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dccomicsimagines · 5 years

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What’s Lost is Found - Batfamily Imagine - Part Two

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Six.Five Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

Zipping up your duffel bag, you looked around your bare room. About a month had passed since the day of the will reading. Most of that time was spent getting the Manor ready to be closed up. No one wanted to live here anymore. You did, but apparently what you wanted didn’t matter.

Damian had already moved into the city to live at Wayne Tower. Alfred was going with him while you were forced to go live with Dick. You sat down on the bare mattress, dreading the thought of never being here again. It wouldn’t be so bad if Dick lived nearby, but no, he had to live all the way down in Florida for that stupid circus he owned.

“(Y/N), time to go,” Dick said, poking his head in. He had a smile on his face. You wanted more than anything to wipe it off with your fist, but you resisted. Sadly, you were finding it useless to fight him. To make matters worse, he was helping the visions, headaches, and flashbacks you had been suffering from go away.

A sigh escaped your lips. You picked up your duffel before trailing your hand across your mattress one last time. Dick cleared his throat. You narrowed your eyes at him, but he didn’t react. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and guided you down the steps to the front door.

Dick’s new car was shiny and out of place in the driveway. Alfred stood beside it, packing the last box into the truck. Everything you owned was now in the truck of Dick’s car. You never felt so lost.

“Mx. (Y/N),” Alfred said, coming up to hug you. Dick stole your duffel and placed it in the backseat.

Tears threatened to fall down your cheeks, but you blinked them away. “Don’t let him take me,” you whispered desperately. Your stomach twisting at the thought of leaving the manor. It was your home, even if your father wasn’t here anymore.

“This is for the best, Mx. (Y/N). Give Master Dick a chance.” Alfred patted your back. “I’ll be down to visit in a few months. Time will pass by quickly.” You pulled away from him. All you could think was how you needed years to pass by quickly. Could you snap your fingers and magically become eighteen?

Dick was watching the two of you. His mouth twitched. He probably expected you to fight him again. However, you knew it wouldn’t do any good. No one was coming to save you from him and you couldn’t save yourself. Just like you couldn’t save your father.

You shivered, closing your eyes only to see your father’s head crack against the railing and his body fall. Dick’s hand magically appeared on your back to break you out of it. He rubbed gently as he talked to Alfred about last minute details. You hated that he could help you and you despised all the memories he kept bringing back. They were good memories about the year he raised you, but painful only because Dick abandoned you in the end.

“Well, we better be going. I want to get to Raleigh before nine at the latest,” Dick said, pushing you over to the car. You turned to take one last look at the manor. “Come on, honey.” Dick opened the car door.

“Quit calling me honey,” you snarled. Dick gave you a stern look. To avoid creating more tension for the long car ride, you got in without another comment. Dick shut the door gently behind you. He kept his back to you as he talked to Alfred. Alfred gave him a sad smile, placing a hand on his shoulder.

You closed your eyes. Dick climbed into the driver’s seat a moment later. He started the car and drove down the driveway. You opened your eyes to turn and take one last look at the manor. Luckily for you, you finally ran out of tears.

***

A crack of thunder boomed. You gasped, suddenly wide awake. “Dad,” you choked. You glanced around the dark room, not recognizing where you were. A light clicked on. You were blind.

“Hush, you’re okay. We’re in the motel, remember?” Dick said. You heard him climb out of his own bed to come over to you. He sat on the edge of yours, gently rubbing your back. “It’s just a thunderstorm. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Your eyes finally adjusted to let you see the crappy motel room. The memory of the awkward eight hour car ride flooded back into your mind. “Oh, okay,” you mumbled. Dick studied you, moving to run his fingers through your hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick’s hand brushed past your temple as another headache began to blossom.

“No.” You closed your eyes. Your stomach twisted to the point where you might get sick. Suddenly, you pulled away from Dick to sprint toward the bathroom. You made it just in time to lose your dinner.

Dick was right behind you. He held back your hair, rubbing your back. When you finished, he helped you lean back against the wall. His hand lingered on your forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” he muttered mostly to himself. You closed your eyes only to feel a wet cloth against your forehead a moment later.

He cleaned up the bathroom before he helped you up and tucked you back into bed. Another crack of thunder boomed. You jumped a little, having a sudden flash of blood splattered around the room.

“If you’re seeing something, just close your eyes. It’s not there,” Dick soothed, running his fingers through your hair again once you laid down. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”

A few weeks ago, this would have sent you into a rage and you would have attacked him. Now, you were too tired. Perhaps Dick had worn you done enough to accept that he was here to stay and there was nothing you could do about it. You gave up. He had already taken you from your home. No one was going to help you. Before you drifted back to sleep, you imagined that Dick’s fingers were your father’s and everything was simply a bad dream.

***

You knew it would come back to bite you. When Dick was in such a cheerful mood the next morning, you should have known. You should have done something to ruin his mood, but you didn’t and now you suffer from your lack of preparation.

He hadn’t stopped talking for the first five hours of the drive. Dick told you about the house, his circus, memories of when he was Robin, his times with the Teen Titans, etc. He also told you about how many of his Titan friends lived near him and how it’s like a family and how you should feel like you can count on them if you need something.

The only good thing to come from this endless chatter was it gave you an excuse not to say anything. At most, you just had to nod your head.

Finally Dick stopped at a gas station for a pit stop, and you escaped into a handicapped bathroom. You sighed. The silence felt wonderful. You splashed water on your face. Just when you finished drying off your face, your phone rang. It was Damian.

“Hello?” you answered hesitantly. Damian never called you. Part of you hoped he was calling to say he magically got custody of you and you could come back to Gotham to be Robin again.

“(Y/N),” Damian yawned into the phone. “I was told by Pennyworth that I should call you to ‘check up on you’ as it were.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, disappointed, but not surprised. “Hey, how do you shut Dick up?”

Damian hummed. “I wouldn’t recommend a violent approach, since that hasn’t worked for you before. Grayson tends to get more touchy and annoying afterwards regardless.”

“Yes, I noticed.” You glanced around the bathroom, wondering if you could sneak out a window and run away. Sadly, there was only one tiny window and it was too small for you to get through.

“You could try telling him to shut up, but then he’ll make that face,” Damian sighed. The face he was talking about is Dick’s hurt face that he makes when he’s trying to be nice and you shut him down. It’s hard not to feel like garbage when he gives you that face.

Your eyes rolled to the ceiling. “So I’m not going to get him to shut up, am I?”

“No, probably not. I suppose you could try putting your earbuds in. Maybe he’ll get a hint?” Damian yawned again. You could hear him moving around on his end.

The question you wanted to ask him was on the tip of your tongue. You debated whether you should ask, not wanting Damian to simply hang up the phone. Finally, you decided to just say it. “Damian, why did you let Dick take me?”

Damian was quiet for a long time. “TT, it’s for the best.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you demanded, rubbing your temple as another headache pounded away. You were getting tired of all these headaches.

“(Y/N), I don’t think you understand the gravity of your actions.” Damian sounded angry. You tensed. “You broke Father’s one rule. The one he held throughout his life and to make it worse, he died the night you broke that rule. You murdered Bane, and by default, what our father stood for.” Damian’s voice got harsher. It was unrecognizable. “You can not be Robin again without disgracing Father’s legacy. None of us will let you do that. That’s why you’re going to live with Grayson.”

It was like getting punched in stomach repeatedly. You wanted to say how hypocritical he was being. Damian killed lots of people, although maybe not as recently. However, all you could do was hang up the phone. You cried softly to yourself, sinking to the floor.

Damian could be cruel, but you knew he was right. If he was still alive, your father would never forgive you for the life you took. Taking a deep breath, you got control of yourself. You quickly cleaned up your face, knowing you couldn’t stay in here much longer or Dick will come looking for you. He probably was already worried you were sick or something.

You exited the bathroom. A older man gave you a funny look. You blushed, but kept moving on. Dick was outside sitting on the hood of the car, munching on a slice of pizza. You swallowed hard. Your head still pounded away.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick said, studying you as you walked past him. “You okay? You were in there a long time.”

“I’m fine.” You opened your door to find a plastic bag in your seat. Dick saw your questioning look.

“I got you some stuff. It’s close enough to lunch, so I figured we’ll just count this as our lunch stop.” You nodded before getting into the car. It was hot, but you kept the door shut. Dick stayed on the hood of the car, still eating his pizza. You were going to set the bag down without looking at it, but curiosity won out.

Inside you found a packaged sandwich, a bottle of water, and a chocolate bar. Your heart ached when you also saw the latest issue of your favorite magazine as well as a postcard. Dick moved, finishing his pizza and taking a drink of water. You took out the postcard before finding your gaze drifting over to watch Dick. He closed his eyes, leaning back to enjoy the sun for a moment.

You bit your lip to stop it from trembling. Damian’s words echoed in your head. If what Damian said was true, and everyone hated you for dishonoring your father’s legacy, why would Dick take you in? Shouldn’t he hate you too? It wasn’t like you made it easy for him. Why would he put up with you? He could refuse custody. You wondered where you would have gone if Dick didn’t take you in.

Dick glanced back at you, sensing your eyes on him. You flinched and quickly looked down at the postcard. It was a standard postcard, but it had a pretty landscape on it. A minute later, Dick’s door opened. A cool breeze hit you, ruffling your hair. You heard him get in before starting the car. Your eyes stayed on the postcard.

“I figured you could send it to Alfred. He’d like to hear from you. Maybe you could reassure him that we’re not just eating junk food,” Dick said, watching you. The car began to cool as the AC started working.

“Okay,” you whispered, swallowing past a lump in your throat. Alfred probably hated you too. That’s why he didn’t let you stay with him either.

Dick sighed before backing out of the parking spot and driving back onto the road. You put the postcard away.

“Why don’t you eat something?” Dick said softly after a moment of silence. “We got about another four hours left.”

You hummed, looking out the window. The car was quiet for several minutes. You were thankful for it.

Of course, it couldn’t last. Dick took a breath. “Did I ever tell you about the time when Wally, Garth, Roy, Donna, and I attempted a camping trip during a hurricane?” He kept rambling on. You half listened, watching the landscape go by and counting down the minutes until you could get out of the car.

***

Dick pulled the car into the driveway of a dark blue little house. The other houses on the block were about the same size, although different colors. “If you look over there, you can see the top of the big tent. This town was basically created when I moved Haly’s winter home here. Although, we find we make a pretty good profit staying here year round, we do take it on the road once and a while,” Dick said as he parked the car.

Had you gone to heaven? Could it be that you were finally here and you could get away from the incessant talking? You stepped out of the car once he turned off the engine. It was muggy and hot. Nothing like Gotham. You stretched. Dick kept talking, but you stopped listening to focus on your stretches. Two days in the car made everything stiff particularly your left calf. You’ll have to make sure you stretch it more than normal until it loosened.

“Hey Dick, you’re finally back,” a red headed man said, jogging over from next door. “We missed you.” Dick and the man shared a man hug. You stared at the two. Your gut twisted with a sense of dread.

“Hey Roy.” Dick smiled before turning to you. You did your best to look disinterested. “Roy, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Roy Harper. Roy is in charge of security for Haly’s.”

“Hi, kid.” Roy gave you a partial wave. You just nodded at him. Roy stared back at you before whispering something to Dick. You rolled your eyes, grabbing your duffel from the backseat.

“(Y/N), why don’t you head in?” Dick tossed you the keys. You caught them easily. “You can find your room. It’s upstairs on the left.”

Without saying anything, you headed to the house. The men were still talking behind you, but you couldn’t hear them. It’s just as well. Nothing good comes from whispering like that.

The door opened to the kitchen, which was bigger than you thought it would be. You followed it into the living room, eyeing the Flying Graysons poster that hung over the TV. The sight of it made you sigh. “This is like a prison,” you mumbled before heading upstairs.

Your room faced over the backyard. You sat down on the bare mattress to look out the window with your duffel beside you. Lost in your thoughts, you wished more than anything that your dad was still alive. You opened your duffel and pulled out your Robin suit.

Alfred must have cleaned it, because the blood was gone. You pressed it into your face, breathing in the clean scent of leather and armor. No one said you couldn’t bring it with you. If you didn’t, it would have just sat down in the unused batcave. You earned this suit. It was one of the most precious things your father had ever given you.

You started to sob, unable to stop it. Damian was right. You tarnished your father’s legacy. Despite the years you trained and slaved to finally be Robin, you were the one who got him killed and broke his one rule. You didn’t deserve this suit anymore. You didn’t deserve anything good anymore. The rest of your life should be punishment for the life you took and the one you didn’t save.

With your face pressed into your suit, you didn’t hear Dick and Roy come in with boxes from the car until it was too late.

“Roy, just leave the rest of the boxes in the living room,” Dick whispered to Roy, setting his box down. Roy put down his box before escaping from the room. You tensed as the floor creaked. The bed sank beside you. Dick’s arm wrapped around you. He pulled your suit out of your grasp and tossed it away. “It’s going to be okay, kiddo. I promise.” His fingers ran through your hair. You cried into his chest, because there was no other option.

Time passed. Eventually, you calmed down, shaking violently in Dick’s arms. He kissed the top of your head. “I’ll go bring your bedding and make up the bed. You should take a nap.” You pulled away from him. Your arms crossed, feeling exposed from the outburst.

The truth was you were willing to make this work with Dick. You could live out these years in peace until you turned eighteen. Then, you could go home to the manor, even though no one would be there, but maybe that’s was your punishment. Forever alone.

However, your eyes followed Dick as he quickly scooped up your Robin suit. “Where are you going with that?” you snapped. Dick kept walking out of the room only turning to face you once he reached the doorway.

“You can’t keep this, (Y/N).” Dick gave you a stern look. “You weren’t supposed to bring this with you. I thought Alfred discussed this with you. You are not Robin anymore and you won’t be again.”

“Give it back,” you growled, climbing over the bed to stare him down. “You can’t take it away from me.”

Dick’s expression hardened. “Actually, I can. I’m your guardian. Believe me, (Y/N), this is for your own good, even if you can’t see it now.” He started to shut the door. “I’ll be back with your bedding.”

You lost it. That promise for peace disappeared in smoke. You sprinted at him, screaming profanities. Dick shut the door before you could reach him. You ran straight into the door with a bang. The door handle wouldn’t move. Dick was holding it from the other side.

“I hate you, Dick! All you ever do is hurt me! I hope you burn in hell and I never see you again!” You pulled at the handle, but it didn’t open. “I hate you! I hate you!” A primal scream escaped you, bleeding your rage and pain into the air. You gave up on the door, giving it one swift kick. “Don’t you dare come in here again! I’ll kill you! Do you hear me?! I’ll kill you!”

Your screams were only met with silence. It was kinda soothing. Your throat was raw as you sank down onto the floor. The floor was hard on your back. You stared up at the ceiling. The pain and rage were eating you alive. Now, you had a mission. You would make Dick’s life a living hell until he let you go. He took the last piece you had of your dad, and he was not going to get away with it.

***

You spent the night on the floor. The bedding never came, which probably best, because you would have made good on that death threat. After all, you had already ruined everything. What’s another sin? You had nothing left to lose.

It was almost ten in the morning when someone knocked on your door. “If that’s you, Dick. I told you to go to hell,” you hissed.

“It’s not Dick.” Your door opened to reveal Donna Troy with a tray of food. The smell of the food reached you, and your stomach rumbled. “Hi, I’m Donna. Dick had to go take care of some things, so he asked me to come by.” She entered your room and set the tray on floor next to you. “You should eat.”

You eyed the tray, willing yourself not to eat. “No, thanks,” you said coldly. Donna looked at you until you met her eye. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Well, I’ll leave that here anyway. You can eat when you’re hungry.” She turned to look at the bare mattress. “We should make your bed. Sleeping on the floor will mess up your back.”

Donna left to grab your bedding. You eyed the food tray before stealing a quick bite. Fine, you didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, but maybe you could eat. The food was quickly inhaled by you. You couldn’t stop yourself. Donna came back to an empty tray.

She gave you a little smile. “Why don’t you bring that tray to the kitchen and bring up your other boxes?” You slowly got up. Your back did hurt from sleeping on the floor. Damn her for being right. Donna began to make your bed. You escaped downstairs, studying the walls as you went. Dick had to have some kind of secret room in here where he kept his old Nightwing suit. He had to put your Robin suit in there.

You set the tray by the sink in the kitchen. Something caught your eyes. A little unevenness in the wall paint by the front door. You looked around to make sure Dick or someone wouldn’t suddenly appear. Silently, you approached the spot and prodded around until you heard a click. The wall slid open to reveal a control panel with a mini keyboard.

“Yes,” you whispered. You typed in his name. Nothing. Different variations of his name and alter egos. Nothing. You tried the name of his circus, his parent’s names, names of his friends. Nothing worked. “Damn it.” You bit your lip when you heard Donna walking down the steps. Quickly, you hit the spot to hide the panel again before busying yourself by washes dishes.

Donna came beside you and started drying the dishes. “We should finish getting your room organized after this,” she said. You just focused on scrubbing away at the plate. “Then I thought we could go for a walk and I could show you around.”

You nodded stiffly, eyeing the part of the wall. The password had to something personal, but what?

***

The day with Donna dragged on slowly. Eventually, closer to dinner time, you got a chance to come up with ideas for the password. It had to be something important. You scribbled down ideas in a notebook while Donna made a salad to go along with dinner. Dick was supposed to bring home the main meal.

“I’m home,” Dick called as he came through the door. You tensed from your seat on the couch, not looking up. The smell of pizza floated through the air. Your stomach rumbled slightly.

“Hi, Dick,” Donna said. The pizza box was set onto the table. You shivered slightly when you heard Dick move closer to Donna.

“How did it go today?” he whispered, so softly you almost didn’t hear.

Donna hummed. “I couldn’t get them to talk, but otherwise pretty good.” The weight of Dick’s gaze fell on you. You wrote ‘asshat’ as one of the potential passwords. It made you smile, even though it was highly unlikely.

Dick sighed before the floor creaked as he approached you. You quickly shut your notebook. He sat down beside you, leave a generous amount of space between you.

The silence grew out for a long time. Donna watched the two of you from the kitchen. “Are we okay?” Dick asked softly. You stole a quick glance at him to find him making that face. The ‘I’m trying so hard and you’re being so mean’ face. You felt the cold rock that you imagined your heart to be melt away.

“Sure, whatever,” you grumbled, tapping your pen against the cover of the notebook. Maybe letting him think everything was okay would be a good thing. It would give you time to figure out the password.

Dick grinned. Suddenly, your face was in his chest as he pulled you into a tight hug. “Good. I just want you to be happy, kiddo.” He kissed the top of your head. “I love you so much.”

You tensed at his words, remembering when you were four and you heard those words from him all the time. A lump grew in your throat. Damn him, he was playing dirty. “Whatever,” you choked out.

“Come on, let’s eat. I’m sure you’re hungry,” Dick said cheerfully, pulling away from you with your hand in his. You kept your notebook firmly in your free hand. Donna was watching you. From the look in her eye, you knew she knew you weren’t really okay. However, you forced yourself to be pleasant if only to give yourself opportunities to get into Dick’s secret room.

***

Weeks passed and you settled into a routine. You woke up at five in the morning to go on a run. This was a quiet time for you to collect your thoughts. Dick would be up by the time you came back, waiting in the kitchen for you. Then, you both would have cereal together in which Dick spent the whole time talking about his day.

Then it was a toss up. Some days, Dick dragged you to work with him or let you stay home. During the days you stayed home, you worked on figuring out his password. So far, you went through four sheet of notebook paper, but still had no luck. You didn’t realized this until looking back, but your obsession with Dick’s password made your headaches go away.

No matter what you did during the day, you and Dick would have dinner. You took turns, since you were taught to cook by Alfred and Dick had little to no skill in the kitchen. Once everything was cleaned up, Dick would kiss your head and send you off to bed. During those times, you knew he was going into his secret room. It burned you that he thought he could keep it a secret from you.

“So I was thinking we could have a little barbecue,” Dick said over a dinner of stove top mac and cheese and frozen vegetables. It had been Dick’s night to cook. You gave him a blank look, but he continued, staying upbeat. “That way you can get to know people your age.”

“Are you trying to make me make friends?” You narrowed your eyes at him. It wasn’t like you never tried to make friends. You did when you were younger, but those friendships didn’t last and once you began training to be Robin, they became unimportant.

Dick grinned at you. “You make it sound like I’m making you clean the house or something,” he laughed.

“That would be preferable.” You took some satisfaction when his smile faded slightly.

“Sometimes you remind me so much of your brother.” Dick looked back down at his food.

“That’s insulting, Never say that again,” you replied, suddenly losing interest in your food. You remembered Damian telling you how you ruined your father’s legacy and your hand shook slightly. Things were getting better, but you could feel it slipping back. Dick looked up at you, surprised and confused.

“Did something happen between you and Damian?” Dick studied you worriedly.

“No,” you snapped, moving your food around your plate.

Dick bit his lip. “Well, anyway. I think we can throw it this weekend. We’ll keep it small.”

You rolled your eyes. A whole bunch of words to describe how you felt about this situation was going on your list of possible passwords. They would all be wrong, of course, but you still might try them for laughs if anything.

“Anyway, I was thinking you could make some kind of dessert for the barbecue. Alfred taught you all his secrets,” Dick chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Instead, you started to feel even sicker. Alfred didn’t want you either. You didn’t realize how much you missed Alfred until Dick said it.

“Whatever.” You got to your feet. “I’m going to lay down.” Quickly as you could, you tried to leave the room, but Dick blocked you.

“Wait, kiddo.” He laid a hand on your forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You pushed away from him and ran up into your room. Once there, you laid down on your bed and willed everything to go away for a while.

***

“So have you seen the ocean yet?” Cerdian asked. He shifted awkwardly beside you with a cup of lemonade in his hand.

“Well, Gotham was by the ocean, so yes.” You eyed him carefully. The poor boy blushed. He gave his dad, Garth aka Tempest, a long suffering look. Garth didn’t notice, too busy talking to Dick and Wally. You wondered why you didn’t just lock yourself in your room and refuse to come out.

Cerdian may not know what to say, but he was the bravest of the bunch. You see Irey, Jai, Lian, and a few others you didn’t know hanging out in a little clique. The rest hadn’t approached you and probably won’t even try.

Dick may have wanted you to make friends, but this wasn’t how to do it. None of these people wanted to be friends with you. It’s like Dick forgot Damian existed and how Damian burned down all the possibilities of any friendships with these people since he had been a jerk to them the whole time he was Robin. Of course, all Damian’s actions had been translated onto you like you didn’t have enough sins of your own.

“Hey, Cerdian. Come over here,” Irey called. Cerdian gave you a tight smile before running away. You watched him go and be welcomed into the little group. With a familiar lonely ache in your chest, you got yourself some lemonade before sitting on the back steps to look around the party. At least people seemed to be eating the brownies you made.

You were about to give up and go inside when Dick came over to you. He was already making that face again. “(Y/N), where are you going?” Dick asked, sitting down beside you. He grabbed your arm and pulled you back down next to him.

“Inside.” He ran his hand through his hair, clearly annoyed with you. “This isn’t going to work.” Why did he have to make you feel bad? You hated him for it.

“You haven’t even tried, (Y/N),” Dick said sternly. You flinched. “I saw you talk to one person and that’s it.”

“No one here likes me.” You kept your face blank despite how your lips wanted to pull down into a frown at your words.

Dick blinked. “How do you know that? You can’t know that unless you talk to people.” He gestured over to the clique of kids. “Approach them, talk about something.” You must have give him a look of disbelief. “I’ll come with you if you want.”

“No.” Your cheeks heated up at the very thought. “Leave me alone.” Dick sighed, resting a hand on your shoulder. You saw Wally, Donna, Roy, and Garth all staring at you as if you were a powder keg ready to blow. Maybe you were.

“Why do you have to be so much like your dad?” Dick muttered. Your eyes widened. Suddenly, you were back in the warehouse with the smell of smoke, rotting fish, and iron. There was the wet crack and you saw the flap of Batman’s cape as he fell down to the floor.

Your fist cracked against his chin. Dick stumbled off the stairs from the impact, stunned. The blood drained out of your face. Silence filled the air before you turned and ran into the house. You started toward the front door only to see Wally appear in front of you, vibrating. Other footsteps were following you. You jumped the railing on the stairs just as a hand grabbed the back of your shirt.

“No, you don’t, little monster,” Roy growled, pulled you hard enough for you to slam into the floor. You saw stars. Your leg shot out blindly and connected with his face. He swore, holding his face while you rolled to your feet only to find Donna standing in front of you. Her face was a mask of anger and protectiveness. You swallowed hard, staring up at her with wide eyes.

Wally grabbed you from behind and dragged you to your feet. He held your arms behind your back. “Don’t hurt them,” Dick said, appearing in the doorway with Garth. He was holding his jaw. You fought against Wally’s hold. All you wanted was to go to your room.

“Dick, they hurt you,” Donna said, placing one hand on your shoulder. She squeezed hard enough to hurt a little.

“I told you they were a monster. You should have left them in Gotham,” Roy groaned, still holding his nose. Your breath left your lungs at his words. You waited for Dick to say something, but he stayed quiet. It hurt that he didn’t defend you. Of course, you had just punched him in the face, but you expected him to say something.

“Yeah, I’m just a monster, a murderer. What can you expect from me?” Your voice was dangerously low. Wally tightened his grip on you. Donna did the same. Dick just studied you. “But I guess I should be asking you that. What can I expect from you, Dick? Are you going to leave me again?”

“Leave you? Honey, I’ve been here this whole time. I took you in when you didn’t have anywhere else to go, but I don’t know what to do anymore. You make this so hard,” Dick admitted, making that face at you.

Your rage erupted. You yanked against their hold on you, wanting to hurt Dick like he hurt you. “You left me! What did you think?! That you could raise me for a year and just hand me off with no regrets!” You sunk your elbow into Wally’s stomach. He groaned, but kept his hold on you. Dick looked startled. “Come on, you idiot. You honestly thought I was mad at you for years because I was jealous of Damian! Do you know me at all?!”

“Oh, kiddo,” Dick sighed, reaching out to run his fingers through your hair. You snarled at him, attempting to bite his hand.

“No, you don’t get that. You don’t just get to have me now that Dad’s dead. You don’t get leave me and expect me to just love you again. I hate you,” you hissed. Dick flinched, on the verge of tears. Good. He made you cry for a long time. It’s about time you return the favor.

Donna stepped between you and Dick. Her hand stayed on your shoulder as you attempted to wrench your wrists from Wally’s grip. Your wrists were aching, but you twist one to sink your nails into Wally’s wrist. Wally gasped, letting you go. You tried to jerk your shoulder out of Donna’s grasp, but she just held on tighter. There was going to be a bruise there in the morning.

“You both need to clear your heads,” Donna said. “I’ll take (Y/N) to their room. Dick, you stay down here, okay? I’ll be back.” Without another word, Donna grabbed you by the back of the neck and held you up the stairs. Tears stun your eyes, her fingers pinching your neck. More bruises for the morning.

She shoved you into your room. “Dick has done a lot for you. He didn’t owe you anything.” Donna towered in your doorway. You glared at her, but turned to go sit on your bed. “You should be grateful he didn’t just throw you in prison for what you did. I want you to think about that.” She slammed the door behind her. You heard the outside lock click. When had that been installed? It wasn’t there when you moved in.

Feeling like a monster, you rubbed the back of your head to feel the tender spot. The truth was Donna was wrong. Dick did owe you something. That year he raised you had been one of the best in your life. He was there all the time. He took care of you. While you loved your father, he was not the best dad. Dick was until he abandoned you and never really came back. Sure you saw him a few times a year, but it was never the same.

Dick owe you an explanation, even an apology. Though you weren’t sure you wanted that, but he had to give you something. The hurt of being abandoned doesn’t go away in a snap of the fingers. It stays with you, no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you didn’t really love him and didn’t need his love or attention.

You laid down on your bed, wincing when you hit the soft spot on the back of your head. Your shoulder, wrists, and neck throbbed. The notebook filled with passwords laid just in reach. You opened it, looking through all the words you thought would work. None of them had yet. However, you were more determined then ever now.

Rolling onto your stomach, you grabbed your phone to find the nearest airport and bought a ticket back to Gotham with your father’s credit card. It went through, meaning Lucius didn’t close the account yet. You sighed in relief before turning to work on the passwords. If you didn’t figure it out tonight, you’ll just break in and grab your suit. Then, you’d be out of here.

***

The party ended hours ago. You listened to the yard quiet down as people went home. However, there was talking coming from the living room, so you guessed Dick’s friends must still be there. You sat on your bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting until you could sneak out. Your duffel was already packed and sitting by the door. All you needed was to get your Robin suit.

It was almost ten when it finally was quiet through the whole house. You got up and crept over to the door and picked the lock. It creaked when you opened it, you froze, holding your breath. Nothing moved. You sighed in relief before grabbing your duffel and moving quietly as you could downstairs.

The living room was dark. Dick must have gone to bed. You were just about to step off the bottom step when the living room lamp clicked on, blinding you.

“Crap,” you mumbled. Your eyes adjusted to find Dick sitting in the armchair. He looked at you with a lost, hurt expression. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed past it.

“I knew you’d try to leave.” Dick got to his feet with a groan. He looked a lot older than he was in this light. “You always were a runner.” You turned away from him, trying to keep it together. “I remember you ran off on me so many times, but I usually found you before you got too far except one time.” He sighed. “You were gone for hours. We were searching everywhere until Alfred mentioned you were probably going to go somewhere familiar. That’s when it hit me. You would go to the manor.” Dick chuckled, laying a hand on your shoulder. “I found you laying in Bruce’s old bed, fast asleep.”

You frowned, remembering that day. If you were honest, you were planning to do the same thing when you left tonight. “Why are you talking about this now?”

Dick’s hand squeezed your shoulder. “I’m an idiot.” You couldn’t help, but smirk slightly. “I should have known. I should have listened. I shouldn’t have left you like that.” He turned you around. Your smirk fell from your lips when you saw the tears in his eyes. “But I was stupid.”

“You’re stupid all the time, but that doesn’t explain why you did it? Why did you leave me?” You glared back at him, every ounce of hurt resurfacing.

“Giving you up was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” Dick’s hand trembled as it slid up to rest in your hair. “It wasn’t the same as Damian. Damian was my brother, he was older, but you were so young. You became my kid. I wanted more than anything to keep you when your dad came back, but I knew it was wrong. He was your dad, not me.”

Tears ran down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop them. “But you didn’t have to disappear. You could have been there more, so at least made sure to see me when you came to visit. I thought you hated me.”

Dick pulled you into his arms. His tears falling into your hair. “I love you so much, (Y/N). I never hated you.” You hid your face into his shoulder. “Staying away meant that Bruce could step up as your dad. I didn’t want to get in the way of that. You were always coming to me when you had a nightmare or you wanted to show off a picture you drew. Every time you passed Bruce up for me, and I saw how hurt he was.” Dick took a shaky breath. “It was wrong to leave you like that, and I hurt you more than I can ever say, but you got your dad.”

“Until I lost him.” You pulled away from Dick, narrowing your eyes. “That was dumb to leave like that. I would have gotten used to him again. I was only four. There is no quota on how many father figures one person can have.”

“No, there isn’t. I told you I was an idiot. I didn’t think it through.” He studied you, looking at you with love. “Alfred told me I was an idiot too when I told him, but you know how stubborn I am.”

You snorted, looking away. “You protesting me becoming Robin made it worse. I was finally joining the family, and you didn’t want me.”

Dick ran his fingers through your hair like he always did. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He closed his eyes. “You did get hurt.” You had a flash of the bloody knife in your hand and your father’s body on the ground. Your body started to shake, but Dick kissed your forehead to bring you out of it. “I want to show you something.” He took your hand and led you over to the spot in the wall where the panel was.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, faking surprise when the keyboard appeared. Dick rolled his eyes.

“I know you knew about this. I get alerts every time it’s gets a wrong password.” Dick smirked when you swore under your breath. You should have known better. “Did you really think my password would be asshat?”

“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” you said, eyeing him carefully. Dick shook his head before typing in the password slow enough you could see it. It was your name. “You got to be kidding me.”

“You never left my heart, (Y/N), even if I wasn’t there for you.” Dick ruffled your hair. “You’re my kid.” A warm feeling of being loved filled you. You hadn’t felt that in a long time.

The secret door slid open to reveal Dick’s small office. The Nightwing suit was in the corner on display. You were shaken to your core at the sight of your Robin suit next to his. Running over, you reached out to touch the sleeve just to make sure it was okay.

“It has to stay here if you stay. You have to be retired with me,” Dick said, leaning against the door frame. You looked back at him in surprise.

“If?” You raised an eyebrow. Dick sighed, going over to his computer. He pulled up the plane ticket you purchased.

“I had a long talk with my friends and I realized you shouldn’t be forced to stay here if you’re not happy.” He turned to look at you.”I want you to be happy, (Y/N). It was always my priority, still is. If you stay, it has to be because you want to.” He closed the program and you got a glimpse at his desktop. It was a picture of you in front of the Eiffel tower, taken only about a year ago when you and your dad were on a mission in Paris. You had sent it to Alfred to let him know you were having fun. Alfred must have given it to Dick.

Your heart ached as you bit your lip to think. Ever since Dick had dragged you here, you wanted to leave and now he was letting you. Somehow, leaving didn’t feel as good anymore. You realized you didn’t want to be alone, even though something inside told you it was what you deserved.

Dick looked at you, waiting for your answer without judgement. You found yourself saying something you would have never thought you would say a hour before. “I want to stay. Please let me stay.” You ran into his arms. Dick hugged you tightly.

“Forever if you want,” Dick whispered in your ear. You could feel him smiling. “I love you so much, kiddo.”

“I love you too.” You tightened your arms around him as if he was your life line. The future no longer looked so bleak and alone.

#batfamily #batfamily imagine #nightwing #nightwing imagine #dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #batfamily reader insert #batman #batman imagine

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ivedonestranger · 5 years

Link

Chapters: 25/? Fandom: Teen Titans (Animated Series), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jinx/Raven (DCU) Characters: Raven (DCU), Cyborg (Character), Robin (DCU), Beast Boy, Batman, Green Lantern, Diana (Wonder Woman), Superman (DCU), Blue Beetle (DCU), Jinx (DCU), Koriand'r (DCU), Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), See-More, Dorcas "Godiva" Leigh (DCU), Jason Woodrue, Bulletman, Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Zatanna Zatara, Komand'r (DCU), Stephen Strange, Karen Beecher, Kyd Wykkyd, Gizmo (DCU) Additional Tags: Multiple Crossovers, World Domination, Epic, Dark, Canon Temporary Character Death, Minor Character Death Series: Part 1 of The Midnight Saga Summary:

Though there were some in the know when it came to multiple realities, very few understood how expansive it was. Not only were their realities that changed fundamental parts of the known quantities, but there were also realities out there that were entirely different. Worse, there was something between those realities, and it wanted to get in.

All it needed was someone to open the door. She was his way in.

---------------------

Robin threw himself to the right, and the powered armor portions of his suit catapulted him through a small sapling causing it to explode into tiny wooden shards. Where he was standing was a smoldering black spot from a Kaz'Kal beam weapon.

'Oh, this is getting exciting,' he thought to himself sarcastically. Since the arrival of the Midnight Empress' swarm, he and his team had been pushed back from the center, and all Dick could do was hope that the plan was still working. Right now, though, he was doing his best to keep alive and take down as many of the enemy as possible.

"I need some backup!" Gizmo's voice screeched through the tiny speaker in Robin's headpiece. The augmented reality system painted a diamond to his left about 500 meters in the fray. Robin charged through the brush dodging bolts of energy that came out of nowhere. Robin's heart beat hard at the jungle melee. It was almost impossible to make out the movement in the smoke and smoldering fires that were crisscrossed with energy bolts and gunfire. In a matter of seconds though, the boy wonder could make out the metal spider arms of Gizmo followed by the mini-rocket blasts incinerating nearby foliage.

Cyborg charged through at the same time as Kid Wykydd materialized.

"defense pattern Delta," Robin called over his speaker. Gizmo immediately lowered to their level, and they took up a circle facing outward. When Robin slipped into his spot, he activated the energy cannon built into the arm of his suit, and they began to fire.

It seemed like years as the wave upon wave of Kaz'Kal continued to charge them haphazardly. There was no way out of the fight, but so far, no one had fallen. Green fire reigned down as Starfire slammed into the ground sending a shockwave scattering the enemy. Eyes blazing with fierce power, she fired off multiple starbolts cutting through the cannon fodder of the Midnight Empress.

"What are we doing?" Kid Wykydd called from his position. "We can't stay here forever."

"We gotta fight until we can't anymore. Superman and Batman have their plan. We have to keep fighting until we're told to recall." Robin responded, trying to ignore the dropping energy meter of his weapon. How long could they hold out?

When her mind came back to her, she found herself crumpled on the floor of the Fortress' disused throne room. The dust had settled back down from their portal entry, and everything hurt. Raven pulled herself up and looked about trying to clear her vision of the pain that pulsed through her head.

She found him, Sovereign, laying on the floor trying to get up himself.

"What happened?" she barely croaked out.

"They….they hit me with something that stripped me of my power." Jason coughed his arms, shaking as he tried to push himself up. "I'm not invulnerable, Rachel, I knew there would come a time Iris would figure out something."

"What do we do? They'll storm the Fortress to get to you."

"Hold them off, Rachel," Jason said as he collapsed to the floor. "I'll regain my strength if I live long enough. Peace of this reality rests on you now."

Raven pulled herself up and felt a thrum through her chest. She looked at her hands and found they had a slight glow to them.

"I've transferred as much power I could to you, Rachel, but I don't know if it'll be enough."

The sorceress gritted her teeth and balled her fists in anger.

"It'll be enough."

"Robin, you still with us?" the voice of Green Arrow came across the speaker.

"Alive and kicking," Robin responded glad to hear a voice other than his team. It means others had survived Midnight's onslaught.

"Good. It looks like the bitches are pulling back and teleporting out. Can you regroup at the secondary location?"

"We're on our way."

Without having to say a word, The New Teen Titans destroyed the last of the cyber minions and Kaz'Kal before making their way through the forest to the staging area they had set up before the fight. When they broke through the woods and into the field, All Robin saw was destruction. Bodies were lying everywhere. Many of the enemies but there were some colorful suits and human bodies of their allies among the dead.

Triage tents had been set up, and the medics were hard at work. Robin looked at his own team. Starfire was bruised and skin bleeding in places from branches and the enemy. Cyborg's armor was stained, and he could make out the fact his systems were on back up power. Kid Wykydd did not look damaged, but Gizmos was a pile of black and blue bruises and had to use his spider arms to carry him forward.

They made their way towards the big tent when a familiar form came limping towards them from a nearby medical tent. Robin did not think it was possible, but he broke out into a grin.

"Garfield!"

"Robin!" Beast Boy said with a kid like grin. "I see you survived the bugs. Glad I never had any phobias over those. Anyone seriously hurt?"

"No," Robin said after looking at each of his team for a response. "Just scrapes and bruises."

"Well, can't help with that at the moment, we got some seriously injured people. You'll have to patch yourself up."

"Not a problem. How bad is it?"

Beast Boy's face fell, and he shook his head. "We lost a lot. Most among the non-metas but we did lose some metas to."

"Who?"

"I heard Doctor Strange talking. We lost Hawk girl and Black Lightning. Big Barda is critically wounded, and they don't think she'll make it through the night."

Robin gritted his teeth. So much death, heroes who had protected Earth for so long were gone.

"BB, Doctor Strange needs us to start prepping the wounded so we can move!" called a voice that rang familiar in Robin's ears. He saw the blond girl come out of the tent and freeze when she saw the Titans.

"Terra," Robin said with a frown.

"We needed all the help we could get," Beast Boy said. "She and I are working together in the Medical division, until I can heal enough to rejoin you in the field, Robin."

There was too much going on, and Richard knew he couldn't drum up old hatreds, especially when one of his own had betrayed them.

"I gotta go, Robin. I'll see ya." Beast Boy said patting the boy wonder on the shoulder.

Making is way through the rest of the shuffling soldiers and the tents, Robin finally met up with Green Arrow who looked more like a brown stain of mud and blood than his trademark green. He flashed a weary smile and motioned towards the main tent's entrance.

Robin strode in with his team camping outside, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman were among the few powerful heroes that were there along with Iron Man, Agent Coulson, Captain America, and his retinue.

"My drones confirm that Midnight has withdrawn back into its fortress," Batman was saying with a low pain laced growl. He looks like he had caught the worse end of a beating. "Coulson and I got a direct hit on Sovereign so we can confirm he is down. We need to move now against Midnight Empress and her Archon Knights before they can regroup."

"What are you suggesting?" Green Arrow asked pulling some more arrows from a case in the tent and re-filling his quiver.

"All out assault on the fortress," Superman said grimly. "We cannot allow Sovereign to regain his strength, or he will rip this reality apart."

"Were risking a high casualty rate," Captain America said gritting his teeth. "I know our wizard friends can open portals and get us closer, but we'll have to cut through a lot to get in."

"It's our only chance," Tony Stark said pointing at the holographic Fortress that hovered over the overturned bucket. "As soon as Sovereign is back on his feet, he's going to hit us with everything he's got. Midnight is on the pure defensive. They didn't expect us to strike such a blow."

"When do we move?" Diana asked, folding her arms acrossed her chest.

"As soon as we can."

Raven had lifted Jason off the ground and set him on the empty throne that had seen eons of time. He coughed and could barely keep himself upright. The Midnight Empress sensed them first, the descent of Jinx and Blackfire who alighted gently into the throne room.

"What is your bidding, Mistress?" Jinx asked, stepping forward, looking curiously at the weakened form.

"Mann the defenses and prepare for a counter-attack," Raven said quickly as she stepped away from Sovereign after making sure he was comfortable.

"They aren't going to try to strike us now, are they?" the pinkette asked surprised.

"Well, it seems her god is wounded," Blackfire spat. "We're all going to pay if they come after us."

Raven snarled and spun on the Tamaranian and reached out with her hand. Blackfire was knocked backward and suspended in the air gasping and clawing at her throat.

"I do NOT need insolence from you right now, woman," Raven snarled, a deep thrum in her voice. "You are vexing me more than you are worth."

"Mistress," Jinx said calmly approaching and placing a hand gently on Raven's forearm. "We don't have time to create new Archon Knights. Blackfire is mouthy, but she serves."

Raven contemplated the thought as Blackfire kicked and gasped for breath dangling from the invisible power the Midnight Empress had cast. There was something delicious about watching her squirm, to have her life hanging so near the balance. With a huff of disgust, Raven threw her aside sending her into one of the stone pillars. Blackfire coughed and gagged trying to pull herself up from the ground.

"They will portal into the outskirts and launch a siege," Raven said returning to Sovereign's side to stand by him. "They won't be able to pierce the fortress' defenses that way. Secure the walls and let them throw themselves at us. Once they tire out, we'll destroy whatever is left."

Jinx bowed low while Blackfire turned on her heel and soared back up through the cavernous window she had come through.

"Control," Jason gasped out and then coughed.

Raven came to his side and knelt down beside him. He ran his hand through her hair and smiled at her. "You must show restraint. The power coursing through you can easily consume you. It feels good to have others lives in your hands. Avoid indulging in those fantasies."

"I will try."

"It's a fine line, my love. I know."

My Love.He had called her his love. A smile broke across her face.

---------------

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078734/chapters/49278503

FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12993044/25/The-Corruption-of-Rachel-Roth

#teen titans #teen titans fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ivedonestranger fic #teen titans vs teen titans go #raven #robin

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bsmallvoice · 7 years

Text

Code Black

For Camsthisky’s #batfamcontentwar

Code Black

ff.net|AO3

Present Time

It was movie night, and, after completely their homework, all four boys were curled up in the armchairs with strawberry milkshakes, popcorn, and blankets. Damian had curled up on his side facing the movie screen with his head near Dick, who was occasionally petting the child's hair. Jason was to Dick's left and Tim slumped to Jason's left. After much arguing, they had finally agreed on a Pixar film with respect to the fact they had a six year old in the room who had forgotten most of the gore he'd seen as a kid and had never been out as Robin.

Naturally, putting on the Incredibles in a room full of heroes led to a lot of crap-shooting.

The boys commented on everything from fighting style to good points and "how the hell did he miss that? The guy was monologuing!" and "Well, at least she had her sh*t together. Seriously, the dude's surrounded by people with superpowers and there's no inhibitor collars, and he's giving up!? What an idiot!"

"Jason, stop cursing."

"Oh come. I heard worse than this when I was Dami's age."

"Still…"

It was about midway through the attack on the city before the Incredibles got there, when it happened. They couldn't make out what Alfred said, but they very clearly heard the four gun shots that rang out midway through his sentence. Dick and Jason froze, listening, while Damian and Tim jolted upright.

"What was that?" Tim asked quietly. Jason raised the remote to pause the movie, but Dick reached out and stopped him, shaking his head. The two eldest had a silent conversation in Batspeak, and then slowly shrunk down in their seats and down to the floor. Dick picked up Damian and Jason dragged Tim out of his seat. They kept low and crept to the door. Dick looked both ways and then ushered his brothers across the hall into the study quickly. They streaked across and took the lift down to the Batcave. He was about to follow with Damian when he saw a large shadow fall across the hallway, moving closer in his direction.

Dick quickly ducked back into the theatre, and ducked behind the seats. He was moving quickly and quietly in the direction of the other door when his senses went haywire. He hit the ground just before a spray of bullets ripped through the chairs where they had been sitting less than five minutes before. Damian's squeak was covered by the hailfire. Dick breathed deeply to stave off a panic attack and waited for the spray to stop. As he waited, he carefully untangled Damian. The kid looked terrified. Dick gave him a small kiss and, with a look that he hoped conveyed instructions to stay safe, slid the scared child beneath the ottoman.

The second he heard the gun click empty, Dick leapt up and jumped the chairs to attack their assailant.

Unfortunately, he forgot a few key facts. One, he had no clue who was attacking them. Two, he had no weapons. Three, he was in pajamas, and thus had no protection. He realized these key things when he found himself dangling by his wrist face to face with the man Batman had been actively hunting the past few weeks. Dick felt the blood leave his face. As the man grinned lecherously, he remembered that if they hadn't heard the gunshots he and his three brothers would be dead at the minute, and pulled his free arm back to punch the man in the face.

Two hours earlier

It was new moon, and the stars were difficult to see with the city's light pollution. On top of that, thick clouds were scattered across the sky. The air felt charged, full of static waiting to be brushed against, and the smell from the streets was unusually strong. There was an ominous feeling, as if the city's inhabitants were collectively holding their breath.

It was nights like these that made Batman on edge. He preferred to leave Robin at home on nights like these and with the rumors circulating the newest criminal, he felt extra thankful Alfred was around to protect them. Luckily, none of them had argued, all excited about the biweekly movie night Dick and Damian had established upon returning home. Bruce had left them in Dick and Damian's room finishing up their homework so they could start the movie soon. Damian, having already finished, was sitting on Dick's lap as the teen finished up an English essay. Jason was doing math on the other desk, while Tim read Sherlock, having also already finished his homework for the evening, and probably for the next week as well.

The newest criminal was a serial killer who had a thing against Batman, like so many did. He targeted single fathers with young children, and the media had dubbed him "Double Trip", because he often both shot his victims and slit their throats, occasionally using additional methods on the children. The man had, at several of the crime scenes, written messages for Batman in the blood of his victims. The latest one had disturbed Batman the most. "1, 2, 3, 4, how many more, Batman?' But there had only been three known attacks.

A tip had placed the criminal's base of operations at a classic abandoned warehouse near the docks. Batman landed softly on the roof of the building and retracted his grapple. There had been no patrol of guards or anything of the like. All signs indicated that the murderer was working alone, but there was no guarantee. Batman carefully removed a panel from the skylight on the roof and slipped onto a catwalk. He stalked through the shadows of the building searching. He found a computer with evidence of the previous murders, and a scrap book about the murders, and called in Commissioner Gordon.

Shortly after he finished the call, Batman heard a scuttle behind him and froze. He slowly turned around and found himself facing Double Trip's neck. Seven feet tall, the man was a goliath, thick muscles stretched taunt everywhere. He looked a bit like Bane when Bane was juiced up except with real muscles. He wore a dark shirt with a thick biker jacket, jeans, waterproof laced boots, sleek racing googles, and a gas mask.

That should have been his hint, but for some reason, probably the number of villains that wore gas masks who didn't have anything to do with gas, Batman did not pull out his gas mask and put it on. Double Trip was a tougher fighter than Batman had expected, and got a couple lucky gunshots in. The fight lasted five minutes before the gas really started to affect Batman. The first sign was a stumble, minor, but it led to Double Trip catching his cape. Batman quickly detached it. The dodges were getting closer and closer and then a knife dropped on Batman's head. Hard. And he sucked in a huge breath of some hallucinogen.

He couldn't see. Everything blurred into many different colors and, while he could feel the phantom limbs, his struggles were feeble. With his last presence of mind, he pressed the emergency signal on his belt. The whirl disappeared as the world darkened and faded.

30 minutes earlier, about ten minutes after Batman passed out.

GCPD stormed the abandoned warehouse where Double Trip was rumored to be located, followed closely by Batgirl who had arrived at the same time. When they entered, they found the demon holding a limp Batman up with one hand. The other hand was on the edge of Batman's cowl. Batman was bleeding from several bullet wounds and knife slashes, although luckily, his throat hadn't been slashed.

"FREEZE! Drop the Bat!" The serial killer turned to face them. A low chuckle filled the air.

Double Trip removed his free hand from Batman's cowl and opened it. A moment later smoke filled the air and a body, Batman, came flying at the coughing police officers.

When the smoke cleared, Double Trip was gone. Commissioner Gordon cursed, and contacted the outside forces. A response came. Double Trip had shot one of the other officers and stole their car. He was gone.

Gordon cursed again. Batgirl, meanwhile, was examining Batman.

"He's alive," she said. There were several sighs of relief. "I need to get him to medical attention though. Did anyone happen to see where the Batmobile was parked?"

There were several nos. "Can't you call it like Batman does?"

Batgirl shook her head. "That option was… temporarily… disabled." She chose her words carefully, inwardly cursing Robin's recent joyride that got the privilege taken away. "It's still available for the bikes, but the Batmobile would be easier." She shook her head again, and called the bike, getting up and supporting Batman. The commissioner got his more tech-smart officers started on trying to track the missing car.

"Robin." One of the officers realized. "Where's Robin? Double Trip goes after both parents and kids."

"He's not out tonight." The officers helped her secure Batman to the bike with enough room for her to squeeze in front and drive. As they were finishing up, Batman's cowl slipped. Not enough to show anything related to his true identity, thankfully, but it shouldn't have done that.

"It's loose." Batgirl muttered. "Why is it loose? It shouldn't be loose, unless…" Her eyes widened behind the mask. Her hand flew up to her ear. "Batgirl to Robin. Come in, Robin!"

"Got it." A police officer said. "He's making a beeline for the outskirts of Gotham." Batgirl glanced in the man's direction.

"Batgirl to A, come in A!"

"Yin, Bennett, go with Batgirl and get Batman to a nondescript hospital. Guard him and make sure they don't remove his mask. Patton, get Merkel to a hospital as well. Montoya, Bullock, Anderson, with me, we're following Double Trip. The rest of you, stay on alert. If word gets out Batman is in the hospital, the city will go to hell. Stop all the crimes you can."

Yin went over to Batgirl as Bennett ran to grab a car. The girl was still desperately trying to contact Robin or any other member of the Batfamily.

"We're giving you an escort to the hospital, to protect Batman from identity peeks. Do you have a safe doctor to go to."

Batgirl looked at them, hesitantly. "You'll keep it a secret."

"Of course. And Bennett will as well."

"Alright." She let her hand drop from her earpiece. "Let's go. The faster we get him to a doctor, the faster I can check on Robin." She slipped onto her bike, and took off, hearing the car start up and follow her.

"Where are they?" Tim asked, as Jason ran around grabbing weapons and medical supplies. The teen had already changed into his Robin outfit. Jason stopped and sighed.

"I don't know, but if they're not down here by now, they were probably spotted. Dick won't risk bringing the shooter down here. You know how he is." He put his mask on. "Pull up the house security footage. I need to see where they are and if the entrance is clear."

Tim nodded, and quickly pulled it up. Jason leaned over his shoulder, searching the screen as he shoved a communicator in his ear. He adjusted it to include the police frequency, and then scowled.

"The police know Double Trip is here. They're on their way. Should be here in ten."

Tim gasped as he spotted the screen Dick was in. "We don't have that much time. He's killing Dick!" Jason gripped Tim's shoulder. "The entrance is clear. I'm going up to help. Make it look like I came in another way. Try to contact Batman or Batgirl. Tell me if you see Damian, and, unless someone makes it down here, DON'T. LEAVE. THE. CAVE."

"Okay." Tim mumbled.

Jason gave his shoulder one last squeeze than took off up the stairs.

Dick pulled weakly at Double Trip's arm, trying to loosen the iron grip the monster had around his neck. It was tight, cutting into his air, but not fully, leaving him with the suffocating feeling without the ability to pass out. He had tried kicking the man, but his socked feet had no real effect on the goliath, even when Dick kicked him in the groin.

The living room was a disaster. After Dick had punched Logarithm in the face, he had broken free of the initial grip and proceeded to throw everything he could reach at the man. He'd been careful to draw the man away from the ottoman where he'd hidden Damian, as well as making sure none of the milkshakes landed in that area. Running low on things to throw, he had lashed out with a sweeping kick to knock Double Trip down. It had worked, and Double Trip had fallen onto the glass, but Dick had gain several cuts on his leg in the process. The monster stood up bleeding in several places, the smirk the man had earlier fading into a scowl. Dick stayed in a crouch, waiting for Double Trip to make the first move. The man had reached forward, and Dick had gone under and attempted to throw the man.

Double Trip grabbed the back of Dick's pajama shirt with his other hand and yanked to throw the kid off balance. Dick tried to slip out of it, but Double Trip grabbed Dick's arm and twisted it behind his back, halting the effort with the shirt halfway over Dick's head. Dick cried out, and then bit down on his cry and jerked his arm out of Double Trip's grip. He slipped the rest of the way out of his shirt, and turned to face his opponent.

Dick was confused to see an amused smile on the man as Double Trip threw the shirt away. Unnerved, he took a single step back, and yelped as his foot landed on the base of one of the milkshake glasses. The base rolled under his foot, throwing off his balance for a second before he managed to shift his foot directly onto the broken glass next to it. He went down hard onto more broken glass, barely managing to keep his head and neck upright, away from the ground. Double Trip moved quickly, scooping the boy up with his left arm around the boy's neck.

Which brought them to now, with Dick tugging furtively at Double Trip's arm, while the man reached his right arm back and pulled out a knife. The man didn't say a word, although the grin grew, as he swiped at Dick's arms with the knife. The deep cuts that appeared served as a warning, and Dick pulled them down. The arm around Dick's neck tightened slightly, and Dick jerked his arms upwards. Double Trip knocked them aside, and touched the tip of the knife to Dick's bare chest above his heart. Dick jerked again as the man pressed the knife down and dragged it about four inches down.

"HEY!" Dick felt his heart plummet to his feet as he heard Jason's shout. He tried his hardest to look to his right where it had come from, but the grip around his neck kept him from turning his head. A low, menacing chuckle filled the air. "Drop him." Robin demanded.

Rather than dropping Dick, Double Trip looked back at his captive, placed the knife near the top of the cut and started carving a semicircle. Dick gave a gurgled cry.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Double Trip took a quick step backwards and Dick felt a batarang pierce his right upper arm. He gave another gurgled cry, the closest thing to a scream he could get. The knife turned to draw a line at a 45 degree angle from where the semicircle intersected the original line. An 'R'? Double Trip was drawing an R? Why?

"Shit." Robin muttered. There were running footsteps, and Dick suddenly felt himself falling. He sucked in breath as he landed on the glass again. Trying desperately to get his breath, he glanced up at the fight above him. Robin flipped off of Double Trip to land next to his brother, leaving a beeping batbomb behind. He winced when the glass dug into his gloved hand, before he landed on his feet next to Dick.

"Who threw the milkshakes?" Dick flushed even as his breath evened out. Maybe that hadn't been the best idea… "Never mind." Robin hissed. "Where's Damian? I need you to go downstairs the first opening you get." Dick nodded. At that moment, the bomb exploded and Double Trip went down with the force of the explosion.

"He's under the ottoman." Dick whispered.

"Get him and go. I'll be right behind you." Robin pulled out some smoke bombs. Dick took that as he cue to go grab the youngest and leapt to the ottoman. He quickly pulled Damian out and started for the elevator. Double Trip was recovering when they neared him, but Robin struck the man in the head with a bo staff, and threw down a smoke bomb. Dick made it to the elevator and quickly entered the security codes to open the elevator. He looked back for Robin.

"Robin, hurry!" He called. Robin came sprinting out of the smoke cloud and slid into the elevator, narrowly dodging three bullets as he came. Dick pressed the button that closed the door while Damian hit the one that would bring them downstairs. The wall panel started to close, but not before four bullets impacted the back of the elevator. Dick cried out as one passed through his shoulder.

The door closed, and the elevator dropped. Above them, they heard the sound of sirens.

"GOTHAM PD! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

Tim watched the cameras with not a small bit of fear. Jason, Dick, and Damian were almost to the elevator, but the police had just arrived and there was a chance they would spot the elevator going down. Wayne Manor was compromised, especially with Alfred down, and the Batcave might be right behind it, if the way Double Trip was shooting at the elevator, and then the wood panel that hid the elevator shaft was any indication. As soon as Robin had gone up to help, Tim had set about downloading everything on the batcomputer onto multiple, color coded flash drives. Villain profiles on the blue one. Heroes on the black one. Case files on the yellow and green. Everything else on the red one. The download was about 50% complete, but would take at least another ten minutes.

He knew he should have focused on contacting Batgirl or Batman, but the police radio had mentioned Batman was down, and if the Commissioner was on the case and put two and two together about Batgirl… It would take her too long to get here anyways. The police had a huge head start on her.

"Batgirl to Batcave. Come in Batcave. Please work…" Hearing Barbara's voice from the consul, Tim practically leapt for the mic.

"Batgirl?" He asked.

"Robin! Is that you?"

"Umm. Well, this is Rob 3." Jason chose that moment to come out of the elevator supporting a limping older brother.

"Is that Batgirl?"

Tim nodded.

"Rob 3. I've been trying to contact you guys for the last half hour. Double Trip is on the way to your house, followed by the police."

Jason snorted. "Lock down the cave and then fill her in, Tim. We need to keep both Double Trip and the police out of here. Hopefully, they'll think it's a bunker, rather than the Batcave." Tim quickly typed in the lockdown codes, and listened as the Cave started to secure itself. Nobody would get in or out unless the proper codes were entered except through a small tunnel that only the birds, Batman, and Alfred knew about. It was too small for Batman and Alfred to fit through, and Jason would be pushing it. It was meant as an escape route and wound down the mountain for miles, with several hatches to out so they were unlikely to get caved in, all the way to the edge of the city nearest the Zeta Tubes. Even that was only an out. It couldn't be opened from the outside.

"We know about Double Trip, Batgirl." Tim said. "We've been a little busy."

"Busy? Are you all alright?"

"We are, but Alfred's not. He had four bullet wounds to the chest. I think he's… He hasn't moved, Babs, he hasn't moved."

"O-okay. I'm almost to the Manor. What do you want me to do?"

"Keep them away from the Cave. Jason's helping Dick now, and then, I don't know what we're doing."

"Is the cave locked down?" Jason called from the infirmary.

"Yeah!" Tim called back.

"Alright. I can do that. I'm pulling up now. Keep me posted." Batgirl said.

Tim glanced at the download. 75% complete. "Damian, I need you to stay here and watch the comms. You're Rob Four. If you need to respond to someone, press this button and say 'This is Rob Four.' Then repeat the person's name. Say go, and let go of the button so they can respond."

"I know how to use a comm unit." Damian scowled.

"I know. But it makes me feel better to be sure. I'm going to go check on Dick and Jason and then grab us both something to change into. Unless Jay needs help. If he does, I'll help and then grab us both something to change into."

"Okay."

"Shout if you need us."

Tim hurried to the medical section. Jason pulled a glass shard out of Dick's back just as Tim entered. Dick had a breathing mask on, oxygen steadily flowing. Several cuts on his chest were bleeding to blur the pattern there and there were bandages tied tightly around his forearms. There was a pad taped over the bullet wound on Dick's shoulder, but it wasn't under as much pressure as it should be due to all the glass shards. "How's it going?" Tim asked. Jason shook his head.

"He's lost too much blood. Having trouble staying up." Jason replied. "Get me some O negative from the blood bank."

"On it." Tim said. Tim yanked on a pair of gloves, and then ran and grabbed a bag of O negative and an IV stand with needle, dragging it over to his brother. "Here." He said.

"Sweet." Jason said. "Here." He handed the tools he'd been using to get the glass out and the tray he'd been putting the glass on to Tim. "Take these and keep working on getting the glass out while I set him up." Jason found a vein above the major cuts on Dick's arm, the one that hadn't been shot, and inserted the needle. He got the drip set up and activated it. He glanced up worriedly when Dick didn't even flinch, and saw that the teen's eyes were glazed over.

"Shit. He's gone into shock. We might need another bag if this one doesn't help."

"Do we have time for two bags?" Tim asked. "The police will try to break in here before long. Batgirl won't be able to hold them off long if they start to suspect they're looking for the Batcave."

"We'll be okay, Tim. The cave's defenses are built to withstand Superman and at least half the League at once while on lockdown. It might not be completely foolproof due to the unexplored tunnels, but it should keep the police out for a while." Jason grabbed another set of tools and started pulling glass out of Dick's leg. There wasn't much that had stuck in the cuts, so he figured he'd be able to clean and bandage it quickly and stop blood leakage from that part at least.

"If you say so." Tim said sullenly. They worked in silence for a couple minutes.

"TIM!" Damian called. Tim pulled out the shard he'd been working on, and glanced up as Jason.

"Go." Jason jerked his head towards Damian. Tim slipped the gloves off and hurried over to his little brother.

"What is it Damian?"

"Two things. One, your download is complete. Two, there's a helicopter above the house and the police are examining the elevator shaft. I think they're almost through the wood panel. Batgirl is arguing with them." He said.

"Shit." Tim muttered. He quickly checked that the flash drives were successfully encoded, setting the password to something long, complicated, and different for each drive. He disconnected the flash drives, and strung them all onto necklaces. "Here." He said, pulling the yellow and green ones over Damian's head. He pulled the other three over his head. "JASON!" He shouted.

"WHAT?" Jason shouted back. Tim ran over to poke his head into the medical center.

"I put everything from the computer onto drives. Should I delete everything on the main computer?"

"You're sure you got everything?"

"Pretty sure."

"Pretty sure?"

"Like 95%."

"Alright. Then do it. Anything you didn't get is probably better off destroyed than in the wrong hands."

"On it."

"What should I do?" Damian asked, gripping the two flash drives around his neck.

"Do you know where the Birdie Escape Tunnel is?"

"Yeah. Dick showed it to me."

"Go grab a utility belt from the gear area and as much money as you can. Pull out a flashlight. Then go to the tunnel, and get the door open. Go inside and start down the tunnel. We'll be right behind you."

Damian looked up at him hesitantly, searching his face. Apparently seeing something there that comforted him. The boy's expression turned to determined. He gave a brief nod and scurried off. Tim finished starting the deletion sequence. He also activated a sequence to destroy all classified information in the cave. Classified as in possibly able to give away the identity of other superheroes. Checking the timing and giving a nervous glance to the elevator, Tim rushed off to the weapons area where Damian was pulling on his boots. Tim knelt down beside the kid and quickly tied the laces. He quickly shoved his own boots on. Tim grabbed three grab bags, set up for an emergency like this, and shoved extra weapons and a bunch of cash into the bag. He slung one over his shoulders and held the other two in his hands. He gestured towards the tunnel, and started running towards it. Damian trotted after him, a kid-sized grab bag already slung over his shoulders along with a utility belt.

Jason met him by the tunnel, supporting a dizzy, but thankfully conscious Dick. They both had boots on. The barely teenager had already opened the door. He took two of the grab bags, giving one to Dick.

"Damian first. Then Tim. Then Dick. I'll take up the back." His brothers nodded, seeing no point in arguing. On a normal day, Dick might have, but he was in no condition to right now. Damian clicked on the flashlight, and crawled into the tunnel. Tim quickly followed. He heard Dick clumsily follow him in. The door clanged shut behind them, and he heard beeps as Jason set up an electronic lock. "Go." He hissed. The two younger boys nodded, and took off down the tunnel.

#batfamcontentwar #BatFam #batfamily #batman #robin #Red Robin #red hood #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #nightwing #batboys #batgirl #barbara gordon #trouble #fanfic #the medium between

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lusilly · 7 years

Text

streets of gotham: secret origins

finally a complete introductory fic for the Streets of Gotham 2 team: Colin Wilkes (Abuse), Ellen Nayar (Ember), Nell Little (Spoiler), Jordan Joyce (Jabberwock), and Niloufar Ghorbani (Seraph). (lucas comes later lmao)

Since Jordan’s got the most complicated backstory, xe has xyr own intro fic you can read here. The SoG2 team is featured heavily in Fiat iusticia and in Wheel in the Sky.

This fic was an exercise in Mark Waid’s advice on how plot is nothing more than setting upon which to hang emotion.........and that was Tough lmao. extremely unsatisfied with the ending. Relies heavily on story from Batman: The Black Mirror. Damian is about 16 here. My fav part of this is damian beating the shit out of a joker stan. Enjoy!

NAME: Damian Wayne ALIAS: Robin DATE OF BIRTH: 5 September 1996 (approximate) BLOOD TYPE: O- (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: BW, DG AFFILIATIONS: Teen Titans, Team Ember EVAL: [File Encrypted] NOTES: |Robin| Eval needs to be de-encrypted. Any information contained therein cannot possibly be worse than not knowing |Nightwing| Yeah thats kind of a dick move B. Lol |Batman| Notes are to be relevant to the file in question not a space for airing personal grievances |Red Hood| Im airing my personal grievances here just to spite you. You suck |Batman| If this continues I will remove editing privileges for all of you |Red Hood| You still suck Editing on NOTES is locked

----

Damian got up early; patrol had ended before two AM last night, the city quiet and still in the early winter lull. A cold snap had settled across Gotham this past week, creeping in from the bay. Though it did not snow, the clear skies brought the temperature to well below freezing, which led to slow nights on patrol. The heat of summer pushed people outside relentlessly. The cold, on the other hand, made criminals lethargic and cautious, preferring to stay inside with their families.

So Damian rolled out of bed around nine in the morning, the sunlight shining into his window through blinds he had forgotten to draw last night. The first thing he did was take his phone from its perch on his bedside table and scroll through any new notifications. Both Iris and Lian had texted him. He responded to Iris’s but not Lian’s, then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Not ten minutes later he was in the drawing room downstairs, where Titus slept before the great brick fireplace, which was empty.

Damian patted his dog on the stomach, whistling through his teeth. “Come on,” he said, getting down on his knees and drumming his hands on Titus’s sturdy body. The dog lit up with energy, reaching up to lick Damian’s face, tail wagging furiously as he got to his feet. Damian scratched him behind his ears. “You ready for a run, boy? Come on, let’s get some exercise.”

Alfred appeared, hot coffee in hand. “Good morning, Damian,” he said. “Taking the dog for a walk?”

“Yes,” answered Damian, glancing around. “He’s been indoors too much lately because of the cold, he needs to stretch his legs.”

“You too?”

Damian offered Alfred a little grin. “Me too,” he agreed. “It’s slow out there.”

“And here I thought that was a good thing.”

“It is.” Titus bounded across the room excitedly, chasing his tail, ready for a walk. He started to paw at Damian’s leg, and Damian only held up one hand to indicate Stop. “Down. One moment, alright?” To Alfred, he asked, “Do you know what time my father got home last night?”

Alfred gave sort of a shrug. “Not long after you.”

“Oh,” said Damian. “When he wakes up will you tell him I’m heading to school later today? I’ve got an exam at three.”

Alfred made a face of enthusiastic pride. “Your first university exam,” he said, sounding impressed. “In which subject, may I ask?”

“Multivariable calculus,” Damian answered, kneeling down to rub Titus’s big head. “It’s simple stuff. A pre-req for applied math.”

“Not finance?”

Damian flashed that grin at Alfred once more. “I’m just testing out my options,” he said. “I have time.”

“Indeed you do,” agreed Alfred, with an approving nod. “In any case, good luck and I shall inform your father as soon as he wakes. Which,” he glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway, and took a disapproving sip of coffee, “should be quite soon. He’s quite worse than you, isn’t he?”u

Damian opened the French doors to the back garden. With a wave to Alfred, he said, “We’ll be back,” and he whistled for Titus to follow him, then took off jogging past the flowerbeds. Coffee in hand, Alfred watched him go.

The morning was brisk, but Damian felt warm and alive underneath the early wintertime sun. Taking it slow, he scrolled through his phone, searching for an appropriate playlist, then tucked earbuds into his ears and his the phone itself into a holder at his bicep. Whistling once more at Titus, he took a wide berth around his vegetable garden, knowing that Titus was prone to digging around in it sometimes, upsetting his crops. From there he stayed close to the tree line, heading out across the Manor grounds. The route he liked to take eventually led to a field and a set of rolling hills littered with public paths; he preferred, however, to take a less intuitive path, slightly different every time and designed to get the most out of the slope of the hills.

Damian took great joy in his morning runs with Titus: it was productive and refreshing and outside, instead of careful training in the facilities under the Manor, which, though state-of-the-art, could feel a little claustrophobic. It was good, he thought, to get out of the house for a little while, out from under his father’s watchful eye. This was the same reason why he’d been spending so much time with the Titans lately.

Cutting through the edge of the woods, where the trees were sparse, Damian suddenly realized that Titus wasn’t following him anymore. When he glanced around, Titus was nowhere to be seen. He came to a stop and turned around, tugging his earbuds out.

It was mostly quiet, except for the wind shuddering the tree branches. Damian whistled. “Titus!” There was no response. Muttering an oath under his breath, Damian jogged back down the path he’d just cut. “Titus!” he called again, searching between the trees on either side of him. “Titus, come!”

His heart jumped as he heard suddenly a piteous whining, as if Titus were afraid of something, cowering in fear; with a little more urgency he headed into the woods, following the source of the sound. “Titus!”

Off the beaten path, obscured by some low underbrush, the scene Damian found jolted his stomach, making him feel immediately sick before his well-practiced professional instinct took over. “Titus,” he hissed, approaching the dog, who laid whining beside the ugly sight. Grabbing Titus’s collar, he tugged the dog away, retreating to a nearby tree. Titus whined as Damian took out his phone, but Damian just said, “Sit. Titus, sit,” and the dog did so, albeit reluctantly.

In Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne’s personal cell phone, which sat neatly in a charging device by his bed, started to ring.

Bruce, raised his head groggily from the mess of sheets and limbs in which he typically slept. Narrowing his eyes at the screen of the phone, which displayed an close-up selfie of Damian’s annoyed face that Dick had assigned to his civilian contact, Bruce started at it for a moment before reaching out and plucking it off the charger.

“Damian?” he said, masterfully masking his confusion.

“Father,” replied Damian shortly, heading back to the path by the edge of the woods. “Did I wake you?”

“I – where are you?”

“A few miles away from home, almost at Brentwood. I took Titus for a run.” This was not unusual, but it was unusual for Damian to call home halfway through. Unsure what was happening, Bruce began, “Is…everything all right?”

“I found a body,” he said bluntly.

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”

“Well, Titus found it, really. It was sort of tucked off the main path, we never would’ve seen it had I not decided to loop around past the Kai estate. A boy,” Damian informed his father automatically, pausing to bark, “Titus, come,” before continuing, “maybe my age or slightly older. Wearing a Brentwood uniform.”

“Signs of assault?”

“No,” answered Damian. “Dead for a few hours now at the very least, but I can’t determine COD. Suppose we’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report.”

Sitting up in bed, calm and alert, Bruce began, “All right. Bring anything you’ve gathered back here and we can look into it tonight. Good work so far but for now the best thing to do would be to call the police-”

Damian interrupted him. “I already did,” he said. “Father, I’m sorry, I think you may be misunderstanding me? I wasn’t actually calling about the body, I’m calling to ask if you can come pick me up.”

Bruce blinked in surprise. “What?” he asked. “Why?”

“Because I already called the police and they’ll be here any minute, and I’ll have to act all traumatized because of the dead body, and anyway you know I don’t like civilian encounters with police without you.”

This more or less made sense, but it wasn’t what Bruce had meant. “What do you mean you aren’t calling about the body?”

“Oh,” said Damian, as if he hadn’t even thought of this. “Well. It’s by Brentwood.”

Again, Bruce did not immediately understand. “So?”

Almost apologetically, Damian said, “A five mile radius beyond campus limits…isn’t your jurisdiction, Father.”

It hit Bruce then with the force of a freight train: he, like a goddamn amateur idiot, had ceded actual turf to Damian’s pet side team made up of Gotham natives and sometimes headed by Damian’s closest friend in the city, Colin Wilkes, who boarded at Brentwood Academy on a Wayne Enterprises scholarship. The agreement itself had been a bit of a farce meant to keep the team out of trouble, given the specific area the Batman had permitted the team as their responsibility was located in the richest neighborhood in Bristol County, slightly outside Gotham city limits. He had not imagined that any terrible crime might go down five miles away from a wealthy private school, but in retrospect, of course it would.

“Damian,” said Bruce matter-of-factly. “I appreciate your loyalty to your friends,” he didn’t want to legitimize it by saying your team, and besides the Titans were more Damian’s team in any case, “but even you need to admit, this is out of their league.”

“This is one dead body,” answered Damian skeptically. “If that’s out of their league, they shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

“Well, perhaps that’s a fair point-”

“No,” said Damian shortly. “It’s not. You wouldn’t have given Ember her uniform if you really believed that.”

This was true enough, but frankly Bruce thought Ember was the only member of that team capable of joining the fight, and ideally he’d absorb her into the Batfamily at large before she got too committed to her own team. But this was not a conversation he wanted to have over the phone, so he shoved the sheets off the bed and said, “Don’t move for now, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Will you hurry, please?” Damian asked, sounding bored and slightly annoyed. “I hate calling the cops.”

Getting out of bed, Bruce reminded him, “You should be used to it, it’s half of what we do on patrol.”

“Yes,” muttered Damian, hearing the distant wail of sirens. “But I’m not exactly in uniform at the moment, am I?”

Feeling a little awkward at the reminder of the constant presence of race in Damian’s life which Bruce could never really fully grasp, Bruce assured his son that he would be there very soon. As soon as he hung up Damian sent him a pin dropped into a map at his location.

Bruce arrived not long after the police; a detective was talking to Damian, taking down notes. Titus got anxious around people he didn’t know, so Damian had his fingers hooked around his collar, keeping him close. The detective – a rookie who Bruce didn’t recognize on sight – had a few questions for Bruce, then patted Damian’s shoulder reassuringly. Taking Bruce aside, he recommended considering having Damian speak to a professional about the trauma of the sight he’d just witnessed, and Bruce nodded in what he hoped looked like naïve paternal concern.

Damian coaxed Titus in the backseat of the car, then got in himself. Titus hung his big head in between the two front seats, panting from exertion and excitement.

On the ride back to the Manor, Damian mercilessly mocked the police. “Now, this is so traumatizing, but you’ve been awfully brave – for Christ’s sake, it’s like none of them have ever seen a dead body before.”

“Well,” said Bruce fairly, “most sixteen-year-olds haven’t, Damian.”

“It’s not as if it was violent,” Damian pointed out. “There wasn’t even any blood or anything.”

“Which is…curious,” said Bruce thoughtfully. “No external evidence of foul play. Suicide?” Phone in hand, Damian replied, “I already sent photos to Colin, he should be able to identify him and pull his school records. We’ll check for a history of depression or mental illness, but my gut tells me a Brentwood student wouldn’t stagger into the woods to kill himself unless it was going to be uglier than that.”

Bruce nodded; this made sense. “Could’ve been an accident. Alcohol poisoning, or an overdose.”

“I’m leaning towards overdose personally,” answered Damian, texting something on his phone. “Colin’s files should have any record of drug activity at the school. I’ll meet up with him and the others tonight and we’ll get started.”

There was an awkward sort of pause. Bruce began, “You know, if you or the rest of the team ever require any help-”

As the car came to a stop in the Wayne Manor garage, Damian shook his head, interrupting his father. “You’re micromanaging,” he pointed out. “I told you, they’re never going to get better if you keep stepping in and taking over their investigations.”

“I understand that,” replied Bruce, turning the car off. “I’m merely remarking upon the fact that they lack experience, and therefore could benefit from guidance.”

“Namely, me,” said Damian, watching his father. “I’m their guidance.” He waited for a moment, eyes on Bruce, as if expecting confirmation. Little tink-tink-tink sounds came from the car’s engine as it cooled. “Right?”

Bruce began, “You already have a team-”

“You have, like, four teams,” Damian countered. “Not to mention whatever secret society you’re funding this week.”

“A murder is serious business.”

“You don’t even know if it’s murder yet.”

“If it were-”

“-then you still wouldn’t be in any position to take this from them. Just,” Titus stuck his head forward again, whining, and Damian reached out to scratch his face. “Unclench, alright?” Damian asked his father. “I can handle this.” Bruce didn’t reply to this, so Damian got out of the car and opened the door for Titus, who happily jumped out and followed him back into the house.

Later that day, Damian drove to Princeton for his first college exam. He finished early, and called Colin on the drive home.

---

NAME: Colin Wilkes ALIAS: “Abuse” DATE OF BIRTH: 9 December 1996 BLOOD TYPE: AB+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Jane Brown LSW, Caseworker AFFILIATIONS: Team Ember EVAL: Behavioral history of paranoia and violence in multiple foster homes, though likely a result of instability in childhood rather than pathological root. Experimentation by SCARECROW led to increased physical abilities through transformation which includes augmented strength (no evidence senses are affected) as well as moderate invulnerability. Venom appears to have had long-lasting effects on body chemistry despite its degradation.

Decent field skills complemented by extreme strength. Only cleared for patrol if transformed. hand-to-hand and weapons training negligible. Defense training and development of damage-resistant uniform necessary to compensate for tendency to take fire. Precision training vital for development of fine offensive skills.

NOTES: |Robin| Consistent attitude improvements since enrollment at Brentwood. Some instability with transformations likely due to a mental block, have seen improvement past 2-3 months

---

“You’ve got to get a permanent HQ,” said Damian, in full Robin uniform, standing before a laptop computer in an empty Brentwood Academy classroom.

“This is good though,” Colin insisted. “This way we’re close to the action, right?”

“Well,” Damian replied, trying not to hurt Colin’s feelings. “Yes, though it really isn’t worth the lack of security or tech resources. Batman operates almost solely out of the Cave, and you know that’s a bit removed from the city.”

Colin said, “I don’t have a house to stick a secret lair underneath, though.”

“I mean, yes,” Damian admitted, nodding. “But the point stands. Besides, most of your team has trouble getting all the way out here. Spoiler’s bike can only hold two people.”

“That works fine anyway, Jordan doesn’t need a ride.”

With a long-suffering inhalation, Damian gently corrected, “Jabberwock, Abuse. Jabberwock. We use codenames in the field.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Colin, clicking through some files on the computer. “My bad. Anyway.” He gestured towards the screen. “This is what I got so far.”

“Aren’t we going to wait for the others?”

“Oh, should we?”

“Ideally, yes, we should. But if you’ve any sensitive information to share with me first,” he gestured at the screen, “by all means.”

Colin hesitated for a moment, watching Damian. Then he began, “Well, you know how I was kind of sort of maybe dating Ethan a while ago? So it turns out-”

“Abuse,” interrupted Damian loudly, holding up a hand. “I don’t mean – I meant sensitive information related to the case. You can call me and update me on your social life any time, so let’s try to avoid it while in uniform, yes?”

A little hurt, Colin replied, “This is related to the case. The dead kid is Joey Fremont, OK, and his roommate is on the wrestling team with Ethan, and so a while ago Ethan asked me to go to one of the wrestling team parties after the meet, and I didn’t go ‘cause he was being weird cagey about us and I could tell he wanted to go as ‘friends’ and it was annoying because like I asked him out and everything so it’s not like he didn’t actually have like feelings-”

Softly, Damian reminded him, “The point, please.”

“OK, OK, so – Ethan heard from Joey’s roommate that he was dealing in some shady shit.”

A frown creased Damian’s brow. “Define ‘shady shit.’”

“Dealing,” Colin emphasized, as if that had made it obvious. “Like, drugs.” This seemed a little far-fetched. “Joseph Fremont, seventeen-year-old trust fund baby, was a drug-dealer?”

“Yeah. Some shady stuff.”

There it was again, shady, Colin’s favorite ambiguous descriptor. Damian felt a migraine coming on. “We’re still waiting on the tox report,” Damian told him. “But it’ll be easier if we know what to look for. Do you know what he was dealing?”

“Drugs,” said Colin.

“What kind of drugs? Cocaine? Heroin?”

“What the fuck, you think I know? I didn’t buy any shit from him.”

This was going to be harder than Damian thought. “Do you know anyone who did buy it?” he asked. “Maybe Ethan, or someone else on the wrestling team?” Offended, Colin told him, “Bitch, Ethan isn’t a fucking junkie.”

“Right, since you have impeccable taste in guys.”

“Wow,” said Colin, even more insulted. “That’s fucking rude.”

Damian was saved from trying to apologize for his completely correct and true reading of Colin’s limited dating history by a knock on the window. “Cavalry’s here,” he said, heading to open the window.

Ember and Spoiler slipped into the room. “We weren’t sure if we were supposed to use the door,” Spoiler explained. “We thought there might be cameras and stuff.”

“Abuse disabled them,” Damian said. “And we’re far enough from the center of campus that security doesn’t patrol here.”

“Oh, cool,” said Nell. She waved behind Damian. “Hey Colin.”

Before Damian could correct her, Colin impressed him by chiming in. “Abuse,” he said, grinning at her. “Only codenames.”

“Oh, shit, sorry!”

“It’s OK,” murmured Damian, going back to the laptop. “Is Jabberwock coming?”

“I haven’t heard from her,” answered Ellen, shrugging. “But I imagine if she was, she’d be picking up, um,” she gave a pointed pause, “you-know-who on her way over.”

“Who?” asked Damian.

“Voldemort,” said Nell, giggling.

He looked around at Colin, expecting an answer. Colin made a beckoning gesture with one finger, and Damian went over to him and leaned in. “Niloufar,” he whispered.

Damian pulled away, frowning. “Niloufar?” he echoed.

Colin took great pleasure in going, “Shh! Codenames only!”

“I don’t know who that is,” said Damian honestly. “Do they have a codename?”

“Not yet,” answered Nell, taking a seat on one of the desks. “She said she liked Angel or something, I think.”

“No, it wasn’t Angel,” Ellen said thoughtfully. “It was something Muslim I think. I can’t remember right now.”

Damian hesitated for a moment, then said to Ellen, “Whether or not Jabberwock brings her, can you send me her information later? We’ll do a background check.”

Ellen watched him for a moment, but beneath the scarlet mask her expression was indecipherable. “I can relay it to Oracle, if that’s what you mean.”

It wasn’t exactly, but it would do. He nodded. “Now. Let’s get to business. Abuse, would you brief your teammates on the case?”

Quickly, Colin got back to business. He did a decent job, though Damian interjected a few times with details that seem to have slipped Colin’s mind. Nell, in her caped eggplant-colored Spoiler costume, sat on one of the desks, whereas Ellen, her crimson-and-black uniform, took a seat, leaning forward over the desk thoughtfully. Her body language was tight and measured, inscrutable. When his mind wandered Damian found his gaze occasionally drawn to her, though it wasn’t really in attraction so much as curiosity. He still wondered exactly what she had done to prove herself to his father, who trusted her far beyond any other member of this burgeoning team.

The specifics of the case were this: Joseph Fremont, seventeen years old, white male, five-foot-eight inches, approximately a hundred and ninety pounds, had according to his roommate never made it back to his bedroom on the night of November the thirtieth, and had the following morning been discovered dead one-point-eight miles away from campus. They were still waiting on the physical evidence, but Robin had called them all together tonight so they could hit the ground running. Colin’s revelation that Joseph Fremont might have been dealing was kind of disappointing to Damian, as it suggested that the kid might’ve just been sampling the product and accidentally overdosed. Not that he wished a murder had occurred or anything, but a good old-fashioned mystery would’ve been perfect training for the young team.

When Colin told Ellen and Nell about the drugs, sparing them the details about how he knew, Ellen spoke up. “If he was dealing and there were no external signs of a struggle, don’t you think he probably just OD’d?” “Perhaps,” said Damian, chiming in from his spot in the shadows behind Colin. “But we have to consider all the possibilities.”

“What if his tox results come back positive for a shitload of heroin?” asked Nell.

“Then we’ll rule it an overdose,” Damian told her, feeling like he was talking to a bunch of infants, “unless we find evidence that suggests otherwise.”

“But what if it’s an actual murder but someone just like coerced him into taking a shitload of heroin so he died?”

“That’s why we look into anyone who might have motive,” said Damian. “Even if this looks cut-and-dried on the surface, if there’s someone who would benefit from Joseph Fremont’s death, then we tug on that string. Tug hard enough, and something always unravels.”

“The Fremonts are Wall Street money,” Ellen commented offhandedly. “I’m sure a lot of people would have motivation to target their family.”

“Right,” said Damian. “Ember, you look into potential suspects. Colin, dig into the drug connection. Maybe something went awry with his supplier.”

Nell asked, “What can I do?”

“Stay plugged in to our contact in the coroner’s office,” Damian told her. “We need to know what killed Joseph Fremont. Until we have that, there’s only so much we can do.”

“So you’re saying all we can do now is wait.”

“No,” said Damian coolly, turning to Ellen. That blank red mask was starting to bother him, making it impossible to read her. “I’m saying you can look into potential suspects so we can get ahead of the game.”

She watched him for a moment. “So you do think it’s a murder, though?”

“I think it’s suspicious that our victim wound up two miles away from campus, in the middle of the woods,” Damian told her. “And I find it unlikely that no one knows any specifics about what occurred. Our job is to apply pressure until the cracks become evident, and then plug the leaks when we find them.”

Ellen ran her hands down her long braid. “I think that’s a mixed metaphor,” she said.

It wasn’t, though it admittedly was kind of clumsy. He ignored this comment, turning instead to Abuse. “I’ll find somewhere more secure to use as headquarters. In the meantime, collect your research. Remember to keep it all under secure encryption using the tech I gave you.”

Nell raised her hand. Damian looked at her, then did a double take, then Ellen reached out and pulled her wrist downwards. “You don’t have to raise your hand,” Ellen told her.

“Oh,” said Nell. “OK, sorry, but sidenote, are we allowed to use the computers you gave us for like, other things?”

“They’re yours,” said Damian. “Use them for whatever you need. All of your encrypted files go to a drive that Batman and I can access, but other than that you can do what you want with it.” “OK, cool,” said Nell. “I was just asking because I use it for homework.”

Colin threw his arm around Damian’s shoulders, hanging onto his neck. Poking him in the ribs, he told Nell, “Just ask Robin for another separate homework computer, that’s what I did.”

Though Nell’s eyes lit up, Ellen spoke before she could. Leaning back in her seat, she said smoothly, “I’m sure Robin doesn’t have the time to play sugar daddy to all of us, Abuse.”

“No,” agreed Damian. “Fortunately Batman plays the part very well for you, doesn’t he, Ember?” There was a silence so deep they could hear a pin drop. Damian felt belligerent and annoyed, and didn’t immediately regret the comment. He knew the grants and the scholarships and the job offers that had been extended to Ellen Nayar, and he didn’t think she had any right to sound so dismissive of his family’s generosity.

Though Damian could not Ellen’s gaze behind her mask, she turned her head away from him first, indicative of breaking first.

When she and Nell left, Ellen did not say a farewell to Robin.

---

NAME: Danielle Little ALIAS: Spoiler DATE OF BIRTH: 29 June 1997 BLOOD TYPE: O+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Rhonda Holmes Little, Mother (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Batgirl (Formerly), Team Ember EVAL: Promising but untrained. Investigative instincts are excellent, but more practice is necessary. Very young and inexperienced, though a strong devotion to local community and neighborhoods is a good foundation for future efforts. Potentially a place for her in the Batman Inc. hierarchy whether as an official agent or otherwise.

---

As dusk arrived the next night, Bruce sat in front of the computer in the Cave as Damian worked on some complex tech designs at the workstation below the computer hub. There was a comfortable quiet apart from the usual whir of machinery and fluttering wings of the bats in the eaves. All at once, the silence was broken by a gentle beeping notification coming from both the computer and Damian’s phone.

Not a moment later, Damian was skipping the stairs two at a time, practically sprinting to the locker room area where his uniform was kept. “Oracle,” said Bruce, hitting a button on the panel before him, “get Jim on the line.” Damian emerged, in full uniform except for his mask though his cap was only half fastened and his boots weren’t laced yet, while Bruce was still on the line with Commissioner Gordon. “I’ll look into it personally,” he was saying. “I’ll be in touch.”

Bruce closed the line and turned around in his seat to look at Damian, who stood there defiantly. He pointed at Bruce with one accusatory finger, then began, “You promised-”

Stoically, Bruce replied, “This could be very dangerous, Damian, and it would be irresponsible to let a bunch of inexperienced teenagers deal with something of this magnitude.”

“You promised,” repeated Damian stubbornly. “You told me this would be our jurisdiction, and that you would allow us freedom to pursue this mission on our own time.”

“Us?” echoed Bruce mildly. “So as soon as the mission interests you, it becomes us rather than them?”

Rolling his eyes, Damian headed down to the garage below, where his motorcycle was kept. Raising his voice to be heard, he called, “I’m their leader, so-”

“Ember’s their leader.”

Damian stopped on the staircase, then went back up so he could look at his father. “I’m their leader,” he said again, offended.

Bruce shook his head. “This team is designed to be closer to the ground than we are. You don’t have their experience when it comes to the city itself.”

“I patrol the city every single night,” Damian protested. “I know it just fine.”

“That may very well be true, but you still don’t have their urban expertise.”

“Urb-?” Damian broke off suspiciously, watching his father. Then he leaned against the rail of the stairs slightly and asked, “Is this a race thing?”

Bruce glanced around at him, an eyebrow raised. “A what thing?”

“Are you being,” he paused, didn’t know what else to call it, so went with, “…racist?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Urban is just one of those dog whistle words that means people of color,” explained Damian; he was taking a sociology class at Princeton, and he’d just read a chapter of a book about this. “And since this team is mostly that, you emphasizing that their street smarts and inner city experience feels almost as if…” he trailed off, feeling suddenly uncertain under his father’s gaze. “I’m just saying,” he said, unwilling to admit his doubt. “You may want to…think about the way you talk about them, is all.”

Bruce watched his son, surprised. Despite the fact that Damian’s words weren’t exactly flattering, he felt an odd stirring of pride. He nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I will.”

There was an awkward sort of pause, and then Damian headed once more down the stairs. Though it was just barely dark outside, he took his motorcycle to the hidden entrance to the Bunker, where he did some minor rearrangements and set up what basically amounted to parental controls on the computers. Satisfied, he alerted the entire team that they would be meeting beneath Wayne Tower tonight.

This time, Jordan and Niloufar were there first. “Ms. Ghorbani,” he said, holding out his hand to the girl in the headscarf, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Niloufar shook his hand warily. “We’ve met before,” she told him shortly. “One time you and Batman saved a school bus I was in from tipping off a bridge.”

When in uniform, Damian got comments like that all the time. Though a school bus falling off a bridge was far more memorable than most of the everyday encounters he had with citizens of Gotham, it still didn’t ring a bell. “That sounds like us,” he told her, with a killer smile. She just watched him suspiciously.

Jordan, who had been using her powers of flight constantly since they manifested, floated near the low ceiling of the Bunker. “I don’t like it in here,” she said. “Feels cramped.”

“It’s merely temporary, Jabberwock,” Damian informed her, heading to the computer. “It’s not an ideal location for your team, but I needed some place with the technical capabilities to fill you in completely on the status of your mission.”

“Our mission?” Jordan echoed. “You mean the dead kid from Brentwood?”

Damian nodded, typing something into the computer. “Joseph Fremont.”

Niloufar asked, “Is this about the results from the tox report?”

The file on the computer unopened, Damian stopped and turned around to face her. “What do you know about the tox report?” he asked her.

“I’ve heard things,” she said shortly.

He eyed her, then began, “How do you-?” but before he could finish, the doors to the garage opened and Ellen arrived with Nell and Colin.

“Hey,” said Nell breathlessly, her laptop underneath her arm. “I might have to leave early, I have a lot of homework to do.”

“That’s fine,” Damian said, looking past Niloufar and Jordan at her. “There’ve been some new developments in the case and I just need to make sure we’re all on the same page about it.”

“Hey,” said Jordan, floating upside-down, her ponytail hanging down from the back of her head, “I have a question.”

Suppressing a roll of his eyes, Damian looked at her. “Yes?”

“This kid OD’d, right?”

“Yes,” repeated Damian, “and I’m about to get into the specifics of what exactly he-”

“But like. Why should we care about him?”

The silence that followed this comment deepened considerably, broken only by the hum and whir of the high tech machinery surrounding them. “Jabberwock,” he said, “if you have to ask that question, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Before Damian had even finished this sentence, Jordan was shaking her head. “No,” she said. “I mean like, specifically him. There’s a dozen cases of this same thing every day on my block, and no one’s investigating that shit.”

Damian explained, “This death occurred in your team’s jurisdiction-” but Ellen interrupted him.

“She has a point,” she said, glancing at Damian. “It does seem a little biased that we suddenly care about an overdose as soon as it happens to a rich white kid. And I have wondered before why Batman decided we don’t get jurisdiction,” she framed it in air quotes, “over our own neighborhoods, especially because Jordan’s right, this kind of thing happens all the time in the city.”

“OK,” said Damian, trying very hard to exercise patience, “well. When one of your neighbors overdoses on recreationally-developed Joker Venom, then perhaps we can look into that.”

A frisson of excitement went through the Bunker, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Joker Venom?” echoed Colin, sounding almost delighted. “Joey got offed by the Joker?”

“No,” said Ellen, a slight frown on her face. When she watched Damian as intently as she was doing now, he could almost tune out the scar, imagine exactly what she might look like without it. “Robin said – recreationally-developed? You think this kid was using Joker Venom to get high?”

Damian nodded. “It gets worse.”

Seated at one of the specimen analysis desks, her laptop computer already open, Nell asked, “How could it get worse than the Joker?”

Damian pulled something up on the computer screen. “A few years ago – back with the previous Batman – there was a case that involved a drug called diaxamene which was reverse-engineered to attack the part of the brain which controls emotion, blunting the ability to feel empathy.”

“Turn them into sociopaths,” Jordan said, sounding almost impressed.

“Psychopaths,” Damian corrected. “But, yes. Essentially.”

“Diaxamene,” echoed Niloufar, her gaze far away behind her thick glasses. “That sounds familiar. Didn’t it have something to do with a baby formula recall?”

Clearly surprised that Niloufar knew this, Damian stopped short and looked around at her. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “The perp claimed to have dosed baby formula, though no evidence could confirm this. There was a recall just in case, though, which led to a shortage.”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Niloufar, nodding. At Damian’s curious look, she finally added, “My younger brother was a baby at the time. I remember formula got really expensive.”

Without replying to this, Damian nodded, then looked at her for a moment longer.

Then he returned to the computer screen. “It looks like small amounts of Joker Venom were added to the reverse-engineered diaxamene. Because Joker Venom produces effects similar to psychopathy before resulting in death, diluting it with the diaxamene can reproduce the same feeling while decreasing its lethality.”

“He still died, though,” Nell pointed out.

Damian nodded. “It’s called an overdose for a reason, Spoiler.”

“Oh,” she said. “Right.”

“The modified diaxamene is a pharmaceutical, though,” said Niloufar, considering this. “It’s supposed to function long-term, not for a temporary high.”

“Exactly,” said Damian. “For a young person like Joseph Fremont, the mild Joker Venom would have a slight narcotic effect while the diaxamene, if he even knew it was part of the drug, would be – nothing more than a placebo. At first.”

Ellen nodded. “So what his death tells us,” she began, “is that this drug is on the market. That people are using it, and the more they use it, the more psychopathic they become.”

“Yes,” said Damian, feeling an odd rush of pride at how quickly the team put this together. “That’s the real problem here. Someone’s pulling the same stunt as the baby formula plan, but aging up their demographic.”

“Why not cut it with coke?” asked Jordan, seriously. “Or dope or something?”

“’Cause it’s Joker Venom,” Ellen said, looking over at her as if this were obvious. “It has sex appeal.”

Nell giggled, and Colin asked, “What about the Joker says sex appeal to you?”

“Ember’s right,” said Damian, shutting the others up. “How many of you have seen firsthand some result of the Joker’s crimes?”

Everyone except for Niloufar raised their hand without hesitation, but Niloufar eventually followed suit, making a noncommittal kinda sorta gesture with her hand.

“Joseph Fremont never lived in the city,” Damian continued. “If you live in the wealthy suburbs your whole life, the Joker is something of a myth, and as a result anything with some proximity to him has a certain thrill to it – like forbidden fruit. It’s the perfect new drug to introduce to a privileged private school like Brentwood.”

“Plus rich white boys are already a little psychopathic,” Jordan added.

Damian decided to give her that one. “And that.”

Despite this, Ellen didn’t seem fully satisfied. “But no one bothers to do a full tox report on a bum who OD’d in an alley in Midtown,” she pointed out. “This drug could be way more rampant than we thought.”

Considering this, Damian answered, “True, but we haven’t seen the resultant wave of crime or violence you’d expect from that.” “That’s assuming the drug has been out there for long enough. And Gotham streets are always full of crime and violence. How would you be able to tell the difference?” He shook his head. “There’s no difference on patrol.”

“You haven’t been on patrol all that often lately, though,” Colin said fairly, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You’ve been with your other team a lot.”

Inwardly, Damian cursed Colin’s lack of filter. Ellen’s eyebrow cocked, but it was Nell who asked, “What other team?”

Jordan grinned at him. “Are you cheating on us, Robin?”

“It’s the Teen Titans,” he said stoically. “Yes, I am frequently away with them. But Batman and Oracle keep a careful record of nightly criminal activity, which has not shown any major spikes lately.”

“What’s Superboy like?” asked Jordan, legs crossed, sitting in air. “Just like a mini Superman?”

Chris was in fact very dissimilar to his adoptive father, so Damian replied, with a hint of annoyance, “No, actually. Now if we can get back to business-”

“What about Arsenal?” asked Nell, from her computer. “She seems cool.”

With a knowing grin, Colin added, “Not as cool as Impulse, huh, Robin?” Damian shot him a dirty look. “Let’s try to focus, shall we?”

“Ohh,” said Nell, laughing. “Wait, Robin, is she your girlfriend?”

For fuck’s sake. As he opened his mouth to shut this down for good, Ellen mercifully came to his rescue. “Come on,” she said, sounding sympathetic. “Don’t tease him, Spoiler, that’s mean.”

Which, naturally, set his blood boiling again. “Ember, please,” he told her. “It’s fine. Now. Back to the case?”

She gave him a wry, enigmatic smile, but nodded all the same, gesturing for him to continue.

His face felt warm, and he felt stupid for allowing himself to feel even the slightest bit self-conscious. “Some excellent thinking happened tonight, team, so thank you for that. Now that we all know where we stand, it’s time to get serious about this case.”

Doubtfully, Colin asked, “We weren’t serious until just now?”

“I mean we have a lead,” said Damian quickly. “That’s all. Niloufar, Jabberwock, I want you two looking into other recent overdose cases throughout the city, see if we’re missing something.”

“Seraph,” said Niloufar.

Damian blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Seraph,” repeated Niloufar. “That’s my codename. I mean, it was Hafaza, but then we figured that was a little harder for people to remember and the key to a good codename is its memorability, right? Like, branding.” She paused, a little awkward. “So. Seraph.”

He watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Seraph, then. Usually the codename is accompanied by a uniform, though.”

Apologetically, she admitted, “I’m probably not…super useful in the field.” At Damian’s expressions, she explained, “I failed P.E. last year.”

Damian only had the vaguest notion what P.E. was, but he waved it aside. “Fine,” he said. “If you do need a uniform, Batman and I can help. Abuse,” he said, turning to Colin. “Have you dug up anything else at Brentwood?”

Colin shook his head. “Not really? I think Joey’s roommate was clean, actually. He wasn’t dealing anything hard, just weed. I lit up with him the other day and he told me everything. He’s kind of fucked up over it actually, it’s kind of sad.”

“Great,” said Damian. “Generally I would request that you try to avoid partaking in illicit substances, but otherwise, sure.”

“Robin,” said Jordan, with a grin. “C’mon. It’s just weed.”

“OK,” said Damian, ignoring this. “Keep pushing, Abuse. If you need backup, call me.”

“Or me,” offered Niloufar. When Damian glanced at her, she added, “I go to Brentwood too. So I can help with that.”

This was a relief; Colin was competent enough in the field, but his investigative work was still spotty. Damian had been considering an undercover mission in Brentwood himself to get the intel they needed, but if Niloufar also attended the school then she might be able to bolster Colin’s mission. “Perfect,” he said. “Seraph, you get double duty – work with both Jabberwock and Abuse.”

Niloufar practically glowed at the extra responsibility.

“Ember, Spoiler, you’re going to be investigating the Joker connection,” he continued. “Ember, I understand you have some familiarity with Arkham? This is your chance to demonstrate that. Meanwhile, I’ll-”

Just then, he realized Nell’s hand was up in the air again.

“Spoiler,” he said tiredly. “I’ve told you this a dozen times, you don’t need to raise your hand to ask permission to speak.” “Oh,” she said, lowering her arm. “Sorry! I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Damian told her, waving this away. “What is it?”

“Would it be possible for me to sit this one out? I’m failing geometry.”

Damian blinked at her. “You’re failing what?” he asked.

“Geometry,” she repeated. “Tenth grade math.”

Damian, who had mastered geometry when he was seven, felt suddenly and abruptly out of his depth. “Oh,” he said. “Yes, of course. That’s fine. All of you, never hesitate to tell me if you feel like you’re taking on too much. It’s fine. Civilian responsibilities come first.”

There was an awkward sort of pause.

Then he restarted, “Ember, I suppose that means I’ll be with you. We’ll also look at the previous case regarding diaxamene, but I’ll need a few days to round up my resources on that. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”

“Fine,” said Ellen. “Anything else you need to update us on?”

Thoughtfully, Damian looked back at the screen. “No, I don’t think so. We’re dealing with a high tech trafficking ring by the docks again so if any of you find any unfamiliar weaponry or anything let me or Oracle know. Oh,” he said, turning around to face them again. “And I suppose I should warn you about something.”

They all leaned in a little, as if intrigued by the hint of danger.

Almost regretfully, Damian informed them all, “Batman is likely going to try and edge in on this case. He takes everything involving the Joker very personally, so I can almost guarantee he’ll try to take over. At the very least he’ll try to insert himself in an observational role.”

“That’s not so bad,” countered Jordan. “Batman’s welcome to observationally roll me whenever he likes.” Colin laughed, obviously in agreement.

Damian tried to keep his expression level. “My point is,” he restarted, “this is your mission and you all can take care of it perfectly well without his help. Don’t let him take this one from you.” He paused, looking around at them. “So. We’re all clear?”

“Super clear,” agreed Colin. “I’m gonna head back to school and get a jump on this.”

“Hold on,” said Niloufar, her gaze swiveling around towards him. “That’s not fair, I don’t board at school so I won’t be able to help out until tomorrow.”

“Um, I just said get a jump on it,” Colin pointed out. “I didn’t say I’d solve absolutely everything so you don’t have anything to do.”

“Abuse is right,” added Damian. “He can probably get a lot more done after hours than you can during classroom time. I’m sure he’ll fill you in on any developments in the morning.”

Niloufar shot a glare towards Colin, but he shrugged and relented. “Yeah, for sure.”

“We’ll get started, then,” said Jordan. “If we find anything out we’ll ping you or share it on the vigilante cloud or whatever.”

“Thank you,” said Damian, as Jordan and Niloufar began to leave. “Good luck.”

After them Colin headed out to return to Brentwood and Ellen, the only one of the team cleared for patrol on her own, also took off. Damian went over to where Nell still worked on her laptop. “If you need a tutor,” he said, peering over her shoulder, “I’m happy to help.”

“You kind of already are,” she told him distractedly, focused on her work.

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Glancing at him, she explained, “I’m going to the Neon Knights center in my neighborhood for tutoring, so it’s cool. I guess I meant your family’s already helping out.”

Damian stared at her for a moment. Though he knew rationally that the entire team had enough information at this point to deduce Batman’s identity and therefore his own, it was still a new and unfamiliar feeling, like danger. It set him on edge, despite the fact that they never would have let Nell or the others into the game in the first place if they didn’t trust them enough to be discreet.

“Sure,” he said, straightening up. “Though I shouldn’t have to remind you not to talk like that when we’re in uniform.”

This seemed to confuse her, as she finally took pause to glance up at him. “But…nobody’s here.” “I know, but it’s a matter of developing a habit. If the mask is on,” he pointed to his face, “then I’m Robin. Only Robin. Do you understand me?”

She nodded. “I got you.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then added, “If you’d like you can stay here to do your work. I can program everything to shut down and lock up after you leave.” This too drew her gaze away from the computer. She looked at Damian with big eyes, surprised and a little touched. “Wow,” she said. “For real? That would be super great.”

“OK.” He shrugged, feeling a slight twinge of self-consciousness he normally only felt around Iris. He tried to push that out of his mind. “It’s no problem. And again, let me know if you need help.”

“Yeah,” she said, beaming at him. “I will.”

---

NAME: Jordan Aguilar Joyce ALIAS: Wonder Girl / Jabberwock DATE OF BIRTH: 17 March 1995 BLOOD TYPE: B+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Maya Aguilar, Sister (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Wonder Woman, Team Ember EVAL: Flight, augmented senses and strength from Themysciran heritage. Will follow-up with Diana. Deeply resistant to authority, but loyal to team. Need to develop discipline before regular patrol is instated.

---

“So Abuse and Seraph managed to get a lead on the Brentwood supplier – turns out a few of the older boys had been recruited by someone called the Dealer.”

“Not very creative,” replied Ellen through her commlink, peering down at the city from the corner of a tall roof.

“Yes,” answered Damian, “particularly because we dealt with someone using that name a few years ago, around the same time as the diaxamene case. In fact, the man who reverse-engineered the diaxamene actually bought outdated Joker Venom from the Dealer.”

“Oh,” said Ellen, a little taken aback. “Then – that should sort of blow the case open, right? It’s the same guy.”

“Impossible,” said Damian grimly. “The man in question has been locked up in a mental facility for years.”

“In Arkham?”

“No. I believe it’s somewhere in Chicago, far away from here. Besides, the version of the Joker Venom found in this new drug isn’t old or decayed at all, it’s very new, something we haven’t quite seen before, impossible to build up a resistance to. Enough of it would probably poison even the Joker himself.”

“If our guy can reverse-engineer a prescription drug, I’m sure he could figure out how to update Joker Venom. And if he’s not at Arkham why are we even going there in the first place?”

“Because,” Damian answered shortly, “sometimes you have to play with vermin to sniff out a rat.” This was cryptic and annoying, and beneath her mask Ellen rolled her eyes. “OK. I can meet you there in an hour if-”

“No need,” he said, just as the sleek and quiet hum of an energy-efficient stealth motorcycle came buzzing down the alley beneath the building on which Ellen stood. Robin stopped the bike, got off, and waved at her.

She let out a sigh, then made her way down on the fire escape, jumping the last few feet. “How did you know where I was?” she asked, as he got back onto the motorcycle.

“The tracer Batman put in your suit,” he answered; when she gave him a look, refusing to get on the bike with him, he grinned a little and added, “I’m kidding. But only a little. When you’re on a direct line, Oracle can pinpoint your location. If you toggled a private line or turned off your commlink, we’d lose you.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” muttered Ellen, finally relenting and climbing onto the back of the motorcycle, behind him. She sat further back than was entirely necessary.

They went most of the way in relative silence. They’d worked enough together – Damian had spent enough time training with her – that it wasn’t particularly awkward, but there was an odd degree of discomfort that neither of them were used to. When they made it to Arkham, stowing the bike in the woods behind it, Damian asked, “That reminds me, when are you going to get a motorbike of your own? You can’t rely on rides from Spoiler and Abuse and me forever.”

“I don’t have my license,” she explained. She wanted to add, And I can’t afford one, but she knew that he would offer and insist and that would be unfortunate.

“Oh,” said Damian, as if this hadn’t occurred to him. “Well. You don’t really need one, in our line of work.” “Thanks,” she said, though her smile was not visible beneath her mask. “But I’m already toeing the line as is. I’d prefer to break as few laws as possible.”

“She says,” he added, grinning slightly as they headed towards Gotham, “as we break into a private mental facility in order to interrogate a patient.”

“He’s a criminal,” she replied smoothly. “Not a patient.”

Damian shrugged. “They all are.”

This wasn’t true, and Ellen wanted to fight him on it, but this wasn’t the time or the place. With the help of Robin’s gadgets and expertise, making it into Arkham was easier than it had ever been for Ellen – he did it with such nonchalance and finesse that it seemed positively casual for him. That sort of annoyed her.

They made it to the Wayne Ward, which is where the most dangerous criminals were held, cut off from the rest of the world by thick steel doors. Somewhere in one of the cages, someone sang a children’s song. “Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hopping through the forest…”

Another inmate moaned, “Shut the fuck up.”

Damian brought her to an unmarked cell that looked no different from any of the others, and put his hand on the door, behind which the Joker still sang. “Scooping up the field mice and boppin’ them on the head…”

Quietly, he asked, “You ready?” She nodded, but didn’t speak. Looking away from her, he punched a series of numbers into the keypad by the door, and it slid open.

He gestured for her to enter, and she did. He followed behind her, and the steel door clanged behind them.

A pale man in an Arkham uniform sat cross-legged facing the wall across from them. “Down came the good fairy, and she said…”

“Joker,” said Damian.

The Joker’s head lolled back on his shoulders, his dirty green hair hanging down from his scalp. He did not look around.

“Ah,” he began, his voice sickly sweet. “It’s my second-favorite little birdie. You’d be third favorite,” he said, almost reasonably, “but the dead one came back, and that’s no fun.”

“Joker,” repeated Damian. “What do you know about a new version of your Venom?”

Though he still did not turn around, the Joker made an unpleasant sound in the back of his throat, as if displeased. “None of that faker stuff. I’m no street corner dealer, little Robbie! I only have big plans, big shows, big-” he threw out both arms theatrically; in his left, he held a crowbar stained with blood, “-drama.”

Without hesitating, Damian moved forward and grabbed hold of the crowbar, kicking in the Joker’s elbow as he did so. As Damian inspected it, the Joker started to laugh, then collapsed and rolled around on the floor so he was facing the door.

“Where’d you get this?” asked Damian stoically, raising the crowbar.

“Beirut,” answered the Joker.

Damian shook the crowbar. “Whose blood is this?”

“Yours,” answered the Joker. “Robin’s. Doesn’t matter which one, best not to get attached,” he looked past Damian, as if addressed Ellen directly, “they’re just gonna break your heart and move on. They always do.”

Uncertainly, Ellen glanced at Damian, who only stared at the Joker.

He raised the crowbar, and hit the Joker across the face with it. Again, the Joker laughed. “What do you mean that fake stuff?” asked Damian. “So you know someone’s dealing.”

“Everyone’s always dealing,” Joker answered, with a shrug. “You know, dealing, coping, the human condition.” “How do you know about the drugs?”

The Joker lunged suddenly, throwing himself at Damian, grabbing hold of the crowbar tightly. Ellen instinctively moved to help, but Damian dodged, gripping the crowbar tightly and wrenching him away so that the Joker lost his balance and fell, half laying on the ground, still clutching the crowbar. He laughed and laughed.

“The drugs?” he screeched, ecstatic. “You mean the Xanax? Oh, no, you mean the painkillers? Or are you talking about the meth, because that was what really made her spiral, huh? Just took a little while to get there, step by prescription step, and then all of the sudden bam!” His laughter turned higher, more frantic. He held up one hand in the gesture of a gun and pointed it right at Ellen’s face. “Right in the kisser!”

Horrified, Ellen stared at him, frozen. It took Damian a moment to realize what was going on, and then he kicked the Joker square in the chest, sending him reeling back to the floor. “I miss Divya!” he called, as Damian, turned around returned to the door, taking Ellen’s wrist in his hand as he did so. “She was so much fun! Good stories! She missed you bad you know, she missed her beautiful son, her beautiful little-”

A name came out of Joker’s mouth that Damian didn’t know, but he could guess what it was. “Come on,” he murmured to Ellen, who said nothing, her face obscured and made unreadable by her mask. As the Joker laughed and laughed and laughed, Damian led Ellen out of the Joker’s cell, ensured the door was closed tight, and they retreated out of Arkham. After a while Ellen pulled her hand away from Damian’s. He said nothing until they were outside.

In the darkness, he turned to her heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought you in there.”

“No,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I had to meet him eventually.”

“I don’t know how he knew that about you.”

“It’s fine,” repeated Ellen, with a little more urgency. She tried to smile at him from underneath the mask, but obviously he couldn’t see it.

Damian watched her cautiously for a moment longer, then suddenly jerked his head around, obviously hearing something at his commlink. Then his gaze lengthened past Ellen, behind her, and under his breath he muttered, “For fuck’s sake-”

Despite the fact that Batman, from behind Ellen, should not have been able to hear this, he growled, “Language, Robin,” and Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Ellen turned around uncertainly; she had only very infrequently been in the presence of both Batman and Robin, and didn’t really have the hang of their dynamic yet.

Batman stood impassively before them both, watching them. “Are you here to talk to the Joker?” he asked, as if reserving judgment.

“We already did,” Damian told him. “He didn’t have anything useful to say.”

Thinking this was underselling the encounter a little, Ellen added, “He seemed to know a version of his Venom was being used on the streets,” Damian gave her an urgent look, like betrayal, so she continued, “but Robin’s right. He didn’t sound like he was involved in or even really approved of its production.”

Batman gestured at the crowbar in Damian’s hand. “What’s that?”

“A crowbar,” answered Damian.

Batman only watched him.

Damian held it up. “A man known as the Dealer tried to auction off an item just like this a few years ago,” he said, almost defiantly. “Nightwing brought it home, but he never entered it into evidence. He just got rid of it.”

“Why?” asked Batman.

“So you wouldn’t find out,” said Damian, “for obvious reasons.”

Ellen wasn’t sure what that obvious reason was, but she just glanced in between Robin and Batman, sensing the tension there.

Stubbornly, Damian continued, “The Joker was a red herring last time and I believe it’s the same thing this time around. We should be focusing our efforts elsewhere.”

“Hn.” Batman headed past them, towards Arkham. “I’ll talk to the Joker.”

As Batman passed, Robin reached out and physically took hold of his arm. “No,” he said. “You won’t.”

Batman twisted around to look back at Damian, and there was a moment of deadly, pin-drop silence.

“It’s my case,” insisted Damian.

Batman glanced up at Ellen. “It’s her case.”

Beneath her mask, Ellen’s eyebrows shot up. Reluctantly, Damian let go of Batman and turned to her. “Fine,” he said. “Ember. What do you think? Do you want a second opinion on the Joker, or do you think we should be able to proceed on our own from here?”

There was no expression on Batman’s face, but then again Ellen didn’t think there was ever really any discernible expression on Batman’s face. Once more she glanced in between Batman and Robin, before finally admitting, “I…think we should be OK.” To Batman, she said, “I’ve studied your case files and I don’t really think this fits the Joker’s M.O. Right now selling drugs to rich kids sounds a lot more like this Dealer character, or maybe, um, what’s his face, that guy who poisoned the diaxamene.”

Damian winced slightly when she said this and she suddenly feared she’d said too much; maybe there was something he’d been trying to keep from Batman. Though she didn’t really think that was all that smart – Robin’s pride be damned, this was about solving the case, not who got the glory of figuring it out.

Batman watched her for a moment, then nodded. “I expect a mission report,” he said.

“Of course,” responded Damian sourly.

Without looking around, Batman added, “I meant from Ember.”

Damian looked almost ready to blow a gasket, but he kept his mouth shut and nodded. Batman lingered for a moment longer, then swept away.

There was an awkward sort of pause. Damian turned and headed back to where the motorcycle was stowed in the woods. “C’mon,” he said.

She followed him, secretly a little pleased at this indication of Batman’s trust but also not wanting to push Damian at all. It was a weird place to be, staying quiet for fear of hurting Robin’s feelings – but then again, he was only a kid, at least a couple years younger than her. There was no need to be cruel.

A minute or so after he revved the bike and they started heading back towards the city, he asked, “Are you hungry?” His words came through clearly on her commlink, and yet she was still certain she had misheard. “Um. Sure?”

“I know a place,” he continued, taking a sharp left. “Up by Amusement Mile.”

Amusement Mile meant carnival food of some sort probably, which was fine by Ellen. Late at night as it was, the boardwalk was still all lit up neon, but Damian avoided that, heading instead for the less touristy area. There was a little shop – not much more than a booth – where he ordered falafel. Ellen got a kabob. The woman working there spoke warmly with Damian in a language Ellen didn’t know, but eventually she picked up that the woman was refusing to accept payment when Damian tried to pass it over the counter to her. He just grinned and stuffed a twenty dollar bill into the tip jar, and the woman laughed.

They sat together on the rail of the pier, which was already closed for the night. She lifted her mask to eat, then took it off completely, leaving only a domino mask around her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, nudging him a little. “Are you OK?”

He looked around at her, confused. “What? Why?”

“Your dad was kind of harsh on you. He didn’t really need to be, I know you have more experience at this than I do.” For a moment he said nothing, just watching her. Then he looked back down at his falafel wrap. “You shouldn’t refer to him as my father when we’re in the field,” he said. “Things like that are supposed to stay in a civilian context only.”

“Mmm, be careful about that. Everybody knows Robin is either Batman’s son or something a whole lot less wholesome, so I really think you should take what you can get.”

She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back, only looked at his wrap unhappily.

When he didn’t reply, she too looked down at her food, picking at it. She hadn’t been that hungry, but would’ve felt stupid turning down free food.

Softly, she asked, “How do you think he knew all that about me?”

Damian glanced at her. “Who?” he asked. “The Joker?” She nodded, and he considered this for a moment. “He knows everything about everyone. Don’t take it personally. He knows how to get under everyone’s skin, we’ve all been there.”

“He knew my…” she trailed off. “He knew my mother’s name.” He gave a shrug. “She was in Arkham, right?”

“Yeah, but – not in the Wayne Ward. Not with him.”

“No?” asked Damian, with mild interest. “What was she in for, then?”

Glowering, Ellen muttered, “As if Batman doesn’t have a file with all the sordid details.”

“He doesn’t,” answered Damian. “Or at least not one I have access to.”

For a while, so long that Damian didn’t think she was going to answer, Ellen said nothing. Then, her eyes fixed out across the black water of the ocean, waves lit by moonlight, she said, “She…was transferred. For the Wayne Enterprises drug rehabilitation program.”

“Ah,” said Damian, nodding. “Yes. I understand that whole project was – a massive PR disaster.”

“You could call it that,” Ellen agreed. “It’s what happens when rich people throw money at problems and expect results. At any cost.”

“We didn’t know it was going to go as badly as it did.”

“I know.”

“Arkham’s always been a mess. We really did want to reform it into something good. Something productive.”

“I mean, it was productive,” said Ellen, her voice sharp. “Lobotomizing addicts did help them kick the habit, it just also had the unfortunate side effect of, well, I mean, lobotomizing them.”

There was a short silence. Damian asked, “Is she alright?”

“Kind of,” answered Ellen shortly. “She’ll be in assisted living for the rest of her life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Probably not even your fault. She OD’d a couple times before, so she wasn’t in great shape to begin with.”

“This can’t be an easy case for you.”

“Why?” she asked, looking at him. “Because it has to do with drugs?” He returned her gaze, then gave a little shrug.

“If I couldn’t handle an overdose now and then, Batman wouldn’t have given me the mask.”

“Why did he?”

Ellen leaned forward slightly, setting aside her food and holding the blank scarlet mask in her hands. She shook her head. “When you figure that out,” she said wryly, glancing at him, “let me know?”

When they finished their food and headed back to Damian’s motorcycle, Ellen nudged him again. “Hey,” she said. “Thanks for not asking.”

He didn’t know what she meant. “Not asking what?”

She gestured across her face, at the diagonal scar there. “If this was what she was in for.”

Damian had of course assumed this, but he had been pointedly trying to ignore the scar at all costs since he met Ellen, so he’d avoided saying it outright. For some reason the scar across her face reminded him of his own hidden scar down the length of his back. How he got that was a sensitive story, and he didn’t imagine Ellen’s was any less sensitive.

He took her back into the city, and they parted ways for patrol.

---

NAME: Ellen Nayar ALIAS: Ember DATE OF BIRTH: 26 August 1993 BLOOD TYPE: A+ (Relevant Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Kiran Kaur Nayar, Grandmother AFFILIATIONS: Green Arrow II (Former), Team Ember EVAL: Mastery of basic defensive techniques at a young age provides a solid foundation for future training. Has a tendency to fall back on defense when cornered, relying on tools to compensate. Capable of much more but struggling to balance training as well as other civilian commitments; requires more investment both in and out of uniform. Significant pain tolerance. Easily identifiable due to the scar and also hair/body type, any uniform designs must compensate.

Strong field skills, hand-to-hand improving and introduction of nonlethal weapons going well. An apparent preference for the staff though she lacks martial arts training in that area. Sharp mind and eye for puzzles. Potential for leadership role assuming increased confidence in her abilities. Imperative to firm up her loyalties or risk alienation. Family history of addiction.

NOTES: |Robin| Hand to hand is fine but she needs to work on weapons and tech. Uniform needs an upgrade, face mask restricts breathing |Red Hood| She smokes

---

“I have good news,” said Oracle, on the screen, “and bad news.”

“Good news first,” said Nell, at the same time Damian said, “What’s the bad news?”

They looked at each other, and then Damian gestured for Nell to continue. She beamed at him and asked, “Good news?”

“We got a lead on our guy,” said Oracle, a big globular green head taking up the screen in lieu of her real face. “The one who reverse-engineered the diaxamene.”

Ellen sat up a little straighter, alert. “I thought he was in some mental facility somewhere.”

“Yeah,” continued Oracle. “That’s the bad news. I, uh – had a friend in Chicago drop by to see him.”

“Oh?” interrupted Damian, with a tone that sounded unlike him. It was half intrigued, half snide. “Interesting. What kind of friend?”

“Just a friend,” she said snippily.

Damian just made a face, but didn’t protest. Ellen glanced at him, wondering what that was about. “What’d he have to say?”

“That’s just it,” Oracle told them. “It wasn’t our guy, just some decoy checked in under his name.”

“A decoy?” asked Niloufar, a frown on her face. “For how long?”

“Presumably since he checked in,” said Oracle darkly. “Which means James has been out this entire time, no doubt plotting his next step for years.”

At the name, Damian lifted his head slightly, as if surprised she would use it. He leaned against the wall of the Bunker, a little away from the others, his arms crossed over his chest. “James?” asked Colin. “Is that his name?”

“Yeah,” sighed Oracle. “OK, confession time, you guys.” The green icon which represented Oracle disappeared from the screen, replaced with blackness and then suddenly a crystal clear image, as if a window to another room. An older woman with ginger hair and glasses on sat before them, computer glare lighting her up.

She waved at them. “Some of you have met me,” she said, “but I guess it’s time to make this official. My name’s Barbara, but I’m still O in the field, OK?”

Nell and Niloufar looked a little starstruck; even Colin seemed impressed. “OK,” said Jordan, glancing with what may have been a tinge of jealousy over at Niloufar. “What does that have to do with our case?”

With a look that was tight and worried, almost apologetic, Babs continued, “The guy we’re looking for – his name is James Gordon, Jr. His dad is Commissioner Jim Gordon of the GCPD.”

Everyone’s eyebrows raised in surprise, except for Damian. He watched as Jordan asked, “Gordon? The cop?”

“Commissioner,” Damian corrected, echoing Babs.

“Didn’t he retire?” asked Ellen, glancing around at Damian, who shook his head.

“He was on leave a few years ago, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” continued Barbara, nodding. “He took some time off after what happened with James the first time. I mean,” she paused, adding, “first is relative, but – anyway. Here’s where it gets personal. Jim Gordon is my dad.”

In a little bit of awe, Nell asked, “So this guy is your brother?”

Making a face, Babs said, “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” echoed Jordan derisively. “How can it be kind of-?”

Abruptly, Damian noticed Niloufar; she kept glancing in between him and the screen suspiciously, as if she was just putting something together. “What?” he barked at her.

Again, her gaze flickered in between him and Barbara. “You’re Robin,” she said, then pointed at the screen, “she’s Oracle. Aren’t you two…?” she trailed off. “Does that mean Commission Gordon is your…dad…too?”

Damian just stared at her for a moment, arms still crossed over his chest. Then he pointed at the screen, and asked doubtfully, “Do I look like I’m related to her?”

“You could have different moms,” offered Nell helpfully.

Rolling her eyes, Jordan said, “Come on, Nilou, everybody knows Robin’s dad is-”

Both Damian and Babs said, “Jabberwock,” and even Ellen added a scolding, “Jordan.”

At these reprimands, she threw her hands up in surrender. “Nevermind.”

“OK, so,” said Nell, turning back to the computer screen. “If we’re pretty sure it’s this James guy, then we at least know where to start, right? When was the last time time he was in Gotham, and did he have any favorite haunts? We can start there.”

A little taken aback by Nell’s sudden professionalism, Damian snapped his gaze away from her and back to Babs. “Spoiler is right,” he said. “We’ll dig into all the leads we have on James Gordon Jr.”

“This is the guy who poisoned the baby formula, right?” asked Ellen doubtfully, glancing around at the group of them. Returning her gaze to Babs on the screen, she added, “Of course you know more about him than I do, Oracle, but somehow that kind of crazy complicated scheme just doesn’t seem to fit the M.O. here. Why would he downgrade to selling to rich kids?”

“Actually,” piped up Niloufar, “we went through a couple overdose cases in the city over the past few months and came up with three positive reports for the same Joker Venom-diaxamene hybrid that was found in Joseph Fremont’s body.”

“We?” echoed Damian sharply, watching her.

Instead of shrinking under his gaze, as Damian had expected, Niloufar turned to look directly at him, straightening up slightly. “Me and Jor- Jabberwock.”

Damian watched her for a moment, then his eyes flickered over to Jordan, who nodded.

“So it’s not just Brentwood,” said Ellen.

“But it’s still a valid point,” said Babs, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “James is more psychological than that. I don’t really see him getting off on handing out drugs like some kind of common pusher.”

“You think he’s working with someone,” said Damian.

It was Colin who spoke up then, from where he was leaning against one of the specimen analysis tables. “The Dealer,” he said earnestly. They all paused and looked around at him, and he returned their gazes, nodding slightly. “It’s gotta be this Dealer guy,” he continued, “the one who’s been selling to the older kids at Brentwood? That’s his partner.”

Babs considered this, twisting her lips thoughtfully. “That would make sense,” she admitted. “James can’t exactly hang around the schoolyard, but he could manipulate someone younger into working for him. He manufactures, the Dealer distributes.”

“Then that makes things a lot easier,” said Nell. “If this Dealer guy’s younger, then he’s more inexperienced, which means he’s more likely to slip up.”

“Exactly,” said Babs, nodding. “I think the important part now is to split up-”

Behind everyone, Damian cleared his throat loudly.

When the others looked around, he seemed a little apologetic. But on the screen, Babs hesitated for a moment before letting out a short sigh. “It’s your team’s case,” she admitted. “This is really important, you guys. Batman’s really taking a leap of faith by trusting you with this one.”

“They’ve earned it,” said Damian, in protest.

“Yeah, but.” Babs shrugged, her empty hands turned upwards. “This is Batman we’re talking about. It took him about ten years to even start trusting me.”

“Well,” said Jordan shortly, shooting a slightly too-friendly grin up at Babs, “all that means is that Batman’s one stupid motherfucker.” “OK,” said Damian loudly, moving forwardly to the computer. “Thank you, Oracle. Send anything you’ve got our way, we’ll get ahead on this.”

Before she said anything else, something else seemed to occur to Oracle, and she said, “Oh, one more thing. Which one of you keeps saving your math homework to the encrypted file database?”

There was a beat of pause as Damian turned to glance around at his team. Nell was staring up at the screen with her mouth in a little ‘o’ shape; Ellen nudged her. “That – might be me,” she squeaked, obviously humiliated. “I’m sorry! Robin said we could use the computers he gave us for homework!”

Damian tried not to roll his eyes as Babs explained, “You absolutely can, but you don’t need to put it in the encrypted file drive. Just leave it on your desktop or something so it doesn’t get uploaded to our databases.”

Mortified, Nell nodded. “Sorry,” she said, again.

“It’s fine,” Babs told her. “Anyway, I’m here if you guys need anything. Keep me updated.”

“We will,” promised Damian, and then the screen before them went blank. In the white glow of the Bunker, he turned around to face them all. “Jabberwock, Abuse, Spoiler,” he began, with no hesitation, “you three need to fan out, comb the city for James Gordon Jr. He’s got to be hiding somewhere. Take a look at the information Oracle sent, and then head out. This is our top priority for the time being. Ember,” he added, turning to her, “you’re with me.”

Snidely, Jordan muttered, “Wow, what a surprise.”

Glancing at her then back at Ember, he explained, “We need to figure out who this Dealer person is. If he’s dealing in Gotham, then it can’t hurt to check in with Red Hood.”

Already, Ellen was shaking her head. “Hood doesn’t let his people deal to kids,” she told Damian. “If the Dealer’s been selling to Brentwood students-”

“Based on Seraph’s intel, he’s been dealing on the streets as well. Anyway, I’m not saying Red Hood will know who the Dealer is, just that he may be able to point us in the direction of any suspicious activity lately.”

Ellen considered this, then nodded. “Is he in town?”

Damian nodded. Earlier that week the entire family had gathered to celebrate the final night of Hanukkah; Bruce wasn’t particularly religious, but as he grew older he started to take every opportunity he could to gather everyone under one roof. This had been the first Hanukkah celebration at the Manor Jason had attended since before his death. He had spent most of the night messing around with Damian and Cass, more or less refusing to talk to Bruce directly. All things considered, it went well.

Anyway, Damian knew that Jason was still in Gotham because he’d been in a group chat with him, Cass, and Stephanie since. Steph, offended that she hadn’t been invited, had been alternatively demanding all the details and simultaneously assuring them she wouldn’t even have gone anyway.

Instructing the others to review Oracle’s information then spread out across the city, he made contact with Jason before riding out into the dark streets with Ellen on his motorcycle behind him. “Hey,” she said, her commlink transmitting her voice clearly into Damian’s ear despite the rushing wind, “what’s your deal with Red Hood?” He didn’t answer right away. “What do you mean?”

“He’s, like. One of you guys, right?”

“Oh,” said Damian, taking a sharp right turn that nearly scraped the side of their legs against the street. He had thought she was speaking emotionally, as if she could detect faint strains of annoyance he thought he’d gotten past. But Ellen knew his identity and that of his father, so he wasn’t shy about admitting relation. “He’s my brother,” he told her, his voice a whisper in her ear. They entered the old block of Midtown, edging into Red Hood territory. “Adopted brother, actually, not that it really matters.”

Ellen knew vaguely of Damian Wayne’s adopted brother, but she hadn’t realized he and Red Hood were one and the same. “Damn,” she said. “The papers would have a field day if they realized the founder of Neon Knights was a drug lord on the side.”

This took Damian by surprise; he glanced back at her, confused, and then realization dawned on his face. With a laugh, he slowed the motorcycle, drawing close to their destination. “No, not that brother. Red Hood is older than him.”

After a beat of hesitation, Ellen asked, “I thought the other guy was Nightwing?”

“He is,” sighed Damian, pulling the motorcycle to a stop in a tight alleyway. Getting off, he explained, “Not very many people know this, but I actually have four siblings. Three brothers and a sister.”

“Oh, shit,” said Ellen, impressed. She too got up, slipping off the bike. “And I thought you were an only child.”

“In fairness,” he said, shooting a grin her way, “I do act like one sometimes.”

There was a loud thump before them, and a red helmet shone in the darkness as Jason Todd descended from the fire escape above. “Sometimes?” he echoed, teasing. “More like all the damn time.” He jerked his thumb at Damian and to Ellen, he said, “Kid’s insufferable.”

While Ellen gave Jason an uncertain smile, Damian got straight to business. “You heard about our case?” he asked, his voice low.

Jay gave a shrug, shaking his head slightly. “Rumors, mostly. I heard some evil assclown is selling Joker Venom pills to kids.”

Damian nodded. “We’ve pursuing all the leads we’ve got, but we’re trying to pinpoint a distributor. What do you know?”

“Nothing, really,” admitted Jay. “Nobody on my payroll goes anywhere near kids, definitely not all the way out to the suburbs. Besides, I have kind of a,” he paused, and though Ellen could not see his face behind the helmet, she imagined she could hear him smiling, “thing when it comes to the Joker, so most of my people know not to touch that shit with a ten-foot pole. Sorry,” he said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic. “Wish I could help more.”

“It’s fine,” murmured Damian thoughtfully, taking this in. “Have you caught anyone selling to kids lately? Maybe this is someone you dismissed?”

But Jason was already shaking his head. “Nope,” he said. “My reputation is pretty well-known by now, Robin. People don’t usually try and test me.”

Glancing in between the two heroes, Ellen moved slightly forward. “Is there anyone who left your operation lately, maybe for unrelated reasons? I don’t think a street pusher goes straight to working for a supervillain, if you know what I mean – it’d make sense if our guy had some exposure to you and yours before he ever made it to where he is now.”

Jason considered this for a moment.

And then he let out a very small groan. Though the helmet obscured his expression, Damian’s pulse quickened, sensing and impending revelation. “Yeah,” said Jay, nodding ruefully. “Now that you mention it, yeah. There was this one kid – I didn’t exactly, like, kick him out, ‘cause he never really did anything wrong, but he was just…” he paused for a moment, as if searching for the word, “…creepy. Not like, in a big-bad-supervillain anyway, but he was just kind of a creep. A lot of the women who worked around him had…complaints. He never did anything,” he added mildly, “but they just got weird vibes from him. Women’s intuition, huh?” Ellen heard the grin in his voice, and imagined he may even have winked her direction.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Yeah,” answered Jay, his voice turning serious once more. “This guy – his name’s Scott Morrison, he’s maybe your age, Ember. But I caught him following me around on patrol a few times. Not following,” he continued, qualifying himself, “but – showing up in suspicious places. Like he memorized my route, which is weird enough, but then he’d start asking if I ran into any of the Big Bads. He asked me about Joker maybe once before I put my fist through his front teeth.”

Disappointed, there was a reprimand in his voice when Damian began, “Hood-”

But Jay just laughed and held up his hands. “Wasn’t that bad, li’l wing, just scared him a little. Anyway, haven’t seen him since then.” Damian nodded, but before he could say anything Jay added, “OH! I almost forgot – there was this one time, super fuckin’ weird, I kind of tuned it out.”

At this, Damian and Ellen exchanged looks. “What happened?” she asked.

“OK,” he began, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “Now this is super weird, and don’t tell your old man, Robin, ‘cause it’s the kind of thing he’d whoop any of our asses for – but one time, I got, you know,” he mimed gunshots with both hands, “beat up, a little, and I was bleeding all over the place try’na find somewhere to hang out and lick my wounds, and I swear to you this guy – I caught him, like, on his hands and knees on the ground following me with a fucking sponge in his hands.”

Both Damian and Ellen stared at him. “A sponge?” Ellen echoed, with a hint of disbelief.

“Yeah,” said Jay, nodding his head. “A fucking sponge. Blood is literally dripping off of my body, and he’s on the ground sponging it up. It was like, the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

More heatedly than Ellen really thought was necessary, Damian demanded, “And you just let him take it? Why didn’t you tell Batman about this?”

“Because,” answered Jay, rolling his head in a way that suggested he was also rolling his eyes, “no motherfucker’s dumb enough to try and clone me. You and your dad-” he broke off, glancing at Ellen, then corrected, “-I mean, the Big Man, sure, but me? Nobody gives a shit.”

“It’s protocol,” said Damian stubbornly, but Jason shook his head.

“Believe me, this guy wasn’t smart enough for anything like that. He was just fucking creepy.”

There was a suspicious pause, and then Damian asked, “When did this happen?”

“Like, maybe a month ago? But he quit working for me before that, maybe half a year or so.”

Ellen glanced at Damian. “That fits,” she murmured. “Our first recorded overdose was almost four months ago. That leaves time for recruiting and initial distribution.”

“Right,” said Damian, with a nod. The expression on his face was still severe. “Hood, we’ll need all the info you can get us on this Scott Morrison character.”

“He used to have a place over in Midtown,” Jay said. “I think it was a motel or something, nothing permanent. Riverview, or something?”

“Riverview,” repeated Ellen, with an urgent look towards Damian. “That was on Oracle’s list.”

With a nod, Damian touched the commlink at his ear. “Thanks,” he said to Red Hood, and then into his comm he said, “Spoiler, come in.”

Returning to Damian’s bike, they headed back through the city. By the time they reached Riverview Boarding House, Spoiler was waiting for them in Room 7. “I talked to the owner,” she said, as Ellen and Damian entered the room. “Somebody’s kept up-to-date on payments, but he hasn’t seen anybody come in or out for a couple weeks now.”

“Probably since we started investigating,” said Ellen, as Damian moved forward to search the room. “He knew we were on to him and wasn’t about to get caught with his pants down.”

“Robin,” said Nell, watching him search the walls for hidden compartments. He glanced around at her, and she jerked her head towards a door in the wall. “The closet.”

For a moment he did not move, only stared at her. And then he turned to the rickety wooden door, and he opened it.

Peering in behind him, Ellen made a face. “Gross,” she said.

Damian said nothing, taking in the sight before them: a veritable shrine to the Joker, littered with newspaper clippings and amateur art and low-res photos printed from the internet. In the center, there was a small Robin action figure, the kind of thing sold at tourist traps in Gotham. The plastic Robin’s limbs and his head were all removed from his body.

Gravely, Damian said, “He’s a Joker fan.”

“That explains why he’s working with JGJ,” offered Nell, from behind them. When both Ellen and Damian glanced back at her, she clarified, “Uh, James-Gordon-Junior. He needed a snappier name.”

Looking back at Damian, Ellen said thoughtfully, “It does explain the connection. Gordon used the lure of Joker Venom to recruit Morrison as his Dealer.”

Still staring at the shrine, Damian’s brown skin had gone wan with disgust, and his lips were pressed tightly together. “I don’t understand these people,” he said lowly, then he stood up, getting to his feet. “The Joker is responsible for the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of people. He’s a criminal. He’s not funny, he’s not interesting, and I don’t understand people who find him compelling.”

“Yeah,” agreed Nell sympathetically. “I mean, the guy’s basically a terrorist.”

Ellen caught the brief flicker of emotion across Damian’s face, a momentary tell that betrayed how much Damian disliked that word. Still; Ellen didn’t think Nell was wrong. “This is good, though,” said Ellen, to Damian. “It means we can bait him.”

Damian paused, then, very slowly, he turned around to look at Ellen.

----

“No,” said Bruce, shaking his head.

“It’s an hour, tops,” Damian insisted, leaning against the computer’s control panel in the Cave. “The entire team will be on top of him the whole time. It’ll be fine.”

“No,” repeated Bruce, shaking his head. “You are not removing the Joker from Arkham custody for any amount of time. He is in solitary confinement for a reason, he’s too dangerous-”

“A hour,” Damian repeated, practically begging his father. “Tightly contained and surveilled. It’s the easiest way to smoke out the Dealer.”

“The easiest is not always the wisest,” said Bruce shortly, “and I will not permit you to play games with a dangerous criminal. He always has a plan, and he’s bested you before.”

“But the entire team-”

“My answer is final,” Bruce told his son. “Harleen is out on parole, perhaps she may be of some help.”

As if disgusted by this suggestion, Damian began, “I’m not retraumatizing Doctor Quinzel on the off chance that she completes Scott Morrison’s Joker fantasy. Most Joker-philes like him think she’s a meaningless distraction anyway.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow the alternative, Damian. It’s too dangerous.”

“We’re so close.”

“Then find another way.” Bruce’s voice was not unkind as he said, “I believe in you, and I believe in your team. But this mission has already exposed you and Ember to that monster enough. It isn’t going to happen again.”

For a moment, there was silence in the cave except for the constant whirr of machinery and the far-off drip of slowly-forming stalactites. There was a profound tension between father and son, thick enough to slice; Damian was once more angry that his father was blocking the team’s ventures, and yet Bruce would not budge. There was no compromise here.

On the specimen analysis table, unceremoniously contained in a plastic box, the crowbar remained. Bruce had not been sure what to do it, and so as he ran his tests he had kept it there in full view for all to see. Mercifully, Jason had not ventured into the Cave the last time he was here.

A part of Damian wanted to tell Bruce about Scott Morrison, known Joker fanboy, on his hands and knees, sponging up blood. He wanted to tell him that he’d dug up records that someone fitting Scott Morrison had made a clandestine visit to the Joker’s cell in Arkham, presumably leaving him with a gift. He wanted his father to know that the crowbar was a complete plant, and if the crust of bloodstains on its curved end matched Jason Todd’s, it wasn’t because this was the weapon that had been used to kill him.

But Damian was still a sixteen year old, and he was still petty. Perhaps Bruce was being especially strict because of this painful reminder of his own failure at the Joker’s hands, but Damian was just spiteful enough to keep this small knowledge from his father anyway, let him simmer in his own guilt and shame.

“Fine,” Damian said curtly. “Then any further deaths due to this Dealer character are on your conscience, Father.”

Later, he updated Ellen on the situation via commlink while on patrol. She sounded somber. “So that’s it, then?” she sighed. “That plan is out.”

“Hm? Oh, no,” said Damian, leaping from one rooftop to another, his boots absorbing most of the shock of impact. “We’re still going to do it. We just need to keep it a secret from Batman.”

“What?”

He fiddled at his commlink. “Ember, can you hear me? I said we need to keep it as secret from Batman.”

“No, I heard you, I just – that’s impossible.”

“Not impossible,” he corrected, “merely difficult for the inexperienced. Luckily you have me, and I happen to be extremely adept at keeping secrets from Batman. You have to learn that kind of thing,” he told her, offhandedly, “when you live in a house with him.”

“Breaking the Joker out of Arkham is a little different than sneaking out to meet your girlfriend, Robin.”

Without hesitation, Damian said coolly, “That’s not what I meant.” It had been, actually, almost exactly what he meant. “All I’m saying is that I know him well enough to anticipate where he’ll be watching. We do this quickly and effectively, and it’ll be over before he knows it.”

“That’s…optimistic.”

“I have been told I have a very glass-half-full demeanor, yes.”

Ellen laughed, and despite himself Damian caught himself grinning. “If you say so. When’s it going down?”

Good question. Damian considered this, standing above a stone gargoyle, scanning the cold city streets below him. “The longer we wait, the more drugs the Dealer gets out on the streets.”

“Fair enough. What’s the plan?”

“Meet the others at the Bunker. I’ll explain everything there.”

When all was said and done, it did take a little more time than Damian had anticipated. The first phase was dependent on the speed and inertia of rumor, which was spread both throughout Brentwood via Colin and Niloufar and throughout the rest of drug-dealing Gotham by Jason and a select few on his payroll. The rumor spoke of an anniversary: the birth of the Joker, or the rebirth, rather, when a man was swallowed by acid and spat back out as something else. It was a trap, designed to target the biggest Joker fanboy who frequented those circles, who, of course, naturally knew the apocryphal location of that fateful warehouse.

All they needed was one night. It had to work perfectly, smooth as silk, precise as clockwork; but Damian had faith in his team. Well. Ember’s team.

Ellen herself was stationed at the warehouse, staking it out. Colin and Nell were off on the other side of the city, waiting for their cue; Niloufar was spearheading operations out of the Bunker, and Jordan was with Damian, her speed, strength, and flight, a necessary part of his plan.

Hidden inside the bowels of Arkham Asylum, Jordan hovering slightly above him, Damian watched the seconds tick by on his mask’s lens display. For a minute or so, there was nothing but tense silence.

And then Damian touched the commlink at his ear. “Abuse, Spoiler,” he said, “you’re good to go. Seraph, how are we on security?” “All disabled and looped,” came Niloufar’s voice, without hesitation.

“Perfect,” he replied. “Ember, Jabberwock’s on her way.” He nodded towards Jordan, then took the lead, expertly navigating through the high-ceilinged halls of Arkham, avoiding guards.

In his cell, the Joker was still singing. “Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hoppin’ through the forest…”

Disabling the door’s security, Damian gestured for Jordan to take over. “Go.”

She did so, wrapping her arms roughly underneath the Joker’s shoulders and heaving him up and out, shooting back the way she and Damian came, disappearing into the night. The Joker’s fading laughter echoed in Damian’s ears as he locked and secured the door once more, then slipped away, hoping no one would notice Joker’s sudden silence.

As Damian headed back out to where his motorbike was stowed, he checked the open channel; the shit had, to put it delicately, apparently hit the fan, and Batman was barking orders at other Gotham heroes following an incident on the other side of the city, which meant he was far away from Arkham and from the docks where their plan was about to go down.

It took him almost twenty minutes to make it to the warehouse. Leaving his bike some ways away, as he approached the empty, abandoned building he was certain he could hear that faint, familiar laughter. Their trap was lain.

He found Ellen and Jordan in the rafters, high above the walkways which crisscrossed above vats which were now mostly empty. Jordan had dropped the Joker in one which had a foot or two of (probably?) nontoxic sludge at the bottom, and his laughter was so manic and so loud that its reverberations started to hurt Damian’s ears. He activated the dampeners in his commlink, relying on his teammates’ comms to hear them.

“Nice work,” he told them both. “Abuse and Spoiler gave us an hour, tops. After that Batman resumes his normal patrol around the city, but we caught him as far away as we could, so it should be at least another hour after that before he realizes there’s anything amiss.”

Though Ellen’s face was obscured, the sound of her voice betrayed her concern. “So Morrison better show up in the next two hours.”

“He will,” said Damian, watching the dark and empty walkways below them. “He won’t be able to resist the lure of legend, and there’s no way he’ll stay away once he hears that.”

“No kidding,” muttered Jordan, following his gaze.

“That’s still leaving an awful lot to chance,” Ellen added, sounding uncertain. “The timeline seems kind of arbitrary, and I’m still not completely sure why we needed the Joker himself for this anyway? Seems to me we could’ve just used, I don’t know, a recording of his voice or something-”

“Ember, please,” said Damian shortly, waving away her concerns. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, OK,” she replied, maybe a little insulted. “I don’t doubt that, Robin, but I’m pretty sure Batman said that this isn’t your team, it’s mine, and part of me is starting to think the only reason you wanted to go get Joker in the first place was because your dad told you not to-”

But before Ellen could continue or Damian, suddenly livid, could open his mouth to defend himself, Niloufar’s voice echoed in all of their ears. “Someone’s approaching the warehouse,” she told them, via commlink. “Good luck, you guys.”

They didn’t reply, because at that moment they heard the big sheet metal door to the warehouse creak open. All at once, the Joker’s laughter suddenly stopped.

Scott Morrison was not at all what Damian had been expecting. He was somewhere in his twenties, tall, slim, good-looking. His blond hair was gathered into a topknot, and he wore wide-brimmed glasses which appeared to have no magnifying effect on his eyes, and so therefore were probably only worn for the aesthetic appeal. Both he and Ellen shifted uncomfortably at the same time, perhaps coming to the simultaneous conclusion of, Oh no, he’s hot.

“Hello?” he called into the vast warehouse, which Damian thought was a pretty stupid move. He went to the stairs which led to the walkways above the giant but now-empty vats, climbing them slowly, cautiously, peering around. “Joker? Mister J?” he called, which caused Damian to cringe slightly and Jordan to whisper, “Yikes.”

Morrison continued, making his way across steel catwalk, his hands on the railing on either side. “I heard you laughing,” he called. “Are you here? Joker?”

A low, sickly chuckle emanated from one of the vats. Morrison’s eyes went wide behind his fake glasses, and he darted across the walkway, leaning over the railing.

The Joker leered up at him. His voice was low and frightening, like a purr in the back of his throat. “Who’s asking?”

“Oh, shit,” said Morrison, in obvious excitement. “Holy fuck, OK, oh my God, Mister Joker, woah. Hold on,” he said.

Morrison dug into his pocket, and Jordan muttered, “Oh, Christ,” as he took out a phone and literally posed for a selfie.

“Oh my God, Mister Joker, big fan,” said Morrison, once he’d taken the picture. “Like, holy shit, I can’t believe this is actually happening-”

Ellen gently nudged Jordan. “Go,” she whispered, but then Damian held out his arm.

“Wait,” he said.

In disbelief, Ellen blinked at him. “We have him,” she whispered angrily at him, “he’s right there, if we don’t move now then the Joker could tip him off to this whole operation-”

But Damian was already shaking his head. “Wait,” he said again.

This infuriated Ellen. Jordan just gave her an apologetic look and a shrug. Knowing Robin was the most experienced vigilante between the three of them, she forced herself into silence.

In the vat, up to mid-calf in a thick yellowy-gray sludge, the Joker just stared up at Morrison, unimpressed. “Big fan, huh?” he echoed. “What era?”

Morrison stared down at him. “Uh, what was that?”

“What era?” repeated the Joker, sounding as petulant as a child. “Nicholson, Ledger, Leto? Who was your favorite?”

“Um,” said Morrison uncertainly, “uh, no, sir, I think you misunderstand me, I’m just saying that like, you know, out of Batman’s whole rogues gallery, out of, you know, out of everything in Gotham that makes up the soul of this place – I mean, you’re it, man! Your presence is stamped into the very fabric of Gotham City! You’re everything!”

There was a silence. The Joker stared up at him. “Not very funny, are you?” he asked, his lip jutting out in a pout.

“What – I mean, no one’s as funny as the Clown Prince of Crime! But, like, I do have some stand-up material, if you like, want to hear?” He paused anxiously, then began, “OK, so, like, here’s one – why does Batman’s sidekick keep getting younger and younger?”

Sounding bored, the Joker drawled, “’Cause the older ones keep dying.”

“No,” said Morrison, “but – that’s funny too. No, it’s ‘cause – ‘cause he’s Robin the cradle. Get it? Like robbing?”

There was a long, tense silence. And then the Joker let out a chuckle. “Hey, kid,” he called up, “that is pretty funny.”

Beside her, Ellen could feel Damian tense, his entire body coiled tightly. He was aching to jump into action, she could tell. She didn’t entirely understand why he hadn’t already.

“Hey, kid!” Joker called once more. “Why don’t you come on down here, and tell me a couple more of those funny jokes you got there?”

A flash of uncertainty crossed Morrison’s face. “Oh, I – I don’t know-”

“Aw, come on,” said the Joker, kicking around at the sludge under his feet. “Hey, wanna hear another one? What did Batman say to Robin before they got in the Batmobile?”

Jordan leaned over and whispered, “I know this one!”

“Get in the car, Robin,” said Joker, and then he wheezed with laughter, breathless in his own hilarity. A grin spread across Morrison’s face. Once more he dug into his pocket for something, then pulled out a plastic baggie full of pills. He snagged three or four out of the bag, and stuffed them into his mouth, swallowing them down.

Then he climbed up on the railing, and he jumped down into the vat below.

He hit the bottom with a sickening crunch, and let out a yelp of pain. “Got him,” muttered Damian, but once more he stopped Jordan from moving. “Wait.”

The Joker stalked towards Morrison, who misinterpreted this as intent to help him up. “No!” he barked. “No, no, no! This is good! Pain is good, it’s freeing, like chaos of the mind!” He let out a loud, manicured laugh, as if it were something he practiced in the mirror. “See, Joker, man, I get it! I get you, the big joke behind everything, the ultimate gag! Laugh in the face of an indifferent universe! It doesn’t matter anyway, so why not try to burn as many bridges as you can on your way out, right? We all die in the end!”

“That’s not very funny,” said the Joker.

“It’s all funny!” insisted Morrison, as the Joker slowly neared him, like a shark stalking his prey. “That’s the point! It isn’t real! It doesn’t matter! That’s what makes the joke so damn funny-”

The Joker grabbed Morrison’s topknot; his wide grin, usually so gleeful, was downturned into a comical frown. Though the slimy sludge at the bottom of the vat was only about a foot high, he shoved his face into it, sticking a knee on Morrison’s back to keep him down. Morrison started to struggle wildly, his shouts unintelligible as the ugly goo slipped into his mouth and nose.

“It’s like babies in bathwater,” the Joker said, cocking his head, watching Morrison struggle. “Never understood it! You leave the kiddies alone for two minutes and suddenly they’re floatin’ on their bellies like a bunch of goldfish. How do they drown in that!” He let out a guffawing, belly-deep laugh, which sent a chill down Ellen’s spine. Pushing Morrison’s face deeper into the sludge beneath him, he roared, “It’s not that deep!”

At that, Ellen disregarded her orders and moved. She leapt onto the steel walkway, sprinted down towards the vat, and jumped in, her feet landing squarely on Joker’s shoulders, knocking him off his feet. As Morrison lifted his face and gasped for breath, the Joker turned around to see her, and his face lit up. He laughed maniacally, gleeful.

“Look who’s back!” he screeched. “How nice! How soon! Tell me, how’s Mama?”

Ellen drew her fist back to throw a punch, but in a split second, the Joker had disappeared; she glanced up to see Jordan spiriting him away, presumably back to his cold cell in Arkham. There was a squelching thump behind her, and she turned around to see Robin glaring at her. As Morrison coughed, Damian said, “I had it under control.”

Pointing towards the pathetic figure on his hands and knees, Ellen said, “Joker was going to kill him.”

“He was going to scare him,” replied Damian pointedly. “Nothing like a healthy dose of trauma to cure you off your obsession with a criminal like the Joker.”

Still wracked with coughs, Morrison’s head swiveled towards Damian, sludge dripping down his face. “S’not a – criminal – he’s an – artist-”

Damian turned around, looking only mildly interested. He kicked at Morrison’s torso with his boot, and the man toppled over. “The eight-year-olds finger-painting at Neon Knight Centers are artists,” he told him. “The Joker’s just a two-bit con man who somehow stumbled into mythologization.”

Gasping for breath, Morrison refused this. “He’s the – beating heart – of Gotham City! He’s Batman’s binary star! He defines the Batman!”

Damian grabbed the man’s collar and swung a leg over his head so his feet stood on either side of him. His gloved fist connected solidly with the front of Morrison’s face. “He’s not that interesting,” Damian said shortly.

“Where would Batman be without the Clown Prince of Crime?”

Again, Damian punched him. “In better mental health than he is right now, that’s for sure.”

“Who would he be? He’s the Batman’s greatest match! His greatest foil! The only other man he’ll ever truly understand!”

His fist connected for a third time with Morrison’s face, and Damian looked over his shoulder to address Ellen. “People use that one a lot,” he said, sounding genuinely perplexed. “It really says something concerning about how people interpret empathy and intimacy in male relationships.”

Once more Morrison attempted that terrible, overly-practiced laugh, and Damian turned around again to hit him in the face again. It was then that Ellen moved forward, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “As satisfying as this may be,” she told him, sympathetically, “we’re here to get information out of him, remember? We need to know about Gordon.”

“Gordon?” echoed Morrison; there was incredulity in his voice, even through the blood running out of his mouth. “J-James Gordon?”

“That’s the one,” said Ellen, turning to him. “Junior, that is. Is he the one who’s been supplying you with the modified diaxamene?”

“Diaxamene?” he repeated, but Ellen was already digging through his pockets for that plastic baggie full of pills, which she quickly found and removed. “I don’t know what the fuck diaxa-what is, that shit’s diluted Joker Venom!”

“Yes, we know,” said Damian shortly, clearly still irritated. “You’re the one they call the Dealer, aren’t you?”

“I – I don’t know, man, James just said to tell people that!”

“James,” said Ellen, seizing hold of this. “He’s your supplier, isn’t he?” His whole body trembling, he tried to nod, but it came out looking more like a seizure. Spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth, and his skin was quickly draining its color, turning pale. Quickly Damian pulled open one eyelid, inspecting his pupils. Tightening his grip on Morrison’s collar, Damian asked, “How many pills have you taken tonight?” Morrison started to shake violently, his eyes rolling back into his head, and through his teeth, Damian snarled, “No!” Removing one hand from Morrison’s collar, Damian flipped open a compartment on his utility belt, popped the cap off a tiny syringe, and plunged it into Morrison’s neck.

“Anti-Venom?” asked Ellen. Damian nodded as Morrison’s shaking subsided, and he grew limp in Damian’s grip. “Robin,” she said, lowering her voice. “You can OD on diaxamene too if you take enough of it. The Anti-Venom may not work.”

“Maybe not,” grunted Damian, “but it’ll give us more time.” He shook Morrison bodily by the collar, and the man’s head lolled on his neck, his eyes blinking out of sync. “Scott Morrison,” he barked, “we know you’re the Dealer, and we know you’re working with James Gordon, Junior. Listen to me. Tell me where he is, and I’ll do my best to save your sorry life. If you have nothing to give me, then I will leave you here, and you will die alone in a warehouse where no one will find your body for weeks, if not months, and you’ll go to your grave knowing that Joker himself thinks you’re not fucking funny. Now,” he said, his voice calm and collected. “Where is James Gordon Junior?”

Something was catching in Morrison’s throat, making it impossible to reply; Ellen had a suspicion that it was vomit, his stomach protesting against all the poison he’d swallowed. Incapable or unwilling to form words, he merely lifted his hands, and he pointed out of the windows which lined the walls, just below the ceiling.

Damian paused, then he twisted around, following the direction of Morrison’s finger. Ellen did as well, but she didn’t understand: all that was visible out of the window was the night sky, stars faded above the lights of the city, and the shooting spire of the tallest building in Gotham City – Wayne Tower.

Grabbing Morrison’s hair, Ellen hissed, “Is this a game to you?” but Damian had already let him go, shooting his grappling hook out onto the walkway above.

He touched the commlink at his ear. “Seraph!” he called wildly. “Seraph, come in!”

Something dropped into Ellen’s stomach as she understood. Following Damian, she sent out a 911 call with Morrison’s location and status, then quickly followed Damian onto his bike. Niloufar had never responded to Damian’s call, and when he tried Jordan, he heard nothing from her either.

As they raced through Gotham, Ellen asked, “You think Gordon knows about the Bunker?”

“Maybe,” murmured Damian. “I know he knows about my family, and he knew about Batman back when we were based out of the Bunker. It’s a tease, Ember, don’t you get it? The diaxamene, the Joker Venom, the dead child so close to the Manor? He’s been playing us this whole time.”

“How?” asked Ellen, confused. “What do you mean?”

The bike shot into the secret entrance to the Bunker, and Damian was off of it immediately, sprinting into the main computer hub. “Seraph!” he called, looking around wildly, but there was no one there. “Seraph!”

Before them, the computer screen glowed a blank white. Something blared on both Damian and Ellen’s comms, Batman sending out an emergency signal for something going down at Arkham. “Jabberwock,” said Ellen to Damian, fear tight in her voice. “Something’s gone wrong-”

For a moment, Damian did nothing. On either side of him, he squeezed his fists tightly, gloves still stained red with Scott Morrison’s blood.

Then he turned to Ellen and said, “We can’t leave. Gordon’s here.”

“Where?”

Damian gestured for her to follow him, then took her through a set of doors she’d never seen open; he peeled his mask off his face, then lowered his eye down to a retina display. It blinked green, and an elevator opened. He held out one hand as if to say to her, After you.

“Where are we going?” she asked, unmoving.

He shrugged, then stepped into the elevator first. “The Penthouse,” he said shortly. “It’s where Nightwing and I lived back when he was Batman. If I’m right, it’s where Gordon’s set up camp.”

In disbelief, she finally boarded the elevator with him. “And how is it possible that none of your fancy security features ever picked up on anything up there?”

“I don’t know,” said Damian shortly, pressing his mask back onto his face. The elevator moved so rapidly with such sudden force that Ellen almost stumbled. “But it’s stupidly obvious – where’s the one place we would never look? Right under our noses, of course.”

Ellen glanced up at the ceiling of the elevator. “Or – above our noses, I guess,” she mumbled.

They emerged in a hallway; Damian jogged to the door and took off his glove, pressing his thumb against a scanner, and then he said aloud, “Voice recognition, Damian Wayne,” and the lock of the door let out a little click.

Lowly, Ellen asked, “If your security’s so tight, how’d he get through?” but Damian ignored her, pressing his gloved hand against the door and pushing.

The Penthouse was dark, but a light was on down the hallway, coming from the kitchen. When Ellen and Damian entered, a voice called, “In here!”

With a wary glance at each other, they followed the source of the voice. Turning the corner into the big modern kitchen, they found James Gordon Jr. sitting at the counter, glasses on his face, a spoon tucked into a pot of yogurt.

“Hi,” he said, waving at them. “Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you, Damian.” To Ellen he said, “I don’t know who you are,” then continued, “Nice digs, huh? Dick could’ve decorated more probably, but personally I like it.”

“Where is Seraph?” asked Damian, his voice flat.

“If you mean the girl downstairs,” James answered, scooping up a spoonful of yogurt, “she left a while ago. Probably to help her friend with the Joker.” Blandly, he looked at Damian. “Really nice of you to break him out and everything for me, Damian. I didn’t even have to lift a finger.”

“You’re done, Gordon,” Damian told him. “Your operation is shut down.”

“What operation?” asked James, looking mildly interested.

“The drugs.”

“I don’t have any drugs,” said James, innocently.

Damian stared at him, his expression stony and unreadable.

“Go ahead, search the place,” James continued. “Not a lot around here except some personal mementos. Sorry for squatting, but, hey, life’s tough when everyone thinks you’re a psychopathic murderer, right, Damian?”

Color dropped out of Damian’s cheeks, then suddenly rushed back in, flushing his brown skin. Sensing they had to take control of this situation, Ellen stepped up. “We’ve got you, Gordon,” she said simply. “We got the Dealer, too. We know what you’ve been putting out on the streets.”

“I haven’t been putting anything on the streets,” James said smoothly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Feeling a surge of anger, she suddenly sympathized with Damian’s fury. “Scott Morrison-”

“-OD’d,” said James flatly. “Right?”

Damian and Ellen exchanged a look. For all they knew, Morrison had died before the paramedics reached him.

“Scott Morrison was a crazy man with a Joker fetish,” James said, with a shrug. He ate a spoonful of yogurt. “Nothing to do with me.”

“The diaxamene-”

For the first time, a hunt of frustration entered his voice. “Any idiot could’ve gotten ahold of that. Haven’t you heard, Miss Nayar? Prescription pills are all the rage nowadays. Oh,” he added, picking up a remote from behind him, pointing it at the television on the wall. “Would you look at that.” A Breaking News broadcast played, informing viewers that a potential catastrophe at Arkham Asylum had narrowly been avoided, and the Joker, who had mysteriously vanished from his cell, was back in custody.

James smiled at Damian and Ellen.

“All according to plan,” he said.

Damian’s eyes were glued to the screen, slightly in shock as the news showed shaky video footage of a slim figure shooting into the sky, holding someone else in their arms. It was obviously Jordan, and it looked like she was carrying Niloufar, who had covered her face with her headscarf against the cameras. Despite himself and the absurdity of the situation, he somehow found himself taken by surprise that they had managed to solve the situation on their own, without his help.

James Gordon Jr. did not fight back. He did not protest; when the police came, they arrested him, but found no evidence of wrongdoings in the Penthouse except, obviously, trespassing. Later, into his commlink, Oracle informed Damian that they were holding her brother temporarily, but they may not have enough solid evidence to put him away.

Meanwhile, Ellen got a quick status report from the other members of the team, then checked on Scott Morrison. He was alive, but comatose.

As the late nighttime hours began to bleed into the impossibly early morning, Damian and Ellen sat on the rooftop of a building, their legs hanging down over the side.

“I know – technically – we won,” said Ellen, peering down at the city streets below them. “So why does it still feel like we got played?”

“It usually feels like that,” Damian told her dully, without looking around at her. “Especially with filth like the Joker and Gordon, Junior. It always feels like there’s something we missed.”

“We didn’t need to take the Joker out of custody.”

“No,” agreed Damian. “I…suppose I just hate it when people think the Joker is bigger than he is. He’s a lowlife criminal. I wanted Morrison to understand that.”

“I think that’s the problem,” said Ellen, glancing around at him. “It…strikes me that you really can’t take these things personally in this business.”

Damian didn’t answer for a moment. Then, slowly, he got to his feet. “I understand that,” he announced, with some finality. “But…I don’t think it’s right to remove your own feelings out of these kinds of situations. I think that’s how you end up like Batman.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s the worst thing,” he told her, his gaze flickering over to her. “A terrible option. The bad ending.”

“I don’t know,” she challenged, with a shrug. “He took care of this city for a long time before you came along. Maybe he knows something you don’t.”

This obviously troubled Damian. He bade her farewell, and then he made his way back to Wayne Manor, arriving in the Cave just as the very first edges of dawn began to break. His father was already there, seated in his throne before the computer, as always. Damian noticed the crowbar was gone from its place on the specimen table.

He removed his mask on his way up from the garage, passing his father at the computer and heading in the direction of the stairs that led up to the house above. Before he reached them, though, he paused, and he turned around.

“Father,” he said.

Bruce moved only slightly, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he admitted, like pulling teeth.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then Bruce turned back to the computer, his fingers clacking away on the keyboard. “What are you apologizing for?” he asked. “You won.”

“The Joker-”

“Is back in Arkham.”

“But I-”

“Maybe you made mistakes, Robin,” said Bruce, still facing the screen, “but your team was there for you, and they took care of it. I was impressed with Jabberwock and Seraph in particular tonight. Jabberwock should do very well on patrol, though I believe Seraph would benefit from a more permanent headquarters.” On the screen, Bruce flipped through a series of safehouses he’d long kept on reserve. “The Haven, perhaps?”

Damian gaped at his father. “Headquarters?” he asked. “Patrol? You mean to say – this is it? You really trust them?”

“I trust you,” said Bruce, “and I trust Ember. That’s got to be enough for now.”

Still, Damian felt discontent. “Father,” he began, “I still think – if we had just-”

“Ifs and should haves are poison, Damian,” said Bruce, without looking around. “You won. Red Hood and some of his contents are working on getting Gordon’s drug off the streets, but without a supplier, it should dry up on its own.”

“And Gordon?”

“From what I hear of him, he’s no criminal mastermind. He just likes toying with people. If he can, his father will put him away.”

“His father,” echoed Damian, trying to ignore the obvious parallels suddenly rearing his mind. “I imagine you might be feeling some…empathy, for his situation.”

“None at all, Damian. None at all.”

Damian rolled his eyes, then turned to head up into the Manor, taking the stairs two at a time.

----

NAME: Niloufar Ghorbani ALIAS: N/A / Seraph DATE OF BIRTH: 16 October 1996 BLOOD TYPE: O+ (Full Medical History) EMERGENCY CONTACT: Nazanin & Mahmoud Ghorbani, Parents (Contact) AFFILIATIONS: Team Ember EVAL: Observe for further development of metahuman abilities

#sog2 #earth 28 #damian wayne #colin wilkes #nell little #ellen nayar #bruce wayne #jason makes a cameo!!!!!#also i hated writing the joker #and this fic officially makes jewish!waynes canon #i'll fix some shit in here before i upload it to ao3 but i just had to power thru it and get it Finished #oh babs is also there

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