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

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a cozy glow over the living room. Wilfred, Daphne, and Peter were gathered around the coffee table, a federally-issued laptop open on the coffee table in front of them. 

They were currently deep in the process of searching for a new house, a fresh start that they all desperately needed.

“Okay, Peter, love… What kind of house do you want?” Daphne asks, her voice light and encouraging as she pulls her nephew onto her lap. Because her baby nephew was fussy and intelligent, and she’d end up on the receiving end of wide, hurt doe eyes from now till the end of time if she didn’t involve Peter in the house-decision process. 

Peter’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Home!” He exclaims, his tiny fingers tapping on the laptop screen. He was nearing the one-year mark, and Peter thought he’d be safe to show that he knew a few more words than a baby technically should. It didn't seem like his family cared much about his excessive intelligence. 

His family certainly believed he was smarter than most babies, so Peter thinks they were just used to his brand of weirdness. Or that his dad was so utterly remarkable, that his abilities were just expected in a way.

Daphne smiles, her heart swelling with love for the little boy. “Alright, let’s see what we can find. “Hopefully we can find a nice home for us all,” She says, typing in some extra search criteria to suit her nephew’s tastes.

Cost wasn’t an issue. 

Not when they would be hiding in plain sight. 

And not when Wilfred refused to raise his grandson in dangerous safehouses. He would utterly lose his mind if his grandson and daughter stayed in this shithole of a safehouse more than necessary. 

Wilfred leans in, adjusting his glasses as he examines the listings. “We should look for something with enough bedrooms for all of us,” He suggests. “And maybe an extra room for a study or a playroom.”

Peter claps his hands in excitement, eyes scanning all of the houses on the laptop in front of him. His fingers ached to type on the computer, but alas, his fingers were too small, and he was unable to control them individually as he once was able to as a teenager. Sure, he was thrilled at the prospect of finally living somewhere else…. where they could maybe have a garden? Even his own bedroom? But he wasn’t that picky. 

As long as his aunt and grandfather were with him, he didn’t mind; anything would be perfectly fine… anything at all. 

He was used to living with far, far less. Life had never been easy for Peter, but he had learned to make do with whatever scraps of happiness he could find. After his Uncle Ben had passed away, everything fell apart. The loss hit him and his Aunt May like a tidal wave, sweeping away the stability they had. With Uncle Ben gone, it wasn’t long before the bills piled up and the eviction notice came. Soon, Peter and Aunt May found themselves on the streets, clinging to each other as they navigated a world that suddenly felt colder and more unforgiving than ever before.

Those days on the streets were a blur of hunger and exhaustion, of cold nights spent huddled together under thin blankets and endless days searching for food, shelter, and a shred of hope. Every day was a battle for survival, and every night brought new fears; of the dark, of the dangers lurking in the shadows, of a future that seemed to promise nothing but more pain. But through it all, Peter never complained. He would have endured anything, no matter how excruciating, just to stay with his Aunt May. She was all he had left, the only family he had in a world that seemed determined to take everything from him.

Nothing else mattered to him more than family. The hunger, the cold, the constant ache of loss… none of it could have broken the bond he felt with his Aunt May. She had always been there for him, offering what little she had with a smile, even when she was hurting just as much. Her love was the one thing that kept Peter going, a fragile light in the darkest of times. He would have done anything to protect her, to keep her safe, to make sure she never felt alone.

Even when the world turned its back on them, Peter knew he had to stay strong for her.

Because if he didn’t, who would?

But the weight of it all had been heavy, so heavy that sometimes it felt like it might crush him. There were moments when Peter felt like he was drowning in sorrow, struggling to breathe under the pressure of it all. He missed his Uncle Ben so much it hurt, a constant, gnawing pain that never went away. And seeing Aunt May’s smile fade, watching her grow thinner and more tired each day, broke his heart in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe.

Yet, no matter how hard it got, Peter held on. Because family was everything to him, and as long as he had Aunt May, he had something to fight for.

Which was why it was so nostalgic for him to watch said aunt and his new grandfather house-hunting. Peter didn’t know a wound inside him was healing until he realized just how warm and fuzzy this whole scene was making him feel.

Daphne and Wilfred scrolled through the listings, clicking on various houses and discussing their merits. Some had beautiful gardens, while others boasted spacious kitchens or cozy living rooms. Each house brought a new wave of excitement and thrill, seeing as Daphne just wanted to get the fuck out of this safe house.

“Oh, look at this one,” Daphne said, clicking on a cozy-looking home with a charming front porch and a large backyard. “It has three bedrooms, a big kitchen, and a playroom. Not as many bedrooms as you were hoping, but it’s in a safe area,” Daphne knew her father had noticed how close it was to Gothem as well. 

Daphne was biased, yes, but she was also realistic. If anything happened to her and her father, she wanted Peter to be safe. 

And there would be no place safer for him than with Peter’s own father and great-uncle if they indeed fell to R’as as well. 

Wilfred pauses for a second before nodding slowly and approvingly. “It looks good,” He says, trying to measure how much he could say without his daughter ripping his head off, “Plus, it’s in a good neighbourhood, close to schools and parks.” He points with his index finger to the laptop, looking so much like an excitable puppy that Daphne wants to kick him off of the couch.  

She knew her dad wanted to tell her Uncle Alfred about Peter. She just wasn’t ready yet. 

She’d just lost her sister. 

Daphne would not lose the son her sister had left in her care. 

She refused. 

Peter looked at the pictures on the screen, blinking, slightly startled at the scene of a house on the laptop that seemed awfully similar to his childhood home- the home he and his parents had lived in before they'd passed away and his uncle and aunt took him in.

“Dis one, Aunty!” He points at the screen and then beams up at his aunt when she plants a loving kiss on top of his head.

Daphne smiles, her heart warmed by her nephew’s enthusiasm. “We’ll have to visit it first and see if it feels right,” She says gently. “But it does look promising.” Her promise was a tad sure, tone lilting in a manner that indicated she was very hopeful for this one. 

They continue to browse, taking note of the houses that caught their eye and making plans to visit them. The process was filled with laughter and light-hearted banter, a welcome change from the heavy sorrow that had weighed them down for so long.

As they discussed their options, Wilfred shared stories of the houses they had lived in before. “Your mother used to love playing in the gardens,” He tells Peter, holding the baby close to his chest, a protective arm around his back and one under his bum to keep Peter safe and secure. “She would spend hours picking flowers and making little bouquets.” Wilfred sounds nostalgic and heartbroken. 

“Mary loved pink lilies and baby bluebells, and she’d go to her mother’s garden every morning and make a flower wreath she’d wear for a couple hours before letting her mom press it into an album for safekeeping,” Wilfred laughs at the memory. 

“I think she filled up hundreds of those albums,” Daphne snorts, thinking on the memories, “If you go through every one of those books, you’d see just how good she got at flower weaving. It got to be one of her more impressive hobbies,” 

Peter listens with wide eyes, absorbing every detail. He knew he’d be able to ask his mom when he saw her next but hearing stories about her from her most beloved was different in a way he couldn’t explain. 

It was like the stories were alive. 

The emotion in every word his aunt and grandfather uttered, wrapped around the sentences and invoked in them a sort of sunlight that made Peter stark up with attention and intrigue. 

“She always dreamed of having a garden as big as mom’s one day,” Daphne continues, smiling like honey as she folded the laundry in the seat beside Peter and Wilfred’s. 

His grandfather had a beer in hand and a pizza in front of him that he was letting Peter nibble on when Daphne wasn’t looking. 

It was genuinely the best food he’d had in his measly elevenish months in this new universe. Peter was taking bigger and bigger bites with every swipe of food his grandfather let him take. 

Thankfully, his grandfather hadn’t noticed yet, but Peter was very happily munching away at the pizza.

“Maybe we could make a big garden for Peter,” Wilfred murmurs. “It wouldn’t be the same, but I think Mary would appreciate it at least,” His grandfather says, and Peter nods in agreement, chewing as fast as he can without choking. 

Peter’s little hands grabbed at the new slice of pizza his grandfather had picked up, his eyes lighting up as he took a big bite. Cheese stretched from the crust as he munched happily, his cheeks puffed out with food. He was still listening really hard; it was just that the soft pizza was snatching away his attention, too. 

Wilfred stared into the distance with a bittersweet smile. “A garden,” He said again, more to himself this time. "Mary loved her flowers.” He whispered, bright eyes getting a tad moist. She’d spend hours tending to them, making sure each one bloomed just right.”

Daphne hums her agreement, a small smile on her lips, before her eyes whirl on her nephew, and she gasps. 

Her gasp echoes through the room, her eyes widening in a mix of horror and amusement as she catches sight of Peter. 

“Peter!!” She exclaims, her voice teetering on the edge of laughter.

Peter blinks up at her, his chubby cheeks stuffed full of pizza like a chipmunk hoarding nuts for the winter. Cheese dangled from his mouth, and sauce smeared across his chin in a messy masterpiece. His innocent eyes were wide, utterly oblivious to the disaster zone he had created with his enthusiastic munching.

“Daphne, he’s fine,” Wilfred chuckles, trying to stifle his own laughter as Peter, undeterred by the sudden attention, takes another giant bite.

Daphne raised her hands in mock exasperation, unable to hold back a grin. “Dad, he’s practically drowning in pizza!” She points, shaking her head. “He’s a baby, not a competitive eater!” She flutters around her nephew, trying to wrangle her baby into some semblance of normalcy.

Peter, knowing that his grown-ups were talking about him, let out a muffled “Mmm!” through his mouthful of pizza, clearly delighted with himself. His little hands clutched the slice even tighter as if worried someone might take it away from him.

Daphne couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of her nephew, his face a mess of sauce and cheese, his eyes sparkling with joy. “You little pizza monster!” She teases, leaning over to gently wipe his face with a napkin. 

Peter swatted her hand away with a determined grunt, more focused on his next bite than on being cleaned up. 

“Nooo!” He protests, the word garbled through the pizza still in his mouth.

Wilfred was full-on laughing now, watching the whole scene unfold with an ease that hadn’t been present in the household for so long. He leans back in his chair, wiping away the few tears that had formed from his earlier reflection on Mary. “Let the boy enjoy his pizza, Daphne. You’ve got to admit, he’s got good taste.”

Daphne sighs, giving Peter one more swipe with the napkin before surrendering. “Alright, alright, but if he eats the whole thing, I’m not the one dealing with a pizza-induced meltdown later.”

Peter, oblivious to the warning, continued chomping away, his little legs kicking happily from his place on his grandfather's lap. 

Daphne shook her head but smiled, her heart swelling at the sight of her nephew being so carefree. It was messy, chaotic, and wholly imperfect- but it was exactly what they needed right now.

It was an early Saturday morning, and the sun had barely risen when Peter, Wilfred, and Daphne found themselves on the outskirts of New Jersey, dressed in absurdly oversized sunglasses, floppy hats, and scarves that hid half their faces. They were a comical trio, hoping to remain unnoticed as they wandered from one potential house to the next.

Daphne was wearing a ridiculous wig, and she had a fake mole on her cheek that Peter was just eyeing in contempt. He kind of wanted to bite her cheek. 

Peter, bundled up in his stroller, tugged at his tiny hat. "No like hat," He mutters, wriggling in frustration. He'd been too quiet earlier, but as soon as they arrived, he'd made it clear he wasn't a fan of his 'disguise.'

Wilfred chuckled, bending down to adjust the hat that Peter was seconds from throwing to the floor. It was itchy; sue him. "I know, kiddo. But we've got to blend in. Can't have anyone recognizing the infamous Pennyworth family, can we?"

Daphne rolled her eyes playfully, adjusting her own floppy hat. "Right, because we're such celebrities," She grumbles, an edge of seriousness in her tone. "Better safe than sorry though," Her eyes tighten a bit, her body in a heightened sense of awareness. 

It seemed that Wilfred was a bit more experienced in being alert and acting like he wasn't walking around with a stick up his ass… at least in Peter's opinion. The thought made him giggle to himself, especially when he couldn't help but imagine the vision in his head.

Wilfred, Daphne, and Peter arrived at the next house on their list and Peter was already ready to leave. They’d been to almost seven houses and this one made the hair on the back of his neck stand. His spidey senses were not happy. It looked like one of those houses straight out of ghost films. 

It was a towering home nestled at the edge of a dense neighbourhood. But it stood off to the side and Peter narrows his eyes sensing that the house seemed almost darker… gloomier….more shadowed?? If that was even the word to describe it. 

They stood in front of the house in almost baffled silence. The house loomed above them, casting long shadows across the gravel driveway, its windows dark and expressionless looking very similar to vacant, dead eyes. The house was just so dark even with the afternoon sun streaming down. Vines crept up the sides of the old stone exterior, and the wind made the shutters groan, sending a shiver down Peter’s spine.

“No,” Peter demands almost instantaneously. “I no wike dis," He mumbles, his baby voice small and uncertain.

Wilfred cringes, placing a protective hand on top of his grandson’s head. “Daph I’ll have to agree with Pete. The house looks like it might actually eat us,” His grandfather deadpans and his aunt snorts. 

She stares at her nephew seeing her little Peter, perched in his stroller and looking up at the house with wide eyes. His little face was scrunched up in discomfort. "No wike," Her nephew mumbles, repeating his words again, and gripping the edge of the stroller tightly. His baby talk was laced with something more than just discomfort- it also held a tad bit of genuine fear.

Daphne knelt down beside him, brushing his curls from his forehead. “I think you’re right, button,” She grumbles, looking at the house that had basically catfished them. “This house gives me the heebie jeebies,” 

“Heebie jeebies? What are you five?” Her dad teases but even he looked a bit peeved at the house. 

Peter nods his head vehemently, “Looks Haun... hauwted," Peter points at the house, looked disgruntled and annoyed. 

Wilfred chortles, hands covering his wide grin.

His grand-baby was a judgemental little thing wasn’t he?

“Dad, literally stop. Peter’s right. The damn thing looks haunted,” Daphne’s nose scrunches up and she looked so similar to her nephew in that moment, both of them with ridiculous sunglasses and hats, and Wilfred couldn’t help but laugh at his family.

"Oh, I’m sure it’s not haunted, Peter. It’s just an….. old…. odd house," He tries to assure his grandson, hand running through Peter’s  hair, though even Wilfred himself couldn’t ignore the eerie feeling in the air.

Peter’s eyes flicked back to the house, wide with suspicion. "House spooky." His voice quivers a little as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to squirm deeper into the stroller. His spidey senses were basically screaming at him not to enter the house 

Wilfred raised an eyebrow, glancing at the towering structure. The wind seemed to whistle around the house, rattling the shutters as they approached.

"Come on, button,” Daphne tries to soothe and coax him into the idea. "It’s just a house. Maybe it’s got some cool rooms inside. You might even find a secret passage!" She teases, trying to lighten the mood.

But Peter wasn’t having it. As they got closer, his hands gripped the sides of the stroller, and he shook his head furiously. "No! Hauwted!" His voice was panicked now, tiny fingers pointing at the front door. "Bad house!"

Wilfred chuckles softly but with a sympathetic edge. He crouched down to Peter’s level. "You really think it’s haunted, do you?" He asks, his voice calm.

Peter nodded furiously, his lower lip trembling as he glanced back at the creaky old house. He didn’t know how he could say that his senses were telling him someone….or something was inside that house that was dangerous.

“Ghosts," He ends up exclaiming loudly and dramatically, wide-eyed whilst he slammed a palm down on his stroller. 

Wilfred sighs, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, I haven’t seen a ghost in years. But if there are any, I’ll scare them away for you, alright?" He winks, gently tapping Peter’s nose and kissing the top of Peter’s head.

Peter sniffs, seeming unconvinced but a little reassured by his grandfather’s promise. After all his aunt and grandfather were CIA agents. They would be fine…. hopefully. Peter just kind of was getting overprotective. 

He couldn’t wait to grow up so he could protect his family better. 

“No like ghosts. Scawy.” Peter shakes his head, legs kicking up in displeasure. 

Daphne smiles, hiding her amusement. "Alright, no ghosts, I promise. We’ll just go in, look around, and if it’s too spooky, we’ll leave. Deal?"

Peter considered this for a moment, then nods hesitantly. “Okay.”

With that, they walked up the creaky steps of the porch, the wood groaning under their weight. The front door had a brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head, and when Wilfred tapped it, the sound echoed through the house in a way that seemed much louder than it should have.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “I no wike,” He tells his aunt who keeps a very firm yet protective grip on her nephew. 

Inside, the house was filled with shadows, the kind that felt like they moved when one wasn’t looking. The air was thick, almost damp, and the faded wallpaper peeled in random places. As they stepped in, the floorboards creaked even more beneath their feet, and a strange, musty smell greeted them.

Daphne bites her lip, her eyes darting around the dimly lit foyer. "Okay, this place is… something," She manages to say.

"Definitely has character," Wilfred adds, glancing up the grand staircase that led to the second floor. He didn’t mention that it looked like the set of a horror movie. "Maybe too much character." He mentions under his breath.

Just as he spoke, a loud thump echoed from above them, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps- slow, deliberate, as if someone was walking through the upper floor.

Annnnd Peter’s spidey senses again blasted full force. He could feel a migraine coming on. 

He wasn’t so prideful as to not start wailing and crying in a full out meltdown just to get his family out of this damn house. 

Peter was so over this. He lets out a high-pitched scream. "GHOST!" He shrieks, hurrying to bury to his face in Daphne’s arms and gripping her sweater in terror.

Daphne blinks, her heart racing. She turns her face to look at her father, "Did you-“

"I heard it," Wilfred mutters, his voice low, glancing up the stairs. "Stay here." He demands, his voice a tad firmer than he would normally use. Wilfred takes a few steps forward, peering into the shadowy hallway above.

Peter shook his head vigorously. "No, Granpa! Bad house! Ghost!!” His little fists tugged at Daphne’s shirt, trying to get her to stop his grandfather from going any further.

Wilfred chuckles softly, though there was a hint of nerves in his laugh. "It’s probably just the wind," He says slowly, but he didn’t sound completely convinced. Wilfred takes a deep breath and called up the stairs, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

The house groaned in response, the footsteps suddenly stopping. Daphne exchanges a wide-eyed glance with Wilfred before they both slowly start backing toward the front door.

"Okay, you’re right, Peter," Daphne said, her voice trembling with laughter and nerves. "This house is definitely haunted. Let’s go."

Peter’s grip on her tightened, nodding in such a self-satisfied way that Daphne couldn’t help her nervous laugh., “Weave!” 

“Leaving… leaving….left,” Wilfred grumbles all but shoving his daughter and grandson out of the door. 

He made a note to never doubt his grandbaby’s instincts again. 

The talent seemed to run in the family. 

With a final glance up the staircase, Wilfred grabs the stroller his daughter had almost left behind and he hurries out the door, leaving the haunted house behind. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Wilfred grumbles. Peter peeked out from behind Daphne’s shoulder, who had decided to haul her nephew up onto her hip. His big eyes were wide, lips pursed in displeaure, “Bad house," He whispers again, voice shaking.

Daphne sighs, planting a kiss on Peter’s forehead. “Sorry  we didn’t listen to you straight away button. Pennyworths are always curious you know.” 

“Too curious for our own good sometimes,” His grandfather plops a kiss on Peter’s head, smiling at his pouty grandbaby. “Mary would have hated this house anyways,” 

Daphne snorts, “She would’ve turned the oppsoite way the second she saw that damned house,” 

They turned back toward the car, Peter lifted his head just long enough to give the house one last wary glance. He wrinkled his nose and said in his tiny voice, "No scary house," as if making sure they understood. 

Daphne chuckled softly, hugging him close. "No scary houses, I promise. We’ll find a happy one, okay?"

Peter nodded into her neck, visibly relaxing now that they were leaving. "Happy house," He mumbles contentedly, and as his grandfather drove them away, Peter’s little fingers clung tightly to Daphne’s own, brown eyes closing in relief.

House hunting was put on pause after their whole haunted house incident... or as Peter liked to think of it, the ‘serial killer house.’ He still shuddered at the thought of those creepy windows, like hollow eyes staring down at him. Not that he was going to complain. He was just glad they had left before anything bad happened.

Now, safe in the warmth of his own bed, Peter lay sprawled on his tummy, his little legs kicking occasionally as he listened to Daphne’s soothing voice. She sat beside him on the bed, cross-legged, holding a copy of Lord of the Rings in her lap. The soft rustle of the pages and her gentle voice filled the room, wrapping him in a bubble of comfort.

He didn’t really care what books was read to him, Peter just appreciated that his family loved him enough to actually do it. His Aunt Daphne loved him just as much as his Aunt May had. 

Well they were the same person after all. 

The same soul at least. 

Daphne stares down at her nephew, smiling as she read through the next books in the series her sister had started with her son. Mary had finished reading the Hobbit to their dear Peter and now Daphne would continue the series on her behalf. 

She wasn’t as good with voices or imagination things but Daphne tried her hardest to make it entertaining for this little baby…. well her little baby now. 

Peter peeked up at her through thick lashes, one chubby hand clutching the blanket beneath him and the other playing with Daphne’s fingers. It was a habit he seemed to be getting used to; like her nephew needed to be holding a part of her at all times and holding her hand made him feel more secure. Daphne wasn’t complaining. She needed the connection to her nephew as well. 

Daphne watched Peter’s tiny fingers grab and release her own over and over again, his hands soft and warm. He fidgeted occasionally, but always kept a firm hold on her, as if afraid she might disappear. It tugged at her heart in ways she should’ve expected. She hadn't just inherited the role of aunt anymore- she was everything to him now. A protector. A mother figure. The person who would carry on all the things Mary had started with her boy.

She glanced down at the book resting in her lap, her thumb brushing the familiar worn edges. 

The Fellowship of the Ring.  

It was the next part of the journey. Mary had started this whole adventure with The Hobbit, filling Peter's nights with Bilbo’s tales of courage and friendship. Now it was Daphne's turn to guide him through the rest of the story, even if she didn't have the same storytelling flair her sister had. 

“But what about this Frodo that lives with him,” Daphne murmurs, her voice raising slightly as she acted like she was as confused as the character in this book was. Daphne didn’t know if Peter understood everything she was reading to him, but her sister always thought her son was smarter than normal… so it wouldn’t surprise her if indeed her nephew understood every single word. 

She’d been concerned once… about Mary reading such big books to such a tiny baby. But her worries drifted away when she caught the look of awe, intrigue and interest on her nephew’s face every time Mary would read to her baby.

It was the same look he was giving her now. Peter’s brown eyes blinked up at her, wide and curious, even though he was clearly on the verge of sleep. He didn’t say anything, just nestled closer to her, resting his head against her thigh, his little fingers still intertwined with hers.

Daphne’s heart squeezed at the sight, and she continued reading, her voice soft and loving. She planted gentle kisses  on her nephew’s forehead, every time there was a lull in her reading. 

As she continued, Peter’s breathing slowed, his eyelids fluttering shut. He wasn’t paying much attention to the words anymore, but Daphne didn’t stop. She read for both of them0 for the comfort it brought, for the connection it made, for the promise she’d silently given her sister to be there for Peter in every way she could.

After a while, Daphne paused, looking down at Peter’s peaceful face. His tiny hand was still curled around hers, his soft breaths filling the quiet room. A smile tugged at her lips, but there was an ache beneath it too- a bittersweet reminder of how much had changed and how much they’d lost. 

Leaning down, she kissed the top of Peter's head, her voice barely a whisper now. "I’ve got you button.” She pulls her nephew into her arms, holding him closer to her. “Love you Petey,” 

Her nephew stirred slightly, shifting in his sleep, but his grip on her hand remained firm. Daphne stayed there, by his side, feeling the weight of responsibility and love settle around her like a blanket. No, she wasn’t Mary, and she wasn’t perfect, but she was here. She would be here for him, for every story, every laugh, every tear.

And together, they would find a way to keep going. 

Well… her, Peter and Wilfred apparently because even now the old man was peeking his head in the room, pouting at not being involved. 

Daphne sighs, rolling her eyes at her dad. 

Honestly. 

“Come in dad,” She gestures and her dad lights up. 

Wilfred practically tiptoed into the room, his grin so wide it was almost contagious. Daphne couldn't help but smirk at her father’s antics, though a familiar ache tugged at her heart. Mary would have found this hilarious; Dad, trying his best to be inconspicuous, failing spectacularly, and now skipping across the room like some giddy child. 

Daphne sighed, fighting back the lump in her throat. The bittersweetness was never far away. Mary should be here, laughing with them, rolling her eyes at their dad’s behavior, teasing him. Instead, it was just her, Peter, and Wilfred; holding on to whatever joy they could find in this new, strange normal.

“Seriously, Dad?” Daphne whispers, shaking her head, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

Wilfred plopped himself down on the edge of the bed, giving his daughter an exaggeratedly innocent look. “What? I wasn’t gonna miss story time, was I? You two have all the fun,” He huffs, crossing his arms dramatically before leaning in to peek at Peter.

Daphne gave him a mock exasperated look. “He’s asleep, Dad,” she whispers, but there was no real bite behind it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Wilfred whispers back, his eyes softening as he watches Peter stir slightly. “I just… wanted to be here.” 

Daphne felt her heart pinch at that. She knew why. Their little family had been through so much, and every quiet moment like this, however small, felt like something precious. 

“You know,” Wilfred says quietly, looking from Peter to Daphne, “Your mother used to read to you and Mary the same way when you were kids. No matter where she sat to read, there you two were; curled up beside her.” His voice wavers slightly, and Daphne could see him blinking back the same emotions she was struggling with.

The lump in her throat returned, harder to swallow this time, but she nods. “I remember. Mary always fell asleep first.” Her voice was soft, wistful.

Wilfred chuckles softly, “And then you’d pester your mom to keep reading anyway, pretending you weren’t tired yourself.”

Daphne laughs under her breath. “Yeah. Guess some things never change.”

Peter, nestled between them, shifted in his sleep, one hand still loosely gripping Daphne’s fingers while the other reached out toward Wilfred, as if instinctively knowing his grandfather was there. Wilfred took Peter’s tiny hand gently in his own, his face softening with a love so deep it nearly brought Daphne to tears.

It was such a simple, quiet moment, but it felt monumental. The three of them, here together, filling the room with warmth, with memories, with new stories that Mary would have wanted them to make.

Daphne’s smile grew bittersweet again, but this time, she let it settle. Maybe things weren’t the way they should have been, but they were together. And that was something. 

Wilfred, ever the one to break the silence, grinned and whispered conspiratorially, “So, uh, what’s happening in the story? I always thought Bilbo should’ve gotten more credit.”

Daphne rolls her eyes, smiling despite herself. “Dad, we’re on Frodo’s story now.”

Wilfred blinks, then shrugs his shoulders, “Ah, well, guess I missed Bilbo’s part.” 

Daphne snorts softly, shaking her head as her dad settled in closer, Peter still resting peacefully between them. Together, they sat, sharing the moment as a family; just the three of them, making room for the love that still remained.

She’d like to think Mary would be proud of her. 

She hoped so at least. 

Peter stood in the center of a vast, open field, the wind gently brushing against his skin. Before him, Soul floated, radiating an aura of warmth and serenity. She was smiling at him serenely, her face kind and warm and inviting. The field they stood in stretched out endlessly, a reflection of the quiet space within Peter’s mind and the dimension Soul had summoned him to whilst his physical body slept on. He had been brought here for his first lesson, and though his surroundings felt peaceful, Peter’s heart raced with nervous energy.

“Are you ready for your first class, love?” Soul assks with a soft smile, her golden-orange hues shimmering like a sunset over the ocean. Peter nods slowly, unsure of what to expect. 

“As well as I can be, I guess,” Peter tries not to cringe from his uncertainty. 

“The soul,” Soul began, “is the essence of who one is. It’s not just a part of you, it is you…” She says and Peter hears the words reverberate in his head. “… it’s your consciousness, your emotions, your memories. It’s the part of you that persists, even when everything else falls away. The body that mortals are so fond of turns to nothing once they die. It is the soul that remains.” 

Peter frowned, his brows knitting together as he tried to grasp the concept. “But… if my soul is me, how can I use your soul power?” Peter was very confused. “How do I… control it? You said it was a lot of power and I don’t- I don’t thin I’m responsible enough to have even more power than I already have. I think my spider powers should be enough,” He says a bit timid in his uncertainty.

Soul chuckles gently, her laughter like a bell in the wind. “Control is not the right word, Peter. The soul isn’t something you can dominate or wield like a weapon. It’s something you must understand and harmonize with. Much like how water flows- it adapts, it bends, but it is always itself.” She holds out a hand for Peter to grab and once Peter does she leads him on a stroll. 

“And Peter, love, you are more than worthy and capable enough to be my chosen. I have faith in you. If you have none in yourself, remain steadfast in the conviction that the incarnation of Soul has faith in you,” 

She gestures toward the horizon. “Your soul, like this field, is vast. And within it, there is strength. To harness that strength, you must first know it, feel it.”

Peter stands quietly, processing her words. He had always thought of strength as something external, something physical. But here, with Soul’s calming presence and the boundless field around him, he began to slowly realize there was something deeper inside him, something waiting to be discovered.

“Close your eyes,” Soul instructs softly, her voice as warm as the sunlight on his skin. “Feel the stillness within you. Breathe. Find that quiet place within, the space where your soul resides.”

Peter srunches his nose at the words, “You want me to meditate?” He felt flabbergasted honestly. Like a peacock who found out someone didn’t think its feathers were beautiful.

Soul sighs, an amused smile on her face, “If you’d like a more mundane term for connecting with one’s soul then yes, Peter… you must mediate.” 

Peter blinks up at her, “I have horrible concentration though,” 

Soul purses her lips, trying not to laugh at how pouty her champion was being. 

“You can learn, darling. I will be with you every step of the way,” Soul looks like she was trying not to grin down at him and Peter feels a warmth in his chest at the support she was offering him.

“But… Soul….” Peter sighs, “I really don’t think …” Peter tries to explain his doubts but Soul grabs his other hand and lets both of them plop to the floor in seated positions. 

“All right just breathe with me love… nothing else. Just breathe,” Her expression was calm and loving. Much like how Peter’s own mom would look at him. 

Peter bites his lip for a second, “Okay,” He inhales deeply as he closes his eyes. 

At first, there was nothing but darkness. And it wasn’t awkward as he breathed with Soul in silence. He thought it would be. But it wasn’t and maybe just that fact made him relax. 

The fact that he wouldn’t be judged. 

That he was accepted. 

So as he focused, a gentle warmth started to spread through his chest. It took him rather a long while to even notice that something different was going on. 

It was a flicker of something pure and powerful. It was subtle, almost like a whisper, but it was there. His soul.

The sensation filled him in a way he had never experienced before; like warmth on a cold day, or the gentle embrace of a long-forgotten memory. It was delicate, yet infinite, a glow deep within him that hummed with life. It was not just energy; it was something so him, Peter didn’t even knw how to describe it. It was Peter Parker and Peter Pennyworth all in one huge jumble. 

Peter’s breath hitches in his throat as he stood there, eyes closed, feeling the overwhelming presence of his own soul. His chest tightens, his heart pounding, not with fear or anxiety, but with the sheer weight of what he was sensing. The connection to his soul was something both intimate and immense, like gazing into the depths of the universe and realizing it had been inside him all along.

His eyes well up with tears, and they fall silently down his cheeks. Not from sadness, but from awe. His soul was... beautiful. It was as if every part of him -his joys, his pain, his love, and his loss- was woven together into this single, glowing mass that pulsed within him.

He had never felt so whole.

“I—” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper, as he tried to put words to the unexplainable feeling. But no words seemed worthy enough.

Soul watched him with quiet understanding, her soft orange glow casting a serene light over the moment. Peter wiped his eyes, but the tears kept coming, and for once, he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to stop feeling this. It was everything he had lost, everything he had fought for, everything he was, all rolled into one.

“There it is,” Soul says gently, her voice calm and approving. “And that is where we’ll begin.”

Wilfred sat on the edge of the couch, holding Peter in his lap, the soft hum of the house creating a rare moment of peace. Daphne was out buying groceries- they’d fallen a bit behind in their plans for house hunting, but for now, this quiet time with his grandson felt more important.

He smiles down at his grandson, watching as the boy’s chubby fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, seeming to be utterly fascinated by the simplest thing. Peter’s small face was lit with concentration, and for a moment, the weight of the world outside seemed to lift.

As Wilfred sat there, a familiar pang settled in his chest. His smile faded slightly, and his mind drifted to his brother. Alfred.

Alfred would have loved Peter. He wished he was able to share the presence of his grandchild with his brother…. who just so happened to also be Peter’s other grandfather. It was the strangest thing and if he thought too hard on it, Wilfred might find the whole thing weirder than even he could handle. 

A soft sigh escaped him. "Your great-uncle Alfred would’ve been over the moon to meet you chipmunk,” Wilfred murmurs quietly, more to himself than to Peter, who peers up to look at his grandfather in intrigue. 

"He was always better with children, you know. Had this way of making everything seem calm, no matter how much chaos was around." Wilfred chuckles softly, remembering how his brother had always been the calm center of any storm- especially around Bruce and the countless troubles the young boy brought.

He was all too aware of his brother’s rather strange relationship with the deceased Wayne couple but he knew that the Wayne scion had become Alfred’s son in all but blood.

The thought made his heart ache, a mix of longing and regret. Alfred had always been the protector, the guardian of their strange, family. If he were here, he’d know exactly what to do in any and all scenarios. He’d make Peter love him almost instantly. He’d be telling their grandchild stories of their own childhood, of the days long before the shadows had crept into their lives. Alfred would’ve taken one look at Peter, and a smile would’ve spread across his face, the kind of smile that made anyone feel safe, even when everything else felt uncertain.

Wilfred is shaken from his thoughts when his grandson makes an inquisitive noise, his tiny hands holding Mary’s locket that Wilfred had yet to remove from his neck. 

Wilfred is silent, eyeing the melachony that enters Peter’s eyes, small fingers clutching the locket in an almost desperate grip. 

“Peter,” Wilfred’s voice was low and warm, full of affection and a touch of reverence, “Do you recognize the necklace?” He asks his grandbaby who pauses, brown eyes whelming with emotion before the baby nods slowly. 

“Mama,” Peter replies as an answer. 

And it was all the answer Wilfred needed honestly. 

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the locket, from the images of his daughter and his grandson. There was another photo on the other side; a family portrait of him, his wife and two daughters, but the one he was focusing on was on the photo of Mary and her son. Wilfred’s eyes were almost glued to it, fingers trembling as he traced the edges of the necklace. His daughter was grinning, her smile in her eyes and every single crevice of her face. Peter’s tiny hand had been reaching for her in the photo, both of them captured in a moment of such pure love, Wilfred honestly wanted to cry all over again. 

It honestly felt like a punch to the gut; how much he adored and loved his grandson teetering dangerously against how much pain he felt when he looked at Peter. All he could think about around his grandbaby was his daughter. His baby. His daughter. And his child had died to protect her own.

He was the father. 

Itshould have been him. 

He should’ve been the one to sacrifice himself. 

He should’ve been the one to die.

A lump formed in his throat as he held the locket tightly. The weight of it felt heavier today, as if all the memories it contained were pressing down on him. Staring at it he swallows hard, trying not to think too hard of how exactly he obtained the necklace. 

The acrid scent of smoke seemed to fill his nostrils again, his mind pulling him back into the memory he so desperately wanted to avoid.

The house was reduced to a blackened shell. Charred walls, beams, and memories crumbled in ruin. His daughters’ childhood home, the place he’d built for his family, had become a graveyard of ash and debris.

His flashlight flickered weakly against the night, struggling to cut through the suffocating darkness. He searched frantically, calling out for his daughter- “Mary?! Mary!!” The panic tightened in his chest with each unanswered call.

But there was no answer. Only silence.

His heart had raced in his chest, feet stumbling through the wreckage as dread curled around him like a vice. 

He was looking for his daughter. 

His daughter….

Where was his daughter?!!

“Dad…”

“DAD!” 

The voice cut through the haze, snapping him out of the nightmarish memory. 

Wilfred blinks, eyes blurred with unshed tears as his trembling hands loosen their grip on the locket. His breath hitches, and he suddenly realizes that Peter was no longer in his arms.

Daphne stands in front of him now, holding Peter close, her face tense with concern. “Dad…” She pauses a tad, “-are you okay?” She wonders, her voice steady but her eyes searching.

He blinks slowly, trying to regain his hold on his emotions. He was better than this. He was getting rusty, loosing his hold on his emotions like a novice trainee. 

Wilfred nods, swallowing hard as he tried to push the past away. “I… I’m fine,” He manages to say after clearing his throat, although the crack in his voice thoroughly betrayed him.

Daphne’s brow furrows, but she doesn’t press further. Instead, she places a comforting hand on his shoulder, her grip firm. “You are,” She affirms and plops his grandson back in his arms so quickly both he and Peter almost get whiplash. 

“Peter’s worried for you, hold the baby,” She orders firmly and strolls away to the kitchen. Wilfred is stunned for a brief second but a small, grateful smile spreads on his lips as he watches his emotionally repressed daughter stroll away. 

Wilfred’s smile turns soft, feeling Peter’s tiny fingers wrap around his hands. His grandson’s innocent touch anchored him to the present, pulling him much more firmly out of his haunting memories. He inhales deeply, trying to steady himself. 

The gold of the locket gleamed softly in the light of the room, and Peter’s curious eyes followed the motion as his grandfather offered it to him with careful fingers. 

“You’re right Peter…. This…” Wilfred whispers, his voice trembling with emotion as he gently loops the locket over Peter’s small head, letting it rest softly on his chest, “….belonged to your mother.”

The locket, delicate and unassuming, hung just above Peter’s tiny heart. It was light enough that it wouldn’t hurt him, even as Peter grew strangely faster than most kids his age. Wilfred had worried it might be too soon, that Peter was still too little to understand the significance of this heirloom, but something deep in his heart told him that Mary would want her son to have this piece of her.

Wilfred’s throat tightens. He had his own keepsakes, photos of Mary, Daphne and his beloved Issa, tucked safely away in his wallet, memories he would carry until his last breath. But this- this was for Peter. It was a bridge between him and the mother he’ll never truly get to know.

As Peter’s chubby fingers fumbled over the locket, wide eyes locked on the shiny metal, Wilfred saw a flicker of recognition in his grandson’s face. Peter was too young to remember much of his mother, too young to understand the weight of what he held- but there was something there, an instinctive connection.

Peter was getting a tad emotional he wasn’t gong to lie. He never wanted to let the necklace out of his sight now that his grandfather had given it to him. A lump was growing bigger and bigger in his throat and Peter was seconds from bursting into tears all over again.

“You’ll grow into it,” Wilfred murmurs, his voice breaking just slightly. “And one day, when you’re older, I hope you realize just how much she loved you.”

Peter looks up at his grandfather with watery eyes, the corners of his lips twitching downwards because Peter was trying not to wail in actual despair.

Peter’s chest heaved as he tried to swallow the lump growing in his throat, his little fists still clutching the locket tightly against his chest. He blinked rapidly, but the tears were already welling up, blurring his vision until all he could see was a shimmering haze. The weight of his mother’s love -to the extent that she carried a picture of him everywhere she went- was too much for his small heart to bear.

Wilfred watched as Peter’s face crumpled, the brave little boy who had been trying so hard not to cry finally giving in to the flood of emotion. His lips quivered, his eyes squeezed shut, and then- he wailed.

It wasn’t just a baby’s cry; it was the sound of a soul that had been holding onto too much for too long. Peter sobbed, his tiny body shaking as he buried his face into his grandfather’s chest, clutching at Wilfred’s shirt with all the strength he had. The locket pressed between them, now soaked with Peter’s tears.

Wilfred’s own eyes filled with tears as he held Peter close, rocking him gently in his arms. “Shh, it’s okay, my boy,” He whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s okay to cry. She loved you so much, Peter. So, so much.”

Peter’s sobs were heartbreaking, the kind that came from deep within, and each one seemed to echo in the quiet room. Wilfred pressed a kiss to his grandson’s head, his own tears falling freely now, unable to stop them. He wished he could take away Peter’s pain, that he could fill the void left by Mary’s absence, but all he could do was hold him through it.

“I’ve got you,” Wilfred murmurs, his voice shaky as he continued to rock Peter. “You’re not alone, chipmunk. You’ll never be alone.”

Peter clung to him, his sobs slowly quieting into soft whimpers as the exhaustion of his emotions began to settle. His tiny fingers, still holding the locket, loosened slightly, but he never let go. Peter didn’t think he ever would. 

The soul realm stretched out in every direction. Honestly, sometimes Peter couldn’t believe that this was his life. It was a surreal and peaceful expanse that felt both infinite and intimate at the same time. The sky above was a swirling canvas of soft pastels; pale oranges, deep purples, and wisps of golds and reds that seemed to pulse with life. The colors blended and shifted, as though the heavens themselves were breathing. The air had a weightless quality, cool and refreshing, yet warm in its embrace, like stepping into a memory that brought only comfort.

The lake to Peter’s side was vast, its waters impossibly still, mirroring the sky in perfect clarity. It was as though time had paused, allowing every detail to be reflected in the glassy surface. Along the shore, tall, whispering reeds swayed gently despite the lack of wind, their rustling creating a delicate hum that blended with the ambient sound of the realm; a soft, distant melody that was almost like a heartbeat.

Large, arching trees with shimmering leaves lined the shores, their trunks twisting upward, as if they had grown from dreams rather than soil. The colors of the trees seemed to shift with the light, ranging from deep emerald to the brightest silver, their branches gently swaying as if moved by the rhythm of their very souls.

Peter stood by the tranquil lake and Soul hovered beside him, her form radiating a soft glow that blended seamlessly with the golden light of the world around them.

“Today, we move to the next step,” Soul says. “Understanding and connecting with your soul is one thing, but now Peter, you must realize that it is also energy- pure, powerful energy that flows through everything. And your soul is connected to every living being, to the universe itself. Just as is the soul of everyone else in this world.” 

Peter glances up at her, brown eyes wide with curiosity. “But… how? I mean, I felt something inside me last time, but how can it be connected to everything?” He just didn’t get it, “I only felt the warm energy inside of me, it didn’t seem to be attaching or touching anything else?” His nose wrinkles in confusion. 

Soul hums, her facial expression gentle. Peter always seemd to think of Soul’s eyes as molten gold, they were crinkling in amusement now and bruning like the flickers of embers. “Think of the soul as a flame,” Soul explains, her voice taking on its usual teaching tone. “Each person’s soul is like a candle’s flame, and though they may seem separate, they are all able to extend their fire to burn something else.” She explains and then waves a hand, and a notebook and pencil appears in front of a frazzled Peter. He takes one look at the tools in fornt of him and lights up, starting to take notes for Soul’s lecture. 

“When you interact with something, like that notebook you're holding,” Soul begins, gesturing to the small book in Peter’s hand, “you leave something behind- fingerprints, smudges, subtle marks that show you were there. The soul works in a similar way, but on a much deeper level. It leaves an imprint on everything and everyone it touches, not just physically but energetically.”

She pauses, her eyes glowing softly. “The soul isn’t just confined to your body. It’s a part of you, but it also extends outward, influencing the world around you. Every person you meet, every place you visit, every object you hold; your soul leaves a trace behind, an invisible connection. These traces linger, and if you know how, you can tap into that energy. You can feel what’s left behind, and with enough practice, you can draw on it for strength, insight, even healing sometimes.”

Soul’s glowing form flickered briefly, like a candle in the breeze. “It’s not about taking from others either. It’s about recognizing that all things are connected through the soul’s energy. When you tune into that, you can access a vast network of power…. one that is as ancient as the universe itself.”

Peter blinks, trying to grasp the weight of her words. "So... everything has a soul?"

"Not exactly," Soul replied with a soft smile. "But everything has been touched by one. Every interaction leaves a ripple, and those ripples carry energy you can harness." She pointed to the water at their feet. "Just like this lake, every drop is connected, influencing the whole. Your soul is part of that larger flow, and through it, you can access far more than just your individual power.”

Soul gestures toward the lake. “Look at the water, Peter. What do you see?”

Peter squints, trying to discern something unusual. “It’s just… calm. Still.”

“Exactly,” Soul said, stepping closer to the water’s edge. “The surface is calm, but beneath it, there is life. Movement. The soul is like that. Still on the outside, but within it flows energy—always moving, always shifting.”

She knelt beside the lake and lightly touched the water with her fingertips. As she did, ripples spread outward, small at first but growing larger and larger until the entire surface of the lake shimmered and danced to her will. Peter’s eyes widens in amazement.

“You see?” Soul smiled. “The energy of the soul is like these ripples. Even the smallest touch can send waves through the entire body of water, through the entire universe even.”

Peter kneels beside her, his hand hovering above the water. “But how do I… use it? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do what you’re describing.”

Soul’s eyes soften, “You don’t use it, Peter. You become it. The energy of the soul flows through you when you’re in balance- when your mind, heart, and soul are in harmony. It’s not about control; it’s about connection.”

She takes a step back, “You try,” She nods towards the lake and Peter’s constipated expression makes her lips twitch.

Peter kneels beside the lake, his reflection staring back at him as he slowly reached out to touch the surface of the water. His fingers hovered for a moment before making contact. He waited, expecting something; a surge of power, a ripple, anything. But nothing happened. The water remained as still as glass, unbothered by his touch. His brow furrowed in frustration.

Soul, standing a few steps away, smiled knowingly. "It’s not about forcing it, Peter. You’re not here to make something happen. Your task is to consciously insert some of your soul into the water, not control the water."

Peter looks up at her, confused. “But I  touched the water. Why didn’t anything change?”

Soul tilts her head. “Because you’re still thinking of it as something separate from you. The water, the energy, your soul-they’re all connected. You don’t force the ripples to happen.”

Peter exhales heavily, mouth set into a pout. He sighs, staring down at the untouched water. “That’s... really vague, you know.”

Soul chuckles softly, her orange glow flickering in amusement. “Try again, but this time, don’t just touch the water. Try to insert a portion of your soul flow into it. Attempt to connect to your soul like last time before you graze the water surface,”

Peter sighs again, his eyes creasing slightly but still complies, leaning forward once more, this time closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He imagined his soul not as something contained within him but as part of everything around him. He tried to imagine the feeling from last time instead of being concentrated in his body, spreading outwards into the world. His fingers brushed the surface again.

Nothing.

“Great,” Peter mutters, sitting back on his heels. “I’m definitely doing this wrong.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke the quiet, the tone light and teasing. “Oh come on, baby, you’re a genius. You’ll figure it out!” 

Peter whips around, startled to see his mom, standing a few feet away, arms crossed and a playful smirk on her face.

“Mom!” Peter’s cheeks flush slightly. “I’m... trying!” He pouts, trying not to cross his arms in a defensive motion and ultimately failing. 

Soul chuckles at her champion, letting the mother and son have some time together. Perhaps Mary might strike a chord in Peter and help him unlock his potential.

Soul wasn’t going to be betting on it though. It would take him a while to get used to the new powers he held and it would take him even longer to be able to harness them. It didn’t help that his actual physical age would circumvent how quick he’d be at learning the physical aspect of the theory Peter would be an expert in.

Mary laughs, walking over and crouching beside Peter. She runs a gentle hand through his hair, and he realizes how tense he was when that simple motion makes his whole body slump. His mom beams, placing a slight kiss  on the side of Peter’s head. 

“Well, you’re certainly tryingsomething. Not sure what it is, but it’s definitely not rippling any lakes, my heart.”

Peter groans, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re not helping here mom.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” Mary taps his shoulders intently. “You’re way too tense. How can you cause ripples if you’re sitting here like you’re in the middle of a math test?”

Peter shoots her an exasperated look, “Because I’m trying to do something important here.”

Mary raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Important, huh? So serious. When did you get so grown up?”

Peter huffed, glancing at the lake. “This is hard, okay?”

She ruffled his hair playfully. “Life is hard, sweetie. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun with it. See it from a different perspective,” She leans closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, I’m sure even your favourite hero Superman had to start small.”

Peter’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, right. Bet he’s never failed at causing ripples in a lake.” Peter points out and Mary snorts at him.

“He’d have made tidal waves by now,” Mary teases, her eyes sparkling.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible. And besides isn’t Superman your favourite?”

“Yes actually. Make sure to tell your paternal grandfather that. He’ll find it adorable,” 

“Yeah your evil grin is really convincing me there mom,” Peter says slowly making his mom’s creepy grin expand even more. 

“And you’re my son,” Mays says, tapping her baby’s nose affectionately. “So stop being so hard on yourself. You’ll figure it out. Just... relax a little, okay? You’ve got this.”

Peter took a deep breath, feeling a bit lighter with his mom’s teasing words lingering in the air. He looked back at the water, his frustration fading slightly, and tried once more, his heart a little more open and his soul a little less burdened.

Still nothing. 

Mary bursts out into laughter. 

“MOM!” Peter whines and Mary laughs even more, the sound warming Peter up from the tips of his feet to the top of his head. 

“Try again baby. You know I’ll be here for you every step of the way,” Her gaze was loving and Peter couldn’t help but smile back at her. 

“Yeah mom, I know. Thanks,” 

“Always, my heart. Always,” 

Mary stood by the edge of the tranquil lake, her gaze shifting between the still water and Soul, who hovered near her, radiating that familiar soft orange glow. Soul seemed to know exactly what she had on her mind and the question exactly she was choking on. The weight of her question pressed heavily on her heart, but she knew she had to ask. She had been waiting, watching, but the pull was becoming too strong to ignore.

"Soul," Mary began softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty, “-is it possible for me to... reach out to him? To Richard?" She asks, the anxiety swelling in her veins and extremities. 

Soul’s glowing figure tilted slightly, her expression unreadable but her energy compassionate. “You wish to speak with Peter’s father?” She asks, her voice like the gentle hum of the wind through the trees.

Mary nods, thinking back to the locket that she’d seen resting newly on her son’s chest. Her heart ached. Peter deserved to know his father. Peter should have a picture with both his parents … not just one of them. She’d been fine with hiding her baby from Richard when she was alive and well enough to care for Peter. But she was dead now. And Peter needed a parent, needed protection. Daphne would love Peter like he was her own child…. But Mary knew Peter would regret not reaching out to his father.

“I need Richard to know. He deserves to know. About Peter… and about my…. death.” Her voice caught in her throat. “He needs to understand that I'm gone, and I can’t care for Peter anymore. Peter would never tell him. Not if he thinks he’d be in the way of Richard’s new life.” She kind of wanted to spit out that word because of how much Richard moving on from her still stung. Especially when she’d found out he was her Richard. Richard Greyson was her Richard; the man she’d been married to for years. 

Soul drifted closer, her light flickering softly. "It’s not something I allow often, but... yes. You can reach him, but only in his dreams. It's a fragile connection between the living and the dead. It won’t last long and he might simply believe it to be merely a dream. He might not think the dream has any merit or fact to it,”

Mary’s heart surged with both hope and fear. “I have to try regardless.” She bit her lip, her emotions stirring. “A couple minutes is all I need anyways,”

Soul watches her for a moment, then nods, “Very well. When he sleeps tonight, I will help you reach him. But be warned you will have only a couple minutes. It will also be painful for both of you. You must be careful, Mary.”

Mary’s eyes shimmers with unshed tears, but she holds her ground. “I understand. I’ll be careful.”

That night, Soul guides Mary through the realms, until she stood at the edge of Richard Grayson’s dream. He lay restless in his bed, a deep frown etched on his face even as he slept. The moment Mary stepped through the veil, the dream shifted. 

Dick found himself suddenly getting whiplash from how quickly his dream shifted. His nightmare more like it. He went from standing in the middle of a familiar Gotham street to standing in a very familiar garden.

The dark alley, the smell of rain on concrete, and the sight of blood all disappear and Dick finds himself able to breathe much easier now that he wasn’t being haunted with images of his past.

Looking around Dick turns slowly and comes to a stop when he sees a familiar figure smiling at him gently. 

“Mary?” He murmurs, the word sounding more like a question than a greeting. And the soft smile he knew and had traced in the crevices of the night grows softer, her brown eyes warm like the warmest embers of a fireplace.

“Hello Richard,” Her voice was even warmer and his tense shoulders ease down from their place up high near his ears. 

She was beautiful. 

As she always had been. 

He hadn’t seen or heard from Mary in almost two years. Her long brown hair swayed slightly, and her eyes, filled with an emotion he hadn’t seen in a while, locked onto his. 

“How have you been?” Richard manages to get out. 

She strolls over to him, hands behind her back, “Richard,” She muses a tad amused at his inability to not break the ice. He was still the lovable chatterbox he always had been.

Richard takes a step towards her, but there was a slight hesitation in his eyes. Perhpas it came from him realizing this was a dream and she wasn’t supposed to be here. Or perhaps it came from him having another girlfriend. 

His life had changed. 

She could feel it, sense the presence of someone else in his heart now. It was something she had prepared herself for, yet it still stung like someone had poured denatured alcohol all over her bleeding heart. 

"Is this... real?" Richard murmurs more to himself than to Mary. His deep blue eyes flickering all around as he looked at the flowers gracing the garden they were in. 

“Hmm, pink lilies…” He murmurs, “They’re your favourite,” He says as if he hadn’t just plunged a dagger in her soul. 

He still remembered. 

Mary swallows harshly, glancing around at the dreamscape. He knew this couldn’t be reality, but his emotions were at war with his logic.

“You remember?” Mary asks gently, her brown eyes boring a hole in the side of Richard’s face. 

There was a beat of silence, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. Mary stands there, feeling the pull of time and distance, knowing she didn’t have long. So, without thinking much, she just blurts it out.

“Peter has your smile,” She says softly, her voice carrying a kind of warmth that wrapped around them both.

Richard blinks, his breath hitching slightly as the words hit him. His smile? It was such a simple thing, but it caught him off guard.

What was Mary talking about?

“W-Who?” Richard manages to get out without making a complete fool of himself. 

“Peter,” Mary repeats, her voice steady but gentle. "Our son."

Richard feels like he just got punched in the stomach. He blinks again and then keep frantically blinking, his mind racing to catch up with the words. “Our…. son?” It was like the air had been knocked out of him. He hadn’t thought about that moment. The one where he’d told his ex-girlfriend it would be better for them to not have a baby at eighteen. The guilt he’d felt at the moment had lasted for a month before it fell into a brief sting he’d feel whenever he saw a child on the street and thought, ‘What if?’

And now….Now Mary was telling him she hadn’t listened to him and she’d had the baby. 

His baby. 

Peter. 

“You had the baby,” His voice was dull, his entire body cold. He felt like this nightmare might be just all the worse than the one he’d been in before. Because at least in that nightmare he hadn’t missed the birth of his baby. 

Mary nods, her eyes soft but filled with a weight and guilt that Richard couldn’t fully grasp yet. “Yes, Dick. Our baby. His name is Peter.”

Richard takes a breath, feeling like the ground had shifted beneath him. “I—I didn’t know,” He stammers, his voice low, “Why didn’t you tell me!?” He demands, the rage in his gaze starting to increase. 

Mary purses her lips, her heart clenching painfully in her chest. “I didn’t have the chance to tell you before... well, before everything happened.”

He swallows hard, feeling a knot tighten in his chest. “And he... he looks like me?”

Mary smiles then, her eyes glinting with affection.,“In so many ways. But especially when he smiles. That same easy grin you have and the happy eye crinkles. Those are yours.”

Richard rubs a hand over his face, trying to process the information. A son. He had a son. And Mary... she’d carried that with her all this time, without him knowing. 

“Why are you telling me this now?” Richard asks, his voice quieter, tinged with confusion. He didn’t know what to think, if this was even real in the first place. He knew he was dreaming but what kind of dream was this.

“I thought you deserved to know,” Mary says after a pause, her tone soft but firm. “Peter’s growing up fast, and one day, he’ll want to know his dad. I wanted you to hear it from me, in whatever way I could make that happen.” 

Richard nods slowly, his mind still reeling. “But... he’s okay?”

Mary’s expression turns gentle, “He’s safe,”

The dream seemed to shift around them, and Richard felt a strange tug, like he was being pulled away. Mary’s form began to blur at the edges.

“Wait,” He demands, his voice urgent. “Will I see him? Will I- Mary!”

“Look for him Richard. Goodbye,” She gives him a grin, with teary eyes and a happy expression that was breaking at the edges. Richard’s whole soul refused and repelled the notion. He had so much more to ask, so much more to say.

But with those last words, she was gone, causing Richard to go spiralling. 

Richard surges awake, chest rising and falling as he heaved against the headboard, trying to steady his breathing

His heart pounded in his chest, the remnants of the dream still clinging to him like a heavy fog. The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

He swallows hard, his throat dry, and tried to calm his racing thoughts. Instantly he reaches for the glass of water beside him, trying not to wake up his girlfriend who lay asleep in the spot next to him. She hadn’t been woken up thank god and Richard immediately hurries out of bed, his hands reaching for his phone before pausing.

It was just a dream. 

Why was he so freaked out over it?

Maybe he was still feeling guilty over how he and Mary had ended things as well as her surprise pregnancy and abortion. 

Richard bites his lip. 

He hadn’t seen her get an abortion. 

He’d only been told. 

She could’ve lied to him. 

His finger hovers over the call button, blue eyes staring down at the contact. 

Maybe just to make sure? 

He knows he hadn’t told Bruce about Mary’s pregnancy, otherwise his dad would’ve dealt with it in his own way. 

Richard was regretting not telling Bruce now. 

Not after that dream. 

It was just a dream.

It had seemed so real though.

Richard decides to pull the trigger. 

The phone rings against his ear once… twice…

“Master Dick, I will have you know it is three in the morning my dear boy. You should be asleep.” 

“You know better than most how terrible our sleep schedules are Alfie,” He grins, voice softening as he spoke to his pseudo-grandfather. 

“Very right Master Dick. How may this old man be of assistance?” Alfred muses, a slight lilt in his tone telling Richard that the Wayne butler was trying not to smile. 

Richard swallows harshly and the silence was almost overwhelming. 

“My boy?” Alfred’s voice was a bit more worried now.

“Alfred…” Richard inhales sharply through his nose, “Your niece, Mary…. Could you find her for me?”

“WILFRED PENNYWORTH! YOU CAN’T BUY PETER A CAR!” 

Daphne’s voice echoed across the car dealership, turning heads as she stormed in, arms crossed and eyes flashing. 

Wilfred flinches, holding Peter a little tighter against his chest. Peter, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed by his aunt’s outburst, still gleefully babbling and pointing at the shiny red convertible in front of them.

Wilfred turns slowly, a sheepish grin creeping onto his face as he meets his daughter’s fiery gaze. “Now, Daph, it’s not exactly for Peter…” He starts to lie, though even he knew how ridiculous that sounded.

Daphne marches right up to them, hands on her hips, eyes flicking between her father and the baby in his arms. “Really, Dad? Then who’s it for? Because unless you’re going through a midlife crisis, I don’t see why you’re ogling a sports car.”

Peter, completely not unaware of the tension, reaches out his chubby hand toward the car, his face lighting up with a wide, toothy grin. “Vroom vroom!” He babbles excitedly, trying to hide his amused grin at his grandfather and aunt. 

“Oh, I see what’s happening,” Daphne says, placing her hands on her hips and trying not to smile at her nephew’s enthusiasm. “So you’ve got Peter in on this too, huh? Now it’s a whole team effort.”

Honestly it was mad how his grandfather had full intention of purchasing said convertable had his aunt not found out.

Wilfred chuckles nervously, shrugging. “See? The baby’s got taste.”

Daphne shoots him a withering look that could have frozen lava. “Peter is not even one, Dad. He doesn’t need a convertible. Heck, we don’t need a convertible.” She gives her father a deadpanned look.

Daphne stares at her nephew and Peter, catching the serious tone in his aunt’s voice, looks up at her with wide eyes. He then pouts, as if suddenly realizing he wasn’t going to get to ride in the shiny red car after all. And Daphne kind of wishes she could ban those puppy dog eyes. 

They should be illegal.

“You’re starting to cave aren’t you?” Wilfred sounded smug and Daphne huffs, turning away quickly. 

“Of course not,” She says quickly and Wilfred snorts before turning to his grandson with a sad smile.

He gives Peter a couple gentle bounces from his place on his grandfather’s hip, “Alright, alright, I get it. Come on Petey, lets get us some ice-cream instead then,” Wilfred beams when Peter grins up at him. 

“Ice- cweam!!” Peter squeals in delight, and Daphne can’t help but laugh. 

“Okay, okay, ice-cream’s fine. But I’m driving,” She demands, shooting her father a knowing look. 

Wilfred winks, handing Peter over to her with a grin, “Deal.”

Peter sits cross-legged by the lake, staring at its still, glassy surface. His brow continues to furrow more and more in concentration as he reaches out toward the water with trembling fingers, desperate to make something -anything- happen. 

He was beginning to feel extremely frustrated. 

He'd been at this for what felt like days, and still, not a single ripple disturbed the calm. 

Soul hovers behind him, her orange glow soft in the golden light of the soul realm, watching with patient eyes. She hadn’t said a word about his failure yet, waiting for him to reach the next step on his own. Peter exhales a frustrated breath, slumping forward.

“I don’t get it,” He mutters, glancing over his shoulder at Soul. “I’m doing everything you said. I’m concentrating, I’m trying to connect with my soul, but nothing happens.”

Soul floats closer, kneeling beside him, her presence warm and calming. “You’re trying too hard, Peter. You’re forcing it. The soul doesn’t respond to force. It responds to harmony.”

Peter frowns even more, looking back at the water. “Harmony?” He echoes gently, his whole face taking on a fully pouty expression. “What’s that even supposed to mean? I’m trying to feel it, but it’s like... it’s like I’m just missing something.” He grumbles. 

Soul tilted her head slightly, her voice gentle. “You are focused on making the ripple, on seeing the effect. But you must let go of that desire. Feel the connection, not the outcome. You’ll find out what’s missing, my champion. And once you do, you’ll make leaps and bounds, I promise,” She plants a gentle kiss on the top of his head and Peter smiles up at her. 

Soul leaves him to his practicing and Peter sighs, shoulders sagging. He stares at the lake again, his heart heavy with frustration. He wanted so badly to make it work, to prove to himself that he could do this. But the more he tried, the further away it seemed to get.

“I’m supposed to be able to do this,” He whispers to himself. “I have to be able to do this.”

He just had to.

Daphne, Wilfred, and Peter stood outside the same modest two-story home that they'd researched a couple days back. It exuded a sort of rustic charm, though it had clearly seen better days. The wraparound porch stretched around the front and side, its wooden planks creaking under the weight of time and weather, paint peeling away in delicate curls. An old swing hung from one corner of the porch, swaying gently in the breeze, its chains rusted but still sturdy. Peter’s head tilts sideways. It was the same house he'd found similar to his parent's previous home in his old universe. His spidey senses were silent and the house gave him a very warm feeling in his stomach. 

The overgrown garden spilled out in a wild tangle of untamed greenery. Thorny rose bushes, long past their prime, clung to the crumbling stone path that led to the front steps. Weeds poked through every crack in the flagstones, and ivy crawled up the sides of the house, threatening to swallow it whole.

The windows, framed with white shutters that had faded to a dull grey, were clouded with dust, giving the house a feeling of long-abandoned solitude. Yet, despite its rough edges, there was something inviting about the place- a sense of potential hidden beneath years of neglect. A large oak tree stood proudly in the front yard, its branches reaching over the roof like a protective guardian, casting long shadows across the house as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky. It wasn’t dark like the traumatizing serial killer house had been, it was lit up and Peter liked that very much.

Daphne crosses her arms, gazing up at the house. “Well, it’s got character,” She murmurs, tilting her head slightly, trying to imagine what it could become.

Wilfred eyes his grandson and daughter snorting at their near identical head tilts and facial expressions. He manages to quickly nap a picture of the two, before grinning, his eyes twinkling with excitement, "I can already see it. Some fresh paint, a little love, and it'll shine again."

Peter, perched on Daphne’s hip, blinked at the house with wide eyes, his tiny hand clutching his aunt’s shirt. The house looked really nice, and the big tree in the yard looked especially fun to climb someday.

When he could walk again. 

Daphne looks down at her nephew, grinning at Peter. "What do you think, love?"

“Nice. Home!!” Peter tells his aunt whose eyes soften and she starts to take in the house with a more rose-tinted approach. 

"Well, looks like we’ve got Peter’s approval," Wilfred muses, looking at the listing. "But let’s check out the inside before we get too excited. You know how real estate is. There could be black mold in there, god forbid, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

They made their way inside, Peter newly plopped into his stroller, and the house immediately felt different than all the ones they’d been in prior. It was warm, inviting, with natural light streaming in through the large windows.

Peter giggles from his spot, tiny legs kicking in excitement as Daphne wheels him from room to room, her eyes scanning every detail.

Wilfred, ever practical, immediately goes to inspect the kitchen and the bathrooms. His hands run over the counters, his eyes studying the layout, "Not bad. It’s got potential," He mutters, half to himself and half to Daphne. 

He didn’t mention how he’d googled the distance from this home to his brother’s. 

16.5 minutes to drive to Alfred’s. 

That wasn’t terrible. 

This house was looking more akin to their forever home with every plus they found with the house.

When they finally reached the backyard, Daphne stops in her tracks, feeling a lightness spread through her chest. A small patch of land lay before them, the perfect spot for a garden. She could already see Peter running around in the sunshine, dirt on his hands, laughter filling the air.

"This place feels like it could be our new home," She admits softly, kneeling down to unbuckle Peter from his stroller. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of earth and grass, and she couldn’t shake the warmth that settled in her chest. She set Peter down on the lawn, letting him explore the space on his own.

As soon as his tiny knees hit the ground, Peter’s gaze locked onto something. His wide eyes lit up with curiosity, immediately drawn to a small patch of flowers tucked into a quiet corner of the yard. With the clumsy determination of a baby, Peter begins to crawl toward them, his hands sinking into the grass as he made his way forward. 

When he reaches the flowers, Peter plops onto his bum, his little legs splayed out in front of him as he stared, mesmerized by the delicate bluebells that adorned the ground. His small fingers reached out, hovering over the petals as if unsure whether to touch them.

Daphne watches from a distance, her heart swelling as her nephew’s fascination grew. She walks over slowly, watching the baby seem to be hugged by the flowers. The petals dipping towards him like Peter was a magnet and the flowers couldn’t stay away.

Peter lets out tiny giggles that seemed to grow a bit more choked every time the bluebells grazed his chubby cheeks and pudgy little fingers.

The flowers seemed to call to him, much like they had to his mother. 

Peter glances back at his aunt, his face breaking into an innocent, wide-eyed grin. "Flowas!" He squeals, clapping his hands together. And Daphne has to choke back her own emotional outburst. 

She stays frozen, her breath catching in her throat as she stares up at the patch of bluebells before her. The delicate flowers swayed gently in the breeze, and in that moment, she could almost see her baby sister in their place- soft, vibrant, full of life. The sight was overwhelming, hitting her all at once. 

Daphne swallowed hard, forcing down the lump growing in her throat, blinking furiously to hold back the tears threatening to spill. "Yeah, button," She whispers, her voice quivering with emotion as she kneels down beside Peter, her hand resting lightly on his back. "They’re stunning, aren’t they?"

Peter, blissfully unaware of the wave of emotions that washed over his aunt, babbled happily beside her, his tiny fingers still playing with the petals. Daphne reaches out and touches the bluebells gently, the soft, cool petals brushing against her skin like a memory.

And then, as if the wind had carried something magical with it, the flowers bent in the breeze and gently touched the top of her head. 

It was like a head pat. 

Her breath hitches sharply. It was such a small, fleeting gesture, but it was enough to break the dam of emotion she’d been holding back. Her eyes well up, and she quickly wipes a tear away, but her chest tightens with the overwhelming urge to sob.

To finally grieve.

She looks down at Peter, who had crawled back across the lawn towards where Wilfred was. Wilfred meets her gaze, something knowing in his own eyes. He stares at the bluebells, one of Mary’s favourite flowers and utter grief overwhelms his gaze. 

Instead though, he heaves his grandson in his arms and takes him on an impromptu tour of the house, a strained look on Wilfred’s face.  

Daphne lets out a shaky laugh at her father’s uncharacteristic empathy, brushing the back of her hand across her cheek, willing herself to hold it together. He’d given her a bit of space. Great. Just great. It had been weeks since Mary’s death and now Daphne was finally allowing herself to feel that ache she had bandaged over and over again. 

"It’s like you’re here," Daphne whispers, bleary brown eyes staring at the flowers. 

When the bluebells had brushed against her, in that brief moment, it felt like her sister, had reached out- soft, comforting, just like Daphne had been used to. 

The weight of it was too much, honestly. 

Daphne's vision blurs, her chest tightening painfully as tears appear and spill down her cheeks. She tries to wipe them away quickly, but the flood wouldn't stop. 

Her body shakes with the force of emotion, and suddenly, everything she had been holding back comes rushing to the surface. She had tried to be so strong for Peter, for her father, for everyone- but now, here in this quiet, flower-filled corner of a strange backyard, Daphne felt the full weight of her loss. 

Mary would have loved this house.

She buries her face in her hands, her sobs muffled but raw, the kind of crying that seemed to come from the very pit of one’s soul. 

She didn’t want Peter to see her like this, didn’t want to scare him with her grief, as the release was inevitable, so she thanked god her dad had taken him away in time. 

Every memory of Mary -her laugh, her absolute stubbornness, her kindness, her fierce love for Peter- play over and over in Daphne’s mind, each one tearing at her like fresh wounds.

She reaches out again, her fingertips brushing the petals softly, and for a brief, fragile moment, it felt like the wind wrapped around her in a tender embrace. 

A warmth, a comfort, something familiar and soothing. As if something or someone had leaned into her, wrapping her in a soft, invisible hug. 

Daphne's breath stills, her tears subsiding into soft sniffles as a calm washed over her. She closed her eyes, feeling that fleeting presence -her sister, somehow… maybe… still with her, even now. 

Maybe it was just her imagination… maybe it was something more. But in that moment, she allowed herself to believe that Mary was there somehow… to comfort her, to remind her that she wasn’t truly alone.

She wasn’t ready to let go. 

Daphne wasn’t ready to heal. 

She didn’t want to. 

Mary had been her whole world. 

Her baby sister. 

But this? This moment made her think that she could finally start to. 

With one final, shaky breath, Daphne wipes her face, her heart lighter than it had been in months and she stands. 

She had a nephew to love and care for after all. 

And yes, they would be buying this home.

Peter actually really liked the last house they’d visited and it had felt like his mom had been there to give her blessings to the new house. 

He was a bit too embarrassed to ask her but he did intend to if he could find her. 

“Hey Soul, where is mom?” Peter asks Soul who hums with a smile. 

“Your mother decided to give you some privacy today. There is someone who wanted to see you.” 

“Huh? Who?” Peter asks, brow furrowed deep in thought. 

“You didn’t think you’d have more people who wished to see you Pete?” 

Peter freezes. 

He knew that voice. 

The voice was so familiar to him that his heart clenched instantly. 

Slowly, he turned, and there he was- Tony Stark, standing just a few feet away, hands deep in his pockets and that ever-present smirk softened by something deeper. 

Peter’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes welling up with tears. 

They stand there frozen, just staring at one another.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says softly and Peter stumbles towards him. 

Sure he knew he could meet with his mom everyday and see her, but Peter had no clue that Mr. Stark would be extended in said deal and added to the equation. 

Peter didn’t know if Mr. Stark had even wanted to see him again.

“Mr- Mr. Stark?” Peter whispers, his voice trembling, barely above a breath.

Tony’s face softens into a bittersweet smile, his familiar smirk ghosting across his features, “In the flesh…. well, sort of.” He just had to ruin the moment with a joke didn’t he. It was so Tony.

But the moment was too much, too overwhelming. Peter’s heart clenched, and all the walls he had built to keep his emotions in check came crashing down. Before he could think or say anything else, a loud, gut-wrenching sob escaped his throat. He exploded forward, his body moving faster than his mind could process, and shot straight into Tony’s arms.

They collided with a force that might’ve knocked anyone else off balance, but Tony held firm. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed to expect it, bracing himself for the impact. His arms wrapped around Peter tightly, pulling him in with the same intensity Peter was clinging to him, as if neither wanted to let go.

Peter buried his face into Tony’s chest, his sobs wracking through his entire body, muffled by the familiar feel of Tony's embrace. It wasn’t possible, none of this was possible, but here he was, wrapped in Tony’s arms again, and everything -everything- he’d been holding back just came spilling out.

Tony didn’t say anything at first. He just held Peter, his hand resting on the back of the boy’s head, the other arm securely around his shoulders. He let Peter cry, let him get it all out. There was no teasing now, no sarcasm. 

Just warmth. Just safety.

After what felt like an eternity, Tony finally spoke, his voice low and calm, as if they weren’t standing in some otherworldly realm. “Hey, kid... I missed you too.” There was a hint of strain in his voice, like he was fighting back his own emotions.

Peter sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him, his face streaked with tears. “I-I thought... I thought I’d never get to see you again.”

Tony’s eyes softened even more, and he let out a small sigh. “Yeah, well... turns out you can’t get rid of me that easily.” He smiles again, this time softer, without the edge and plants a gentle kiss on the crown of Peter’s head.

Peter tried to laugh, but it came out more like a choked sob. “I’m sorry,” He blurts, his voice shaky. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I couldn’t save everyone… I couldn’t-”

“Whoa, whoa,” Tony interrupted gently, his grip on Peter tightening just slightly. “None of that, okay? That wasn’t on you, kid. Never was.” He lifts Peter’s chin so the boy had to meet his eyes. “You did everything you could. You’re here. You’re alive. Even if it is in another universe… That’s what matters.”

Peter’s lip tremble, “But-”

“No buts,’” Tony said firmly but not unkindly. “You’ve been carrying this weight for too long, kid. It’s time to let it go.”

Peter’s vision blurs again, fresh tears spilling over. “I don’t know how to.”

Tony smiled, his thumb brushing away a tear from Peter’s cheek. “You don’t have to figure it out right now. But you’re not alone in this. You’ve got people who love you, Pete. Lean on them. Let them help you carry the load. Lean on me, Pete,” His voice was soft. 

Tony didn’t mention how he’d done everything to bring his kid back. How he’d travelled back in time to get the stones and to defeat Thanatos. How they’d defeated the big purple asshole and his kid hadn’t shown up with the rest of the disintegrated folk that had passes away years prior. 

Tony didn’t mention his heartbreak. Didn’t mention the huge time difference between the two worlds as said time difference was a couple years rather than a couple hours. Didn’t mention his baby girl. He didn’t mention his own sacrifice. How the Avengers almost hadn’t won because the soul stone had been missing until the very last second. It had appeared for the moment of Tony’s ultimate sacrifice and then disappeared immediately after. 

Of course… Tony realized now what had been going on. 

But Tony was also so happy to see his kid again. 

After so long. 

Tony pauses, his voice softening even more, holding onto his kid tightly. “You’re gonna be okay, kid. You’re mine after all.” Tony smiles gently at him and Peter proceeds to wail all over again.

“You- you really think that?” Peter was stumbling over his words, crying all over his tight grip on Tony. 

Tony smiles ever so softly and proceeds to haul Peter up and into his arms, carrying him until his kid wraps himself around Tony like a limpet. His voice cracks ever so slightly as he held Peter close, the weight of unspoken words finally coming to the surface. “You’re my kid, Peter.” Tony whispers, his breath catching as he spoke the words he’d never had the chance to say before. “You always have been. And I regret not telling you that before you died in our world. It was my biggest regret,” 

Peter clings to Tony, his small body trembling as fresh sobs overtook him. He buries his face in Tony’s neck, his words choked and barely coherent through the tears. “I-I didn’t know... I didn’t think... I thought I was just some kid you helped. I didn’t think I mattered like that.”

Tony pulls Peter even closer, his heart aching at the words. “Kid, you matter more than you’ll ever know,” Tony murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I wasn’t great at saying it back then, but you -God, you are everything to me. You’re my son, Peter. My son.”

Peter let out a heart-wrenching sob, clinging to Tony as if he might disappear again. The weight of Tony’s words settled deep inside him, filling a hole he hadn’t even realized was there. All this time, he had felt like he’d failed Tony, like he hadn’t done enough. But hearing Tony say that -hearing that he was his… his kid- it was almost too much emotion to bear.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter cries, his voice muffled against Tony’s chest. “I wanted to help you. I tried so hard.”

“I know you did, kid,” Tony whispers, his hand cradling the back of Peter’s head. “You did everything you could. You were more than enough. And I’m proud of you, Peter. So damn proud. I’m always proud of you, kid. You’re the best kid anyone could ever ask for.”

Peter’s chest hitches, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fall away. It was just him and Tony, in a space where nothing else mattered. No fights, no losses, no regrets- just the love between them, unspoken for so long but finally laid bare.

Tony’s hand rubbed soothing circles on Peter’s back as the sobs gradually subsided. “I know it’s been tough, but you don’t have to carry that responsibility anymore. You’ve got so many people who love you, kid. And no matter what happens, I’m always with you. Always.”

Peter lifts his tear-streaked face, looking up at Tony with wide, glassy eyes. “You mean it? You’ll always be with me? You won’t move on and leave me?”

Tony nods, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’ll always be here, kid. I’ve lost you once. I’m not going through that again,” He smiles at his kid, “Whether you can see me or not, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.” 

They both let out wet laughs, the sound breaking through the melochony. “I’m more than okay with that.” Peter admits to his pseudo-dad.

Tony grins, ruffling Peter’s hair and hauling Peter up higher on his hip somehow, “Good. Because I’m not letting go of my kid, not now, not ever.”

Peter smiles weakly, his heart full but fragile, as he clings to Tony just a little longer. He didn’t want this moment to end. He didn’t want to let go. But somewhere deep inside, for the first time in a long time, Peter felt... okay.

Maybe even a little bit more whole.

It was a week later after Daphne and Wilfred had closed on the house, when they had finally moved in. All of the papers had been signed and the keys were finally exchanged.

They’d been in the house for a couple of days and Peter honestly adored their new home.

The house stood quiet in the early morning light, the overgrown garden looking a little less wild now that they'd begun clearing it. The wrap-around porch creaked underfoot as they finished carrying in the last few boxes from the outside porch into the house. 

And for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a sense of stability in the air.

Peter sits in the living room, surrounded by boxes, his little hands grabbing at some bubble wrap that he had discovered, popping it with delighted giggles. His baby brain was very amused by the little pops much to Peter’s embarrassment. 

Daphne watches him from the doorway, a small smile tugging at her lips. This was the first time in months that she felt like they were settling in, like things might actually be okay.

Wilfred steps up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Looks like he's adapting faster than we are," He remarks with a soft chuckle, nodding toward Peter, who was now thoroughly entertained by his new favourite toy.

"Yeah," Daphne murmurs, her gaze still fixed on her nephew. "I wasn’t sure how he’d handle the move, but... he seems happy. Happier than he’s been in a long time. Babies are so resiliant,” 

Wilfred hums in agreement, his eyes softening as he looked around the room. “This house’s got potential.”

Daphne swallows hard, emotion welling up in her chest. She turned to her father, giving him a grateful smile. “Thanks for helping with all of this, Dad. I honestly couldn’t have done it without you and I’m glad you’ll be living with us.”

He shrugs, trying to play it off as no big deal, but the pride and happiness was clear in his eyes. “Family sticks together,” He replies simply.

From across the room, Peter’s giggles erupt again as he discovers a fresh section of bubble wrap. Daphne and Wilfred exchange a glance, both of them smiling a little wider now.

"Let's get started on the garden soon," Wilfred said after a beat, his voice thoughtful. "I think we owe Mary a few flowers."

Daphne nods, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "Yeah," She muses with a proud smile, "She’d love that."

Tony and Mary sat together on the edge of a soft, grassy knoll in the soul realm, sipping tea from delicate, pink china cups. Apparently Mary and Tony had been getting along heavenly and since Tony had arrived, Mary had started introducing Tony to the nuances of tea. 

Tony was a caffeine addict. 

So, Peter was a bit baffled at the fact that his pseudo-father was now enjoying a cup of chamomile tea with his mom.

The air was warm, tinged with the faintest scent of said chamomile, and the golden light that bathed the realm seemed to hum with life. 

Peter’s mom and Tony were close enough to the lake to see him by the water’s edge, his figure focused, hands poised over the surface. 

“You ever think we’d be sitting here, sipping tea, watching our kid struggle with water like it’s the most advanced science project ever?” Tony asks, a smirk tugging at his lips as he swirled the tea in his cup. He purposely was speaking louder than necessary so that Peter could hear him. 

“Mr. Stark! It’s not funny!!” Peter shouts at him, his face puffed up all annoyed and angry. 

“Sure it is!” Tony grins back, lifting his tea cup in a cheers motion. 

Mary snickers softly, her eyes never leaving Peter, “Honestly, I thought he’d need more guidance from Soul for the whole process. But here we are, letting him figure it out, like good adults should, I suppose. I wouldn’t even know where to start with helping him anyways,” She grumbles that last part out and Tony snorts in response.

“He’ll figure it out. That kid is stubborn as hell.” 

“I know he is,” She huffs out a breath, “Just like his birth dad,” She rolls her eyes at the thought, heart still aching slightly at the last interaction she’d had with her previous boyfriend/husband. 

“Speaking of…” Tony looks at Mary with wide, searching eyes, a glimmer in those brown eyes begging her for the gossip. 

She sighs, smiling despite herself, “You want the tea?” She raises her cup higher and Tony snickers. 

“All the tea, Mary you have no idea,” 

“You know you guys could help me!” Peter stands in front of his mom and Tony, hands on his hips and an angry frown on his face. 

“Want a biscuit, Pete?” Tony holds up a biscuit as a peace-offering and Peter eyes him for a second, his disbelieving gaze meeting that of his mentor’s and he sighs, before snatching a biscuit and stuffing it in his face. 

“Sit down baby,” Mary grins, motioning to the empty chair between her and Tony. And Peter follows his mom’s suggestion and plops down in the chair. 

“You’re trying too hard,” Tony muses, leaning back in his chair.“You need to relax, kid.” 

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who's been practicing day in-day out here,” Mary instantly retorts and Peter sits up a bit, preening at the fact that his mom had taken his side. 

“Well obviously Peter can do it. Peter can do anything,” Tony says so nonchalantly, it makes Peter’s heart twinge, his eyes watering at the honest conviction that Tony had in him. “You’re just overthinking it.” Tony continues, speaking to Peter directly.

Mary hums, “You do tend to overthink quite a lot, my heart,” She nods in agreement, taking another sip of her tea. 

Peter huffs out a breath before sighing heavily. “I know,” He whines, “It’s been days now and it still isn’t working,” 

“Hmmm maybe you should learn the concept of patience.” Tony snorts at him, “A couple of days isn’t that long when you actually start to consider it. You’re basically learning a new skill, my little tres mil,” Tony smiles softly for a second before inhaling sharply, “Just try to break it down like you would one of our physics lessons,” He tells Peter who slumps down in his seat. He was thinking deeply on what Tony had told him. 

“Break it down,” He murmurs to himself before he is standing up and reaching for the notebooks that Soul had gotten for him. 

“There he goes,” Mary smiles watching her son zone out everything else and start writing down a whole lesson plan for himself. 

Peter’s face scrunches up in concentration as he flips through the pages of the notebook, scribbling notes, diagrams, and little side comments that only seemed to make sense to him. His pen flies across the paper, his tongue poking out slightly from the corner of his mouth-  one of Peter’s telltale signs of how deep in thought he is. 

Tony watches from the side, leaning back with his arms crossed, his usual smirk softened by a genuine pride, “That’s my boy,” He murmurs, glancing at Mary with a grin. “Kid’s got my brain. He’s not gonna let this go until he’s cracked it.”

Mary snorts so hard she almost chokes, “Tony he’s not biologically yours you know,”

And Tony simply waves her concerns away staring at Peter with an adoring gaze that has Mary’s heart warm right up.

It was more than just affection—it was pride, joy, and a kind of deep love that left her so relieved. She could see, in that moment, how much Tony truly cared for Peter, how much he wished he’d had more time to be in his life. And how much he had regretted letting Peter slip away from his fingers. 

Peter dying had broken something in Tony that hadn’t really healed until he’d had his son back in his arms.

It stirred something inside her, a mix of emotions that was hard to untangle. She felt content, seeing them like this- Tony embracing his role in Peter’s life, even in this strange, ethereal way. And yet, there was a bittersweet edge to it too. The life Peter and Tony might have had, the family they could have been, along with Tony’s wife and daughter… only it was all out of reach now. Peter and Tony were dead in that world. 

There was also a hint of regret in her heart. It was a stinging regret… one that wished that Richard was in Tony’s spot, smiling at his son and looking at Peter in pride. 

Mary really hadn’t regretted not telling Richard about their baby until she’d taken her last breath and was uttering her last words. 

Still, Mary couldn’t help but feel comforted. Tony’s love for Peter was evident, and even if things weren’t perfect, in this moment, they felt whole. And that was enough for now.

Peter, oblivious to the banter happening just beside him, was completely absorbed in his work. The notebook was filling up fast with theories, ideas, and notes on how to harness the energy of the soul. He wasn’t just trying to replicate what Soul had shown him; he was trying to break it down like a scientific equation, dissecting every part of the process.

Peter was really good at science and physics after all. So he’d try to learn it in a way he was familiar with. Hopefully looking at the whole thing from another perspective would help him.

“Okay, okay…” Peter mutters to himself, tapping his pen against his notebook. “It’s like a formula, right? The ripple effect… the balance of energy… but it’s not just about making a ripple. It’s about understanding the why and the how….”

Tony chuckles, shaking his head, ”Want to bet on how fast he figures it out?” 

“Tony!” It was both Mary and Peter who retort and Tony simply laughs. 

Even though he was happy and content, there remained twinges of sadness and guilt in him. He’d left his baby girl…. unintentionally of course but he’d ended up being back with his other baby and that was all that mattered to him. Morgan had her mother to care for her. 

And now Tony was sure Peter was okay. 

That he hadn’t been all alone somewhere… waiting for Tony to save him. 

He’d been going insane with worry about his kid…. his child that had been taken from him.

And now?

Now he wasn’t perfect. But he was doing okay. 

All because Peter was.

Peter’s tiny hands clutched the edge of the couch, his chubby fingers pressing into the fabric as he focused on balancing himself. His brow was furrowed in frustration- he’d been at this for a few minutes now, and the stubborn couch wasn’t getting any closer. 

Wilfred, seated across the room, glanced up from his book and froze. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked onto the small figure of his grandson, who was no longer just sitting or crawling. Peter was standing, using the couch for support, his legs wobbly but determined.

“Daphne!” Wilfred’s voice was half a whisper, half a shout as he slowly rose to his feet, afraid to startle Peter. His hand instinctively went for his phone. “DAPHNE!” He hisses again, louder this time, frantically trying to get his daughter’s attention.

Peter, however, wasn’t interested in the commotion. He was too busy focusing on his next challenge- letting go of the couch. He’d been confined for way too long and it was time for him to walk.

He’d walk by the end of the day if it was the last thing he did. 

God damn it, Peter just wanted some more freedom so badly he was almost going to cry.

His lips curled into a tiny pout of concentration, and his little legs trembled as he teetered.

“Daphne! Come quick!” Wilfred was nearly beside himself, fumbling with his phone as he snapped picture after picture, his voice cracking with excitement. 

He finally realized that video taping was an actual thing in the world and he instantly shifted gears to videotape his grandson.

Wilfred’s hands were shaking as he tried to capture every angle, every moment of Peter’s triumphant attempt at walking.

Daphne came rushing in, breathless and confused and a huge dagger held up threateningly in her hands. “What is it, Dad? What’s- ” She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening in disbelief as she saw Peter standing there, still holding onto the couch but clearly testing the waters to try and walk.

“Oh my God,” Daphne whispered, tears springing to her eyes as she instinctively reached for her phone as well, still holding the dagger close to her heart. “Is he-”

“He’s going to do it,” Wilfred cut in, his voice thick with emotion, unable to tear his gaze away from Peter. “Look at him, he’s- he’s about to-”

Before either of them could finish the thought, Peter let go of the couch. For a moment, he stood there, swaying slightly, his tiny legs trying to find their balance…

And then, with a tentative step forward, he did it.

Peter took his first step.

Peter’s little feet hit the floor with a soft thud as he took another step, and then another, his face scrunched up in concentration. Daphne gasped, one hand over her mouth as she knelt down, her arms open wide. 

“Come here, button,” She whispers, her voice choking with emotion. “Come to Aunty Daphne.”

Wilfred, tears brimming in his eyes, was recording every milli-second his heart swelling with pride. He could barely contain his joy, his phone clicking nonstop as Peter toddled forward, wobbling but determined, his tiny hands reaching out toward Daphne.

“Look at him, Daph, just look at him!” Wilfred exclaimed, his voice shaky. He wiped his eyes quickly, trying to catch every moment before it slipped away. “He’s walking- Oh my god, our boy’s walking!”

Peter let out a tiny huff of frustration as he stumbled but caught himself, his cheeks puffing out in annoyance as he plopped down onto the floor. He looked up at Daphne, his big eyes wide with frustration at the difficulty of the task.

But Daphne and Wilfred were already there, swooping in with praise and hugs. Daphne scooped Peter into her arms, kissing his cheek as she blinked back tears. “You did it, Peter!!” She was cheering amidst her tears, “You did it!”

“Well done, chipmunk,” He says, his voice soft, full of awe. He shares a look with Daphne, both of them beaming through their tears, knowing that this was a moment they’d remember forever.

Alfred Pennyworth sat in his study, the phone resting lightly against his leg as his thoughts lingered on the conversation he'd just had with his grandson. 

Richard’s voice, usually full of confidence and warmth, had been somewhat weighed down by something Alfred couldn’t quite place. 

There had been a hesitation in the way Richard spoke, like there was something he wasn’t saying- a heaviness, a pause that unnerved Alfred in a way that few things did.

Alfred swallowed, the motion feeling too deliberate, too harsh. The quiet crackle of the phone echoed in the otherwise still room. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tracing over the armrest as he replayed the brief conversation in his mind. 

His grandchild had sounded different- less sure, less resilient. There was an edge to Richard’s voice, something strained. It reminded Alfred of the way he usually sounded after a bad dream, when his brave face cracked just enough to let the fear slip through. 

A nightmare, perhaps could be the reason. Alfred's hands twitched involuntarily, the urge to reach out and pull his grandchild into his arms overtaking him. He wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to wrap him in the kind of embrace that made the bad things disappear, if only for a moment. 

But his little bird had flown from the nest long ago, and now, all Alfred could do was sit with the gnawing feeling that something was terribly wrong. Richard was an adult now- his grandson had grown up and built his own life. And yet, Alfred’s heart ached in a way that only a grandparent’s could, longing to be there in a way he only had been able to do so before.

He stared at the phone resting in his lap, willing it to ring again, willing Richard to tell him everything that was troubling him. He clenched his fist, a wave of helplessness surging through him. The desire to be there, to protect and comfort, was as strong as ever-but he was miles away, and Richard had made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about whatever was haunting him.

Alfred had a clue, though. And that clue was haunting him even more than the cryptic conversation with Richard. It gnawed at the back of his mind, like a puzzle waiting to be solved. Something wasn’t right, and it went deeper than a simple family matter.

It took a simple search on the advanced Bat search engines to find the information he needed.

His brother, Wilfred, had taken a leave of absence from work. That was the first red flag. 

Wilfred was a man of habit, deeply committed to his work and responsibilities. The idea of him stepping away so abruptly -without explanation- was deeply unsettling.

Alfred pushes himself out of his chair and crosses the room with a sense of urgency he hadn't felt in years. He lurches towards his phone, fingers hovering over two numbers. 

His mind raced with the possibilities, but none of them sat well. His brother and his two nieces -Daphne and Mary- had always been very open with him, and if something had gone wrong, Alfred would have known. The fact that Wilfred hadn’t said anything to him, made Alfred’s hair stand on end. 

He reached for his computer, his fingers moving swiftly over the keys as he accessed the security logs and footage from his brother's estate. Alfred had always kept a close eye on his family, not out of mistrust but out of love. The world could be unpredictable, and Alfred had learned the hard way that sometimes, you had to be vigilant to protect the ones you cared about.

The footage loaded slowly, and Alfred's heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the dates. The timeline showed a sharp drop in activity at Wilfred’s house. No visitors. No deliveries. Just… stillness. 

Then there was a single moment though, a date that stood out like a beacon. 

It had been a couple weeks ago and from that moment on, Wilfred hadn’t returned to his house. 

He’d been on the phone and his movements had gotten more and more frantic until there was a sudden flurry of movement and then…. nothing. 

Alfred’s eyes narrow as he clicks on the footage. He then decides that video wasn’t enough, not at all. 

And Alfred needed to hear everything. 

The audio was a tad shaky but Alfred wasn’t one of the best agents for nothing. He’d been the first one to teach Batman everything he knew. Alfred could hack into his brother’s telephone records, regardless of how protected Wilfred’d phone was. 

“Daphne…. Daphne…. Is everything alright?” 

“Dad… Dad…. I need you to check on the safe house. The one in Dansville? 

“Why? What happened Daph?” 

“We were attacked...” 

Alfred’s blood runs cold. No. 

Had something actually happened? Had something gone wrong. 

He couldn’t do it again. Not after his grandbaby. Not after Jason. 

“Mary…. She couldn’t come with us. I just need to know if she made it out or-” 

Alfred’s heart seems to stop the same second Wilfred’s does at the same time. Because there is a long silence in which both brothers were dying on the inside. 

“I’ll head over there now. Stay put and stay safe. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

Alfred seems to zone out anything else because the call ended while he was zoned out in his panic. 

It didn’t take him long at all to decide he needed to get to Dansville immediatly. 

Alfred was already sprinting up the stairs, startling his darling Timothy and Richard. His son was immediately up and following him, racing after him with questions on his lips and in his eyes. 

“Alfred? Alfred what’s going on?” Bruce demands with worry, watching as his adopted father shoves some necessities in a bag. 

“I will be taking one of the cars. My brother-” Alfred inhales sharply. “I think something happened to him, my dear boy,”

Bruce’s blue eyes widen in horror. “I’ll come with you!” Was his boy’s immediate reply because of course it was. 

Alfred inhales, trying to control his worry and his emotions, “No. Bruce we need you here. I will just be a a couple days away. I need to check up on the girls and my brother.”

Bruce stood frozen, his face a mix of confusion and concern as he watched Alfred hastily throw clothes and necessities into a bag. The usually composed and steady man he called a father was visibly rattled, and that was something Bruce couldn’t just brush aside.

"Alfred, wait-“ Bruce began, stepping closer, his heart racing. "What do you mean something happened? With Wilfred and-”

"The girls," Alfred finished for him, voice tight. His hands shook ever so slightly as he zipped the bag shut with a sharp tug. "I think something terrible has happened, Bruce. I don’t know all the details yet, but I have to go. I have to see for myself."

Bruce’s eyes widen. He didn’t have all the pieces, but if Alfred was this worried, then something was very wrong. His mind flashed to Daphne, Mary, and Wilfred. They were as much family to him as Alfred was.

“I’m coming with you,” Bruce insisted, determination etched in every word. “You can’t go alone, Alfred. If it’s something dangerous-”

“No, Bruce.” Alfred cut him off, voice firmer this time. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing it with a kind of paternal warmth that managed to break through his panic. “I need you here. The city needs you, and so does Masters Dick and Timothy. Besides-” He holds out his shotgun with a confident smile, “I’m not too old that I lost my touch, you know,” 

Bruce blinks, his usual mask of calm slipping as he glances back toward the door, where his son was standing. Dick, with those same curious blue eyes, was peeking in with a mixture of confusion and concern. Timothy, too, hovered just behind him, watching the interaction with sharp eyes.

Alfred’s heart clenched at the sight of the kids.

"I’ll just be a couple of days," Alfred continues, softer now. "I need to check on Wilfred and… the rest of the family. But you stay here. Keep an eye on things."

Bruce was torn. Every instinct he had told him to go with Alfred, to be there for whatever awaited him. But Alfred’s words, the seriousness in his eyes, told him there was something deeper here- something personal.

After a long, tense moment, Bruce nodded. “Alright,” he finally relented, though the worry still etched his features. “But you call me. The second anything seems off- call me.”

Alfred gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment, throwing the bag over his shoulder as he moved toward the door.

"I’ll call, Master Bruce, don’t you worry about me,” Alfred promises, slipping into the old formal title, if only to lighten the mood for a brief moment. But it was just that… brief. "Take care of Masters Richard and Timothy while I’m gone. Please don’t let the poor dears starve.” 

“Alfred,” Bruce sighs exasperated, “I won’t let them starve,” He grumbles after Alfred shoots him a look. 

“Good,” And with that, Alfred was turning around and making his way towards the exit. 

“Alfred! Alfred wait!” Richard races to his side, eyes wide in horror and his fingers shaking. “Alfred is this about what I asked about last night?” He whispers and Alfred pauses. The pause was all Richard needed to know though. 

“It is… isn’t it?” 

“I don’t know my dear boy. But I intend to find out,” He tells him gently and then the door closes quietly behind him as he leaves to face whatever shadows his brother seemed to be hiding. 

The road felt longer than it ever had, each passing mile weighed down by the uncertainty gnawing at Alfred's mind. His thoughts raced, flickering between memories of his brother and the unsettling footage he had seen and heard. He didn’t know what to believe. The thought that somethng bad had happened made his heart twist painfully. 

How could he have missed this? 

How could Wilfred have gone through all of this without telling him?

Had he honestly lost touch with his family as he’d been drowning in his own grief?

By the time Alfred reached the small town where Wilfred and his family had once lived, the late afternoon sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. The countryside, quiet and unassuming, now carried an air of foreboding Alfred couldn’t shake off. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled the car to a stop just a couple miles out from his brother’s old home. For reasons he couldn’t fully explain, he didn’t want to drive all the way to the house. Something about the distance felt safer. 

He stepped out, inhaling deeply, letting the cool evening air fill his lungs before starting on foot. His polished shoes crunched softly against the gravel road, the sound oddly out of place in the quiet surroundings. Each step felt heavier than the last as he moved closer to Wilfred’s home. His shotgun was a constant placed securely on his back, just in case… as well as the multitude of various knives and daggers he held on his person. 

Some habits were a bit harder to break than others.

It took him a couple hours until the gaps between the trees began to reveal to him the start of the pile of secrets that had been kept from him.

His heart lurched.

The house -Wilfred and Issa’s home- was a charred debris. Where there should have been warmth and life, there was only devastation. The entire structure was blackened and destroyed, the remnants of what was once one of the warmest and kindest homes Alfred knew…. was now akin to the ruins one would see in Rome or Greece. But these ruins weren’t beautiful. They hadn’t been polished and made for toursit attraction. The remnants of the house in front of him told of a terrifying story… a story Alfred did not want to turn the next page to.  It stood there eerily against the darkening sky. The smell of smoke still curled lazily from the wreckage, as if the fire had not long since died down. It was suffocating and the smell hovered consistently in his throat. 

Alfred couldn’t move. He was frozen.

For a moment, his breath caught in his throat, and all he could do was stare, wide-eyed and horrified, at the sight in front of him. The house... it was gone.

A sharp, stabbing panic shot through him, cutting through the numbness. His chest tightened painfully as he stumbled forward, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. 

No. 

No, no, no. 

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

He was sprinting now, his heart thudding loudly in his ears. The charred earth crunched beneath his shoes as he reached the edge of the destruction. The smell of ash and burnt wood filled his nostrils, mixing with something far more acrid. 

It was the scent of burnt flesh. Of the dead. 

Alfred’s legs wobbled, threatening to give out beneath him. He stood at the edge of what was once the porch, staring into the ruin of what used to be his brother’s home. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse from the shock of it all.

“Wilfred…” He whispers, his voice barely audible as it cracks with raw emotion.

His mind flashes with images of Wilfred, of Daphne, of Mary. The laughter, the warmth, the life that had once filled this space, now nothing but ash. 

And then it hit him, like a brutal punch to the gut. 

Mary.

They’d said there had been an accident. 

And Mary hadn’t made it out with Daphne. 

His knees buckled, and Alfred nearly fell, catching himself just in time on the remains of a charred railing. He inhaled sharply, trying to pull air into his lungs, but the weight of the realization was too heavy.

But there was no time to collapse, no time to drown in his grief. He knew where to go from here.

If Mary had indeed passed… there was only one place where Wilfred would lay her to rest.

The lake. 

The place where they had all spent countless summers, where Wilfred had taken Mary and Daphne to swim and play as children. It was a place that held their family's happiest memories.

But it was also a place of their family’s worst memories. Where they’d lost Issa.

Alfred took off, hurrying towards the lake. His steps were shaky at first, the adrenaline and panic making his legs feel unsteady. But as the urgency grew, so did his speed. He just had to get there. 

The path to the lake was overgrown, as though it hadn’t been walked in some time. Branches slapped against his face and arms as he pushed his way through, but he didn’t care. He could see the shimmering water ahead now, the trees thinning out.

And then he stopped dead in his tracks.

There, by the water’s edge, was a small, freshly dug grave. And next to it, two simple gravestones.

Issa Pennyworth.

And…

Mary Pennyworth.

Alfred's breath hitched, and his knees finally gave way. He collapsed onto the damp earth, his hands trembling as they hovered over the gravestones. 

It was true. 

She was gone.  

His heart ached so deeply it felt like it would tear apart in his chest. He pressed a hand to his mouth, his whole body shaking with the weight of his grief. Tears poured down his cheeks as he stared at his niece's name carved into the cold, unfeeling stone.

“Oh lord,” He murmurs, falling to his knees and touching the dirt at his niece’s grave. He’d never had children but Bruce, Daphne and Mary had been his in a way no child ever would be. “I’m sorry,” Alfred whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry…”

He stayed by her grave like that for what felt like hours, kneeling beside his sister-in-law and neice, grieving the loss of his family. 

He had to know why Wilfred hadn’t told him.

He had to know if Daphne and Wilfred were even okay.

He stood, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand. He couldn’t stay here, not when there were still so many questions unanswered. He cast one last glance at the graves before turning back towards the path.

He needed answers. And if anyone had them, it would be the his brother. 

As he made his way back, Alfred’s mind raced. He’d check cameras, track down Wilfred’s actions, and piece together what had happened. His brother had taken leave. Wilfred and Daphne had all but disappeared off the face of the planet. But they were somewhere out there.

And Alfred would find them.