Dark Matter

He knows this dream.

Peter sits in his bedroom, beneath a window gone white with snow. He's not eight years old anymore, and he knows Uncle Ben won't come in to talk. In fact, that’s the reason why his bedroom is currently a disaster area. The full memory is fuzzy, but he remembers the salient points: coming home from school, calling out to Ben out of pure habit, realizing he’s gone, and then--

And then something like a tantrum. Frustration and anger and tears, and not much else. His room is a disaster; clothes, books, some broken Lego models, and a few other things cover the floor. The result of his grief induced tantrum.

He’s dreamt of this place and time dozens of times, but it’s different. It's more real. Steady. Logical in the way his dreams get when he taps into something inside him that brings out ghosts. He’s also older in this dream that he would be if he was reliving his memory. He’s sixteen, not fourteen, and he sits taller.

Before he can contemplate what that might mean, he feels someone appear beside him.

May Parker sits beside him, as real and present as if she were alive. She smiles at him, warm and sad, and pulls him into a protective hug that feels real, too. Peter melts into her hug, clinging to her and burying his face against her shoulder.

“Hey, you,” she says quietly. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Again?” he asks, leaning back out of the hug.

“You don’t remember? You came back to the apartment before,” May says. “Back when you were first figuring out how to use your new power. Honestly, that was a little weird, but Sam explained the whole soul stone thing to me. What’s weirder is that I think he came to talk to me with someone else.”

Peter frowns at her. And then he winces. “New power? I don’t know what you’re--”

“Yes, you do,” May says patiently. “You do know. You’ve been pretending you don’t. And apparently you’ve done it so well that you’ve almost forgotten.”

Peter can’t deny that. May knows all of his tells; he couldn’t even hide being Spider-Man from her for very long. And he was arguably failing at that even when she didn’t suspect he was Spider-Man. She knew he was sneaking out of school and out of the apartment almost the moment he started doing it.

"With great power, there must also come great responsibility," May tells him patiently. "You know this already, Peter. Remember?"

Peter’s room shifts, changes. He finds himself watching a memory. The day he met Tony Stark.

"If you can stop the bad thing, but you don't, then the bad things happen because of you," his younger self tells Tony.

Tony looks away, thoughtful. After a moment, he claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder and almost smiles.

"But I never wanted this," Peter tells May. In his hand is a stone the size of his palm, glowing orange and emitting a strange heat. The light rises and falls in time with his heartbeat. “Not this stone thing. That’s too much for one person.”

"I know. But you have it anyway," May says, her tone understanding but firm. “You have a gift, Peter. And you have a responsibility to use it. A responsibility you’ve been avoiding.”

Peter frowns, going silent. “So, where is this thing, anyway? Like, I have it, but how? I can kind of feel this ‘orange’ thing inside me, but...”

“You might have to ask an expert for that one, kiddo,” May says.

Fair enough. Despite his childhood beliefs, May probably doesn’t have an answer to every problem in his life. “I don’t know how to use it.”

“Neither do I, but I think you’ll figure it out.”

“That’s like trying to figure out nuclear fission,” Peter mutters. “Where do you even start with that?”

“The first thing you should do is rest,” May says. “Give yourself a chance to heal, and then forgive yourself.”

“Forgive myself?”

“For surviving,” May says gently. “The rest will come in time.”

Peter goes quiet. That’s a big ask; he’s felt guilty for surviving ever since he was a kid. First with his parents, then with Ben, now with--well. A whole universe, apparently. He looks up at her. “You’re really her, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m really me,” May says, smiling. “Larb and all.”

He grins a little in spite of himself. The conversation enters a quiet lull; his bedroom shifts around them. Tony disappears. Peter’s younger self disappears. The desk is replaced with something nicer. A bunk bed replaces the twin sized bed pressed against the wall; something he asked of May so Ned could comfortably stay the night during their weekends together.

“Do you forgive me for surviving?” he asks her.

“Yes,” May says immediately.

Her voice is sincere, gentle, and firm. She means it. Peter feels himself relax just a bit.

"What do we do when we get knocked down?" May asks him after a moment.

"We get back up," Peter answers. He hesitates. “Can you stay?”

She smiles sadly. “No. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

He isn’t surprised, but the disappointment is overwhelming. “Not even if I learn how to use the Soul Stone?”

“Not even then. I don’t know the details, but I'm only here because your friends brought me here. The guy with the cape, mostly.”

“Dr. Strange,” Peter says, frowning. “I didn’t think he was strong enough to do that.”

“He said he was getting help from the other side, whatever that means.” She pauses. “I guess I did pass by a chain smoking British man earlier. Either way, honey, I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”

He considers that for a long moment, and then frowns at her. “I don’t want to wake up and remember you’re gone again.”

She has no response to that. May pulls him into a warm hug and simply holds him.

* * *

When Peter wakes up, it isn’t done by screaming, sobbing, or laughing. He simply wakes up, safe and warm in his bed. He still has to use his inhaler, and cough up half of a lung, but physically and emotionally, he seems...

Well, ‘better’ may not be the correct word, but it’s the closest he’s got. On the mend, maybe? His side aches, but it aches less than it did yesterday. More of an annoying bruise rather than a bone deep wound. He stretches, yawns, and wanders over to the window, idly pushing aside the curtain to look outside.

It’s snowing. Just like in his dream, when May--

The memory and grief hit him both at roughly the same time. He wavers, caught between the two. Eventually, the memory of May’s arms around him wins out over the grief from losing her, and he leaves the window to go shower and start his day. He still has homework to do, and wounds to recover from.

He spends the better part of two weeks recovering. Eating, sleeping, gradually learning to control the weird fury inside him. None of the others in the manor reacts if he excuses himself to pace the halls or wander through the snow covered garden outside of the manor. The latter is usually only briefly tolerated by Alfred or Dick, who chase him back inside within ten minutes of his idle walk, much to Peter’s annoyance.

He sticks inside after that. Gotham’s constant rain and snow make for poor walking weather, anyway.

* * *

Finals come and go; Peter doesn’t see Felicia during it, which is a disappointment. Bruce wanders through the manor occasionally, brooding and serious in a way that does not fit his playboy persona in the least; Peter keeps his distance. Peter grows stronger and healthier by the day; his healing factor kicks into overdrive, and the weight he’s lost to too much exercise and not enough food gradually returns. Not to the point where he was when he first came to Gotham, but arguably close.

After finals, he’s on winter break. His cold is all but gone, and steady use of the inhaler has kept the Joker toxin inside him from becoming an issue. Everyone in the Wayne family seems to scatter; Steph stops coming over after finals, Duke disappears at daybreak and only comes in sometime near the evening, Dick, Bruce, and Tim all disappear at various points of the day. Of those three, Peter can count on one hand how often he’s seen Tim. Damian, still suffering from a brutal cold himself, wanders the manor with his service dog when he’s allowed out of bed at all.

Peter is, for the most part, left to his own devices. He tries reading. Watching TV. After two days, he’s bored out of his mind. Sitting still has never been his strong suit, and with his renewed health comes renewed spider instincts: he’s fidgety at the best of times, and without something to occupy his hands--

Oh. There’s an idea. Peter grabs a book and heads down to the kitchen.

Alfred finds him washing dishes out of sheer boredom.

"You realize that's my job, yes?" Alfred asks, his tone dry and amused.

"You realize I'm never going to get used to that, right?" Peter replies.

The silence that follows his question lasts long enough that Peter turns to look at the butler. Alfred stands near Peter, sleeves rolled up, dish towel in hand, smiling at him. His expression is soft; a look of fond nostalgia and amusement.

"Master Richard said those very same words to me when he was your age," Alfred says after a moment. "Forgive me. I'm becoming sentimental in my old age."

"He seems like a nice guy," Peter says, handing the last freshly washed dish over to Alfred from the sink. “I’m surprised he went through all the trouble to take me in.”

Alfred hums in thought, drying the dish carefully before setting it aside. “I think you’ll find it much less surprising as time goes on. What do you want for lunch?”

Peter drains the water and shrugs. “Whatever you’re making. I’m not exactly picky these days.”

“Lentil soup, then,” Alfred says.

Peter dries his hands, and takes a seat at the kitchen island. He picks up his book and idly pages through it while Alfred begins to cook. Eventually, a foot step--one so silent Peter barely hears it--draws him out of his reading and he looks up to find himself under the careful scrutiny of Damian Wayne. The boy eyes him for a moment before sitting in the stool beside him.

“Good afternoon, Master Damian,” Alfred says warmly.

“Alfred,” Damian replies, clearly half asleep. He looks at Peter, focusing on the book in his hands. “Parker. What are you reading?”

Peter closes the book and shows Damian the cover. He’s just finished reading it for the third time, so he doesn’t mind the interruption. "Watership Down. It's one of my favorites. It's about a group of rabbits finding a new home after their old one is destroyed."

"Ah, an excellent book,” Alfred says from the counter. He makes a vague gesture with the knife he’s using to chop vegetables. “Your father loved it as well, Damian."

Damian squints at the book cover. "Father's favorite book as a child is about rabbits?"

"Yes," Alfred says, amused by Damian's disbelieving look. He pauses in the middle of chopping vegetables. "There was one particular passage in their creation myth that he enjoyed. Oh, how did it go? 'All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and when they catch you, they will kill you.'"

"But first they must catch you," Peter continues, closing the book and shifting it over into Damian's hands. "Digger, listener, runner, Prince With The Swift Warning. Be clever, and full of tricks, and your people shall never be destroyed. I always liked that part, too."

Damian quirks a brow, taking the book. "I can see why Father latched on to that particular passage."

Peter sure as hell doesn't. "I'm surprised. He doesn't seem like the type who’d be interested in that kind of book."

Damian aims a shrewd look his way. "You haven't spent enough time with him yet. You'll see."

“That sounds vaguely threatening,” Peter notes.

Damian smirks, but looks at the book with interest.

“You can borrow this if you want,” Peter says. He offers it to Damian. “I’ve read it more times than I can count.”

“You don’t mind?” Damian asks.

“Not at all," Peter says. "Tell me what you think of it when you finish."

Damian takes the book and considers it for a moment before opening the cover. By the time Alfred brings them their soup, he’s deeply engrossed in the book and barely looks away to thank him. Peter switches to his phone, letting the conversation die off so Damian can read in peace. He doesn’t know much about Damian, but he knows that the kid socializes like a cat; simply being in the room with him is a sign of--well, not approval, exactly, but trust. Something that clearly doesn’t come easily to Damian. Given that he’s been raised in the shadow of Bruce Wayne, that isn’t exactly surprising.

Alfred favors Peter with an approving smile when he sets a bowl of soup in front of him. “Eat as much as you like, Master Peter.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Peter says. His phone lets out a quiet ding! when Alfred steps away and he picks it up to read the message.

Felicia:hey, are you going to come by anytime soon? Lou is getting worried.

Felicia:also your Red Hood friend is making my life extremely difficult by following me around when I’m trying to do things

Peter: stop breaking and entering and he’ll leave you alone

Felicia:no ❤

Peter rolls his eyes and lets the conversation drop. He’s still restricted to the manor, and he doesn’t have access to a suit yet. But he’s healed enough to consider the prospect now, and since everyone seems to leave the manor pretty quickly these days...

Peter eats his soup and considers his options, mentally putting together suit concepts and ideas.

* * *

Peter’s cold is all but gone a few days later. He spends his time sketching out suit ideas in the kitchen and plotting a way to get into Crime Alley. He could ask one of the others to drop him off, maybe, but everyone here treats him like glass and goes out of their way to keep him from feeling stressed. Even if he manages to convince them to drive him into the Alley, they’ll probably stick to him like glue. The better plan would be to build new webslingers and a new suit, though he would still have to escape Wayne Manor’s grounds. He can probably manage that.

He’s gradually coming around to the idea of the whole Infinity Stone thing. As in, acknowledging it, at least. He doesn’t have a clue how to use it yet, or even if he should. He can handle his own strength and speed, but if Dr. Strange’s ramblings are right, then Peter has a stone connected to one of the basic building blocks of the universe...somewhere. Inside him, maybe? Hopefully not, or Dick’s going to get a very awkward phone call from Dr. Thompkins at some point when she reviews his x-rays and finds a fully formed stone in his lung or something.

As to how to use it---

A sudden commotion at the door draws Peter out of his thoughts.

“Give it back,” Damian demands.

“Nope, mine. I got it first,” Steph replies, apparently utterly immune to Damian’s furious tone.

Silence follows, a sound of a struggle, a curse, and then something is flying at Peter’s head. He catches it before looking up from his phone and is surprised to find a cookie in his hand. A freshly made one, too.

“Holy crap, I can’t believe you caught that,” Steph says, impressed.

“Your reflexes are almost as sharp as Cain’s,” Damian notes, narrowing his eyes.

Peter takes a bite out of the cookie, much to Damian’s annoyance, and shrugs. “I can catch anything you throw at me. Try it.”

Steph and Damian glance at each other, and then grin.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, quiet chatter from Alfred, Dick, Duke, and Tim drifts into the kitchen, and then falls silent when the group enters.

“What the hell is going on,” Dick asks from the doorway.

“Testing Parker’s reflexes,” Damian informs him.

“He’ll literally catch anything you throw at him. Even if he doesn’t realize you’re in the room,” Steph explains. “Damian tested it.”

“He wasn’t aware of my presence for the second one,” Damian adds, flinging an apple at Peter. Peter catches it without looking and adds it to his slowly growing pile of food and treats on the table.

“Can you both please stop throwing food at Peter,” Dick says, with a small thread of exasperation. Alfred simply walks around the chaos and gives Peter a plate to store his treats.

“Hey, don’t ruin this for me. I haven’t had to get up to grab food for hours,” Peter says, not looking up from his phone.

He sees Dick roll his eyes from the corner of his eye and give up. Steph takes careful aim and throws an orange at Peter. He snatches it out of the air. Steph lets out a low whistle.

“Okay, I’m officially jealous,” she says, before looking over at the group. “What are you guys up to?”

“Gala preparation,” Tim mutters from the coffee machine.

“I’m preemptively excusing myself,” Duke says, snatching one of Peter’s apples out of his snack pile and ducking away before Peter can grab it back. “Too slow, Peter.”

“You’re keeping that only because I’m letting you keep that,” Peter says.

“Why does Drake sound irritated over the gala?” Damian asks, attempting to repeat Duke’s theft on the snack pile.

Peter moves it just out of his reach and earns a narrow eyed glare for his trouble until Peter relents and hands him one of the cookies from the pile. Damian perks up and sits down beside him to eat the cookie, pulling out a book to read beside Peter while the others speak.

“I have more important things to do,” Tim replies.

“You should make an appearance, Master Tim,” Alfred says, watching Tim pour half of a pitcher of coffee into a thermos with something close to despair on his features. “Even briefly.”

“I’ll consider it. Who’s even coming to this one?” Tim asks.

“The usual, I’m afraid,” Alfred replies, handing him a list. Tim takes it and scans the names, apparently grows bored with it halfway through, and hands it off to Dick.

“Luthor’s coming,” Dick says, his expression going sour. “Great.”

“Is he?” Tim asks, his tone just a hair too innocent. “Convenient. I’d like to speak with him.”

“As a reminder,” Alfred cuts in. “You are not allowed to stab any of the guests at Master Wayne’s galas.”

“I never said anything about stabbing him,” Tim says. “That’s Damian’s thing. By the way, Damian, I have a favor to ask.”

“That depends,” Damian says, nose firmly stuck in the book Peter gave him. “Alfred, are the Kents going to be in attendance?”

“I’m afraid so, Master Damian.”

“You’re on your own, Drake,” Damian says. “Jonathan is very insistent on his ‘no stabbing’ rule and I’d rather not hear him complain when I break it. You might as well do it yourself.”

Tim thinks, and shrugs. “I can make that happen.”

“No,” Dick says flatly. Tim rolls his eyes, but drops the subject.

“Uh, quick question,” Peter says, raising his hand and interrupting what’s starting to sound like the plot of a future murder mystery novel. “What’s going on? Some kind of fundraiser gala?”

“A memorial gala for Spider-Man,” Duke says.

Oh, yeah. Dick mentioned that. That’s awkward.

“And who is this Luthor guy?” Peter asks.

“Lex Luthor, owner of LexCorp, one of the smartest men in the world--present company excluded--and one of the most insufferable assholes on the planet,” Duke says. “He’s brilliant, richer than God, and has a weird obsession with aliens.”

Peter tilts his head. “Aliens?”

“A big part of LexCorp is focused on astrobiology. He’s convinced that aliens exist, that they’re coming for earth, and that he’s the only one who can save us all from them,” Dick says with a sigh.

Okay, well. People have said the same about Tony at one time or another. Peter remembers seeing more than one clickbait article declaring Tony insane for being ‘hyper focused’ and ‘obsessed’ on alien threats only a few years after the Battle of New York. He frowns.

“I mean, what if he’s right?” Peter asks. “Have aliens ever invaded?”

That brings the room to a proverbial halt. Everyone turns to face him, faces unreadable. Even Alfred spares him a quick glance, eyebrow quirked curiously. Peter has the unsettling feeling that he’s just stepped into a minefield and cannot, for the life of him, figure out how.

“Wouldn’t it be better to be prepared?” Peter asks. “In case they attack?”

“It would,” Dick says after a long moment. “But Luthor’s not really interested in protecting the planet. It’s complicated.”

“Oh,” Peter says. The mood in the kitchen has shifted, and he fidgets slightly.

Dick pats his shoulder. “Hopefully you won’t have to deal with him during the event.”

“Wait, I’m going?” Peter asks, vaguely alarmed.

“Only for an hour,” Dick says. “We’ll need to get you a suit. And maybe a haircut.”

Peter considers his hair. Yeah, it’s gotten a bit long. Almost as long as Bucky’s, really. “Why is Duke excused?”

“I’m cooler than you,” Duke replies.

“Patently false,” Peter retorts. Duke smirks.

“He’s got a thing with Jason planned out,” Steph puts in helpfully. “Previous engagement.”

There’s an odd weight to the words, as if he’s missing some hidden meaning. “Lucky you.”

“We’ll have to get you a suit, Master Peter,” Alfred says. “Tomorrow, preferably. It’ll give the tailor time to finish alterations.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Peter says. This is definitely not the suit he wants.

If he gets desperate enough, he could probably swing off into the city in a three piece suit with a bag over his head or something.

* * *

BATCHAT

Duke (2:03pm): seriously, guys, don’t make Peter stay at that gala too long

Duke (2:04pm): he looked like he was going to pass out when you mentioned it was for Spider-Man

Dick (2:05pm): I won’t make him stay for longer than an hour. That’s enough to get the media off of him

Dick (2:06pm): And we’ll use each other as an excuse to leave early.

Jason (2:07pm): Find me when you get out of the gala.

Jason (2:08pm): We should talk.

Steph (2:09pm): did Jason willingly initiate a conversation with us after going silent for two weeks?

Dick (2:10pm): I’ll let you know as soon as we’re free.