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The last memory was one of sacrifice. A final, heartbreaking look at his brothers, his friends, his entire world. Peter 3, the Peter of this fractured reality, had made the call. "Make them all forget me." The golden, crystalline magic of Dr. Strange's spell was the last thing he saw, a spiraling, tearing void that was supposed to fix everything. He was supposed to wake up alone in his empty apartment, a ghost in his own life. Peter 1 and Peter 2 were supposed to be home, safe in their own worlds.
The spell was supposed to bring peace.
Instead, it brought... this.
Peter 1, the eldest of the three, was the first to wake. He didn't wake so much as he was ejected from oblivion. He gasped, but his lungs filled with thick, cold, chemical-tasting fluid. Panic, primal and absolute, seized him. He was suffocating. His eyes shot open to a world of murky green, viewed through a curved glass wall. He slammed his fists, but his body felt... wrong. Small. Uncoordinated.
His Spider-Sense, which had been a dull throb of multiversal anxiety for weeks, screamed. It wasn't a warning; it was a siren of pure, unadulterated wrongness.
WRONG. BODY WRONG. PLACE WRONG. GET OUT.
He kicked, he thrashed. His muscles, though small, responded with the phantom memory of super-strength. The glass, thick and reinforced, held for a moment. He drew his knees to his chest, his mind flashing back to a different fight, a different world, and pushed with all his might.
CRACK.
The seal of the cylindrical capsule hissed, then popped. He spilled out onto a cold, grated-metal floor, retching and coughing as the green preservation fluid poured from his mouth, nose, and lungs. He shivered violently, curling into a ball. The air was frigid, smelling of ozone, rust, and decay. He was dressed in a thin, white medical tunic that was soaked and useless.
"What...?" he croaked. His voice was... high. It was a child's voice.
He crawled, his limbs trembling. A nearby console, dark and dead, had a panel of reflective steel. He dragged himself up, his bare feet slipping on the slick floor, and stared at his reflection.
It wasn't him.
It was a boy. A small, pale, terrifyingly thin boy with huge, haunted brown eyes. He couldn't be more than ten. His hair was matted with green fluid. The calluses from a lifetime of web-swinging were gone. The light-scarred tissue on his back from the Green Goblin's glider was gone.
"No," he whispered, the word a high-pitched squeak. "No, no, no, Strange... What did you do?"
He looked down at his small hands, flexing them. The strength was still there, buzzing under his skin, but it felt... alien.
A rhythmic, pressurized hiss cut through the silence.
He wasn't alone.
He spun around, his heart hammering. The lab was a cavern of shadows, filled with dead technology and the nightmare fuel of abandoned experiments. Against the far wall, still humming with a sickly green light, were two more capsules. Identical to the one he’d just escaped.
He ran. His small feet slapped on the cold floor, the sound echoing in the vast, dead space.
He reached the first capsule and his blood ran colder than the floor. Inside, floating in the same green liquid, was another boy. This one was even smaller, maybe six years old. He had the same lanky build, the same familiar brown hair. Peter 1 pressed his hand to the glass, his heart seizing in his chest. He knew that face. He’d seen it without the mask, seen it laugh, seen it grieve.
It was Peter 2.
"No," Peter 1 breathed, his small fists banging on the glass. "Peter? Peter! Wake up! Not you, too!"
He frantically searched for a release, a button, a panel. His eyes darted to the third capsule.
It was smaller. Barely large enough for a toddler.
Inside, a tiny, two-year-old child was floating, its thumb tucked in its mouth, fast asleep. The face was just as familiar, the floppy brown hair unmistakable.
It was Peter 3. The kid who had started all this. The kid who had sacrificed everything.
"He's a baby," Peter 1 whispered, his mind reeling from the sheer impossibility of it. The spell. It didn't just erase a memory. It didn't just send them home. It broke. It shattered them, threw them across dimensions, and stole their years. It took everything.
His panic was eclipsed by a fierce, burning-hot rage. He was the oldest. He was ten. They were his responsibility.
Before Peter 1 could process this, Peter 1's Spider-Sense didn't just wail. It exploded. A wave of nausea and primal fear washed over him. It was so strong, so pure, that he froze.
DANGER. PREDATORS. CLOSE.
The rusted metal doors at the far end of the lab screeched open, a sound like a dying animal. Two silhouettes stood there, framed by the dim light of an outside hallway.
One was massive. A void in the shape of a man. His shadow was a tangible thing that seemed to drink the light, and his head was topped with sharp, pointed horns. A demon. He was all dark, sharp angles and silent menace.
The other was smaller, but not by much. He was leaner, more athletic. His suit was dark, but it had a striking blue symbol, like a bird, emblazoned across his chest. He moved with a liquid, predatory grace that set Peter 1's teeth on edge.
Peter 1, ten years old, terrified, and backed into a corner with his two de-aged multiversal brothers, did the only thing his primal instincts told him to do.
He bared his teeth and hissed.
It was a low, threatening sound that vibrated in his chest. "Stay back!" he snarled, his small body tensing, ready to spring.
The two figures stopped. The lean one, the blue one, put a hand on the larger one's arm.
"Easy, B. He just kid," the blue one said. His voice was calm, projecting reassurance, but Peter 1 didn't buy it. It was the voice of a tamer, someone trying to corner a stray.
"Don't be scared," the man said, taking a slow step forward, his hands open and visible. "We're not going to hurt you. We're heroes. My name is Nightwing. This is Batman. We help people."
Peter 1's hissing softened, but he didn't relax. "Heroes?" he tried to reply. The word was a painful, gravelly tear in his throat. He winced and clutched his neck. It hurt. The chemicals, the fluid, the screaming...
Nightwing's face, visible through his mask, softened in concern. "Are you hurt? Can you talk?"
Peter 1 shook his head, his eyes watering from the pain. He gestured to his throat. Hurts.
Nightwing nodded, his focus shifting. "Do you know these other children?" he asked, pointing to the one pod that has kid no older than 6 years old and the baby in the tube.
Peter 1 nodded. Yes.
Batman, who hadn't moved or spoken, finally glided forward. His movements were utterly silent, deeply unsettling. He bypassed Peter 1 and went straight to the capsules, his white-lensed eyes scanning the consoles. He was looking for a way to open the 2 pod.
This new threat, this "Batman," moving toward Peter 2, sent a fresh jolt of panic through Peter 1. He was lunge and yelled
"No! Get away from him!"
But he didn't just run. He punched.
His tiny, ten-year-old fist connected with the glass of Peter 2's capsule, which Batman was examining.
CRACK.
The sound was identical to when Peter 1 had done it. The reinforced glass shattered.
Everyone froze.
Batman looked from the shattered glass to the small, panting six-year-old. Nightwing's jaw was slack. "B... did you see that?"
Peter 1 rushed over to Peter 2, pulling him back. "It's okay, it's okay," he rasped, his voice barely audible. He tried to calm his brother, who was now trembling, staring in confusion at his own small, bloody knuckles. Peter 2 looked at Peter 1, his eyes wide with a million questions.
Peter 1, his throat on fire, resorted to what he could. He made a few quick, clumsy hand gestures. I. Don't. Know. Where. We. Are.
He hoped the other Peter understood.
Batman, seemingly unfazed by the display of strength, reached past the broken glass and found a manual release latch inside the capsule. He pressed it. The fluid drained rapidly, and the capsule 3 door swung open.
The baby inside, Peter 3, stirred but didn't wake. He was still sleeping peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling.
Peter 2 whispered, his voice trembling, "Is... is that P-Peter 3?"
Peter 1 gave a single, solemn nod.
Nightwing knelt, getting on their level. His voice was impossibly gentle. "Okay, guys. This place isn't safe. We're going to get you out of here. We're going to take you somewhere warm, get you some food. Will you come with us?"
Peter 1 looked at Nightwing. He looked at the silent, imposing Batman. He looked at his two brothers, one six and one two, both of them his responsibility. His Spider-Sense was still humming, but the sharp, stabbing danger had faded. It was now a thrum of anxiety and unknown.
These men... they hadn't hurt them. And they were right. This lab was cold, and dark, and terrifying.
He made a decision. He moved to the capsule, gently, carefully lifting the sleeping, two-year-old Peter 3. The baby was heavier than he looked, and his head lolled, but he remained asleep. Peter 1 balanced him on his hip and then grabbed Peter 2's hand. He looked at Nightwing and gave one, sharp nod.
Batman's heavy boot kicked a loose metal panel on the floor as they walked. He paused, kneeling. Tucked beneath it was a thin, damp, mold-covered file. He picked it up, his white lenses narrowing as he read the label.
PROJECT: ARACHNE (PHASE II)
He tucked the file into his belt. "Nightwing. Take the children to the car. I'll sweep for intel."
"No," Nightwing's voice was firm. "We stick together. I'll take the baby. You and I can... can help the other two."
Batman looked at Peter 1, who was struggling under the weight of Peter 3. He relented. He moved forward, his massive, gloved hands surprisingly gentle, and lifted the sleeping baby from Peter 1's arms.
Peter 1 flinched, almost hissing again, but the baby just snuggled into the warm, Kevlar-plated chest, and Batman... Batman just held him, his grip secure.
"Let's go," Nightwing said, offering a hand to Peter 1.
Peter 1 ignored the hand. He grabbed Peter 2's again and walked, chin high, right behind the man in the blue-and-black suit.
The drive was silent, fast, and smooth. They weren't in the demonic-looking car Peter 1 had seen in the tunnel. This was a subdued (but clearly armored) black SUV.
Nightwing sat in the back with the kids.Peter 1 and Peter 2 huddled in the far seat. Batman got in the driver's seat, placing the still-sleeping baby in a secure, fold-out carrier in the passenger seat. The adrenaline, the cold, and the sheer emotional exhaustion finally won. Peter 1 and Peter 2 were asleep before they even cleared the tunnel, slumped against each other, a tangle of small, super-powered limbs.
Nightwing watched them, his heart aching. "What was this, Bruce?" he whispered. "Cadmus? Luthor?"
"Worse," Bruce's voice was a low growl.
He passed the damp file over the seat. "I found this."
Nightwing opened it. The pages were waterlogged, but the text was legible.
PROJECT: ARACHNE (PHASE II)
SUBJECTS:
P-1 (Designate: "Tarsus"): Apparent Age: 10.
P-2 (Designate: "Median"): Apparent Age: 6.
P-3 (Designate: "Fovea"): Apparent Age: 2.
PROJECT GOAL: Create stable, enhanced, loyal soldiers using a compromised genetic template. Subjects exhibit meta-human strength (est. 10-15 ton limit), speed, and a precognitive "danger sense." All subjects are unstable. All subjects are failures. Recommend termination and restart with new samples.
"Monstrous," Nightwing breathed. "They were breeding child soldiers. And... terminate? We got there just in time."
"Keep reading," Bruce said.
Nightwing turned the page. His blood ran cold.
GENETIC SOURCE:
Sample ID: C-27 (Acquired: 10/21/XXXX - Haly's Circus, Gotham)
Donor: R. GRAYSON (NIGHTWING)
Nightwing dropped the file. "No. Bruce... that's not possible. It's... it's a trick. A lie."
"Is it?" Bruce's voice was flat, but Dick could hear the underlying rage. "They stole your DNA, Dick. Years ago, apparently. They've been using it, experimenting, trying to create... them. Trying and failing."
Dick's hands were shaking. He looked at the two sleeping boys in the backseat. He looked at the baby, his son, sleeping peacefully in the front. His sons. All three of them.
He wasn't just shocked. He wasn't just angry. He was... devastated. A sob, hot and sharp, caught in his throat. He'd missed their entire lives. Their lives had been... this. A lab. An experiment. Failures. "Recommend termination."
"They're not failures," Bruce said, his voice softer, as if reading his mind. "They're children. And they're scared. They need you."
Dick wiped his eyes, his resolve hardening. "Who did it?"
"We don't know yet. The lab was wiped. Old. The project was abandoned. They were just... left."
"When we find them..."
"We will," Bruce promised. "But first, our priority is them."
The SUV descended into the earth, into a massive, cavernous space lit by the glow of a giant computer.
"Welcome to the Batcave," Nightwing said quietly, though the boys were still asleep.
An elderly man in a perfectly pressed suit was waiting for them. "Master Bruce. Master Dick. I see you've brought... guests." Alfred Pennyworth's eyebrow rose, but his gaze was all kindess.
"Alfred," Bruce said, already lifting the baby. "We need the medbay. Call Leslie. Tell her it's a Code... Black."
"Good heavens. At once."
Bruce carried Peter 3, and Nightwing gently carried the sleeping Peter 2. Peter 1, however, woke the second they touched him. His eyes snapped open, and he scrambled away, hissing.
"It's okay!" Nightwing said, hands up. "You're safe. We're home."
Peter 1 looked around at the cave, the giant computer, the... dinosaur... and his eyes went wide. He was clearly overwhelmed. He looked at his sleeping brother in Nightwing's arms.
"We're just... we're just going to put him on a bed," Nightwing said gently. "You can come, too."
Peter 1, still wary, followed them to the pristine, white medbay. Bruce laid Peter 3 in a small cot, and Nightwing laid Peter 2 on a larger bed. Peter 1 immediately climbed onto the bed with Peter 2, sitting guard, his eyes tracking every move.
Dr. Leslie Thompkins arrived within the hour. She was a kind, no-nonsense woman who seemed utterly unfazed by the Batcave. She managed, with Alfred's help, to coax Peter 1 into letting her check him.
"His throat is severely bruised," she reported to Bruce and Dick in the hall, after she'd drawn blood from all three. "Laryngeal trauma. Consistent with a rough intubation, or... I don't know what. He shouldn't talk for a week. The other two... well, Bruce, they're... remarkable. Aside from malnutrition, they are in perfect health. Their blood... it's healing as I watch it. I've never seen anything like it. And the DNA..."
She held up the results. "It's a match. All three of them. They are, beyond any shadow of a doubt, Richard Grayson's biological sons."
Dick felt the world tilt. It was real.
He leaned against the wall, his head in his hands, and for the first time since he was a child, he cried. Bruce put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"You need to tell the others," Bruce said.
Dick nodded, wiping his face. "Yeah. I... yeah. We need to have a family meeting. Now."
The Bat-family meeting was tense. Tim, Damian, and Jason were all pulled from patrol. Barbara was patched in on the main screen.
"What is this, Grayson?" Damian asked, impatient. "I was in the middle of patrol."
"Thanks for... coming," Dick said, his hands clenching and unclenching. He looked at Bruce, who gave him a slight nod of encouragement. "I... Look, there's no easy way to say this. Bruce and I... we found something tonight. In an abandoned lab."
"A new flavor of Joker toxin?" Jason drawled from the shadows.
"Children," Dick said.
The room went silent.
"I have... I have children. Three of them."
Tim's fingers stilled on his keyboard. "Scandal, Dick? Your public approval rating will..."
"They're not... it's not like that, Tim," Dick cut him off. He told them everything. The lab. The file. His stolen DNA. The names. The "termination" order.
The reactions were immediate.
"Who?" Jason's voice was a venomous hiss. "Give me a name, Dick. I'll handle it."
"Their genetic markers are stable?" Tim was already analyzing the data Bruce had uploaded. "The strength feats? Bruce, this is... this is next-level. This is beyond Cadmus. The 'failure' note must have been a misdiagnosis."
Barbara's face on the screen was pale. "Oh, Dick... those poor boys. Are they... okay?"
"They're scared," Dick said. "And they've been through hell."
Damian, who had been silent, finally spoke. His voice was low and cold. "They are... like me."
All eyes turned to him.
"They were not born; they were forged," Damian said, his fists clenching. "Bred to be soldiers. To be weapons. Like my grandfather intended for me." He stood up, his posture rigid. "This is an insult to the highest degree. These... 'nephews' of mine. They are of the Blood of the Bat. An attack on them is an attack on this family."
He drew his katana a single inch from its sheath. "Where are they? I will stand guard. No one will ever harm them again."
Dick was stunned. "Damian..."
"What is their tactical status, Grayson?" Damian demanded.
Before Dick could answer, a scream echoed from the medbay. Not a shout. Not a yelp. A high-pitched, terrified, baby's scream.
The family moved as one.
They burst into the medbay to a scene of chaos. The three Peters were awake. The baby, Peter 3, was wailing, his face red. Peter 2 was hiding behind Peter 1, sobbing.
And Peter 1... Peter 1 was standing on the bed, holding a screaming Peter 3 on his hip, his other arm protectively in front of Peter 2. He was cornered, his small body vibrating with tension, his eyes blazing at the sight of the new, strange, and (to him) threatening people who had just burst into the room.
His Spider-Sense was going haywire. The cave, the new people... it was all too much.
"Get back!" he shrieked, his voice tearing, raw and painful. "Don't touch them! I'll... I'll kill you!"
"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Jason said, putting his hands up. "Jeez, kid. We're the good guys."
"They're terrified, all of you, out!" Dick commanded, pushing his family back. "You're crowding them."
"Grayson, he is threatening us," Damian noted. "He has spirit. I approve."
"Damian, not helping!"
Dick moved forward slowly, just as he had in the lab. "Hey. Hey, guys. It's me. Dick. Remember? Nightwing. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you."
Peter 1 was panting, his eyes wild. He looked at Dick. The man who had been... gentle. He looked at the baby in his arms, who was now quieting, his screams turning to whimpers.
"Who... who are you?" Peter 1 rasped, the pain in his throat evident.
"I'm Dick. I... this is my family." He gestured behind him. "This is Tim, Jason, Damian, and that's Barbara on the screen. And you know Bruce and Alfred."
Peter 1 and Peter 2 stared at Dick. Really looked at him. In the bright light of the medbay, they saw his face clearly for the first time.
And their confused, de-aged minds latched onto a strange, disorienting familiarity. He looked... he looked like their father. Both Peter 1 and Peter 2, from different worlds, had a phantom memory of a man named Richard Parker. This man, this "Dick Grayson," looked just like him. It was the same face, the same kind eyes, the same smile. It was a ghost, alive and in front of them.
The baby, Peter 3, who had quieted down, seemed to make the connection first. He'd been held by him, felt his warmth. He felt... safe. His own fragmented, two-year-old mind, the mind that had cast the spell, felt a pull. This was... family. This was father.
Peter 3 made a small, babbling sound and, to everyone's shock, held out his tiny, grabby hands toward Dick.
"Dada?"
The word, small and tentative, hung in the silent cave.
Dick's heart stopped. Jason choked. Tim's jaw dropped. Damian just raised an eyebrow.
Dick's eyes flooded with tears. He stepped forward, his hands trembling. "Yeah. Yeah, kid. It's me."
He gently took the two-year-old from Peter 1. The baby immediately snuggled into his neck, his crying stopping completely. He was home.
Peter 1 stared, his protective stance wavering.
Dick, holding Peter 3, knelt. "I... I know this is all... a lot. But I promise you, you are safe here. We're... we're your family."
Peter 1, his voice a hoarse whisper, finally spoke. "I'm... Peter." He pointed to the six-year-old, who was peeking out from behind his leg. "He's... he's also Peter." He then pointed to the baby in Dick's arms. "And... he's Peter."
A beat of silence.
"Heh," Jason finally said. "Easy to remember, I guess."
"They're all named Peter?" Tim asked, confused.
"It's a control mechanism," Damian said, his voice flat. "Common in cloning batches. It strips them of individuality. It's monstrous."
Dick just shook his head, looking at the three impossible, wonderful, terrified boys. "It's okay. We'll... we'll figure it out."
Right on cue, a massive, echoing GRRROWL filled the medbay. Everyone looked down. Peter 2 blushed bright red, clutching his stomach.
Alfred stepped forward, a small smile on his face. "It appears our new young masters have worked up quite an appetite. If you would all be so kind as to follow me, I have a... substantial... late-night dinner prepared. And a warm bottle for the youngest."
The dining room at Wayne Manor was enormous, but Alfred had set the food out at a smaller, cozier breakfast table. Dick sat at the head, feeding a drowsy Peter 3 a bottle of milk. Peter 1 and Peter 2, after a moment's hesitation, attacked the food. They ate like they'd been starved, which, as Dr. Leslie had pointed out, they had. All pretense of "manners" was gone, it was pure survival.
The rest of the family watched.
"So, Grayson," Damian said, breaking the silence. "What is your long-term plan? They cannot simply... exist in the cave. They require schooling. Training. Integration. The world will hunt them for what they are."
Dick looked up from the baby, who was now fast asleep on his shoulder. He looked at Peter 2, who had a ring of milk above his lip, and at Peter 1, who was still eating, but had paused to pointedly slide a bread roll onto Peter 2's plate.
He smiled.
"My plan... is to be their father. To give them a life. A real one. Here. With all of us. We'll get them new identities, new backstories." He looked at the three sleeping or eating Peters. "And... I think we'll need some new names. It's... it's a little confusing."
Peter 1 looked up, his mouth full of sandwich. "Peter... is our name," he said, his voice still a painful rasp.
"I know," Dick said, his smile warm and genuine. "And it's a great name. But... it's just for us. For family. How about we find new names, just for you? So the world knows who you are. You'll always be Peter, inside. But you can be... something new. Someone new."
Peter 1 looked at Peter 2. He looked at the sleeping Peter 3. He looked at this strange man who was his... father. He looked at the silent giant, Bruce, and the weird kid with the sword, Damian, and the tired-Dlooking one, Tim.
It was weird. It was scary. His Spider-Sense was a dull roar of everything.
But for the first time since the spell... he didn't feel alone.
He was ten years old. He had a six-year-old brother and a two-year-old brother. And... he had a dad.
He gave a small, tired, crumb-covered nod.
"Okay."