Chapter Text
Learning his existence as a Spider-Totem from Doctor Strange, Peter knew this was his once in a lifetime opportunity. Every wrong could be righted, every failure erased. He could do the one thing that mattered—save his universe.
With Doctor Strange’s help, Peter hopped on The Web of Life and Destiny as the tiny spider that gave him his Spider-Sense, or as May liked to call it—his Peter-Tingle. The memory was a beautiful one.
The Web of Life and Destiny connected all spider-people in the multiverse. Peter was a mere node in the grand web. What he had always thought of as an accident—had been his destiny.
From The Web, Peter could travel to the edges of it, where The Web stops. There were no more Spider-Totems left for the universes that stretched out beyond it. There he could weave a new thread into an unknown world and sever ties with his home universe, freeing it of Spider-Man forever.
Every memory of Peter would be gone, as if he had never existed. His spider webs would weave their new home in another unknown universe where there would be a space carved for him as if his nest had always been there.
There was no time for him to say goodbye to Ned and MJ, before he was already gone. Doctor Strange had no comforts to give other than, “You are a hero, Peter.”
Inside The Web of Life and Destiny, he crawled as the tiny spider. The Web so vast and infinite, he was certain Doctor Strange had made a mistake. How would he find an end to this? Iridescent silver threads spread out in all directions connecting an unknown number of spider webs — bright spots of light that he knew instinctually were other Spider-Totems. His tiny spider body stood in one too.
There were several threads that originated from him. To see himself part of a vast network, Peter for the first time since May’s death, didn’t feel lonely. His threads connected him to his universe, to Earth and to New York. He was also surprised to see two more threads that he knew, again, instinctually, led to Peter 2 and Peter 3’s universes.
When he stepped out of his nest and onto the road of webs, the threads holding him to his universe didn’t break off. He knew they would trail behind him no matter how far he went. No matter what, his universe would always hold him.
It was akin to ripping his own heart out when he lifted his spider leg and cut the threads connecting him to his New York, his Earth and his Universe.
The only solace was that he didn’t have to cut himself away from Peter 2 and Peter 3. He would keep their threads until his dying breath. Further inside The Web, there were many more Peter’s, each with their own MJ, and their own tragedies. Peter saw flashes of them as he hopped over different universes. There were universe’s where the Spider-Totem wasn’t a Peter. They were names he had never heard before.
Miles Morales
Gwen Stacy
Silk
Pavitr Prabhakar
Ben Reilly
Peni Parker
He wanted to reach out to each of them. A sense of deep camaraderie fuelling him. But he kept going. He couldn’t—wouldn’t encroach on another Spider’s territory. He had to find one of his own to belong. One without a Spider, that needed his help.
There was no sense of time for him, but it must have been days, or maybe eons when he reached the edge. He spread his threads, his spider eager to find a place to belong and make his nest. Peter couldn’t help but look for New York. If there was a New York out there without a Spider-Man, Peter would fill that role in an instant.
His spider knew the sounds of New York by heart. He rejected every universe with no New York in it and spread his threads further. And there it was! He could feel the city, the hustle and bustle that was unique to New York. He wound his webs into it with no hesitation. This was his New York. His home.
But before his threads could weave themselves into space-time of New York, they were wrenched by a dark churning force. His threads were being pulled and swallowed by another city that stood beside New York. In the universal scale, the cities stood side-by-side.
The city was ominous and had not existed in his original universe. Peter could never forget a city, built on blood and sacrifice. Voices cried out from it, blood was beneath the buildings, in the sewers, and the air was toxic. But there was also relief. The city was covered in a shadow in the shape of a bat. There were several other shadows flying beneath it.
Peter watched the shadows, mesmerized by their violent dance. He had to force himself out of the trance. As tragic and beautiful as that city was. It was not his New York.
He pulled on the threads being swallowed by the strange city, but to no avail. The city pulled harder, taking all his silk as if hungry for it. It was talking to him in the way New York never did. As if it had a sentience of its own. It was calling him.
The dark and strange city captivated the attention of his spider. His threads wove into it with a speed he couldn’t keep up with. And before long, he knew that nothing could be done for him. He had woven in too deep—his identity, his life—all connected to this city, and a singular thread that had managed to weave into New York.
Without much choice, his nest was ready. He stepped foot on the new threads and woke up in—Gotham.
Gotham—the name his spider whispered to him. He woke up in a small bedroom, the curtains were drawn, letting in faint light. It must be early morning. The room was bare, holding his singular bed, a table, and a wardrobe. The bed was cozy. He was lying on a pillow, under a soft comforter.
Peter yawned—he had been sleeping. He knew intellectually that he must have arrived here an hour or so ago. But practically, his spider-sense told him he had always been here.
Peter held no memories of acquiring this place. He had never existed here to have done anything. This was his spider’s work. Peter also held no knowledge, other than that New York existed here, and the city he was in was called Gotham. It was a strange name for a city.
He gave himself a few minutes to mourn his loved ones that he would never see again, before he knew he had to get up and face reality. But his time for mourning will be for naught, he knew. Because he could never stop mourning May, Ned, MJ, and his uncle Ben. The void they left would live with him always.
He got up for their sakes. They wouldn’t want him to give up. He toured his own apartment—he assumed it was his. His spider-sense telling him that it had woven its threads into this place. It wasn’t much but it saved him from becoming homeless. And he was grateful for it. There was his bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom and a small living room. All of it barren with a few exceptions like his bed, wardrobe, a refrigerator, and two tables and chairs in his bedroom and living room.
Everything smelled faintly of lime and chemicals. Some one had recently cleaned the space. There were a dozen or so envelops lying on his living room table. Curious, Peter tore them open.
The one on the top held paperwork for his lease for the apartment. The rent was $1050 per month with $200 for utilities, totalling it to $1250. That was… not bad. Peter expected to lose the apartment in a few months, but with that rent, he might be able to afford it. Back in NY, this same apartment would cost him closer to $3000. Though it did put him on edge. Cheaper rent meant bad neighbourhood. But it was nothing he couldn’t deal with.
There was a receipt tucked along with the papers. This month’s rent was already paid? It was a nice surprise. Parker Luck rarely worked in his favour.
He took the opportunity to learn his address as well. Apartment 3B, 1847 Grand Street, Gotham City, NJ. Below it, said,
Neighbourhood: Near Park Row
So Peter was in this universe’s New Jersey. In a city called Gotham. Near a place called Park Row, in the building 1847, on the Grand Street.
Awesome. Now he knew where he lived.
The next envelope was Peter’s admission and award letter for Gotham University. His Spider-Sense buzzed. It had put its strings here too. Peter’s eyes bugged out when he saw the tuition fees and he started to scold his spider before he saw that he had a grant. He sighed in relief.
The tuition was $60,000 per year. It must be a special and prestigious university to justify that price. He had a grant of $48,000 in his fees. That left him with $12,000 which he had to pay for every year. There was a special monthly plan for students so that they didn’t have to pay $12,000 upfront. Peter would be paying $1000 each month, the whole year, completing his tuition.
There was also a financial-aid package of $5000 per year, which he would receive half this semester and half the next semester.
He opened another envelope and found he had received this semester’s aid of $2500 in his bank account, which he apparently had. He searched through the envelops and found his debit card and passbook inside. The issuing date for his card was 2006!
He had to check a few other documents before he realized that he was in the year 2016. His card was issued ten years ago. That still put him eight years behind his original timeline. On his earth, it was December 25, 2024. Here, it was August 18, 2016.
It was becoming clear to Peter the capabilities of his own spider self that had carved itself into the fabric of space-time of this universe. It overcame the constraints of time itself to fit in.
He parsed through the rest of the envelops quickly, and as he guessed, they held his birth certificate, his social security card, bank details, everything he might need for identification.
His birthday in his original universe was August 10, 2006. Making him eighteen in his universe. Here, he was still eighteen, but his birth-year had been changed to August 10, 1998. Seeing his birthday be in the 90’s than in 2006 gave him a strange feeling of being out of place and out of time. Out of everything, that made his body shiver and reality set in.
How were these documents made? He did not have a clue. Did his spider create them? Did they appear out of thin air? Or someone in this universe wrote and printed them? That seemed unlikely. They must be the creation of his spider. Peter had no doubt all of these documents were real. And that they also existed in government records and databases, since long before Peter existed in this universe.
He peered through and read every document to try and piece the story of his life together. It wasn’t hard. Much had not changed.
His mother and father died in a plane crash. He had lived with his aunt and uncle in New York. He figured that out from his bank account that was originally made by his aunt May in a New York bank ten years ago. This must be the thread that he had managed to weave into New York.
His uncle Ben had died, and his aunt May only last month. He had all their death certificates. Even though not a single one of them ever existed in this universe. It gave him a sense of closure that he never got in his own universe. There was not enough time.
But here, at least he didn’t have to pretend they never existed for him. He thanked his spider. It gave no response. After-all, he was thanking himself. The spider was but the part of him that was not human, but a tiny spider among thousands other like him in the multi-verse.
His spider had written the same story as his actual life, and he was grateful for that. Other than the obvious fact that he was not where he was supposed to be. He was not in New York. He was in an unfamiliar city called Gotham.
He read every single document to find out why he was not in New York. He wanted to know why his threads all pulled him here. But there was no reason, no rhyme. There were other universities he could have gotten admission into, so Gotham University wasn’t special. He could have found places to rent in New York, that would be worse than this place, but he wouldn’t mind them. Not if he got to live in and protect New York.
The only reason remained was that this city had dragged him here.
Peter sighed, his stomach grumbled. He had been sitting there for two hours. The sun had come out. He needed groceries, food, and toiletries. He had no clothes than the shirt and pants he wore.
His account had $2500. He didn’t have to pay rent for this month, but his university fee of $1000 was still due. And he had to save $1250 for rent next month in case he couldn’t find a part time job in time or couldn’t save enough. That left him with $250.
He wouldn’t get his next scholarship of $2500 until next semester, six months later, so he had to get his act together, learn more about this city, get a part-time job, and more than anything—become Spider-Man again.
Peter was lucky he had a week before his university classes started, giving him ample time to acclimate himself. Peter stared outside from his bedroom window, he was on the 3rd floor, which was the top-most floor of the building. The architecture outside was not unfamiliar—low-rise buildings, they were old and rough, but it was not a slum. His own building had a brick exterior, and a fire-escape that was rusted, matching the colour of the building. It was charming.
So far, he had yet to encounter anything that gave him an existential crisis, or something telling him he did not belong here. Maybe it was the city. The sun that had risen was covered in clouds. He remembered the shadow shaped like a bat. The air here smelled… strange. He got whiffs of scents that had travelled to his window from around the city. Toxic fumes, garbage, and blood.
Peter smiled. He wanted to don his costume and swing around the city, learn its alleyways and buildings. Find the highest peaks and small places to hide. There was a thrill, and a pleasure in learning something new and unknown. Peter as Spider-Man had never swung in another city than New York. Peter closed the window, stifling his excitement to swing around the city. First, he would have to learn it on foot.
He couldn’t go out as Spider-Man with no costume and no knowledge anyway.
There was a single towel in the bathroom, and since he wore clean clothes, Peter decided to shower and head out.
It was when he took his shirt off that the first major difference between his universe and this one revealed itself to him. His right arm was covered in marks — or tattoos. They originated from the middle of his wrist, he counted nine of them, in a straight line from his wrist up to his forearm. They weren’t big in size, but they were distinct. His Spider-Sense buzzed when he looked at them. They emanated a warmth, the cozy feeling of his bed, and the joy of swinging through the streets.
And then Peter understood. These were the threads that the city had swallowed. This is what had dragged him to Gotham. The nine symbols that were drawn on his arm.
The one at the top of his wrist was a black chess king. When he focused, he could see two black wings enfolding from the back of it. He had never seen such a black colour. It was no colour at all. It was a void.
Below it, stood the second tattoo. A shining four-pointed blue star. Peter was certain that if he were to put himself in darkness, the star would shed a bright light on everything.
The third one, was a wounding red rose. The colour of blood. Peter brought his wrist to his nose, right above the red rose, and smelled blood accompanied with the scent of something floral. There were thorns beneath the rose, standing in plain sight. Declaring themselves, telling him they were not hiding.
The fourth tattoo was a simple red infinity symbol. Like Ouroboros consuming itself. It was infinite. Peter could sense the depth of knowledge and foresight it possessed. Something he always strived to be. There was also a gentleness to it, and patience.
The fifth was a golden crown, and in the middle of it was embedded a jade green gem. He had a distinct comprehension that the crown belonged to a little prince. The jade green gem showed a respect for tradition, values, and life.
Sixth was a black butterfly. Not black like the void. But black of the night sky. Mysterious, unfathomable, and out of reach.
Seventh was a golden sun. Blinding. So much so that it gave him an afterimage if he stared too long.
Eighth was a heart, half pink and half blue. There was a divide, a uniqueness, and a fight.
The ninth, the last one was a green four-leaf clover. He could see it flutter. It was covered in dew-drops. It was saying, from deep in his heart, “Good-luck!”
Peter was shocked still with his shirt off, staring at the tattoos. What the hell were they? They were not simple tattoos. They were animated for one. They moved and changed and glowed. Were they some sort of destiny he had to fill in this universe? They gave him the same inevitability he had experienced the moments before the spider-bite.
He tore his eyes away from them and showered with his thoughts racing. This world was familiar on the surface, but there was more going on beneath. The quicker he learned, the better. He couldn’t be caught unaware as Spider-Man. He was determined not to make the same mistakes he did in his original universe.
Peter put the same clothes on. He didn’t have shoes, but he had a pair of flip-flops. He grabbed his debit card and keys, and set out for the first time in unfamiliar land. He was glad his shirt was long-sleeved. Until he learned what those symbols meant, he didn’t want to flash them to anyone.
At the ATM, Peter used the same PIN he had in his original world, and that worked out for him. He took out $250 in cash. Peter made sure to hide the cash deep in this pockets. His Spider-Sense warned him, buzzing insistently that no cash was safe to carry on these streets.
The people eyed him warily when he passed near anyone. He got the impression that they were expecting him to jump on them. Their shoulders had an edge that victims have, who expect a surprise attack at all times.
It was strange. The people were strange. And it became clear rather quickly that his tattoos were not anything special — not in this universe. Everybody had them. And they did not put any effort into hiding them. On the contrary, they seemed to show them off. Rolled sleeves, blouses with one arm that didn’t cover the tattoos, and jewellery matching the pictures depicted on their arms. Peter walked on.
The nearer he got to Park Row, the stranger the people got. Poorer too. It was about ten minutes walk from his apartment. Peter had expected Park Row to be a main attraction. Filled with shops and people, that everyone in the neighbourhood came to. The reality was the opposite. What did Thanos used to say… disappointing. The smell of blood was sharper, gangsters standing in open day-light, and weapons barely concealed.
Peter needed one look and he knew that there was no governance here and no fear of law. Spider-Man could make it better. This place could use a Spider-Man.
The poorer place also meant poorer shops. And poorer thrifts. Which worked well for him. He had $250, every dollar had to count. The first thing he bought was clothes inside a thrift shop in Park Row. He was going to university. He wouldn’t need a uniform, but he would need clothes that were semi-decent. Or, he was sure he would be bullied, again.
He got himself two t-shirts, two pair of jeans, a single hoodie, undergarments, and two pairs of socks. He had to invest into one pair of shoes at least, and a back-pack, two things that cost him the most but were worth it. The entire haul cost him $60. But his back-pack was decent, and the shoes sturdy.
With $190 left, he knew he had to get food and toiletries next. The grocery stores in Park Row weren’t any better than the thrift shop, but they had all he needed to survive.
He bought Rolled Oats ($3.49), White Rice (5lb - $2.99), three boxes of Pasta ($2.97), two jars of Pasta Sauce ($3.00), Eggs ($2.79), Bread ($3.00), Peanut Butter ($2.49), a gallon of Milk ($2.59), Bananas ($0.50), Potatoes (5lb - $2.49), Onions (3lb - $1.99), two bags of Frozen Vegetables ($3.00), Chicken Thighs (4lb - $6.99), a large tub of Yogurt ($2.49), Cooking Oil ($4.49), Salt ($0.69), Basic Spices ($1.00), Canned Tomatoes ($1.50), Carrots ($1.49), Dried Beans ($2.49), Canned Tuna ($3.96), Sugar ($1.99) and Coffee ($5.99).
Even carefully selecting what he thought to be essentials, his bill came out to be $64.38. And he still had utensils to buy!
He kept a sharp eye on the prices and managed to grab himself a Frying Pan, Cooking Pot, Spatula, Knife, Cutting Board, a Plate, Spoon, and Bowl, a Fork, and a Mug for $20.
It took his soul out but he gave the lady at the reception $84.38. And was on his way. His toiletries cost another $20. In the end, Peter had a whole lot of bags and $85.62 remaining.
In many ways Peter was lucky since it was 2016, so inflation wasn’t terrible and he lived near a cheaper neighbourhood. He was going to need that money to commute to his university. And the food would last no more than two weeks, especially with his metabolism. His plan was to make protein rich meals to keep himself energized and full for longer.
May would be proud.
It was noon by the time Peter started to make his way back to his apartment. His Spidey-Sense came in handy and kept him away from dangerous alleys where he would be robbed of his money and groceries.
On the streets on his way back, he counted the amount of homeless kids he saw. Too many to be living in such a place. His eyes got drawn to their wrists, where most of them did not have a single tattoo. That did not sit right with him. His Spider-Sense gave him a shudder. There was something inherently wrong with that.
They need a Spider-Man.
Peter sighed and sped up. Soon, he would become Spider-Man again. In his apartment, Peter put aside his scanty possessions. The task gave him peace. There was a working gas connection in his kitchen and he fixed himself a meal. Pasta cooked in tomato sauce and bread on the side. When he took water from the tap, he Spider-Sense buzzed in warning. Peter drank it anyway. It tasted funky, and he knew he would have to get water to drink from somewhere else. But for now… his stomach was full, his kitchen had food, and he had $85.
He got back in his room, drew the curtains closed. When he lied down on his soft bed again, he again wondered where certain things came from. He touched the bed-sheets, the texture was soft—like silk. So was his pillow and his comforter. His Spider-Sense buzzed with contentment. And he wondered… was his sheets, his pillow, his comforter—made from his own silk? His Spider-Sense hummed.
Damian woke up on the morning of August 18, 2016 with a new soul-mark on his arm. Yesternight had been taxing on his body as Robin. Yet he had not complained and persevered. That was why, he had slept this morning longer than usual. Though he had not managed to fool Alfred – the human, as he had not come to wake Damian. The clock was striking seven.
Damian was meticulous in his night-time routine. He had washed off the subdermal concealer ink with a specialized liquid that completely hides the soulmate marks. The product was a collaboration between technology and magic. One of its kind, that had its origins in his father’s early vigilante days. As more superheroes emerged, so did the need to be able to hide their soul-marks.
The formula was provided and protected by The Justice League to various vigilantes, superheroes, and the like.
Hence, Damian was certain, when he had washed it off his arm, he had eight soul-marks. His mother, father, Richard, Jason, Drake, Alfred, Raven and Jon. The last soulmate mark he had gotten was Jon, two years ago.
The truth he would never admit to his family was that he had thought he would get a soul-mark with Cassandra or Stephanie any day now. He had become calmer the past few years, and saw the error of his ways. There were things he did not agree with his family over, but Damian had learned that there were always things one did not agree about with their family.
When he had understood this fact, he realized there was not much reason to be angry at his family’s… peculiarities. He knew they saw him as the peculiar one. But Damian didn’t mind disagreeing.
Other than Drake, Damian was satisfied with his soul-marks. And tolerated the others with no soul-mark connection to him yet.
When he woke up this morning with a ninth soulmate mark that was not Cassandra or Stephanie, or even Barbara—he was surprised. On his arm was a translucent and iridescent spider with eight legs, there were two gems embedded in its body, one red and one blue. It shined and made rainbow colours in the light. There was a purity in it. An innocence that was not to be found in a city like Gotham or even the world. And a strength—but also strong will and resilience.
Damian wanted to see this strength with his own eyes. And to see his own soul-mark on someone so pure. This soulmate was his, and he probably did not share them with Drake. Like Raven and Jon. Their love was Damian’s.
Damian showered and dressed with haste. He wanted to show-off his new soulmate mark to his father. His father would see the worthy soul-mark Damian had acquired. And then Damian would search for them.
Damian made it downstairs to the dining room. It was about the time they had break-fast. He strutted there with a smirk he couldn’t keep off his face. He had the sleeves of his school uniform folded on his arm. The dining room was full of din. Some of them had started to eat, but there was more conversation than there was on a usual morning, since everyone was tired from patrol and running on little sleep.
“Oh, man, this is great!” Stephanie squealed.
“It came out of nowhere though, right?” Duke replied.
“I mean they must have moved to Gotham last night or something. I don’t know,” Stephanie said.
His father was sitting at the head of the table, putting some jam on a toast. “It is a surprise. It hasn’t happened for a lot of us at once, not since Damian I think.”
Alfred poured some tea for Bruce and spoke with fondness. “Damian was certainly a surprise. His mark got on everyone that was part of the family then.” He turned to Stephanie and Duke. “Apologies, young masters, you were not quite here yet, or I am sure you would have had Master Damian’s soul-mark.”
Stephanie waved her hands. “Don’t worry, Alfie. Soul-marks are unpredictable. Damian is still our little bro.”
Damian frowned and took his seat on the other side of the table, opposite to Bruce. “Who are you calling little, Brown? I am fifteen, but already have grown to be taller than you. Soon, I shall become taller than both father and Richard.”
“Dami!” Stephanie exclaimed. “It’s too early for your grandpa-speak. Gimme your arm—right now!”
Damian sighed, already guessing her reason for such a request. He had put together the pieces from their conversation. He did not offer Stephanie his arm, rather, he glanced at hers. And there, on top of her inner arm was the iridescent spider soul-mark.
He huffed. “I have the spider soul-mark. I woke up with it this morning. It was not there when I retired to bed the night before at 2:00 PM.”
“See, I told you,” Stephanie said to Duke, “it appeared early morning.”
“I doubt the timing’s gonna help us find them,” Duke answered.
Stephanie shrugged. “It might.”
Damian searched Duke’s arm, and the spider soul-mark was on him too. It stood out more on Duke than on Stephanie’s pale skin. Damian’s own tan skin suited the mark well. Alas, Damian shared his soulmate with his family. He didn’t mind, not truly, the soul-mark was going to be shared with other people if not his family. He could not change that. Raven and Jon often spent more time with their other soulmates that shared more soulmates with each other than with Damian—whose family did not share any mark with them. That was the way of things. This way he would get to see his spider soulmate often.
If Duke and Stephanie had the mark, and he also did, then did that mean…
“Father, do you also have it?” Damian asked, hesitant. Bruce wore a long sleeved shirt, concealing his marks. Soul-marks were a sensitive topic for his father in particular. In the past years, Bruce had made considerable progress in his soul-marks becoming healthier. It was still a sore topic of conversation. His father often reverted back to his old ways.
Bruce cleared his throat, his deep voice rough in the morning. “I do, Damian. I have taken the day off, and will start looking for them."
Damian hummed and shared a secret glance with Stephanie.
“Yeah,” Stephanie shoved more than ate her toast. “We will all help.” Damian knew it was not what she really meant. She raised her glass of orange juice in toast. “By the way,” Stephanie gestured to Damian, “Cass has it too. Isn’t that exciting? We are getting a new family member!”
Damian gulped. Alfred had laid out his break-fast in front of him. Black tea—perfectly brewed, toast with peanut butter and a helping of scrambled eggs. It smelled delicious, as most things made by Alfred did. Most.
But if Stephanie and Duke had the spider soul-mark, him and father had it, and so did Cassandra… that would mean the chances of Richard having it were almost 100%. Which was good. But that also meant, that the chances of Drake having it were—
“Who pissed in your tea?” came the grating voice of one Tim Drake. Eyes not yet fully open, but he had the audacity to comment on Damian’s demeanour. Damian couldn’t help making a foul face when he was lost in thought just now, that did not give Drake permission to make snide remarks.
“Mind your own business, Drake, or I will piss in yours.”
“Wow…” Drake yawned, taking the seat beside Duke and Stephanie. “I don’t even drink tea.”
“Tim!” Stephanie said. “When did you sleep last night?”
“Uh… after patrol.”
Stephanie narrowed her eyes. “No, Tim. Actually tell the truth. It’s important.”
Drake blinked several times and opened his eyes fully as they travelled across everyone on the table. His sharp mind calculating that there was something more here today in seconds. Damian’s lip twitched. He always admired, but hated all of Drake’s… talents. Unfortunately, he wore long sleeves, leaving everyone in suspense.
“Okay…” Drake said, with a quick glance at Bruce. “I slept three hours ago,” he admitted. Damian saw Bruce's eyes narrow, but he did not comment.
“And did you notice something?” Stephanie asked.
“Notice what?”
Damian’s heart stuttered. There was a chance. Perhaps Drake hadn’t noticed, because there was nothing there for him to notice. It didn’t matter that Drake wore long sleeves, and that he was probably wearing the same shirt he worked all night in—it had the stains to prove it. He could not have seen his soul-mark yet. And he doubted Drake went to the trouble of showering before showing up—none of that mattered. Perhaps there was a soulmate in their family that shared a mark with everyone—other than Drake. And Damian wasn’t the only one to do that.
“So you have no idea,” Stephanie said, looking a little disappointed. “I was hoping to narrow down the timing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Check out your arm, dude,” Duke said.
Drake stared at Duke with wide eyes and sleep deprived bags under them, grasping what they were implying at once. “Huh. No way!”
Drake almost tore his sleeve apart, trying to uncover his arm. It only made his job harder. Damian’s hands itched to grab his knife hidden in his shoe and tear open Drake’s sleeves himself. Drake had ten soul-marks. Damian knew each of them. He shared four of them, one was his own, and the other five were not shared by Damian.
When Drake finally managed to pull his sleeve—there were eleven.
Drake gasped, his mouth open and his eyes awake, as he stared at his new soul-mark. Damian hated him, he wanted Drake to stop looking at his soul-mark. Drake’s face held the same emotions that Damian had experienced this morning. Awe, and wonder. His mouth closed, then opened again, then finally curled into a small smile. Damian had never seen someone look at their soul-mark for the first time—only in movies Richard showed him, but those were not real.
This was real. Drake’s expressions, his joy, the light in his eyes, they were the truth. It was Damian’s emotions on another face. And he hated that he saw them on Drake.