Chapter Text
The comms crackled in their ears. “I’ve got a location,” came the calm, clipped voice. “Sending coordinates to your suits now. Meet me there.”
A notification appeared on their wrists, and without hesitation, they sprang into action. Dick’s car accommodated most of the group, while Jason roared off on his bike. Moving in tandem, they sped toward the designated location.
79.5 Hours.
When they arrived, the warehouse looked like any other—old, abandoned, forgotten. They regrouped with Batman outside, slipping silently into the building. Inside, the air was thick with dust, the floor littered with debris. But something stood out—a disturbed trail in the dust that abruptly stopped without explanation.
The room was deathly quiet as they crept forward. Dick crouched, pulling out a scanning device to analyze the area. His tool beeped softly, and his sharp eyes locked onto the floor—a hidden elevator.
Turning to the group, he signed, ‘It’s under here.’
They nodded in unison, stepping back as Dick began to work. His fingers moved quickly, hacking into the system. Moments later, with a faint hum, the elevator rose from the floor, its doors sliding open with a soft ding.
‘Trap?’ Cass signed, her expression unreadable.
‘Could be,’ Damian signed back, but he didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the elevator without a second thought.
Bruce’s gaze lingered on the open doors, his brow furrowing. ‘Black Bat, stay up here,’ he instructed. ‘If we lose contact, call the League immediately.’
‘Fine,’ she signed, clearly reluctant but understanding.
The rest of the group filed into the elevator, descending into the unknown.
When the door creaked open, an eerie sensation swept over them, chilling their spines. The air inside was cold and sterile, tinged with chemicals' faint, metallic scent. The hallway stretched before them, its walls stark white and unnervingly clean, illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead.
Tall glass containers, each filled with a murky liquid, lined the walls. Suspended inside were grotesque forms—creatures with twisted, deformed bodies, some humanoid, others more animalistic. Their lifeless eyes stared out as if trapped in eternal agony. The sight was enough to send a shiver through even the bravest of them. Doors covered the walls, each closed and locked.
They kept walking.
A loud groan shattered the silence. As they rounded the corner, a door stood ajar, blood streaming out from beneath it. From inside came the anguished cries of a woman. Jason didn’t hesitate—he sprinted down the hall and burst into the room. A woman lay sprawled on the floor, drifting in and out of consciousness. Beside her was a soaked, empty bed, its surface slick with blood. Two broken restraints dangled from the bedframe, swaying gently. The other followed, taking in the grotesque screen. Jason grabbed the woman, shaking her awake.
“Where is Peter?” Jason demanded, shaking the woman’s shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gripped both of his hands weakly.
“What…?” she murmured, her gaze shifting from Jason to the others in the room.
“Who’s Peter?” she asked, tilting her head. A faint, eerie smile spread across her lips. Her eyes wandered to the bed, its blood-soaked surface empty.
“The boy! Where is the boy?” Jason shouted, his voice sharp with urgency. He slapped her across the face, snapping her attention back to him.
“My son?” she whispered, her tone detached and distant. Then her lips curled into a peculiar grin. “It seems he’s left me again...” She straightened, leaning closer to Jason, her smile growing unnervingly wide—too wide, too unnatural. “He’s so strong, isn’t he? Perfect even!” Her voice turned feverish, her expression manic. “You’ve met him, haven’t you? Yes! I made him! He’s mine!”
Jason recoiled, disgust flashing across his face, and released her. Her laughter erupted, piercing and deranged, echoing through the room.
“Useless…” Jason muttered, brushing past the others as he stormed into the corridor.
Dick stepped forward, kneeling by the woman. “You’re Hybrudus, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous as his fingers dug into her shoulder.
“Me?” Her laughter bubbled up again, warping into something almost inhuman, like a demon mocking him.
Dick’s patience snapped. He hauled her upright and slammed her against the wall. “You fucking liar!” he growled, his forearm pressed hard against her throat. “Tell me now, Hybrudus!”
Her laughter continued, maddening and unrelenting until Dick’s open palm cracked across her face. “Where is Peter?” he demanded again, his voice raw.
This time, her laughter stopped abruptly. Her head lolled slightly as she blinked at him, her expression vacant. “Peter?” she repeated again, feigning confusion. “I know no, Peter.”
“Where is 444?”
“My son?” Her lips curled into that eerie grin once more. “I don’t know.”
“She’s fucking insane!” Dick roared, letting her drop to the floor in frustration.
Bruce stepped forward, calm but resolute. Without a word, he cuffed her tightly and hauled her toward the door.
From down the hall, Jason’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Get over here!”
Dick sprinted after the sound, the others close behind. They rounded the corner to find Jason standing beneath a gaping hole in the ceiling. Jagged marks surrounded the edges, tiny finger-like impressions carved into the concrete and metal.
“He escaped,” Jason muttered, a strange grin tugging at his lips. He turned to the group, eyes glinting.
“Of course, he did. He’s strong!” Damian’s voice rang out as he strode forward, excitement sparking in his eyes. “Peter!” he shouted, his gaze fixed on the hole. He propelled himself through the opening and into the night air with a sudden leap.
Jason followed, his voice carrying as he hurled himself into the darkness. “Peter!”
Bruce spoke into the comms, his tone steady but urgent. “Cass, rendezvous north of the warehouse. We’ve got Hybrudus, but Peter is still unaccounted for.” With that, he hoisted the woman over his shoulder and leapt up through the hole with Dick close on his heels.
“Peter!” Bruce called out, his voice cutting through the night.
Behind him, the woman’s shrill and unsettling laughter rang out. Ignoring her, Bruce activated his comm again, this time addressing Barbara: “Oracle, contact Gordon and have him meet us at our location.”
“On it, Batman,” she replied.
Without hesitation, Bruce secured the woman to a nearby tree with cuffs, her laughter still echoing as he turned to the others. “Let’s move,” he ordered, and together, they disappeared into the darkness.
They scoured the city, moving swiftly through the shadows. They soared through the night, searching desperately for any sign of him.
___
Peter ran and ran. He didn’t stop for a moment. He looked behind him, paranoid. He grabbed the corner of an alley and forced himself to turn, his grip leaving little marks in the wall. He ran farther down, reaching a dead end. He jumped over the wall, landing in another alley. He rushes behind a dumpster and sits down, curling his legs to his chest. His breath was heavy, and he leaned his head back against the wall. I’m fine.
His eyes felt heavy. The tiredness of three days without sleep finally catches up to him, and he passes out.
“Peter!” Dick shouted, his voice echoing as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. The group had spread out—Dick headed north, Damian east, Cass south, Bruce west, and Jason scoured Crime Alley, where Peter had first been found.
Meanwhile, Barbara monitored police chatter, combing through calls and reports for any mention of a missing child. But there was nothing. No leads, no sightings. It was as if Peter had vanished off the face of the earth.
___
Peter didn’t stir until the sun climbed high into the sky, its relentless warmth bearing down on him. With a groan, he pushed himself up from behind the dumpster, his legs trembling as he fought to stand. Every movement was an effort, his body drained of strength and weighed down by exhaustion.
He glanced down at his clothes, once pristine white but now mottled with streaks of deep crimson. A tired sigh escaped his lips. Without a second thought, he stripped them off, the fabric clinging stubbornly to his skin; he tried to whip most of the blood off before he cast them aside.
Turning back to the dumpster that had been his shelter, he wrenched it open and began rifling through its pungent, grimy contents. After a few tense minutes, his fingers brushed against a crumpled bundle of fabric. He pulled out a set of clothes—far too large for his slight frame but intact enough to wear.
He slipped them on with numb efficiency. The oversized shirt draped like a curtain over his shoulders, falling almost to his knees, while the pants sagged comically low, and he chose to abandon them. It didn’t matter. They were clean enough. They would do.
For now, it was enough to keep moving.
But he needed food; he was starving.
Peter scanned the alleyway, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. The world beyond the shadows seemed loud and disorienting, the chatter of pedestrians and the hum of traffic a jarring contrast to the eerie silence he’d woken to. His stomach growled—a sharp, urgent reminder of his need.
Sticking to the edges of the alley, Peter limped toward the street. His bare feet clapped against the pavement with each step.
As he neared the street corner, the smell of something warm and savory hit him. His mouth watered. He traced the scent to a small food cart nestled among a crowd of people. His pulse quickened.
He didn’t have money—of course he didn’t. But desperation muted his guilt as he inched closer. Keeping his head down, Peter hovered at the cart's edge, watching the vendor slap steaming sausages into buns.
He hesitated. Do I ask? Beg? Wait for a distraction?
Just as his hand twitched toward a loose bun on the counter, a loud voice boomed behind him. “Hey, kid! What are you doing?”
Peter froze, the bun forgotten. Slowly, he turned, heart hammering. A man—broad-shouldered, with a heavy scowl and grease-streaked apron—was glaring at him.
“I—I was just…” Peter stammered, the words dying in his throat. His eyes darted to the crowd, searching for an escape.
The man’s gaze softened as he took in Peter’s ragged appearance and the clothes hanging off him like curtains. He let out a gruff sigh, reaching into his cart. “Here,” he said, shoving a wrapped sausage into Peter’s trembling hands. “Go on. And don’t let me catch you loitering around here again.”
Peter blinked, his mouth opening to protest or thank him, but the man waved him off before he could speak. Clutching the food, Peter bolted down the street, his heart racing—not with fear this time, but with relief.
He ducked into another alley, sank to the ground, and unwrapped the sausage. The first bite sent a wave of warmth coursing through him. It was greasy, salty, and utterly perfect. For the first time in what felt like days, he allowed himself to exhale.
But even as he ate, his mind churned. The hunger was just one problem solved. Now he had to figure out what to do next—and more importantly, where to go.
He couldn’t go home. It was his fault all of it. Alfred, Duke, and Tim they all got hurt because of him. They’re probably dead…
Peter shook the thought away.
He would only hurt them more… especially now… after what he did.
It’s fine. He’ll be fine.
He stood up once more, looking into the street. He’ll have to find a place to stay like before. Crime Alley would be the best spot to hide.
Hide? Why? No one cares to find you.
He made his way toward Crime Alley, sticking to the shadows like a ghost. The dim, narrow streets provided enough cover to keep him out of sight. He knew this part of the city well enough—he’d passed through it before during his first escape.
The familiar grimness of the Alley brought him an odd sense of relief. No one paid attention to a scruffy, homeless kid here. He moved quietly, scanning the streets for a place to crash for the night.
But then, a chill ran down his spine. His instincts screamed a warning. He turned sharply, his heart pounding, and saw them—a small group of kids lingering a short distance away, whispering as they stared at him.
Panic flared in his chest. Was he in their territory? Or were they looking for fresh meat? He didn’t wait to find out. Without a second thought, he bolted, his feet slapping loudly against the pavement as he ran. A few of the kids take off after him.
___
A few blocks away, one of the boys from the group pulled out a flip phone, its scratched surface glinting faintly under a streetlight. He flipped it open and hit the only number in the contacts.
It rang once.
“Hood?” the boy asked.
“Yes,” the gruff voice answered,.
Trying to sound steady, the boy spoke again, “I think we saw the kid you were looking for. He had black hair and looked lost. He was on North Street.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end.
“Thank you, Jamie,” the voice replied.
The line went dead.