. 

Mary looks up at her sister, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and she sighs, “Hopefully,” She prays, her voice nothing more than a whisper. 

Daphne smiles, a determined glint in her eyes. “I’d do anything for you and this little guy,” she said, ruffling Peter’s hair again, to the annoyance of said baby, who shoots her a glare.

“Little brat,” Daphne snickers, and she didn’t hesitate to pile tiny kisses onto Peter’s little chubby face. Her nephew starts squealing with laughter at the eldest Pennyworth sister’s actions and her younger sister beams at the sight of her and her son getting along. 

Anything for her sister. Anything for Peter too.

Peter's laughter echoes through the small apartment as he tries to crawl as fast as he could to hide behind the curtains, peeking out occasionally to see if his mom had found him yet. 

Sure he could have probably found a better hiding spot, but his body was tiny and he tired very easily. Plus he didn’t want to give his mother a heart attack. 

His mom, pretending to search the entire room, called out playfully, "Where could my little Peter be? Is he under the table?” She ducks under the table, “ No... Hmm, maybe behind the couch?"

She was exaggerating her words and Peter, yeah he felt a bit silly, but the overwhelming happiness he felt at having his mom with him circumvented any embarrassment he felt. Peter giggles, his tiny hands covering his mouth to stifle the sound. 

Finally, Mary found him, pulling back the curtain with a flourish. "There you are!" She exclaims, scooping him up and spinning him around as Peter's delighted squeals filled the room.

“Hey!! I’m still hiding up here!” Daphne demands, hands on her hips from her place on the refrigerator. 

“I literally spotted you the second I walked into the room, Daph. You weren’t being sneaky,” Mary snorts, rolling her eyes and Daphne scowls. 

“Shut up. I’m a master of hiding,” 

“How you were hired by the CIA, I will never know,” 

Their nights were always quiet. And the only sound that could be heard was the soft murmur of 

Peter’s mom’s voice reading from a variety of books. 

Mary found out very early on that the colorful pictures did nothing to capture her son’s attention. It was her voice and her that Peter tended to be drawn to at all seconds of the day. 

It warmed her little heart right up whenever she realized just how much her son adored her.

So she had a copy of one of her favorite books open. It tended to be a very good way to keep both herself and her son entertained. 

Honestly her baby was so well behaved. 

Mary loved her son so much.

Peter sat nestled against her, his wide eyes trained on his mom as she read out loud, her voices making him grin and her silly faces making him laugh. 

“'In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell...'" Mary began to read, her voice bringing the characters to life. 

Occasionally Peter would point at the page, babbling in excitement, with a high pitched, “Mama,” and his mom would smile and repeat the section that he seemed to love. She had all the patience in the world for him. 

Honestly Peter adored whenever they spent time together reading. It was always the favorite part of his day. 

Peter loved his mom so much. 

Mary sat in a rocking chair, softly singing a lullaby as she rocked Peter to sleep. The chair was making soft, rhythmic creak sounds. It was a soothing backdrop to the lullaby Mary sang. Each back-and-forth motion produced a gentle sway, a comforting, familiar motion that lulled Peter to sleep. 

He could barely stay awake for a couple hours every day before he started to get cranky and his mom scooped him up and put him to his nap. The chair’s movements were steady and measured, creating a lullaby of its own. This sound, intertwined with Mary's voice, created a symphony of comfort and love that wrapped around them both like a warm embrace.

Peter’s eyes flutter closed, his tiny hand grasping his mom’s finger. 

“Rest your head and feel my heart, ” Mary’s voice was soothing, each note filled with tenderness. 

“Even when we’re worlds apart. Love will bridge the time and space,” Peter’s breathing slowed, his grip on her finger loosening as he drifted off, “Bringing warmth to your sweet face.”

Mary continues to sing, even after he was asleep, cherishing these quiet moments. “My baby, my baby,” She sings, “You’re my baby, say it to me,” Her gaze was tender, her heart full, as she watched her baby sleep soundly in her arms, “Baby, my baby, you’re my baby, say it to me.”

She looked down at Peter, marvelling at his innocence and the profound love she felt for him. “Golden rays will greet your eyes…. morning sun in gentle rise,” 

Peter's face softens in his sleep, a contented smile on his lips. Mary presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, her voice barely above a whisper as she continues the lullaby, her heart swelling with emotion.

“Sleep, my love, and know it’s true, all my dreams are dreams of you,” Mary holds Peter close, feeling the rise and fall of his tiny chest against her own, continuing to rock the pair of them on the same wooden chair her father had used to use when they’d get nightmares and come to him for help. 

After all, this safe house had once been her childhood vacation home. 

Daphne comes into the room only to find both her sister and nephew fast, fast asleep. 

She ends up sleeping on the couch beside them. 

….she got lonely sometimes too. 

The sisters sat at the small kitchen table, the warm glow of the overhead light casting a cozy ambiance over the room. The soft hum of their conversation blended with the occasional clink of teacups, creating a serene backdrop. Daphne reaches over to gently stroke Peter's hair, her fingers brushing through his soft curls with a tenderness that spoke volumes. The baby was taking one of his many naps and he refused to let go of Daphne’s shirt, so she gave up trying to tuck him into his crib.

"He looks so peaceful," She whispers, her eyes soft with affection as she gazes at her nephew's sleeping form.

“Peter hates having to be tucked in for his naps, but once he’s asleep it’s hard to wake him up,” 

Mary laughs, a hand to her mouth in humor.

Daphne chuckles, adjusting her position slightly to get more comfortable. "Well, he seems to have a grip like a little vice," She says, looking down at Peter’s tiny hand clutching her shirt. "I guess he just loves being close to family."

Mary smiled, her eyes warm as she watched her sister with her son. "He does. It's like he knows he's safe with us."

They both took a moment to savor the quiet, the comfort of family and the gentle rhythm of their conversation. The wine glasses on the table reflected the soft light, and Mary took a sip, savoring the rich flavor.

“So, tell me about this guy you’re interested in,” Mary prompts, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Daphne blanches, nearly choking on her drink. “Excuse me?” She hisses in a whisper, her face turning crimson. “How the fuck did you know!?” 

Her reaction made her younger sister burst into rounds of giggles. “Oh, come on, Daph! You’re my sister. I know when something’s up with you,” Mary teases, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. 

Daphne rolls her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “Fine, you caught me,” She admits, taking a long sip of her wine. She glanced at Peter, who was snoozing peacefully in her lap, before lowering her voice. “He’s one of my partners at the CIA.”

Mary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “One of your partners? That’s intriguing. So, how did it happen? How did he catch your eye?” She asks, leaning in eagerly. She knew it had to be a good story. He had to have done something truly out of the box to get Daphne’s attention. The usual schmooze and booze didn’t really do it for her sister.

Daphne sighed, a fondly exasperated look crossing her features, “Well, it wasn’t exactly romantic at first. We were on a mission in Prague, and things went south pretty quickly. We were cornered on a rooftop, with nowhere to go. I thought I was a goner when I slipped off the edge, but he… kind of almost ripped my arm off trying to save me from my death,” 

Mary blinks, “Wow,” She deadpans, “So romantic. I’m swooning… No! Seriously!” She laughs the last part out when she’s hit in the face with one of their wooden coasters. 

“He-” Daphne kicks her sister between every word she grits out, “-made- a - joke- about- taking- my- hand!” 

Mary pauses for a second taking it in and then she is bending over, trying to muffle her giggles. 

“I want to meet him. He sounds like a hoot,” 

Daphne mutters curses under her breath, “That would be a fucking disaster.” 

“The only disaster here is you having a crush,” 

“I’m a sexy ass woman, he’d be lucky to have me,” Her elder sister demands and Mary nods consolingly. 

“Of course he would,”

“Don’t use the baby voice on me, I’m not a baby,” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” 

“WHY IS THE KITCHEN BURNING!?”

The smell of smoke filled the apartment, and the smoke detector blared loudly. Daphne stood in the kitchen, looking sheepish and slightly panicked, a burnt pot in her hand, as Mary burst into the room, her eyes wide with alarm, and a flustered Peter on her hip. 

Peter’s nose scrunches and he kind of felt like gagging at the smell, “Yucky,” He manages to say and his mom nods, her eyes shining with sympathy. 

His mom’s expression softens into a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Daph, I told you to keep an eye on it!” She laughs, setting Peter down in his high chair and beginning to wave a dish towel at the smoke. 

Peter was almost 99% sure, babies shouldn’t be inhaling as much smoke as he was currently doing. 

Daphne sighs, shrugging apologetically, “Well, I guess it’s takeout again tonight,” She grumbles much to Peter’s own amusement. He keeps one hand over his nose though, seeing as the smell was terrible.

Mary opens the windows to let the smoke out, fanning the air with a dish towel. “You know, Daph, maybe we should just ban you from the kitchen altogether,” She teases, her eyes twinkling.

Daphne huffs, crossing her arms. “It’s not my fault the oven hates me. I’m convinced it’s possessed.”

“Or maybe it’s just that you have no culinary skills,” Mary retorts with a smirk.

They ended up gathered around the coffee table, with Peter continuing to eat his baby food, much to his disgust, and his guardians eating takeout from cardboard boxes. Mary picked up her chopsticks and pointed them at Daphne. “Remember the time you tried to make pancakes and set off the fire alarm at three in the morning?”

Daphne groaned, covering her face. “The neighbors thought the building was on fire and there were emergency responders all over the block. They gave me dirty looks for years after,” 

Peter, sitting in his high chair, made a face as he took a spoonful of mushy baby food. He waved his spoon dramatically, trying to get his mom's attention. Mary noticed and chuckled. “Looks like someone’s not a fan of baby food.”

Peter babbled in agreement, scrunching his nose, “Mama, bleh,” He sticks his tongue out in disgust, making his mum burst out laughing. 

Daphne reaches over and ruffles his hair. “Hang in there, little man. Soon you’ll be able to enjoy real food. Not…” She pauses, “....whatever this is,” She winces in sympathy.

Peter’s response was a dramatic sigh, causing both women to stare at him silently in shock for a second before both of them are bursting into rounds of snickers. 

The tranquility of their safe haven was shattered a month into their hiding.

It was a cold, moonless night, the kind that wrapped the world in an eerie silence. The only sound was the occasional rustle of leaves outside and the faint hum of the heater. Inside, the small apartment was dimly lit, with shadows dancing on the walls.

Daphne sat at the kitchen table, meticulously cleaning her gun, a precautionary measure that had become a nightly ritual. The air was thick with unspoken tension, as if the night itself held its breath, anticipating the chaos that was about to unfold.

Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass and the thud of footsteps echoed through the dimly lit rooms. Mary’s eyes widened in alarm, and she immediately scooped Peter up from his crib, startling the baby hero from his sleep. 

It takes the adults less than a minute to barricade themselves inside of the emergency escape room in the safe house.

“Daph,” Mary hissed, a gun already in her hands. “I need you to take Peter and run.” She motions to the controls that would give Daphne and her son a car to escape with. There were pre packed bags in the escape room, prepared by a paranoid Mary who wanted her son to have everything he could even if they had to run again. 

Daphne’s heart pounded as the sounds of intruders drew closer. She locked eyes with Mary, “Mary no, you need to take Peter and leave. Peter needs his mom!” Daphne looked like she was on the brink of a mental breakdown and Peter could barely breathe, his tiny baby lungs not being able to take in enough oxygen to handle his fear right now. 

“They’ll never leave us alone. It’s me they want,” Mary’s voice was firm as steel but her eyes were watery, brown eyes molten with devastation. “Peter is everything to me, I need you to keep my son safe,” Mary demands  a silent exchange of determination and fear. With a quick nod, 

Daphne grabbed Peter, cradling him protectively against her chest. 

“I’ll keep him safe,” Her sister promises, her voice trembling but resolute.

“Mama no!” Peter demands, arms reaching out for his mom. His mom’s expression breaks when she takes in her son. 

“Peter, baby. I love you. More than anything in this world. Please remember that,” Mary chokes on her words, especially when her son starts to wail in utter agony. 

“Mama!…NO! Stay!” Peter cries trying to keep his mom close, hands reaching out to grab her and haul her towards him and aunt Daphne. 

Mary leans down and plants a single, parting kiss on the top of her son’s head. 

“Go, Daph. Now. I will buy you all the time I can,” Mary’s eyes shone with tears. She refused to let fall and her face was set in stone.

As Daphne turned to flee, a deafening crash reverberated through the apartment, the door splintering under the force of the attack. Mary took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the gun. 

She stood her ground, knowing what she had to do.

Peter’s cries echoed in the room as Daphne rushed toward the back exit. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her, each step feeling like a lifetime. She could hear the muffled shouts and gunfire behind her, each sound a dagger to her heart. She wanted to turn back, to fight alongside her sister, but Peter’s safety was paramount.

She was in the escape car within seconds, bags flung in the back seat and tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“Goodbye sister. May we meet again,” Daphne whispers to herself and she reverses with all the finesse of an enraged woman, protecting a baby who had just lost her sister. 

The one assassin who tries to get in her way is promptly run over. 

And they manage to escape. 

Peter could barely breathe from how hard he was crying. His tiny chest heaved with each sob, the air catching painfully in his throat. The world around him was a blur of motion and sound, the terrifying chaos of the night crashing in on him like waves. 

His sobs were raw and unrestrained, the kind that left him gasping for air. His face was hot and wet with tears, his tiny fists clenching and unclenching as if trying to grasp something to hold onto. Each cry tore through the night, a heartbreaking testament to his fear and confusion.

Daphne’s own tears refused to let up, her face a mask of determination and grief. 

Her heart ached for her nephew, for Mary, for everything they were losing.

“Shh, Peter, shh,” She whispers, her voice trembling. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.” She tries to reassure the baby who had been her sister’s whole world and would become her own as well.

But she didn’t expect her nephew to understand or even to believe her. Peter only knew that his world was falling apart. The safe, warm presence of his mother was gone, replaced by the cold, harsh reality of what had happened tonight. He cried harder, his body shaking with the force of his sobs, his tiny fingers gripping Daphne’s shirt as if afraid she would disappear too.

She’d put him in his car seat, when she was sure they weren’t being followed. 

It took an hour for Peter’s sobs to finally slow, his breathing evening out as he pressed his tear-streaked face against Daphne’s shoulder. He was exhausted, his little body spent from the intensity of his emotions. As he drifted into an uneasy sleep, Daphne continued to hold him, her own heart aching with the weight of their shared grief.

"Goodbye mom. I hope we meet again one day,” 

And then Peter fell into a blissful state of darkness.

Mary watched through the small, dusty window as Daphne disappeared into the night with Peter clutched tightly in her arms. Around her lay the first wave of assassins all dead, and all it took was a single gunshot to their despicable, fucking faces. 

Relief washed over her like a wave. Her son was safe. She took a deep breath, steadying herself for what was to come. Her heart ached with the thought of leaving him, but she knew this was the only way to ensure his safety.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching the safe house snapped her back to reality. She quickly scanned the room, making sure everything was in place. Everything was set. Now, all she had to do was buy enough time for Daphne and Peter to get far enough away.

The front door burst open, and a group of assassins flooded into the room, their eyes cold and merciless. Ra’s al Ghul followed them, his presence commanding and menacing. He stepped forward, the assassins parting to make way for him. She scowls when his gaze locks onto her form, 

“Hello, Ms. Pennyworth,” The man smiles and it makes Mary want to smack him. Ra’s always seemed to grate on her nerves.

Ra’s al Ghul stood tall and imposing, a figure of formidable presence and chilling authority that he used and wielded like the deadly sword he kept on his waist. His skin was a pale olive, hinting at his centuries-old heritage, and his sharp, piercing green eyes glowed with an unnerving intensity. Deep-set and cold, they seemed to see through lies and concealments, exuding a wisdom that only endless lifetimes could bestow. His eyes also looked dead. But Mary presumed that is what happened when one died as many times as Ra’s had.

His face, chiseled and stern, bore the lines of age and experience but remained eerily timeless, a testament to the Lazarus Pits that kept him from succumbing to time's inevitable decay. His high cheekbones and strong jawline added to his commanding demeanor, while thin lips currently twist into a cruel, calculating smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Ra’s’ hair was streaked with gray, slicked back and impeccably groomed, contrasting starkly with his thick, dark eyebrows that furrowed with his perpetual contemplation. He was looking around like he was an invited guest and not someone who had burst inside their safe house intending to kill them. 

He wore a long, dark green cloak, its fabric heavy and luxurious, trimmed with gold that caught the dim light and glimmered ominously. Beneath the cloak, he donned a tailored, black tunic with intricate patterns embroidered in gold thread, symbols of his ancient lineage and unwavering authority.

His hands, though aged, were strong and steady, capable of both delicate manipulation and deadly force. They rested on the hilt of a finely crafted sword that hung at his side, a weapon that had tasted the blood of countless enemies over the centuries.

“I’d say this was a pleasure however you have stolen something from me.” Ra’s’ fake cheery voice immediately dissipates and his tone turns threatening, “Where is it Ms. Pennyworth?” Ra’s demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Return to me that which you stole.”

Mary stands her ground, her hands behind her back, “You’ll never find the stone,” She smiles, her mouth twisting into an eerie grin that has Ra’s scowling.  

Ra's eyes narrowed, and he took a threatening step closer. “Do not test me, Mary. I will find your useless child, and when I do, his life will be forfeit. Hand over the stone now, and perhaps I will show that babe some mercy.”

Mary’s heart pounded in her chest, but she stood tall, her resolve unshaken. “You underestimate me, Ra’s,” She snarls, her voice unwavering, brown eyes almost black with the motherly rage she felt at her baby being threatened. “And you underestimate the lengths I will go to protect my child.”

With a swift, decisive motion, she makes the decision and the room is immediately filled with a deafening explosion, the force of the blast tearing through the walls and sending debris flying in all directions. 

The explosion consumed the safe house, obliterating everything in its path. Flames roared, and the sound of collapsing walls echoed through the night. Ra’s and his assassins were caught in the inferno, their screams lost in the chaos. Ra’s wouldn’t be killed by this… but she had bought her baby precious time. 

Mary closed her eyes, a small, bittersweet smile forming on her lips. Her last thought was of Peter, her son, safe and far away from the monster before her.

“Goodbye baby. I pray you live well,”