Chapter Text
The night in Gotham was cold as usual. Were there even sunny days in this city, or was the whole year just an endless November? God only knows what it’s like in December; he’s been in this city for what seems like an eternity, and she can say with certainty that God has forgotten her.
Peter had just finished his grueling shift. His battered bike was parked inside the apartment; he wouldn’t dream of leaving it down in an alley—he’d been here long enough to know they’d steal it if he left it outside. After stashing his earnings in a hidden crack in the wall, he felt the exhaustion from delivering pizzas—and, very occasionally, making them—take its toll.
But before succumbing to sleep, he carried out the ritual that his body now demanded—one he’d taken a while to realize he needed.
He knitted.
The spider silk flowed smoothly from his wrists, shiny and silvery in the faint moonlight. Peter spread it out on the ground as a base, adding layer after layer of increasingly fine, padded threads. He shaped the structure with his hands, forming it into a soft, bowl-like shape, and lined it with the scraps of clean fabric he’d salvaged.
—This is ridiculous— he grumbled as he smoothed out the edges. —At this rate, I’m going to run out of fluid. I need to buy a used mattress or fish something decent out of the dumpster.—
Yet her hands moved on pure instinct. When she was done, the nest was spacious, warm, and gave off its own scent: that fragrance of storm, wood, and ozone that everyone on the street insisted on mistaking for something else.
—What a hormonal mess— she sighed, sinking down onto the center of the silk. —I hope Strange hurries up… I hope the sorcerer hasn’t forgotten about me.—
She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Several kilometers away, at the imposing Wayne Mansion, Damian was having a really rough time.
He’d had another massive fight with his father. And with Grayson. And with Todd, though he still didn’t know how Todd had ended up getting dragged into the fight. Even with that unbearable Drake, who always had a stupid comment ready to spout, along with Stephanie and Duke. Everyone in that house treated him like an impulsive puppy who needed constant supervision.
—I’m not a baby— he growled, hurling a pillow against the wall with superhuman strength. —I’m Batman’s son, and I was trained by the League of Assassins. I don’t need babysitters!—
But no one seemed to be listening to him.
Fed up, he put on a black jacket and jumped out his bedroom window. He wasn’t wearing his Robin uniform; he didn’t want them to realize too quickly that he was gone.
He walked across the rooftops for hours, dodging patrols and small-time thugs. He wasn’t looking for a fight or trying to prove anything to anyone; he just craved the fresh air that the mansion denied him.
That was when he came across the abandoned building.
It was a dark, silent ruin, but something about its dilapidated facade caught his attention. He sniffed the air. A subtle but comforting scent lingered in the air. It didn’t smell like mold or sewage; it smelled like shelter, like something warm and deeply safe. He could feel his inner cub sensing something strange.
—What’s that?— he murmured, intrigued.
He scaled the wall with the agility of his ninja training and slipped through the broken window on the seventh floor.
At first he thought he was alone, but in the corner of the studio he saw a colossal structure made of silver threads. It looked like a giant silk bowl, soft and padded with fabric. The scent grew stronger there: a forest after the rain, cedar, and a clean breeze that caused his body’s alert instincts to relax completely.
Damian approached silently. He sank his fingers into the web and found it to be elastic, soft, and retaining an almost magical warmth.
—A nest…— he whispered. He knew what it was from his theoretical knowledge of Omegas, but he had never been so close to one built with such delicacy—especially one made by a metahuman who was clearly an arachnid. The only reason he knew it was a nest was because of its structure. They’re usually made from items belonging to the closest family members and blankets.
His feet ached, his mind was exhausted, and his body—which was used to living in a constant state of paranoia—sent him a clear command: Rest; you’re safe here.
He took off his boots, slipped into the silk cradle, and curled up; the texture enveloped him like a protective embrace. Within minutes, the Demon’s heir fell into a deep sleep unlike any he’d experienced in months. He was just a pup seeking the comfort, coziness, and warmth of the nest.
•°•°•°•°•°
Peter had had to rush out at midnight: the owner of the pizzeria offered him double pay for a last-minute bulk order. When he returned to his makeshift apartment in the early hours of the morning, his spider-sense didn’t go off—there was no danger—but his eyes did spot the anomaly.
In the center of his nest was a stowaway.
A boy of about ten, with jet-black hair and dark skin, was fast asleep. His features were harsh, but exhaustion softened his frown. His small hands clung tightly to the silk.
Peter scratched his head, dumbfounded.
—What the hell…?— he whispered. —A child sleeping in my nest? An orphan?—
The boy stirred in his sleep and curled up even deeper into the spiderweb. Peter’s heart sank.
—Good heavens, no… I can’t wake him up and throw him out onto the street at this hour. He’d be at the mercy of those criminals—God only knows what they’d do to him.—
But he couldn’t just stand there watching him sleep without looking like a complete stranger either. So he took a worn but clean blanket he had stashed away, gently draped it over the boy, and slipped quietly out the window.
—I’m going to get some fresh bread— he said quietly as he stepped out into the night. —By the time I get back, I’m sure he’ll be gone.—
When Damian woke up, rays of sunlight were already streaming through the cracks in the ceiling.
He sat up with a start, his hand instinctively reaching for a knife and his heart racing. But no one was attacking him.
He was alone in the silk nest. However, he wasn’t neglected: someone had covered him with a blanket. And on the edge of the structure lay a broken plate with a piece of bread and a glass of clean water.
Damian stared at the food, bewildered.
—Did… did you make me breakfast?— he muttered.
He made a dismissive gesture, but his hunger got the better of him. He picked up the bread and took a bite, eating in silence inside the nest.
When he was done, he looked toward the window. He knew the Batcomputer was already tracking him and that his father would be furious… but his curiosity about meeting the owner of that place kept him rooted to the spot.