Even if the soul inside this body no longer belonged to Peter Parker, the love in Aunt May's eyes was real.
And it nearly broke him.
When Batman met her gaze at the doorway, the concern, warmth, and relief shining there almost shattered the mask he had worn so carefully. Decades of experience pretending to be Bruce Wayne nearly failed him in that instant.
Instinctively, he raised the bouquet in his hands, lifting it just enough to shield his face.
"Sorry, Aunt May," he said softly. "These are for you."
"Oh, Peter…"
Aunt May took the flowers with both hands, her face lighting up with pure joy. Then, without hesitation, she pulled him into a firm, genuine hug.
Batman's body stiffened.
Every combat instinct screamed at him to disengage—but he didn't move. He couldn't.
So his arms hovered awkwardly for a moment before he carefully returned the embrace, patting her back lightly, afraid that even a little strength might hurt her.
"All right," Aunt May said with a chuckle as she released him, "how long are we going to stand in the doorway?"
She led him inside, sat him down at the dining table, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Moments later, she returned with steaming dishes, setting them down one by one. She placed a knife and fork in his hands and looked at him expectantly.
"Peter, I learned a new pizza recipe from TV today," she said brightly. "Quickly, try it and tell me how it tastes."
Batman stared at the food.
At the steam rising gently from the plate.
He wondered how many times she had reheated it while waiting.
How long she had sat alone at the table, listening for footsteps.
How quickly she had opened the door the moment he knocked.
This kind of love…
I once had it. Then I lost it.
And now, in a strange universe, it has returned—warm, fragile, and dangerous.
He forced a smile.
The same presence that had crushed Green Goblin's will hours earlier now played the role of an obedient college student.
I can't rely on this.
I can't contaminate it.
I must keep my distance.
His hand trembled slightly as he picked up the knife and fork. Even his iron will struggled against this warmth.
He cut a slice of pizza and took a bite.
Then he smiled—this time, genuinely.
"This tastes like the best dessert I had as a child," he said softly. "Thank you, Aunt May."
She looked surprised for a moment, then smiled even more, pushing the plate closer to him.
"You must be starving," she said gently.
Batman nodded.
For once, he ignored calculated meal plans and ate heartily, clearing the table completely. Throughout it all, Aunt May simply watched him, smiling as if memorizing every detail.
Yet Batman felt restless.
He was used to Alfred's quiet care—measured, restrained, unspoken.
Aunt May's love was direct, overwhelming, like standing under the sun after years underground.
After dinner, Batman helped clear the dishes. Then he announced he had to leave.
There was still work to do.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. firewall—his firewall—needed deeper scrutiny.
Osborn Group's lower levels held unanswered secrets.
The criminal vacuum in Hell's Kitchen had to be stabilized.
And the list of gangs he had written on his first night in this world still waited.
Batman never stopped moving.
"Aunt May," he said gently as he opened the door, "see you next Saturday."
She hugged him again.
Then she didn't let go.
She looked up at him, smiling softly—and spoke words that froze his blood.
"You're not my Peter," she said kindly. "Are you, child?"
Boom.
The evening breeze felt like ice water.
Lightning struck without warning.
Batman's muscles tensed, his mind instantly shifting into combat readiness—then just as quickly, he let it go.
If anyone else had discovered him, a dozen contingency plans would already be in motion.
But this was Aunt May.
The woman whose love he had felt more deeply than he had in decades.
"My Peter," Aunt May continued, taking his hand and sitting beside him on the steps, "was a chatty little tiger."
She leaned against his shoulder, her voice calm and nostalgic.
"Every time I learned something new from TV, Peter and Ben would complain—but they always ate everything. I know my cooking isn't good, but I love making food for the people I love."
"You're too calm," she said gently. "Even when you praised the pizza, you were sincere—but too calm. Not like Peter."
Batman stared into the distance.
"When Peter helped me wash dishes," Aunt May said, "he treated it like a game, talking nonstop. Last time you left in a hurry, I thought grief had overwhelmed him. But you and Peter… you're different people."
He didn't know how to respond.
Finally, she turned to face him.
"You don't need to be afraid," Aunt May said softly. "I can tell you're a good child. Maybe you don't even understand how you ended up like this."
Batman swallowed.
"You're right," he admitted quietly. "I… don't know how to explain why I'm here."
She reached up and held his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"Is my Peter still alive?"
The tears trembling in her eyes cut deeper than any blade.
Batman inhaled slowly.
"He is alive," he said firmly. "His soul is safe. I swear on my life—I will bring him back."
Across worlds, across dimensions, no matter where the original Peter Parker was—
Batman would find him.
This promise did not conflict with his goal of returning to Gotham.
It became part of it.
Aunt May exhaled shakily, relief washing over her face. She stroked his cheek gently.
"Child," she said warmly, "you look exhausted. You're carrying something very heavy alone, aren't you?"
She stood up suddenly, smiling again.
"I need to learn more recipes from TV," she said cheerfully. "Remember to come back next Saturday."
"Until you find your way home," she added softly, "this is still your home."
Batman said nothing.
He hugged her one last time.
Then he turned away and disappeared into the night—
carrying the weight of two worlds on his shoulders.
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